The Robber Bride (The Daring Debutantes, Book 1) Read online

  She counted the boxes as she walked around the outside, and when she was sure she’d found the right one, she peeked her head inside.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, loudly enough for the men inside to hear. Seven heads swung her way, some with smiles, some with questioning looks. “I seem to have lost my way. I could have sworn this was my father’s box.”

  She leaned back, pretending to look about at the other boxes. There was a bit of a scuffle inside and then one of the dandies—a rather attractive one, at that—appeared in front of her.

  “Well, you needn’t rush off so quickly, miss. Would you care for a glass of champagne?”

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly drink your champagne!” She gave a nauseating bat of her eyelashes.

  “Please,” the young man replied. “It would be our honor to have such a lovely lady grace our box.”

  Victoria wanted to laugh. As a matter of fact, it was all she could do not to laugh. “Well, I suppose one glass couldn’t hurt.”

  An hour and several glasses of champagne later, Victoria had the dandies eating out of her hand. They seemed fascinated by her, and why shouldn’t they be? She swore, she told bawdy jokes and her ability to deliver sarcasm could not be matched by most men, let alone young debutantes. Part of her hated that she had to choose one to rob in the near future, but it was her job, and she would not be swayed.

  She even surprised herself by her ability to keep up with their banter while trying to distinguish the rich from the poor. Or rather, the ones who had the money to spend, and the ones who didn’t but spent it anyway. By the end of the hour, she had come to a decision, and it almost pained her to make it. She would rob the one who had invited her into the box and offered the champagne.

  The others called him Woodmore. He was a mister, not a lord, and an only child from what she gleaned during conversation. So Victoria assumed that for him to have infiltrated this clan of dandified gentlemen, he must have been wealthy. Probably in trade. But if one had enough money, the means by which they came by said money might be overlooked.

  So she flirted with him the most, and by the time she insisted she must depart, he was practically salivating. Victoria couldn’t deny she was a bit flattered by his attention, but she made a point to not let it get in the way of her job.

  “Miss Barclay,” he said as he escorted her from the box. “Might I call upon you tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Well, of course, Mr. Woodmore,” she replied with another innocuous bat of her lashes. “You would be most welcome.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Victoria tried desperately to ignore the shot of excitement that shot to her belly at his touch. Goodness, he really was quite handsome.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” he whispered.

  “Until tomorrow.”

  ***

  Fin watched Victoria with unveiled disgust. What the devil was she doing over there, flirting like a silly schoolgirl with those fops? She was batting her eyelashes and laughing at all their jokes. It was most unlike her. She never laughed at his jokes, and she certainly never batted her eyelashes at him.

  Of course, he wasn’t sure what he would do if she ever did. How awkward that would be for her to flirt with him in such a way. But still, she never flirted with anybody that Fin knew of. He became more suspicious by the minute.

  “Don’t you agree, Leyburn?”

  Damn. He ought to be paying attention to his dinner partners, not blasted Victoria. “Yes, of course, my lord. I couldn’t agree more.”

  Thankfully, his answer seemed satisfactory enough that Lord Grantham continued on with his storytelling without asking any more questions. Fin tried to pay attention this time, focusing his full attention on the viscount. But as the man droned on about some nonsense or other to do with the House of Lords, Fin found his attention slipping once again. It didn’t help that Victoria’s laughter rose above the din of music and conversation. It wasn’t that it was so distinctive, but just that he was so attuned to it now, after so many years of acquaintance.

  Fin shook his head. Hadn’t he just told her he didn’t want anything to do with her? Then why in hell was he so damned focused on her now?

  Unable to help himself, he turned back to the box where she flirted so shamelessly, only to see her leaving in the company of Mr. Woodmore, the biggest fop of them all. His father had been in trade—furniture, or musical instruments—Fin couldn’t quite recall, except he knew it involved wood. That was how he remembered the name. Woodmore makes wood. Woodmore the Younger had inherited the business and subsequent fortune upon his father’s passing several years ago. Lucky for Woodmore, the company was well established by then, so he had nothing more to do than join in the fun of the ton. If one could call this life fun.

  Fin always thought it would be much better to travel, see the world, much like Tom had done. He envied his friend, but something had kept him here all these years, grounded to this blasted city and bound to people like Victoria. Much of his connection to her and her family had to do with his own lack of family. His parents were dead now, and he’d been an only child. Well, not always. Thank goodness you were the heir and not the spare, Phineas, his father had always said. However, Fin had never found it amusing that his spare didn’t make it past the ripe age of three months. By then, his mother was too ill to try for more children.

  So Fin was alone in the world, except for a reclusive aunt and uncle who lived somewhere in Wales.

  He shook off his melancholy, not wanting to focus anymore on his loneliness, and turned his attention back to Victoria and Mr. Woodmore. They were no longer in the box, and Fin hoped that meant Victoria would be here soon. Not that he wanted to see her, but he didn’t relish the idea of her getting caught up with that annoying Mr. Woodmore. Despite the fact they weren’t speaking now, they would be eventually, Fin was sure. And if Victoria spent time with Woodmore, that would mean Fin would have to, too.

  Yes, he definitely did not want her getting too friendly with Woodmore.

  Ten

  Despite Victoria’s desire to go to the hospital the next morning to make sure all had turned out well with Anna’s birth, she knew she could not. She needed to wait until Fin lost interest in her activities—if he ever did. Why did he have to be so difficult? She had been a highwayman for more than two years now, and everything had always turned out fine. There was nothing for him to worry about, but of course she couldn’t tell him any of that. She couldn’t tell him anything at all.

  Her mind wandered to their argument the night before, and Victoria was helpless to stop the prick of tears at her eyes. Damn him! She hated to cry, and Phineas Dartwell certainly wasn’t worth crying over. So why the devil was she crying?

  She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. It would be much more comfortable to dredge up her anger with him than to pontificate on the reasons she might cry over him.

  “A letter for you, miss.” Davis stood before her, a small piece of parchment on his salver.

  She took it, ignoring the slight frisson of hope that the letter was from Fin. He wasn’t going to apologize or forget about what he saw in Southwark, of that Victoria was most certain.

  It turned out to be from Sarah. All was well at the hospital. Molly was on the mend, and Anna and the baby were doing just fine, many thanks to Mrs. Potts. Victoria gave an inner sigh of relief as she pocketed the note.

  “Who was it from?” her mother asked without taking her eyes from the letter she was writing at the escritoire across the room.

  “No one,” Victoria replied casually. “Just Cecily. She says her mother sends her regards.”

  “When you reply, do send mine back.”

  And that was that. Cecily was Victoria’s cousin—her mother was Lady Grantham’s sister. Their only correspondence happened through their daughters. Victoria knew she would have to send a letter to Cecily now on the off chance her mother ever spoke to her sister again.

  She stared out the window. Then she tapped her finge
rs on the wood that framed her chair. Then her she tapped her foot on the hardwood floor.

  “Victoria!”

  Finally, her mother looked up from her letter. Her eyes were filled with venom, as if her stare alone could sever Victoria’s feet and fingers so she might not be able to tap them ever again.

  “Would you please sit still,” she said. “I am trying to concentrate, and there you are, with your incessant tapping and sighing.”

  Victoria hadn’t even realized she’d sighed.

  “Read a book, for heaven’s sake. Or work on your cross-stitch. Lord knows you could use the practice. Just do be quiet, won’t you?”

  Victoria suppressed another sigh. How boring this was, sitting in the quiet all day long with not an iota of excitement. Nothing interesting at all happened in their parlor, unless one counted the fly that had trapped himself in the corner of the closed window. Poor little fellow. Victoria knew exactly how he felt.

  Taking her mother’s advice for perhaps the first time in her life, Victoria retrieved a book from their small collection and plopped back into her chair. If it was possible, the book was far more boring that watching the struggling fly in the window. However, she forced herself to keep reading while simultaneously forcing thoughts of Fin from her mind. It wasn’t easy, but she did manage to forget about him and their argument for at least a little while.

  It was nigh on two o’clock when the first interesting thing happened that day. A well-sprung, shiny, black phaeton pulled up to the front of their townhouse, its driver a rather well turned out Mr. Woodmore. Victoria smiled. Finally.

  She tried to sit still while she waited for his introduction and subsequent presence in the drawing room, but it wasn’t easy. She’d pent up such a great amount of energy sitting there all day. It seemed like an eternity while she waited, but at last, Mr. Woodmore arrived, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

  “Ah, Mr. Woodmore, how kind of you to call on us today,” Lady Grantham said as he bowed over her hand.

  “’tis my pleasure, Lady Grantham,” he replied as he tossed a lock of his light brown hair out of his eyes. It was a bit long for fashion. Or maybe he was trying to make a statement. Certainly, his clothes did just that. She let out a little giggle when she pictured Fin in that same ensemble. He would have looked positively ridiculous.

  “Is something the matter, Victoria?”

  Oh! Had her giggle been out loud? “No, no, Mother. Everything is fine.” She moved closer, so she stood only a couple of feet from Mr. Woodmore. With a curtsey, she said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Woodmore. So very nice to see you again.”

  He smiled, and Victoria was struck by what a nice smile it was. His lips weren’t too full or too thin. They were just right. And his teeth were straight and white. She resisted the urge to run her tongue over her own teeth. They may have been white enough, but the front two overlapped slightly.

  “I was hoping you might accompany me on a drive, Miss Barclay?”

  “Would you mind if we walked?” she suggested instead. She couldn’t bear to sit anymore today.

  “A walk would be lovely.”

  Lily accompanied them on their walk, for which Victoria was grateful. It would have been awkward if Tom had come. Then again, he was nowhere to be found today. Victoria was fairly certain he’d spent the evening with Lady Beecham. It all suited her just fine. Lily was a much better chaperone—she kept to herself and stayed out of earshot.

  Once they were out of the house, Woodmore started to take a left hand turn, but Victoria stopped him.

  “I much prefer this direction,” she said with a gesture to the right. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to do it, but she was compelled to stroll past Fin’s home. She didn’t want to make him jealous, per se. But perhaps she wanted him to see that their argument had not affected her in the least. That she was just fine without him.

  They strolled slowly along the sidewalk. The sun was hot today, and Victoria tipped her parasol backwards so that the rays hit her face.

  “You don’t fear freckles?” Woodmore asked.

  She shook her head. “They aren’t such fearsome creatures as the patronesses would have everyone believe.”

  Woodmore laughed. “I suppose that’s true. As a matter of fact, I think I rather like freckles.”

  “Such a rebel you are, Mr. Woodmore. Be careful who you say that to or you might find yourself blackballed from Almack’s.”

  “Quelle horreur!”

  “Indeed!” They both laughed, though Victoria laughed a little harder than perhaps was necessary. They were passing by Fin’s home now, of course, and she wanted him to see how much fun she was having. How much fun he would miss out on now that he’d decided they couldn’t be friends anymore.

  As much fun as it seemed to flaunt her joviality at him, the thought that he really didn’t want to be her friend anymore tugged at her heart. Had he really meant that? Did he truly plan to shut her out for good unless she confessed? Certainly he had only been bluffing to see if she would tell him all in the face of such a threat. At least that was what she hoped, for the alternative would be too much to bear.

  ***

  A loud giggle from outside caught Fin’s attention as he filled in his subject’s dress with broad strokes of his brush. The yellow paint clumped a bit where his brush stopped mid-stroke, but he paid it no mind. He could fix it in a moment.

  Curious to see the source of Victoria’s laughter—for it could only be her—Fin went to the small window in his studio and looked down into the street. Woodmore. Damn him, he meant to court her, apparently. And Victoria meant to make him jealous in the process.

  Damned chit. She didn’t let anyone court her. I mean to remain unwed, she always said. This was a ploy, and Fin knew it. As if his theory weren’t sound enough, Victoria slipped her arm through Woodmore’s and then tilted her head back to look at his house.

  Their eyes locked. Damn it! She saw him. How did she know he’d be up here in the studio, anyhow?

  Fin backed away from the window, hoping he was wrong. Perhaps she hadn’t really seen him after all. Maybe she’d only looked in that direction and the sunlight’s reflection prevented her from seeing that anyone was at the window at all.

  “Simmons!” He strode across the room, calling for his valet in a booming yell. “Simmons!”

  Simmons appeared on the landing that led to the studio only moments later. “I do respond to the bell, sir.” The man hated to be bellowed at, but Fin didn’t have the patience to worry about silly little bells just then.

  “I need you to stand in the window.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” Simmons looked confused.

  “I’m going to go down into the street, and I need to see if I can see you from there.” Fin started out the door, but Simmons stopped him.

  “How close to the window, sir?”

  Fin rolled his eyes. “Just . . . here, it will be easier to show you.” He strode to the window and found the exact position he’d been in while spying on Victoria.

  Spying. That didn’t seem to be the right word. She had walked by his house on purpose. If he was spying, it was her fault. She made him do it.

  Good Lord, was he a child?

  “So, like this, sir?”

  Fin moved Simmons a bit to the left and pushed his head forward. “There. That’s it. Now don’t move!”

  Fin ran down the two flights of stairs until he reached the main floor and then stopped. He needed to make sure Victoria and Woodmore were out of sight before he went out into the street. In the distance, he could just barely make out Victoria’s parasol, and then they turned a corner and were gone. Fin darted out to the sidewalk to the precise spot Victoria had been when she turned to look at him. He looked up.

  Damn. He could see Simmons clear as day. There was no doubt in his mind that she had seen him. How dreadfully annoying.

  Even so, it didn’t change anything. She could flaunt her suitors in his face all she wanted. What did he care? It wasn’t as
if he had any interest in her in that way. Brother and sister—that was their relationship practically. If she sought to make him jealous, it wouldn’t work. There was nothing of which he should be jealous. Nothing at all.

  And until she was willing to confess what he was sure must have been illegal activities to him, their friendship was on hold.

  Eleven

  Two evenings later, Victoria stood at the edge of yet another ballroom, flanked by her brother and Mr. Woodmore. She was a bit fidgety this evening. All right, she was fidgety every evening, but tonight was worse than usual.

  Tonight was the night she planned to rob Woodmore, but she was beginning to have second thoughts about this particular robbery. He’d been so kind to her in the last few days. He had called on her twice now, and he was always incredibly complimentary.

  Unlike some other men she knew.

  Though he lacked a title, Woodmore was a gentleman in every other way possible. He was kind and generous, handsome, and his dancing was superior. Victoria’s mother was elated at her new courtship, though she suspected her mother would have been happy with almost any courtship at all at this point.

  Tom, however, looked as if he wanted to skin Woodmore alive. She couldn’t be sure why. It seemed odd that Tom would care at all who she set her cap for, but his scowl and general attitude toward the man were unmistakably filled with contempt. Woodmore, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice that the contempt was directed at him.

  “Is there something the matter with your brother, Miss Barclay?” he asked as they twirled around the dance floor in a waltz. “He seems a bit out of sorts, don’t you think?”

  Victoria cast a glance in her brother’s direction. She shrugged. “No more than usual,” she lied. “I fear he’s missing Jamaica more than he wants to admit.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone would miss such a place. Hell on earth.”

  Victoria looked up at Woodmore in surprise. “I didn’t realize you had traveled there.”