A Treacherous Proposition

Chapter Three

Diana sat before the window while she combed her damp hair and wondered what to do until bedtime. Already the small wisps around her face had dried to their silver-gold hue, but it would take the thick, waist-length mass an hour more to dry so that she could braid it for bed. For the first time in years she had had a real bath in a real tub—one for which she had not carried up the water nor carried it away nor set up the screen. In the rooms she shared with Wyn, she had nowhere to wash but the crowded kitchen.

She must beware of becoming too accustomed to such luxury. She had no idea how long her stay here would last, nor what would follow it. But for now she would revel in the fact that her children were tucked safely away between clean sheets in the care of a nursemaid, and that a clean bed awaited her clean body.

Somehow Lady Litton—no, not Lady Litton. She had asked Diana to call her Helen. Somehow Helen had found the mourning clothes she had worn after Vincent’s father had died, presenting them with the diplomatic comment that it would be a waste to order more for Diana. Only minor adjustments had been required for Diana to use them. Most of them were black, of course, but still much finer and more stylish than what she had been wearing.

She looked well enough in black—not that anyone would be seeing her. Except perhaps the Earl of Lonsdale. Diana flushed at the thought. Now why should she think of Vincent Ingleton in that context? True, he was being very kind to her, but only as a friend of Wyn’s.

Wasn’t he?

Surely what she had seen in his eyes did not mean…

He had never seen her except in stained, worn-out clothes, exhausted with caring for her children in the face of daunting poverty. Try as she might, it had become impossible to keep up appearances. She was far too thin. So worn-looking. How could he possibly want her?

Before she could come to any conclusion on the matter, a light tap sounded at the door. She called, “Come in,” and one of Helen’s maids put her head through the door.

“I have a note for you, my lady. A boy brought it ’round to the kitchen a short while ago.”

Diana’s heart went cold. Not another note! How did he know where she was? What did the wretch want? What could he possibly want? She was only too afraid that she knew. Her hand trembled as she took the paper, but she managed an automatic thank you as the maid curtseyed and took herself off. Carefully, Diana broke the seal and held the letter nearer to the candle.

My dearest Lady Diana—

My condolences on the loss of your husband. A great tragedy for you, I’m sure. But I see that you have been taken under the aegis of Lord Lonsdale. How fortunate for you.

And for me. I believe the time draws near that you may repay me for the little gifts I have provided. And of course, for keeping my knowledge to myself. That has become even more important now, has it not? So difficult for Selena and Bytham to lose both their father and their mother. Who knows what their future might become?

I believe your, ah—association?—with Lord Lonsdale will provide just the opportunity I have been seeking. As always, I expect you to maintain your silence on these matters as I have maintained mine. I’m sure you understand the necessity.

Until then, I remain unwaveringly yours—

Deimos

P.S.—I have included no gift, as it is obvious your every need is being provided.

Diana crumpled the note and dropped her face into her hands. Damn him. Damn him! Always a threat in every sentence—and now also innuendo. As though she and Vincent… But then, Deimos, whoever he might be, had always made her feel like a whore. She very much feared he intended to use his gifts to make her one. Had she but known who he was, she might have flung the money back at him, even if it meant starving. But that was fantasy. She could not let her children starve.

And she did not know who he was.

Deimos. The Greek god of fear. He had chosen his sobriquet well. The fear of what he knew ate at her every second of every day. Fear for herself. Fear for her children.

How dare he use their names!

How dare he sully their sweet innocence with his poisonous pen. If ever she discovered his identity…

Perhaps she was capable of killing.

The man in the shabby brown coat tipped his chair back against the wall and took a long pull from his tankard of ale while Vincent sketched circles in the cheap liquor spilled on the greasy table. “Nay, my lord. I ain’t found out who done it yet, but it wasn’t none of our lads. Wouldn’t be no reason for us to do it. Too easy to get information from him.”

Vincent nodded glumly. “He talked of everything he knew. Try as I might, I could not shut him up.”

“Aye. It was his mouth what killed him, I’ll warrant. Might even have been the culls at the Foreign Office.”

Vincent considered the realities of the intelligence trade. “That’s possible. But the whole debacle is their doing. They should never have exiled Bonaparte to Elba in the first place. Much too close to France. Too easy for him to escape—and escape he will, soon or late.”

“He will if Lord Holland and his set have their way, such a fine fellow they think him to be.” Vincent’s companion rocked his chair to the floor with a snarl. “But there are those of us who remember what that bastard cost us, first and last.” He spit on the floor.

“We shall confound them. He must be contained.” Vincent stood. “I’ve several more people to talk to tonight. I’ll be around the hells. You can find me if you have more to report.”

His companion nodded and Vincent put on his hat and walked to the door. Standing in the portal, he let his gaze drift casually up the street and then down. He saw no one but the usual crowd that patronized the cheap taverns along the way, but still, he stepped out cautiously. He had not gone half a block when a hackney rumbled around the corner toward him.

Instinct took over and, without thinking, Vincent dropped to the dirty cobbles. The knife sailed over his head and buried itself in the wall of the building behind him. Chips of plaster rained down on him. The driver whipped up the horses and the conveyance disappeared down the street. Vincent rose, brushing dirt off his clothes.

Damn! That was close.

At last Wynmond Corby was in the ground and, Diana prayed, at peace. Vincent Ingleton had taken care of the obsequies and his stepmother had taken care of her. All of Wyn’s friends had paid their respects, to him and to her, and gone on their way. Now Diana could only wonder at the huge void within her, empty of any emotion at all with respect to Wyn.

Its very absence made her heart ache. When had she stopped loving him? When had she sustained that loss without even knowing it? She could only hope that in the few days’ respite while waiting to hear from her father’s cousin, a modicum of peace would also find her.

Bytham had been clamoring for a trip to the park since Vincent had promised it to him, but the funeral had intervened. Alice offered her services, but Diana had cared for the children herself for many years. She just could not put them in the hands of someone else.

They were all she had in the world.

Society decreed that she should remain in seclusion, mourning her loss, but that seemed redundant. She had long ago mourned the loss of the man she thought she had married—the laughing, golden-haired boy, the shining young man of promise. Now she just wished to learn what her life was to be. And to feel a few days of freedom lest she learn that it would be a new sort of prison.

Helen did not chide her when she donned a black pelisse and gloves. Suitable clothes for the children had also appeared as if by magic. Where Helen had found those, Diana had no idea, but she told herself that she did not have too much pride to accept used clothes.

She lied.

She did have too much pride. She just had little choice.

She was a Bytham of Bytham House, the daughter of an earl, and by God, she would hold her head up, come what may. She hated seeing her babies swathed in someone else’s black, their brightness dimmed, but she would not forget who they were. Who she was.

The three of them set out for the park afoot, enjoying the easy walk in the summer sunshine. As they strolled through the patterns of shade along the park walks, Selena picked dandelions out of the grass and Bytham tugged on Diana’s arm.

“Look, Mama, a butterfly. Look, Mama, a bee. Look, Mama…” Everything was wonderful to him. Before, they had lived too far away to come to the park often, the price of a hackney too dear. Diana found herself laughing with him. How long had it been since she’d laughed? Had taken time to feel the breeze on her face?

When they came to a bench beside a green lawn, Diana released her son’s hand and sat. “You may play here for a while, Bytham, but do not go far from Mama. Selena, stay close by.”

The automatic chorus of, “Yes, Mama,” greeted these instructions and the children raced off onto the lawn. Selena soon abandoned her flowers in favor of helping her little brother chase the fleet of butterflies. She was such a lively child. Someday she would have to learn the manners of a demure young miss, but Diana hoped to put that off as long as possible. Why trammel such a free spirit?

After several minutes she saw that the children had moved across the grass and were nearing one of the carriage roads. She stood and strolled after them. “Selena, come back now. Bring your brother with you.”

“Yes, Mama.” Selena caught Bytham’s hand, but he snatched it away from her. “Come, Bytham.”

“No! I want the yellow one. I can catch it!” He raced off after his latest quarry, Selena in hot pursuit.

“Bytham!” Diana looked at the road and saw a dark, closed carriage approaching. She started toward them, almost running. “Come back.”

The coach was getting nearer and Diana felt a strange sense of panic. That was not the kind of carriage that one used for the park. Perhaps it was just passing through, but… She lifted her skirts and ran in good earnest. “Bytham! Obey Mama at once!”

Hearing the urgency in her voice, Bytham stopped uncertainly and looked in her direction. The carriage pulled to a stop opposite them. The door opened and two rough-looking men got out. Bytham, who had been confronted with far too many strangers for his comfort of late, ran toward Diana. The men started toward the children.

“Selena, run!”

Selena ran, dragging Bytham along with her. Fear put wings to Diana’s feet, but she could see that the men would likely reach her children before she did. Oh, God. Help. She must have help. She began to scream.

At that moment she heard the hoofbeats of a horse in full career. Glancing up, she beheld Vincent Ingleton astride a sleek black horse, bearing down on them at a dead run.

“Vincent! Vincent!” Diana reached Selena and Bytham at the same time as the men from the coach. She tried to scoop both children into her arms, but one of the ruffians shoved her away. She tripped over the train of her skirt and sprawled backward on the ground.

“Vincent!”

Diana came to her hands and knees, struggling with the encumbering fabric. As one of the men grasped Selena, Diana abandoned the attempt to rise and flung herself at his ankle. He stumbled and, turning, kicked her grasping hands. She fell to the ground again, this time on her face. He picked up a shrieking Selena and ran for the coach. By now the other man had seized Bytham. Diana finally made it to her feet and ran after them. Dear heaven! She would never catch them.

And then Vincent came thundering down on them like a stooping hawk. The man holding Selena dropped her unceremoniously and sprinted for the coach. Bytham’s captor, better supplied with determination, tucked the kicking boy under one arm and followed. Vincent turned his mount to intercept him.

Diana heard the rattle of wheels and another set of hooves coming toward herself and Selena. She pushed the child behind her and turned defiantly, only to see Justinian Sudbury in a whiskey pulled by a sturdy chestnut, cutting across the lawn, also in pursuit of the kidnappers.

“Bytham, Bytham.” The whisper came out on a sob. They were taking him away! Diana knelt and locked her arms around Selena. They would have to kill her to get her daughter!

As she watched, the men angled away from Vincent and Sudbury, and the coach pulled forward to meet them. The man without a burden dived into the coach, the one carrying Bytham running not far behind.

For a heart-stopping second, Diana thought her son would be thrust into the coach, but as she watched, Sudbury pulled his tiny open vehicle into the road to block the way. The driver of the coach hauled on the reins and dragged his pair around in the other direction. Vincent swooped in and, leaning precariously from the saddle as he passed, plucked the boy out of his captor’s arms.

Vincent swung his riding crop with all his strength. The kidnapper howled and sprawled on the ground. Vincent turned his horse and started back. The man scrambled to his feet and made a desperate bid for the coach, but Vincent’s mount quickly closed the distance. Just as his fingers were reaching for the would-be abductor’s collar, an arm clothed in blue superfine emerged from the window of the coach with something in its hand.

A pistol!

Vincent jerked the reins sharply and his black reared in protest while Vincent leaned his body across Bytham’s. A shot rang out. The running kidnapper went down, rolling heels over head. The arm withdrew into the coach and the vehicle thundered off around a curve and out of sight.

For a moment Sudbury seemed about to give chase, but pulled in his horse as Vincent drew up beside him.

“Let them go.” Vincent settled the weeping child in front of him on the saddle and patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I need you to help me get Diana and the children home.”

“Bytham!” Diana’s all but hysterical voice sounded at his stirrup. Vincent looked down to see her clutching Selena with one hand and reaching for her son with the other. The boy leaned down and Vincent lowered him by one arm to his mother. She fell to her knees and clasped her children to her, all three of them sobbing.

Vincent drew the horse pistol from his saddle and dismounted. Standing over them, he called to Sudbury, “May I make use of the whiskey?”

“Certainly. May have to squeeze. Nice bit of riding, Lonsdale.” Sudbury moved his small carriage nearer. “What the devil was that all about?”

“I wish I knew.” Vincent scowled in the direction the escaping coach had taken. “Lady Diana, you and Selena need…” He paused when he realized she had not moved. “My lady?” When he still received no response, he went down on one knee beside her. “Diana?”

At last she lifted her head and looked in his direction, her eyes glazed with shock and a large area of skin scraped from her cheek. “My lord?”

Fury welled up in Vincent. They had hurt her. They had marred that perfect face. Let him but get his hands on them… But now he must get her safely away. Vincent clenched his teeth and forced his anger down. “Can you stand?”

She nodded, but did not get up. Placing an arm around her, he stood, bringing her with him. Selena and Bytham clung to her, their heads buried in her skirt. He took the boy into his own arms and nudged Diana toward the carriage. “Can you and Selena climb in?”

“I—I…” The vague expression in her eyes cleared. “Yes. Of course.” Never letting go of the girl, she managed with Sudbury’s help to get them both into the whiskey. Vincent mounted again before handing Bytham down to her.

It would not do to be on foot if his supposed ally proved false. He barely knew Justinian Sudbury. For all Vincent could say, the man might have been on the scene to supervise the abduction, never expecting help to appear. In fact, when Sudbury first came bowling across the lawn, Vincent had feared he intended to reinforce the kidnappers.

Damn! He did not want Diana and the children in the man’s carriage. But he could not carry all four of them on his horse.

He could ride behind with a pistol discreetly trained on the back of Sudbury’s head.

And he did.

Diana’s knees would scarcely hold her. Ever since she had disembarked from Justinian’s carriage at the Litton residence, she had been shaking. No matter how hard she tried to control it, she shook. And she would not let the children out of her sight. When Alice offered to take them upstairs, Diana’s heart lurched into her throat.

So they had all assembled in Helen’s elegant drawing room where she had ordered restorative viands to be served. The children had been indulged with hot chocolate and cakes, and Diana indulged herself with a large glass of sherry. Exhausted, Selena leaned against her where they sat on the sofa, but Bytham insisted on occupying Vincent’s lap.

His lordship appeared resigned to the destruction of yet another stylishly tied neckcloth and was keeping her son supplied with sandwiches from a plate on a table by their chair. Between the two of them, they had made impressive inroads on Helen’s supplies. Cream cheese and jelly smeared her son’s face, and a liberal amount of it had transferred itself to the starched cravat.

Diana looked at him appreciatively. “Thank God you happened to be in the park. I cannot imagine what I would have done had you not arrived so fortuitously. I am once again more indebted to you than I can ever repay.”

Diana caught a whiff of horseradish as Vincent shook his head and selected a sandwich of thinly sliced roast beef. “Not at all. I am happy that I was there, but that was not an accident. I had promised this ambitious gentleman here that he might have a ride on Blackhawk if he would be good and nap. I did not wish to fail in my word, so when I learned that you had gone to the park, I went in search of you.”

“Still, I am very grateful.” Diana accepted a second glassful of the sweet, amber wine from Lord Litton. What a luxury to have all she wished, even if her head did swim a bit.

Litton topped off Vincent’s glass and returned to his seat. He glanced speculatively at his stepson. “The question is, who were those people? Unlikely that it is a kidnapping for ransom. There must be some other motive.”

Diana emitted an unladylike snort. “I cannot imagine who would be so poorly informed as to believe I could pay ransom.”