Lady Scandal Page 5

  “Trust?” he echoed, dumfounded.

  “Yes,” the duchess chimed in, “trust. A concept of which you are undoubtedly unfamiliar.”

  Ah. So she had told them she had been deceived. But how much had Sophia revealed? He dispensed with artifice. “My men saw no one leave this house.”

  Lavinia blushed. “Your men do not know this house’s secrets.”

  Thea put her hand on Lavinia’s arm. “All he needs to know is that she is gone.”

  A bubble of which he had been unaware suddenly burst inside his chest, sending rivulets of cold fear through his veins. This was not rage. This was terror.

  “Listen,” he rushed to the settee and took Lady Vaile’s hand before she had time to pull away. “Sophia is in danger. Great danger.” Gone was the flat tone and he did not recognize his own near-panicked voice. “You have to tell me everything you know. Now.”

  Lady Vaile opened and closed her mouth without speaking.

  “Randolph, this display is beneath you,” the duchess said. “You tricked her into marriage. Sophia left you for good reason. She has every right to be furious.”

  He ignored the duchess and kept his eyes on Lavinia’s contracting brow.

  “She promised me,” he said, “she would remain here.”

  “If she promised,” Thea replied, “she did not promise what you think she promised.”

  His gaze snapped to the duchess. “Should I require a damned barrister every time I speak with my wife?”

  The duchess arched her back. “Your anger would be justified…If. You. Had. Not. Lied.”

  Randolph released Lady Vaile’s hand and curled his into a fist. If he allowed the fire in his chest to meet the ice in his veins, they would explode into frothing rage.

  But…such excess would not retrieve Sophia.

  The closest thing he had to information was standing in front of him right now. Had Lady Vaile and the duchess been men—or even women in the same line of work as he—he would have known how to proceed without question. But these were ladies, however society-scorned.

  He pulled a breath through his anger and fear. In the brief reprieve, he reached out to Thea and Lavinia with his mind, almost as if they were imaginary doors and all he need do was run his fingers along the edge to locate a weakness he knew existed.

  Love.

  Sophia loved them and they loved her. They would protect her.

  A swift rapier of jealousy stabbed near the vicinity of his heart, followed by a renewed gush of fear—alone, Sophia was at risk. And he needed her safe and he needed her here in London if his plan to draw in Helena and Eustace was going to work.

  Right now, Lady Vaile and the duchess were protecting Sophia. All he needed to do was convince them she faced a greater threat than he. A threat she could not conquer on her own.

  …Which happened to be the truth.

  He settled his gaze on Lady Vaile, the one he judged would break first, if either of them broke at all. His first parry: convince her he was a man in love. Even if he didn’t get valuable information, he would need her as an ally if he found Sophia.

  When he found Sophia.

  “What will it take?” he asked, addressing Lady Vaile.

  “Are you insinuating I can be bought?” Lavinia asked.

  “No.” This exchange would fester like a lead-ball lodged in muscle, but there was nothing to be done. Sophia had already vastly reduced the value of the commodity formerly known as his pride. He took Lavinia’s hand from the back of the settee, inhaled and fell to his knees. “I am asking if you need to see me beg.”

  The gasping sound, he assumed, had come from the offended duchess. But Lavinia’s eyes had grown soft, and soft was what he needed.

  “Even if I did know where she was headed,” Lavinia said, “I could, perhaps, be persuaded to pity, but not to betrayal.”

  “Brava, Lord Randolph,” Thea said, “I almost believe your distress is in earnest.” She tugged her gloves, straightening the seams. “We know nothing. And, even if we did, we would not involve ourselves in affairs she saw fit to keep private. Sophia believed she could fend for herself and your broken heart is none of our concern. Come, Lavinia.”

  Time for assault number two.

  “What if,” he asked, “I told you I am not the only one who wants her found?”

  The duchess froze.

  “And,” he continued, “the others who seek Sophia have devious and possibly deadly intentions.”

  Both ladies turned to stare.

  “Please, Randolph—”

  Lavinia placed a hand on Thea’s arm, silencing Thea’s sarcasm.

  “Wait, Thea. What if Sophia is in danger?”

  “Nonsense,” Thea said.

  “This morning,” Lavinia spoke to Thea, “she told us she has been long-prepared for the possibility of flight.”

  Randolph’s neck hair stood on end. What had Sophia planned? She may think she understood base corruption, but she had no idea of the fate she could expect if she fell into Kasai’s hands.

  Lavinia turned her guileless, pale brown eyes on his. “And last night, you said Kasai would come for Baneham’s daughter—and Sophia appeared to understand.”

  “Yes,” Randolph coaxingly conceded. “Kasai is a much worse threat than I. That is why I visited Harrison this morning.”

  Lavinia frowned. “Kasai—the same Kasai who imprisoned Max?”

  “Yes,” Randolph said, “and the man who killed the duke’s brother, Lord Eustace.”

  “Randolph,” Lavinia asked, “what would a man like Kasai want with Sophia?”

  He should have known the simple recitation of a threat would not be enough for these ladies. He weighed his options—Baneham was dead. Revealing his involvement with the East India Company could harm no one.

  “I will tell you. And then…” He pursed his lips as if angry at his own weakness which, as it happened, was not entirely a ploy, “…and then you will help me.”

  “Speak,” Thea crossed her arms over her chest. “I am dying to hear your convoluted explanation.”

  “Lady Vaile, I plead my case to you. Sophia is angry because I did not tell her,” he swallowed, “about some significant associations in my past.”

  “Mistresses aplenty, no doubt,” the duchess quipped.

  “I wish this was a matter of simple jealousy.” He didn’t have to force a wry grimace. “I was an associate of her father’s.”

  “Earl Baneham?” Lavinia asked.

  “Baneham worked in diplomacy for the Company. He and Kasai developed a rivalry,” he said, although rivalry barely captured their deadly entanglement, “and Kasai has sworn to possess or destroy anything and everything that belonged to Baneham—and was likely behind her father’s early death.”

  Lavinia’s sharp intake of breath was comfort to his ears. “Baneham was murdered?”

  “I beg you,” he tightened his fingers around Lady Vaile’s hand. “No matter how clever Sophia is, she cannot beat Kasai alone. Surely Harrison has told you some of what he suffered at the hands of Kasai.”

  “Yes,” Lady Vaile breathed, “he has.”

  “The man who tried to blame you for murder was, on the same night you chose to confront him, attempting to sell very damning information about some of the king’s key allies to emissaries of Kasai.”

  He held the duchess’s gaze. Thea’s piercing blue eyes shot daggers. And now for assault number three.

  “The man negotiating the sale on behalf of Kasai was an Englishman unknown to me until Harrison and his friend Sullivan identified him as Lord Eustace.”

  Thea paled, blinked, and then paled even further.

  “That cannot be.” Her tone was not that of a grieving sister-in-law. “Eustace is dead.”

  “Eustace is alive,” Randolph said.

  The duchess lifted her fingers to her lips. “Where is he?”

  “I am not sure,” Randolph said. “He is on the run—voluntarily or involuntarily—with a former agent of mine wh
o may be working for Kasai. I need to find Sophia…before they find her.”

  “Does the duke know?”

  “No one but Harrison, his man Sullivan, the Under Secretary, and I, know the Englishman traveling with Kasai’s emissary is, in fact, Lord Eustace.”

  Thea grabbed his arm. “The duke must not know of this.”

  Her vehemence shocked. “Wynchester will find out…eventually.”

  “Eustace’s return could ruin him.”

  Randolph lifted a brow. “And you?”

  Thea made a fist. Her eyes held all the answer he needed.

  “Sophia is intimately connected to Kasai, and Kasai to Eustace. Help me find Sophia, so we can break this plot.”

  Thea searched his gaze. “Swear on your life you will not harm Sophia.”

  “An oath I can easily take,” Randolph said.

  Her fingers bit into his arm. “Swear!”

  “I swear on the Randolph title,” he said, “and on my life. I will not harm my wife.”

  Thea grasped his other arm. “Now swear you will find Eustace—and until you find him, you will not breathe a word of this to the duke.”

  “I am doing everything I can to find Eustace,” he said. “Speak with Harrison. He will explain.”

  Thea took a shuddering breath. “Sophia left through the mews behind the old Wynchester house.”

  “Private coach?” he asked.

  Thea shook her head. “Hack to a stage. Sometime after dawn and before noon.”

  “Where is she headed?” he asked.

  “That,” Thea replied, “we do not know.”

  They had given him something, at least. He did not waste time on farewells.

  Chapter Four

  Earl Baneham’s Rules for Winning

  “If you can, split the enemies’ resources and attention.”

  There was something to be said for meat pie. Sophia inhaled the warm aroma of boiled mutton, pretending the scent was beef.

  Beef, served with a spot of sugared tea and some fresh, rich cream.

  There was also something to be said for deceiving one’s self in order to survive. She twisted her lips into a wry grimace. She’d been rather brilliant at self-deception of late.

  She retrieved a spoon from her reticule, preparing for the dubious pleasures of traveler’s fare.

  “Coo,” breathed a young woman sitting opposite.

  “Beg your pardon?” Sophia asked, affecting her servant’s accent.

  “That is a fine piece,” the girl said.

  “Me Mum’s.” Sophia’s smile hid her full set of teeth. “The last I have of her.”

  Not true. She had commissioned the engraved cutlery herself, but sympathy could draw in the young woman. The earl always said, if you formed a kinship with a thief, they would find stealing from you more difficult.

  The young woman cast another longing glance toward the spoon. If the girl could see the gold sewn into Sophia’s stays and the jewels lining her hems, Sophia wagered she would have fainted straight away.

  The stranger sent Sophia a half-smile before she wiped her hands on her apron and reached for her lone piece of crusty bread.

  Sophia frowned.

  The Earl had also said a thief would immediately seek to draw you into their confidence. The two statements were somewhat contradictory, and she had never noticed. She studied the hapless traveler with more tender eyes. The poor young woman was not a thief; she was, simply, hungry.

  “I am happy to share,” Sophia offered.

  Dark eyes met hers, distrust lurking in their muddy brown depths.

  “Why would you share with the likes of me?”

  “We traveling women must stick together.” With each stop, Sophia had planned to work down the alphabet, changing names. She held out her hand. Stop two. “I am Mrs. Bradford.”

  The young woman took Sophia’s outstretched fingers with a grip made faint by either shyness or hunger.

  “I am Polly,” she said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Polly.” She ignored the slight grumble of her stomach and pushed the meat pie across the table. “Here. You take this.”

  The look of wonder on Polly’s face as Sophia handed her the spoon was enough to shame her for weeks. She groused internally about the loss of her tea-and-cream when, in all likelihood, poor Polly could not remember her last hot meal.

  “Me thanks, Mrs. Bradford,” Polly said. She took a bite, closed her eyes, and beamed ecstasy. On her fifth bite, she stopped and pushed the bowl back toward Sophia.

  Sophia shook her head no. “You finish.”

  “Oh,” Polly’s eyes widened. “I cannot. You will go hungry.”

  “Never you mind,” Sophia assured, although Polly spoke truth. Sophia could not order more. A flash of extra coin would just invite trouble, and she was doing her best to appear nothing more than a servant traveling from one post to another. The apple she had eaten in the coach would have to do.

  “Take me bread, then?” Polly offered.

  Sophia smiled, genuine. “Thank you, Polly.”

  With a quick prayer the bread did not contain anything that would make her sick, she took a bite. The rough, dry crumbs rolled like pebbles through her mouth. She chewed carefully before risking a swallow. More rock than bread, she decided.

  “Are you far from your destination?” she asked.

  Polly glanced up. Distrust lingered, then her eyes fell to her pie.

  “You need not say, of course.”

  “I am heading to London,” Polly said, “in hope of work.”

  “Do you have family in the city?”

  Her slow nod turned to a sorrowful sweep of her head. “No.”

  Sophia’s heart squeezed. So, Polly was on the run, too.

  Yes, Sophia may have left behind luxury and beauty and ease, but she was not completely on her own, unfunded.

  How lucky she was.

  The thought stunned. Yes, she—daughter of The Ruthless with a killer on her heels who may or may not be receiving aid from her husband—was lucky. She was lucky because she had resources. And, more importantly, she had friends.

  She started to speak, but the door opened and a gust of wind ripped through the crowded room. Sophia’s neck hair went rigid. Without turning, she knew. Randolph had come.

  Surreptitiously, she glanced toward the door. Randolph’s pale blue eyes brimmed with fury as they traveled through the room. She bowed her head, praying her drab costume, padding, glasses, and mobcap would buy her time.

  “Welcome, Sir,” the innkeeper drawled. “Is there something I can get for you?”

  “I seek a woman.”

  The innkeeper’s face hardened. “I do not run that kind of establishment.”

  Clamor followed, with patrons jostling to take a verbal jab at the newcomer. Sophia’s insides turned to mush and the single bite of stale bread threatened to reappear. She lifted her eyes and met Polly’s round gaze.

  “Trouble?” Polly asked.

  Sophia nodded. Trouble was not quite sufficient a description.

  “Follow me,” Polly said under her breath.

  Polly rose like a wraith and wound through the crowd, silent as smoke. Sophia followed, moving with equally deliberate steps as if she knew exactly where she was going and was in no hurry to depart. For once, she was glad of her diminutive height. The two yards to the kitchen felt more like leagues, but the commotion provided an excellent cloak.

  Sophia doubted her luck would hold.

  Never admit defeat.

  The rule came to mind with an accompanying wave of nausea. She was not, and would not be, defeated.

  She followed Polly through the kitchen, out a side door, past the stables and into a small alley.

  “Thank you, Polly,” she said, grasping the young girl’s boney hand.

  “You are most welcome, my Lady.”

  Only then did Sophia realize she had dropped her accent.

  “I hate to ask,” she said carefully, “but I must trouble you once
again.”

  “If I had something to give, it would be yours.”

  “What I need is not material,” Sophia said, looking the girl up and down. Yes, the girl was thinner and younger, but they were nearly the same height—and shared the same flaxen hair.

  “You can help me by becoming me.”

  Sophia expected Polly to back away, hands flailing. But she did not.

  “I do not understand,” Polly said.

  “The man back there will stop at nothing to find me. Someone will soon send him in our direction.” She removed a few coins from the pocket hanging from her waist just beyond a slit in her skirts. She pressed the coins into Polly’s hand.

  “What is this for?” Polly asked.

  She took Polly’s hand and led her behind the hedgerow where she had concealed her valise. She pulled out a pouch embroidered with her initials. The sack contained a modest but pricy traveling dress—clothes the likes of Polly would not ever have seen. With a sigh of regret, she handed Polly the dress.

  “Pay another woman to help you dress, and, this is important, you must leave the pouch behind. Hire a hack from the coaching station to the north. Tell the driver to take you to the Dowager Duchess of Wynchester in Mayfair, London. With luck, the man back there will follow you and I will gain a few hours.”

  Polly gave her a dubious look. “What happens if he finds me?”

  Sophia went through the possibilities—would Randolph hurt Polly? Certainly not.

  But, if she truly believed him to be a ruthless killer, why would she be certain of his benevolence toward Polly?

  “You are innocent. He may try and frighten you, but he will not waste his time when he realizes you know nothing. He will let you go on your way while he continues to search for me.”

  Polly shifted her weight from foot to foot. “What will you do?”

  “Do not worry about me.” She never put all her eggs in one basket. “When you reach the home of the Dowager Duchess of Wynchester, tell her butler Lady Sophia sent you and she will lend you help.”

  Polly lifted a dubious brow. “Why would a Dowager Duchess care for the likes of me?”

  “She will care.” Sophia smiled kindly. “She will care because long ago, she arrived in London in the same condition as you. Do it for me. And do it for your babe.”