Ravishing in Red (2 page)

Hawkeswell looked around their environs. “No baggage? I trust you did not leave it on your horse. Anything of value will be stolen by morning.”

Sebastian laughed lightly, and noncommittally. He had no baggage because he planned to be riding back to London tonight, the weather and dark be damned.

“Do you have a chamber above? Is your baggage there? I asked for one, but the innkeeper has hired them all out, he says. Even my title did me no good. But if you have one, we can go smoke and drink and escape the stench down here.”

“I do not have a chamber, I am sorry.”

Hawkeswell’s eyebrows rose above knowing eyes. “Not taking shelter at all, are you? And not heading for Brighton either, I’ll wager. You are here to meet a woman. No, do not say a word. I understand the need for your elaborate dodges these days. All but the marquess now, aren’t you? Can’t be lifting skirts wherever and whenever anymore.” He put his finger to his lips, mocking the need for discretion.

It was as good an explanation as any, so Sebastian let it stand. He remained friendly and attentive while he completed his scrutiny of all those faces. None struck him as more apt to be the Domino than any other.

Hawkeswell appeared likely to hang on all night. Sebastian needed to shake him, and decided Hawkeswell’s own theory would have to do.

“You will have to excuse me. I need to speak to the innkeeper about the person I came here to meet.”

He made good his escape. He found the proprietor dispensing ale to a wiry fellow with a low-brimmed brown hat.

“Was there anyone here asking about Mr. Kelmsley, or inviting inquiries about that name?”

The innkeeper peered at him, then went back to taking his customer’s money. “Above, in the back, last door. The guest there would be the one you want, and I’ll not be wanting to know why.”

Sebastian aimed for the stairs. He wished Hawkeswell had been correct. Waiting out the weather on a feather bed, dry and cozy with some feminine warmth in his arms, would be a pleasant recompense for the miserable ride down here and the one waiting at mission’s end. Instead he was stuck with duty and obligation, and a long conversation with someone known as the Domino.

 

 

 

 

A
udrianna huddled beneath her shawl in the shadows. The low fire could not fight the damp chill in this chamber. That was not the only reason she shivered, however.

Her vigil was depleting the renewed resolve that she had summoned by reading that notice again. She had begun to see this plan from a different perspective, that of her entire life up until the last seven months.

From that viewpoint, her behavior today was utterly mad and inexcusably reckless.

Mama would certainly say so. Papa would have agreed. Roger would be appalled if he knew too. Proper young ladies did not ride alone on public coaches to public inns, and wait in dark chambers for unknown men to join them.

This expedition had begun to feel like a bizarre dream. She forced her nerves under control and demanded that her mind regain some of its determination.

She was here because no one else would be. The world had buried her father’s good name with his body. His death had been proof enough that he was guilty of the accusations against him. Everyone assumed that remorse, not deep melancholy, had caused him to kill himself.

The whole family still wore his shame. Mama mourned the loss of friends even while she valiantly defended his memory. Even Uncle Rupert had ceased to write when the scandal broke, in an attempt to wash himself of stain by association. And Roger—well, his undying love could not surmount the scandal either.

She tried to maintain a semblance of indifference about that, but deep sorrow squeezed her heart at the thought of Roger. Eventually that would no longer happen, she trusted. At least she could take some small comfort in the knowledge that she would never be so disillusioned again. With the bad turn life had taken, no other man would ever propose.

She had told her mother that she would live with her cousin Daphne in order to mitigate the financial burdens caused by Papa’s death, when the family was reduced to the income from Mama’s small trust. In truth she had wanted to escape an old life stuck in the doldrums, and build a new one where she would find contentment within her changed expectations.

The crowd below created a soft din that reached her ears. Up here on the second level all was quiet except for an occasional door closing. The silence provoked more ill ease. There were other travelers in those chambers, though. If this “Domino” attempted anything untoward, and she screamed, she trusted that aid would arrive quickly.

She pulled the shawl higher to ward off another chill. Beneath its woolen warmth, she closed her hand around Daphne’s pistol. She had brought it to give her courage and so Daphne would not scold later that she had been unprotected.

Unfortunately, its weight in her hand only made her shiver again.

 

 

 

 

S
ebastian pressed the latch. To his surprise it yielded. He eased open the door to the chamber.

A lamp just inside flashed its light up at him. The strong glow made the rest of the room a sea of darkness. He stepped inside so he could escape the harsh illumination. His eyes slowly adjusted.

A low blaze in the fireplace created its own sharp chiaroscuros. However, much like in paintings that exploited a similar effect, the dark began to come alive with forms and shapes the longer he gazed.

The head of the draped bed that faced the fire emerged, to join its foot that the flames bathed. Pegs on the wall beside the door showed hanging fabric. The corners of the chamber finally revealed their contents. A writing table. The hulk of a wardrobe.

A soft collection of shapes in another corner took form too, beyond the light of the fire. They gathered into something he recognized. A woman.

Her presence made him pause. He had thought the Domino was a man. He could be forgiven that mistake, he supposed, but it had been an unfounded assumption.

The discovery that the Domino was only a woman immediately raised his spirits. He would learn what he needed to know quickly, and make short work of this meeting.

He smiled a smile that had charmed many women in his day. He walked toward the fireplace.

“Please stay there,” she said. “I must insist that you do.”

Insist, must she? That made him smile more. She had a young voice. Not girlish, though. Her appearance became more distinct as he focused on her.

Dark hair. Perhaps that interesting color where red shoots through the brown, like a chestnut horse’s hue. Hard to judge her age, but he guessed middle twenties. Her face looked pretty, but in this light most women would be attractive. A dark shawl draped her lap and chest. Her dress appeared to be either gray or lavender, and was fairly plain from what he could see.

“I was only going to warm myself by the fire,” he said. “The ride here drowned me.”

Her head tipped back while she considered his explanation. “The fire then, but no closer.”

He shed his riding coat. She visibly startled.

“So I can hang it to dry, if you do not mind,” he explained.

She nodded.

He set it on one of the pegs. Accustomed now to the room’s lighting, he could tell that the other garments there were a woman’s mantle and pelisse. He took position at the fire and pretended to concentrate on its comfort, but he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

He smiled at her again while he turned his back to the warmth. She fidgeted under that shawl.

“I should warn you that I have a pistol.” Her voice shook with anxiety.

“Rest assured that you will not need it.”

She did not appear convinced. Green eyes, he thought. They expressed determination and some fear. The latter was a good sign. It indicated she was not stupid, and a bit of fear would be useful.

“I expected a man,” he said.

“Mr. Kelmsleigh was not available, so I am here instead. I assume that you want compensation for your information, and I am prepared to pay if the sum is reasonable.”

He masked his stunned reaction. She thought
he
was the Domino. Which meant she was not, of course.

He had never believed that the bad gunpowder that reached the front had been a matter of mere negligence on Kelmsleigh’s part, although such negligence was bad enough to ruin a man. Instead he suspected conspiracy and fraud, and he doubted Kelmsleigh had devised and controlled the scheme. All the same, he had never expected to learn that any women were involved. Now this accomplice indicated at least one had been.

Only who the hell was she? Her identity might provide a link to the others involved in that plot.

She watched him cautiously. He could see her fear better now. She was not what he expected, but he guessed he was a surprise to her as well.

He had come here to pass himself off as Kelmsleigh. Instead someone else had read that advertisement and had come to buy information too.

He changed plans. He could not be Kelmsleigh anymore. But he could be the Domino.

O
h, goodness. Oh, heavens.

This day was definitely not unfolding the way she had pictured.

She had not expected the Domino to be a gentleman. She had certainly not expected a tall, handsome young gentleman with such a winning smile.

She was not sure what she had anticipated instead. She only knew that it was not this.

He seemed not at all concerned by her presence instead of her father’s, or by her declaration of having a pistol. His manner remained amiable while he warmed himself in front of the fire. He kept flashing those brief, stunning smiles of reassurance.

They did not reassure her at all. Instead he struck her as very dangerous.

That could be due to the way the fire’s light turned him into a collection of hard angles, or the way his eyes appeared much more intense and alert than his demeanor required.

It could be the result of his wealth, evidenced in the cut and make of that dark gray riding coat he had removed, and the quality of the high boots and snug doeskin that encased his legs. Even his dark hair was expensive, with the short, wispy, flyaway cut that damp and wind enhanced rather than ruined.

His appearance was the least of it, however. She could not ignore the way the atmosphere in the room had altered with his arrival, as if he gave off tiny, invisible lightning bolts of power.

“Sir, I think that we should get on with the purpose of this meeting.”

“With the weather, there is no hurry. Neither one of us is going anywhere soon.”

She wished that she had not allowed him to come so close. He stood no more than six feet away and towered above her. She could not ignore his size, or the way he made her feel small and vulnerable and at a bigger disadvantage than was fair.

“I would still like to finish this in good time.”

One of those smiles half-formed, a private one that reflected some thought in his head. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“It may matter a great deal. For all I know, you thought I wanted to meet a different Kelmsleigh, and you will leave here with facts that you should not have. That could cause an innocent, unsuspecting man grief.”

“I should say that is unlikely.” Her voice sounded sharp to her own ears. He spoke as if his information would not be good news. “However, since you fear making revelations to a disinterested party, I will identify the Kelmsleigh who interests me. He was employed by the Board of Ordnance. I am hoping that your information relates to his position there.”

His smile proved less amiable this time. A tad predatory, if truth be told. It could be the harsh light, of course, but—To her dismay, he stepped toward her with his attention fixed on her face.

“I insist that you stay where you are.” She hated the way her demand came out a fearful bleat.

He continued toward her.

She jumped to her feet. The shawl fell to the ground. She did not aim the pistol but she gripped it soundly. “Do not come any closer. I do know how to fire this.”

He halted an arm’s span away. Close enough that she could see that his eyes were dark. Very dark. Close enough that if she did fire, she could not miss. He ignored the pistol and instead studied her face.

“Who are you?” he asked again.

“You call yourself something as silly as the Domino, and you demand that I reveal my name? My identity is no more important than yours.”

“What is your part in all of this? Are you an accomplice? A lover? Perhaps you are a relative of one of the soldiers who died? I would not want this meeting to start a vendetta.”

His gaze all but skewered her and his scrutiny unsettled her in the oddest way. For all his suspicions he kept flashing that vague, appealing smile that offered . . . friendship and . . . excitement and . . . things that she should not even be thinking about at this moment. He had the kind of face that made women silly, and it annoyed her that she was proving more susceptible than this situation should ever allow.

She raised the pistol just enough, so it did not point down but instead out from her hip. He glanced at the weapon, then his gaze was all for her face again. Only now he looked like a man who had been challenged but knew he would win the contest.

“What information do you have?” she demanded.

“How much money do you have?”

“Enough.”

“How much do you think is enough?”

“I am not so stupid as to bargain against myself. Name your price.”

“And if you don’t have it?” He nodded to the pistol. “Do you think to force me to reveal everything, no matter what?”

Suddenly he was even closer. His body stood an inch from the pistol’s barrel, and only a few more from her. She looked up at him in surprise.