The Smuggler and the Society Bride (17 page)

‘I expect, after having wetted your cravat and waistcoat, I
ought to explain the whole. It will be…liberating to confess it at last, I suppose.'

‘If you want to tell me, I would be honoured to hear it.'

After a sigh so forlorn it made his heart ache, she gestured for him to return to the rock bench they'd shared. Seating herself beside him, she began, ‘I left London so precipitously, as I'm sure you've guessed by now, because of a scandal. 'Tis a long, involved story, but I'd quarrelled with my fiancé and, still angry with him, told my elder brother that I intended to show Anthony that if he didn't care about pleasing me, other men did. But to my disgruntlement, he wasn't present at the ball we were both to attend that night to watch jealously while I flirted with my other admirers.'

Gabe felt both a niggling sympathy for the erstwhile fiancé—and a ferocious jealousy.

‘Later that night, one of the footman gave me a verbal message, saying Anthony wished to meet me in the hostess's garden. Confident that he wanted to apologize, I hurried out to meet him. But it wasn't Anthony I found waiting for me.'

Her lips twisted in a grimace of revulsion. ‘At the far end of a pathway as shadowy and isolated as one of Vauxhall's Dark Walks stood one of the worst reprobates of the Ton. Thinking I'd stumbled on an assignation, I backed away, but before I could regain the path, he grabbed me.'

She shuddered again. ‘In what seemed like an instant, he'd bound my hands in a noose of silken rope, declaring he was delighted that I'd decided to indulge in a little illicit play before committing myself to my dull fiancé. When I protested I had no idea what he was talking about and struggled to free myself, he…he said if I liked it rough, he would be pleased to comply.'

‘The devil you say!' Gabe cried, unable to restrain himself any longer. ‘Only give me his name and I'll put a bullet through him!'

She shook her head. ‘Bad as he is, 'twas not completely his fault. I…I had acquired a reputation for being rather fast, daring to pull pranks more conventional young ladies would
never consider. Nothing truly scandalous, but I can understand why he might have believed the note sent to him, purportedly from me, to be genuine.'

Gabe frowned. ‘He received a note, you say? From whom?'

‘I don't know. The note inviting him to dalliance and enclosing the rope asked him to attend the ball and wait for a footman to bring him word to join me in the garden. Apparently a liveried footman did so, just before giving a similar message to me.'

‘Your hostess had a part in this?' he demanded in disbelief.

‘I don't think so. I believe whoever set this up employed someone dressed like a footman to deliver the messages. For though it seemed I struggled with the rake for an eternity, it couldn't have been too long after that my brother, Anthony and some friends came running down the pathway. Marcus later told me a footman brought him a message, too, supposedly from one of his friends who'd seen me slip away in company with the rake, urging him to fetch Anthony and come find me.'

‘And so they rushed to your rescue?'

She smiled grimly. ‘Oh, they came—but by then, it was too late to salvage my reputation. You see, once h-he—' Her voice broke and she wrapped her arms protectively about her torso.

‘Enough,' Gabe cried, gripping her shoulders, outraged and agonized by her distress. ‘You needn't say any more.'

She shook her head vigorously. ‘Please, I want…I need to continue. If I may?'

Too outraged to trust himself to words, Gabe merely nodded.

She took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Once he had me immobilized, he no longer seemed even to hear my protests. I fought him off as best I could, struggling, kicking, biting, but that only seemed to inflame him more. By the time we were discovered, he'd ripped the front of my bodice and torn my skirts.'

‘And your brother didn't kill him on the spot?' Gabe demanded in disbelief.

‘I expect he was more interested in hurrying me away before the crowd of gentlemen with him got a closer view. Besides, when Marc challenged him, the rogue proclaimed loudly that I'd invited him to meet me—and surely a gentleman ought not to disappoint a lady? He'd released me and tossed away the rope as soon as he saw the crowd approaching, and from the titters at that remark and the leers on the men's faces, I could tell they believed him.

‘Those faces,' she repeated, her voice fading to a whisper while her eyes, wide and anguished, gazed sightlessly at the horizon. ‘I shall never forget them.'

‘Then your brother led you away?' Gabe demanded, approving at least that part of her sibling's conduct.

‘Y-yes,' she replied, returning to the present. ‘Marcus lent me his coat and walked me through the crowd of men…all still watching me.'

‘But once he'd gotten you safely away, didn't he go back and deal with the rogue?'

‘He was too furious. He knew I'd been angry with Anthony and believed that, in an ill-judged fit of pique, I had indeed asked the man to meet me. When I tried to protest my innocence, he refused to believe me, saying it was incredible to suppose anyone else would have had either reason or means to construct so bizarre a plan. He chastised me,' she continued, her voice growing bitter, ‘for trying to evade the blame for embarrassing the family and creating so appalling a scandal.'

She hopped off the rock and paced down the beach. ‘Bad enough that Marc thought me stupid enough to have concocted such a mutton-headed, dangerous scheme,' she said, halting to look back at him, hurt and indignation in her voice, ‘but then to accuse me of
lying
about it! Whatever silly stunts I'd pulled, and I admit, there'd been a few, I'd never given him reason to doubt my word.'

The anger seemed to leave her as swiftly as it had come. ‘I left London at once, of course, but not for our country estate
as Marc commanded. Being somewhat displeased with the men of my family, I chose to seek refuge here, with my mother's Aunt Foxe. She's a bit of a rebel herself, as you may have heard,' she added with a slight smile. ‘She was kind enough to take me in. So here I remain, a ruined and abandoned woman.'

‘Your fiancé did not stand by you?'

She uttered a derisive sniff. ‘No. His was one of the outraged, leering faces the night of my disgrace. He couldn't wait to rid himself of me.'

‘Then his behaviour is only marginally better than the rogue's,' Gabe declared, disgusted by a man who would fail to support the woman to whom he'd been promised, at least until he could uncover the whole truth of the matter. ‘You deserve better!'

She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Perhaps. Anyway, I appreciate your indulgence in allowing me to recite my sad little tale.' She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Though instead of an understanding shoulder to weep upon, perhaps you should have given me a quick slap to the head. I expect we'd best be leaving now.'

She turned toward the path to the cliffs. But Gabe was not about to let her brush off the harrowing experience and walk away, diminishing what had so deeply wounded her, what she'd trusted him enough to share.

‘It's not too late, you know,' he said after her.

She stopped and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Too late?'

‘To find out who was responsible for bringing you and the rogue to the garden, then alerting the others. Not too late to find—and punish him. I'll even lend you a sword—although you may have to arm-wrestle me for the privilege of running the wretch through.'

For a moment she stared at him through lashes that were still wet with tears.

‘Are you suggesting we—'

‘Look further into this? Find out who planned and executed it? Yes, I am. Damnation, someone went to a very great deal of trouble to ruin you. Even if you don't want to exact revenge, don't you at least want to know who—and why?'

She stared silently at him for a long moment. ‘You would…do that for me?'

He made her a bow that would have done a courtier proud at a Queen's drawing room. ‘Consider it a matter of honour. Now, with whom, besides your fiancé, had you quarrelled recently? Who might stand to gain from your disgrace? Who was present in the garden that night? Tell me everything you can remember.'

H
esitant, her heartbeat racing, Honoria stood motionless, staring at Captain Hawksworth. She ought to feel humiliated, after having just laid bare before the man whose admiration she most wished to retain the whole tawdry tale of her ruin. Instead, though, she felt…free.

He had offered her comfort, even after the absurd way she'd behaved, pushing him away like a prim dowager outraged by a tipsy roué's attempt to steal a kiss. Pushed him away, after all her lusty imaginings over the shape and size and feel of his masculine parts and how he might ply them and how she might assist him.

Still, the wave of fear and revulsion that had swamped her when his arms closed around her—completely unanticipated and without warning—had been irresistible. Panic lending her strength, she'd felt she would suffocate if she didn't get free, get some air, put some distance between them.

Obviously the attack by Lord Barwick had wounded her far more deeply than she'd suspected. Perhaps she'd been wrong to repress the memory and refuse to acknowledge her distress over it. Perhaps it was inevitable that eventually her tight-fisted grip over those events would weaken and the whole flood of anguished memories would come pouring forth—as they had today.

Having revealed all the sordid details that until now she'd hidden from everyone, she felt curiously washed clean. And contrary to her expectations—expectations partly responsible for her reluctance to confess to anyone what had happened—instead of looking at her in disgust, as Anthony had that night, Captain Hawksworth had been outraged on her behalf.

More precious than comfort, he was now extending to her something not even Aunt Foxe, who believed her story and sympathized with her plight, had offered: a chance to discover who had done this to her and why.

She felt a surge of energy and excitement. Instead of being simply a hapless victim, a tool of some unknown master hand, she might fight back. And if obtaining justice were not possible, she might at least hope to look with cold contempt into the face of the person who had destroyed her life.

Humbled, grateful, she said, ‘I'm not sure what I remember.'

‘Then since your aunt expects you shortly,' he replied, gesturing toward the rock, ‘you'd better sit down and get started.'

She climbed up beside him again and cast her mind back to the events of those last days in London. ‘With whom had I quarrelled?' She sat silent a moment, thinking, then shrugged. ‘I can't recall a serious argument with anyone but Anthony. As for who might profit from my disgrace, I don't know that my downfall would benefit anyone. Oh, to be sure, there were young ladies jealous of my success among the gentlemen, but as I was already engaged, it's not as though I had just stolen a duke or marquess from under some damsel's nose. And even if I had, what female would have the resources to accomplish a scheme as complicated as this? Even after the relatively limited contemplation of it I've been able to endure, reviewing the events led me to conclude it must have been a man's doing. But for what reason, I still cannot imagine.'

‘Had you any jealous suitors who might have wished to strike back at you for choosing to wed another?'

‘I'd considered that. But though I had a great number of
admirers, some of whom professed themselves devastated by my engagement, I believe their protestations were mere gallantry. Most were dashing bucks who much prefer flirtation to treading a path toward the parson's mousetrap. Nor can I remember slighting anyone who might feel so spurned as to justify taking such a revenge, or repulsing anyone at all who appeared calculating enough to create so elaborate a plan. Unless he were playing a very deep game indeed.'

Captain Hawksworth nodded slowly. ‘What of your family—might they have any enemies who sought to strike back at them through you? Someone with a sister seduced? A married woman whose affair embarrassed her husband or her family?'

Though her initial response was to laugh at the absurdity of such a notion, Honoria made herself consider the possibility. ‘I don't think so,' she said after a moment. ‘My father has been in uncertain health for years and, in any event, is devoted to my mother. My elder brother is the epitome of uprightness; I can't imagine him taking advantage of a woman, maiden or married. Now, my younger brother…'

‘The Army man?'

‘Yes.' She smiled, her heart warmed, as always, by thinking of Hal. ‘He's accounted a rogue and a rake, but as far as I know—such escapades are usually screened from maidenly ears—his excursions among the fair sex have always been limited to willing widows and ladies of broad experience.'

‘Anything else you can recall? A quarrel between families?'

She paused a moment, grasping at a thin shred of memory. ‘There was some sort of scandal that occurred back in my father's day—though I'm not sure I'd even been born yet when it occurred. There was some trouble about it again a few months ago, but it all died down. We children were never told very much in the first place, and what little we were told I no longer remember.' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Perhaps I could ask Aunt Foxe.'

He nodded. ‘That might be helpful, or further details may
occur to you later. Let's move on to the night of the ball. Who, besides your brother and fiancé, do you remember from that night?'

She sat back, scanning a series of memories in her mind. ‘Papa wasn't feeling well, so Mama remained at home with him. Our former governess, Miss Price, had run off and married and Mama hadn't yet engaged another one, so my sister Verity and I were escorted by my brother Marcus. Lady Dalrington's ball was attended by the usual set. No one who seemed to be watching me. No one who seemed angry with me.'

She shook her head again, frustrated by her inability to recall anything out of the ordinary. ‘I'm sorry; none of this can be of much help.'

‘Who besides your brother and fiancé came to the garden?'

Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to remember—and found most of what occurred after Lord Barwick released her to be a nightmarish haze. ‘That I truly don't remember well. Some of Anthony's friends, I suppose.' She shuddered as one figure detached itself from the fog. ‘Viscount Keddinton, an associate of Father's I've never liked—he has the sort of pale eyes that look right through one.'

‘Could there have been a disagreement there?'

‘I don't think so. He still advises the family. Indeed, he's my sister's godfather.' One who, as they'd grown to womanhood, looked at both her and Verity with something in his eyes they'd found disturbing, though since his behaviour remained impeccable, neither had ever mentioned that fact to their brother.

‘Marcus probably asked him to come lend his support,' she continued. ‘Besides, even if he disliked me for some fault of which I was unaware, I can't imagine what benefit my ruin would afford him.'

‘No one else you can remember?' When she shook her head, he said, ‘What happened after your brother arrived?'

She scanned her memory, the process a bit less agonizing
this time, though she had little more success identifying the sequence of events than she'd had in attaching identities to the pale faces leering out of the darkness. ‘After fighting desperately, suddenly I was free. Marc was there, ripping off his coat and thrusting it around me. Shouting an exchange with the rogue, then hurrying me down the pathway to the coatroom. I stood shivering while he fetched my wrap, handed him back his own coat after I'd pulled the cloak over the tatters of my gown.'

Suddenly the other memory occurred. ‘My cloak! I didn't discover this until days later, on the journey out of London, when I took my handkerchief from the little pocket I'd had made in its lining—and found a curious piece of glass. Though not unique, such interior pockets are uncommon enough that someone, doubtless the perpetrator, must have made a special effort to find that place to hide the stone, intending for me not to find it until later.'

The captain angled his head at her. ‘A piece of glass?'

‘Yes—with a meaning that was easy enough to decipher as soon as one examined it: facetted and polished on one side, rough and unfinished on the other. A reminder that I, who had been accounted a
Diamond
of the Ton, was now no more valuable to society or my family than a worthless lump of glass.'

The captain had been shaking his head in bemusement when suddenly his body tensed and his eyes widened. ‘Facetted like a
diamond,
you say? Does the family name of Carlow mean anything to you?'

Shock coursing through her, she stared at him, speechless. Had he guessed her identity? If so, how?

Uncertain what he knew, she said cautiously, ‘I am…related to the Carlows. Why do you ask?'

‘I met a Gypsy trader at the inn here by the name of Stephano Beshaley. He said he specializes in diamonds, had important London connections—and claimed that he'd gotten
the better of a prominent London family named Carlow. Tall, slender, elegant fellow, dressed rather flamboyantly. English features, but with a bronzed skin and faintly foreign air that spoke of his Gypsy heritage.'

While the captain described the trader, a shadowy recollection crystallized in her memory. ‘A gem trader? Yes, I remember encountering such a man at the jeweller's the day Anthony and I quarrelled! He had provided the stones for a parure the jeweller showed us, one I liked very much, for the design was lovely and set with very fine diamonds indeed. The dealer bowed to us when the jeweller acknowledged him, though I don't believe we were ever given his name.'

Just then another image filled her head—a detail she'd not previously noted among the fog of events that awful night. ‘He was there, too, that night in the garden!' she cried. ‘At the edge of the crowd. A dark, slightly foreign face I didn't recognize until just now. Perhaps he planted the stone in my pocket.'

‘Could he have engineered the whole scheme?'

Honoria shook her head. ‘What possible reason could he have for doing so? A man not even of my world? But he was certainly there in Lady Dalrington's garden. I suppose he might have been hired to place the stone in my cloak by the same person who engaged the false footman to deliver messages. The man who did plan and set in motion the whole.'

‘You are sure he's not more immediately involved? If he's part Gypsy, he'd believe in revenge, if one of your family had done him or any of his clan an injury.'

‘I suppose it is possible, but I can't imagine who or why. My mother owns some exquisite jewellery, but mostly family pieces passed down through generations. Marcus probably bought some things for his bride, and most assuredly Hal needed baubles for his various
chere amies
, but I can't imagine either of them not offering fair value or failing to pay in full. And what if they had? Even for a Gypsy, the ruin of a sister for the failure to pay a debt seems a bit extreme.'

He smiled. ‘You're right. We had a tribe camp on family land one summer, and though they could be a hot-blooded, argumentative lot, very careful of their horses and their women, they had a scrupulous sense of honour, according to their lights. Still, you are sure there was a slightly foreign gem trader in the garden that night.'

She nodded. ‘Yes, I'm certain.'

‘Then we shall start there. Though I should like to have a word with your brother! Had he started an inquiry immediately, we'd not be looking at a trail that's had more than a month to cool.'

‘I wouldn't have thought it possible a few weeks ago that I'd be defending Marcus, but I see much more clearly now why he behaved as he did. With his new wife in an interesting condition and my father so delicate, he would have been frantic with worry about the deleterious effects the scandal might have on their health. And outraged over how the debacle would adversely affect my younger sister's prospects.'

She paused a moment, recalling Marc's letter, still sitting unread on her desk, and forced a small, painful smile. ‘If I hadn't been so heedless and unmanageable, so often involved in small scrapes of one sort or another, perhaps he would have given more credence to my protests of innocence. As it is, I can understand how, angry and worried as he was, he would find it easier to believe that I'd foolishly set these events in train than to think that some unknown someone, possessed of no motive we've yet been able to determine, had devised so outlandish a scheme.'

And after all their discussion, the only clue she had produced to find the perpetrator of that scheme was a Gypsy gem trader who probably couldn't be traced. Her initial excitement fading, she admitted, ‘I have a hard enough time giving it credence myself, and I know absolutely it is true.'

He nodded, smiling wryly. ‘Sometimes the truth
is
incredible.'

Was he speaking of her or himself? she wondered. ‘In any
event, I don't fault Marc for sending me away. He was justified in being ashamed of my conduct and in chastising me for the damage it could do my sister's prospects.'

His arresting blue-eyed gaze holding her own prevented her from dropping her eyes. As the embarrassment of having admitted her shortcomings reddened her cheeks, the captain shook his head.

‘Heedless in your behaviour or not, your brother should have trusted more in your honour.'

His confidence in that honour touched her deeply. Blinking back a sudden burn of tears, she said, ‘I was not unwilling to leave London, if doing so quickly would help contain the damage. My sister is so earnest and proper, she often drove me to distraction, but she is also loyal and sincere. I recognize now that I never valued her as I ought.' She sighed. ‘Perhaps one must lose something before one appreciates what one had.'

‘Like place and privilege?' the captain said, an odd faraway look in his eye.

‘If you only knew how little I value those! But one's honour, one's secure, familiar place in the world, things one has taken for granted all one's life…You cannot imagine beforehand what a blow their loss will be.'