Patricia gave a start at hearing her name brought into the discussion. Somewhat to Matthias’s surprise, however, she managed to answer Imogen’s question.
“Yes,” she said very softly. “It’s true.”
“There, you see?” Imogen flashed him a triumphant look. “The gossip would have been all over Town by tonight if I had not intervened.”
“The gossip is already all over Town. Madam, you may be brilliant when it comes to deciphering the formal script of lost Zamar, but you are hopelessly naive where Society is concerned.”
Imogen was briefly diverted. “Brilliant?”
Matthias flattened his hands on the desk and got to his feet. It was not easy to scold her for leaping to his defense, but it had to be done. “Dammit, Imogen, I told you to ignore anything that you overheard regarding Vanneck’s death.”
“I could not ignore Theodosia Slott’s accusations. I did not want them going any further.”
“Nobody, including me, gives a damn about Theodosia Slott’s opinions,” Matthias said through his teeth. “Don’t you understand? I am far more concerned with your reputation.”
“I have told you that I do not give a bloody damn for my reputation.”
“Well, I do. How many times must I remind you that you are my wife now? You will act accordingly.”
“Is that all you can think about?” she flung back. “How the new Lady Colchester should behave?”
“Hell’s teeth, madam, I will not have your name linked to Vanneck’s death.”
“And I will not have yours linked to it either, my lord.”
“The only way to deal with the inevitable gossip is to ignore it,” Matthias said. “Believe me, I am an expert on the subject.”
“I do not agree with you. In my opinion, one must fight fire with fire.”
“We will fight this particular blaze my way,” Matthias said bluntly. “The tales will fade with time. They always do. Henceforth, you will follow my instructions to the letter. You are not to utter another word concerning Vanneck or his death to anyone outside this house. Do you understand me, madam?”
Patricia jumped to her feet. “Do stop shouting at her, Matthias.”
Matthias stared at her in astonishment. So did Imogen.
Patricia’s expression was a mixture of fear and determination. She clenched her hands very tightly. “I think it is grossly unfair of you to talk to Imogen in this manner, Colchester, Indeed, she was only trying to defend you when she confronted Mrs. Slott.”
“This does not concern you, Patricia,” Matthias said. “Sit down.”
“Patricia. How kind of you.” Imogen shot up from the chair. She threw her arms around Patricia. “No one has ever defended me in such a fashion. How can I thank you for interceding on my behalf?”
Patricia looked taken aback. She patted Imogen somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Imogen. I was forced to speak up. Colchester is being most unfair.”
“Damnation.” Matthias sank wearily back down into his chair.
Imogen stepped back from Patricia and whipped a hankie out of her reticule. “You must excuse me.” She blotted her eyes. “I am overcome with emotion.”
She rushed toward the door, opened it, and vanished into the hall.
Matthias drummed his fingers on the desk as the door closed behind Imogen. “She does have a way of ending a conversation that she is not enjoying.”
“You really should not have lectured her in such a nasty manner,” Patricia muttered. “She was only attempting to defend you.”
Matthias eyed her with brooding interest. “When did you become one of Imogen’s supporters? I thought you disapproved of her.”
“I have changed my mind about her,” Patricia said stiffly.
“I see. In that case, it would seem that we have a mutual goal.”
Patricia looked wary. “What is that?”
“We must both exert a great deal of effort in order to keep her out of trouble.”
“I do not think that will be easy,” Patricia said slowly.
“Nothing is ever simple where Imogen is concerned.”
Chapter 14
That evening, during the middle of the Reedmore ball, Imogen came to the conclusion that there was definitely something amiss with Patricia.
Alastair smiled gallantly at Imogen and abandoned any attempt to lead her in a long, gliding circle around the dance floor. “I assume you gave the map showing the location of the Queen’s Seal to Colchester as a wedding gift. Tell me, was he suitably grateful?”
“Actually, we have not discussed the map.” Imogen gave Alastair a vague smile and glanced to the side to see who was dancing with Patricia this time.
Hugo Bagshaw. Again.
Imogen nibbled on her lower lip. This was the second time that evening Hugo had led Patricia out onto the floor. Matthias would not be pleased.
The strains of the waltz drifted from the ballroom balcony, where the musicians gamely battled the heat generated by hundreds of chandelier candles and an almost equal number of people. The affair was already accounted a crush, the highest accolade that could be paid by Society.
Imogen knew that Horatia considered Patricia an even greater success. She had told Imogen earlier that she was greatly relieved that the recent rumors concerning Colchester had done no harm. Indeed, the fresh gossip concerning the duel and the hasty wedding had served to make the Colchester women even more intriguing to the jaded members of the ton.
“Imogen?” Alastair sounded impatient.
“I beg your pardon?” Imogen forced herself to smile at him. Dancing with Alastair was somewhat boring, but at least there was never a struggle. Dancing with Matthias, on the other hand, was always something of a skirmish.
Imogen had accepted Alastair’s invitation to dance just as she had agreed to dance with a number of other gentlemen only because it was the most convenient way of keeping track of Patricia. Horatia had voiced some concerns earlier about the efforts of certain known rakes to lure Patricia out into the gardens.
Imogen said nothing to Horatia or to Matthias, but she had become increasingly worried about Patricia since the duel. There was a moodiness about her that had begun to alarm Imogen. She knew that the Colchester bloodline harbored a tendency toward dark imaginings, but Patricia’s current behavior appeared more anxious than usual.
Imogen had begun to wonder if she should discuss the situation with Matthias. The only reason she had hesitated thus far was that she knew he was not fond of conversations about the family tendency toward anxious forebodings and weak nerves.
Alastair must have realized that he had lost Imogen’s attention again. Annoyance flickered briefly in his eyes. It vanished quickly, however, and was replaced by bland amusement. “I am surprised that Colchester has not already made plans to search for the Queen’s Seal.”
“I expect we shall get to the matter one of these days,” Imogen said carelessly. She tried for another glimpse of Patricia and Hugo. The pair had disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd on the dance floor. “Bloody hell.” She steered Alastair back across the floor.
Alastair’s mouth compressed with irritation. “What did you say?”
“You are taller than I am, Mr. Drake. Can you see Colchester’s sister?”
Alastair gave the crowd a cursory glance. “No.”
“I do hope young Bagshaw has more sense than to drag her out into the gardens.” Imogen came to a halt in the middle of the dance floor and stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of the nearest dancers. “Ah-ha. There they go. You must excuse me, Alastair.”
“Devil take it,” Alastair muttered, furious at being abandoned in the middle of the dance floor. “You do not have the least notion of how to behave properly in Society. Lucy was right. You’re a walking joke, Lady Colchester.”
Lucy’s name stopped Imogen as nothing else could have done. She whirled around to stare at Alastair. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” The brief flare of fury fade
d swiftly in Alastair’s gaze. He glanced around uneasily, clearly embarrassed by his predicament. “Run along and see to your duty as a chaperone.”
“What did you say about Lucy?” Imogen staggered slightly as another couple, unable to change course quickly enough, plowed into her. She scowled at the pair. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
“Yes, we can see that, Lady Colchester,” the gentleman said wryly. “Perhaps it would be easier to conduct your discussion off the dance floor.” The lady in his arms looked slyly amused.
Imogen flushed. “Yes, of course.” She turned back to discover that Alastair had disappeared in the crowd. “Damnation. Where did he go?”
Matthias’s strong, elegant fingers curled firmly around her wrist. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
“Matthias.” Imogen smiled in relief as he drew her into his arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you intended to spend the evening at your club.”
“I took a fancy to dance with my wife.” Matthias surveyed the room over the top of her head. “What happened between you and Drake a moment ago?”
“What? Oh, nothing important. He said something about Lucy. I tried to make him repeat it, but he vanished when I turned around to speak to those people who crashed into me.”
“I see.”
“I believe he was annoyed with me because I left him standing in the middle of the dance floor,” Imogen confessed.
“I have no difficulty with that notion,” Matthias said. “But I’m curious as to why you abandoned him. Did he attempt to take the lead?”
“No, it wasn’t that. I wanted to find Patricia. I had lost sight of her in the crowd.”
“She’s in the buffet room with Hugo Bagshaw. I saw her a moment ago.”
“Oh.” Imogen searched his face. “I collect that you are not pleased.”
“No, I am not.”
“I know that you are convinced that Mr. Bagshaw is looking for a way to avenge himself against you, but I trust you will not make a scene tonight. Patricia would be mortified. I think that she is developing some very tender emotions for him.”
“In that case, I had better move quickly.”
“Now, Matthias, you must not be hasty.”
Matthias’s brows rose. “What would you suggest that I do?”
“I think that you should talk to Mr. Bagshaw in private.
“Excellent notion. I shall take him aside and warn him to stay away from Patricia.”
“Not that sort of talk. For heaven’s sake, Matthias, warning him off will not do any good.”
“You may be right.” Matthias grew thoughtful. “I do believe he’s becoming more reckless in his attentions to Patricia.”
“The important thing is that Patricia must not be hurt by what is going on here. I think you should tell Mr. Bagshaw the full truth about his father’s death.”
“I doubt that he gives a damn about the truth. He was raised on a pack of lies.”
“I think you could make him confront the truth, Matthias. He must accept it someday or else he will go through life nursing a hatred for you that will eat at his own soul.”
Matthias’s arm tightened around her. His eyes were grim. “What makes you think that I can force young Bagshaw to deal with the truth about his father?”
“Because you have been through a similar situation with your own father,” Imogen said gently. “You of all people understand something of what festers inside him. You know what it is to be rejected by your father.”
“Bagshaw’s father did not reject him. He committed suicide because of his financial problems.”
“I suspect that the result was very much the same for Hugo. Rejection can take many forms, my lord. You and Hugo were both left alone at a very young age to deal with the consequences of your fathers’ actions.”
Matthias said nothing.
Imogen met his eyes. “You found your salvation in the search for Zamar. I fear Hugo will not be so fortunate. You must guide him, Matthias.”
“I have better things to do than try to talk sense into young Bagshaw.”
Imogen caught sight of Patricia and Hugo at the edge of the crowd. She saw the shy, eager expression on Patricia’s face and then she saw Hugo glance across the room toward Matthias. There was no mistaking the seething anger in the younger man’s eyes.
“No, Matthias,” Imogen said softly. “I do not think that you have better things to do.”
Matthias lounged, arms folded, in the doorway of the gaming room of The Lost Soul and watched Hugo roll the dice in a round of hazard. A hoarse shout went up as another player claimed the winnings. Hugo clenched his hand. His face was a mask of fury and recklessness. He was losing.
The hour was late and the hell was crowded with a mix of young bloods, dandies, and world-weary rakes. A smoky haze of urgency and unhealthy excitement hung over the tables. The room reeked of sweat, ale, and perfume. Little had changed since he had owned the place, Matthias reflected. Perhaps the nature of gaming hells was immutable.
“Good evening, Matthias. Come to play, or just to pay a visit to some old shades?”
Matthias glanced at the short, round man who had joined him in the doorway. “Hello, Felix. You must be in good spirits tonight. A lively crowd.”
“Indeed.” Felix folded his hands over the ornately carved handle of his cane. His cherubic smile dimpled his plump cheeks and created good-natured creases at the corners of his shrewd eyes. “I shall see a tidy profit off this night’s work.”
Ten years earlier Matthias had hired Felix Glaston to manage The Lost Soul. Felix had an uncanny talent for numbers. He also had a knack for collecting information. The combination of skills had made him extremely valuable to Matthias. Together they had created one of the most notorious and most popular hells in London. Their success had made them both very wealthy.
When Matthias had gathered the funds he needed to finance the first expedition in search of Zamar, he had sold The Lost Soul to Felix. Glaston had been prospering in the role of owner ever since. He now lived the life of a wealthy merchant.
The two men, from dramatically different social stations, had forged a bond of friendship that still held. A bond that still shocked Society. A gentleman might lose his fortune in a gaming hell, but he would not dream of consorting with the owner of one.
Another shout went up at the table where Hugo stood. Hugo’s face grew more rigid.
“Looks like young Bagshaw will be under the hatches by dawn,” Felix observed.
“Are you going to intervene?”
“Naturally.” Felix chuckled. “I have maintained your wise policy of never allowing a customer to lose his estates or his entire fortune at my tables. It’s been good for business.”
“Does young Bagshaw always play so wildly?”
“No. In truth, he rarely plays at all, from what I hear. And certainly not in this house. You know he still blames The Lost Soul for his father’s death.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Yes, of course, you would know that better than anyone,” Felix murmured. “I comprehend that you have had a busy week, Colchester. My felicitations on your marriage, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“And on surviving yet another duel.”
Matthias smiled grimly. “It was not difficult this time.”
“Vanneck, I understand, did not even fire a shot. Dead when you arrived at Cabot’s Farm, I’m told.”
“Your information is, as always, astonishingly accurate, Felix.”
“I pay enough for it.” Felix made a dismissing motion with his plump, beringed hand. “A bit odd though.”
“What is?”
“Vanneck being at the scene. According to my sources, he dismissed his staff yesterday afternoon without notice. Apparently he planned to take an extended journey on the Continent.”
“Interesting.”
“I suppose some public-spirited footpad or a highwayman was responsible for removing Vanneck from
this mortal plane?”
“I’m not so certain of that.”
Felix glanced at him. “Why do you doubt it?”
“Because when we found him in his curricle, he was still wearing his rings.”
“Curious.”
“Very.”
Felix frowned as Hugo seized the dice. “I suppose I really must see to young Bagshaw. I doubt that he has the stamina or the temperament for this kind of play. I wonder what drives him to such recklessness tonight.”
“I believe that tonight is the anniversary of his father’s suicide.”
“Ah, yes. That would explain it.”
Matthias watched Hugo throw the dice with feverish speed. He could almost hear Imogen whispering in his ear. You found your salvation in the search for Zamar. I fear Hugo will not be so fortunate.
Matthias thought of the look he had seen on Patricia’s face as she stood at the buffet table with Hugo. There was no doubt that she had developed a tendre for Bagshaw.
One way or another, Hugo had to be sorted out.
Matthias came to a decision. “I shall handle Bagshaw for you tonight, Felix.”
Felix shrugged his well-padded shoulders. “Be my guest.”
Matthias made his way through the crowd to where Hugo stood at the table, poised for another toss of the dice.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word with you, Bagshaw,” Matthias said quietly.
Hugo stiffened. “Colchester. What the devil do you want?”
Matthias looked into Hugo’s seething gaze and noted yet another ghost. This particular specter was unlike those he routinely saw in the flames. This apparition was one he occasionally encountered in his shaving mirror.
“I’m told that you and I have something in common,” Matthias said.
“Leave me alone, Colchester. I have nothing to discuss with you.” Hugo made to turn back to the gaming table. Then he paused, his mouth twisting into a taunting smile. “Unless, of course, you’re here to challenge me to a duel. I comprehend that you conduct your dawn appointments in a somewhat unusual manner.”
A sharp hush fell across the table. The other players watched Matthias and Hugo with glittering interest.