Free Regina Scott by The Rakes Redemption Page A

fought and won?”
    Six duels? Her mother had mentioned he’d dueled, but did that mean he’d killed six men? No, it couldn’t be! He must have pinked them, drawn first blood with only a scratch. That would satisfy honor on both sides.
    “I fight only when necessary,” Vaughn said, easing the tightness that had gathered in her chest at the thought of men dying.
    “Perhaps,” her father allowed. “In any event, I know nothing of use to you. Your uncle didn’t confide in me.” He took another step back, closer to the horses.
    Vaughn paced him, quick as a dancer. “And what of Repton and Todd? Will you deny knowledge of their deaths, as well?”
    More dead? The tightness returned, threatening to squeeze the breath from her lungs. She’d thought he only wanted assurance that his uncle had died well. What had she stumbled upon? She clutched the reins, and Aeos shook his head in protest, setting the tack to jingling.
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” her father said. “And I am losing patience.”
    “As am I,” Vaughn told him, closing the gap between them. Imogene thought her father would stand his ground, but he retreated until he was standing by Aethon’s hind quarters.
    Vaughn pursued him. “You make a good case for your ignorance of my uncle’s affairs, but you cannot disclaim knowledge of Chevalier.”
    Chevalier? Monsieur Chevalier, her dance master? Imogene hadn’t seen him that Season, but she’d assumed he was teaching other young ladies the latest steps. What could he have to do with all this?
    “Henri Chevalier?” her father asked with as much surprise.
    “The same,” Vaughn spit out. “He attempted to murder my cousin to prevent her from coming to London. He claims you paid him to do it.”
    Imogene stiffened. What a preposterous story! “And you believed him?” she demanded of Vaughn.
    Vaughn glanced up at her with a frown as if he’d forgotten she was there. Imogene met him look for look. He might be a poet, but he’d have to spin a better story than that if he was going to accuse her father of all people of murder.
    “You see?” her father said, forcing all gazes back to him. “My daughter understands the folly of your questioning. Why would I pay a dance master I haven’t seen for more than a year to murder your cousin, who I barely know?”
    “You sent Chevalier to us,” Vaughn replied, but Imogene thought his voice was calmer, as if her doubts had given him pause.
    “At her sponsor’s request. Lady Winthrop told me that she wished the dance master to attend Lady Everard but that he had a better paying position. Because of my friendship with her and your uncle, I intervened. If you have doubts as to Chevalier’s motives, perhaps you should question Lady Winthrop’s instead.”
    Imogene knew her frown must match Vaughn’s. Lady Claire Winthrop was a good friend of her mother’s, despite the fact that the lady was closer to Imogene’s age. She was also betrothed to Vaughn’s cousin Captain Richard Everard. What possible reason could she have to harm the very girl she was sponsoring or the family she hoped to marry into?
    If her father wished to point out the flaws in Vaughn’s argument, he seemed to be making headway, for the poet stepped back. “I cannot doubt Lady Winthrop’s affection for my family,” he said. “Nor do I understand why you would wish Lady Everard harm. I only know that all roads of inquiry have led to your door. Because I believe you held my uncle in esteem, I am giving you a chance to explain.”
    He made the request sound like a challenge. Would he throw down his glove? Demand her father choose a weapon to defend himself? Despite her best efforts, she must have tugged on the reins, for both horses shuffled their feet and the seat shifted beneath her as the carriage wobbled.
    Neither man paid her any attention, their gazes locked, their faces set.
    “Your devotion to your uncle’s memory is commendable,” her father said, “but