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It took Tony a few moments before she understood the sexual innuendo. When she did, she delicately blushed.
“Sherry, my belly thinks my throat’s been cut,” Amoret complained.
“Oh, all right. I suppose I’m a bit peckish myself. If you’re not in the market for food, Tony, why don’t you go and save us some theater seats?”
Tony would have preferred they stick together, then chided herself for being ridiculous. Outside the fog was now thicker and the crowd had thinned out, or at least it seemed so because the heavy mist isolated people from each other.
Tony walked along the path, rounded a temple, and went through a portico covered by vines. As she left the portico she became aware of a crunching on the gravel path behind her. She stopped and turned about, but all she saw was pale lamplight through the swirling fog. She hurried her steps in the direction of the theater, but everything looked strangely different in the fog and she began to think she had taken a wrong turn. The music and the noise of the crowds seemed to be growing fainter with every step she took.
Her heart began to hammer because she could still hear footsteps behind her. She kept glancing over her shoulder, probably to reassure herself, because there were no shadowy figures to be seen, no matter how hard she stared along the pathways and into the bushes.
She was breathless now and disoriented and she began to run. Within a few minutes she realized it was the worst possible thing she could have done because she found herself in a remote part of the gardens where there were only lawns and cascading trees.
She knew she must stop running and gather her wits. If there was one thing Tony despised, it was cowardice. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire from running and breathing in the fog. Taking her courage in both hands she stepped onto the lawn and shouted, “Bernard Lamb, come out in the open where I can see you, you sniveling coward!” Silence.
“Come and fight me like a man, you son of a bitch!”
Dead silence.
Tony fingered the knife in her pocket. “I’ll drown you in your own blood!”
Absolute and perfect silence.
Her pulse slowed. She regained her breath. If there was no one following her, how utterly foolish she must sound issuing vile threats into the night. She was going home. Vauxhall Gardens held no more pleasure for her, this night or ever.
Tony began to walk with carefully measured steps, neither too quick nor too slow. Her eyes were keen, her ears were pricked, and every sense was alert for danger as she searched out the right way to the exit.
Tony heaved a great sigh of relief once she had passed through the gates. The road leading to the Thames was busy tonight with people and traffic. Among people once again, her fears dissolved and she felt perfectly safe. Then it happened!
She felt a great, deliberate shove from behind and she let out a terrified scream as she went down before an oncoming carriage. From the road she looked up in horror to see the deadly hooves of two carriage horses hurtling down upon her.
Antonia blacked out momentarily as the horses danced about in their harness to avoid the object that had shot between their legs. She opened her eyes just in time to realize that the coach was passing over her. She knew she would be killed. There wasn’t even time for a prayer. Tony heard a woman screaming. For a moment she thought it was herself, then miraculously she knew it was someone else. Men were shouting and helping her to her feet. She was badly bruised at thigh and shoulder where she had hit the pavement, but she hardly noticed. Her powdered tiewig was gone and her blue satin breeches were slush from knee to crotch, but she was alive. With help she limped to the sidewalk and leaned against a lamppost. Suddenly she sank to her knees, put her head down, and began to sob.
The crowd stood back to gape. She shook so badly, her teeth chattered. People in the crowd were now drawing their own conclusions. Likely the young lord was reeling drunk when he stepped into the path of the oncoming carriage. They began to disperse before they were called upon to bear witness.
Tony cried her eyes out. At first it was from the trauma of the terrifying experience; then it was from sheer helplessness. Bernard Lamb would never give up. He would hound her to her death. There wouldn’t be a day or night she would be safe from him. She sat slumped there a very long time. Finally she arose and made her way to the river, wondering if he was still stalking her.
The moment she stepped from the wherry, she hailed a carriage to take her right to her door in Curzon Street. She was thankful Roz was not at home. Likely enjoying the spectacle at Vauxhall. Although Tony had let herself in with her own key, the keen eye of Mr. Burke had noted her condition. She was extremely grateful to him that he made no comment.
Tony bathed, grimaced at the dreadful bruises, then pulled up the covers to plan what she should do next. She made up her mind to go home to Lamb Hall, but her imagination made her change her mind. In the isolation of the country her hated cousin would have far more opportunities to dispose of her without witnesses. Perhaps she was safer in London after all. Apprehension made her indecisive. Nothing seemed to solve her dilemma. Dear God, whatever was she going to do? Inexplicably she felt most aggrieved at Adam Savage. Why didn’t he protect her? Why did he look at her with contempt whenever she brought up Bernard Lamb’s perfidy? Why did he whore about with actresses?
* * *
As it happened, it was not Adam Savage Tony had seen at Vauxhall Tonight he was running the Channel under cover of dark. It was the third night this week he’d sailed to France. For Savage there were parallels with the years he’d spent smuggling for a living. Now he had other motives in addition to profit; nevertheless, carrying illicit cargo still gave that curl of excitement to the gut because of the danger involved. It was a seductive, addictive pleasure, which he hoped he had almost outgrown and could live without.
His thoughts were suddenly filled with the girl he had encountered in Venice. Why was she proving so elusive? No trace of Ann Lambeth had been found and he realized she must have given him a false name. She came to him again and again, sometimes at the most inappropriate moments. Her elusiveness only added to his obsession. She was like a drug; one taste and he craved her in his blood, wanting more, needing more. He cursed his own folly. His jaw set implacably. He needed no one. There were other females in the world with green eyes and long legs. In any case, he had an understanding with Eve and he intended to stick with his plan for practical reasons. He was past thirty and a little long in the tooth for romantic flights of fancy, and if he had gauged the Prince of Wales correctly, he was fairly close to the title Eve coveted.
At the moment His Highness was leading Maria Fitzherbert from the glittering, crown-shaped theater box at Vauxhall. The blanketing fog had spoiled the plans for the pyrotechnical display, but George was not in the least disappointed for it meant he would be alone with his lady sooner than anticipated.
Once they were enclosed in the opulent carriage, he touched her thigh with his and slid his arm about his beloved.
“Pussy, come home with me tonight?”
“Prinny, you know I cannot. I am a widow who must not besmirch her reputation. If I spent one night under your roof, people would say we were living together in sin. For your sake as well as mine, I must go home to Park Street.”
“Then let me lease you a house in St. James’s Square where you may entertain me and our friends and the gossips could not say we were living together.”
“A house in St. James’s Square would cost the earth and you are already in so much debt, Prinny my love.”
