by Amanda Quick
He shook off the depressing ruminations that had been brought on by the interview and turned his attention to thinking of ways to get a closer look at the flower-seller. This could be a turning point in the case, he thought. If he handled this situation carefully, he might turn up a nugget of useful information.
The thought of proving that he had a real talent for this profession was an added incentive. If he came back with a clue, Tobias might even stop dropping hints about the advantages of pursuing a career as a man of business.
He moved quickly through the maze of twisted lanes and walks. The task of interviewing the prostitutes had drawn him into this mean neighborhood an hour ago. It was a place where the principal businesses were gambling hells, dingy taverns, and establishments run by fences who dealt in stolen goods.
He turned a corner and saw the shadowy opening of a small alley. The smell—a mix of urine, foul refuse, and some decaying animal parts—hit him with the force of a slap. He held his breath and slipped into the narrow passage.
Two boys ambled past the entrance, intent on a conversation concerning the best way to steal hot pies from the pie cart across the street. They were followed by an elderly man who leaned heavily on a walking stick.
Just as he was about to give up hope, the flower-seller drifted slowly into view. The huge gray bonnet hid her face. A tattered cloak fell around her in voluminous folds, concealing her figure. The flowers in the basket on her arm drooped.
The woman’s shoulders were bent, but something about the way she moved told Anthony that she was not as old as her garments and demeanor indicated.
The flower-seller came to a halt at the entrance of the alley, obviously bewildered by the sudden disappearance of her quarry. She started to turn slowly in a circle, searching her surroundings.
Anthony moved forward, encircled her waist with one arm, and hauled her sharply into the alley. He spun her around and pinned her against the brick wall.
“Bloody hell. I should have known,” he said.
There was a shocked gasp. The oversize bonnet lifted abruptly, catching Anthony under the chin. He leaned back slightly to avoid the obstacle and then scowled at Emeline.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
His pulse was still racing, he realized. He was breathing hard, in spite of the unpleasant odors in the alley. Suddenly the only thing he could think about was the one time he had kissed her. Very carefully he released her.
“I was following you, of course.” She straightened and shook out the cloak. “What did you think I was doing?”
“Are you mad? This is an extremely dangerous neighborhood.”
“You behaved very secretively this morning when I asked you about your plans for the day.” She righted the bonnet. “I knew you were up to something.”
“So you followed me? Of all the nonsensical, idiotic—”
“Why were you talking to that girl on the corner? And that woman who was hanging about the tavern at the far end of the street, why did you speak to her?”
“I can explain.” He took her arm and hauled her briskly out of the alley. “But first we must get you away from here. Ladies do not come to this part of town.”
She glanced back at the prostitute he had just interviewed. “Some do,” she said quietly. “But not by choice, I think.”
“No, not by choice.”
He whisked her down the street to a small square. He heard the clatter of hooves on stone and turned to see a hackney coming toward them. Relief shot through him. He raised a hand to hail the vehicle.
“Anthony, I demand to know what you were doing. I think I have the right.”
The hackney rattled to a halt. He yanked open the door and very nearly tossed Emeline inside. She bounced a little when she landed on the seat. He paused to give the Claremont Lane address to the coachman and then vaulted up into the cab.
“You owe me an explanation,” Emeline announced.
“Tobias asked me to make a few inquiries.” He sat down and slammed the door.
“That girl on the corner. She was a prostitute, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And so was the woman outside the tavern.” Emeline’s voice was very tight.
“Yes.”
“I trust you are not going to fob off some Banbury tale on me about these interviews being connected to the Medusa bracelet case.”
“No.”
“Well?” She removed the gray bonnet and placed it very precisely on the seat beside her. When she looked at him her gaze was somber and wary. “Why are you chatting with prostitutes, Anthony? Is this a regular habit of yours?”
He cursed softly and lounged back into the corner of the seat, considering how much to say. But this was Emeline. He could not bring himself to lie to her.
“If I tell you the truth, you must promise not to mention it to your aunt.”
“Why should I promise?” she asked.
“Because Tobias does not want her to know how deeply concerned he is about Oscar Pelling’s presence here in Town, that’s why.”
Her eyes widened, and then comprehension mingled with something that might have been relief appeared in their depths.
“Oh,” she said. “I see. Mr. March is keeping an eye on that dreadful man?”
“Yes. And I am assisting him.”
“Keeping watch on Pelling is an excellent notion,” Emeline said slowly. “He is not a man to be trusted. But what do those women have to do with him?”
“Pelling is staying at an inn near here. According to one of the stable lads, he has been seeing a local prostitute. Tobias wants me to find her so that he can talk to her.”
“I don’t understand. What can a streetwalker tell him about Pelling?”
Anthony cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on the view of the street. “Tobias says that in his professional experience he has discovered that such women are in a position to learn things about a man that no one else knows.”
“Indeed.”
Anthony looked back at her. “You should not have followed me. It was a dangerous thing to do.”
“If you had told me what you were about, there would have been no need for me to spy upon you.”
“Damn it, Emeline, where is it written in stone that I must advise you of every move I make?”
She stiffened. “I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you do not owe me any explanations. You are perfectly free to go about your own affairs. It is not as though we were married.”
An appalling silence descended.
Anthony struggled to pull himself together.
“No,” he said in a very low tone. “It is not as though we were, uh, married.”
They sat there staring at each other for what seemed forever. A heavy sensation settled on Anthony.
Emeline moved abruptly, reaching forward with an impulsive gesture to put her hand on his. “Good heavens, what is happening to us, Tony? All this quarreling and snapping and so forth. It is not like us. I vow, we are starting to sound like Aunt Lavinia and Mr. March, are we not?”
He turned his hand palm up and gripped her fingers very tightly. “Yes, we are, and you are right. It is not like us.”
“I believe it is their nature to do things the hard way.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “But surely we can find our own path.”
He tightened his hand around hers. “Yes.”
The heavy weight lifted. His spirits rose.
He pulled her gently onto his lap. She came to him without a struggle, smiling her glowing smile. He kissed her slowly, deeply. She softened against him.
When he raised his head he was breathing quickly. Her eyes were slumberous and inviting.
It took every ounce of will he possessed to ease her back onto the opposite seat.
They finished the journey to Claremont Lane hand in hand, neither of them speaking until the hackney rumbled to a halt. With a last squeeze, Anthony released Emeline’s finger
s and opened the door.
Emeline paused in the opening. “Look, here comes Mrs. Chilton.”
He turned his head and saw the housekeeper hurrying toward them across the paving stones. Mrs. Chilton waved madly to get their attention. Even from this distance he could see that she was flushed and breathless from her exertion.
Emeline descended from the coach, frowning in concern.
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Chilton?”
“No, no, it’s just that ye mustn’t go inside yet.” Mrs. Chilton came to a halt, panting. “Thought it would be finished by now but they’re takin’ their time about it, I’m afraid. Nothing to do but come with me and wait. There’s a nice little bench in the park at the end of the lane.”
“Wait for what?” Emeline asked. “I don’t understand.”
“I just told ye, Miss Emeline, the two of ’em are in there together.”
Emeline looked at the front door, baffled. “Who is in there together?”
“Mrs. Lake and Mr. March. Thought they’d be done with it by the time ye got back.” Mrs. Chilton shook her head and started off toward the end of the lane. “Lord only knows what’s keepin’ ’em so long. Not that much to the business, if ye ask me. Leastways, there wasn’t in my day.”
“Not that much to what business?” Emeline sounded exasperated now.
Mrs. Chilton gave Anthony a speaking glance.
Comprehension struck him.
“Mrs. Chilton is right.” He seized Emeline’s arm and hurried her along in the housekeeper’s wake. “It’s a nice day for sitting in the park.”
“What is this all about?” Emeline allowed herself to be swept off, but she did not look happy about it. “What is going on, Mrs. Chilton?”
“It’s my own fault, I suppose. Felt sorry for ’em, ye see. Always havin’ to make do with parks and gardens and carriages and such. Can’t be comfortable what with his bad leg and all, and the weather is so unpredictable at this time of year.”
“What on earth does the weather have to do with this?” Emeline demanded.
“Mr. March told me this morning that he would be back around three. I saw an opportunity to give the pair of them a few minutes to themselves in a warm house with a nice bed,” Mrs. Chilton huffed. “It was an act of charity. How was I to know they’d take a good bit more than a few minutes?”
Anthony struggled to suppress a grin.
“A bed? Mr. March and Aunt Lavinia?” Understanding dawned in Emeline’s eyes. She blushed a very bright pink and did not meet Anthony’s gaze. Then she started to laugh. “Mrs. Chilton, that is outrageous. Did Lavinia know what you intended?”
“No. After she got into the tub I told her I had to go out to fetch some currants for jam. I knew Mr. March would be along shortly, so I left the door open for him. Saw him arrive nearly an hour ago and thought he’d be done by now.”
“Perhaps you made things a little too comfortable for them,” Anthony said dryly.
“Aye.” Mrs. Chilton studied the late-afternoon sky. “Luckily it’s not raining.”
“True, although there is a nip in the air, isn’t there?” Emeline drew the folds of the raggedy cloak around herself. “I’m certainly glad to have this.”
Mrs. Chilton noticed her attire for the first time and frowned. “Where on earth did ye get that old thing?”
Emeline sat down on the bench. “It’s a long story.”
Mrs. Chilton sank down beside her and gazed morosely toward the closed front door of the little house. “Ye may as well tell it. It appears we’ve got plenty of time.”
TOBIAS SETTLED BACK AGAINST THE PILLOWS, one arm behind his head, and cradled Lavinia against his side. He knew it was getting late, but the last thing on earth that he wanted to do was leave the tumbled bed and the woman in his arms. This was the way it should be, he thought. Perhaps someday . . .
“I paid a call on Hudson this afternoon,” he said.
For a few seconds Lavinia did not respond. Then she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. The drowsy sensuality faded from her eyes. Concern replaced it.
“You did not tell me that you intended to speak with Howard today,” she said. “What did you discuss?”
“You.”
“Me?” She sat up straighter, anchoring the sheet across her breasts. Her brows nipped together above her nose. “What about me?”
He touched the silver pendant she wore around her neck.
“I told you that he wants you,” he said. “He’s searching for a replacement for Celeste.”
“And I told you that’s outrageous.”
“Trust me on this matter.”
“How humiliating. I cannot believe that you actually embarrassed me to such a degree.” She scowled ferociously. “What, precisely, did you say to him?”
He pulled her back down onto the pillows and rolled on top of her. Sliding one leg between her soft, warm thighs, he cradled her face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.
“I told him that he could not have you,” he said.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER LAVINIA PUT ON A dress ing gown to see him out the front door. She kissed him one last time in the shadows of the hall.
“Hurry,” she said. “Mrs. Chilton will return at any moment. We are extremely fortunate that neither she nor Emeline chose to come back before this. I cannot imagine what is keeping them.”
He smiled to himself. He was of the opinion that the unlocked door and the housekeeper’s convenient absence told a different story, but he thought it best not to question his good fortune.
“Until tonight,” he said. “I take it all is in readiness for the grand event?”
“Yes. The gowns are to be delivered in an hour’s time. Joan sent a note around this morning to say that her personal hairdresser will come at five and that she has arranged for the carriage to call for us at eight-thirty.”
He nodded. “Anthony will no doubt show up promptly at nine. I’ll put in my appearance around ten. Will that do?”
“Perfectly.” She practically shoved him down the steps. “Off with you now.”
She shut the door in his face.
Reluctantly, he went down the steps and started toward the end of the lane in search of a hackney.
He saw the small group of familiar faces when he was halfway to the corner. Emeline, Anthony, and Mrs. Chilton strolled toward him with a studied nonchalance. Anthony made a small show of pulling his watch out of his pocket and checking the time.
Tobias ignored him to greet Emeline and Mrs. Chilton.
“Mr. March.” Emeline gave him a gracious smile. “How nice to see you. What an unexpected surprise.”
“A pleasure, Miss Emeline.” He stopped and inclined his head. “Good day, Mrs. Chilton. I understand you went out for currants.”
“I know how much you like currant jam,” she muttered.
“I am certainly very fond of yours,” he agreed. “Indeed, it was very kind of you to dash out for more currants this afternoon just to make a new batch for me. I can only hope that you will feel the urge to make a lot more jam in the future.”
“Depends upon the weather.”
“The weather?”
She gave him a reproving look. “Can’t buy good currants when it’s cold or when it rains. Ye might want to bear that in mind.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Twenty-five
AT NINE-THIRTY THAT EVENING CRACKENBURNE slowly lowered his newspaper and looked at Tobias. “Things are not going well with your newest case, I take it?”
Tobias lounged against the mantel of the clubroom fireplace and regarded the flames. “I would happily consign the bloody case to the pit if it were not for the fact that Lavinia is desperate to solve it.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“There’s not much I can do except solve the damned case, prove Hudson is a murderer, and let her see him for what he is.”
“She may not thank you for proving her old family friend a villain.”
<
br /> Tobias noticed Vale walking toward them across the crowded clubroom. “Probably not.”
“How goes the situation with Pelling?” Crackenburne asked.
“Nothing new there either. Anthony is still trying to find the prostitute Pelling is bedding. She seems to have dropped out of sight. But from what we can determine by talking to the stable lad at the inn, Pelling is merely in Town to see to his business affairs.”
“Nevertheless, you are concerned about his presence here.”
Tobias did not take his eyes off Vale. “I find the fact that two men from Lavinia’s past chose the same month to visit London something of a disturbing coincidence.”
“All coincidences disturb you,” Crackenburne pointed out dryly. “And I must say, one cannot feel comfortable about the man. But let us try for a degree of logic. Has Pelling actually said or done anything to indicate that he has an interest in Lavinia?”
Tobias flexed the hand on top of the mantel. “No.”
“He has not contacted her?”
“No.”
“She has not encountered him since that one casual sighting in Pall Mall?”
“No.”
“Then very likely his business in London is nothing out of the ordinary.” Crackenburne’s brows jiggled. “Mayhap he is shopping for a new wife.”
Tobias frowned. “Hadn’t thought of that possibility.”
Vale came to a halt on the other side of the fireplace. He nodded at Crackenburne and then gave Tobias a look of polite inquiry. “I’m about to leave for Mrs. Dove’s ball. Can I offer you a ride in my carriage?”
Tobias managed to conceal his surprise. “Thank you.” He took his arm off the mantel. “I would appreciate it. I was not looking forward to finding a hackney in this fog.”
“Enjoy yourselves.” Crackenburne adjusted his spectacles. “Please convey my regards to your ladies.”
“I don’t seem to have a lady at the moment,” Vale murmured.
“And you’ve never met Lavinia,” Tobias said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Crackenburne said. “From what you’ve told me, Mrs. Dove and Mrs. Lake both sound extremely interesting females.”
Vale was amused. “Interesting is an odd way to describe a lady.”