Chapter 3
Elf froze with horror, at last recognizing the hauntingly familiar voice.
She’d thrown herself into the arms of her brother-in-law, Lord Walgrave, but he had turned traitor.
It made no sense.
No sense at all.
What need did one of the most powerful and wealthy men in the kingdom have of Stuarts and rebels? But then she remembered his father had leaned toward the Jacobites during the invasion of 1745. That folly had given Rothgar a hold over the old earl, which in the end had driven the man mad.
Her breath-starved brain struggled for a new strategy. She doubted Walgrave would recognize her. Would he stand by and see an unknown woman murdered?
Would identifying herself help?
He hated Mallorens.
She gripped her dagger, even though she had no faith in its effect against two strong men.
At last Walgrave spoke. “Die?” he said lightly, his arms settling more firmly about her. “Zounds, man, this pretty bird doesn’t have the wit to understand anything more serious than the trimming of her caps. Unless,” he added with meaning, “you insist on forcing her mind toward the subject.”
“You know her, my lord?”
Elf ventured a peep and saw that the Scot had not put away the long, menacing dagger in his hand.
Walgrave sighed as if bearing burdens. “She’s my current mistress, and tiresomely jealous.” Elf found her chin forced up by a none-too-gentle hand. “I shall have to punish you for this, puss. I really can’t have you following me around and interfering in my affairs.”
A tremor passed through her, for genuine fury glinted in his eyes. Apparently it wasn’t murderous fury, however, and so she must follow his lead.
“Je suis désolée, monseigneur,” she sniffed, not having to force the nervousness into her voice. She continued in French, “I was so sure you’d come here with her.”
With easy fluency, he replied in the same language. “Even if I choose to consort with other women, you have no right to spy or object, do you?” He enforced the words with a truly painful squeeze so she squeaked.
“No, my lord!”
“You see,” he said to the other man in English, “she presents no problem.”
The Scotsman’s knife glinted. “With all due respect, my lord, she could do harm even by mindless chatter.”
“Her English is not good enough, but I intend to keep her close. Don’t concern yourself. She won’t speak to anyone about anything until it’s too late to matter.”
With that, ignoring the threatening blade, the earl steered Elf firmly toward the lighted South Walk.
Though Elf’s heartbeat was steadying, her legs still trembled. It was no hardship to cling to Walgrave and whisper, “Merci, monseigneur!”
“Don’t thank me too soon.” Once more, he spoke in French. His command of the language lacked her perfect accent, but it was excellent. “My Scottish friend is doubtless following, and I meant what I said. You are my prisoner.”
“Prisoner? You can’t do that!”
“What is to stop me? Whoever you are, you little minx, you have escaped your attendants and engaged in a feather-witted adventure. Which means I can easily make you disappear. Put away that toy,” he added, glancing at her dagger. “It will do you no good.”
Elf slipped it back into her stomacher but muttered, “It saved me from that man.”
Her nerves were beginning to steady. Relatively speaking.
They still quivered like twanged harp strings, but strength had returned to her limbs and she could think.
Walgrave hadn’t recognized her.
That was hardly surprising when she was masked. The main danger lay in her voice, for they’d met often enough. If they only spoke French, however, perhaps that would be enough disguise.
As they blended once more with the festive crowd, she prayed for it.
His feelings toward the Mallorens were so fierce that if he discovered her identity, he might toss her back to the murderous Scot.
Moreover, when she escaped him, he must never know whom he had saved, especially if he was involved in treason.
Treason!
Lud, but it made no sense. She’d thought him a rake, an unfeeling brother, and a malicious enemy. She’d never thought him deranged.
She’d puzzle that through later. First, she must continue to fool him until she could escape. She hoped he was still enough of a rake to be intrigued by a flighty Frenchwoman.
“Please let me go home, my lord. Don’t be cruel!”
“Cruel? Faith, child, I’m being a very gentle, perfect knight. It goes against my nature, so don’t question the blessing.”
“Oh, I don’t, my lord! Thank you, my lord!
I think you’re being wonderful!” The sillier she sounded, the less wary he’d be.
She reminded herself of Amanda, and looked around the crowd.
This enterprise had been Elf’s idea, and she had to be sure her friend returned home safely.
Try as she might, however, Elf could catch no glimpse of a silver-blue domino.
Walgrave was making a way toward the exit like Moses parting the Red Sea. Though incognito and dressed in plain dark clothes, something in his manner seemed to make the lesser mortals slink out of his way.
Where was Amanda?
She had to be sure her friend was safe. She also needed to ensure that Amanda didn’t raise the hue and cry. By dawn, Elf hoped to be safely home with no one aware of her folly, but if Amanda raced home to cry the alarm, they’d be deep in the suds.
Elf began to despair, but as they came close to the river, even Walgrave had to slow his imperious progress.
Elf could search more carefully, and she finally spotted a lady in a blue domino standing on a bench beneath a tree, desperately scanning the crowd.
Amanda had even taken off her mask and looked frantic.
Elf focused on her, as if she could snag Amanda’s attention out of the air. Twice her friend’s eyes traveled by. Then Elf realized Amanda would be looking for bright red, and she was still wearing her inside-out cloak. Quickly, she pushed back the hood, exposing red silk.
Amanda’s eyes traveled over her, twitched back, and fixed.
With a bright smile of relief, Amanda waved and jumped down off the bench. Elf hissed in annoyance. Amanda could be dashing into danger, particularly as Walgrave might well recognize her.
For a moment she wondered if she could use that to free herself. Surely he wouldn’t try to imprison both of them. But then she remembered the murderous Scot. She couldn’t let Amanda, clearly identified, fall into the circle of danger!
With his gaze on the crowds before them, Walgrave steered Elf onward, but she kept her eyes fixed in the direction Amanda would have to come from.
As soon as her friend pushed through the crowd, she raised a hand in a command to stop.
Amanda paused, a questioning look on her face.
Elf made a shooing gesture, hoping Amanda would understand it as “go home.”
Again, at the very mouth of Vauxhall Lane, Walgrave was halted. He muttered a curse, his attention focused on the people blocking the tunnel ahead of them.
Elf turned her head and mouthed, Go home. I’m safe.
Amanda frowned, squinting at Elf’s escort. Then her lips parted in surprise. After a moment her eyes widened in horrified amusement.
That expression stayed with Elf as Walgrave found a way through the crowd and swept her into Vauxhall Lane. For heaven’s sake! Amanda thought she was heading off willingly for a night of passion with the earl of her dreams.
As they emerged and headed for Vauxhall Stairs, Elf saw one good side to the ridiculous situation. Amanda wouldn’t approve, but she wouldn’t sound the alarm and risk ruining Elf’s reputation forever.
And Amanda should be safe. It was merely a matter of hiring a boat to take her to the steps close to Warwick Street.
A footman had been instructed to wait there all evening, ready to escort the ladies back home.
Of course, there would only be one lady, but surely Amanda could come up with some explanation for that.
For now, Elf had to concentrate on her own safety, and this bizarre matter of treason.
She needed her brothers, but it could take days for one of them to arrive. She had no idea when the plot was supposed to take place. Walgrave had implied that she’d only be a prisoner for a matter of days. The Scot had said the time was nigh.
She clearly couldn’t just wait for her brothers. She would have to do something herself. Underneath worry and fear, she admitted to a tingle of pure excitement.
She was about to be challenged at last, and her Malloren soul delighted. She finally understood why her twin had felt compelled to seek a difficult and dangerous way of life.
Probably for this tingle in the blood.
So, what should she do?
Allowing Walgrave to guide her down toward the boats, she skimmed over options. She would send for her brothers, but in the meantime, she must act.
Elf drew up a mental list of things to be done, just as if she were preparing for a grand entertainment.
First, escape from Walgrave without letting him know whom he had in his power.
Second, find out as much as possible about the plot.
She wondered if she should reverse those. If she stayed with Walgrave, perhaps she could find out more about the plot. But no. She suspected the earl had plans for their time together that didn’t include discussion of his political leanings.
Third? Balk the traitors and see them brought to justice, she supposed. Without Walgrave ending up on the block.
She remembered only yesterday promising Chastity that she’d prevent such a disaster, and hysterical laughter threatened.
The penalty for treason was to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, though the Jacobite peers had been beheaded.
She glanced up at the man beside her—clear-cut, arrogant features, brown wavy hair disciplined by a black bow.
Was that handsome young head to be severed by an ax and left to rot on a spike in a public thoroughfare?
She could not bear the thought.