Unlikely hope, but it might stop the news for a minute or two. She didn’t think there’d been any inn servants nearby to hear. She dragged her husband into the adjoining parlor, the rest following, and shut the door. She couldn’t have done it if he’d resisted, so she knew she was right.
“I think he truly loves her,” she said. “And I know she loves him.”
But Miss Trist wrung her hands. “Why run off together? She’s refused him, and he’s abducted her!”
“Nonsense,” Maria snapped. “Abduction is completely illegal these days. He can hardly drag her against her will to Scotland.”
Van said, “I have to stop this, Maria. For everyone’s sake. I’m sending a note up to Con.”
He left before she could stop him again, and indeed, she wasn’t sure she should. But he’d looked for a moment as if he would kill his friend.
Demon Vandeimen. Did she know what he was really capable of?
Van returned with a letter in his hand. “I’ve sent for Con. When he arrives, give him this.”
Maria took it, but she knew he was setting off in pursuit. “Don’t kill him, Van. For your own sake, don’t.
”
He relaxed slightly. “I won’t. I might beat him to a pulp, but I won’t kill him.” He kissed her quickly, tenderly, then rubbed at what must be lines in her brow. “Don’t worry. This is a mess, but I’ll find a way to bring it all out right.”
“He hasn’t abducted her,” she said. “Clarissa’s besotted with him, and I’d say he feels the same way about her. What’s going on?”
“It’s complicated.” He kissed her again quickly, then left.
Maria could have screamed with frustration. Complicated! She’d give him complicated. She considered snapping the seal on the letter in hopes that it explained, but long training in proper behavior would not permit it.
Instead she called for tea and settled to soothing Althea. Poor Lord Trevor was looking as if he wished himself elsewhere, but he was bearing up like the well-trained officer he was.
It took remarkably little time for Con to turn up, though it had felt like an hour. He strode in, another man behind him.
“Mr. Nicholas Delaney,” he said. “My guest at the moment, but he’s probably involved.” He took the letter, opened it, and read.
Then he passed it to his friend.
“Con,” said Maria, “if you don’t tell me what is going on, I am going to do someone serious injury.”
He laughed, but sobered, looking around the room. “Ffyfe, I’m sure you’re as curious as any human would have to be, but it would simplify things if you weren’t here. And Miss Trist, you could help Miss Greystone as well by strolling on the green.”
Lord Trevor accepted his orders remarkably well, but Althea looked around. “What’s going on? Is Clarissa in danger?”
Lord Trevor took her arm. “Truly, Miss Trist, it would be simplest if we left. I trust Lord Amleigh to take care of everything.”
Maria watched him coax Althea out of the room, and said, “He’ll go far.”
“Doubtless. Listen, Maria. The squire has mortgaged Hawkinville to Slade. More than mortgaged. He’s deep in debt to the man, and Slade plans to tear down most of the village to build a preposterous villa on the river. Of course Hawk has to stop him.”
“Of course, but— Ah, I see. Clarissa’s fortune. But why elope?”
“Because, according to Van’s letter, the squire is about to become Lord Deveril. Sorry,” he said, passing over the letter. “Read it yourself.”
Maria took it and read quickly. “He really thought she would reject him for the name?”
“And for the deceit of it all. It was more a case, I assume, of him not being willing to risk everything on the chance that she might. It’s the way Hawk’s mind has learned to work. Pinpoint the one thing that must or must not happen and work toward it, damn the incidentals.”
“Incidentals,” Maria muttered, scanning through the letter again. “Some of this is so cryptic!”
“Judiciously so,” said Mr. Delaney, whom she’d forgotten entirely, which was surprising, since he was a good-looking man with presence. “Con,” he said, “you should follow to assist Vandeimen. I’ll hold the fort here. Talking of things that must not happen, Clarissa must not marry Hawkinville without knowing the truth.”
Con nodded and strode out, and he must have narrowly missed colliding with Althea rushing in. “That Miss Weatherby says that Major Hawkinville’s father is now Lord Deveril! Lord Deveril!”
“We know,” said Maria with a sigh. “Sit down, Althea, and have some more tea.”
Therese Bellaire stood by the smithy, observing confusion on the village green and seething.
She’d been uneasy about that encounter with the heiress, though the girl had shown no sign of recognition. Her main concern, however, had been the relationship between the two. To her experienced eye it hadn’t looked like a man bewitching a silly young woman, but like a man bewitched.
By love. The greatest traitor of all the emotions.
The Hawk was supposed to remove the heiress and leave the old man in possession of the money! If he married the heiress there would be three lives between her and victory. Two accidental deaths could be arranged. Three, however, would be perilously suspicious, especially if she survived as Squire Hawkinville’s wealthy widow.
And now what was going on? One of the silly, nosy Weatherby sisters was flitting around in an ugly, over-ornamented bonnet. People were appearing from buildings like worms from bad apples.
Surely she’d seen Lord Vandeimen ride north out of the village. Not at a dangerous gallop, but with some urgency, and yet his wife’s carriage had not left.
Then two men rode to the inn at speed.
Lord Amleigh, she thought, and…
Nicholas?
Danger skittered down her spine, but excitement too. Ah, if he was here it would become a great game.
And perhaps she would have the chance of true revenge. There was his dull wife. And a child now, as well. She’d checked on him, and he rarely left their sides. What if they were here too?
She licked her lips. This was almost as good as a tender goat in her bed.
It would be so deliciously dangerous to go over to the other side of the green, to be close to the inn, where Nicholas might see her.
Would even Nicholas know her in this disguise?
She began to walk across the green, wondering whether she dared to go into the inn and seek a meeting to see if he would know her like this. If anyone would, he would. They had been so spicily intimate six years ago, when he had been so young, so tender. None other of her young conquests had been like him.
They had been so wickedly intimate two years ago, as well. Compelling him had added a delightful twist.
If she held his child captive, would he surrender again?
Fatally tempting, but too much so. It was time to be sensible if she was to have the life she wanted. She would have her fortune back, or as much as she could get, and escape.
As she neared the groups of people, she heard the name Deveril.
“Why, Miss Rowland,” said one of the Misses Weatherby. “Have you heard? Our dear squire has become Viscount Deveril! He has just received the news!”
“Amazing!” she said. “I must go and congratulate my cousin.”
Miss Weatherby’s scrawny face pinched. She and her sister had never quite believed the supposed connection. But then, both sisters were enamored of Squire Hawkinville in their pathetic, spinsterish way.
What would they think to know that Therese could have him at a snap of her fingers because she provided flattery, a clever mouth, and opium?
One of the inn’s grooms was out here, and he smiled his crooked-tooth grin. He was proof that she could still enslave men in this ugly guise. It was never entirely a matter of looks. So few women realized that.
Probably the poor man was bemused and guilty about the lustful urges he felt toward the drab foreign woman with the sick husband.
He sidled over. “Grand news, ain’t it, ma’am?”
“Wonderful.”
“And such a coming and going.” He was almost bursting with news.
“Yes?” she asked, as if he were clever and important.
“Here’s Lord and Lady Vandeimen at the inn with a party, visiting the village. And one of the young ladies has disappeared! Miss Weatherby,”—he tipped his head in the lady’s direction—“she says she saw the lass off with Major Hawkinville on a horse! And,” he added in a whisper, “now Lord Vandeimen
’s hurried off in a fine old mood. Known him since he was a lad, I have, and there’ll be blows before the night’s out, even if it is another George.”
Sometimes the English idioms escaped her. She ignored the last comment, but inside she was cursing.
Eloped. She’d feared as much.
“And here’s the other one arrived with a friend.”
Since the groom clearly had no more to say, she thanked him and hurried down to the manor. The new Lord Deveril was of no use to her anymore, but it was best not to drop a part. And he would be good for a few guineas.
When she left, it was with guineas, and confirmation that the Hawk was off to Scotland with the heiress.
She paused to look at the bucolic setting and the robust English peasantry still gossiping. Thank God she could escape this place. If only she could set fire to its smug prettiness before she went.
She might try if not for the wet weather. It had doubtless left the thatch too sodden to catch.
She had survived a perilous life by recognizing when to drop one plan and pick up another. She headed briskly for her home here.
She still had Lieutenant Rowland, and there was a chance of Nicholas’s child. All was not lost. Possibly, just possibly, she could have her money and Nicky on his knees begging before it ended.
Once Althea was calmed, Maria looked at Mr. Delaney. “You’re the leader of the Company of Rogues, aren’t you? I heard of you from Sarah Yeovil, and of course some more from Van.”
“Leader?” he said, looking strangely both relaxed and poised for action. “That was at Harrow. Now we’
re simply a group of friends.”
Maria glanced at Althea, wishing she could send her away again. Sensible Lord Trevor had not reappeared.
“But what connection is there between a group of school friends and Clarissa that leads to you giving Con a command? Ah, no, I’m sure you’d call it some friendly advice.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “The connection is Lord Arden,” he said, and it was fencing for the hell of it. “He’s a Rogue. His wife was one of Clarissa’s schoolteachers and is by way of being a friend and mentor now.”
“You Rogues are very willing to put yourselves out for each other, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Is that not the root of friendship?”
They were interrupted by Lord Trevor, carrying Hawk’s cat. “Lady Vandeimen? This cat’s hanging around and making a nuisance of itself. Someone said it was the major’s.”
“It belongs at the manor, I suppose…” But Maria remembered Van saying the squire’s dogs would eat it.
The cat leaped out of Lord Trevor’s arms and up onto the table to look around with what could only be described as severe annoyance. Maria sketched the rescue story for Delaney, and he laughed. “I’ll take her up to the Court and try to keep her there until Hawkinville returns. One certainty in all this is that he will return.”
He picked up the cat, and though still radiating grievance, she stayed in his arms. “What do you wish to do now, Lady Vandeimen? There is nothing you can accomplish here, I think.”
Maria sympathized with the cat’s feelings. “I am not one of your Rogues, Mr. Delaney.” Even so, she rose. “I see that I get the task of explaining to Clarissa’s chaperone that I have allowed her to be carried off to a clandestine marriage.”
He put on a look of mild alarm. “Definitely. I’m not going to take that news to Arabella Hurstman.”
“You know the lady, I see,” she said, pulling on her gloves.
“Oh, yes. I asked her to take care of Clarissa.” . “Nepotism!” gasped Althea, who was looking dazed.
He glanced at her. “Did she say that? She would. As it happens, she’s godmother to my daughter. Tell her that Arabel is nearby and will come to visit when this is straightened out—if she doesn’t eat anyone in the meantime.”
“Your child has cannibalistic tendencies, Mr. Delaney?”
He grinned. “More than likely. But I was referring to Miss Hurtsman. Don’t worry. This all seems high drama at the moment, but it will sort out readily enough with a little attention.”
“Indeed! What a shame you weren’t involved in the war.”
Though he scarcely twitched, it hit home, and she shepherded Althea out of the room regretting her sharp words. She was irritated at being excluded from the inside circle, however, and deeply worried about Van.
All had been delightful since their marriage, but it wasn’t that long since he’d tried to blow his brains out.
His estates were in no danger, and he had many reasons to live, but some of those reasons were rooted in Hawk in the Vale and the Georges.
What would happen if this caused a deep breach with Hawk?
They climbed into the waiting carriage, and Lord Trevor appeared, leading his horse, ready to escort them.
Such an excellent young man, and thank heavens he’d been spared both physically and mentally by the war.
Unlike Con. Con had left to follow Van, but she suddenly realized that Con could be put in a position of having to choose between two groups of friends.
She almost left the carriage, driven to stay here. But why? There was nothing she could do. Whatever happened would happen far from here, presumably on the road north. Could Hawk really outrace Van?
What would happen when Van caught them?
Van said that Con was the steady one, the one who had anchored them to prevent extremes. But the Con Somerford she had known in the past weeks did not strike her as rock solid, even with Susan and his new happiness.
Van said it was Waterloo, and the loss of his fellow Rogue, Dare Debenham, there.
Maria had known Dare. His mother, the Duchess of Yeovil, was a distant cousin. Dare had been a young man put on earth to make others smile, and Sarah Yeovil had not even begun to recover from his loss, especially as there had been no body to bury. It had taken months for her to accept that he was gone.