Chapter 17

Grosvenor Ball

" M iss Walsh, I believed I had made myself quite clear regarding your association with gentlemen of the ton," Miss Camille Fenton said, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Miss Fenton, I was not aware I required your permission in such matters."

With uncommon violence for a lady of breeding, Miss Fenton pushed Briana backward. "Have you any notion how mortifying it is to hear that you were seen taking ices with Lord Victor Cambridge? The very impudence! Now Lord Faulkner speaks of a possible marriage proposal."

Briana replied, "What gentlemen choose to do is hardly my concern. If they are, as you suggest, destined for your circle, pray tell why they do not escort you to Gunter's or offer for your hand?"

"You upstart creature," Miss Fenton hissed, "you persist in carrying on like a common courtesan."

"I beg your pardon! How dare you cast such aspersions upon my character."

"It must be true. How else would men of such calibre seek your company if not to establish you as their mistress? The stench of trade hangs about you most disagreeably."

"Indeed, Camille speaks truly," another voice joined in. That belonging to Camille’s friend Henrietta Dalton. "We all know Lord Victor Cambridge recently concluded his liaison with Lydia Seymour. He must intend you for his next mistress. It is perfectly logical. He would never contemplate marriage with one such as you."

Briana stepped back, gathering her composure. She detested when they mounted their attacks in concert. "Lord Cambridge and I are merely friends, particularly since Miss Caitlin Drummond enjoys the particular attention of the Marquess of Winchester." She knew the barb had struck true when the ladies began circling like wolves scenting blood. They could scarce contain their fury that Caitlin had indeed captured Lucas Cambridge’s regard despite their zealous pursuit of him.

Camille rallied and said, "Mark my words, Miss Walsh. Victor Cambridge does not view you as a friend, but merely as one to warm his bed until his interest wanes. Ask anyone of consequence. His reputation in such matters is well known. When he deigns to marry, it shall be to a lady of impeccable breeding and spotless lineage."

"Miss Fenton, you make us all sound like pedigree hounds? I hope you are not referring to yourself as a bitch. Ah... but I perceive the parallel now," Miss Caitlin Drummond declared as she swept into the conversation with characteristic boldness.

Briana exhaled softly in relief. The irascible Caitlin could always be counted upon to come to her defence.

"Miss Drummond, pray cease your interference in others' discourse. It is most uncouth."

"Nay, Miss Fenton. What is truly uncouth is discussing a gentleman's mistress so brazenly in public, particularly when a debutante ought to have no knowledge of such matters."

Camille turned to discover several ladies shielding their mouths with their fans, tittering in disapproval behind them. Her countenance blanched as she declared, "Mark my words, you shall both rue the day when I marry into the Cambridge family and render your lives utterly intolerable!"

As Camille and Henrietta stormed away, Caitlin called after her, "Rather ambitious, would you not say? The Cambridge men are known for their discerning taste!"

"Caitlin!" Briana burst into laughter. "I cannot believe you spoke thus!"

"Indeed, she quite deserved it. She is thoroughly disagreeable."

The two friends embraced, having been separated these past weeks. "How do you fare?" Briana inquired. "Has your stepmother's matchmaking met with success?"

"It has not."

"And what of you? Does Maude keep you in good order?"

"She does not." Both ladies dissolved into giggles but swiftly parted upon spying Caitlin's stepmother approaching with an elderly gentleman in tow.

Briana, too, chose to make her escape, wishing to avoid the attentions of various suitors. Though disappointed not to have glimpsed Victor, she presumed him occupied with business. Instead, she steeled herself for the evening's appointment at Vauxhall Garden, where she was to deliver maps and coordinates to Mendoza's man.

Vauxhall Gardens

GAS LAMPS CAST A DIM glow along the narrow pathways of Vauxhall Gardens in London's East End. Victor maintained his position near the shadowed pavilion, vigilant for any sign of Agent X. He had foregone the Grosvenor Ball upon receiving word from one of his men that X and several rebels may be meeting during the Masquerade. Despite agreeing not to pursue the matter, he was still curious to glean any information about who X could be. Having arrived early to position his men, he cut a dark figure in his black shirt, trousers, and riding boots, a long cloak draped over his ensemble. A simple eye mask completed his disguise as he settled into his chosen vantage point to observe.

MASKED REVELERS TWIRLED about in an astonishing array of silk, velvet, and lace. Amidst the raucous laughter, Briana moved with purpose through the crowd. She adjusted her ornate Venetian mask, her gaze sweeping the sea of faces for her contact. The stolen map and diary pressed against her bodice served as constant reminders of the danger she courted. Her masquerade gown and crimson hooded cloak drew little attention, yet she could not shake the sensation of being watched. Breaking away from the crowd, she proceeded down a less frequented, darkened path near a pergola. Mendoza's instructions had specified this as the rendezvous point.

A figure emerged from the shadows. "X?" he whispered.

"Cuttie, I presume?" she replied to the silver-haired coachman in his weathered coat and hat.

He nodded. "Do you have the map and diary for Mendoza?"

"Indeed." Briana withdrew the documents from beneath her cloak and passed them to him.

He pressed an envelope into her hand in return.

"What purpose does this serve?" she inquired.

"Mendoza says it's for your protection. He bid me warn you to watch yourself. The crushers are more active than usual tonight, with several in attendance."

"I shall exercise caution," she assured him.

With a slight nod, she tucked the letter into her pocket. They parted ways, Cuttie melting back into the darkness while Briana made her way toward a large pavilion encircled by hedgerows. She had scarcely reached it when a strong hand seized her arm.

"What mischief are you about now?"

She spun to face Victor, his piercing eyes visible even behind his simple mask. "Unhand me, sir! You have no right—"

"I have every right when you persist in courting disaster," Victor hissed. "Have you taken leave of your senses? To venture here alone, without escort!"

Briana struggled against his grip. "I am perfectly capable of—"

"Of getting yourself killed. Have you any notion of the dangers here? The ruffians and bruisers who would not hesitate to take advantage?" He drew her toward the center of the pavilion. "I shall not stand idle while you throw away both life and reputation on another foolish adventure. Did you not promise me earlier this week that you would take better care of your safety?"

"Yes, but this is not foolish! You understand nothing of what is at stake!"

"Tell me, then. Does this concern the prisons? The rallies? Why must you forever place yourself in harm's way? This ends now, Briana. I am escorting you home this instant!"

"I am a woman grown, stop treating me like a babe! You have no authority over my actions,” she declared with ice in her tone.

"The devil I don't. You are a menace to yourself and society."

"There is no danger when one knows what one is doing."

"I forbid it," Victor pronounced.

"You are neither husband nor brother to me, sir, and you have no right to forbid anything."

"Oh, don’t I?"

A tense silence fell between them as they locked in a battle of wills.

Victor's attention was drawn by movement behind the hedgerow. His jaw clenched upon spotting his brothers Lucas and Sebastian, along with Caitlin Drummond of all people, concealed behind the shrubbery, clearly eavesdropping. He cared not for their presence nor their purpose. His sole concern was the infuriating woman before him. At least her hood concealed her identity from the onlookers. His gaze fell to her scandalously revealing costume, which barely contained her bosoms. He longed to take her over his knee for daring to appear in public thus attired, though he feared such an action would lead him to divest her of the divine garment entirely.

Without warning, Victor clasped Briana's hand and led her from the pavilion, away from prying eyes. His mission to keep an eye out for X abandoned entirely—truly, he was losing all sense of purpose where Briana Walsh was concerned.

Noting her struggle to match his stride, Victor halted, turned, and in one fluid motion swept her into his arms to carry her to his carriage.

"Put me down! What do you mean by this?" she nearly shrieked.

"Silence, lest you draw attention to us."

"Oh, you accomplish that well enough yourself, sir! Never have I been so manhandled! Where are you taking me?"

"Home, where you shall remain for the evening's duration!"

"I am perfectly capable of seeing myself home, I thank you."

"Quiet now. My parents approach. Draw my hood forward and conceal your face against my neck," Victor commanded.

Briana meant to protest but recognized the wisdom of his words. His parents were indeed strolling through the gardens, recognizable despite their costumes. She complied, and they passed undetected.

She even heard the duchess remark, "Edward, do observe those young lovers. How romantic."

"How scandalous!" came Penelope Swinbourne's response.

Briana fought the urge to reveal herself and smile smugly at the woman, instead she buried her face deeper into Victor's neck.

Once safely distant, Victor set her down and guided her along another dimly lit path toward a carriage.

"Where are we going now?" she asked and resisted his grip.

"To secure you in my carriage while I send word to your Mr Mason and my men that I shall be escorting you home."

"Your men? Wait a moment. What brings you here tonight, sir?"

Victor offered no response.

"So you demand answers from me while providing none? What nefarious purpose brings you out tonight, my lord?" Briana wondered if Victor awaited a mistress. She could not mask the jealousy in her tone. "Did you expect to meet a courtesan or actress at the pavilion? Is she the one you hoped to bed this night?"

She flushed crimson when he growled, "The only woman I desire in my bed tonight is the one I'm about to place in my carriage."

Briana gasped as he opened the carriage door and deposited her inside. "Remain here until I return."

Victor closed the door firmly, and she heard him addressing his footman. The door was locked from the outside, the footman stationed as guard.

"Do you mean to kidnap me, my lord? I shall not stand for it! Do you hear? I shall not!" She struck the door with her fist to no avail. At her second attempt, the door flew open, and Victor's face appeared. He grasped her about the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply before stepping away.

"Behave! I shan't be long."

As the door closed again, Briana remained dazed. Curse the man and his masterful kisses, she thought.

True to his word, Victor returned shortly and joined her in the carriage. Rather than sitting opposite, he claimed the space beside her and took her hand. She heard him give instructions—to his address, not hers.

Briana stiffened. "That is not my residence."

"I have reconsidered. You are not going home."

She turned sharply. "Why ever not?"

"I see now you possess not an ounce of self-preservation. The only way to ensure your safety this night is to watch over you myself—in my house, in my chamber, in my bed!"

His growled words sent tremors through her very core, yet she knew she must resist. This path led to ruination of the worst kind. She could not allow Victor to make her his mistress, nor could she give herself to a man ignorant of her secrets. Camille Fenton's warning echoed in her mind. She had to escape the suddenly stifling carriage.

She moved to flee, but the door opened to reveal Brenton Cambridge's ashen face.

"Brent? What has happened?" Victor asked, concerned.

"Vic, Sebastian's been shot. Lucas has taken him to the residence of a Dr. Barry. Miles and I go to fetch Mother and Father, but we need you there directly!"

The atmosphere in the carriage grew taut as Victor paled. He nodded and began issuing instructions to his driver and footman.

"Victor, I am so sorry. Pray, go to your brother and think nothing of me. I shall find my own way home." Briana squeezed his hand sympathetically.

Victor tightened his hold on her hand. "No. You shall accompany me."

Recognizing his distressed state, Briana saw the futility of argument.

They rode in relative silence, Victor gazing sternly out the window, though Briana felt his profound worry. She noted he maintained his grip on her hand, holding it against his chest as if drawing comfort from the contact. She dared not withdraw it.

Thirty minutes later, Victor's carriage drew up before Dr. James Barry's residence. His family had not yet arrived. Victor turned to her.

"I know not what awaits within nor how long this may take, but I beg you—ease my mind tonight and await me at my home. My men shall convey you there and see to your comfort. Whatever transpires this night, I cannot... I must know you are safe. It would mean everything to me to return home... to you."

Seeing the anguish and concern for his brother in his eyes, Briana decided, against her better judgment, to grant him this small peace of mind. "Very well, I shall do as you ask. Go to your brother, Victor. Be with your family."

He nodded, then leaned close to brush his lips gently across hers. "I thank you," he whispered, and then he was gone.