Free Regina Scott by The Rakes Redemption

resignation. But as the carriage drew to a stop beside him, the man’s frame was as upright as ever and a pleasant smile lit his lean face.
    “Imogene and Mr. Everard. What a delightful surprise to see you out on such a lovely day.”
    Vaughn was very nearly struck dumb. How could the man stand there and speak of commonplaces? He had to know Vaughn had been hounding him from pillar to post. Vaughn glanced closer.
    The Marquess of Widmore had always been a striking man, with a slender body, elegant features and assessing gray eyes. Though his lips were thin, they were often curved in a smile, lighting his face. Now his tailored coat seemed too large for his frame, as if his energy had worn him thin, and Vaughn detected a tremor in one hand as the marquess stood gazing up at them.
    “Father,” Imogene greeted him, fingers worrying in her lap. “I’m surprised to see you here, as well. Mother and I were under the impression that you were in Whitehall.”
    Something flickered behind those gray eyes, but his smile remained. “And so I was, but matters grew too heated. I felt the need for some fresh air and privacy to clear my head.”
    Another gentleman would have begged his pardon for intruding and whisked Imogene away. Vaughn had too many questions to accept dismissal.
    “I’ll only take a moment of your time, then,” he promised. “Perhaps you’d care to drive with us. We could return you to the War Office when we’re done.”
    The marquess took a step back from the carriage, as if even now determining how he might escape. “I fear I have an appointment in Kensington. Another time, perhaps.”
    Vaughn was more concerned another time would never come. He handed the reins to Imogene, who raised her brows.
    “If you’d be so kind,” Vaughn said.
    She clutched the leather, wide-eyed, but nodded, and he jumped down to land beside her father.
    “Forgive me for detaining you,” he said to the marquess, positioning himself to keep the man between him and the horses. “But I need answers. As it seems you are the only one who can give them, we must talk. Now.”

Chapter Six
    I mogene watched a frown settle on her father’s face. No one had ever talked to the Marquess of Widmore that way, she was sure. Certainly she’d never have attempted it. Yet Vaughn Everard stood with booted feet firmly planted, one placed in front of the other as if he was ready to fence. His head was high, his shoulders in his bottle-green coat solid. And his tone demanded obedience.
    From anyone less than her father. “Mr. Everard,” he said, each word precise, “I had a great fondness for your uncle. Do not presume upon it.”
    Imogene swallowed at the rebuke. Vaughn pulled his hat from his head, and the sun gleamed on his platinum hair. But neither his manner nor his words said he was penitent.
    “It is because of that fondness that I appeal to you,” he replied. “I believe my uncle was murdered.”
    Imogene gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand, slapping herself in the face with the reins in the process. She flinched, and Aeos and Aethon shifted in the traces. As if to comfort her, her father took a step closer to the carriage, forcing Vaughn to turn to meet his gaze.
    “I understood the authorities ruled it a duel,” her father said, frown deepening.
    Vaughn’s hand sliced the air as if he threw off such a ridiculous notion. “A duel with no seconds? No opponent who will acknowledge his part?”
    Her father shrugged. “As you said, your uncle died as a result. Perhaps his opponent feared reprisal. That would not be unheard of.”
    He implied that Vaughn would seek vengeance. From the tension in him, Imogene could almost believe it.
    “If it was truly a duel that my uncle consented to fight,” Vaughn said, “his opponent would have nothing to fear from me.”
    “I’m sure it would comfort him to know that,” her father said. “But your reputation precedes you, Mr. Everard. What is the current count, six duels