Gayle Buck (26 page)

Lord Randol inclined his head with an ironic smile. “So I have been known to do. However, I think it time we decided upon a course of action. Fellow, are you familiar enough with this area that you might guide us to the nearest magistrate?”

“Aye, it be but two or three miles back. What are ye planning, guvnor? For I’ll tell ye straight, I’m of no mind to be stuck with a corpse,’’ the chaise driver said forthrightly. He added practically, “And who is to pay me fare, is wot I’d loike to know.”

“I intend to give testimony, never fear. And I’ll settle your account as well. But now let’s get him up into your carriage,” Lord Randol said. With the chaise driver’s reluctant help, he carried Sir Lionel’s body over to the chaise and slid it onto the floor. Lord Randol gave the driver instructions before he walked back to the two women, who had remained beside the phaeton.

Lord Randol smiled reassuringly at Michele, and she walked immediately into his embrace. His hand smoothed her windblown hair. “I wouldn’t have let him harm you. You must believe that,” he said softly.

Michele raised her head. Her eyes were huge in her whitened face. She said, still unbelieving,
“Mon Dieu,
Anthony! I cannot stop shuddering. He meant to kill me. I saw it in his eyes the instant before he shot.”

“Yes.” Lord Randol smiled down at her. The warmth in his eyes caressed her spirit. “My dear brave love, do you think that you might tool my phaeton? I know that you must wish to share confidences with your cousin, and I do not think that either you or Lydia would care to share the chaise with the body.”

Lydia shivered. “Decidedly not!”

Michele managed a wavering laugh. “Certainly, my lord, if that is what you wish. But what will you do?”

Lord Randol gestured at Sir Lionel’s horse, which stood with its ears pricked forward and its eyes fixed on them. “That poor fellow will do for me.”

Michele shook her head quickly. “That is not what I meant at all, my lord, as well you know.”

Lord Randol smiled. There was a gleam in his eyes. “Trust me in this, my love. Now, up you go.” He helped both ladies to climb into the phaeton, then mounted Sir Lionel’s horse. He gestured to the chaise driver, and the cavalcade started back the way it had come, though at a considerably more sedate pace.

Lydia said urgently, “What of Bernard? I saw him fall and ... I am so ashamed that I did not ask at once! Is he quite all right?”

Michele smiled, not taking her eyes from the road. The reins moved smoothly between her fingers. “Perhaps you have not had the time to do so. Captain Hughes was suffering from concussion, I believe, but otherwise he appeared quite lucid.” She glanced at her cousin with a flash of a smile. “Your beloved Bernard has a rather hard head, I think.”

Lydia smiled even as she shook her head in relief. “All I could think of when I awoke was Bernard and how much I wished for him to come. I did not even know who had attacked him, or why I had been abducted. The chaise was locked from the outside. It just bowled along forever. I was in absolute terror.” She reached out to squeeze her cousin’s arm. “I am so thankful that you came after me, Michele. And Lord Randol too. I haven’t thanked him properly, but I shall. It ... it has ended rather badly for Sir Lionel, hasn’t it?”

Michele was silent a moment. The cool wind brushed her face. “Has it? I wonder if Sir Lionel was not so twisted by hate that in the end he felt he had little to lose.”

Lydia was startled. This view of Sir Lionel’s state of mind had not occurred to her. “I understand what you mean, of course,” she said.

The magistrate was not best pleased to be hauled from his bed in the small hours of the morning. But when he realized that there was a body involved in the business, he was able to set aside his irritation. It was not every night that a gentleman died in peculiar circumstances. And the circumstances must have been very peculiar, he thought, glancing disapprovingly at the concealing silk dominoes of the ladies.

But Lord Randol was able to reassure the magistrate that it had all been an unfortunate accident. The party had been guests in the neighborhood and had decided to leave for London that night instead of in the morning. Sir Lionel had been in his cups and had foolishly attempted to jump a fence before he was set. The resulting tumble had broken his neck.

“I completely understand, my lord. An unfortunate gentleman, indeed. But these things must be expected when one imbibes too freely,” the magistrate said. He glanced again at the dominoed ladies and shook his head over the vagaries of the Quality. He would never voice his suspicions, of course, but it was his opinion that the dead gentleman had tried to impress one or other of the females of the carousing party and thus had met his untimely end. He agreed to see that the gentleman’s belongings and horse were gotten to the proper place.

The unpleasant duty was soon done with and the chaise driver was paid off. Lord Randol took up his place in the phaeton. He flicked his whip at the leader’s ears and the team started up. He glanced at his passengers. The scar on his face accentuated his devilish expression. “We are off to London, unless either of you wishes to avail herself of the hospitality of the neighborhood. I understand from the magistrate that there is a fairly respectable inn called the Huntsman’s Prize. He said we would know it by its sign of a garroted lion.”

Lydia grimaced in distaste. “Thank you, no!”

Michele laughed throatily. “My lord, your suggestion is untimely in the extreme. Pray attend to your driving. Lydia and I wish to end what is left of this night in our own beds.’’

“As do I,” Lord Randol said in a low voice. There was a warm light in his eyes as he raked a glance over her soft curving figure.

Michele flushed, fully aware of the significance of his lingering gaze. She glanced quickly to see if Lydia had caught it as well. But Lydia seemed completely absorbed in the passing vista, which was undeniably breathtaking by moonlight. Michele was grateful for her cousin’s inattention, but still she threw a fulminating glance at the viscount. “You are abominable, my lord!” she hissed, earning her a deep laugh from his lordship.

On returning to London, Lord Randol drove at once to the Davenport town house. As he had anticipated, Mr. Davenport and Lady Basinberry anxiously awaited them. Lydia was welcomed thankfully by her father and her aunt. Mr. Davenport wrung his lordship’s hand, expressing his deep gratitude. When he heard of Sir Lionel’s unfortunate end, he merely grunted and offered his opinion that the gentleman had come by his just deserts.

Lady Basinberry informed the arrivals that Captain Hughes was at that moment settled comfortably upstairs. A doctor had been in to see him and said all that was needed was some rest before the captain would be back on his feet. “It will not do to have Captain Hughes under this roof for his entire convalescence, of course, but we may talk of his removing to his own rooms later. We sent around for his valet so that he would be comfortable while he remains with us, however. I am persuaded no gentleman cares to appear less than his best, whatever the circumstances,” Lady Basinberry said.

Lydia had listened to her aunt with an anxious air, casting several glances toward the drawing-room door, as though she wished to be gone. “Oh, aunt, do you think that I might visit with Captain Hughes? Only for a moment?” She faltered before her aunt’s upraised brows. “I feel so ... so responsible, you see.”

Lady Basinberry exchanged glances with Mr. Davenport. “If your father has no objection, Lydia, I am willing to accompany you on your visit to Captain Hughes.”

Lydia turned beseeching eyes upon her parent. “Go ahead, my dear,” Mr. Davenport said gruffly. She hugged him quickly and then went swiftly from the drawing room, with Lady Basinberry beside her. Mr. Davenport turned to offer his excuses on Lydia’s behalf to Lord Randol.

Lord Randol waved away such considerations. “I fully understand, sir.” He glanced toward the lady remaining with them and then addressed Mr. Davenport. “I should take my leave of you now. It has been a long evening for us all.”

Mr. Davenport shot a glance at his niece’s lowered head. “As you say, my lord. If you do not mind my rude manner, I shall say good night. I must look in on Lydia before she retires. Michele, my dear, I depend upon you to say all that is proper.” He ignored his niece’s startled expression as he walked out of the drawing room and firmly closed the door behind him.

Michele could scarcely believe that her uncle had left her unchaperoned, but her amazement was forgotten when Lord Randol held out his hand to her. She walked quite willingly into his waiting arms and lifted her lips in invitation.

Lord Randol kissed her lingeringly. Finally he said, “I must go. The servants will be talking.”

“Let them.” Michele slid her hand behind his head to urge him close. She kissed him slowly, again and again.

Honor-bound to behave the gentleman, Lord Randol uttered a feeble protest. “My cattle must be seen to,” he said hoarsely.

Instantly Michele released him, slipping free of his warm embrace. Her dark eyes laughed at him. “Then definitely you must go at once, my lord.”

Lord Randol was staggered by her abrupt abandonment. “What?”

Michele held out her hand, all formality, and out of ingrained habit he bowed over her fingers. “Until tomorrow, my lord,” she said primly, stepping away from him.

Lord Randol hesitated, but when she made a shooing gesture, he went reluctantly to the door. With his hand on the knob, he bethought himself of an important question. “When are your parents due, Michele?”

“In a few weeks’ time, my lord,” Michele said demurely.

He smiled at her. A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “Then soon there will come an evening when you will not be so easily rid of me, mademoiselle,” he said meaningfully.

Michele felt her face warm under his ardent gaze. “That is true, my lord. I shall not wish it then, even as I do not wish to be rid of you now.” With one swift step Lord Randol left the door and attempted to sweep her back into his arms. She eluded him, laughing, and took refuge behind a chair.
“Non, non!
Go away, my lord!”

“You are a tantalizing witch indeed.” His low voice made a caress of the words. He left then, quickly, before he succumbed to the temptation to give chase to her.

Chapter Twenty-five

The wedding was a surprisingly small affair. The guests numbered a scant hundred and consisted only of family and close acquaintances. The ceremony was held at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and the small gathering lent an unusual air of intimacy to the proceedings.

Michele appeared breathtakingly lovely in a wedding gown of Belgian lace over white satin that was cut with a low décolletage and a short train. The gown’s puff sleeves were short, and she wore long white gloves. Her dark hair was covered by a cottage bonnet with a lace veil attached to the brim. When she turned her head to smile up at her lord, her dark blue eyes shone like stars through the filmy veil, rivaling the sparkling sapphires and diamonds in her ears and about her neck.

Lord Randol himself was resplendent in a dark blue dress coat over a white velvet waistcoat and frilled shirt. His cravat, tied in an intricate style that won envy from more than one attending gentleman, was fastened with a jeweled stickpin. His pale-colored pantaloons smoothly fitted the length of his well-formed legs and strapped under his shoes. He also wore gloves.

Miss Lydia Davenport was the bride’s maid of honor, and the exceptionally dignified Honorable Ferdinand Huxtable-Taylor stood in the capacity of best man. Monsieur du Bois proudly gave away his daughter while Madame du Bois watched through smiling tears as Michele plighted her troth to the gentleman that she had steadfastly refused to put out of her heart. In an aside to Lady Basinberry, Madame du Bois whispered brokenly, “It is just as I always envisioned it, Beatrice.”

Lady Basinberry nodded regal agreement, well-pleased. It was not the original match planned, but one did not quibble when one had more than one young miss to settle. Her eyes traveled to Captain Hughes, who was seated nearby and appeared to admiration in his gleaming regimentals, and she pursed her lips. She had heard that the captain had recently done very well for himself in the ‘Change. That was a decided point in his favor, especially when Lydia had proved so disobliging as to turn down every other offer made for her that Season, thought Lady Basinberry. Really, she had no notion how the girl could have come to possess such an obstinate streak. But she had not been too displeased to discover that her flighty niece had more backbone than she had previously given her credit for. Lady Basinberry began planning for a second wedding, and anyone who chanced to glance at her at that moment would have discovered an expression of unusual contentment upon her countenance.

With the end of the ceremony, Lord Randol slowly lifted up the veil and settled it over the brim of Michele’s bonnet. He bent his head to kiss her in a reverent manner that caused a sigh of satisfaction to go through the assemblage. The bride and groom left the church in their own carriage and the wedding guests followed in a veritable caravan of vehicles.

The reception was held at the Davenport town house, to which open invitations had been sent out. Besides the original wedding guests, upwards of five hundred personages came to pay their respects to the newly wedded couple. Michele had left her veil draped over the back of her bonnet so that she could better greet the guests. The receiving line was lengthy and she felt ready to collapse before she felt her husband slip her arm through his and they began to mingle with the company. She glanced up, a happy smile lurking about her lips. “I do not think that I could uphold my duty without you at my side, my lord,” she said.

“I should hope not,” he retorted. There was a devilish light in his eyes. “I have my own surprise for you, dear lady,” he said. He made an imperious gesture. Instantly the unmistakable first strains of a waltz floated on the air. Lord Randol held out his hands. “May I have the honor, my lady?” he asked softly.

Tears glimmered in Michele’s eyes. She could not speak and could only nod her joyful acceptance. Lord Randol took her into his arms. The guests parted around the wedding couple, retreating with many astonished exclamations and approving laughter. Lord Randol and Michele started to whirl in solitary splendor about the floor that had been cleared for them alone. The waltz was enchanted, its golden magic to be treasured for a lifetime.