Mischief by Amanda Quick
“No. I fully expect to be home before you are even out of bed. Your concern is touching, my sweet, but entirely misplaced.”
“It is not misplaced. Matthias, you have told me often enough that you are not inclined toward dangerous or adventurous activities. You are a man of delicate sensibilities. You know very well that your nerves are not strong.”
He grinned, feeling remarkably cheerful. “If it’s any consolation, rumor has it that Vanneck’s nerves are even weaker than my own.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That he is highly unlikely to appear at the appointed hour. He is a coward, Imogen.”
“But you cannot depend upon his cowardice.”
“I think we can.” Matthias paused. “My reputation occasionally has its uses.”
“But, Matthias, what if he knows that your reputation as Cold-blooded Colchester is based on inaccurate rumors and false gossip. What if he knows that you are not the man Society thinks you are?”
“Then I shall be obliged to trust that my own poor nerves will be strong enough to see me through this affair.”
“Damnation, my lord, this is not amusing.”
He rose to his feet and started around the end of the wide desk. “You are quite right. This is our wedding night. We should no doubt approach it with some degree of solemnity.”
“Matthias—”
“Enough, madam.” He lifted her into his arms. “There will be no more talk of duels. We have far more important matters to discuss.”
“What could be more important?” she demanded fiercely.
“I believe that I should like to hear again that you love me.”
Her eyes widened. “You know that I do.”
“Do you?” He carried her to the closed door.
“Of course I do. For heaven’s sake, I would never have agreed to wed you otherwise.”
He smiled slightly. “Will you kindly get the door?”
“What? Oh, very well.” She reached down to turn the handle. “But, Matthias, we must talk. There is a great deal I wish to say to you, my lord.”
“No doubt. But I would rather hear you say it in bed.”
He carried her through the doorway and crossed the hall to the wide staircase. Guilt lanced through him as he started up the carpeted steps.
He was well aware that he had used the heated passions of the moment to coerce Imogen into marriage. She was terrified of the risk she believed he would take at dawn. The night before she had been overwrought by Vanneck’s assault. Her emotions had been in a turmoil. She would have agreed to anything he asked. Because she loved him.
He had ruthlessly taken advantage of the situation. She was his now. But Matthias knew that when the business of the duel was finished and life returned to normal, so would Imogen’s emotions.
He feared she would not thank him then for having manipulated her into this marriage. He remembered what he had said to her in the museum. Passion and Zamar.
It would be enough, he vowed. It had to be enough.
Chapter 12
Matthias held himself back until she was clinging to him, beseeching him, demanding that he fulfill the promises he had made with his hands and his questing mouth. He lay cradled between her sweetly rounded legs and kissed the inside of Imogen’s quivering thighs. He was dazzled by the rich scent of her desire. The heat of her damp passage scalded his fingers.
If things went terribly wrong at dawn, he wanted Imogen to remember this night for the rest of her life.
“Matthias. No. Yes. Dear heaven, you should not, you must not. This is surely another one of your secret Zamarian lovemaking techniques. I cannot bear it.”
Her breathless words and soft gasps constituted the most erotic song Matthias had heard. He could not get enough of the ravishing music. He strung kisses along her inner thigh to the plump petals that guarded her secrets. He parted her gently and bent his head to take the firm little bud between his lips.
“Dear heaven, Matthias.” Imogen clenched her fingers in his hair and arched herself. “Please. Please. Yes.” She shuddered and cried out.
Matthias heard the blood roar in his veins. He raised his head to watch Imogen’s face as she claimed her satisfaction in his arms.
Things would not go wrong at dawn, he vowed silently as he eased himself up along the length of her body. He had to return to Imogen. Nothing else, not even the treasures of ancient Zamar, was as important to him.
She was twisting so beneath him that he had to steady her hips with a hand that glistened with her own dew. He held Imogen still and pushed himself gently past the tight muscles that guarded the hot passage. She closed around him. The last of his self-mastery disintegrated.
“Tell me again that you love me,” he whispered hoarsely as he sank himself into her.
“I love you. I love you.” She clung to him in the darkness.
Lost in her sensual warmth, Matthias allowed himself the joy of swimming in a sunlit sea.
He plunged deeper into Imogen’s welcoming body. Her tiny convulsions had not yet ceased.
In the end, the shudders that racked him left him precariously balanced on the fine line between pain and euphoria. They stole his breath and left him damp, weary, and replete.
And alive.
Once more he had eluded the clutches of the shadowy phantoms of his past.
Matthias waited until Imogen finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep before he eased himself from the warmth of the bed. The first spectral light of a fog-shrouded dawn crouched at the window. The ghostly illumination revealed Imogen curled beneath the quilt. Her hair cascaded across the pillow. The little white cap had fallen to the floor sometime during the night. Her long, dark lashes rested feather-light along her high cheekbones.
The wonder of Imogen struck him again with fresh impact. She might very well be pregnant with his babe.
Another wave of powerful emotion washed through him. This time it was a fierce sense of protectiveness. He stood looking down at Imogen for a moment, stoking the new fires that burned within him with memories of the night and dreams of the future.
It occurred to him that since he had met Imogen he had begun to think more and more of the future rather than of the past.
Matthias reluctantly turned away from the bed and walked into the dressing room. He smiled slightly to himself as he recalled the endless arguments, pleas, and threats he had endured during the night. It was certainly gratifying to know that Imogen did not want him to risk his neck, not even for the prospect of securing the vengeance she had sought for so long.
He had been tempted to reassure her that his nerves were up to the task of dealing with a man such as Vanneck, but he had resisted. In the first place, he doubted that she would have believed him. Imogen was convinced that he was a man of delicate sensibilities. He saw no reason to disabuse her of that notion.
His greatest source of unease was that Imogen would one day realize that his reputation was based on fact, not fiction. Matthias dreaded the dawn of that day far more than he dreaded this one.
Inside the dressing room he lit a candle and reached for his breeches. There was no need to wake his valet. A man did not require an intricately folded cravat or his best linen shirt for such an occasion.
He dressed with swift efficiency and then pulled on his boots. Carrying the taper, he let himself out of the dressing room. He was relieved to see that Imogen was still asleep in his big bed. She had pulled the quilt up over her head, but he could make out the rough outline of her body beneath the covers.
He intended to be home before she awoke.
The town house was as silent as a Zamarian tomb. Matthias made his way downstairs. The sound of wheels and hooves in the street told him that his coachman had followed the instructions he had been given last night.
Matthias set the candle on a hall table. He took his greatcoat from the small room at the foot of the stairs, slung it over his arm, and opened the front door.
A gray shroud
If the fog did not clear by the time he reached his destination, he and Vanneck would have a difficult time making out each other’s form from twenty paces. Assuming Vanneck showed in the first place, which was highly unlikely.
Matthias was mildly surprised that he had not received a message from his seconds notifying him that the duel had been canceled. The considered opinion of his friends was that Vanneck would quit London rather than face a dawn appointment. The man was not known for his courage. But there had been no word.
Matthias glanced up at his coachman as he strode down the front steps. “Cabot’s Farm, Shorbolt.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Shorbolt, bundled up against the cold in a many-tiered cape and a hat pulled down over his eyes, gestured to the young stable lad who held the horses’ heads. “Let ’em go, boy. His lordship’s in a hurry.”
“Aye.” The boy, whose face was concealed by a scruffy scarf and a slouchy cap, jumped back from the bridles and scrambled up onto the box beside Shorbolt.
Matthias vaulted into the carriage and settled back against the seat. Shorbolt gave the horses the signal to set off into the fog.
The streets of London were never truly quiet, not even at dawn. Elegant equipages filled with drunken gentlemen returning from the stews and gaming hells passed Matthias’s carriage. The first of the farm carts was already making its way to the city markets. The last of the nightmen, their wagons laden with the contents of cesspits, drove past on their way to the outskirts of Town. Occasionally the rank fumes from their cargoes wafted through the air.
But eventually the crowded, bustling streets fell away to reveal fields and meadows draped in mist. Cabot’s Farm was not far outside the city. It had gained a certain notoriety over the years as a convenient location for dawn appointments.
Matthias glanced out the window as Shorbolt brought the horses to a halt at the edge of a meadow. Tendrils of fog flowed across the scene, creating skeletal ghosts out of leafless trees. A curricle loomed in the distance on the far side of the grassy field. It was horsed with two grays.
Vanneck was here after all. Cold anticipation uncoiled deep inside Matthias.
The stable lad clambered down from the box to take charge of the horses. Something hit the ground with a dull thud.
“’Ere now, watch yerself, ye clumsy lad,” Shorbolt grumbled. “That’s me tool kit ye just dumped in the dirt.”
“Sorry,” the boy said in a very low voice.
“No call to be jumpy,” Shorbolt went on with a gruff kindness. “It ain’t yerself who’s goin’ to be facin’ a bullet this mornin’.”
“Yes, sir. I know that.” The boy’s voice was barely audible.
“His lordship can ’andle ’imself. Ye needn’t fear that you’ll be lookin’ for a new post later today. Now, ’and me kit back up ’ere and then go take the beasts’ heads like a good lad. The poor creatures don’t much care for the sound o’ gunshots.”
“Don’t blame em,” the boy muttered.
Matthias ignored the byplay between Shorbolt and the stable boy. He opened the door of the carriage and got out. No one emerged from the curricle. The hood of the small two-wheeled carriage was raked against the cold. Matthias could not see the face of the man inside. There was no sign of Vanneck’s seconds. The horses stood placidly munching grass as if they had been there for some time.
Matthias was reaching for his watch when he heard the sound of an approaching carriage. He glanced up as it rumbled into view through the fog. The coachman brought the horses to a halt nearby. A familiar figure threw open the door and jumped down onto the damp grass.
“Colchester.” Fairfax, tall, thin, and dressed in the height of fashion, flashed a grin as he walked forward to greet Matthias. “You’re a bit early, man. Expect you’re eager to get back home to your lady wife, eh?”
“Very eager.” Matthias glanced at the elegantly carved wooden box Fairfax carried. “I trust you have made certain that the powder is dry?”
“Do not concern yourself. I’ve taken excellent care of your pistols.” Fairfax nodded toward the carriage. “Jeremy and I brought along the doctor in case he’s needed.”
“Where is Jeremy?”
“Right here.” Jeremy Garfield, a short man with merry eyes and a shock of blond hair, descended sedately from the carriage. “Morning, Colchester. I trust you’ll get this over with quickly so that I can go home to my bed. Been up all night. Why must these affairs always be conducted at dawn? Ungodly hour of the day for this sort of thing.”
“It’s an ungodly business,” Fairfax offered cheerfully. “Well, at least the fog has lifted sufficiently to allow Colchester to take good aim at Vanneck. Assuming he shows, which ain’t likely.”
Matthias inclined his head toward the curricle in the distance. “It would seem that Vanneck is even more eager than I am to conclude the matter.”
Jeremy snorted at the sight of the small carriage. “So he put in an appearance after all. That’s a bit of a surprise. Where are his seconds?”
Fairfax eyed the curricle. “His seconds gave me the impression Vanneck would leave Town rather than face you.”
Matthias started toward the curricle. “Let us see what is keeping him.”
“Fear, most likely.” Jeremy trotted to catch up with Matthias. “Whole world knows Vanneck lacks bottom. Man’s an out-and-out coward. Must have spent the night pouring courage from a bottle.”
Matthias did not respond. He glanced absently at the stable lad as he strode past his carriage. The boy was watching him intently from beneath the brim of his battered cap. The scarf was still wrapped closely around his face to ward off the dawn air.
Awareness went through Matthias. A chill that had nothing to do with the fog made him frown. He tried to place the stable lad. He was suddenly very certain that he had not encountered this particular boy in his stables. Yet there was something disturbingly familiar about him. It had to do with his stance and the way he held his head.
“Very odd, if you ask me,” Fairfax said.
Matthias was briefly distracted from the small, niggling puzzle of the stable lad. He glanced at his friend. “What’s odd?”
“Whole thing.” Fairfax looked around. “Jeremy and I met with Vanneck’s seconds last night. They both stated that if Vanneck did not leave Town, they would be here to examine the pistols.”
Matthias heard soft, hesitant footsteps behind him. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the stable lad had left the horses to follow the three of them as they made their way toward Vanneck’s curricle.
“’Ere now, where d’ye think yer goin’, boy?” Shorbolt yelled. “Come back ’ere. This ain’t yer affair.”
The lad halted and glanced uncertainly back at Shorbolt. The sense of familiarity deepened within Matthias. He noticed the elegant line of the boy’s spine that not even the old coat could disguise. For an instant he refused to believe what his eyes told him. And then disbelief flashed into fury.
“Hell’s teeth,” Matthias whispered.
Fairfax scowled at him in alarm. “Something amiss, Colchester?”
He took a deep breath. “No. Nothing.” He pinned Imogen briefly with his gaze, letting her see the anger that was seething in him. Her eyes widened as she registered the fact that he had recognized her.
“You and Jeremy go talk to Vanneck,” Matthias said softly to his friend. “Discover what’s keeping him. I want to have a word with one of my staff concerning the horses.”
“Be back in a moment,” Fairfax promised. “Come along, Jeremy. Let us see if Vanneck’s courage has evaporated already.”
Matthias waited until the two were out of earshot. Then he whipped around to find Imogen standing a short distance behind him. He walked slowly, deliberately, toward her, reminding himself with every step that above all, he must keep her identity a secret from Vanneck and the others.
Imogen took a single step back as Matthias reached her. Then she braced herself. Her chin rose. “Matthias, please, I had to come with you.”
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re about?” He wanted to shake her. “Have you gone mad? Do you have any notion of what would happen to your reputation if word of this charade got out?”
“My reputation has never been of particular importance to me, sir.”
“Well, it is to me.” It was the only logical argument he could summon in that bleak moment. “You’re the Countess of Colchester now, and you will damn well act like it. Get into the carriage.”
“But, Matthias—”
“I said, get into the carriage and stay there until this is over, do you hear me? I shall deal with you later.”
Imogen drew herself up in a way that Matthias was coming to know all too well. “I will not allow you to go through with this stupid duel.”
“Just how do you intend to stop it?”
She glowered. “I shall convince Vanneck to apologize. If he does so, you will be obliged to cancel the duel. I have studied the rules for this sort of thing, and I know very well that an apology ends the matter.”
“There is nothing Vanneck can say that will convince me to let him go unpunished for what he tried to do to you,” Matthias said very softly. “Nothing at all.”
“But, Matthias—”
“Get into the carriage.”
“I cannot let you do this.”
“You cannot stop me.”
“Colchester,” Fairfax shouted across the meadow. “You’d better come here and see this for yourself.”
Matthias glanced impatiently at his friend. “What is the problem, for God’s sake?”