Alice let a slow breath out. Her sister had seen a mere snippet of her encounter with Harry. Seen him after he had followed her out of the alcove.
“Oh . . . him. That was Lord Harry Steele. He was attempting to get me to comment on his codpiece. I told him he was a silly man and to leave me alone,” she replied.
“I see.”
For the first time in her life, Alice was grateful when Patience went back to singing the praises of Cuthbert Saint. Anything to take her sister’s attention away from her and Harry.
At the Royal Chelsea Hospital, a now familiar pattern repeated itself. No sooner had they set foot inside, and while Alice was still handing over a banker’s instruction payable to the hospital, than Cuthbert appeared.
Alice was immediately abandoned by her lovestruck sister, who hurried away.
“Really, Patience! Not even a goodbye?” she huffed.
“Steady your hand.”
She turned at the voice and was greeted with the surprising sight of Harry in almost regulation evening attire. The half dozen strands of pearls around his neck were the only concession to his usual madcap method of dressing.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“Let’s talk somewhere a little more private,” said Harry.
He guided her away from the donation desk and waited until they were out of earshot of anyone before he spoke again. “I mean, keep your nerve steady. Men like Mister Saint thrive on chaos. If you start to lose your temper in front of him and your beloved sister, he will have her siding with him in no time. And I can assure you that is the last thing we want. She has to be able to see him with her own eyes. She won’t be able to do that if she is looking through the lens of pity.”
Alice nodded toward an area to one side of the Great Hall designed by Sir Christopher Wren himself. She couldn’t risk Patience seeing the two of them together.
He followed her over, a scowl sitting firmly knitted on his brow. Harry was clearly not a man used to being given instructions. “What is the problem?” he asked.
“You and I are the problem. And I don’t just mean that kiss,” she replied. “Patience saw us talking last night. She mentioned it in the carriage ride over here. I had to make up some cock-and-bull story about your codpiece to throw her off the scent.”
The furrow in his brow smoothed out a little. “Good. It means you are prepared to think on your feet. But not to worry. We made great progress today, and I intend to capitalize on it tonight.”
“Meaning?”
“Cuthbert Saint is a fortune hunter. He is currently living off the money he gets from pawning small items of value. Trinkets which I expect he has stolen from others. My connections tell me that he is down to the last two or three decent pieces.”
Alice held her reticule tightly in her hand, quietly strangling it. How could this be good news?
“He will be getting desperate to secure Patience’s hand in marriage, and with that will come missteps. Trust me. He will make a mistake. We just need to make sure that your sister sees it when it happens.”
When Harry took a hold of her trembling hand, Alice didn’t stop him. His firm grip was the solid reassurance she so desperately craved. They were in this together.
“I want you to go and find Patience and Cuthbert. Engage in polite, dare I say, friendly conversation with him. I will come over at some point and introduce myself. You need to play along with my plan. I am going to see if we can trip our friend up.”
“Alright. Give me a minute to summon my courage. You might be well-acquainted with matters of deception, but I am not,” she replied.
He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and placed a kiss on each finger. She shivered at his touch. Oh. How could such a small thing make her feel so good?
Harry . . .
If he attempted to kiss her a second time, she wasn’t entirely sure what she would do. When it came to Harry, Alice no longer trusted herself.
“I think you are capable of much more than you give yourself credit for, sweet Alice. And I intend to show you just how great you could be, even if it means having my face slapped on a regular basis,” he said.
Alice’s heart thumped hard in her chest as Harry released her hand and slipped away into the crowd. She was pinning her hopes on his words merely being a tool to get her to do his bidding.
But what if they weren’t? What if he was truly the first person who could actually see the woman she tried to keep hidden from the world? If he could understand her very nature?
Well then, I haven’t the faintest idea what I will do.
Harry’s gaze constantly tracked across the room, missing little. The gathering was much like most other events attended by London’s social elite. He caught the occasional glimpse of a shared smile between secret lovers. The glare of enemies who were forced to behave as friends in public. And the heartbreaking look of longing on a young man’s face as he watched the woman, he loved walk across the room arm in arm with her new husband.
That last one had been a particular success of his, but it had been bittersweet—especially for the bride and the beau she would have married, had said beau been in possession of a title. Her parents had been determined to see their daughter become a baroness. Fortunes and reputations had been saved from a shocking scandal, but hearts had paid a high price. Even Harry had been left bruised and reflective of whether it had all been worth it.
Concentrate. That job is done and dusted. There is nothing anyone can do but hope that time heals.
It was time to put his Lord-Harry-Steele-foppish-fool act into play. After grabbing two glasses of champagne, he made his way over to where Alice, Patience, and his prey stood. Alice caught his eye for the briefest of moments, then turned away.
Good girl. Play it nice and easy. Steady nerves.
He crashed into the side of Cuthbert Saint, spilling most of a full glass of champagne down the side of Cuthbert’s evening jacket.
“Oh! I am so bloody sorry!” While the liquid soaked into the fabric, Harry flailed his arms about and continued to offer up his apologies. “I am such a clumsy creature. Anyone would think I can’t handle my drink. Here, take these.”
He held the two glasses out to Alice, slopping more liquid onto the carpet. She took them and quickly handed them to a passing footman.
Harry took his cue from her move. “I didn’t mean for you to get rid of them! I planned to drink what was left. But not to worry. There is plenty of free-flowing champagne here tonight. Did you make a donation at the door?”
His gaze had settled firmly on Cuthbert Saint. If he was going to unmask him as a moneygrubbing blackguard, he may as well start with the man’s lack of charity.
“I posted a bank note,” replied Cuthbert. The line sounded well-rehearsed.
I bet you haven’t parted with a penny.
Harry thrust out his hand, and a drenched Cuthbert reluctantly took it.
“Lord Harry Steele. Papa is the Duke of Redditch,” he said.
Cuthbert’s cool demeanor warmed at the mention of one of the wealthiest men in England. He bowed his head. “Cuthbert Saint at your service, Lord Steele.”
Harry pointed to the champagne mess on Cuthbert’s jacket. “Terribly sorry about that. Not sure how you will get the stains out.”
“Blotting it with a clean cloth and then letting it dry should do the trick,” replied Cuthbert.
Harry’s quick mind registered that tidy piece of information, storing it away for later perusal. He was certain he could ask a hundred other gentlemen in the place this evening if they knew how to treat champagne stains and he wouldn’t get that sort of answer. A man with money had valets and servants to deal with those sorts of minor matters. But a man without funds might have to do it himself.
Cuthbert held out his hand and gestured toward Alice and Patience. “Your lordship, may I present Miss Alice and Miss Patience North.”
Cuthbert had obviously done his homework and learned how London society worked when it came
to be making correct introductions.
Harry bowed low. “Ladies, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Though Miss Alice and I had words at Lord Ashton’s ball last night, did we not?”
When Alice slowly looked him up and down, Harry could have dragged her into his arms and kissed her senseless. She was showing him the perfect amount of disinterest.
“Yes, Lord Steele. You seemed to think that it was acceptable to wear a codpiece to a formal function, whereas I disagreed. It is apparent that you also don’t understand how to behave when you spill champagne on a gentleman’s evening attire. A simple apology does not suffice.”
“Yes, of course, where are my manners? Mister Saint, if you send your jacket to my house, I shall have my valet attend to it forthwith. It should only take a day or so for the wool to dry and then you may have it back. Better still, give it to me tonight and I shall take it with me,” said Harry.
Cuthbert blanched at the offer, and Harry’s expectations rose. A gentleman of society would likely have a number of evening jackets, but a scam artist looking to make an heiress his bride probably only had the one.
“It is fine. The jacket is not a problem. I shall have my valet deal with it,” replied Cuthbert.
Recalling that Cuthbert had claimed to have attended Eton College, Harry moved in for the kill. “You don’t trust to have your clothes laundered by others. I can’t blame you. I remember the mess the servants at Eton used to make with our cricket caps. The stripes always came back dirtier than when we came off the field.”
Cuthbert smiled and nodded. “Yes, I sent mine back several times when I was playing at Eton. I mean, how hard is it to get stripes clean?”
Patience shifted on her feet, and Harry took that as his signal to leave. He had enough to go on with for the evening. “Forgive me, I have intruded on your private gathering. And once again, I must apologize for my clumsiness.”
He gave a hasty bow and left.
Outside in the street, his carriage and George Hawkins were waiting. The master thief was leaning against the side of the coach, smoking a small cheroot cigar, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care. Harry knew better. George would have been watching every person who entered the Great Hall of Royal Chelsea Hospital and be keeping a private tally of the worth of their jewels.
As Harry approached, George dropped the cheroot on the ground and stubbed it out. “How did it go? Do you have what you need?”
Harry nodded. “Not only is the blackguard a fortune hunter, he is a hopeless liar. He owns only the one evening jacket, and the blighter never went to Eton. I would say that was more than enough to make a move on him, but we need to be sure.”
If Cuthbert Saint had attended Eton College, he would know full well that the school cricket cap was a solid light blue.
But bitter experience had taught Harry to measure twice and only then be ready to cut. He was all for checking things a third time.
“You want to know where he comes from and how he came by those pieces of jewelry?” asked George.
If Harry was going to confront Cuthbert, he had to have something to hold over him. A small white lie about his schooling and a penchant for living beyond his means was not enough. “I need Stephen and Monsale to continue following up rumors. People don’t tend to move too far from the truth when they lie, which has me thinking that Cuthbert Saint was once in service. If we start looking for someone who might have worked in a great house and then suddenly went missing, we might secure a lead as to this scoundrel’s true identity.”
Until he had more information, there was not a lot he could do. He had eyes on all the coaching companies, and Gretna Green was covered. He would have to trust his friends to do some fast and deep digging.
While he waited, he would keep a close watch on things and make certain that Patience didn’t come to harm. Biding his time would also allow him the opportunity to be with his client.
“And what about the other sister?” said George.
Their gazes met. A sly, knowing grin sat on the lips of the Honorable George Hawkins. There was a price to pay for spending one’s life in the company of liars and thieves. They could read people as well as Harry did.
“I’m not sure. You know mixing business with pleasure is something I try to avoid, but she has me intrigued. Something tells me that behind her façade of sense and reason lies a woman of such passionate and captivating nature that a man could never tire of being with her,” he replied.
George let out a low whistle. “Those are the words of a man who is clearly in Cupid’s sights. You poor deluded bastard. It pains me to think you may already be beyond our aid.”
Harry reached for the door of his carriage. “Are you coming?”
“Not a chance. I hear that such kinds of affection are contagious, and the last thing I wish is to fall for the charms of some sweet-faced chit. Besides, there is a tempting piece of Crusader treasure rumored to be arriving on the tide from Brest late tonight. I might just have to help it ashore.”
If only Harry’s life was that simple. Handling stolen goods was always risky, but jewels didn’t have their own opinions. Nor did they have the same effect on a man that a woman such as Alice North did.
Rubies and sapphires could shine bright all they wished, but only a woman could make Harry Steele’s blood run hot and his manhood rock hard.
The sooner he could kiss Alice once more, the better. Only then might he discover if what he felt for her was just a passing fancy or if it was something which went much deeper.
Chapter 9
Alice softly smiled. She had already caught the movement out of the corner of her eye but didn’t wish to make it obvious that she had seen him. He was playing a game, darting in and out of the bookshelves, and despite her better judgement, she found herself eagerly wishing to play along.
While others may have viewed it as a childish indulgence of hide-and-go-seek, her racing heart told her otherwise. This was a prelude to something delicious and wicked.
She hurried down the long row of shelves, stopping at the end and standing with her back against the wood. Of course, if he wanted to find her, he only had to look for the check pattern of her skirts which hung out either side of the bookcases.
She waited, listening for footfalls on the carpet. Nothing. In the distance, another customer asked a shop assistant for a copy of Emma by Jane Austen.
Read it. In fact, I have read all her books. She is fabulous.
Alice even knew which shelf the book was on in the popular book section of Hatchards bookshop.
A sigh escaped her lips. He must have gone. The pang of disappointment in her heart took Alice by surprise. What was it with Harry Steele?
Simple. He kissed you and you enjoyed it. And you want him to do it again. For him to touch you, to know you.
No. That was impossible. He was someone she was paying to save her sister from making a grave mistake, nothing more.
Liar.
Clutching the book, she wished to purchase to her breast, Alice turned left, intending to head to the sales counter. Her world was suddenly filled with a tall, green-eyed vision of male magnificence.
“Harry,” she gasped.
He quickly backed her up against a bookshelf and murmured, “Miss North. Fancy. Meeting. You. Here.”
Wicked heat pooled in her loins at the delicious way he spoke. Her nipples hardened. Whenever Harry was this close, he reduced her to a complete mush of nonsense.
Alice lifted the book and showed it to him. “Alexander Pope,” she said.
He glanced at the cover. “The Dunciad? An interesting choice. I, myself, prefer the Marquis de Sade’s poems. Especially the naughty ones. Have you read any of them?”
Alice shook her head.
Harry trailed a finger down her cheek and neck, and she shivered at his touch.
“You have to ask at the front counter for those books. They don’t stock them openly on the shelves. Perhaps you and I could share an afternoon read
ing some of my books in the comfort of my library,” he whispered.
The invitation rolled all too easily off his tongue. How many other women had been asked to spend time alone with Harry and his illicit collection of saucy poems?
“Is that how you seduce women?” she asked.
He frowned. He appeared genuinely taken aback by her words.
I’ve overstepped with him.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” she said.
“Alice, I have never asked a lady to my home. Apart from the main drawing room where I receive clients, the rest of the house is my private sanctuary. I was offering to share it with you,” he replied.
“Oh, Harry. Please forgive me.” Alice went to add further to her apology, but at that moment, Harry bent and covered her lips with his own before she could muster the words. She wasn’t sure if anyone heard her half-strangled cry as he grabbed her, but she honestly didn’t care if they had. All that mattered was that she was once again in Harry’s arms, and his tongue was in her mouth. Socially accepted norms of public behavior . . . be damned.
He took the book from her hands and set it on the shelf. The man was full of excellent ideas. With the book gone, he was able to pull her to him. Alice gasped as the hardness of his firm erection pressed against her stomach.
A woman of her station and marital status should be shocked, nay, outraged by such a thing. She should be scandalized at being handled so roughly, but all it did was make her throb in her most secret of places. Places that only she had touched in the privacy of her bed.
Her parents might well be unconventional, but they were also smart enough to have explained the birds and bees to their children as they’d stood on the cusp of adulthood. Sex was not something to be ashamed of; it was to be celebrated with a lover.
She shifted slightly against him, and Harry groaned. There was nothing else she needed to know. Harry wanted her.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 6