Imogen favored him with a wicked grin. He was starting to see that mischievous look more and more as her grief for her husband receded. One had to assume that her true nature was emerging, a thought that would fill any sane man with trepidation.
“I’m not going to like your answer,” he stated.
“Myself,” Imogen said, “I like surprises. Why, when Annabel and Tess surprised me on my eighth birthday—”
“Imogen.”
She pouted at him, luscious, dark red lips as plump as raspberries. Moments like these made him wonder whether something was physically the matter with him. He didn’t seem to feel a flicker of desire, and Imogen was eminently desirable.
The thought made him scowl. “Cut rope, if you please. Where are we bound?”
“Scotland,” she said brightly. “Isn’t that an adventure?”
“If you meant that by way of an invitation, I’m not accompanying you. The Ascot is nearly upon us. I’m far too busy, and far too uninterested. When are you planning to travel? And why?”
“Please accompany us?” Imogen begged, making her fine dark eyes tragic. Faced with that appeal, another man, Mayne thought dispassionately, would grovel at her feet. One moment Imogen looked like a naughty imp, and the next she was all woman, looking at him as if he were the only man in the world capable of saving her from the guillotine. Her eyes shone with tears, her mouth pouted and her breast heaved—
“Absolutely not,” he said. And then, out of pure curiosity, “Were you planning to take that little performance on the stage?”
“What performance?” she asked, looking like a cat who had never smelled cream.
“That one you gave me just now.”
Her grin was (if she but knew it) fifty times more entrancing than her practiced repertoire of seductive glances. “I hadn’t thought of the stage, but perhaps you’re right. I could become an actress!”
Mayne almost groaned. Wonderful. He’d given a woman bent on ruining herself yet another avenue to disgrace herself.
“But not yet,” Imogen said. “First we have to save Annabel.”
“Annabel? Is that why you’re talking of Scotland?”
“We are going to Scotland!” Griselda snapped, opening her eyes and giving him a pained look. “Do you think anything other than utter necessity would get me into a carriage on its way to Scotland? Anything?” Griselda suffered from a weak stomach and loathed lengthy carriage rides.
“If you’re asking whether I have forgotten how frequently you vomited on my feet when we were children, the answer is no,” Mayne said testily. He was starting to get a very nasty feeling. Why was Griselda wearing a traveling dress? Why was she up so early? And—most importantly—why had the carriage stopped for him?
“Imogen,” he said. “Where is this carriage headed? At this very moment?”
She met his eyes without a drop of shame. “Scotland,” she said. “Aberdeenshire, Scotland. To the holdings of the Earl of Ardmore.”
Mayne’s eyes narrowed. “You can let me out here,” he said, his voice as cold as polished steel.
“I shall not,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.
Mayne leaned forward so he could rap on the box, summoning the coachman.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Griselda moaned, her face already looking a bit green. “Just give him Rafe’s note, would you, Imogen?”
Without trusting himself to speak, Mayne took the note that Imogen extracted from her reticule and ripped it open.
Mayne,Something extraordinary has happened; it appears I have a family member of whom I knew nothing. I can’t explain at the moment, but I must beg you to help me with a problem that has arisen with my guardianship of the Essexes. Felton has managed to solve the fiasco of Annabel’s scandal in a way that does not necessitate her marriage, but you must be in Scotland before she and Ardmore arrive, so as to head off that wedding. Unfortunately, Felton can’t make the trip, and I am tied up with legal affairs at the moment. If you could see your way clear to accompanying Griselda, Imogen, and Josie, I would be most grateful.
Rafe
“Who the hell has showed up in Rafe’s family?” Mayne asked, looking at his sister.She moaned.
“We’re still in the center of London,” he pointed out. “You have no reason to pretend to a stomach malaise already.”
“I’m not pretending!” she said indignantly, her eyes flying open. “Merely the thought of two weeks in this carriage makes me feel ill.”
“Rafe’s family?” he asked, with all the impatience of any younger brother. Still, he didn’t neglect the prudent removal of his booted feet from his sister’s proximity.
“An unsavory fellow has claimed kinship,” she said, closing her eyes again. “Wrong side of the blanket, of course. I only caught a glimpse of the man, but he had a marked resemblance to Rafe.”
“I didn’t get to see him at all,” Imogen complained.
“This is a most improper subject, especially in Josie’s presence,” Griselda observed. “We should all forget his existence.”
“I’m enjoying it,” young Josephine observed. “Unfortunately, I didn’t see the man either.” Her eyes had a naughty sparkle; clearly she and Imogen were apples from the same family tree.
Imogen paid no heed to Griselda whatsoever. “The improper bit of it is that according to Rafe, he and his half-brother were born within a week of each other.”
“Be that as it may,” Mayne said, biting off his words, “why on earth did you abscond with me in such a fashion?” From the sound of the wheels he could tell that they had, indeed, left the cobbled streets of London and were heading toward the Great North Road.
“We need you,” Imogen said. “We must save Annabel from this marriage; we must.” There was no sign of humor in her eyes now: she was fierce with sisterly devotion.
“It’s too late to save her from anything,” Mayne said flatly. “I don’t care what solution Felton has come up with. Annabel has been traveling with the Scotsman for days. If that situation doesn’t warrant the loss of her reputation, I don’t know what would.”
Griselda opened her eyes. “Ah, but I’ve had a chill. I did send you a note telling you so, but I received no expression of sympathy, no flowers, no—”
“For God’s sake, Griselda,” Mayne said, exasperated, “you take a chill at the—” Suddenly he saw her point. “You’re going to say that you traveled with them.”
“Of course.”
“The truth will leak.”
“I doubt it. I have kept to the house for days. My nose was red.” She seemed to consider that adequate explanation. “And since we have Josie with us, the whole expedition takes on the flavor of a family trip to the country.”
“Well, of all the harebrained schemes—”
“We have Rafe’s fastest horses,” Imogen said, leaning forward and putting a hand on his knee. “What’s more, Rafe has horses housed all along the North Road, whereas Ardmore will presumably be employing job horses. This carriage is beautifully sprung. We can easily beat them, if we put up with a little discomfort and travel a longer day than might be expected.”