Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (15 page)

“No need. It is perfectly true. But she must be protected also. Therefore I must go on looking. And while I am searching, Ashmoore can see to your safety as I cannot.”

“Because you will be hunting for your lady love.”

“Because he is the best man for the job.” He sounded as if he believed it, but the admission caused him pain.

“But if I am not out in public, he has no need to protect me.”

“He will protect you at home as well.” Northwick delivered his edict with no emotion whatsoever.

“In my home? Absolutely not!” The last thing she needed was an audience making her father nervous. The man deserved his peace. “What reason could I possibly give my father?”

“The truth. Your father will appreciate the truth. And he will appreciate the fact that his daughter is well looked after.” Northwick knocked on the carriage wall and they started moving again. “I think we should shop somewhere cheerful this morning. Madame Bouchard’s?”

The light tone in his voice was a bit forced. She had embarrassed him in front of his friend. He could be no happier to proceed on their morning excursion than she was.

“I have no need of the latest fashions, Lord Northwick.” She hoped he would adopt the excuse and turn the carriage ‘round, but she knew, the moment he was out of her sight once again, she would be wishing him back.

“Ah, my lady, but you do.” Ashmoore sat forward. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me to a small dinner party Saturday evening? At the home of our friend, The Viscount Forsgreen?”

A laugh bubbled up from some forgotten sunny corner and she relaxed instantly. “You mean the famous
Viscount F?”

“
The very same. He is determined to show his fiancée that he is capable of domestic tranquility. But we all fear he cannot do so without help.”

“You are quite the band of brothers, are you not?”

“We are.”

“Are we?” Northwick interjected. “I have yet to hear of this intimate dinner party.”

Ashmoore straightened. “But of course not, North. Even
Viscount F
does not know about it yet.” He turned back to Livvy and dug her hand out from beneath the blanket to enclose it between both of his own. “But if I am to help introduce this young lady back into society, I had best get started.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but the earl held tight. Finally, she glanced at Northwick to see how he was reacting to his friend turning so...friendly with her. But the man was back to looking out the window. His strong jaw flexed beneath his clean-shaven skin. Was he thinking about her father’s comments? Ashmoore’s teasing? Or the fact that his friend was holding her hand?

She flattered herself to even imagine it; he was thinking about that writer woman. He was in love, enthralled! And for all her trying, she could not seem to take consolation in the fact that his writer woman was she!

As for Ashmoore, the man seemed satisfied enough to let her hand slip free after a moment or two, then he sat back with a wink. For a man who seemed naturally inclined to wear a scowl, he had certainly found their ride entertaining. Either he reveled in his friend’s discomfort—which could not be true of such dear friends—or he was not right in the head.

She looked into his eyes, searching for some sign of lunacy, even though she had no idea what those signs might resemble. He stared back, unflinching.

Northwick growled. Ashmoore laughed in response.

Heaven help her. She was penned inside a carriage with a pair of mad men.

North had enjoyed a fine night’s sleep, which was a miracle considering he had planned to hand his Plumiere into Ashmoore’s hands that morning. At the last moment he had weakened and caught her in the doorway, waiting for some miracle to present itself. But obviously he had used his miracle allotment for the week.

Livvy needed protection and he wanted her as safe as possible. A second-hand body guard who might succumb to a dark oblivion in the midst of a fight, was no protection at all. So it was a lucky turn of fate that there was no other woman out there in need of protecting. Ashmoore was performing double duty and he was not even aware of it.

Again, it would be much simpler to confess his knowledge to them both so he might end the pretense, but deep in his soul he felt it imperative that he win her heart first. That feat would now be doubly difficult to accomplish after placing her in the care of someone else, so he had to resign himself; he needed to wait to woo her after the threats were negated.

Surely he had the fortitude to hold off.

After what she’d revealed about Gordon, there was no doubt in his mind her former fiancé would be slinking back into town at any moment, anticipating the unmasking of The Scarlet Plumiere. Marquardt was less of a worry. The man had been accused of murder and fled. Eliminating The Scarlet Plumiere would do nothing to recover his reputation and might even worsen it.

Gordon was the enemy on the horizon. But from which horizon would he come? All roads led to London. He could arrive from any direction. And what of the menace the woman faced in the city? What a fool he had been not to recognize the threat she faced from those gentlemen who had shown up for the lottery, men whose secrets were still well hidden, but who felt the need to protect them.

Best for her to be protected at all times, and by someone capable of doing so. He was hardly a candidate. Of course he held his own on the Peninsula, but he hadn’t been able to save himself in the end, had he? He’d survived his ordeal only because his friends were too stubborn to give up the search. And when Ashmoore had found him, even in his defeated state, he had been able to rise to the occasion and take his revenge before collapsing. The journey home was a fuzzy memory of waking to excruciating pain when his back had been tended. But gratefully, losing consciousness was a talent he had honed.

What if that talent should come to the fore while defending Livvy? What if a blow from Gordon, or another, brought on those memories that turned his mind black, made his blood still in his veins while he waited for the memory to pass? What might Gordon do to Livvy in the meantime?

No. He would never be able to trust himself to be her only protection. And if North should suddenly take up residence in her home along with Ashmoore? Who among the readers of The Journal would fail to assume she was The Scarlet Plumiere?

And therein lay another threat. Ashmoore would send his carriage home each evening, but if it was discovered the man was residing in Telford’s home, after taking her about on his arm a few times, there would be a new scandal—a scandal that might end in the two needing to marry!

Good lord! What had he done? It was no better a plan than the lottery had been!

The carriage ride was a new kind of torture. Staring at the window, trying to discern the reflections of his shopping companions and what might be going on between them, did nothing but strain his eyes. After the pair stared at each other for a ridiculous amount of time, he was unable to stifle a growl, but a moment later, Livvy’s head had turned toward her window and remained there until they arrived. If she had not, he might have been forced to stop the carriage and get out.

Ash was begging for a good fight, it seemed. And if he did not stop poking at North, deliberately trying to make him jealous, the man would likely go home with a black eye or a towel to his nose.

Damn the man for knowing him so well.

And Miss Reynolds was far from innocent in the matter. What the devil had she been thinking, giving Ash one of those looks? Did she have no idea what affect she might have on a man? And just how had she affected Ash anyhow? Had their little moment resembled the one in her garden, where he had so lost himself in the wonderful depths of her deep brown eyes that he had forgotten his purpose?

Well, he would just make damned sure the dark earl kept that purpose foremost in his mind.

North was the first to exit the carriage and stood to one side to hand out Stella, but when he turned a hand back to Livvy, Ash already had her firmly in his grasp.

The woman looked at his friend and blushed.

What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?

North turned and pretended not to care, but thought he heard a mild snort from his friend. Perhaps both a bleeding nose and a black eye would be in order before the morning shopping was concluded. Or better yet, directly after.

“Ash,” he called over his shoulder as the man led his would-be wife up the steps.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you might like to head ‘round to Jackson’s after lunch.”

“I am not surprised in the least. I am all for it of course.”

“Excellent.”

On the top step, Livvy paused.

“That is where you gentlemen go to fight, is it not?”

“It is,” Ash said with a grin.

“Ridiculous.” She mumbled a few other things on her way inside, but one look at Ash told him his friend had not understood a word either.

***

Livvy was relieved to step back onto female territory and leave the fighting dogs to follow—or not.

“Oh, Miss Reynolds!” Madame Bouchard, Roxelle, set aside her usually professional demeanor and hurried forward to give Livvy a hug. "Lord Northwick, when you asked for a bit of privacy ziss morning, you should have told me it was for Our Livvy. I thought you were bringing in zee Scarlet Plumiere with all your concern for her privacy. I told no one, of course. No use having a mob waiting outside when you leave,
n’est ce pas?
If I had let slip one word about you bringing a woman for a fitting ziss morning, people would be assuming Our Livvy was the famous writer! Can you imagine the danger to her?”

“I can indeed. I thank you for making special arrangements this morning. Our Miss Reynolds’ safety is our foremost concern at the moment. Is it not, Ashmoore?”

Ashmoore stepped forward. "It is, Madame. We are all most grateful.”

“May I introduce Lord Ashmoore, Madame? Ashmoore, Madame Bouchard.”

The seamstress practically placed the back of her hand against the taller man’s lips before he could catch it. "
Enchanté
,” she whispered.

“
Y moi,
Madame.”

“Roxelle, I was only informed moments ago we would be coming to you.” Livvy drew her friend’s attention away from Ashmoore before the woman could do anything embarrassing—for instance, sitting on the man’s lap before he could find a seat.

The seamstress came to the townhouse every year when she and her father returned from the country, to make sure Livvy was at least presentable enough to run into the street if the house caught on fire. Their yearly appointment would have come in a few weeks, after the rest of the ton had the bulk of their new wardrobes in their clutches and out of Roxelle’s hands. The woman gave Livvy all the glorious details, of course, so she could almost imagine what the dance floors would look like even if she never attended the parties. Those tidbits, along with the notes she received from Lady Malbury almost daily, left her well supplied with information for her articles. With ease, she could convince her readers that she had attended the events, that The Scarlet Plumiere was an active member of the
ton.

“Oh, Livvy, my dear. I am so happy to see you away from zat dreadful house.”

“Roxelle!”

“You know what I mean, of course. Dreadful only because you never escape.”

“Yes, well, we have liberated her now.” Northwick gave Ashmoore a pointed look.

Ashmoore shook himself and took a deep breath, and she would be damned if he did not become someone else altogether. His face lightened, his brows rose, and she got a glimpse of those bright white teeth yet again.

“I am very pleased
Our Livvy
has agreed to let me escort her about the city for more than just shopping.”

Roxelle’s eyes nearly popped from her face, then she put an arm around Livvy’s shoulders.

“You must be very careful with Our Livvy, monsieur. She must not be a victim of scandal again.”

“I will see to it, Madame. But the only scandal endangering her at the moment is a lack of wardrobe for the new Season, is it not?”

Roxelle clapped her hands and the curtains parted. A model emerged, her attention on the ground.

“It is quite alright, Michelle. He did not bring zee Scarlet Plumiere. You need not avert your eyes.”

The girl looked up and curtsied, but did not smile.

“She would have averted her eyes for The Scarlet Plumiere? I do not understand,” Northwick said.

“
Oui,
monsieur. No woman in London would willingly give away the identity of zee Scarlet Plumiere. She saves us all by holding the gentlemen of the city to a high standard
, mais non?
”

“But of course.” Northwick inclined his head. "That makes us the enemy then, does it not?”

Roxelle grinned and curtsied. "Of course, my lord, but I will be happy to take your money without prejudice.”

“I will be spending my own money today, Roxelle, no matter what these gentlemen have to say on the matter.

“But of course.” The woman winked at Ashmoore.

Ashmoore turned and winked at Livvy.

What was the man thinking? If he was not careful, Roxelle would believe... Ah. So that was the game. Well, a good game took at least two players and Livvy refused to be dealt out.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” But she was not talking about the clothes.