A young lady screamed and started to run, her action caused a ripple among the spectators, spreading them in all directions. Violet was caught between a cross tide of people who were trying to escape the oncoming horse and those who were rushing forward either to help or to gawk at the unfolding disaster. She heard Lord Knowles above the crowd still shouting instructions to Jack and then a peculiar high-pitched whistle.
As if in a nightmare, she watched the horse pitch forward onto its knees, taking Jack down with it in a cloud of earth and clods of grass. Lord Knowles reached the fallen horse first and dismounted, throwing his reins at his groom. He ran straight to Jack, who lay at an awkward angle on the ground, half under the horse.
“Is there a doctor here?” Lord Knowles bellowed.
“Yes, sir!”
Violet looked around and saw the familiar figure of Dr. Bailey shouldering his way through the crowd of onlookers. He knelt beside Jack, obscuring him from view. Involuntarily, Violet urged her horse forward, only to have her horse's bridle held in an iron grip.
“No, leave them be,” Richard ordered. “You must not appear too eager to go over to him.”
“Butâ”
“Leave him. Let this play out as we planned it.”
Violet jumped as a scream sounded behind her and she saw Emily Ross rushing toward Jack, one hand clasped to her bosom.
“Oh, Jack, no, my
darling!
”
“That wasn't part of the plan, was it?”
“No, but there's not a lot I can do about it now. She does seem to be adding to the authenticity of the moment rather than detracting from it.” Richard sighed as Emily flung herself down in a swirl of petticoats next to poor Dr. Bailey, who noticeably flinched.
Violet held her breath as the doctor beckoned to his groom and spoke briefly to him before the man hurried away. Philip took the fallen horse's bridle and gently brought him back to his feet. He spent a moment checking the horse's bleeding front legs and then ordered his groom to bind them.
“Let's start to edge a little closer,” Richard murmured. “Philip has his eye on Emily. He won't let her ruin anything.”
Violet nodded and followed Richard's lead, the crowd parting at the gentle insistence of the horse's bulky presence. From her high perch, she could see Jack more clearly now. A trickle of blood marred the whiteness of his face and his eyes were closed. Was he truly all right? He didn't look well at all. Dr. Bailey was conferring in a quiet voice with Philip and shaking his head.
The groom reappeared with three other men bearing a stretcher between them. Philip, who had relinquished the horse to Ambrose, put his arm around Emily as Jack was carefully lifted onto the stretcher and completely covered with a blanket.
Emily gave a convulsive shudder and buried her face against her father's shoulder.
“He can't be dead. He
can't
be!”
A murmur of sympathy ran through the crowd. As Emily started to cry, Philip's hand came to rest on her shoulder and he held her close. Dr. Bailey stopped to close his bag, his expression somber, and then stood up. Most of the crowd had now drifted away; only a group of gentlemen discussing the horse still remained.
Philip's groom, who had turned his attention to assessing Jack's injured mount, began gesticulating at Philip. His voice grew louder until it could be heard clearly over everyone else. “There's something not right here, my lord. I was behind Mr. Lennox when the horse bolted, and nothing scared him, I swear it!”
“Maybe the horse was stung by something.” Lord Knowles turned to greet Helene and Mrs. Lennox, who had also arrived on the scene. Mrs. Lennox was crying uncontrollably. He passed Emily over to the women, who held her close.
“I asked them to take Jack to Knowles House, Mrs. Lennox. Dr. Bailey is fairly certain that there is nothing more to be done for him, but . . .”
His words caused fresh tears from Emily and Mrs. Lennox, who clung to each other, sobbing. It was left to a white-faced Helene to guide them into the carriage and take them to Knowles House.
The groom started to examine the reins and the saddle of the shivering horse, who was still bearing no weight on his right foreleg. Violet could only marvel at the horse's acting abilityâif it was indeed acting.
“Look, my lord!” The groom held up the left rein. “Someone cut the leather nearly through.”
“
What?
” Lord Knowles said. He turned from watching Helene's carriage leave and examined the horse's bridle, his expression thunderous.
“And see this, sir,” the groom continued. “The girth has been almost cut through as well.”
“That still wouldn't be enough to make the horse bolt, though, would it?” Lord Knowles asked.
“Not necessarily, my lord, but it would make it harder for a rider to stay on the horse's back.”
At this point, as arranged, Richard dismounted and pushed his way through to the front of the crowd.
“Father? What's going on?”
Philip ran a hand down the horse's lathered neck. “Did you not see? The horse bolted and fell on Mr. Jack Lennox. My groom seems to be suggesting there was foul play.”
The groom meanwhile had continued to feel the horse and made a sound of triumph when the animal reared onto his back legs and shook his head.
“My lord, come and see this.”
Philip crouched down beside his groom, who was pointing at something sticking out of the horse's belly. “It looks like a dart of some kind. That would certainly frighten the poor bugger and make him bolt.”
Philip waited until the groom âremoved' the small dart and handed it to him.
“But who would want to kill Mr. Lennox?” he asked loudly.
“Perhaps someone just wanted to frighten him?” Richard addressed his father. “He was riding with you. Did one of your grooms have a falling out with him?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Richard,” Philip's head groom interrupted them. “None of my lads touched that damned 'orse.”
“That seems a little strange.” Richard turned back to Philip. “That is one of your horses, isn't it?”
“He's not actually mine.” Philip's gaze flicked over to where Violet still remained sitting on her horse. “I . . . offered to keep him in my stables.”
That was the truth. Now came the lie. Richard could only hope Violet was ready.
“Then whose damned horse is it?”
Philip sighed. “Mr. Vincent Lennox asked me to stable the horse for him as a gift to his twin brother.”
Richard's gaze flew to where Violet sat apparently frozen in place on her horse.
“Is that true, Vincent?”
With a convulsive shudder, Violet kicked at her horse and fled the scene.
Richard made as if to go after her, but Philip held him back.
“Shouldn't we catch him, sir?” the groom asked. “He looked bloody guilty to me.”
A chorus of agreement blossomed around them, but Richard shook his head.
“No, I can't believe Vincent wouldâthat he wouldâno. He's not like that. He loves his brother.” He stared at his father. “There must be some mistake.”
“Strange how he didn't come forward to help out or even shed a tear,” muttered one of the other men.
“He's such a weakling, perhaps he feared he might swoon,” someone else said, rather unkindly.
Richard glared at the man. “Vincent Lennox is a good man! He's probably at his brother's bedside right now.”
“Stealing the pennies from his eyes,” one of the grooms mumbled.
Richard spun around to face Philip. “Father, you cannot believe this. It was an accident! A horrible accident.”
Philip had resumed his examination of the horse with his groom but straightened when Richard came toward him, his expression full of compassion.
“I understand that you care about Vincent Lennox, Richard, but the evidence . . .”
Richard went still and glared at his father as if he was oblivious to the avid stares of the remaining crowd.
“You believe Vincent is a
murderer?
”
“That will be for the law to decide, Richard, not us.” Philip inclined his head an inch. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to attend to the horses. May I suggest you repair to Knowles House and provide some comfort to your sister?”
“I'll do that, sir.” Richard bowed. “And then I'll seek out Vincent Lennox and listen to his side of the story too!”
Richard marched back to his horse, vaulted onto its back, and was away with a spray of gravel before anyone could accost him further. He didn't allow himself to relax until he was stabling his horse behind Knowles House. So far so good. Now all it needed was for the inevitable gossip to start and Violet's life would be changed forever, hopefully for the better.
23
“H
ow can I possibly speak to my father about Thomas Smith when I am supposed to be hysterical with grief for Jack?” Emily murmured to Ambrose between patting daintily at her eyes with her handkerchief.
Jack lay under the sheets in the best guest bedchamber; apart from a few cuts and bruises, his face was as white as the linen. His hands were folded neatly together in front of him as if he were at prayer. Even though Emily knew the effect was deliberate, it was a curiously disturbing sight, as Jack was very rarely still.
“I'm sure there will be a quiet moment later when you can speak to Lord Knowles.” Ambrose hesitated. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No, let's not complicate matters too much.” Emily patted his sleeve. “I'd rather you went and found out more about this teaching position you were promised, so that when I confront Philip about my plans for the future, we have something positive to tell him.”
“I understand.” Ambrose glanced around the candlelit room where several visitors had been allowed in to view the body. Many of them were young and female, and were already sobbing. “But I hate to leave you.”
“And that is why you must go. If you stay, I'll be incapable of playing the part of Jack's grieving fiancée.”
Ambrose nodded and bent to kiss her hand. “I know you are more than equal to the task.”
She smiled into his eyes. “I'm glad you see that. Even if I marry you, I won't become some milk and water miss.”
“Thank God for that. I'll go and speak to Jethro about the teaching position.” Ambrose took one last longing look at her and then turned toward the door. “If you need me, just send a note to the pleasure house and I'll come at once.”
She nodded and watched him walk away, noticed his graceful carriage and the way he exuded such quiet competence. He was everything that she was not, but perhaps that was why they complemented each other so well.
“Are you all right, Emily?”
Helene appeared at her elbow, her expression grave.
Emily gave a convulsive sob and deliberately raised her voice for the benefit of the onlookers. “No, I'm not all right. My fiance is dead and his brother is to blame!”
“We don't know that, dear,” Helene murmured soothingly.
“Then why isn't he here mourning his twin? Why did he flee?” Emily demanded.
Helene drew her to sit down on the nearest couch and Emily took the opportunity to whisper in her ear. “How is it that Jack looks as if he is really dead?”
“I believe Dr. Bailey gave him some kind of potion that mimics the effect of death.”
Emily shuddered. “How very Shakespearean of him. How long will it take before Jack regains consciousness?”
“I'm not sure. Dr. Bailey has an antidote that he will administer when it becomes necessary.”
“Let's hope that happens before they bury him. Has a date been set for the funeral?”
“Not yet. The local magistrate and the coroner have visited, but everyone is too busy trying to locate Vincent Lennox. There is much suspicion, but very little evidence, which suits our plans perfectly.” Helene sighed. “I know that the plan is for Mr. Brown to find Vincent, but I hope Richard finds him first.” She crossed herself. “Although then they are both in danger. I'm still trying to find out exactly who Mr. Brown is through the more usual means. We can only hope that everything will work out for the best.”
“Indeed.”
Emily looked up as Philip came into the room accompanied by Dr. Bailey. They both looked suitably serious as they studied Jack's inert form and then came over to where Helene and Emily were sitting.
Philip kissed Helene's hand and sat beside her. “Dr. Bailey has just given Mrs. Lennox a sleeping draught and she has gone to bed.”
“The poor woman,” Helene said. “One stepson taken from her so tragically and the other disappeared.”
“I'm sure Richard will find Vincent and discover the truth. I don't really believe he meant his brother harm, do you?” Philip asked.
Emily fought a smile. There was just enough uncertainty in his tone to convey his suspicions of Vincent without actually condemning him.
“Indeed.” Dr. Bailey's voice was loud enough to cause a lull in the muttered conversations around them. “I'm not quite certain why Mr. Vincent Lennox would wish to dispose of his brother, but the evidence is certainly damning. He was the last person to touch that horse before his twin mounted it and set out for the park.”
“Hush now,” Helene said. “Let's wait and see what happens. Vincent might have been felled by grief and needed time to compose his feelings.”
Emily took the opportunity to glance at the other occupants of the room through the lace of her handkerchief and noticed that everyone was listening avidly. She would guarantee that the society gossips of London would soon be awash with all the details from Jack's deathbed. There was nothing like a little family rivalry to titillate the jaded senses of the
ton
.
Her thoughts turned to Richard and the elusive Vincent Lennox. She could only pray that both of them would survive their encounter with the unpleasant Mr. Brown and return safely home.
Â
Violet pressed her back against the wall as the door to Richard's bedchamber was kicked in, then turned to hurl herself through the already open window. She hadn't expected Mr. Brown to act so quickly. There was no sign of Patrick Kelly, who was supposed to be guarding her. Had he gone to find Richard? She certainly hoped at least one of the men would track her. She also hoped that Richard's poor manservant was still tied up where she had left him to make her entrance to Richard's lodgings look suspicious and had not been killed by Mr. Brown's men.
As she scrambled to regain her footing on the wet cobblestones, a large hand descended on her shoulder and spun her around. She didn't recognize the man, but she knew his kind. He was built like a prizefighter. Even though she knew she stood no chance against him, she still put up a fight, which was swiftly ended when her attacker punched her in the gut, making her double over. She hardly registered the second blow to her head as the world dissolved into white agony.
When she regained her senses, she tried to open her eyes to see if she recognized where she was. Unfortunately, everything was still black. It took her a panicked moment to realize she'd been blindfolded. She breathed in deeply through her mouth and then exhaled. Her other senses caught the smell of a coal fire, brandy, and a hint of wet dog. In truth, she could be in any gentleman of her acquaintance's study.
Already aware that she wasn't alone, she concentrated on maintaining her even breathing. She was tied to a chair, her arms bound tightly behind her. Someone had removed her cravat, coat, and waistcoat to make sure she couldn't wriggle free of them. As carefully as she could, she flexed her wrists and tested her bounds, and found them immovable.
“You won't escape, Violet.”
The quiet amusement in her captor's voice did nothing to reassure her. She tried to think if she knew him, if he was at all familiar, but her knowledge of English accents was far less acute than her French. At least now she was certain it wasn't Lord Keyes.
His chair creaked as he leaned forward, and she inhaled the strangely familiar fragrance of bergamot and lemon underscored with peppercorns.
“What do you want, Mr. Brown?”
She was pleased she sounded so calm.
“To congratulate you.”
“For what?”
“For disposing of your brother as we planned.”
She pictured Jack as she had last seen him, lying on the ground, and had no difficulty shivering.
“You are regretting what you did?”
“He was my twin.” She allowed her anguish to show. “I should
never
have agreed to help you.”
“It is too late for regrets now, my dear.” His chair scraped on the wooden floor and she tensed. “And think how rich we shall be.”
“I don't want anything from you anymore,” she whispered.
“You are feeling guilty. It reminds me of when you pretended to die for that stupid Englishman Richard Ross.”
“That was not the same at all.” Her voice was shaking now. “God forgive me, I gave up Richard for the cause of France. I gave up Jack for
money
.”
“And you now believe it isn't worth it?”
She shook her head, then gasped when he grabbed her chin and pushed her head up.
“I've wanted you for a long time, Violet Lennox. I've always admired your intelligence and resourcefulness. Don't tell me that you have chosen to become a coward now that the end is in sight?”
His mouth descended over hers and she could do nothing but endure the bruising pressure of his lips against hers. His fingers clenched harder on her jaw, forcing her to open her mouth for the invasion of his tongue. While he kissed her, his hands roamed over her body, shaping and pinching her breasts until she thought she would either gag or scream.
“No!”
When he drew back, he was panting as hard as she was.
“What's wrong, Violet? Do you think I care whether you want me or not?”
“I'll fight you until my last breath.”
“I'll enjoy that even more.” His soft laughter chilled her. “Perhaps I've been a little too hasty. Once you get over your guilt, I'm sure you'll be eager to be fucked.”
“Never.”
Her head snapped back as he slapped her hard on the cheek. “Guilt drives you, doesn't it? You bed that fool Richard Ross because you feel guilty about deceiving him all those years ago.”
She didn't speak as she tried to master the pain. She wouldn't speak to him about Richard. She would
not
.
“Of course, despite your considerable amoral skills, you are still a woman who has to deny her base instincts and cover up her guilt with the lie of love.”
He cupped the cheek he'd slapped, his fingers caressing her jaw.
“Let me make it quite simple for you. If you wish Richard Ross to live, you will follow through with our plan and come and whore for me instead of him.”
“I don't want either of you. Don't you understand? I'll never forgive myself for killing my twin,” she whispered.
“Oh, you'll forgive yourself. A few months with me and you'll forget all about him, and that coward Richard Ross.” His fingers drifted closer to her mouth and she sank her teeth into them.
With a startled curse, he wrenched his hand free and struck her again. She couldn't help but scream this time. Before she recovered, she felt the cold press of steel at her throat and the sting of the blade nicking her skin and then slicing through her shirt to expose her breasts.
He wrapped his hand around her throat. “I can see that taming you will be an adventure.”
She heard the familiar sound of buttons sliding through doeskin breeches and the pungent scent of his cock just before he pushed it against her closed mouth.
“You'll suck my cock now, and if you bite me, I'll let my men have you until you're the one begging me to slit your throat.”
His grip tightened around her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe through just her nose.
“Suck my cock, Violet, and then you'll only have to attend your brother's funeral and not your lover's.”
She obediently opened her mouth and prepared to endure.
“Emily?”
Emily paused on the stairs and looked back at her father.
“What is it?”
“Do you have a moment to talk to me?”
She hesitated, her hand clenched on the banister. Philip had dealt with Jack's laying out and the steady stream of visitors all evening, and he looked exhausted. Helene had insisted that she would sit with the body while Philip rested. Dr. Bailey had also been given a room for the night at the house so that he was close at hand. They had no intention of leaving Jack unattended for a second.
“Please, Emily.”
She sighed. She might as well face him now. His day could hardly get any worse. She came back down the stairs, and he ushered her into his study and closed the door behind them.
“Will you sit by the fire?”
He gestured to a chair and then knelt to build up the blaze, adding wood and coal from the basket on the hearth. Emily sat down and waited until he took the seat opposite her.
“What is it you want?”
He stared down at his riding boots. “I've been wanting to talk to you all day. We didn't finish our discussion about what is to be done with Mr. Smith.”