“Fetch Miss Abermarle, Didier, and see to Captain Carstairs’ horses and carriage.”
“First, madam, the brandy.”
Rafael had but a few minutes to prepare Lady Lucia for her treat. He wondered how much of the truth was in order, and decided to put forth only the skeleton of the situation. It wasn’t even enough for a worthy skeleton, he thought, after telling her inanely that Victoria had run away from her cousin’s home because she’d been unhappy, and although he himself had never met her, he’d saved her from smugglers and brought her with him to London.
“That’s not all of it by any means,” Lucia said comfortably, “but it will suffice for now. Ah, here is my penance. Miss Abermarle? Come here, child, and let me have a look at you.”
Victoria faltered. She swallowed and took three steps forward. “Yes, ma’am.” She dropped a curtsy. Lucia nodded, pleased with her grace.
“Come closer, child, I won’t eat you. Victoria, eh? A nice name, a bit stiff and formal, of course, but it will do. Now, who are your parents?”
“Sir Roger Abermarle and Lady Beatrice, ma’am.”
“There are Abermarles in Sussex. Your kin?”
“No, ma’am. My parents lived in Dorset. I have no relatives except for a cousin in Cornwall.”
“Ah, well, no matter. Sit down, child. You need something invigorating. Didier, some Madeira. Where the devil is that cursed man?”
Rafael met Victoria’s startled eyes and smiled.
“You’re a beauty,” Lucia said suddenly. “I trust your nature is as lovely as your countenance.”
“I will vouch for her good nature, my lady,” Rafael said. “As I told you, I have been her escort.”
“Very improper, of course, but it can’t be helped now. Hmmm.”
Didier appeared, and his impassive features softened. Her ladyship was primed and ready for a new adventure, he saw. This Carstairs fellow seemed honest enough, and the young lady . . . well, a bit travel worn and . . . “I shall bring in some tea and cakes directly,” he said, and left.
“Well, I say,” Lady Lucia said. “He left before I could tell him to bring some Madeira.”
“Tea would be wonderful and I am terribly hungry,” Victoria said, then skittered to a halt, her eyes going to Lady Lucia’s face.
I shall have the truth, all of it, out of her in no time at all, Lucia thought, pleased. The girl had about as much guile as Diana Savarol. No, she thought, grinning broadly, not Savarol. The Countess of Saint Leven. She rubbed her hands together. No need to probe now. Captain Carstairs was smooth as a pebble underwater, and likely wouldn’t give away much, but the girl . . . She couldn’t wait. She trusted that the very handsome Captain Carstairs wasn’t married.
After generalities over tea and delicious lemon cakes, Lucia said abruptly, “Captain Carstairs, you will return here for dinner. Eight o’clock, mind, no later. As for Miss Abermarle, I will see that she’s made comfortable. You may go now.”
Rafael, stifling a grin at the agonized, very frightened look from Victoria, nodded and took Lady Lucia’s hand. “Thank you, ma’am. Very much.”
Of Didier he asked quietly in the entranceway, “I need some rooms. What can you recommend?”
Within an hour Rafael was possessed of rooms on Courtney Street, only fifteen minutes from Lady Lucia’s town house.
As for Victoria, she was looking wide-eyed at the lovely bedchamber. “Ah,” said Lucia, “this is Grumber. She sees to all my needs, doesn’t talk much, and always screws her mouth up like she’s just eaten a lemon. Don’t mind her. She’s not a bad sort at all. Grumber, this is Miss Abermarle.”
“Hello, Grumber.”
“Miss.”
“Now, Grumber,” said Lucia, “don’t turn your nose up at Miss Abermarle’s clothing. We shall improve on those silly girlish muslins in no time at all. My dear, you shall take a rest now, and Grumber will come for you in good time to change for dinner.”
Lucia made her way to the door, only to stop abruptly and say over her shoulder, “My dear, is the good captain married?”
“No, ma’am. He has just come home from the sea, I gather.”
“For good, I trust,” said Lucia. “Rest now, my dear.”
With that command, Victoria was soon left to her own devices. She stood in the middle of the room thinking vaguely of the unexpectedness of fate. “Well,” she said aloud to the empty chamber, “this can’t be worse than Damien or that Bishop smuggler person.”
She removed her shoes and stretched out on the very comfortable bed. Very quickly she was enjoying the sleep of the innocent.
Lucia, a strategist of the first order, carried the gown to Victoria’s bedchamber. She heard the splashing of the bathwater and grinned. She knocked lightly, then opened the door and entered.
Victoria gasped until she saw Lady Lucia.
“Oh, ma’am!”
“Don’t drown yourself, my dear. I’m not Captain Carstairs. Now, just finish your washing. I’ve brought you a gown left by my niece, Diana Savarol. Did Captain Carstairs tell you about her?”
Victoria, routed utterly, nodded even as she continued with the bathing sponge on her left knee. “Yes. ma’am.”
Lucia looked at the very slender shoulders showing above the edge of the tub. “How bountiful is your bosom?”
Victoria couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Not excessive bounty there, I’m afraid, ma’am.”
“Pity. Diana, as my nephew Lyon was wont to point out, is very amply endowed. I fear this dress won’t fit you. Well, no mind. We will go shopping tomorrow for you.”
“But, ma’am, you don’t know me.”
“We’ll remedy that in short order, don’t you think? Of course you do. As Didier will tell you, if he’s in one of his moods, you are providing me with much-needed entertainment. Now, my child, out of that tub. I will leave you. Grumber! Do come and be of some assistance.”
But Victoria very firmly told Grumber she didn’t need any assistance.
“Your hair, miss,” said Grumber, and her pained voice told Victoria that she was in dire need.
“Can you come back to me, then, Grumber, in about thirty minutes?”
“Very odd,” said Grumber to Lucia a few minutes later. “Are you certain that Miss Abermarle is a lady? Her speech is certainly ladylike, but not wanting me to help her?”
“You’re right, of course. Here, fasten the pearls for me. Thank you. Well, perhaps the child is simply modest. I love a mystery, don’t you, Grumber?”
“Harrumph,” said Grumber at her most sour.
“Get into the spirit of things. That face of yours would curdle the milk.”
Lucia wasn’t at all surprised to find Victoria Abermarle quite a beauty. True, the high-necked yellow silk looked more appropriate for a sixteen-year-old, but that would be quickly remedied. She looked briefly toward the clock on the mantelpiece. A good half-hour until Captain Carstairs arrived. Plenty of time, yes indeed.
“Do sit down, Victoria.”
Victoria sat.
“Now, my dear child, you must trust me. Will you?”
“I suppose so, ma’am.”
“Excellent. Tell me how you met Captain Carstairs.”
Victoria chewed on her tongue.
“No, please don’t tell me he’s a longtime friend or semirelative or any of that nonsense. If I’m to help you, it must be the truth. Now, onward, my child.”
And Victoria, unused to such lightning tactics, succumbed without a whimper.
“I thought the captain looked a bit familiar,” was the first thing Lucia said after Victoria, twenty minutes later, finally fell silent. “I knew his father, the former Baron Drago. A handsome man, a very strong man who wrung the withers of many a hopeful female before he married a noblewoman on a trip to Seville. I didn’t know, however, about this twin business.”
“As I told you, ma’am, Rafael isn’t at all like his twin, Damien. He’s good and kind.”
Ah, thought Lucia, what proximi
ty will do when the gentleman acts a gentleman and is a handsome devil to boot.
At that moment Didier appeared in the doorway. “Captain Carstairs, my lady.”
Victoria stared. Rafael was dressed in severe black evening clothes, his equally black hair brushed, all whiskers gone from his chin. He looked immaculate, powerful, and absolutely breathtaking. And he looked so much like Damien that she felt frozen to the spot.
Lucia thought the same things about the captain’s physical endowments, but she had the benefit of many more years in her dish. “Well, Captain, you are on time. I like a man who is on time.”
“My lady,” Rafael said smoothly. He kissed her veiny hand. “Victoria, you’re looking none the worse for our adventure.”
“Hello,” she said, then blurted out, “Grumber arranged my hair for me.”
“Ah, an excellent result.” He grinned at her, showing his white teeth. “Come along, Victoria. Stand up and curtsy or whatever a lady is supposed to do, and I will kiss your hand.”
She did. His grin faded only when he placed a light kiss on her wrist. He felt the quiver of her smooth flesh and his eyes widened.
He didn’t look closely at her for many minutes.
“Will you keep her, ma’am?” he asked Lucia without preamble. He’d gotten her measure quickly enough, and planned not to disappoint her.
“I believe so, Captain,” said Lucia, enjoying herself so much the tatting was destined to remain under her chair cushion for many a long week to come. Hookham’s, also, would be bereft of one of its best customers.
It was over an excellently prepared first course of carrot soup, and turbot of shrimp sauce, that Rafael said, looking squarely at his hostess, “I assume that Victoria has told you everything?”
Victoria gasped over her carrot soup.
“Why should you think that, Captain?”
“Your cellars are excellent. Why? Well, you aren’t one to mince matters, ma’am. Victoria is of a trusting nature, once she accepts a person.”
“Yes, of course. First, I suppose, you must see to this solicitor of hers. What is his name, my dear?”
“Mr. Abner Westover,” said Victoria. “But, ma’am, I intend to see him myself.”
“No.”
“No.”
“I am not a silly child.” She looked from one to the other. “It is too bad of both of you.”
“Hush, child, and listen. I could accompany you to Mr. Westover’s offices, but it would be more strategically sound were Captain Carstairs to do it for you.”
“Correct observation, ma’am,” said Rafael, his eyes gleaming. The old lady was sharp as a tack.
“But—”
“Victoria,” Rafael said with exaggerated patience, then paused as John, the footman, directed by Didier, served the lavish second course of stewed kidneys, roast saddle of lamb, boiled turkey, knuckle of ham, mashed and brown potatoes, and something he thought was rissoles.
“Good Lord,” he said. “My stomach believes it has gained nirvana.”
Didier poured a superb bordeaux.
“Tell Cook that Captain Carstairs is pleased, Didier.”
“Yes, certainly.”
Rafael held his peace until the three of them were happily involved with knuckles and kidneys. “Now, as I was saying, I don’t imagine that Damien will simply bide his time in Cornwall. Once he discovers the twenty pounds missing, he is certain to notice that you also saw the letters.”
“He will hotfoot it to London, my dear, particularly if he has been misusing your inheritance. The captain is right.”
Victoria’s face became as white as her napkin.
“Now don’t you worry. You will be safe with me. It’s a pity you’re not older, but no matter.”
“Perhaps even if she were twenty-one, ma’am, it wouldn’t be enough. We have no idea as yet what the terms of her father’s will are.”
“You are quite right, my boy. Didier! Bring some of that Spanish port I laid down twenty years ago. I do believe it ready for drinking. No, Captain, the ladies won’t leave you. I drank port with my father and have a great fondness for it. I believe you gentlemen have convinced females that it’s unladylike to drink port so that you may have all the more.”
“Ma’am, you wound me.”
“I just happen to have some in the pantry, my lady.”
“Oh, you do, do you? You are a great deal too smart, Didier.”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
Didier turned at the doorway and said calmly to Rafael, “Her ladyship has the finest cellars in London, sir. You will see shortly.”
“That is true enough,” said Lucia, mollified. “I begin to wonder when the two of us will begin to resemble each other. I have heard it said that people who are together for a great many years do begin to look alike, and, horror of horrors, think alike.”
“Will you soon look like Flash, Rafael?”
“Don’t be impertinent, Victoria.”
“Flash? What is this?”
Victoria giggled, and Rafael shook his head at her in mock reproof. “My valet, ma’am.”
“A former pickpocket, ma’am.”
“You two won’t bore me, I see. Ah, here is the port. My dear, you shall try just a bit.”
Rafael kept his opinion to himself, but couldn’t prevent his frown when Didier poured the rich port into Victoria’s glass. Under his fascinated eye, Didier very calmly added water to her glass.
He already acts the doting husband, Lucia thought, quite pleased. The coming days stretched out pleasurably in her mind. This quite likely would be far more interesting than the best gothic novel.
Rafael left shortly after tea that evening. Before he took his leave, he said to Victoria, “I won’t be able to visit the solicitor tomorrow. As I told you, I have business here, and it cannot be put off.”
“What sort of business is so urgent?”
“Victoria, don’t pry.”
She looked quite ready to do so, but Lucia interrupted, saying to Rafael, “I shall expect you for dinner tomorrow evening, my boy. Don’t worry about Victoria. I am taking her to my modiste.”
“Excellent. I’ll bid you good night then, ladies. Ma’am, my profoundest thanks for your assistance.”
Lucia grinned at him. “Yes, my boy, my assistance. In all matters.”
“You terrify me.”
“I’ll walk you to the door, Rafael,” said Victoria, still ready to probe his urgent business.
“No, Victoria,” he said shortly upon reaching the front door. “Mind your own business. All right?”
“Very well, but I don’t want to.”
“I see that you don’t.”
“Where did you get your evening wear? Surely it wasn’t packed in that small valise of yours.”
“Didier is a fount of information.” He lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. “Don’t worry, Victoria. Everything will work out, I promise you.”
She turned her face slightly and rested for a brief instant against his open palm. “You’re very good to me,” she said.
Rafael felt a surge of protectiveness so great that he stepped away from her as if scalded.
“Good night,” he said, and was gone in the next instant.
Victoria cocked her head, wondering at his abruptness. Didier, with as many years in his dish as Lady Lucia, said gently, “Take yourself to bed now, miss. You will see the captain soon enough.”
As for the captain in question, he was walking as fast as he could toward his rooms on Courtney Street. He was thinking furiously that he much preferred feeling good honest lust for a beautiful woman, not this other thing that made him profoundly afraid.
6
I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.
—SHAKESPEARE
“Captain Carstairs,” Lord Walton greeted Rafael as he shook his hand. “It’s been a long time, sir, too long. Welcome home. Allow me to express the government’s thanks on the excellent job you’ve done.”
> Rafael merely nodded, and seated himself in a welcoming leather armchair in front of Lord Walton’s mahogany desk. Lord Walton had aged, he thought. His hair was grayer now, thinner on top, and there were more lines of worry on his face. But the intelligence in his eyes was as formidable as ever. He waited until Lord Walton had finished Morgan’s packet of information. He studied the office, admiring the drawings of racehorses clustered on one wall.
“They are Caverleigh Arabians,” Lord Walton said. “My grandson named that last one, the strong-shouldered bay. He’s only seven and already racing mad.”
“They are quite excellent, sir,” Rafael said. He knew little of racehorses.
“Would you like a brandy?”
“No, I thank you, sir.” He made to rise.
“Actually, Captain, not quite yet. Please, relax. I wish to thank you on behalf of all Englishmen for your fine work over the years. Do not distress yourself that your usefulness is over. It is not. However, in this particular instance, you won’t be required to disguise yourself and sneak in and out of difficult situations. I understand that you intend to go home to Cornwall.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m not the Baron Drago, as you well know. I intend to build my home in Cornwall, however.”
“That is what Morgan wrote to me.” Lord Walton paused a moment, then said, “The smugglers still abound there, you know, droves of them. I fear if their rate continues to soar, they will become a national institution.”
“Evidently the Bishop is still alive.”
“So I understand. However, smuggling doesn’t particularly concern me today. It is something else, something a bit more insidious, a bit more evil, if you will.”
Rafael sat very still, waiting. He watched Lord Walton lightly rub his fingertips over his temples.
“We don’t have a Bishop in this group. This man calls himself the Ram.”
Rafael laughed. “Ram? Good Lord, what pretentious nonsense.”
“I agree, but there you have it. Captain, have you heard of the Hellfire Club?”
“Yes, it was active in the last century, in the seventeen-seventies, perhaps eighties, I believe. A group of dissolute young noblemen bent on outdoing each other in wickedness and perversion. Satanism, as I recall, was their object, new and varied sorts of satanism, that and the raping of as many young virgins as the bounders could capture.”