Читать книгу Regency Society Collection Part 2 - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 30

Five hellish minutes passed with Robert listening at the chamber door for sounds in the hallway beyond. All he could think about was getting as far away from Wynchwood as possible and drowning himself in brandy. Only a shred of sanity kept him from storming down the stairs.

Heart thudding slow, he continued to listen, angry he’d hurt her. Angry he didn’t have a choice.

Hearing nothing, he stepped into the hallway, closed the door swiftly behind him and sauntered for the staircase as if he had every right to be wandering the upper chambers.

A soft click behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Had someone seen him leave her chamber? If they had, they’d not raised an outcry. Resisting the temptation to turn and look, he continued on his way. A couple in medieval garb ascended the stairs giggling and laughing, clearly looking for privacy. The joys of a masked ball.

Nodding politely, though he doubted they saw him, Robert continued on down the wide staircase, his footsteps drowned by the noise of revelry. The guests had spilled out into the entrance hall where tables sagged beneath punch bowls and glasses. He pushed through towards the front door, narrowly missing treading on Bracewell’s lion’s tail and dodging a wildly waving tribal spear.

He caught sight of Frederica standing in the doorway to the ballroom, smiling brightly at Radthorn and a couple of his cronies. Too brightly. God, she looked lovely. Something dark rose up in his chest as John smiled down at her, his gaze fixed on her face in undivided attention. An overwhelming desire to snatch her away, to ride off with her, made him clench his fists.

He didn’t have the right to take her away from everything she knew and he’d finally convinced her he no longer wanted her. Longing hung around his neck like a chain.

He’d never stop wanting her.

With an effort, he turned away. He’d have to leave Wynchwood. He would never be able to stand in the shadows watching her, seeing her with men like Radthorn and Lullington, and not commit murder.

He stopped at a refreshment table and grabbed a bumper of brandy. It went down in one gulp, burning his gullet. Trust Wynchwood to buy cheap brandy. He needed fresh air. Needed to clear his head. Get a grip, Robert.

There were hundreds more women waiting to be plucked.

Except he didn’t want any of them. For his sins, he only wanted one.

He continued his progress to the door.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ A voice rang out above the hubbub of talking and music. ‘May I have your attention?’ Lord Wynchwood’s voice. ‘I have an announcement. Please gather in the ballroom.’

The crowd around Robert craned their necks in the direction of the voice, pressing closer, surging forwards.

Robert pushed against the tide.

‘I say,’ said a pirate. ‘You are going the wrong way.’

‘You stepped on my skirts,’ a queen said crossly, tugging at her train.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, shifting his foot.

Someone shoved him. His hat and wig slipped. He grabbed at it. Other faces turned his way, curious.

Damn. Any moment now, his behaviour was going to garner unwanted attention. He let himself be carried along with the flow into the ballroom, slowly inching his way closer to the bank of French windows, which he’d earlier made sure were closed but not locked.

He looked up to see Frederica standing on the orchestra dais beside her uncle. She looked mutinous and worried. What the hell was going on?

Jammed between a Roman senator and a black cat and blocked by Queen Elizabeth’s enormous hoops, he wasn’t going anywhere without causing a stir. He remained still, watching Frederica, who looked more unhappy than when he’d left her upstairs, if that was possible.

Someone bumped him. He braced himself to withstand the shoves of those around him.

‘Quiet, please,’ Lord Wynchwood yelled. The buzz of conversation died away. A trickle of sweat ran down Robert’s back as the temperature in the room increased along with the level of curiosity.

‘Thank you,’ Wynchwood said. ‘It is my very great pleasure to announce the betrothal of my ward, Miss Frederica Bracewell, to my heir, Mr Simon Bracewell.’

Betrothed? All around him, people shouted their congratulations and exclaimed their surprise, while Robert felt as if a black hole had opened in front of his feet and he was falling in. His vision darkened, his heart seemed to still in his chest. Betrothed?

The cold steel of betrayal knifed through his chest, an edge so finely honed, so cold and sharp, the pain almost drove him to his knees.

Why hadn’t she told him? Had she tried, just now, and lost her nerve? Is that why she asked him to run away with her?

Was that the reason she’d come to him in the first place, as a means to escape an unwanted marriage? Would she now confess her sins? At any moment he expected to hear her inform her uncle that she was no longer chaste.

Not that she’d been chaste when she came to him, but they were not to know that.

God, she’d even offered to pay him. To sit as a model. Was that all she had wanted to pay for? Was it? Was she like every other woman in his life, simply using him? She’d certainly betrayed his trust by not telling him the truth.

He pushed blindly through the crowd, squeezing between hot bodies, his nose filled with the stink of perfumes and powdered wigs. The crowd parted with cross looks and grumbles. His stomach roiled with self-disgust. He’d allowed himself to be used.

He felt sick.

A scream rang out.

Once more silence reigned in the ballroom. The room seemed to hold its breath. Nothing moved, except Robert, pressing steadily ahead, the doors filling his vision like the Holy Grail to a Templar Knight.

‘My emeralds,’ a woman’s voice cried. ‘I’ve been robbed.’

Exclamations of horror rippled around the room. People looked at each other in shock, checked their jewels, glanced at each other in suspicion.

Barely aware, and uncaring, Robert drew the curtains aside. He needed air. Something to clear his head, something to stem the tide of icy blackness rising up from his chest and threatening annihilation.

‘Stop the highwayman,’ a male voice cried out from behind him. Lullington?

A crocodile with a fat belly barred his path.

Surprised, Robert shouldered him aside and grabbed the door handle. The crocodile gripped his wrist. Anger rose up. Robert swung his fist. It connected to bone and soft flesh with a satisfying crunch. The man landed on his tail with a howl. Robert pulled open the door, only to have it slammed shut by the weight of the oriental man and an enormously fat monk.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ John Radthorn said, breathing hard beneath his conical hat. ‘No one leaves until we find the jewels.’

Jewels? Right. Someone had yelled something about stolen emeralds. He glanced around at the suspicious faces, John’s, Simon Bracewell’s, his lion head gone, Lord Wynchwood’s. ‘I don’t have your bloody jewels,’ he said. ‘But I do have an urgent appointment.’

‘Search him,’ someone said.

‘Go to hell,’ Robert growled.

John Radthorn raised a brow. ‘No one leaves this house until they are searched and unmasked.’ His voice was quiet, but full of determination.

His disguise wouldn’t hold up in front of John. Not unmasked.

He pulled his pistol from his belt. ‘Stand back, damn you. I haven’t got your jewels. I’m leaving.’

People gasped, men muttered, but as one the crowd pulled back, leaving a glittering Lullington in the empty space, with Maggie a few feet behind him. The viscount’s lip curled. ‘A highwayman. How appropriate. ’Tis my belief he is our thief.’

Bloody hell and damnation. ‘I’ve stolen nothing. I’ll let you search me. Then I’m going.’

Lullington minced forwards. ‘Perhaps he handed his ill-gotten gains off to an accomplice.’ He moved to check Robert’s pockets despite the pistol.

The man had courage. But Robert already knew that.

‘Not you,’ Robert growled and shoved the pistol in Lullington’s face.

The viscount halted with a nasty smile on his lips and recognition in his eyes.

He knew.

Robert’s heart picked up speed. He glanced around, caught Radthorn’s intense stare and nodded at him. ‘You do it. I’ve nothing to hide.’

Men in the crowd surged closer. Robert waved his pistol. ‘Who wants a ball in their head? I’ll drop the first of ye like a stone.’

‘My God,’ Wynchwood said. ‘That man works for me.’

Inwardly, Robert groaned, even as he smiled and bowed. ‘My lord. Thank you for a very pleasant evening. I would recommend a little less water in the punch.’

A half-smile kicked up John’s mouth as he moved in. Robert held his hands away from his body, watching the men crowding closer. Off to his right, still on the dais, a small figure in green-and-brown earth tones stared down at him. Her eyes were huge in her pale face.

Radthorn would find nothing and Robert would leave her to her betrothal ball. His lip curled. Once he was gone, she could announce her ruin with his blessing.

John patted the pockets in his coat, ran a hand across his waistcoat and his hips. ‘No jewels,’ he said.

‘Then why is he holding us at bay with a gun?’ Lullington lisped, waving a languid hand. ‘I suggest we call the magistrate and have him searched properly by the local constable.’

A man dressed as King Charles the First, but looking more like a spaniel, popped through the throng. ‘I am the magistrate. You,’ he said to Robert, ‘will put down your pistol and submit to a proper search of your person.’

‘That was a proper search,’ John said, his voice strained.

Robert glanced at him, saw concern in his friend’s eyes and his stomach hit the floor. John had found something.

A hiss of steel whipped his head around. It was Lullington pulling a sword from his costume’s scabbard.

He held the sword tip against Robert’s throat. ‘It is my guess the rogue’s pistol isn’t loaded.’ He showed his teeth. ‘Is it?’

‘Do ye dare to find out?’ Robert said, pressing his pistol’s muzzle against Lullington’s chest.

Several men lunged forwards.

‘One more step,’ Robert said. ‘And this man is dead.’

They stopped cold.

Lullington gave a soft laugh and pressed the blade to Robert’s throat. He felt the sting as the blade nicked his flesh. ‘Shoot, then.’

Curse him. Robert tossed the pistol aside. Loaded or not, he’d not shoot a man in cold blood.

He held his arms wide. ‘Search me again, then, if you must.’

‘Oh, I think I must,’ Lullington said softly. He raised his voice. ‘I saw him upstairs a while ago.’

Hades.

The crowd around them muttered.

Robert kept his face impassive and let Lullington pat him down. The moment the viscount announced he did not have the emeralds, he would dive through the glass. But he needed space. He needed Lullington clear of the door. He moved into the semicircle of watchers, putting John between him and the door. John would let him past.

Lullington slowly ran his hands down Robert’s body, his legs, his arms, checking the cuffs on his coat. Robert lifted his gaze and saw how Frederica clung to the music stand. She actually had the gall to look worried. As if she actually cared.

Or was she worried he’d give her away?

Lullington swung him around and felt through the folds of his cloak. ‘Aha,’ he cried.

Robert froze. It couldn’t be. He could not have found the jewels.

Maggie put her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

Lullington pulled forth a strand of emeralds and diamonds. Robert recognised them. Maggie had worn them often in his company.

‘A strange thing to keep in your pocket, sir,’ Lullington lisped.

‘Someone put them there,’ Robert said. ‘I did not take them.’

‘What were you doing upstairs, then?’ Lullington asked. ‘In the same wing where Lady Caldwell’s chamber is located.’

Robert clenched his fists. The bastard. He must have seen Robert in the upstairs hall and then planted the necklace in his pocket in the crowded ballroom. He recalled the bump. Robert glanced around. Every face stared back with an expression of suspicion. It was White’s all over again.

‘It is possible that the real thief hid them on this man’s person, meaning to claim them later,’ Radthorn said. The pity in his eyes made Robert feel sick, but at least John wasn’t abandoning him.

He glanced towards the podium, dreading Frederica’s reaction. She was gone. No doubt she thought him guilty.

‘Arrest him,’ Lullington said to the magistrate. ‘There is no doubt he is guilty.’ He held the necklace high to the gasps of the crowd. ‘You really should be more careful whom you employ, Lord Wynchwood.’

His sneering gaze rested on Robert. The bugger was enjoying himself. Robert eyed the door two steps away. A fist in the viscount’s gut might make him a little less smug and give him enough time to escape.

‘Someone fetch a rope,’ the magistrate said. A footman scurried off. People turned to watch him go.

Lullington handed the necklace to Maggie, whose pallor had taken on a greenish cast.

The momentary distraction was all Robert needed. He leaped for the door handle, wrenched the door open. Lullington grabbed at his cloak and yanked. Robert tore the damned thing free. Too late. Three men leaped on his back. He hit the ground chest first. The air rushed out of his lungs as all three men sat on his back.

‘Bring the rope,’ one of them yelled. The other two grabbed his arms.

Robert shook off one, kicked another in the groin and struggled to his feet with the third hanging on to his sleeve.

‘Hold him,’ someone yelled. Three more men latched on to his arms and dragged him to the floor. His hat went skidding across the tiles. Robert, gasping for breath beneath the pile of men, stared at a gap in the tangle of arms and legs where John’s face appeared. ‘What the deuce is going on, Robin?’ he whispered.

Robert shook his head. ‘I did not steal that necklace.’

John winced. ‘Hold still, then, man. Don’t make it worse. I’ll see what I can do.’

Submit to the final indignity. Rage welled up inside him. Blast it, John was right. The odds were against him. There was no sense in getting beaten as well as arrested. Robert took a deep breath and lay still.

‘Stand him up,’ the magistrate said, his flowing wig all askew, the footman at his side, rope in hand. ‘Let me have a look at him.’

The men hauled Robert to his feet. He came face to face with Frederica. Robert pretended not to see her. He kept his chin low in hopes of hiding his face from those that might know him.

The footman fastened a rope around his wrists and pulled it tight.

‘An emerald necklace isn’t the only thing you are hiding is it, my lord?’ Lullington murmured in Robert’s ear so no one else could hear.

‘Shut your damned mouth,’ Robert muttered.

Lullington smiled. ‘If you don’t want your family name dragged through the mud,’ he whispered, ‘you’ll proclaim your guilt like a man.’

‘I’ll see you in hell,’ Robert whispered.

Lullington held his scented handkerchief beneath his nose, muffling his words. ‘I’m sure you will. But you will arrive first.’

‘What is he saying?’ the magistrate said, leaning forwards.

‘Think about it, Robert,’ Lullington murmured. ‘I’ll give you ’til morning to admit your guilt. If not, I’ll really unmask you.’ He used his forefinger and thumb to pull Robert’s mask over his head.

Maggie stared at him. ‘Robert?’ she whispered in disbelief. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed in a heap beside the magistrate’s high red heels.

One of the ladies near her, a dark-haired woman in a toga, bent to chafe her hand. Robert saw all of that from the corner of his eye, but it was Frederica’s reaction holding him captive and rigid.

At the moment Maggie fainted, the pallor of her skin blanched to translucent white, as if every drop of blood in her veins had drained away, but instead of fainting or screaming, she backed away with an expression of terrible hurt.

Even at this distance he felt her shock and horror. Revulsion oozed from her pores and made his skin feel slimy.

He wanted to deny the theft, but Lullington’s threat held him silent. It really didn’t matter what she thought. He had far more pressing problems.

She shook her head, stumbled over the crocodile’s stupid tail, then turned and fled up the stairs.

He watched her disappear until someone tapped him on the shoulder. John, looking as sick as a horse. ‘I’ll take my grandmother home and come back later.’

Robert nodded, feeling a little less isolated.

Everyone else, except the triumphant-looking Lullington and the two footmen clenched on Robert’s arms, huddled over Maggie’s inert body, proffering smelling salts, vinaigrettes and fans. What a bloody farce. If his position weren’t quite so desperate, he might have laughed.

‘Take Lady Caldwell into the drawing room,’ Lady Radthorn directed. She raised her head and peered through her lorgnette at Robert. ‘Fine mess you are in, young man.’

‘Grandmama, please, let us go home,’ John said.

‘Throw that vermin in the cellar,’ the magistrate said. ‘We can’t have a fellow like him ruining our evening.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘I will get to the bottom of the matter in the morning.’

‘Ain’t got no cellar,’ Michael the footman said, looking blank.

‘The coal cellar,’ Wynchwood said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Oh, my lord. I feel faint. My health cannot stand the shock. Where are the smelling salts?’ He staggered after Maggie’s entourage.

‘Did you really think by posing as a gamekeeper you could hide from me?’ Lullington murmured into Robert’s ear.

Robert said nothing.

‘Pay your debt or it will either be the gallows,’ Lullington said with an infuriating smile, ‘or transportation.’

A cold chill settled on Robert’s shoulders. In that case, he’d count himself lucky to be hanged.

‘The only question is,’ Lullington continued, ‘under which name do you want to be tried?’

Lullington knew Robert would do anything to protect his family’s name—he could see it in the other man’s face. He knew Lullington had never liked him, but he’d never thought the man so vindictive as to accuse a man of a crime he didn’t commit and make it impossible for him to deny it.

‘You bastard. I’m working to get your money.’

Lullington’s thin lips curled in a sneer. ‘I think I prefer this method of settling your debts, my friend. I shall enjoy telling my cousin.’

Michael, the footmen and a man from the village swung Robert around, hustled him down the back stairs and in short order shoved him into the cellar. Lumps of coal rolled beneath his feet. Stumbling forwards, Robert slammed into the wall head first. Stars circled in front of his eyes. Thick dust choked his throat. Coughing, he struggled to remain upright.

The door banged shut. A bolt slid home. The key turned in the lock.

Damp chill seeped through his coat and into his skin. He waited for his vision to adjust to the dark. It didn’t. Not one crack of light penetrated his cell.

The beating of his heart filled his ears, a slow steady thud. His ears rang from the blow to his head.

What an idiot he was to have given Lullington such an easy opportunity. If he’d been thinking with his brain instead of what was in his trousers, he would never have risked coming here tonight. And for what?

A woman who was betrothed to another man.

Why would Robert steal from the guests of his employer? She felt as if the ground beneath her feet rocked and swayed to a rhythm she didn’t know. She’d thought him perfect, a down-to-earth man, honest and straightforward. She’d trusted him.

It was her fault he’d gained entry to the ball. Her fault he had access to Lady Caldwell’s chamber. He never would have been tempted if she hadn’t allowed him come to her room. Unless he had planned it all along.

Her heart clenched. She didn’t want to believe it. Men are ruled by their needs, she’d heard.

Apparently their needs included priceless gems.

And why had Lady Caldwell said his name and then fainted? Did she know him? She kneaded her temples.

At first, he’d denied his guilt. He’d stared at her, willing her to believe him. Was it the truth? Or was he hoping the spell he’d spun would keep her entranced?

If so, sadly he was right. She couldn’t bear the thought of him locked up in the coal cellar. She got up from the bed and paced to the window.

Lady Caldwell had her jewels back, so no real harm had been done, had it? Perhaps she could convince her to let the matter drop.

But first, she wanted to hear what Robert had to say. He owed her the truth.