The Devil In Disguise (26 page)

Will dismissed the man, knowing the agents behind him would deal with him. He swung his body through the open carriage door, bracing himself against the rocking, unsteady carriage floor. Lucinda was pressed against the far wall, her hair flowing about her in wild curls, the sleeve of her gown ripped. Mary was clinging to her mistress’s side, her eyes wild with fright.

“Lucinda,” Will said, gesturing for her to come to him.

The terror on her pale face eased; she slid across the seat, reaching for him. “Who are these men?” she cried.

“I’ll explain later,” he answered. “We must go at once.”

Lucinda looked at Will as if he were mad. “But we’re moving.”

“Yes.” He glanced out the swinging carriage door. Weston raced beside them, keeping pace with the coach. His gaze met Will’s and he nodded.

“Surely you’re not suggesting that we—”

He didn’t have time to explain. Will thought it best to take Lucinda by surprise. He spun her around, her back to his chest, and wrapped his free arm around her waist.

“Weston will catch you,” he told her. “Watch out for the carriage door.”

Before she had time to protest, he swept her off her feet and moved them outside the coach. He ignored her muffled shriek of terror, balancing on the steps as he passed her to Weston, one-armed, the other anchoring them with his grip on the edge of the carriage roof.

The moment he felt Weston take her weight, he returned for Mary, pulling the now screaming maid from the carriage and depositing her into the arms of a second mounted Corinthian.

Will yelled an obscenity at the driver, then leapt out and away from the carriage, tucking his body as he hit the ground, rolling across the brick street.

The wheel of an overturned drayman’s cart stopped him, his body jolting against the load of spilled vegetables. He braced his hands on the ground and pushed himself upright. The pain he felt all over his body seemed manageable enough for now, which probably meant he hadn’t broken any bones.

He swung his head, searching the street. Several yards away, he found Lucinda, standing near Mary and Weston. Relief that she was in one piece washed over him, making him light-headed for one unsteady moment. Three agents joined the three and Weston left them to set off on a dead run toward Will, the reins of his gelding in his hands. He slowed as he neared but Will waved him on, determined the carriage driver be caught. Weston swung aboard the gelding and quickly disappeared around a corner.

Steadier now, Will walked toward Lucinda. More Corinthians had joined her, clearly unnerving her further. Her expression lightened when Will reached the small group and she stepped closer to him.

“You two.” Will gestured to Hopkins and Newell. “Assist Weston and the others.” The men climbed aboard their mounts and set off at once, leaving Lucinda and Will with the three remaining Corinthians. “Thomas, I’ve need of your horse. You three take Lady Lucinda and Mary to the nearest safe house and stay with them until I return.” He caught Lucinda’s hand in his. “You’re safe now. Go with my men and do as they ask. I’ll return as soon as I can.” He kissed her fingers, the only outward show of affection he was allowed, and leapt aboard Thomas’s horse.

She was silent; standing there in the street, covered in dust and bruises, she looked up at him with a face full of confusion and tears.

He could not delay, no matter how much he wanted to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right.

He nodded at the officers then kicked the horse into a run, urging him on with grim determination.

“Can you tell me …” Lucinda paused, unsure precisely what she wanted to ask. The last hour had left her stunned and bewildered. Her mind continued to race, trying to make sense of it all.

“About the men who brought you here?” the woman prompted. She dipped a clean cloth in a bowl of warm water and gently, carefully, washed the dirt from Lucinda’s cheek.

Lucinda grimaced as she sat still on the settee, the sting telling her that a scrape existed beneath the grime. “Yes. To begin with anyway.”

“Unfortunately, no, I cannot. But I can tell you that you’re perfectly safe. There’s not a man among them who would harm you.”

Dressed in a silk wrapper and matching nightrail of deep emerald green, the woman’s lush form was voluptuously curved. Her thick sable hair was piled atop her head, held in place by emerald ribbons woven artfully through the loose curls. There was no denying she was attractive, her full rouged lips, almond-shaped eyes, and milky complexion only adding to her appeal. But even distracted as Lucinda was, she sensed something faintly sad in her demeanor.

“May I speak freely?” Lucinda asked as the woman eased the damp cloth over her scraped cheek once more.

“I know no other way, my lady,” she replied. “I am Minerva.”

The woman stroked the cloth over Lucinda’s forehead, frowning in apology when Lucinda winced. “I’m sorry. If we don’t clean the dirt from your cuts, they won’t heal properly.” She turned away to rinse the cloth in the basin of water. “Now, what would you like to know? I will answer as much as I can.”

“Is this …” Lucinda peered around the room, searching for the best way to phrase her question. “That is to say, are you …”

“A kept woman?” Minerva interrupted, amused. “What gave it away?” She looked about her. “The garish colors, perhaps? An overabundance of pillows, lace, and ribbons?” She paused, looking down at her ample bosom in the seductive silk. “Did my clothing tell you this isn’t Mayfair?”

Lucinda swept the room with an assessing gaze before treating Minerva to the same considering look. “All of the above, actually.”

Minerva laughed, setting the bowl aside and handing Lucinda a fresh linen cloth. “He said you were a smart one. He never mentioned that you were funny as well.”

“He?” Lucinda queried, though intuition and the queasy roll of her stomach told her she already knew the answer.

“You are correct in your assumption,” Minerva answered, ignoring Lucinda’s second query, and instead addressing her surroundings. “This,” she said, standing and turning with a graceful flourish of one slim hand and arm, “belongs to a very wealthy and powerful gentleman, though I often wonder at the power of a man who would give me all of this for what I give him in return.”

Lucinda decided against pressing for an answer regarding the man who had spoken of her intelligence.

Instead, she smiled at the woman, quietly applauding her performance, and followed her lead. “Well, he sounds very much like all of the wealthy and powerful men of my acquaintance, I’m afraid.”

Minerva’s eyes widened in surprise, then lit with amusement. “I like you,” she said and rejoined Lucinda at the settee, next to the folded green gown and shawl. “You’ll want to change out of your gown, I imagine.”

Lucinda looked down, surprised by the damage she saw. The once lovely yellow muslin was stained and smeared with mud, the diminutive ivy-print background of the fabric scarcely visible beneath the grime. One sleeve was completely gone, the other holding on by mere threads, and the stocking on her right leg was torn below the knee.

Disconcerted, she felt she really should be embarrassed by her appearance, but given the events of the afternoon, she simply couldn’t muster the energy.

“Would you like some help?” Minerva asked matter-of-factly, making it clear she thought none the less of Lucinda for her current state of disarray.

“Thank you, but I can manage.”

Minerva ignored Lucinda and instead pulled her to rise and spun her around. “I’ve seen worse,” she said, loosening the gown down the back with nimble fingers. “Remember where you are; there’s no need for you to feel anything but superior. It’s simply the way of the world.”

Minerva urged Lucinda to raise her arms, then gently guided the torn material over her head. She deftly unlaced the corset beneath and left Lucinda to remove soft half boots, garters, and torn stockings.

Lucinda dropped the ruined silk stockings atop her boots on the floor next to the settee.

“Lift your arms,” Minerva commanded, and when Lucinda complied, the other woman slipped the green gown over her head.

Lucinda’s view of Minerva was briefly interrupted by the gown. She pushed her arms into the sleeves and the fabric fell down her body, covering her to her toes. She twitched it into place, surprised by the simple cut of the soft cotton gown. There was nothing overtly seductive about it; in fact, it reminded her of her own gowns. She glanced up and found Minerva watching her.

“We do not always dress to seduce,” she explained, reaching for a shawl and offering it to Lucinda. While she adjusted the length of cashmere around her shoulders, Minerva stood back and surveyed her work. A quick satisfied nod of her head said she was pleased with the results. “Much better.”

A firm knock rattled the door.

“That will be
him
,” Minerva said knowingly. “Take care, my lady.” She crossed the room and pulled open the door.

“Your Grace,” Minerva said, moving aside to allow him entrance. She gestured for him to come closer and went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear before stepping into the hall, closing the door firmly behind her.

Will stalked toward Lucinda, the grim set of his features frightening her. “Will?” Relief that he was here, his body whole and safe from harm, flooded her and tears threatened.

Will reached her and wrapped around her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She breathed in the scent of his skin and was instantly comforted. “Yes, I am now.” She brought her arms around his waist and pressed closer. “Are you?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Of course. Am I not Iron Will?”

“Don’t tease, Will,” Lucinda said, leaning back to look up at him. “What happened in the carriage? Who were those men? Where is Mary?”

“Mary is safe. Weston saw to that himself?”

“What is going on?” she pressed, her heart beating faster. The hard planes of his face were unreadable.

“Did Minerva tell you anything?” His voice was desparate, demanding she answer.

“No, nothing of consequence,” Lucinda got out. “What, exactly, happened in that carriage? Why am I here, and what does all of this have to do with you?”

His eyes darkened but he didn’t speak.

“I have a right to know,” she insisted. “Please,” she begged.

Will’s arms slipped from her and he pulled her down to sit next to him on the settee. He took her hands in his. “First, you must promise me that you’ll tell no one what I’m about to share.”

Lucinda felt the room begin to spin. What was going on? Could Will’s legendary indiscretions have left him and those close to him vulnerable to such attacks?

“Will—”

“Do you agree?” Will interrupted firmly, though it clearly pained him to do so.

“Yes, of course,” Lucinda replied anxiously.

“Your life is in danger.”

The words hung in the air between them, Lucinda unable to take them in.

“A man by the name of Gareene has been hired to kidnap you. He is the man behind today’s attempt,” Will continued, his grip on her hands tightening.

“I … But …” Lucinda tried in vain to speak, but could not absorb what he’d said. “This can’t possibly be true.”

“I would never lie about such things,” he replied, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over her trembling hands.

She pulled away and stared at him. “It cannot be. Why would anyone want to kidnap me?”

“I know that this is hard fo your to hear,” he began gently. “The particulars are not important now, but in short, it’s your money they’re after.”

Lucinda looked away from Will, the pieces of this unfathomable puzzle slowly coming together. “Who are you?” she asked quietly, not entirely sure she wanted a reply, but knowing that she needed one.

He reached to reclaim her hands, swearing under his breath when she resisted. “Please, Lucinda. This is difficult enough.”

“Who are you?” she repeated, turning to look him in the eye.

“I am a member of the Young Corintheans, a select group sworn to serve England in matters here and abroad.”

“What sort of matters?” Lucinda interrupted as she attempted to make sense of his words.

Will scrubbed at his jaw with one hand. “The details are of no consequence. Lucinda—”

“You’re a spy, then?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

More pieces fell into place. Their meeting at the Mansfield ball had been so deliciously unexpected. The interlude in the park an awakening, their lovemaking in the library a rebirth.

And all of it was a lie, done out of duty—out of obligation.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Lucinda began, her eyes lowering to fix on her folded hands in her lap. “Details have everything to do with you and me.”

She could hear it, the sound of her heart breaking. But she would not let herself cry. And slowly, the numbness of realization and regret settled into her, until she could feel nothing.

“Lucinda, please, let me explain,” Will begged, dropping to his knees and covering her hands with his in her lap.

“Do you love me?” she asked, her voice sounding eerily detached, even to her.

“Do not demand this of me, Lucinda,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

A pounding at the door was followed immediately by the sound of it opening. “Sir, beg your pardon, but we need to take Lady Lucinda home now.”

Lucinda looked across the room. The man standing in the open doorway was the one who had escorted her here earlier in the day. He’d been so kind, so comforting as he’d concealed her in a heavy, hooded cloak and hastened her through the city streets. But it made no difference to her, all that had come before this moment now meaningless.

“Of course,” she answered. On some level, she was vaguely surprised that her legs supported her as she stood.

“We aren’t through, Lucinda.” Will’s voice was a harsh murmur beside her and she realized he’d stood, looming next to her. For the first time since they met, her body didn’t sing with awareness. She felt frozen.

“Oh, but we are,” she said. “I have my answer—and you, your duty.”

She bent to retrieve her boots, not bothering to put them back on. “I am ready,” she replied to the waiting Corinthian, and turned to go, not once looking back.