The Rebel Heir (15 page)

She may not have Ash in her life forever, but she certainly wouldn't turn him in for his crimes and cut her time with him short. She was finding that she wanted this too much to force him away. Perhaps she couldn't be trusted to make decisions for her life. But she didn't care about that just now. She neared where he stood in the path and picked up her pace.

He'd dismounted from his horse and was waiting for her on the path. With the reins hanging from his loose grip, the stylish cut of his riding coat, and his hair catching the light breeze, he looked as if he might be posing for a portrait and not simply waiting for her to join him. She suppressed a dreamy sigh that would have made Isabelle proud.

Ash smiled at her as she approached, extending his free arm to her. “I was under the impression that you didn't participate in the weather.”

“I took a ride with you just yesterday,” she countered as she joined him on the path.

“A ride I had to convince you to indulge in. And now I discover you secretly lounging on a park bench, weather all about you.” He nodded toward the spot where her maid still sat, watching her with a smile.

“Was I secretly lounging?”

“Positively dipped in weather,” he replied, his eyes raking over her for a second before returning to her face.

“Can one be dipped in sunshine?” she asked, focusing on the path ahead to cool her thoughts. “I'm sure Mother wouldn't approve, if that's true.”

“You look dipped in sunshine.”

She glanced down at the yellow of her day dress. “Oh, I suppose I do look a bit…”

“Radiant,” he supplied.

Her breath caught. She'd been complimented on her looks before, but somehow his one word carried more sincerity than any other she'd ever heard. Making the mistake of glancing in his direction, she almost stumbled when she saw the corresponding look in his eye. She scrambled mentally to find words to continue their conversation so that they wouldn't spend the remainder of the afternoon staring at each other in giddy silence—thrilling though that may be.

“I slipped away with the new maid, who will most likely lose her post over arranging for me to have a moment outside the walls of my home,” she explained.

“You make it sound as if a jailer locks you in at night.”

She often felt as if she were locked away. Could she be truthful with him? He'd told her about his family. She never spoke out of turn against her family, but Ash would protect the information she gave him. He might be a swindler, but she trusted him. It seemed odd to hold such confidence in a man who'd given her two false names already, but not when that man was Ash Claughbane.

“There is more than one type of prison,” she finally said with her mind on the overtight stays she'd be wearing by morning. “Mine has ribbons and beads instead of bars, but I feel the cold metal wrapped around me just the same.”

“Surely it's not all bad. You make it sound as if you're being tortured,” he said with a cursory glance over her.

He didn't understand. How could she explain it? “Do you know who selected this dress for me? And what of this hat? These gloves?” She looked down at her hands encased in what felt like vises. “I despise these gloves,” she said with a whisper.

“Do you?” He stopped walking and lifted her hand from his arm to inspect it. Then lifting the other hand, he began tugging on the fingertips. “Blasted tight, aren't they?”

“They are,” she agreed, watching his face instead of his work on her gloves.

He finally pulled the gloves off and held them with the reins of his horse that was following slowly behind them. “And yet you willingly put them on your hands.”

Or didn't fight when they were put on her hands—there wasn't much difference from her position. “I do what I must,” she replied, stretching her fingers to allow blood to flow there once more.

“For fashion?” he asked, inspecting her gloves in the light.

She reached for them, but he pulled them away, out of her reach. He still didn't understand. “For survival,” she corrected.

“This is what holds you captive? You're told every detail of what you must wear?”

“And what I must say, how I must stand, and who is allowed smiles,” she added.

“Do I rank high enough to earn a smile?”

“Your smiles are stolen,” she said truthfully.

He shrugged and grinned. “Coaxing things I want from people is what I do.”

“You want my smiles?”

“Always.” It was quite possibly the most romantic comment she'd ever heard, but then he destroyed the effect by adding with a wicked glint in his eye, “Smiles, kisses in service halls, perhaps more when you follow me next at a ball…”

“Might I have my gloves back now?”

“This is no way to live, Evie,” he said, shaking the gloves in his hand.

“They're only gloves. It's not the end of life in England.”

“This is about more than a pair of too-tight gloves,” he countered, concern filling his eyes as he looked at her.

“Most of my life is binding.”

“Why would you wear such a painful fashion?”

“Because my fingers are unladylike!” she exclaimed before sucking in a breath as if she could pull the words back into her mouth along with a great gulp of air.

“What?” He grabbed her fingers and lifted them to inspect them. “Who put it into your mind that your fingers are anything less than perfect?”

“Please return my gloves,” she muttered.

“So that you might stuff them back onto your hands and crush your otherwise lovely appendages?” He ran his fingers gently over the red pressure lines her gloves had left on her hands.

“Ash, I must wear them,” she tried to explain, but he didn't release her bare hands.

“You're miserable with them,” he said without looking up at her as he continued to smooth the lines pressed into her hands.

“Someone might see.”

“Does it matter if someone sees?” he asked, finally releasing her hands. “It's hardly criminal. They're only gloves.” He waved them in the air once before dropping them to his side. “What is the worst that could happen?”

What
was
the worst that could happen? Surely she wouldn't be sent away from London for the crime of removing ill-fitting gloves for a moment while in the park. “I'm not sure what could come of this.”

“Want to find out?” The mischievous grin that covered his face made her want to do more than walk gloveless in the park.

She watched him, unable to speak the words. The temptation he presented was too great in every way imaginable. The last time she'd dared to do as she wished, it had cost her every small freedom that should have been hers. Would it happen again? Surely the lack of gloves on a warm afternoon in the park wouldn't lead to her family's downfall like before.

With a knowing look in his eye, he tossed her gloves into the air. His horse huffed at his back, but no matron of the
ton
shot out from the shrubbery to reprimand her.

She watched as the gloves fluttered to the ground like a pair of wounded birds. “Quite dramatic, but I think I'll put them in my reticule for safekeeping. I wouldn't want to be caught without them upon my return home.”

He studied her for a moment before asking, “Why are you frightened so?”

She froze with the gloves in her grasp, taking a moment before standing upright again.

“Don't say you aren't frightened. I see what you do to keep those around you happy, the way your voice changes when we're alone. You're afraid to speak above a whisper when anyone is about. Why?”

She wanted to run. This must be the benefit of Ash's lifestyle. Anytime someone became close enough to rub the grime from the windows and peer inside, he was able to walk away and start anew. Yet, she stood rooted to the ground in the middle of the path, facing down everything she'd worked to hide for years. “You're fortunate, you know. You can be anyone you wish to be. You can dress how you see fit, walk outside with the sun on your face…”

“I suppose that is true,” he hedged.

“I must follow the wishes of my family,” she said, willing him to understand.

“Isn't that true of all unwed ladies?”

“Some more so than others.” Couldn't he see? She had to do everything asked of her without question. Even this conversation was a violation. She was in the park, gloveless, with the wrong gentleman on a sunny afternoon. She would pay for this misdeed. She would—

“Evie,” he said, claiming her attention. “They may be your family but they don't own your heart. We're here in the park on this fine day, and you're free to wiggle your fingers for the first time in what I can only assume is years. They don't own this moment. This is yours and yours alone.”

A smile flooded her face as she looked at him. He was right—this was her moment in the sun. Her mother wasn't here. Today, on this afternoon with Ash, the sunshine belonged to Evie.

“I sincerely hope that smile wasn't stolen, because I would like to keep the memory of it.”

“I stole it on your behalf,” she said, her heart racing faster the longer she stood here with him.

“Then I shall take it.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Come. Those free fingers need to experience a bit of the park while we still have time to enjoy it.”

She stuffed her gloves into her bag and wrapped her bare hand around his arm. The scratch of warm wool covered the thickly corded muscle beneath her fingers. It wasn't ladylike to notice such a thing. Of course it was also unladylike to remove one's gloves in public. Perhaps she wasn't the lady who had been honed into perfection for years. “Perhaps I could become a lady who walks in the park gloveless,” she muttered to herself.

“Evie, you already are that lady.”

She blinked up at Ash. Did she dare to discover more of who she truly was and who she wished to be? It was a dangerous proposition—one that could cause terrible damage if acted upon. She wiggled her fingers, aware of the flinch of strong male muscle beneath her grasp. This danger also brought a smile to her lips. She could be more than the shell of perfection everyone else of her acquaintance believed her to be. And wasn't it wise to examine who she was now before she found a husband?

With Ash at her side, she could brave the danger. As long as he didn't leave her. But as much as she trusted him, staying at her side was the one thing she knew he couldn't promise.

* * *

STEAMING THROUGH TOWN

“An investment in steam is an investment in tomorrow,” says Lord Crosby of Crosby Steam Works. A scientifically minded gentleman with his eye on the future, Lord Crosby plans to produce the first steam engine for personal use. This advancement in science is poised to be a means of power for every home in the country. He suggests it could change the way lands are farmed and shorten travel times from village to village, perhaps even eliminating the need for horses altogether. While all of London waits for this most anticipated invention to be revealed, the industrious lord has been gaining popularity and investors in town at a rapid pace. This writer found Lord Crosby after the recent evening of poetry hosted by Lord Torrent. Ladies and gentlemen had gathered together in celebration of the written word, an event Lord Crosby tells us he quite enjoyed.

Ian leaned back in the rickety chair near the main door to the inn with a loud creak, pulling the copy of the
Times
with him as he moved. The article went on to describe the evening's entertainment and even the style of Crosby's coat and the quick flash of his smile. But Ian's gaze drifted over to the small sketch of his lordship that accompanied the printed words. He knew that scheming face. That man's smile might have charmed the writer of this article, but it only made Ian scowl.

“Lord Crosby, we meet at last,” Ian muttered, clutching the paper tighter in his hands.

Finally Ian had a name and direction. The gentlemen he traveled with would have to listen to reason now. Ian had insisted days ago that the thief had gone to London, and he'd been right. They'd wasted too much time already, making inquiries on the road leading to Oxford. His eyes darted to the date printed at the top of the page. Two days ago. Surely Crosby, as he was now known, was still in London.

“There's still time,” Ian muttered, abandoning his cup of coffee on the table and taking the paper with him.

“On yer way out for the day, m'lord?” the innkeeper asked as he paused in his sweeping to allow Ian to pass.

“With any luck, my group will be off to London today.”

“Must be good news from town,” the man said, nodding toward the paper in Ian's hand.

“Very,” Ian said with a smile. Of course
Lord Crosby
may not think it such good news when he had to face down seven angry gentlemen from Bath. That was the danger of news—it traveled fast, even across the English countryside to small inns where adversaries awaited. Crosby would do well to remember that.

Ash climbed into his carriage, the small package now in hand. It was still early for tonight's ball. The unexpected errand to Bond Street this late in the day had left him only enough time to return to headquarters for a few minutes before he would depart again. When he did leave for the evening, at least he would do so in a cravat that wasn't stained red. He tossed the package onto the seat at his side and looked out the window.

Bond Street was quite a different place when the sun sank low in the sky and the ladies and gentlemen who kept the street bustling with activity during the day returned to their families. A single lamp flickered farther down the street, leaving the section where he sat waiting for his driver to return quite dark by comparison. The merchants were either gone for the day or closing their doors and sorting their wares for tomorrow, giving the street a peaceful quiet tinged with an eerie lack of life. He was pleased he'd caught the tailor before he left for the day, or he wouldn't be attending any events tonight. “Blasted bottle of tonic,” Ash muttered to himself.

Earlier he'd spilled an entire bottle of the colored water he'd sold as a tonic last year. The shirts in his trunk had escaped damage, but his cravats hadn't been so fortunate. He could have unpacked his belongings weeks ago into his rooms at the Spares headquarters, but he'd never unpacked. It wasn't a rule—he simply didn't.
Maybe it's time you did.
He ignored the voice that had grown steadily louder within him for the past week. His effort was aided by the fact that the voice in his head sounded terribly like that of his eldest brother.

“Been waiting long, your lordship?” Stapleton asked with an overly formal bow, clearly enjoying Ash's present identity over that of the doctor or landed gentry he'd played in the past.

“Long enough that I'm surprised you can stand. How many pints did you have while I finished my shopping?”

“Enough,” Stapleton replied with a smile. “Envious?”

“Thoroughly. I must ask, however, if you're fit to drive? I would draw looks if I were seen driving my foxed servant about town, since I'm such a
powerful lord
, but I will do so to save both our skins.”

Stapleton waved away his offer. “I'm not totally foxed. I know well enough to slow my consumption when—”

“Is that…?” Ash interrupted, squinting in the direction of a shop on the opposite side of the street. “Is that Brice in the jewelry shop?”

Stapleton turned in the direction Ash was looking, peering across the road and into the store window. “I can't claim to know him well, but when I saw to his horse last week, he didn't mention a word of being a clerk in a store.”

“Precisely.” Furthermore, Ash was certain the jeweler's had been dark only a few minutes ago. “Perhaps you should take your seat in case we need to leave quickly.”

Stapleton nodded and slipped around the corner of the carriage, leaving Ash to silently study the scene before him.

Kelton Brice moved about the inside of the shop by the light of a single lantern. He was searching for something. Clearly the Spare Heirs had some interest in the jewelry trade in London. Were shopkeepers selling paste for the price of true jewels, or possibly selling stolen goods? Ash had witnessed many such plots over the years. Yet Brice seemed to be searching through documents, not jewels.

Ash could leave his carriage with Stapleton and go inside. He was a member of the same society, and he worked on the same dingy side of the law. Yet he didn't move.

Through the large glass window, he saw Brice move to a desk in the far corner and begin sifting through papers there.

Ash had always been the one on the outside looking in—alone. When he'd signed on with the Spares, he hadn't realized the extent to which he'd been trading one set of brothers for another, but even now there was a wall between them. There had always been walls. His three brothers were always together, always deep in some endeavor, while Ash watched from a distance. And now he sat in a carriage and watched a brother of a different sort steal about a jewelry store after close of business. Some things never changed.

Nevertheless, he was pleased with his life. He didn't need anyone.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat, propping his feet on the opposite cushion. He didn't need brothers of any sort. Relations became complicated and cumbersome. Eventually he would leave the Spares. He would even have to end his time with Evie. Though the thought of watching the gentle swish of her skirts as she walked away was…difficult.

He tensed for a moment before he became aware that the swish of skirts was real. A lady was now opening the door to the jewelry store. Wasn't that a friend of Evie's? He was certain he'd seen them together at balls and such. She was one of the twins. What the devil was she doing with Kelton Brice after dark, and while he was on a mission?

He couldn't hear their words, but he was somewhat thankful for that small bit of fortune when the lady placed her hands on her hips in the standard stance of any fishwife. Brice could barely open his mouth to respond. That itself was rather impressive, since he was known for his ability to chatter incessantly in a voice that could be heard on the other end of town. Evie's friend was moving toward Brice now as he held his hands out to the sides as if to show he held no weapons.

Ash leaned forward for a better view, only to see her disappear through a door in the rear of the shop. It appeared to lead into a shared storeroom for the milliner's next door, for in the next moment, Brice had followed her into the dim light of the neighboring shop. What the devil was happening? Brice was talking now, and for the first time since he'd met the man, Ash found himself wishing his friend would speak up. His normally loud voice was muted by the wall of windows between them. Ash's eyes widened as the lady flung a hat at Brice's head, catching him on the ear.

“Did you see that?” Stapleton said from atop the driver's seat, his voice echoing through the empty street.

But before Ash could call out a response, the lady started to pull hats down from the shelves of the shop and hurl them at Brice's body. He wasn't putting up much of a fight for such a large man, merely using the back of his arm to block the hats from hitting his eyes while the lantern swung in his hand. Ash winced. That lantern needed to be put on a table or…

It flew from Brice's hand and landed amid a large basket of ribbons in the shop window.

Flames lapped up the walls in an instant, but neither Brice nor the twin lady seemed to notice, too deep in their argument. Ash had his hand on the carriage door, ready to jump to the street and call out a warning, when something crashed inside the building and his carriage jerked forward. Stapleton was getting them safely away before the authorities could arrive, as he always did. But Ash couldn't run this time. He had to help…didn't he? He couldn't very well leave them to die in the smoke.

“Stop! Wait! Stapleton!”

When the carriage came to a sudden halt, Ash shoved open the door. But before he could spring into action, he saw a chair fly through the front window with a great crash. As empty as the streets had been a moment ago, now people gathered, merchants streaming out of shops.

“Claughbane, we leave now,” Stapleton called down to him. “No good can come of getting involved.”

Ash hesitated a moment, then settled back into the carriage without a word.

He stared into the dark velvet cushion opposite his seat as the carriage rattled down the street. Leave—that's what he always did when things began to heat up. In this case that heat was literal. Brice and the lady would escape the flames. The window had already been shattered, and enough people were nearby to offer them assistance.

Yet, he hadn't seen them on the walk outside. He couldn't be
certain
they made it out unscathed. The thought gnawed at him. He raised his hand to pound on the roof, prepared to demand that Stapleton turn around and return to Bond Street. His fist was in the air. His fingers curled in until the skin on his knuckles grew tight, but he didn't knock on the roof.
Don't become involved. Don't stay.
His own rules held him like a vise.

And yet as the carriage pulled him forward, he knew. When it came to Brice and the Spare Heirs—and, damn it all, Evie—his only steadfast rules needed to be bent to the point of breaking.

Could he become involved and stay for a bit longer than usual? Or would the rules he bent so readily to suit his needs finally snap back to hit him with a force strong enough to end him?

* * *

Evangeline slipped through the crowd that had gathered close to the entrance of the ballroom, anxious to find Roselyn—if the poor dear was even here tonight. When she heard her mother pause to greet someone behind her, Evangeline only increased her pace. That small move would gain her at least ten minutes of peace, along with twenty minutes of verbal lashing later this evening, but it was well worth the price.

Glancing back only once to ensure her escape, she saw that her mother was now enveloped in the group of ladies she'd paused to greet. Fans fluttered as tomorrow's on-dit was decided upon. Roselyn had mentioned that her brother referred to them as vultures, and Evangeline quite agreed.

It was unfortunate that her friend had become a topic of gossip based on their vicious assumptions about her past. Roselyn wasn't to blame for the way things had ended for her fiancé before the season began, even if Evangeline did have misgivings about the details of Roselyn's story. But a mysterious story was hardly enough reason to destroy a young lady's first season. That was, however, the fickle nature of London.

Evangeline turned back, her gaze sweeping the room. She told herself she was looking for Roselyn, but she knew that wasn't the only person she sought out.

The afternoon she'd spent with Ash in the park had been the happiest of her life. The warmth of sunshine on her face, the ability to wiggle her fingers without binding gloves—everything about yesterday had been freeing, but there had been more to her enjoyment of the day than just an elusive taste of the freedom most ladies took for granted. Her fingers twitched at the thought of her bare hand on Ash's arm. The warm look in his eyes as he shot her that troublesome grin of his… She pulled herself together as she moved around a group of gentlemen.

She had yet to see Ash tonight. She did, however, spy Roselyn standing near the terrace doors at the rear of the room. Mother would require smelling salts if she saw her associating with Roselyn when her friend was the current source of the chatter on the opposite side of the room. Evangeline quickened her pace to join Roselyn before her mother could stop her.

Roselyn released a grateful sigh when she saw her. “I thought you'd abandoned me.”

“Never,” Evangeline promised. She hoped her smile was reassuring, even if it did hold an edge of concern she couldn't conceal. “Victoria and Isabelle haven't arrived yet?”

“They did say they were attending this event—I believe so anyway. I was set to meet Victoria on Bond Street this afternoon, but then I became distracted by the shattering of my hopes and dreams.”

“Surely it isn't as bad as that,” Evangeline offered, knowing it was most definitely as bad as that. Her mother had regaled her with all the talk on their carriage ride here. She'd seemed very pleased to announce her daughter's friend's social downfall. All Evangeline could do was listen.

“I'm using the news as an excuse to wear my favorite gown,” Roselyn said, giving her skirts a bit of a flounce as she spoke. “I may not be fit to marry, but I will not enter my decline in poor fashion.”

Evangeline couldn't imagine Roselyn Grey doing anything in poor fashion. She didn't take the interest in fashion that Roselyn did, but she knew enough about it to know her friend was the best dressed lady this season. Even tonight, she was the picture of elegance in bold color, with a simple necklace at her throat and her elaborate braids piled high on her head to tame her dark, wild curls.

“The talk of your presence at Lord Ayton's passing won't last forever, Roselyn,” Evangeline assured her. “Soon, the vultures will swoop down upon some other unsuspecting soul and you will be free to dance with any gentleman you choose.”

“You know your mother is among those you call vultures, don't you?”

“A fact that only proves the truth of my statement,” Evangeline said quietly, making Roselyn chuckle.

“Speaking of vultures, she's flying in this direction.”

Evangeline stiffened her spine against the coming storm that whisked ever closer in a dark-emerald gown. “I'll spare you the uncomfortable greeting and leave you.”

“Much appreciated,” Roselyn said with a thin smile. “I shall be here, alone yet looking fabulous in my new gown.”

Evangeline gave her friend one last smile before turning away. She moved between the clusters of conversation and avoided a lady who seemed to have taken her skills with a fan from Isabelle's example.

Now that Evangeline was moving away from Roselyn, her mother had clearly decided to wait for her on the opposite end of the room. The woman only walked when necessary, as if even that small act showed too much humanity and, as such, was beneath her. The scowl hidden behind her watchful eyes promised more than twenty minutes of threats and reprimands during the carriage ride home.

Ah, well. Roselyn was worth the sacrifice.

As Evangeline moved around a group of gentlemen, the heat of a gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Someone was watching her. But instead of snapping to attention and parading past with the falseness her mother encouraged, she smiled. Ash. She wasn't sure how she knew it was him, but she did.

Already blushing, she turned and found Ash at the center of the group. He'd clearly been in the middle of some sort of discussion, because he held the attention of every man within earshot. She understood their fascination. Of course, now that same attention had been transferred to her as she paused in front of the gathering.