Imogene,” she said in a booming voice guaranteed to draw attention. “A moment of your time.” She seized the girl’s arm as if to ensure obedience.
Imogene. It suited her. Nothing in the common way like Jane or Ann. Vaughn bowed, mouth tipping up in a half smile. Lady Imogene frowned, and he could have sworn she tried to pull away. But her hostess was having no part of it. She visibly tightened her grip on the lady’s arm and dragged her to safety.
Vaughn shook his head, turning away. Lady Imogene’s mother or sponsor might be remiss in her duties, but her friends were clearly more attentive. They recognized the danger he posed, even if the lovely Lady Imogene was oblivious. They thought they knew him. They were equally oblivious. The real Vaughn Everard lay deep inside. Only one man had ever known him, and that man was now dead.
He had to applaud his cousin Richard for trying, however. Vaughn hadn’t even crossed the floor to the door before his older cousin caught up with him. A former sea captain, Richard Everard moved with the assurance of a man used to command, though he looked the consummate gentleman in his evening black. Unfortunately for Richard, Vaughn had never been good at accepting commands.
“What was that about?” Richard demanded, taking Vaughn’s arm and drawing him aside. Around them, ladies in fine gowns strolled past, favoring them with coy smiles.
Vaughn ignored them. “There’s better sport to be had. Care to join me?”
Richard shook his russet head, though he released his grip. “I feared you’d found sport here, as well. Claire recognized your partner before I did, but I thought Samantha would go looking for your sword when she saw you dancing.”
Trust Richard’s lovely betrothed Lady Claire Winthrop to notice anything untoward. She was Samantha’s sponsor after all. Samantha, however, was far less interested in propriety when it came to those who held her loyalty. In that, as in so many things, she was like her father, a fact guaranteed to endear her to Vaughn. Every burst of fondness he felt for her only reinforced his mission. He had to learn the truth behind her father’s death, even if it meant hunting the marquess to ground.
“Neither Samantha nor your lady love have cause for concern,” Vaughn assured Richard. “It was only a dance.”
“Was it?” Richard took a step closer. “Claire cannot like your methods, and neither can I. As far as we can tell, Lady Imogene Devary is an innocent. You cannot use her to punish her father.”
He felt as if all the members of this fine company had turned and shouted in his direction. “What did you say?”
Richard’s dark eyes, so like Vaughn’s, gazed down at him. “You didn’t know who you were dancing with, did you?”
Vaughn still couldn’t believe the implication. “Devary? Related to the Devarys who hold the Widmore marquessate?”
“His daughter,” Richard said. “His only surviving child. From what I’ve seen, he dotes on the girl. As close as you were to our uncle, I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
Of course he hadn’t known. He would have used the dance to far greater advantage had he realized she was connected to the enemy who may have killed Arthur Everard, Samantha’s father.
“The marquess may have been Uncle’s closest friend,” he told Richard, “but he never had much use for me. I’ve not met his wife or daughter.” He cocked a smile. “Of course, I could say that about half the better families in London.”
Richard straightened as if believing him. “Just remember your promise. We wait for Jerome before accosting the marquess.”
Vaughn smiled. “I promised to wait until Samantha was presented to the queen to avoid any hint of scandal. She was presented two weeks ago. Widmore is mine.”
Richard shoved in front of him. His cousin was the tallest of the family, and being a captain hadn’t helped his diplomacy. “You will not touch the marquess until we talk to Jerome,” Richard commanded. “My brother is still the head of this family.”
Vaughn gazed up at him from under his brows. Richard might have the longer reach—and he certainly had experience in using the blade, having fought pirates on his travels—but Vaughn was fairly certain he could beat his cousin if it came to a duel. Richard would hesitate before wounding a man, particularly a member of the family. Vaughn wouldn’t.
“Do what you must, Cousin,” Vaughn said. “I know where my duty lies. Do you?”
He returned to the ballroom then, at last seeing his path clearly. The Marquess of Widmore might refuse to give him the time of day, but Vaughn thought he stood a good chance of convincing the man’s daughter otherwise. He had yet to meet a lady who didn’t swoon at a well-placed verse, a lovesick smile. Much as he abhorred dragging an innocent into this business, his duty lay in solving the mystery of his uncle’s death. And Lady Imogene Devary, he very much feared, had become the key.
Chapter Two
Imogene watched her mysterious stranger stride away, the crowds parting before him. Even if she could have escaped the tenacious grip of her hostess, she could hardly chase after him; she’d already made a spectacle of herself by insisting on a dance. And she hadn’t even learned his name!
“That was very foolish,” Elisa’s mother scolded, scanning the room. “Where is your mother? I’m certain she’ll have something to say about the company you keep.”
Imogene stilled. Mrs. Mayweather knew the man. Of course she knew the man! She’d invited him. But she didn’t seem particularly pleased by the fact. Her hostess’s face was an unbecoming shade of red that clashed with the rust-colored velvet of her ball gown. Each tightly wound gray curl, the lift of her hawkish nose, the compression of her already thin lips shouted righteous indignation. Small wonder Elisa tended to hide behind columns.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Imogene said. “Naturally I assumed anyone you invited would be an acceptable partner.”
The red faded, leaving Mrs. Mayweather as pale as fine muslin. “Certainly we only invite the best,” she said, dropping her grip on Imogene’s arm. “I cannot help it if some families have members who distain their honor.”
So he was dishonorable? She ought to have expected it. Certainly her father’s reaction to him had made him seem dangerous, dastardly. But that had not been her impression as they’d danced. The fire in him burned through the polite malaise of the other lords and ladies. Like a hearth on a cold day, it called to her. Oh, he was an outrageous flirt, holding her gaze and fingers far longer than needed, but nothing about his demeanor or conversation spoke of an evil lurking inside.
Lord, please help me know the truth!
“And what family would that be, precisely?” Imogene asked.
Mrs. Mayweather frowned down at her. “You didn’t know? My dear girl, you have been most shamefully used. That...that creature was none other than Mr. Vaughn Everard, who dares to call himself a poet. Surely you’ve heard of him.”
Certainly she’d heard of him. She had all three volumes of his poetry in her bedchamber, the pages dog-eared from repeated reading. That’s why she’d recognized his phrase about dancing! But wait. “Everard?” she asked, stomach tightening. “Then is he related to...”
“Lady
