Unmasking Sin, page 22
“If you,” Melissa said, “ever want a part on the stage, the rest of us are in trouble.”
“You were magnificent,” Francis told her fervently.
Rebecca collapsed, stunned and triumphant, against the back of her chair. “Where has he gone?”
“I can’t see him unless I turn.”
But suddenly, Rebecca could. A tall, fair figure in a black domino cloak, once more twirling his mask around his finger as he strode around the corner into the path that led to the front gate and vanished from view. “I think he’s leaving.”
She stumbled to her feet, her need to see Ludovic palpable. But when she rounded on the next table, only two masked strangers sat there and neither of them were Ludovic. One, the shorter, had been busy writing in a book, which he hastily slid beneath the table as she stared at them.
Behind her, Francis said, “Did you get it all?”
“More than enough,” replied the taller man at the next table while Rebecca looked anxiously about her. “I’ll have him brought in tomorrow. It will be hushed up, of course, but at least Ludovic’s brother can be publicly exonerated.”
“Where is Ludovic?” Rebecca demanded. “Was he not with you?”
“Oh, yes, he heard everything as clearly as we did.” The magistrate’s gaze flickered to Francois. “He went off by himself, but he won’t have left the Gardens.”
“Shall we take you home?” Francis suggested.
Rebecca drew a deep breath. She had done it. She had induced Dauncy to give the evidence against himself that would give Ludovic and his family some sense of belated justice. And prevented him doing any more harm.
“No, thank you.” She met Francis’s gaze. “I have taken your words to heart and will begin the necessary action. I shall wait for him here.”
“He may not see you sitting here,” Francis warned. “And in any case, you do not want to be seen alone if Dauncy comes back.”
“If Dauncy comes back, he won’t recognize me as either Rebecca or Reine. But Ludovic will.”
With that, she curtsied, smiling, and walked away around the dance floor until she came to her usual table for one.
Two people were sitting there this evening, masked and vaguely uncomfortable. Beside them was a small carpet-bag, which Rebecca picked up.
“Thank you, Simmie,” she said to the startled woman. “Give me two minutes, and then you and your young man may go home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ludovic felt crushed by emotion. He almost burst with pride in Rebecca for the deft, instinctive way she dealt with Dauncy, recognizing both his need for admiration and the kind of arrogance that would tell a stranger information that could hang him just in order to win her to his bed. Dear God, that soft, husky yet challenging voice had made him feel sick with jealousy. No wonder Dauncy had succumbed so easily.
And given them everything. The world would know Stephen’s innocence at last. It was all he could do, and it could never be enough. Grief swamped him, his longing for his brother a sharp, relentless pain.
In his heart, he knew the authorities were unlikely to try Dauncy. He would, no doubt, be encouraged to resign his commission and leave the country. There would be no more posts available to him, sinecures or otherwise. But that was not punishment. Dauncy would not die as Stephen had died. He would not even be disgraced except in a very small circle.
But Ludovic could, and would, see him tried for attempted murder.
He took a deep breath and drove himself to his feet. “Thank you. I am forever in your debt,” he murmured to his companions and launched himself away from the table. Ahead, Dauncy was making his jaunty way past the dance floor toward the main path to the gate.
Ludovic allowed himself one tiny glance at the next table. Rebecca had all but collapsed back in her chair, and he knew an abrupt, tempting urge to stay and comfort her, to pour out his gratitude and his love.
But there would be time for that. Maybe. If he was lucky. For now, he strode past without her even noticing, mingled among the dancers until he could weave off the paths and run like a hare through the undergrowth, almost to the front gate.
Ripping off his mask, he leapt out of the bushes and onto the path, trying to calm his breath. He swung back up the path, dangling his mask from his fingers as he strode up to meet Dauncy coming the other way around the sweeping corner.
Ludovic did not even glance at his enemy, pretending to be focused on something else entirely. But he felt Dauncy’s sudden halt, and after a moment, heard the sound of his quiet footsteps, following him back to the gardens.
It made the back of his neck prickle and his spine chill. But Dauncy could do nothing among so many witnesses. So Ludovic would make it easy for him.
At the top of the path, Ludovic caught sight of the lounging figure of Francisco, who seemed to be flirting with a masked lady. But he undoubtedly saw Ludovic and Dauncy behind him. Ludovic swerved along a narrower path, and a few moments later, stepped past a giggling couple in a state of semi-undress, and made his way through the wooded area toward a little clearing where, he was sure, Dauncy would make his move. Not knowing that Francisco was right behind him.
*
Ha! So, Dunne had come to Maida. Constantine Rawlston’s informant had at least got that right. Well, this evening appeared to be lucky. He had not played any cards, but a beautiful and passionate woman had invited him to her bed, and if he dealt with Dunne tonight, that would leave Rebecca Cornish for tomorrow. He would try the park again.
Right now, he followed the impervious Dunne back up the path toward the pavilion, prepared to wait for the right opportunity. The small pistol in his pocket was only for threatening purposes—he could not risk the noise of firing it. The pointed dagger in the other pocket, however, was both deadly and silent.
And Dunne, bless him, moved down a quieter path. Dauncy smiled to himself and walked on. He would take another route, come at him unexpectedly…
From the hubbub of music, chatter, and laughter, a woman said, “Thank you, Simmie.”
It took only an instant for him to grasp the significance. Simmie was what Rebecca Cornish called her maid. The Rawlstons had told him that among other personal trivia, they thought he might need to know.
Dauncy stepped off the path exactly where he had meant to, but not now to pursue Dunne so much as to see if he was right. Peering between the leaves, he saw a graceful young lady in lilac, with matching mask, shoo away two other people who walked away. The man, who might have been a clerk of some kind, carried a bag.
Dauncy turned his attention back to the lady in lilac, who sat alone at her table. Oh yes, this was undoubtedly Lady Cornish. Her every movement, graceful, unconsciously provocative, betrayed her. She was, he thought, a subtler, better-bred version of Reine d’Espan. Though all women were the same under their clothes.
So, what to do? Deal with Dunne first as the more difficult challenge? But no, Rebecca was nearer. And besides, if her death was discovered, it would draw everyone, including the management thugs he knew were hired to keep order here. And so, he would have the freedom to simply shoot Dunne and flee over the back wall. He had already planned several escape routes while waiting for d’Espan and his delectable sister-in-law.
This was indeed turning into the perfect evening.
He checked his mask was in place, drew the domino cloak fully around him, and pulled the hood over his fair locks. And then he stepped out of the bushes, his fingers curling around the dagger hilt as he took the few paces to Rebecca’s table and sat down in the vacant chair at her side.
Her head jerked around, and beneath the mask, her eyes widened in sudden fear. Sensible girl. He leaned closer, letting her feel the blade pressing into her side. She gasped, clearly feeling the prick, and Dauncy smiled.
“Just a tiny warning. Don’t move, sweetheart, or you’re dead,” he murmured fondly.
She stared at him, swallowed visibly, and nodded.
Silly girl. She was dead either way.
*
Ludovic reached the clearing, where a greenish pond and a rather dirty fountain gurgled away. Like most of the Gardens, it was well lit from lanterns in the surrounding trees. But the noise of nearby jollity was muffled, reminding him of his isolation. He turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, every sense on high alert while he waited in the middle, near the pond, for Dauncy to find him. The bastard would have to try this in the open, not kill from the trees. Although he might have a pistol. Ludovic had dismissed the idea of him using such a weapon here. Even Dauncy, in all his arrogance, would not risk firing a gun here and bringing all Renwick’s brutes down on himself.
A rustling in the trees gave him a moment’s warning. And then a man stepped warily into the clearing. Though masked, his hood was down, and his hair was not fair but raven black. Francisco.
As Ludovic turned another full circle in search of his quarry, Francisco approached him, muttering, “Where is the body?”
“He hasn’t even got here yet. He must have lost me, or doubled back, the fool.”
Francisco’s eyes snapped to his. “Doubled back?” he repeated in alarm. “But Rebecca is there!”
Blood sang in Ludovic’s ears. Even before his brain made the decision, he was running, bolting through the trees with more speed than silence.
“Melissa was supposed to take her home,” he ground out at last to Francisco at his heels.
“She wanted to stay. For you, though God knows why. Damn it, Ludo, I don’t know where she will be!”
“I do,” Ludovic said grimly. “We just have to hope she can keep him flirting. Perhaps you should find Renwick and—”
Even as he said the words, they made no sense. Dauncy was on a promise for tomorrow. Why would he give up the chance to kill Ludovic just for another flirtation with the beautiful Reine?
Because he had recognized her.
Oh, dear God.
He saw her through the trees, at the table where he had first seen her. And she was not dressed in the blond wig and burgundy gown, but in the lilac ensemble in which he had first seen her, with her dark hair simply and plainly dressed. And she was not alone.
A hooded man sat beside her, too close to be anything but a lover or an attacker. Her sheer rigidity told him which. If he hadn’t already known. Through his haze of fear for her, a growl of anger surged, and he actually sped up to charge to the rescue.
Francisco caught his arm. “He’s sitting too close to her,” he whispered. “He must be threatening her. He could have a weapon.”
Which my charging in could cause him to use sooner rather than later. The sickening realization that he meant to kill her nearly destroyed him. She had told him she had introduced Dauncy to the uncles in the park. Had they actually pooled their resources? Had they paid Dauncy to kill her and gain full control of Tom and no scrutiny over the estate?
It was enough to give him pause, and yet he knew there was no time. If Dauncy had a dagger, he could slide it between her ribs before Ludovic even reached her…
“I’ll distract him,” Francisco muttered, and while Ludovic all but crept from the trees, his friend relapsed into his jovial French accent. “Dauncy, mon ami, you are still here!”
Dauncy’s head snapped around, though it did not move even the smallest fraction away from Rebecca. His hood did fall back partially, revealing a blond lock or two. Recognized, surely, he would not dare to hurt her before so many witnesses.
Ludovic could not take the chance. After all, Dauncy was not used to paying for his crimes.
Ludovic leapt, crashing between Dauncy and Rebecca with such force that the table overturned, and the blade in Dauncy’s hand was revealed, flecked with blood. With a cry of despair and rage, Ludovic smashed his fist into Dauncy’s dropped jaw, sending him flying from his chair to the ground, where he lay quite still.
Ludovic left him to Francisco’s tender mercies, spinning back to Rebecca and seizing her in his arms.
Her eyes were open and blinking rapidly with shock. In desperation, he kissed her cheeks, her mouth, her eyes, clutching her convulsively while words poured incoherently from his mouth.
“Dear God, I thought I had lost you. I thought—I feared… Sweetheart, are you hurt? Never leave me, Rebecca, I could not bear… Dear God, speak to me, Rebecca!”
“I can’t,” she said shakily. “You’re squeezing me too tight.”
And that was when he laughed and kissed her mouth as if he would never stop.
*
Rebecca hung on to him as to her only anchor. From sheer terror, convinced her death was imminent, and horror that in spite of all she had tried to do, Tom would still grow up without her, in the hands of people she did not trust even to treat him decently. Would Ludovic—could Ludovic be there for him?
And if Dauncy was going to kill her anyway—she knew him immediately by his voice—she had nothing to lose by screaming and elbowing him in the face. At least he would be caught.
And so she had inflated her lungs, as though gasping for breath… And something had crashed past her, knocking over the table. There was an instant when she had seen Dauncy’s wicked-looking blade which, by some miracle, had not even scratched her after the first deliberate prick. She had barely time to register the miracle that it was Ludovic—Ludovic!—punching Dauncy full in the jaw before she was crushed in his arms.
Emotions battered at her. Beyond the only solid reality, that Ludovic was with her, was kissing her to within an inch of her life, she was vaguely aware of shocked screams and outrage turning into cheers and quite improper suggestions which, she began to realize, were probably being flung at Ludovic.
When she gave a panicked wriggle, he loosened his hold.
“Thank God this is Maida Gardens and not Almack’s,” he murmured against her lips, then pushed her gently into her chair.
“Back to your own amusements,” Francis instructed the watching crowd as Renwick and two very large men closed in on him.
“I didn’t hit him,” Francis protested. “Though it must be stated he needed hitting. The dagger is his, and he was about to use it on this young lady.”
“I hit him,” Ludovic said as Renwick’s gaze sought his first in surprise and then in resignation.
“Bow Street?” he asked, jerking his head at the now groaning Dauncy.
“As soon as you like,” Ludovic replied. “And don’t feel the need to be too gentle with him. He’ll tell you he’s a viscount’s son, but the viscount will be disowning him tomorrow. There is a warrant for his arrest. Or will be by morning.”
Renwick sighed and signaled his large men, who hauled Dauncey to his feet. He cried out, clutching his jaw, and was hauled off looking even more bewildered than Rebecca.
Francis pocketed the dagger and the pistol he had found in Dauncy’s pocket and glanced at Ludovic. “I’m going home now, and I’m taking Melissa with me, so try not to get into any more trouble.” As he turned, he caught Rebecca’s gaze and winked so quickly she might easily have missed it.
“Later, Mr. Renwick,” Ludovic said without looking at him. His attention was all on Rebecca.
Renwick closed his mouth and stalked off.
Renwick. Of course. “If you like, we can make it up to him,” she blurted. “I found the rubies.”
He blinked as though he had no idea what rubies she was talking about. Then, “Really? Where?”
“In a false bottom in my jewel case that I didn’t know existed. It was a gift from Theo.”
His eyes began to dance. “Where are they now?”
She raised the reticule, still, bizarrely, attached to her wrist, despite everything that just happened.
He grinned. “Then we could give them to Renwick tonight. Theo really does seem to owe them. Or we could save them in your reticule for striking any stray thieves we encounter on our way home.”
She smiled and leaned against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I put you in danger and didn’t even know it.”
“Why, what did you do?”
“I had your footman, Mark, make one last report to the uncles, more to give away the fact that I would be here tonight. Just to be sure Dauncey would come and use the opportunity to try and kill me. It never entered my head he would be after you, too.”
“I don’t understand why he wanted me dead.” The words were monstrous, and yet she spoke them quite calmly.
“I don’t think he did, particularly. I think he took money from your uncles to be sure you stopped interfering with them.”
Her fingers pressed into the pulse at the base of her throat. “Dear God. And if I had died, Tom would have been in their power completely.”
“Well, they wouldn’t have hurt the goose laying the golden eggs,” Ludovic said reasonably. “But I do feel he is much better in your care.”
She unfurled the fingers at her throat, and he caught her hand.
“There is blood on your fingers,” he said urgently. “And on the knife. I hoped it might be his or mine—”
She touched the shallow, faintly stinging cut in her side. There was only a very small stain of blood on her gown. “It was just a warning prick to make me be still and quiet. I think he just wanted to be sure he was not being observed before he—”
“Don’t,” Ludovic interrupted, squeezing her fingers before he dragged them to his lips and kissed them. “I cannot bear it.”
And suddenly, nothing else mattered. She smiled into his eyes.
“I have not left you with much dignity, have I?” he said ruefully. “Thank God for masks.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you don’t mind the odd, minor bloodstain, you could dance with me.”
Without a word, he rose and led her among the dancers, even though it was mid-waltz. When he took her hand, she saw there was blood on his hand, too, from his cut knuckles.
“What a mess we are,” she whispered. “And how much I love you.”
“I have tried to be good and selfless,” he murmured, drawing her close, much too close for propriety. “But when I thought he would kill you…that your life would be snuffed out like a candle. That mine could… I don’t want to be good and selfless anymore. I want to live and love with you. I want to make you happy if you and Tom might be happy with me.”
