Fascination -and- Charmed (62 page)

She giggled. “You’re an odd one, and no mistake. I do understand, y’know. Yer want to
pretend
like we’re bein’ watched, only yer don’t
really
want to be watched. Right?”

“Right. I mean—”

“Well, that’s what I want, too,” Veronique said, pushing her bright red lips into a pout. “We’ll stay right ’ere. Spread yer legs and wave to the crowd, ducky.”

He stared at her, trying to decide how to get them both—and Mrs. Lushbottam—away from this passage.

“Oh, all right, then,” the girl said. “ ’Ave it your way, but I’m not a bleedin’ mind reader, y’know.
I’ll
wave.”

She smiled to the right and the left, held a hand aloft in the manner of the old queen acknowledging adoring crowds from her carriage and began undoing the tapes on her modest gray gown.

“Look ’ow jealous they are,” she said, indicating the empty passageway. “And can we blame ‘em, ducky?”

She let the dress fall to her feet. What lay beneath was anything but modest.

Calum glanced at toes shod in purple satin, surveyed purple silk stockings secured above dimpled knees with gold ribbons and passed rapidly on to well-rounded thighs…and purple stays.

Veronique was a study in a little purple and absolutely nothing else.

“Come on, then,” she said, moving in to open his cloak and reach for his trousers. “We can’t disappoint the audience, can we? Best get on with it.”

With one hand Calum caught both of her wrists together and held her away. If he shoved her into the nearest room, she’d probably raise enough fuss to bring Mrs. Lushbottam upstairs.

“Yer just want to look?” Veronique asked. Her brown eyes held no particular interest. “Is that it? It’s all right with me, ducky.”

He felt suddenly, unaccountably, weary. “That’s all I want,” he told her. The empty, pathetic creature deserved more pity than disgust.

Clearly his response pleased her. “That’s all right, then.” She thrust forth her naked breasts. “Look all yer want. Are they still there, then?” She indicated the empty places where the “audience” he supposedly desired hovered.

“They are indeed,” he assured her. There was nothing for it but to work this out on his own. “Scream,” he told the woman. “I want you to scream.”

Veronique opened her small mouth and shrieked. Her expression didn’t change.

“Scream for Mrs. Lushbottam,” Calum ordered desperately. “Shout for her to come here at once.”

That brought doubt to vacant eyes. “Lushy? Yer want Lushy to come? Yer want ‘er to watch?”

“Do
it,” he told her, and when she hesitated, he gave her a small shake of encouragement. “Get the woman here
now.”

If Veronique had taken to the boards with Mrs. Siddons, the latter might never have known fame. Veronique’s chilling wails and shouts for “Lushy” to come and save ‘er were real enough to strike cold to Calum’s bones.

But he got what he’d wanted. The floor beneath his feet shook with the approach of heavy footsteps. He waited long enough to see Mrs. Lushbottam appear at the top of the stairs before he opened the nearest door and shoved the struggling, shrieking Veronique inside.

Within moments the head tailor arrived.

The instant she entered the room, Calum slammed the door shut and threw himself against it with the flailing Veronique clasped to his chest. “We’ve got a live one ’ere,” the girl panted between yells. “Wants yer to watch ’im watch me. ’Ave yer ever ’eard the like?”

“Anything for the gentleman prepared to pay for custom orders,” Mrs. Lushbottam said, crossing her arms. “His money is our time, Veronique.”

Calum prayed that some miracle had told Struan that now was the moment to pay his visit to Milo and Miranda.

At the gruff sound of a throat being cleared, Calum tightened his grip on Veronique and looked around the room for the first time.

On a large, tumbled bed reclined an elderly, sandy-haired man who was not alone. “Be a good chap and remind the lady of our presence, would you?” he said to Calum, indicating Mrs. Lushbottam. When she turned around he said, “Forgotten about the
time
we get for
our
money, have we, Lushy?”

Struan’s was the name Calum silently cursed as he closed his eyes, shutting out the vision of the big man’s stubby fingers playing with the curly black hair on Henri St. Luc’s chest.

There were times when Anabel wondered why she’d been so patient with Etienne for so long.

Summer it might be, and her fur throw certainly kept out any unpleasant night drafts, but she was bored with sitting in her post chaise and doing what Etienne should have the wit to do for himself.

She held a window blind open just enough to allow her a view of the front door of Lushy’s—and of the carriage that had borne Calum Innes there.

Really, if she had not had the sense to decide to make quite sure of Innes’s activities, silly Etienne would not have discovered he might be in danger until it was too late.

If Etienne was in danger, so was Anabel—only she did have a great deal of sense, enough to turn this development to her own advantage.

“Is Lord Hunsingore inside?” Calum shouted to the waiting coachman.

“He is, sir, he—”

“Praise be! Hanover Square, man. Make haste.” Calum hurled himself inside the carriage, collapsed onto a seat and let his eyes close.

“I almost left without you,” Struan said. “What in God’s name took you so long?”

Calum rested his head back. “We will not discuss that. Were they there?”

The only reply was the grind of carriage wheels and the creak of springs.

Calum opened his eyes. “Were they—” His attention went immediately to a huddled figure that occupied the opposite end of Struan’s seat.

Struan regarded the back of one hand, then the other. His signet ring required a rub, first with a finger, then on his sleeve.

A hooded cloak completely hid the identity of their companion.

“Well?” Calum said when he could contain himself no longer.

“Ooh—” Struan frowned deeply and wrinkled his nose. “Hard to explain, really. Better wait till we’re at Hanover Square and alone.”

“The hell you say,” Calum exploded. “Who is
that?
”

“I’m afraid you aren’t going to be happy.”

“Who?...” An inkling pierced its way into an absolute conviction. “Struan, please tell me I’m wrong. That isn’t…” He pointed to the cloaked form.

“Afraid so,” Struan said.

“No.”

“Mmm. Seemed the only thing to do.”

“This is what this whole frightful affair was about from the beginning?”

“It is.”

Calum narrowed his eyes on their latest dilemma. “Did you attempt to see Milo and Miranda?”

“They aren’t there.”

“You didn’t even check, did you?”

“Didn’t have to,” Struan said. “Saw them leaving yesterday—bag and baggage.”

Calum grew utterly still. “Did you speak to them then?”

“Look,” Struan said, shifting forward, “there isn’t any way to make this a less scurrilous act than it was from your point of view. But I had no other choice. In time you’ll agree.”

“I doubt it. Did you speak to Milo and Miranda?”

“I heard Lushbottam tell them their room would be otherwise occupied until their return. She said they’d better not forget that their rent would be higher then, because…because it would be winter and there’d be extra money needed for coal,” he finished in a rush.

Calum blinked. They’d gone. His last chance to get whatever proof Miranda might have been persuaded to produce had disappeared—until winter.

“Struan,” he said, fighting for patience, “why didn’t you try to talk to Miranda? Surely you could have followed them.” “I was otherwise occupied.”

Calum glanced at the third passenger.

“No,” Struan said. “You make assumptions you’d do well
not
to make, my friend. I secured the company of one of Mrs. Lushbottam’s ladies. I knew I took a huge chance, but I thought that if I paid her enough, she might be persuaded to take a note to—” He inclined his head. “In the note, I wrote that a Stonehaven coach—I described the coat of arms—would be waiting outside this evening and that Mrs. Lushbottam would be distracted for long enough to allow an escape, should an escape be desired.”

“You took a chance indeed,” Calum said, considering Struan’s story with only part of his whirling mind. “Your messenger might have told Lushbottam, or merely kept the money.”

“If she told Lushbottam, she’d not have been assured of keeping the money—or not all of it. And I suggested that if she did keep the money without delivering the note, I would return. She assured me she would be delighted to be of service. It was a great deal of money.”

“You have abused our friendship,” Calum said.

“Utterly.”

“I shall not easily forget this night.”

“Neither should you,” Struan agreed. “I am a wretch.”

“What is this creature’s tongue?” Calum asked, casting about for what his next move must be to reestablish his acquaintance with Milo and Miranda.

“Don’t know,” Struan said. “But either she reads English or she got someone to read the note to her. She came to the coach direct and in clothing designed to draw no attention, just as I instructed.”

“I speaks English, too,” the girl said clearly. She pushed off her hood and brushed tousled black hair away from her hauntingly beautiful face. She turned her attention entirely upon Struan. “Whatever it is you want, I’ll do it. You’re a good man, you are—real good and kind.” With that, she lodged a shoulder into the corner and closed her great, slanted dark eyes.

Calum leaned across the coach, drew Struan’s ear close to his mouth and whispered, “And what, you madman, do you intend to do with her?”

Struan drew in a deep, audible breath and said, “God will provide. At least she speaks English—more or less.”

Anabel’s trusty postilions urged their horses to travel as fast as they dared. The sumptuous little post chaise sped forth through London’s streets toward Hanover Square.

Anabel could not be certain, but she thought she’d seen a figure slip from Lushy’s and enter the Stonehaven carriage only moments before Calum Innes—in a great tear—exploded from the front door. Rather than wait and follow again, she had decided to arrive at the Stonehaven house first and position herself where she might have another opportunity to see exactly who traveled in Innes’s company.

As the chaise approached Hanover Square, a light rain began to fall. Droplets scattered the windows, and Anabel had to put her face near the glass to obtain a better view. She had instructed the postilions to draw up before a house to the right of the Stonehavens’ and stand as if awaiting their employer’s departure from that house.

The riders did as they’d been told, but all was not exactly as Anabel had anticipated. Another coach—one that she had no difficulty in identifying as belonging to the Duke of Franchot—had just arrived. While she watched, a coachman hopped down and opened the door.

Anabel held her breath. What would Etienne be doing here? And what would it mean that he’d come without telling her of his intentions?

Her questions were quickly proven unnecessary. Not a man, but a woman, alighted and spoke to the driver. He nodded and watched her run up the steps to knock on the front door. It opened and Anabel saw a butler peer out. As Lady Philipa Chauncey was admitted, the Franchot coach pulled away from Calum Innes’s lodgings.

Anabel smiled. She could scarcely believe her good fortune. Now she had the damning weapon she needed to use against “pure” Philipa.

Tapping the window, Anabel signaled her desire to drive on.

Pippa jumped when the butler closed the salon door behind him—closed her inside a room that did not look at all as she might have imagined one of Calum Innes’s rooms to look.

Not that it was his room.

Or his house.

Not that she had any particular reason to know what manner of rooms Calum Innes would choose…if he
were
choosing rooms.

Backing slowly away from the door, she bumped into a tiny japanned table and barely caught the grinning china dog that tipped from its top. “Oh.” She sighed aloud, softly, replacing the ornament. She should not have come, yet she could not stay away. Coming had been a responsibility.

Vividly painted panels lined the walls of this little salon, panels edged with gilt moldings above gilt wainscot. Each panel glowed with riotous flowers, and similar bouquets cavorted over a pretty little tapestry couch and several chairs in formal French style.

Pippa looked into a gilt-framed mirror above a fireplace plastered in turquoise blue and saw the reflection of dozens of candles in an ornate bronze chandelier.

The Franchot coachman would find a place from which he could see the front door. As soon as she appeared, he was to carry her back to Pall Mall. And Justine—once persuaded that Pippa was not to be dissuaded from her mission—had given assurance that the coachman would hold his tongue about this night’s venture.

Why would Justine—quiet, refined,
careful
Justine—show such obvious sympathy for Pippa’s interest in Calum Innes when she was betrothed to Justine’s own brother?

This was inappropriate and it simply would not do.

Pippa settled her blue crepe cloak more firmly upon her shoulders, took in a determined breath and contemplated how to depart the house without encountering the formidable Stonehaven butler again.

The sound of the front door opening, followed by male voices, set her in a complete and fluttering panic.

She spun to regard the windows—and stubbed her toe against a brass dolphin at the base of a chair leg. Wincing, she resisted the temptation to sit down and rub the offended part. Even if she could open one of the windows and scramble out before someone came to find her, she would have to drop to the paving stones in front of the kitchens a story below.

But a broken leg—two broken legs—might be preferable to what was about to happen.

The voices had stopped a while. Now they came in a fresh spurt; then there was a pause.