Scandal

Chapter 14

The fireworks that lit up the sky above Vauxhall Gardens were a serious distraction, not only for Lizzie, but also for Emily. She had never seen such a display and inspite of her concerns she kept pausing to look up at each colorful flash. Cascades of light showered down from the heavens, the loud hissing explosions partially drowning out the crescendos of the energetic orchestra and the cheers of the crowds.

It was a thrilling spectacle and Emily would have been thoroughly captivated if she had not had far more important matters on her hands.

"Lord love us, ma'am, I never saw anything like this back in Little Dippington." Lizzie gazed in awe as another display of fire and light lit the night sky.

"Yes, I know, Lizzie. It is quite wonderful, but we must not linger. We must find the Dark Walk."

" Tis way off at the far end of the grounds, ma'am," Lizzie said promptly. "Very dark and narrow it is, too, not like the one we're on now. Surrounded by trees and bushes, it is. Young ladies have been known to be carried off the walk, straight into the woods and ravished."

Emily shot her maid a suspicious glance. "How would you know about the Dark Walk, Lizzie?"

"George the footman took me there the night you went to the Northcotes' ball," Lizzie confided with a cheerful grin. "Bought me ice cream, he did."

"I see." Emily clutched her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and tried to sound stern but she could not help feeling a bit envious of her maid. The thought of eating ice cream and promenading down the Dark Walk with Simon was enough to revive all her natural romantic impulses. "Then you will be able to show me how to find the walk."

"This way, ma'am."

Lizzie skipped off into the shadows. Emily followed, glancing around uneasily. The farther she and her maid got from the main promenades, the fewer lanterns were about to light their path. Giggles, small, feminine yelps, and masculine laughter drifted out from the woods that lined the paths.

Eventually Emily and Lizzie reached the narrow, tree-bordered Dark Walk. Here and there couples strolled, lost in a world of their own. One young man on the path ahead of Emily bent his head and said something into his girl's ear. She giggled, glanced back and forth along the path, and then followed her escort into the undergrowth. The couple promptly disappeared.

"Just like I told you, ma'am. Ravishers is hovering everywhere waitin' to prey on innocent young females," Lizzie whispered in an excited voice.

"Stay close to me, Lizzie. We don't want you being snatched. Where would I find another maid as skilled as you?"

"True enough, I suppose."

There was no one else in sight now. Emily looked about and saw only the night-shrouded woods. Involuntarily she moved closer to her maid.

"Do not forget to show your fan, ma'am," Lizzie said, sounding a bit more subdued now as they found themselves alone on the Dark Walk. "George particularly said you was to bring it. He said that's how this professional villain would recognize you."

"Oh, yes. The fan." Emily hastily unfurled the white fan with the elegant dragon motif on it. She waved it about industriously. "I do hope George knew what he was doing when he hired this person from the criminal class."

"No offense, ma'am, but I hope you know what you're doing. This is a strange business we're at here, if you don't mind my sayin' so."

"Do not be impertinent, Lizzie." But the truth was, Emily was beginning to agree with her. The plan had seemed perfect when she had drafted it in the safety of her own bedchamber but now she admitted to herself she was having a few qualms. She really did not know all that much about dealing with professional villains. A sudden movement on the path ahead startled her.

"Bloody hell." Emily bit back a small shriek when a young urchin suddenly dashed out of the woods and came to a halt directly in front of her. Lizzie gave a scream of fright and clutched at Emily's arm.

"You be the lady with the white fan?" the lad demanded.

"Yes," Emily said, trying to calm her racing pulse. "Who are you?"

"No matter. Yer to go straight into them bushes. Alone." The boy looked meaningfully at Lizzie.

"What about me?" Lizzie asked fearfully.

"Yer to stay right there and wait for yer mistress to come back," the boy told her brusquely. Then he whirled and dashed off. In a few seconds he had vanished back into the woods.

Lizzie looked plaintively at Emily. "I do not want to be staying here all alone, ma'am."

"Calm yourself, Lizzie. You will be quite all right. Stay right here in the center of the path."

"But, ma'am…"

"You must be brave, Lizzie." Emily patted her maid's arm reassuringly and straightened her shoulders. She wished there was someone around to reassure her.

It took courage to step off the walk into the shadowy woods. The darkness thickened immediately as drooping branches closed in around her. Emily held her fan in front of her as if it were a talisman and peered sharply into the heavy undergrowth. She could not help remembering what her maid had told her earlier about ravishers lurking in these woods.

When the deep, rasping, masculine voice came softly from behind a large tree on her right, Emily jumped several inches.

"You be the lady what's wantin' to hire herself a kidnapper?"

Emily swallowed, aware that her palms were suddenly damp. "That is correct. You, I assume, are the, uh, professional villain seeking employment?"

"Depends what exactly yer wants done."

"Nothing terribly difficult," Emily assured the rasping voice. "A little matter of kidnapping, as my footman no doubt told you. There is a gentleman whom I would like to have removed from town for a few days. I do not want him hurt, you understand, but merely held in a safe place for, oh, say five days. Can you do that?"

"It'll cost yer plenty."

Emily relaxed a bit. This was familiar territory. Apparently business deals in the criminal world were similar to those conducted in the ton. "I understand. I am prepared to pay a reasonable sum, naturally. But before you tell me your price, let me be clear that there really is no danger attached to this job. A very simple matter, really."

"Why five days?"

"I beg your pardon?" Emily frowned.

"Why d'ya want this gentry cove to disappear for five days?" the rasping voice repeated, sounding impatient.

"Not that it is any of your business," Emily said curtly, "but that is approximately how long I imagine it will take to clear up the problem here in town. When things are settled here, it will be safe for Charles—that is, for the gentry cove—to return to his lodgings."

"Yer just a female. How do you plan to fix matters here for the cove? Or do yer intend to hire me fer that part, too?"

"Oh, no, I shall not be needing your services to handle the main problem," Emily explained breezily. "My husband will be taking over soon. He will see to the details of settling

the issue. When that is done, you may release my bro—er, the gentry cove."

There was a distinct pause from the other side of the tree. When the rasping voice spoke again, it sounded somewhat baffled. "Yer husband is going to settle things?"

"Of course."

"If that be so, why the devil ain't 'e 'ere tonight? Why ain't he arrangin' the snatch?"

Emily cleared her throat. "Well, as to that, he is a trifle annoyed with me at the moment. He does not completely approve of my efforts to save this particular gentry cove, you see. But he will soon come around. He just needs a little time to think about it."

"Damnation, lady. What makes yer think 'e'll change 'is mind?" the rasping voice demanded, sounding incensed. "Ye think ye got 'im on leading strings? Ye think 'e's so besotted with ye that all ye got to do is beckon 'im into bed with yer little finger and 'e'll do what 'ere you want 'em to do?"

Emily drew herself up proudly. "It has nothing to do with the way he feels about me. My husband is a just and honorable man and he will do the right thing. He just needs a little time to think about it first. And I do not happen to have a great deal of time."

"Mayhap 'e don't think savin' this gentry cove is the right thing," the voice snapped.

"Well, it is and he will soon see that for himself. The gentry cove is an innocent young man who happens to have gotten himself into deep water and will very likely get killed before he can swim out of it. My husband will not allow that to happen."

"Bloody 'ell," the voice muttered. "I 'ear different. I 'ear yer 'usband is a 'ard un. Not one to let 'imself be led about by a female. It's my guess 'e'll not only let this gentry cove take 'is chances, but 'e'll be out to teach you a sharp lesson, too."

"Nonsense," Emily said briskly. "You know nothing about my husband. He is a true gentleman. His thinking just gets a bit muddled at times, but I find that is true of most men. Now, then, let us get on with our bargain. What is your asking price?"

"A great deal more than yer wantin' to pay, I'll wager," the voice grated.

"How much?"

"What if I was to say the price for me services was a toss in the 'ay?" The voice was suddenly savage.

Emily froze, truly frightened for the first time that evening. She edged backward a step. "If you ever dare say such a thing to me again I shall tell my husband and he will break your damn bloody neck."

"Is that a fact?" the voice taunted roughly.

"Most definitely," Emily declared fiercely. "My husband protects his own. If you so much as touch me, I guarantee he will not rest until he tracks you down. I doubt if you would survive a day."

"Christ. Ye 'ave me shiverin' in me boots, lady," the voice drawled.

"As well you should be." Emily lifted her chin. "Be aware that if you are contemplating anything treacherous, you had better know that I left a letter at home in my bedchamber. In it I told my husband precisely what I was going to do tonight. In the event I am harmed in any way, he will know to go to George, the man who hired you. From George he will learn your identity. You will not stand a chance of escaping his lordship's wrath. Do you understand me?"

"No," Simon said ruefully as he stepped out from behind the tree. "But I am beginning to believe that it is my fate to be forever unable to comprehend your strange fits and starts."

"Simon." Emily stared in astonishment at the tall, dark figure shrouded in a greatcoat. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Damned if I know. I believe I had some vague notion of giving you a good scare and thereby teaching you a much-needed lesson. But that is surprisingly difficult to do when you insist on threatening me with myself."

"Oh, Simon, I knew you would help me save Charles."

Emily flung herself into his arms. "I knew you just needed a little time to think about the matter. You could not possibly allow my poor brother to fight a duel."

Simon crushed her against him for a moment. "I ought to beat you soundly and lock you in your room for a month for hatching this insane plot. You know that, don't you? Good God, woman, what do you mean by arranging to hire professional villains? Do you have any notion of what you were getting involved in? Kidnapping, of all things."

"I know you are annoyed with me, my lord," Emily said, her voice muffled by the thick wool of his coat. "But you must see time was of the essence. I knew you would come around eventually, but I had to do something about rescuing Charles immediately. I was merely trying to buy a little time for you to come to your senses and realize that you had to help me save my brother."

"And I suppose you now believe that is exactly what I will do?" Simon asked coolly.

Emily raised her head to look up into his shadowed face. "I do not believe you can let him risk death, Simon. Surely you do not hate him. He had nothing to do with what happened all those years ago. He was only a boy."

"The sins of the fathers…" Simon quoted softly.

"Nonsense. If that applies, then it applies to me, as well as Devlin and Charles. And you do not hold me responsible for what happened to your family twenty-three years ago, do you?"

Simon exhaled heavily and gave her a gentle push back toward the path. "We will discuss this later."

Emily glanced back over her shoulder as he followed her out of the woods. "What are we going to do now, Simon?"

"It appears there is nothing for it but to see what I can do about rescuing that scapegrace brother of yours. Obviously I will not have any peace otherwise."

"Thank you, Simon."

"It would be well for you to remember, elf, that this is the one and only favor I ever intend to do for a Faringdon."

"I understand," Emily said softly. "And I shall be forever grateful."

"I do not particularly want your gratitude," Simon told her.

"What do you want?"

"Assurance that you will never again get yourself into a scrape like this. You could have been robbed, raped, or killed tonight, Emily. Sending George to hire a villain was a monumentally stupid notion."

She tightened her grip on her shawl as they stepped back out onto the path. "Yes, my lord."

"Furthermore, in future, you are not to—" Simon broke off with an oath as Lizzie cried out at the sight of them and rushed toward her mistress.

"There you are, ma'am. Thank the sweet Lord. I was so worried. I was afraid you'd been carried off and ravished and I did not know what on earth I was going to tell his lordship when he asked about you and it would have been hard to keep him from knowing you was gone. Sooner or later he would have been bound to notice and—" Lizzie halted abruptly as she realized who it was standing next to Emily.

"You are quite right," Simon said coldly. "Sooner or later I would have been bound to notice if her ladyship had been carried off."

"Oh, sir." Lizzie gave a jerky little curtsy and stared at Simon in shock. "Tis you, sir."

"Very observant of you. And if you do not wish to find yourself on the street looking for a new position without benefit of references, you will endeavor to make certain that in future her ladyship never promenades along the Dark Walk alone again."

"Yes, sir." Lizzie looked terrified now.

Emily gave her husband a chiding look. "Simon, do stop frightening the poor girl. As for you, Lizzie, stop sniffling and collect yourself. All is well. His lordship was on to my scheme right from the start. Was that not brilliant of him?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lizzie cast an uncertain glance at Simon's forbidding face. "Brilliant."

"And now," Emily said cheerfully, "you will go straight home in the carriage, Lizzie. His lordship and I must be off. We have business to attend to tonight. Do not wait up for me."

"A moment, if you please, madam," Simon drawled. "There seems to be some misunderstanding here. You will be going straight home with your maid."

"But, Simon, this was all my idea and I want to see it through to the end."

"You have involved me now and when I am involved in a plan, I prefer to be in charge. You are going home. I will walk you out of the gardens and put you into the carriage myself."

"But, Simon, you will need me with you."

"This is men's business."

"This is my brother we are talking about," she said desperately.

"You have turned the problem over to me to resolve."

Emily ignored him and plunged into a detailed explanation of why she simply had to accompany him while he set about rescuing Charles but she might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Simon was implacable and unswervable.

Several minutes later she found herself bundled into the carriage together with Lizzie. Simon closed the door and gave his coachman strict instructions to drive straight home. Then he swung around and walked off into the night without looking back.

"Bloody hell." Emily flounced on the seat, snapped her fan in annoyance, and then, with a small sigh, surrendered to the inevitable.

After a moment she smiled in relief. Everything would be all right now. The dragon was in charge.

Simon walked up the steps of the lodgings shared by the Faringdon twins with mixed emotions. He rapped on the door. It was opened almost at once by one of the twins, who stared at him in bemusement.

"I believe you are Devlin. Is that correct?" Simon asked laconically.

Devlin collected himself. "Yes, my lord. What the devil are you doing here, Blade?"

"An excellent question. One I am still asking myself, in fact. May I come in?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so." Devlin moved reluctantly back from the doorway.

"Thank you," Simon said dryly. He stepped into the room and tossed his hat, coat, and gloves to the manservant.

Charles Faringdon belatedly realized who had come calling and half rose from the chair near the fire.

"Blade. Why in God's name have you come at this hour?"

"Emily tells me you are to fight a duel with Grayley." Simon went to warm his hands in front of the fire.

Charles shot a scathing look at his twin. "I told you that you should never have brought her here today. Now she's gone and blathered the whole tale to him."

"I had to give her a chance to say farewell to you," Devlin protested. "I had no choice."

"You should never have said a damn thing. This is a private matter." Charles slumped back in the chair.

"I agree that it would have been far more convenient all the way around if you had simply arranged to get yourself killed." Simon told him. "But as you have involved Emily, I have no choice but to become involved."

"This is none of your affair," Charles muttered, staring broodingly into the flames.

"Ah, but it is. You have alarmed Emily and upset her greatly. I cannot allow that; therefore, I must do something about the situation." Simon pinned Charles with a grim look. "Now, suppose you tell me the whole story so that I can decide what needs to be done."

"It's a matter of honor," Charles growled, slanting Simon a sidelong glance. "A woman's honor."

"Since when have you become overly concerned about protecting a woman's honor?"

There was a deathly silence before Charles said slowly, "Devlin and I have done some thinking since that day you knocked us about in your library."

"Have you, indeed?" Simon gazed into the flames.

"He is right, sir," Devlin said quietly. "We have discussed the matter at length. You were correct. We should have called Ashbrook out after he ran off with our sister."

Simon considered that. "Strictly speaking, it was your father's task."

"Yes, well, whatever. It did not feel right to do nothing about it at the time but father said—" Devlin broke off abruptly, shrugging.

"Father said the damage was done and there was no sense getting killed over the matter," Charles finished quietly. "And Emily agreed. She claimed it was all her fault in the first place."

"Which it probably was, knowing Emily," Devlin said, picking up his brandy. "But Charles and I have decided that was neither here nor there. The least we could have done was to have thrashed Ashbrook."

"Yes." Simon studied the golden flames. He was beginning to see the problem. Apparently he had only himself to blame for this mess. "So an opportunity has come along to allow at least one of you to redeem yourself in your own eyes and you grabbed it. Who is the lady?"

"I cannot tell you that, sir," Charles said stiffly.

"I understand your reluctance, but I am afraid I must insist. I never make a move until I have all the information it is possible to obtain. And I hardly see that telling me matters a great deal at this juncture. After all, Grayley apparently knows and that is the main problem."

"He's right, Charles," Devlin said morosely. "Tell him."

"Maryann Matthews," Charles said.

Simon nodded. "A pleasant enough chit. Family comes from Yorkshire, I believe."

"Exactly, sir. I intend to marry her," Charles said somewhat defiantly.

Simon shrugged. "That is your affair. How did the girl come to get herself insulted?"

Charles glowered. "She did nothing whatsoever objectionable. She is an innocent with charming manners and a sweet temper. Grayley simply walked up to me in my club last night and made a totally uncalled-for slur on her character."

Devlin looked at Simon. "Grayley said she was just another countrified lightskirt who had probably been to bed with every farmer in Yorkshire."

Simon raised his brows at that. "A bit extreme."

"It was a damn deliberate provocation," Charles announced, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair.

"Yes, it was. Grayley is looking for fresh blood, apparently."

"What do you mean?" Devlin asked.

"Grayley is one of those rare individuals who actually enjoys the thrill of terrifying his opponent on the dueling field." Simon's mouth hardened. "He is a crack shot who derives a certain excitement from the whole process. He is always careful to choose victims he knows are not good marksmen. But his reputation has spread and he has difficulty these days finding anyone foolish enough to meet him. When he does manage to force a challenge, most men are wise enough to have their seconds convey abject apologies."

"I shall not send apologies," Charles vowed. "I would sooner die on the field of honor than allow Maryann's honor to be impugned."

Simon gave him a considering look. "I believe you actually mean that."

"Do not bother to try to talk me out of this meeting, sir. I have taken a vow."

"I see." Simon drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the mantel. "Very well, then, Devlin and I will act as your seconds. Come along, Dev."

Devlin looked at him. "Where are we going?"

"Why, to meet with Grayley, of course. There are all sorts of small details that must be worked out."

"But we already know when and where the meeting is to be held," Devlin said.

Simon shook his head, feeling a hundred years older than these young cubs. Broderick Faringdon had much to answer for, he reflected. "You have a great deal to learn and, unfortunately, it begins to look as though I shall have to be the one to instruct you."

Simon and Devlin sat in the darkened carriage and watched the front door of the club until it opened at last to reveal Grayley. His eyes on his quarry, Simon tapped the roof of the carriage with his walking stick. As instructed, the coachman drew the hired vehicle directly up in front of Grayley.

Grayley, a pinched-faced, thin-lipped man with restless, predatory eyes, bounded inside. He flung himself into the seat before he noticed that the carriage was already occupied.

"Good evening, Grayley." Simon tapped the roof once more and the coachman set the vehicle in motion.

"What the bloody hell is this all about?" Grayley demanded, scowling first at Devlin and then at Simon.

"Faringdon and I will be acting as Charles Faringdon's seconds," Simon said. "We came to settle a few minor points."

"You should be talking to my seconds, Barton and Evingly."

"I think you will take a personal interest in these details." Simon smiled without any humor. "And I do not believe you will want Barton and Evingly to know about them."

Grayley sneered. "You've come to offer apologies on Faringdon's behalf?"

"Of course not. I understand you grossly insulted the lady in question," Simon said. "You are the one who must offer apologies."

Grayley narrowed his eyes. "Now, why would I do that, pray tell?"

"Because if you do not," Simon explained gently, "then Faringdon, here, and I will be forced to put it about that your business investments will soon be taking a very serious downturn and you will not be able to meet your considerable financial obligations, let alone your gaming vowels."

Grayley went still. "Damn you, Blade, are you threatening me?"

"Yes, I believe I am. I understand you have invested rather heavily in a certain trading venture in which I am also involved."

"What of it? I stand to make a fortune."

"That will be highly unlikely if I decide the risk is not worth the candle and decide to sell off my shares tomorrow. Word will get around town by noon that the deal has gone bad. If I pull out, everyone else will want out at once. The market for the shares will disappear and you, along with the other investors, will lose everything you have put into the project."

Grayley stared at him. "Good God. You would ruin me and the others."

"Very likely."

"For the sake of a Faringdon?" Grayley asked in utter disbelief. "I heard you had no love for any of that clan."

"Which is why you felt it safe to challenge one of them, I understand. But there you have it. Fate takes odd twists now and again. Shall I convey your apologies to Charles Faringdon and explain that it was all a misunderstanding?"

Grayley was silent for a long moment. "Those who call you a cold-blooded bastard are right to do so, Blade."

Simon shrugged, glancing idly out the carriage. The hour was late but the street was filled with carriages carrying the elegant members of the ton to and fro on their endless round of parties. "Well, Grayley? Surely you can look for easier meat elsewhere?"

"Damn you, Blade."

"Come, man," Simon said softly. "You do not need to prove your marksmanship on the Faringdon boy. Find some other victim."

"You will go too far one of these days, Blade."

"Possibly."

Grayley's mouth thinned. He rapped on the roof to signal the coachman to halt. When the carriage stopped, he opened the door and climbed down. "Convey my apologies to your brother," he said curtly to Devlin. "There will be no dawn meeting."

Grayley stepped back and slammed the door. The carriage clattered off down the street. Devlin looked at Blade with something approaching hero worship in his eyes.

"I say, that was astounding. You actually got Grayley to cry off the entire affair. I have never heard of such a thing."

"I do not expect to find myself with a similar task at any time in the future," Simon said bluntly. "Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, sir. Very clear." Devlin was exuberant now. "Dashed clever of you, though. The man withdrew from the duel simply because you implied his investments would suffer."

Simon shook his head over such naivete. "Faringdon, it is time you and your brother learned that real power is based on money and information. Armed with those two things, a man can accomplish a great deal more than he can with a dueling pistol or a deck of cards."

"And if a man lacks the blunt?" Devlin asked shrewdly.

"Then he must concentrate on obtaining the information. With a sufficient amount of that resource, he will soon find the other."

"I shall remember that," Devlin said quietly. He was silent for a moment and then his mood lightened once more. "By the bye, Charles and I have been wondering if you would show us that fascinating fighting technique you used on us that day in your library. Would it be too much to ask?"

"I suppose I could demonstrate it for you. The thing I do not entirely understand," Simon said reflectively, "is how I came to be in this situation in the first place."

Devlin grinned the charming Faringdon grin. "You mean rescuing Charles and showing us a trick or two about how to be going on in the world? I expect it is all Emily's fault."

"You are correct, of course. It is all her fault."

"She is the one person on the face of the earth who does not think you are a cold-blooded devil, you know," Devlin said.

"Emily's tendency toward the romantical is occasionally awkward."

"I know," Devlin said, not without sympathy. "One always hates to disillusion her."