Lady in Red Read online

  KAREN HAWKINS

  Lady in Red

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Devon St. John paced before the fireplace, his hands clasped behind…

  Chapter 2

  “I hereby call this meeting of the Society for the…

  Chapter 3

  “…even though I searched everywhere.”

  Chapter 4

  “Your ring?” Honoria could only stare, first at the marquis,…

  Chapter 5

  White’s Gentleman’s Club was one of the more stolid bastions…

  Chapter 6

  The gown of blue watered silk opened over an undergown…

  Chapter 7

  The dangerously swaying coach racketed down the cobblestone drive of…

  Chapter 8

  “There!” Honoria said on reaching the other side of the…

  Chapter 9

  Honoria sat alone at the breakfast table. She’d startled the…

  Chapter 10

  Marcus glanced at Anthony. “Must you do that?”

  Chapter 11

  Up until this moment in his controlled and settled life,…

  Chapter 12

  Honoria took a deep breath, focusing every fathom of determination…

  Chapter 13

  “You did what?”

  Chapter 14

  Head bent against the brisk wind as she stepped out…

  Chapter 15

  “I would tie myself to the saddle when the marquis…

  Chapter 16

  “I cannot believe this!” Portia exclaimed looking around the room.

  Chapter 17

  The day of Honoria’s marriage proceeded as if in a…

  Chapter 18

  Two weeks later the Treymount carriage swayed and bumped through…

  Chapter 19

  Honoria pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her gaze…

  Chapter 20

  Marcus promised Herberts twenty quid if the coachman could make…

  Epilogue

  “Well…here we are.” Anthony looked around the table at his…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Karen Hawkins

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  My grandfather was an unpleasant old man. After he died, I frequently heard my grandmother say she missed him like a wooden leg. Though she’d grown used to his bark over the years, she didn’t miss a single splinter and limped along just fine without him.

  Mrs. Welterby to the Countess of Firth, while waiting for the Prince to make an appearance in the drawing room of Carlton House

  Devon St. John paced before the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed. His abrupt footfalls, silenced by the thick rug that stretched the length of the huge chamber, were overshadowed by the crackle of burning logs.

  Suddenly, he halted before a large wing-back chair turned toward the warming flames. “I know. You can tell him.”

  “Me?” His brother, Brandon, shook his head, the firelight casting blue shadows through his black hair. “The last time I delivered bad news to Marcus, he sent me to oversee the holdings in northern Scotland for a month. I nearly froze to death.”

  Chase glanced up from where he slouched on the settee opposite. “I was once sent to the wilds of Yorkshire in the middle of the season for an equally inane reason. And that was back during the time when our brother was tolerable.”

  “Which has not been of late,” Brandon said.

  Chase nodded morosely. “Lately, he has been nothing but a seething mass of ill temper. God knows where he’d order us now if he had a true reason to be upset.”

  Devon sighed heavily. “I must apologize to all of you; this is my fault.”

  The last and quietest member of the gathering finally stirred to life. Devon’s half brother, Anthony Elliot, the Earl of Greyley, stretched his legs toward the fire from the depths of a huge red velvet chair. He surveyed Devon with a sleepy air. “Nonsense. The ring was lost by accident and nothing more.”

  “I should have made more of an effort to find it. But somehow, I thought it would be humorous to send Marcus chasing about for the blasted thing.”

  “It was amusing,” Brandon said, “until Marcus could not find it. You sent Marcus the guest list for the ball where the ring disappeared, and we were all certain that ring would be in the hands of one of those guests.”

  Chase nodded. “Indeed, had the guests not brought guests of their own—that is where we caught cold. And now Marcus’s humor wears more thin as the days pass and the ring is not found. He’s like a great bear denied his food.”

  Anthony shrugged. “So let him growl. He is but a man.”

  “You know what Marcus is,” Devon said. “Our brother is a gale wind in a world of gentle breezes.”

  Brandon sighed and slouched back in his chair. “He definitely has some very odd notions about marriage. I’m in poor case with him this very moment because Verena’s father got into some trouble with the Italian authorities and I had to pay the scoundrel’s way out of it. Marcus disapproved mightily.”

  Chase’s brows lowered. “What else could you do? It’s Verena’s father.”

  “Marcus does not seem to understand that when you marry a woman, to some extent, you also marry her family.”

  “There’s a lot about marriage Marcus doesn’t understand,” Anthony murmured, reclaiming his glass of port and taking another sip. “He seems to understand the concept of having a mistress far better.”

  “That he does. But a wife is a different matter altogether.” Chase rose from the settee and stretched his arms over his head before crossing to the desk to pour himself a drink from a crystal decanter. “Lately he’s been snappish. In fact, Harriet wanted to invite him to our new house for the holidays—”

  “Excellent!” Brandon said, brightening immediately. “Bloody excellent!”

  Everyone looked his way.

  “Oh uhm, sorry.” Brandon smiled uneasily. “Verena had the same idea, though I had no wish to have Marcus growling his way through our holidays. She and I finally agreed that we would invite him only if none of you did. But since Chase and Harriet are going to invite him—”

  “You didn’t give me time to finish my sentence,” Chase said. “Harriet wanted to invite him, but then reconsidered. There’s precious little to entertain Marcus out in the country, and since Harriet’s not feeling well…” Chase grinned a little as he lifted his glass in a seeming toast. “Yet another reason I’m glad my lovely wife is increasing.”

  Brandon grimaced. “I wish Verena was increasing as well, especially if it would keep Marcus away from us during the holidays. He’s become a grump. Only yesterday he said that Christmas was a waste of time and energy and he hated all the fuss.”

  Devon sighed. “He’s impossible. He hasn’t spoken a civil word to me since I lost the ring, and that was months ago. I must admit, I thought the blasted thing would be easier to recover than this.” He rubbed his chin, a frown in his blue eyes. “It’s almost as if the ring doesn’t wish to be found.”

  Silence met this. Finally, Chase cleared his throat. “We have never really talked about it, but…are we all agreed about the ring?” He eyed his brothers carefully. “The legend is true?”

  Anthony noted that his other brothers appeared uneasy with that bold question. The silence grew thick and then thicker. He supposed he couldn’t fault them; after all, the ring had contributed in some way to each of their marriages. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I believe it.”

  “And I,” Brandon said, sending him a grateful look.

  “So do I,” Chase added with a relieved nod.

  “I didn’t want to
, but now…” Devon managed a half smile before he shrugged. “If it hadn’t been for the talisman ring, I don’t believe I would have ever slowed down long enough to appreciate Kat for who and what she is. That would have been a tragedy indeed.”

  Anthony nodded. “For us all.” He leaned his head back against the red velvet cushion. “Devon, there is no other way about it; you might as well just admit your failure to Marcus. He will be home in another hour.”

  “I know, I know. But I can’t just blurt it out.”

  “The quicker you tell him, the quicker it will be over.”

  “The quicker what will be over?” came a deep voice from behind them.

  Devon whirled toward the now open door. Chase, who had just taken a drink of port, began to cough, then choke. Brandon straightened in his chair, unconsciously smoothing his coat.

  Anthony, meanwhile, kept his expression carefully neutral, watching his half brother with interest.

  “Don’t answer all at once,” Marcus drawled softly as he crossed the thick rug to his desk. He was built as were all the St. Johns, tall and lithe with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He paused by the desk, his dark blue gaze silently assessing them, his black hair matching his elegant black coat and breeches.

  Though it was the rage to wear brighter colors in the day and reserve the darker colors for evening, Marcus dressed as he always did—to please himself. And over the last year, his clothing had gradually become more and more stark, mirroring his mood. Today he was dressed in unrelenting black from head to toe, the one exception being his snowy white cravat. Anthony wondered if it was the absence of color that made Marcus’s blue eyes seem so deadly and piercing and so hard of late.

  What had happened to the old Marcus? The one who had teased and laughed? Somehow, over the years, he’d faded from sight. Anthony felt a twinge of guilt. Had they allowed Marcus’s duties to the family fortune and lands to become too burdensome?

  Of course, Marcus rarely allowed anyone to assist him. And Anthony, head of his own household, could appreciate that. There were times when it was simply easier to do than to explain. But still…Marcus had changed, and it wasn’t for the better.

  Devon cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Marcus. I—We—We thought you weren’t due for another hour.”

  Marcus lifted his brows. “You thought wrong.” His blue gaze, icy and relentless, flickered over Devon, then over each member of the small gathering. “All of you.”

  “Yes. Well.” Brandon sent a warning glance at his brothers. “You startled us.”

  Marcus took this remark in silence, seating himself behind the desk and pulling the day’s correspondence in front of him. He began to flip through the letters, then paused to cast a glance at Devon. “The talisman ring? I assume you have good news.”

  Anthony nodded at Devon, silently encouraging him to speak.

  Devon clasped his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other. “We…we were just talking about that. I attempted to interview Lady Talbot, who was the only person from the guest list who we hadn’t yet spoken to. She brought someone to the ball with her, a female guest. Unfortunately, Lady Talbot died a month ago and no one seems to know the guest’s name.”

  Marcus’s jaw tightened.

  Devon hurried to add, “Lady Talbot had two servants. Neither could recall the name of the young lady their mistress took to the ball as her guest. They said the lady was a new acquaintance.”

  Marcus cursed, long and low.

  Devon sighed. “I said the exact same thing, I assure you. The housekeeper remembered the young woman mentioning that she would be taking the mail coach through Southampton, so I went there and made some inquiries.”

  “And?” Marcus snapped.

  Anthony winced. The word was more a bullet burst than a question, razor sharp and just as piercing.

  Devon swallowed. “I could find nothing. I stayed two days and then…” He took a deep breath and said quickly, “And then I returned to Scotland because I’d promised Kat I’d be there for her new nephew’s christening. It is her brother’s first child, and the entire family is—”

  “Blast!” Marcus threw his pen back onto the desk, his brows drawn. “That ring belonged to Mother. She left it in our care and you lost it.”

  “By accident,” Anthony murmured, shooting a reproachful glance at Marcus. “As you well know.”

  Marcus’s gaze flared, but Anthony refused to back down. After a moment, Marcus’s mouth tightened and he managed a short shrug. “Accident or not, it is gone.”

  “It fell off Kat’s hand,” Devon said, his brow lowered. “You know I would never willingly lose Mother’s ring. Besides, I have done what I could do to help find it. When I realized I couldn’t stay in Southampton any longer because of my commitments, I sent Chase in my stead.”

  Chase took a quick gulp of his drink. “Yes. And because of the description Devon was able to get from Lady Talbot’s housekeeper, I thought to at least get the name of the mystery woman, but I had no such luck.”

  “Description?” Marcus glanced at Devon.

  “Lady Talbot’s housekeeper remembered the woman well enough, though not her name. She was tallish and well-formed, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. But the detail that I had hoped might allow us to find her was that she had a streak of white in her hair, at the temple.”

  Marcus leaned back in his chair. “A white streak. How…interesting. Did anyone in Southampton catch the woman’s name?”

  “I spoke to the innkeeper in Southampton,” Chase answered. “He spoke to her briefly while she was waiting on the mail coach, but she never gave her name. All she said was that she was returning home, to London.”

  Anthony noted that Marcus did not appear surprised at that information. Was it possible…did Marcus know who this woman was?

  “So the ring has come back to London,” Marcus said softly. “Chase, were you able to find anything else?”

  “No. Not really. Except…the innkeeper mentioned that she certainly knew a lot about the ancient sword he had on display in the front room. She told him some things about the execution of Italian sword hilts that he didn’t know, though she was the most taken with an antique—”

  “Snuffbox,” Marcus finished with a final note, his jaw tightening. Bloody hell, of all the women in London, why did it have to be her? He could only hope he was wrong. But from the description…it had to be. There could be no other.

  It was the last thing he needed right now. He was in the middle of acquiring the Melton estate after the bloody fool lost his fortune at the gaming table just last week. Marcus’d had his eye on the estate for years now, for it sat adjoining an especially rich piece of land he’d acquired years before at an auction. Now it was to be his, which was only fair, as he’d been patiently biding his time as ne’er-do-well Lord Melton ripped through his fortune one losing card at a time.

  Twice before, Marcus had offered to purchase the lands outright, and twice before, Melton had haughtily sent him on his way. But now the dissolute younger man was desperate and willing to talk. Marcus was ready. A feeling of power surged through him; before the negotiations were through, Melton would wish with all his heart he’d settled before things had gotten so grim.

  Marcus knew that was what he should have been focusing on—increasing his family’s holdings and not this silly matter of Mother’s missing ring. Blast it, he had important things to do, and the ring was becoming more and more of a distraction.

  Anthony caught his gaze. “You know who it is.”

  Marcus gave a short nod. Of all his brothers, Anthony was the one who most understood what it was like to be responsible for a name and a fortune…mainly because he was in charge of his own family, the ne’er-do-well Elliots. “There is only one woman who fits such a description and who would know about Italianate hilt work: Miss Honoria Baker-Sneed.” The name lingered on Marcus’s tongue long after it dissipated into the air. God, even the sound of it made his chest tighten unpleasantl
y.

  Anthony pursed his lips. “I never heard of her before.”

  “Which is your good fortune,” Marcus said grimly. “Miss Baker-Sneed is the bane of my existence.” Marcus could tell from the interested stares that surrounded him that he was not going to get away with such a simple answer. “Her father travels far and wide and collects antiquities. To supplement their rather limited income, she often accompanies him to the sale on Monday morning at Neilson’s Antiquities.”

  “Neilson’s?” Brandon said. “Where you bought the tapestry in the front hall?”

  Chase shuddered. “Horrid thing, that tapestry.”

  “It depicts one of the greatest battles of the Crusades,” Marcus said.

  “It has woven pictures of decapitated soldiers,” Chase said, clearly unimpressed. “And it’s not even very lifelike.”

  “It is very lifelike if you realize it was woven in the twelfth century.”

  “How do you know that?” Brandon’s frown was heavy with suspicion.

  “He doesn’t,” Chase said placidly. “That’s just what they told him when they sold it to him.”

  Devon shrugged. “Daresay those antiquities places are all the same, willing to claim that any bit of rusted metal is a Viking helmet or some such nonsense.”

  A dull ache was beginning to form at the base of Marcus’s skull. He had scores of things to do today, not the least of which was to meet with Melton’s man of business to discuss the state of the man’s holdings. “That tapestry is priceless.”

  “And ugly,” Chase added.

  Brandon nodded. “Wouldn’t have it at my house, musty old thing.”

  Anthony gave a sleepy smile. “You’re all fools. I’ve always coveted that tapestry. My only complaint is that I didn’t find it first.” He looked expectantly at Marcus. “Tell us about this Miss Baker-Sneed? Is she attractive?”