Nicole Jordan (26 page)

“No, I do not want Deverill for my husband,” she said, pleased with the conviction in her voice.

“Very well,” Isabella replied as if making a royal pronouncement. “You shan’t have to wed him if you don’t wish to.”

Antonia gave a sigh of relief and forcibly ignored the odd twinge of disappointment she felt at having escaped the prospect of marrying Deverill. “I would also be grateful if you will allow me to take refuge here for a time, my lady.”

“Pray address me as Isabella. And of course you must stay. It will be a delight to have you.”

“If events go as arranged, my companion, Miss Tottle, should arrive in a few days.”

“She is welcome here as well.
You,
Mr. Deverill, are not,” Isabella said, turning to him. “Since you are not betrothed, it will be better for appearances if you stay at an inn. There is an adequate one in the village and a better one in St. Mawes.”

Deverill’s first inclination was one of protest. He was amused that the two ladies had united against him, yet also felt strangely dissatisfied. Noting that Antonia’s expression was both hopeful and wary as she awaited his answer, Deverill mentally shook his head in wonder. Any other woman would be elated by a proposal of marriage from him. But of course Antonia was not any other woman. She truly didn’t wish to marry him.

And he couldn’t force her acceptance. So that was the end of the matter.

He had offered; she had refused. Honor was satisfied.

He should be pleased to have eluded the chains of matrimony. So why did he feel so damned discontented with the outcome?

The realization startled Deverill; a part of him had actually anticipated with pleasure wedding Antonia. But it was the potential bride herself who had incited his conflicting urges.

He met her gaze, remembering the sweet taste of her, the delicious feel of her ripe breasts straining for his touch. . . . Even now the memory affected him.

More dangerous than her allure, however, were the tender emotions Antonia made him feel. Tenderness and affection were complications he didn’t want, couldn’t afford.

It was fortunate he no longer had any claim on Antonia as her future husband, for he needed to put some distance between them if he wanted to vanquish his lust and avoid any further emotional entanglements. His billeting at a local inn would be advantageous. . . .

Stifling the perverse urge to argue further, Deverill inclined his head in a brief bow. “As you wish, Lady Isabella. I will hire rooms at a nearby inn. And you, Antonia, will be pleased to know that you have won. I hereby officially withdraw my suit.”

Antonia’s look of relief was almost insulting. Deverill found his thoughts so occupied with her response, it was a moment before he realized that the countess had changed the subject and was asking him about his plans for the next few weeks—when he meant to return to London, and what he intended to do in the interval.

“I’ll go as soon as I have evidence linking Heward to either murder,” Deverill said. “I want Antonia to remain here until he’s incarcerated. His rank will make arresting him extremely difficult, and it will doubtless take time to secure all the proof we need.”

He didn’t add that the Guardians could employ quicker, more effective methods if necessary to ensure that justice triumphed. Isabella was aware of the order’s existence, as well as their noble purpose, since many years ago she and her distinguished father, a Spanish statesman, had been granted asylum on Cyrene from persecution by the Spanish government. And just last year, Isabella had been rescued by the Guardians from captivity in Barbary.

But Antonia knew nothing of the Guardians, and Deverill had sworn a solemn oath to keep their league secret.

As expected, however, Antonia wasn’t willing to sit by meekly while the issue was discussed. “Then how will you gather evidence?” she asked.

“Our best hope,” Deverill replied, “is to compel Heward to make an admission of guilt. It’s likely we will have to devise a trap to lure him into revealing his crimes.”

Isabella spoke up, her tone indignant once more. “It is outrageous that you could even be
considered
a suspect for murder. Does Sir Gawain know of this travesty?”

“He should be in London by next week for a special visit, and Beau Macklin will inform him how events stand.”

Antonia gave Deverill a curious look. “Sir Gawain Olwen?”

“Yes.”

“He was a longtime friend of my father’s. But why would he need to be informed of the charges against you?”

“I perform some work for him from time to time,” Deverill hedged.

“Sir Gawain,” Isabella added, “commands a small, elite department of the British Foreign Office on Cyrene.”

Antonia’s eyes narrowed at Deverill in speculation. “You never told me you worked for the Foreign Office, but I suppose it doesn’t surprise me. Can Sir Gawain help you?”

“I trust so. He has more powerful connections than anyone else of my acquaintance.”

From the first, Deverill had intended to secure the assistance of the Guardians’ leader. Sir Gawain had numerous confederates in the highest echelons of the British government, including the Foreign Secretary, who owed their allegiance if not their very lives to the order—and who, if asked, would champion any of the Guardians. “But I also plan to write the Foreign Office at once and engage the support of the Foreign Undersecretary.”

Lord Wittington was the chief governmental contact for the Guardians. The undersecretary knew Deverill well and would vouch for him when he returned to London. Although perhaps not powerful enough to keep him out of prison, Wittington would at least see that Deverill’s case was fairly investigated.

“Meanwhile,” he continued, “there are several people in London carrying out my orders. Macky will send me regular reports on their progress, and once we have enough information, I will return to implement the remainder of the plan myself.”

“But how do you intend to exonerate yourself?” Isabella asked.

“Yes, how?” Antonia seconded.

“Macky is to concentrate on Madam Bruno, the owner of the club where the murder occurred, and discover why she claimed that I killed her employee when it was a bald lie. She insisted I was guilty, but without her accusation, the evidence against me is circumstantial. I hope to convince her to recant her story.”

Isabella looked thoughtful. “What of Venus? Is it possible that she can aid you?”

“I’ve already thought of that. We will utilize Venus to discover what she can about the baron’s personal life.”

“Who is Venus?” Antonia asked.

“The madam of another sin club.” He didn’t add that Venus was in debt to the Guardians for recently sparing her imprisonment for treason, or that she had agreed to work on their behalf in an effort to redeem herself.

“Very well,” Isabella said, apparently satisfied for the moment. “You will let me know what I may do to help, Deverill.”

“At present, things are well in hand. If you will see to Antonia’s comfort . . .”

“But of course.” Isabella’s sparkling black eyes turned to survey her guest. “You will need a new wardrobe at once, my dear. Our social circles are small, but there are regular assemblies and balls at Falmouth and St. Mawes. You, Deverill, must make yourself available to escort us.”

Antonia shook her head. “Entertaining me will not be necessary, Isabella. I am not here to socialize, although I would appreciate finding a dressmaker.”

“It is indeed necessary. We must keep up appearances so that no one believes you have run away from London helter-skelter. Then when you return home, you will have numerous witnesses here who can account for your whereabouts, who will observe you with me and in the presence of your chaperone . . . Miss Tottle, did you say her name was?”

“Yes. Miss Mildred Tottle.”

“It will also clearly benefit Deverill to be seen in
your
company, for it will show the world that you do not believe him to be a murderer. As for you, Deverill, how do you mean to remain occupied?”

Deverill hesitated. He was already battling frustration at being unable to confront his adversary immediately. There were, however, two Guardians residing in the vicinity, and he planned to offer them his services. And Sir Gawain would perhaps assign him a local mission or two to keep him occupied until he could return to London.

“I have some potential avenues to pursue. You needn’t worry about me, Bella.”

Isabella eyed him with sudden deliberation. “Truthfully, I am glad you have come, Deverill. There have been several killings here recently. Murders, actually. Some of our local smugglers have had their contraband stolen and their throats cut. It is beyond outrageous, for they are merely fishermen who are trying to supplement their meager incomes by selling goods to those wishing to avoid exorbitant taxation. Smuggling is illegal, of course, but they do not deserve to die for such a minor offense! It seems fortuitous that you arrived just at this moment, for I imagine you can be of great assistance. My brother by marriage, Sir Crispin Kenard, is the local magistrate. It is his wife Clara whom I have come to keep company for her lying-in. I will ask Sir Crispin to call on you to discuss the matter, if you are amenable.”

“Yes, of course, I would be happy to oblige.”

“Excellent! Now then, you may take yourself off and leave me to see to Antonia.”

With a wry grin at his summary dismissal, Deverill rose to his feet and bowed to both ladies. “I am leaving you in good hands, princess. Take care to stay out of trouble.”

Antonia didn’t respond to his baiting, but looked a bit dissatisfied as she rose also. “Might I have a private word with you, Deverill?”

When he agreed warily, she followed him across the drawing room to the door.

“You must hurry back, Antonia,” Isabella called after her. “We should see to your hands without delay. I have a superb lotion for burns. If you wrap your hands in kidskin gloves, they will heal in a trice.”

Once in the corridor, Deverill turned to glance down at her. “What is so urgent, love?”

“I want to help you, Deverill,” Antonia answered in a low voice. “I
need
to help. I will go mad here with nothing to do but attend assemblies.”

The passion in her entreaty struck a chord in him. She was clearly her father’s daughter, putting her all into whatever she attempted, and she would not be content to sit idly by, any more than he himself was. But it was her pleading look that brought a strange jolt to his heart. Her bright eyes would be his undoing, Deverill feared.

Before he could reply, Antonia went on hurriedly, as if she had already put some thought into the matter of helping him. “I can write Phineas Cochrane and explain the trouble you are in. As a respected barrister, he has numerous connections in the courts who could be influential on your behalf. And I need to contact him in any case, since he will worry for me. I must reassure him that I am well, so he won’t be alarmed by my sudden absence. He also should be warned about Lord Heward so he can act to protect Maitland Shipping. I may be safe from Heward, but my father’s legacy is not. Phineas oversees my fortune in trust until either I turn twenty-five or marry, but Heward is intimately involved in running the company.”

Deverill hesitated, debating. “I’m not sure it is wise to bring your trustee into it. The fewer people who know about Heward, the better, since a careless word could give him advance warning and allow him the opportunity to escape retribution.”

“Deverill, Phineas is my godfather. He can be trusted to remain circumspect, I would stake my life on it. And he may be able to help you to turn Trant and Heward against each other, as you hoped.
Please,
Deverill, don’t deny me the chance to play a small role in apprehending my father’s murderer and in helping you. I feel responsible for the trouble you’re facing, and I could never live with myself if you came to grief simply because you defended me.”

“Very well,” Deverill said with reluctance. “I will write my own letter to Cochrane to supplement yours and send both missives with Captain Lloyd when he sails for London tomorrow.”

Antonia smiled up at him, a smile that Deverill swore made his heart stop beating.

“Will I see you again this evening?” she asked.

“No, I’ll dispatch a servant to collect your letter.” Unable to help himself, he reached up to touch her cheek, then jerked back, feeling the scorching heat at that simple contact. “I think it best if we part for a time. You’re too much temptation, vixen. Since we’re not to wed, I will have to force myself to keep my hands off you.”

It gave him a slight measure of satisfaction when he left Antonia standing there, gazing after him, a wistful look in her blue eyes that was almost one of disappointment.

Eleven

The local gentry proved eager to welcome Antonia into their midst, for the appearance of a London heiress in their quiet corner of the world was exciting news.

At first Antonia feared she might be imposing on the countess, but Lady Isabella professed delight for her company and the chance to introduce a new guest to society, promising a round of assemblies and suppers and balls to rival the ton’s. They engaged a modiste from Falmouth to quickly make up a ball gown and several dinner gowns. And when Miss Tottle arrived from London two days later with a trunkful of Antonia’s clothing, she was better prepared to play the role of visiting debutante.