Beyond Compare

by Candace Camp

  “Mr. Ashcombe’s indisposed,” she said shortly. “He said…” She appeared to struggle with how to phrase it, then finally gave up and went on, “He said to tell you to go away.”

  “Very well. Thank you.” Kyria turned and left, waiting until she and Rafe were outside to vent her irritation. “Ohhh! What a perfectly rude man!”

  “I reckon not too many people ignore a duke’s wishes,” Rafe guessed.

  “No, they don’t. It’s not that I expect everyone to fawn over me because my father is a duke—in fact, I quite dislike it.” She paused, then added honestly, “However, you are right—it rarely happens that I am ignored, and arrogant as it may be on my part, it is really most annoying. Especially when it is important. And Papa was his benefactor’s friend!”

  “Since the benefactor is now dead, maybe he doesn’t feel he has to pay any attention to the man’s friends.”

  “Obviously not.” Kyria sighed as Rafe handed her up into the carriage. “You would think he would at least have some curiosity about the reliquary, since he has been trying to find it for some time.”

  “Dr. Jennings said he had lost credibility for doing so,” Rafe said. “Maybe he thought we were playing some sort of joke on him. Or maybe other people have tried to get in to see him, saying the same thing.”

  Kyria sat, drumming her fingers on the valise for a moment. “Didn’t Dr. Jennings say something about his lordship’s son now supporting Ashcombe?”

  “I’m not sure. He may have. Do you know him?”

  “No. I think he lived abroad until his father died and he had to return to take over the estate. I may have seen him sometime, I suppose, but I can’t remember what he looks like.” She smiled. “That, however can be remedied.”

  Kyria opened the window and called up to her coachman, “Lady Esterby’s, please.”

  “What are we doing?” Rafe asked.

  “Going to pay a call. It is a trifle early, but Lady Esterby won’t mind once she lays eyes on you.”

  His brows rose lazily. “And why is that?”

  “Well, at the risk of inflating your head—” Kyria prefaced her remark teasingly “—it is because Lady Esterby is never averse to meeting a handsome new man. One with buckets of money is even more intriguing, as she has five daughters to marry off. She is also one of the biggest gossips in town—which is precisely why we are going to see her—but it also means that she will be so eager to spread the news that I came to call on her with a stranger, an American, no less, in tow that she would probably welcome us in her dressing gown.”

  “And what do we hope to gain from this visit—other than, of course, saddling me with a mother of five marriageable daughters?”

  Kyria’s lips curved up. “I am sure you will be able to manage her quite easily. And the result, we hope, is that we will discover exactly where we might be able to meet the present Lord Walford.”

  This was, in fact, what they did, though not before they had had to wade through a great deal of social niceties. Lady Esterby received Kyria looking somewhat surprised, but her expression quickly changed to delight when Kyria introduced her to Rafe, adding that he was the American partner of Lord St. Leger. Lady Esterby was then sure that Kyria must be eager to see her eldest daughters and sent the butler to bring them down to the drawing room.

  After the giggling girls entered, looking somewhat sleepy-eyed and puzzled, Kyria sent Rafe a significant look, from which he assumed that it was his job to entertain the girls. It did not take much to set them talking, only a compliment or two and a question about their latest party. With them taken care of, Kyria and their mother settled in for a gossip fest. It took several minutes of general rumors and scandals before Kyria managed to direct the other woman’s conversation toward the late Lord Walford.

  “Didn’t his son come back to take over the estate?” Kyria asked at this point.

  “Oh, yes.” Lady Esterby nodded her head. “Such a handsome man. And quite eligible.”

  Kyria nodded encouragingly. She had been sure that if the man was unmarried or only recently so, Lady Esterby would know everything about him.

  “Esterby’s nephew assures me that he is a bang-up fellow, as he calls it. I have tried to get George to bring Lord Walford to dine with us, but of course, he won’t make the slightest push to help my girls, even though he is Esterby’s heir. You know how young men are.”

  Kyria knew how George Esterby was, at least. When Lady Esterby’s nephew had first come to town, he had spent a few weeks dangling after her so persistently, taking none of her hints or snubs and annoying everyone in her family with his frequent calls, that finally Reed had taken him aside and told him to stop making a cake of himself or Reed would have to chuck him into the Thames.

  “I had not realized Walford was your nephew’s age,” was Kyria’s only comment.

  “Oh, he’s not. George has rather a case of hero worship, I imagine,” Lady Esterby said in a rare moment of acuity. “Lord Walford must be several years older than you. That’s why you wouldn’t have met him. He left England some years before your coming-out.”

  “Yes, I thought he had been abroad.”

  “I believe there was something of a scandal, but I cannot remember what it was,” Lady Esterby went on regretfully. “That was when my daughters were quite little, you know, and I was not so much in the thick of things, you might say. Of course, he is quite respectable now. Young men so often fall into wild ways, don’t they, and then come about later? I believe he was in the Levant—or was it Egypt? I get all those places confused,” Lady Esterby admitted with a giggle. “I’m afraid I never had the head for studies that you and your sisters do. But I believe he was quite involved in all those ancient things, the way his father was—and, of course, the duke.”

  “I see. Perhaps that is why I have not seen him at parties.”

  “No, he is not very sociable,” Lady Esterby concurred with a sigh. “I think George knows him more from some club or other. He will doubtless be at Editha Tarkey’s rout tonight, though—they are some sort of cousins, I believe.” She cast a frowning look over at her daughters, sitting like three dolls in a row on the sofa and tittering at some comment Rafe had made. “I do hope Sally doesn’t have a cold. She sneezed twice at dinner last night. It would be simply ghastly if she showed up tonight at the Tarkeys’ with a red nose. There are so few parties this time of year.”

  Having obtained the information she was seeking, Kyria let Lady Esterby ramble on for a few more minutes about her daughters and their various possibilities of beaux, then deftly brought her call to an end.

  “I hope you got what you needed,” Rafe grumbled as their carriage turned once again toward Broughton House. “My eardrums will never be the same.”

  “It’s your own fault for making them giggle so,” Kyria responded unsympathetically. “But, yes, I did find out where Lord Walford is likely to be tonight. It’s no wonder I have never met him if he only shows up for Lady Tarkey’s parties. They are always such crushes one can scarcely move about. It is her goal to have as many guests as she possibly can, so that she can toss names about later—which is largely the same reason that people come to them.”

  “Then there will be no problem with your being invited.”

  “Oh, no. I am sure there is an invitation to it on the receiving table. I shall just have to look.”

  “Will there be dancing?” Rafe gave her a lazy smile. “You know, I never did get a second waltz with you.”

  Kyria could not keep from smiling playfully back. “I will promise you a waltz—provided, of course, that there is any room to dance.”

  * * *

  They returned to Broughton House, and after a light luncheon, set out again in the carriage, this time with Con and Alex in the seat across from them. When they arrived at the inn, the name of which Habib had written across the back of his calling card, they found Tom Quick loitering in the courtyard, arms crossed and leaning back against a brick wall, his blond hair gleaming in t
he sunlight, as he watched the passage of people in and out of the yard.

  At the sight of the Moreland carriage, he grinned and sprang forward to open the door as soon as it rolled to a stop. He swept a bow to Kyria. “Welcome, my lady. Mr. McIntyre. Looks like this is my lucky day. I was that bored sittin’ there in the office this morning.” He leaned in, grinning at the twins, and went on, “Well, and what bit of bribery did you two use to get taken along on this caper?”

  “We never did!” Con retorted indignantly.

  “We did our schoolwork,” Alex offered. “And we have no tutor.”

  “Chased off another one, eh?”

  “I am afraid I had a hand in this one,” Kyria admitted. “The tutor and I had a disagreement concerning his methods of teaching, among other things.”

  Quick’s grin grew broader as his gaze shifted to Kyria. “Well, if it comes to a disagreement, my lady, my money’d be on you.”

  “You’re right about that,” Rafe said.

  Tom reached down and lowered the steps, then offered a hand to Kyria. Rafe followed her. The twins would have followed, but Kyria stopped them.

  “You are staying with the carriage.”

  “Aw, but, Kyria…why can’t we just go with Tom?” Con asked. “We ought to get a look at Mr. Habib, too, don’t you think? What if we see him again somewhere? We should know what he looks like.”

  Kyria sighed and cast a glance at Tom.

  “I’ll look after ’em, don’t you worry,” he told her. “We’ll just walk along real quiet like and get a look at this chappie when you meet him. Then we’ll come back out here, and I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  Somewhat reassured, Kyria went with Rafe into the inn, careful not to glance back to see what Tom and the boys were doing. The inn was a clean and respectable place with a large public room, gleaming with polished mahogany and brass. The host, seeing them, hurried to meet them and inquire of their needs. When Rafe mentioned Mr. Habib’s name, a measuring look came into the innkeeper’s eyes, but he merely bowed and offered to show them to the private room where Habib was just finishing up his lunch.

  With a knock on the door, the innkeeper opened it and ushered Kyria and Rafe inside. Habib was standing at the window looking out into the back garden, the remains of his lunch on the table in the middle of the room. He turned at their entrance, and his eyes widened with surprise.

  “Lady Moreland, I am so pleased to see you,” he began in his heavily accented voice. He started forward, bowing, his hands clasped together at his chest. “And Mr….”

  “McIntyre,” Rafe told him.

  Habib gestured at the innkeeper impatiently. “Please go.” He followed the man to the door and closed it behind him, then turned, offering Kyria a wide smile. “You have thought over my offer, yes? You will sell me the Byzantine box?”

  “No, I’m not here to sell you the box, Mr. Habib,” Kyria told him firmly.

  “We are here to ask you what you know about the men who broke into the Morelands’ house,” Rafe said bluntly.

  “Broke into? I don’t understand.”

  “They came to steal a box—the box you wanted. I find that rather odd,” Rafe continued.

  “But I would buy it! Why should I steal it?” Habib shrugged, looking innocently from Kyria to Rafe and back.

  “Perhaps because I refused to sell it to you,” Kyria suggested. “And perhaps you aren’t particular about how you get your hands on it.”

  “My lady, you hurt me,” Habib said with a wounded expression, placing his hand to his heart. “I am a famous dealer. I have a reputation.”

  “And just what is that reputation?” Rafe asked, his voice as steely as his gaze. “Are you well-known for your ability to get what your clients want, no questions asked?”

  “I don’t understand,” Habib repeated. “What are you saying?”

  Kyria glanced toward the window and saw Con’s face appear on the other side, peering in. He turned away, gesturing excitedly. Kyria’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked over at Habib. Fortunately, Habib was staring at Rafe and did not see the boy.

  “We caught the men who tried to steal the box,” Rafe said. “They are sitting in jail right now. And they were pretty quick to implicate you.”

  “Me!” Habib stared at Rafe, his mouth falling open. “They say I have something to do with this? They lie!”

  Kyria sneaked a look back at the window, where Alex was now beside Con, both of them peering into the window, cupping their hands around their eyes to see better. Behind them Tom was also gazing interestedly into the room. Kyria scowled at them. Con gave her a cheerful wave. Kyria glared and jerked her head at them to leave, then whipped back around to see if Habib was watching.

  He was still looking at Rafe, but Kyria had lost the thread of the conversation. Rafe was saying, “…about the man they met at the Blue Bull in Cheapside. Do you know this tavern?”

  “No! I have never been there!” Drops of sweat had broken out on the man’s brow.

  “They described the payment they were promised,” Rafe continued, lying freely.

  “They lie! I do not…I have not—”

  “Who are you buying this box for? Who is your client?” Rafe pressed, looming over the man.

  “I cannot tell you!” Habib backed away nervously and cast an imploring look at Kyria. “Please, my lady, I swear to you. I sent no one. I had nothing to do with this.”

  Kyria slid over closer to Rafe so that Habib, looking at her, could not see the window out of the corner of his eye. “I find that hard to believe,” she told the dealer. “Who else knew about the box? You knew where it was—that is very damning, Mr. Habib. How did you know unless you had Kousoulous followed and murdered? How did the ruffians who broke into our house know unless you told them?”

  “Others know!” Habib protested, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I did nothing. I swear to you.”

  “How do they know?” Rafe pressed.

  Habib shrugged, making vague sweeping gestures with his hands. “Everyone knows.”

  He swung away toward the window, and Kyria let out a noise of protest, quickly muffled. Her brothers and Tom were no longer framed in the window, and she sighed with relief.

  “Who is everyone?” Rafe continued.

  “Istanbul,” Habib answered. “Many people in Istanbul know. It is common gossip. Rumor. You see? Everyone whispers that Kousoulous has it and he takes it to England. To the Morelands.”

  “Let me tell you something, Habib,” Rafe said, moving again toward Habib in that slow, deliberate, dangerous way he had. His voice was low and hard as he stared down into the other man’s face. “I don’t take kindly to threats. In fact, they make me real mad. Almost as mad as people trying to steal from me or mine. It happens again, I’m going to come after who did it. Am I making myself clear?”

  Habib bobbed his head rapidly. “Yes, clear, very clear. But I do not…I have not—”

  “Then you better keep on not,” Rafe countered. He gave the man one last, long look, then spun on his heel. “Kyria? You got anything to add?”

  “No,” Kyria said. “I think you covered everything.”

  Rafe crossed to the door and opened it for her, then followed her out of the room.

  “Now,” he said, taking Kyria’s arm as they strode out of the inn, “if we are lucky, our friend back there will go scurrying off to his client or partner or whoever with news of our visit. Do you know if Tom got a look at him?”

  Kyria grinned. “Yes. I believe he did.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Lady Tarkey’s rout was the crush that Kyria had predicted. They had to first wait in their carriage as the line of vehicles inched forward, and then at last when they were able to disembark, there was another line snaking up the steps and into the house. At least, Kyria thought, if she had to endure the wait, it was some consolation that she was doing it with Rafe. Aside from being the most handsome man in the crowd, he also enlivened their time with sotto voce qu
estions and comments about their surroundings, from the explosion of plasterwork cherubs and nymphs on the ceiling to the small man sporting orange-colored mustaches so waxed and intricately curled that whenever he moved his head, he seemed in imminent danger of putting out his female companion’s eye.

  Kyria smiled and nodded at various acquaintances, noticing that her arrival with a handsome stranger caused a ripple effect of heads turning all up the staircase.

  After she and Rafe greeted their hostess and her daughter at the top of the stairs, they strolled into the main ballroom, barely making it past the doorway because of the crush of people.

  “Lady Kyria!” They turned to see an eager young man making his way through the crowd toward them. As he was large and somewhat clumsy, his progress was not easy and left more than a few people glaring in his wake. “Excuse me. Beg your pardon. Lady Kyria! I’m so dreadfully sorry. Was that your toe? My sincerest apologies. Excuse me…”

  He arrived at last at Kyria’s side and bowed extravagantly over her hand. As he bumped into the man behind him, his greeting was less the elegant gesture he had envisioned than a bit of buffoonery.

  “My dearest lady, you are more beautiful than ever,” he told Kyria, beaming down at her. “It seems a year since I have seen you.”

  “It is something more like a month.”

  “London is dreadfully dull without you.” His gaze slid to Rafe, standing at Kyria’s side, and he frowned.

  “Oh, Lord Crandon,” Kyria said, following his gaze, “please allow me to introduce Mr. McIntyre. He is visiting us from America.”

  “How do you do?” the young man replied politely, but Rafe could see the jealousy in his eyes.

  As they made a rather limping attempt at small talk, another gentleman joined them, this one older and suaver, but as patently suspicious of Rafe. Within five minutes, they were surrounded by no fewer than six bachelors, all of them jockeying for Kyria’s attention.

  “You must give me your first waltz,” said one who was dressed in a resplendent uniform and regarded the world with a face permanently frozen into an aristocratic sneer.