Chapter 8

Where the hell had Alex gone? His first thought. Should be his only, but another would intrude.

He should never have stripped Lady Andromeda of her bonnet. The sun would scorch her fair cheeks, perhaps cause her pain. He'd dropped her bonnet to the ground in the copse to see her clearly, to discover why she'd paled while talking to the lady with the scowl she'd invited to tea. What had upset her? Something, perhaps, about her suitor in Cornwall. She'd been speaking of him when he'd approached them.

She did not speak of him now, though. She marched at his side, intent on the same goal as him—find Alex. They were not at loggerheads in this, and he liked it. After they'd found Alex, he'd find out about the women.

Several of them circled Lady Andromeda now, like children eyeing the last lemon tart. Why?

"Where did you last see him?" she asked.

"With your brother."

But Clearford and his sisters no longer had Alex with them.

She tugged his arm until he stopped. "Let us search the park before we come to any grim conclusions. And speak with Samuel." She pulled him toward her brother, and when they stopped beside him, she said, "Samuel, where is Lord Avelford?"

Clearford scowled. "He went off with some acquaintances."

Tristan cursed.

Clearford's scowl turned deadly. "Do remember you're in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, not on a boat. Or in a warehouse."

Tristan regarded Lady Andromeda. "Did I insult you with my language?"

"Not at all," she said. "I found it… intriguing. Besides, I will not waste precious time being offended when your brother is missing. Now. Did you see which direction he went?"

Magnificent. Made him want to throw her over his shoulder and run.

No time for that.

Clearford pointed toward Rotten Row, and Lady Andromeda set off with purposeful strides that swung her skirts against her legs and rounded arse. The material clung to her legs. He'd always loved legs. Women kept them so damn hidden. Was always a surprise to see what lay beneath those voluminous skirts. Her legs would be exquisite, no doubt.

"What in bloody hell are you doing?" Clearford hissed, grabbing Tristan's arm before he could further ogle Lady Andromeda's backside.

Tristan yanked his arm away. "Attempting to locate the fledgling rogue I call Brother."

"Not that. You've been here half an hour at least and not spoken to Lottie once. I told you that Annie—"

"Is unavailable. So you say." He glanced across the park to find her. She'd been stopped on her progress toward Rotten Row by an older woman who shoved a slip of paper at Lady Andromeda's face until she snatched it and slipped it into her pocket. She appeared… perturbed. And when she finally shook loose from the woman who had stopped her, she was waylaid once more after not even five steps.

"Lady Andromeda," Tristan said, "appears quite popular with ladies of a particular age."

Clearford followed the trajectory of Tristan's gaze. "My mother's former friends. Do not think you can distract me, Kingston. I do not simply say. She is."

"Nevertheless, I'm courting her."

"Kingston." Clearford's voice held an edge now, and he stepped in front of Tristan, his hands making tight fists. "I said—"

"Wrong. You said wrong. Listen. That Lord Bashful or whatever his name is has not spoken with you. Nothing is official. But here I am, standing before you, telling you what I want. Her. It's what you want, anyway. Her to choose another man. Why not me?"

"Because she wants love."

That put a hitch in his step. Hell. Love? He could do anything he set his mind to. But bring fairy tales to life? He steadied his steps and plowed forward, despite the queasiness settling in his gut. "I'm going to court her whether you like it or not, Clearford, but I would prefer your approval."

Clearford grabbed his arm again, swung him to a stop. "Lottie won't mind not being loved, but Andromeda will. Can you do that? Do you have a heart for anyone other than your brother?"

Tristan's jaw clenched. "Lady Andromeda is exactly what I need. She possesses every quality you tasked me with listing that day in your study. You said lesson one was choose the right woman, and once I discover what she's hiding—"

"Hiding? Hiding? Hell, Kingston, if you know something, you'd better tell me."

Tristan met his gaze, held it tight. "I'll tell you everything. If you don't keep me away from Lady Andromeda."

"You bloody arse."

Tristan grinned. "I'm not the owner of three successful London papers because I'm easily cowed, Clearford."

"I know it. And I'll find someone else to figure out what they're up to. That's a runner's job—to discover. It's your job to report."

"And to keep it quiet if necessary." A warning. His brother was not the only one who knew how bribery worked.

"I'd like to throw you in front of a horse at this very moment."

"I'll take that as an assent." Tristan pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must find my brother, scold him, and introduce him to his future sister-in-law."

"If you hurt her, I'll—"

"I intend to be faithful." Entirely. He hoped his friend heard the truth in his voice. The union he sought might be partially one of convenience, mostly for his benefit, but he'd ensure she benefited as well. "Everything that's mine will be hers." Including his bed. If a man had determined not to keep a mistress, he must ensure the marital bed provided pleasure. For both husband and wife. The promise of that sizzled between him and Andromeda. Every time he touched her, the spark of that promise leapt higher. "I'll cut out my own damn tongue if I hurt her, Clearford."

"You'd better. Or I will." Clearford turned in a circle, eyes blazing. "Where's Prudence? And the twins?" He strung several curses in a row.

"Do remember," Tristan drawled, "that you are in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. Not on a boat. Or in a warehouse."

Clearford's hand knotted in Tristan's cravat and yanked him close. "Be careful with my sister. And if she is hiding something, tell me everything you discover."

Tristan pushed Clearford's finger away, answered only with a tight nod. Then Clearford shoved off in search of one of his sisters, and Tristan trotted off in search of another.

Andromeda had been stopped once more, and once more she took something from the women. A stealthy exchange. He'd not have noticed had he not been looking. But he was, and he could not now look away.

As he approached, Lady Andromeda shot him a wary glance. She rammed her shoulder into the other woman, who flew into a maid pushing a pram, and trotted toward him.

"No luck yet," she said, "With your brother."

"Difficult to search for a missing person when you're conversing with so many others."

"I could not be rude."

"Naturally." He offered his arm. "Let's check the Serpentine."

She did not take his arm. "Do you fear he's fallen in?"

He shrugged and moved to step in line beside her but stopped. "Best to be careful. He knows how to swim, though." He knelt and picked up the slip of paper that had fallen from her sleeve. "You dropped—"

"Oh!" She raced back to him, grabbed his arm, and tugged him toward the milling throng of people, carriages, horses, and highly feathered hats. "That coach is on fire!"

A black and yellow coach, four horses attached, rocked back and forth as smoke seeped from its cracks and crevices.

"Hell." He stuffed the bit of paper he'd picked up off the ground in his pocket, grabbed her wrist, and ran as fast as her skirts would let them.

When she stumbled and tripped, he stopped, straightened her. "Are you injured?"

"No. But I can't run as quickly as you. Go! I'll catch up."

He hesitated.

"Go!" She shooed him toward the smoking coach.

He ran, pushing through people running in the opposite direction. He reached the coach door and flung it open. A cloud of smoke billowed out, and the curtain covering the door window flamed into ash.

He cursed and jumped away, sparking velvet falling hot against his skin. He covered his mouth and nose with his elbow and surged forward once more. "Is anyone in there?"

Coughing from inside.

The horses stamped the ground, and he moved to release them, but Lady Andromeda was already there, ripping open buckles, freeing the beasts.

"I'll release the horses," she said. "Attend to anyone who's inside!"

He pushed through the smoke and back to the door, growling into the opaque air inside. "Anyone in there?"

A body fell down the steps, landed on the ground with a thud. And then another.

Lady Andromeda, her white skirts lost in the haze of smoke pouring into the air from the confines of the coach, knelt before the fallen bodies. "Can you stand?" she asked them through coughs.

"Andromeda, don't get any nearer," he ordered.

She bobbed her head in agreement.

The coughing men on the ground used her strength to pull to their feet, and she helped them gain distance from the blazing coach. Alex's friends, the ones who'd delivered him home last night. They collapsed to the grass a safe distance from the flames.

"Where's Alex?" Tristan demanded. "Where's Avelford?"

The boys pointed toward the coach, and white-hot fear punched through Tristan's gut. "Alex," he yelled. The curtains inside burned a ring of flames around the coach. He saw only fire and smoke and blackness.

Then a third body fell out, coughing and writhing, clutching something in his arms.

"They say there's no one else inside," Andromeda called out.

Tristan hauled Alex to his feet and dragged him away from the flames, helping him to the ground when they reached Andromeda and her charges. He knelt by Alex, taking his shoulders in both hands, his heart a hammer at his wrists.

"Are you hurt?"

Alex collapsed backward into the grass. "I'm fine." He still clutched something. A bottle.

"These two seem uninjured." Andromeda wrinkled her nose. "They stink, though." She sniffed. "Of cheroots and… brandy? Perhaps it's just the smoke."

Tristan snapped the bottle from his brother's hold. "Yes, brandy." He wanted to hit his brother over the head with it. "What the hell happened?"

Alex lifted a pale and ashen face. "Bartie had that." He nodded at the bottle. "And a box of cheroots. We didn't mean to…" His cheeks puffed out, his pale visage going green. Then he rolled onto his side and cast up his accounts.

The other two young men gagged.

"No, you don't," Andromeda said, patting their backs. "Close your eyes. Take deep breaths."

Tristan rubbed his palms down his face. A crowd had gathered round them, and Alex, finished, rolled onto his back, moaning.

"How much of this have you had?"

"I saved it," Alex said, his voice soft, his words weak. "Wasn't empty yet. Didn't wanna lose it."

"How did this happen?" he roared.

"Instantaneous light box," one of them wheezed. "Damn thing just—"

"Poof," another said.

"Aaaahhhh fire!" Alex said between weak chortles. "Scared Bartie. He threw it."

"Landed on the curtains," one of the other two said. "Then on the seat."

They all three were laughing now while the coach behind him smoldered and all London seemed rushed to avoid disaster—catching horses, bringing buckets of water to quench the flames, moving other conveyances out of the way. Tristan pushed a hand through his hair and dropped it heavy to his side. He dropped his head back, too, looking to the pure blue sky for a sign of some cloud. None.

A hand fluttering on his arm. "Are you uninjured," Andromeda asked.

He rested his hand on top of hers. So small and soft. "Yes. And you?"

"Perfectly fine. I think we should remove them from the premises though. Perhaps they should see a physician."

"To your feet," he yelled, and they complied, their laughter turning into sluggish groans as they stood, bent and pale.

Alex still clutched the brandy bottle.

"Mr. Kingston!"

"Hell." Could this day get any worse? He knew that voice. It sounded from the bowels of his worst nightmares.

Through the crowd stomped Lady Eldridge. "Is this what you call being a good guardian?" She stopped beside Alex, her eyes bulging as she took in the soot on his clothing, the green gleam of his cheek, and, of course, the bottle he clutched in his hands. "You've killed him!"

"Not dead, Aunt Marjorie!" Alex said, waving. But he looked it.

Lady Eldridge shoved the pointy end of her parasol at Tristan. "You said you would stop him from all this debauchery, but he's nearly burned down Hyde Park!"

Alex swayed, hiccupped, then said, "Not his fault, Aunt Marjorie. He didn't know about the brandy. Or the cheroots. Or the light box."

"He should have."

"I should have, you're quite right," Tristan said. Alex would not defend him when it was his fault. He deserved the blame. He should have been able to control the situation, keep it from happening entirely.

"But how could you have?" Andromeda demanded. "You didn't—"

"I was distracted, and I shouldn't have been."

She inhaled sharply, and he saw in her gaze—she thought he blamed her.

He reached for her. "You misunderstand—"

"No." Her lips pursed, and she backed away. "If you have no more need of my help, Mr. Kingston, I will be returning to my family."

"Andromeda." He stepped toward her.

"Lady Andromeda." She pushed her chin high and stomped away, the sway of her hips sweeping the soft muslin of her skirt, once bloody more, against her long legs.

"Who is that?" Lady Eldridge demanded, pointing her parasol at Lady Andromeda.

When had he decided to give up the title? He couldn't remember, but now that he had, he could not conceive of using it ever again. Brave woman. Running to help, keeping her wits. Damn, but she'd been magnificent.

"That's who saved us," one of the drunk fellows said, his face slack with longing.

Tristan knew that feeling; it grew a little stronger every time he saw her.

Lady Eldridge pushed her finger into Tristan's chest. "She does not matter. What matters is—"

"She," Tristan said, "is a duke's sister. She matters." For more reasons than that. For better reasons than that. But titles, family, were the only things Alex's aunt understood.

"A duke's sister?" Lady Eldridge studied Andromeda's retreating form. "Hm. The one you plan to marry?"

Tristan nodded.

She brightened, even smiled a bit, though it seemed unnatural, like a grin sewed into a taxidermied cat. "How valiant of her to help you, my boy." She patted Alex's shoulder. "But you!" She poked Tristan in the gut with her parasol.

He swatted it away.

She barely noticed, merely continued her tirade. "You are a failure of a guardian. To think you let something like this happen. I'll be taking this to the Chancery. Do not doubt me." She poked Alex, and his face turned green again, and his cheeks puffed out. Tristan moved farther away, out of distance of any possible liquid projectiles, but not Lady Eldridge, who gave him another dangerous poke to the gut. "You need a better influence than some bastard, and I'll see you get it. It's an affront to your mother and her family, naming that man as guardian."

"I'm thirteen, Aunt," Alex said meekly. "Soon, I can choose my—"

"We'll see about that." She sniffed, stabbed her parasol tip into the ground, and left as quickly as she'd come.

"Guardian," Alex finished, the air of defeat as heavy around him as the smell of smoke.

"Zeus!" one of the young reprobates said, hitting his friend repetitively on the upper arm. "Father's here! He won't be pleased about the coach. Come on, Bartie!" They fled the scene.

"Come," Tristan clipped out, pulling Alex along behind him. "You'll tell me who the coach belongs to and who I need to visit tomorrow. You're paying for the damn thing."

"But it wasn't my light box!" Alex stumbled, then righted himself to keep up. "Nor my brandy."

"You mean that brandy you're clutching in your hands?"

He startled, looked down. "Oh. Yes. This brandy. I'm sorry, King."

"You set an entire coach on fire in Hyde—" He snapped his lips shut. His yelling drew as much attention as the flaming coach.

"I'm sorry, King."

"Why, Alex?" They sped so quickly that their own phaeton came into view at the other end of the park.

The boy shrugged. "I get bored. And I get… so I don't want to think about things. Can't think about things if I'm busy."

"We'll keep you busy, then. I'm drawing up a schedule. You'll wake with the sun, work in the stables, have a bout at Jacksons… Are you too young for boxing? No. Not when you act like a man double your age in every other way."

"I'm not one of your employees to boss about!"

Tristan flung himself up onto the phaeton. "Get in."

The boy kept stone-heavy feet on the ground, lifting a stubborn expression.

"Don't be stubborn about it, Alex."

Still the boy stood, planting roots. "Bartie and Roland don't have to work in the stable. They get to drink and do as they please, and no one cares."

Tristan's hands tightened on the reins, and he closed his eyes, breathed deep, and beckoned patience to roll over him like a calming wave. It did not, and he spoke through gritted teeth, "Do you want the Chancery involved in your guardianship? They did not put up much fuss when Father named me your guardian in his will. But if they see me as unfit… Do you want to live with your aunt?"

Alex's jaw worked, as if he were chewing over his options, then he took a deep breath, rounded the phaeton, and climbed up.

They were almost home when Tristan said, "You're going to visit Lady Andromeda tomorrow and express your gratitude and apologize for your actions."

Alex nodded. He looked a mess. Today had been a mess. He'd meant to try to finally break through Andromeda's defenses by introducing his charming younger brother. Instead, he'd nearly kissed her, announced his decision to court her to her disapproving brother, threatened him with gossip if he didn't, and watched said charming brother fall from the confines of a flaming coach. Too, he'd inadvertently insulted Andromeda.

But tomorrow was a new day, and tomorrow was Andromeda's tea, the same tea she'd mentioned to the woman who'd dropped the slip of paper he'd picked up.

When he entered the house and found blessed solitude in his bedchamber, he unfolded the paper and read,

The Shadow of the Cockerel. LG

What the hell did that mean? He'd find out tomorrow. More importantly, he'd apologize for insinuating he blamed her for his distraction. Not her fault at all. The hurt in her eyes… a poison that curled through his blood. She deserved better.

He'd have to improve his technique. Because now, more than ever, he needed to prove himself fit to care for Alex.

Not his fault the boy thought to sow his wild oats and burn down coaches in Hyde Park at the tender age of thirteen.

Also because Samuel's warning burned Tristan's ears. Andromeda desired romance. And even if he had practical reasons for wedding her, he could make her feel wanted. Easy enough to do when he found more and more with each passing day that he wanted her.