Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (20 page)

Thus resolved, she returned inside and finished exploring the room, noting with embarrassment that her meager gowns already hung in the wardrobe, obviously the work of a maid. Embarrassment turned to a sense of awe. A maid—taking care of her! Wait until she told Emma.

Shaking her head, she walked to the small, feminine-looking desk in the corner and gingerly perched herself on the delicate chair. After a brief hesitation, she pulled her cards from the pocket of her gown and stared at the silk-wrapped bundle, torn between her desire to read her own cards and trepidation at doing so.

She’d never before feared reading her own cards, but now she dreaded seeing something she didn’t want to. But she had to know…

After drawing a bracing breath, she unfolded the silk and, after shuffling and cutting the deck, slowly turned over the cards. When she finished, she stared. Then began to tremble.

It was all there…her cards nearly identical to the ones she’d dealt for Colin. They showed betrayal. Deceit. Death. All revolving around the dark-haired man—the same dark-haired man who’d figured so prominently in her cards for years. And at the center of it all, a dark-haired woman.

The fact that her reading so closely resembled Colin’s couldn’t be a mere coincidence. But the two questions the phenomena suggested made her heart pound in slow, hard thumps of dread. Was it possible that the danger surrounding Colin meant
he
was the intended victim at Lord Wexhall’s party?

And was it possible that
she
was the dark-haired woman?

After leaving Alexandra at the Wexhall town house in Victoria’s very capable hands, Colin arrived home and made his way to the drawing room, where he visited his secret stash of marzipan. He selected a piece that looked like a perfect miniature orange, then settled himself and his prize in his favorite wing chair. He was about to take his first bite when a knock sounded at the door.

Barely covering his irritation, he called out, “Come in, Ellis.”

The door opened, and Ellis entered. “Dr. Nathan is here, my lord. Are you at home?”

“Yes, are you at home?” came Nathan’s voice from just behind Ellis. The butler winced.

“I’m at home, Ellis, thank you.”

Nathan strode across the room and sat opposite him. He appeared about to speak, when he stilled, then sniffed the air. “I smell marzipan.”

“Yes, I’m certain you do.” He held his orange aloft, then with great relish, slowly bit it in half.

“I thought you said I’d finished the last piece.”

“I lied.”

“Where are they?”

“Heinous torture could not drag that information from me. Now, why are you here—again? I’ll be seeing you in an hour for dinner.”

“Several reasons. First, have you found the gift I brought you?”

“No—for which I feel suspiciously relieved. And what do you mean by ‘found’? Why not simply give it to me and be done with it?”

A crooked smile lifted one corner of Nathan’s mouth. “This way is more fun.”

“For you, yes. How will I know when I ‘find’ this gift?”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know.”

“Sadly, that’s just what I’m afraid of. What other reasons do you have for once again darkening my doorstep?”

“As you had a guest earlier, there was no opportunity for the private conversation I’d come to have, and I don’t want to risk being interrupted at Wexhall’s later this evening. A conversation I intend to have with you right after you tell me about this Madame Larchmont.”

Colin popped the other half of his marzipan into his mouth, then took his time chewing, keeping his expression carefully blank. After he swallowed, he asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“What makes you think there’s anything to tell?”

“The fact that you kissed her is a fairly good indication.”

Bloody hell. Why did his brother have to be so damnably observant? “What makes you think I kissed her?”

“Being an excellent kisser myself—according to my wife—I know the look of a well-kissed woman. It was a look Madame Larchmont wore like a red banner. Since you’re clearly not going to volunteer any information, I’m forced to ask. Is she a widow, or merely pretending to be married?”

“What makes you think she isn’t married?”

“Because I know you. You’re not the sort of man who would trifle with another man’s wife.”

Damn it, the way Nathan always thought the best of him, never doubted his honor or integrity, humbled him.

“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” he said quietly. “God knows it’s far more than I deserve.”

“If you say that one more time, I swear I’m going to start pelting you with eggs again,” Nathan said mildly. “So, which is it—widow or pretending to be married?”

“Pretending.”

Nathan nodded. “The illusion of a husband would offer her a measure of safety, security, and freedom she’d not have as an unmarried or even widowed woman. She’s clearly very intelligent.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And obviously enamored of you. Feelings it’s clear to me, who knows you so well, are reciprocated.”

A blindfold. That’s what he needed to give his far-too-observant brother. A bloody blindfold. “I can’t deny I find her attractive.”

“I suspect it’s a bit more involved than that, which does not mesh well with your bride-finding plans.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So, do you wish to tell me all about her, or would you rather begin by explaining the reasons behind your sudden decision to get married?”

“I thought we’d agreed to have this conversation tomorrow over breakfast.”

“We did. But as we have the privacy to do so now, let’s.”

As his own feelings regarding Alexandra were so conflicted, he opted to postpone discussing her as long as possible. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and told Nathan everything—the recurring nightmare where he was trapped in a dark, narrow space, knowing death was near. The growing sense of doom, of time running out, and the gut-level yet inexplicable knowledge that something bad was going to happen to him.

Nathan listened intently and, when he finished, asked, “How are these feelings now that you’re here in London?”

“Stronger. But that could merely be the result of my visits to unsafe areas while following Madame Larchmont.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I’m hoping this is just some aberration brought on by the fact that I’m now the same age Mother was when she died.”

“And you think the same fate of dying young awaits you?”

“It’s not something I ever dwelled on, but once the nightmares started, I thought of the age similarity, and now, ridiculous as it seems, I cannot get the thought out of my mind.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” Nathan said. “Indeed, it’s a phenomenon I’ve seen in several patients. The fear of death manifests itself as one approaches the age at which they lost a parent or sibling or loved one, and, unfortunately, the anxiety doesn’t fully dissipate until the next birthday.

“With you, however,” he continued, “given how finely tuned I know your instincts to be, I’m very much inclined to believe that your feelings of impending danger are correct. The question is what sort of danger? Actual physical danger? Or something more benign?”

“Such as?”

Nathan shrugged. “Given your search for a wife, perhaps you are in danger of suffering a broken heart.”

“Extremely doubtful, as I’m not planning to make a love match.”

“As someone whose own recently unplanned plunge into love caught him totally unawares, I feel the need to caution you that when the heart is involved, plans invariably…go astray.”

Nathan’s words unsettled him in a way he refused to examine too closely, and unable to sit still any longer, he rose and paced the length of the hearth rug. “The nightmare revolves around physical danger, and that’s what my instincts are warning me of.”

“It’s also what your card reading today indicated, and from what I gather, your two previous readings as well.”

A frown pulled down his brows. “Yes. I have to admit that I’d lent little credence to Madame Larchmont’s predictions before, but clearly what she told you was accurate.”

“Eerily so. Had you told her anything about the events of four years ago?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Which only makes what she told me all the more eerie.”

“While I’m at a loss to explain or understand this talent she possesses, I can no longer dismiss her predictions, especially as they so closely mirror my own sense of danger…” His words trailed off and he halted as a thought occurred to him. He looked at Nathan. “I wonder…”

“What?” Nathan asked.

“Given the previous attack on Wexhall, we agree he could be the intended victim. But consider that I’ve sensed danger for myself and the eerily correct Madame Larchmont has predicted the same. Add that she’s heard of a plot in which a person of some note, as a peer could be described, is to be killed. This crime is to take place at the home of the man to whom I used to report, at a party I’m scheduled to attend. Then add that I’m acquainted with every name on the list of people who were in the vicinity when Madame heard the voice last night. Is all that merely coincidence?”

Nathan sat forward in his chair. “I’m not a big believer in coincidences.”

“Nor am I.”

“You’re thinking
you
might be the target at Wexhall’s party.”

“I think it’s possible, yes. Don’t you?”

“Hearing all those coincidences tells me it’s a theory that cannot be dismissed out of hand. But why would anyone want you dead?”

“Surely, given what happened to you only nine short months ago, you don’t need to ask.”

He stared at his brother and watched the realization dawn in Nathan’s eyes. “You think something—or someone—in your past has come back to haunt you.”

“The sort of activities I performed for the Crown weren’t those that would endear me to everyone,” Colin said.

“Do you have any theories?”

“Not yet, as I’ve barely had a chance to think upon it.”

“Any reason why anyone written on that list you gave me might want to see you dead?”

“I’m not certain. What was Wexhall’s reaction when you showed him the list?”

“I haven’t yet. He’s been out.”

Colin crossed to his desk and retrieved the piece of ivory vellum where he’d written the names Alexandra had dictated. Running his gaze down the list, he said, “In recent years I’ve bested Barnes at the faro table, politely turned down the offer of a liaison from Carver’s wife, engaged in a liaison with Mallory’s widowed daughter, and decided against purchasing a painting from Surringham. Ralstrom, Whitemore, and I attended the races two years ago, and I cleaned them out. Most recently I dashed Lady Whitemore’s wishes for me to marry her daughter, Lady Alicia. Lady Miranda and Lady Margaret both seem pleasant and interested in me. I’ve only just been introduced to Jennsen.”

“None of that sounds particularly threatening.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ll continue to think on it. Perhaps something else will occur to me. And perhaps Wexhall will be able to shed some light on it.”

Nathan nodded. “Rest assured that if you are indeed the target, Wexhall and I will do everything in our power to ensure that no harm befalls you.”

“Thank you. Or befalls Madame Larchmont.”

“Yes.” Nathan’s gaze turned questioning. “Are you ready to tell me about her?”

“What precisely do you want to know?”

“Everything. Or at least whatever you’re willing to tell me. How did you meet?”

Colin hesitated, then said, “We were introduced at Malloran’s soiree.” Perfectly true, yet so misleading, his conscience slapped him.

Nathan’s brows rose. “Which only leaves me more curious. ’Tis clear she’s important to you, yet you’ve only known her mere days.”

“Says a man who
proposed
to a woman he’d known little more than a week.”

“Untrue. As you well know, I met Victoria years earlier here in London.”

“Yes. On
one
occasion. And then didn’t see her again for three years.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair, the similarities between his situation and Nathan’s not lost on him. “And as it just so happens, I met Madame Larchmont on that very same trip to London and didn’t see her again until the Malloran soiree.”

“I thought you said you were just introduced.”

“We were. We were not introduced four years ago.”

“Ah. You merely admired her from afar?”

“Something like that.”

“Then that trip to London was fateful indeed. For both of us. Where did you see her?”

He set his hands on the mantel, gripped the cool white marble, and stared into the glowing embers of the fire. “Vauxhall.”

After a long silence, Nathan asked, “She was telling fortunes?”

He continued to stare into the fire, then finally turned to face Nathan. “No. I caught her picking my pocket.”

Suddenly weary, he sat, resting his elbows on his spread knees and clasped his hands. “I caught her in the act, but only because of my familiarity with the skill. She was good. Very nearly relieved me of Grandfather’s gold watch. It was quite a shock to see her in Malloran’s drawing room.”

“You remembered her?”

“Vividly.” He explained how she’d seemed to recognize him, how he’d searched for her, his initial suspicions when he’d first seen her at the Malloran soiree
and therefore didn’t let on he’d recognized her, then what he’d discovered upon searching her rooms.

“These children she helps,” he concluded, “I imagine they are living the same sort of life she experienced as a child.”

“Has she told you about her childhood?”

“No. And I haven’t asked. Yet. But I have no doubt it was grim.” His stomach clenched with both pity and anger on her behalf at the horrors she must have faced.

“Do you believe her fortune-telling is merely a ruse to gain access to the homes of the wealthy?” Nathan asked quietly.

“No,” he said without hesitation. “I admit I thought it possible at first, but I don’t believe it of the woman who helps those children.”

“She could be all the more helpful to them using ill-gotten gains stolen at all these fancy soirees.”

“True. But I still don’t believe it.”