“I’m quite sure there’s no such word as protectee,” he grumbled. He was no expert at arguing, and if it had been anyone else but Lady Lela, he would have agreed with her. “Your father will take off my head.”
“I shall tell him I gave you no choice. Does your puppy have a name?” she continued, as if one topic had anything to do with the other.
“Deerhound.” He knew he sounded surly, but he didn’t like the position she placed him in. He was a dog trainer, not a security blanket for rebellious ladies.
“You don’t name your dogs?” she asked, apparently not objecting to his tone.
“I train, breed, and sell them. What is the purpose of confusing them when they’ll be named differently later?”
“Because they need to know who they are,” she said indignantly. “I shall call this one Hero, to match Ajax.”
Will hid his smile at the outlandish name for the useless pup. “Hero he is, then. We’ve arrived.”
He nodded toward the footman waiting at the gate—and the man he’d asked to meet them there.
“All hail the conquering hero,” Jacques called, striding toward them.
The lady snickered. “Hero and the Conquering Hero,” she murmured.
Blond, shorter and slighter than any other Ives, Will’s half-brother dressed the part of dashing man-about-town in caped redingote and beaver hat.
“Jones here says you’re still up to your old pursuits, heaving villains into the drink.” Without stopping for breath, Jacques bowed grandiosely before Lela, doffing his tall hat, and said, “My deepest condolences, my lady, on being reduced to the company of ill-bred dolts like my brother.”
The lady glanced at Will with amusement curving her luscious lips.
Will rolled his eyes. “I will refrain from flinging the wretch into the nearest drain unless you request it,” he said, hoping she might consider his suggestion. When she merely waited for explanation, he sighed. “Lady Aurelia Winchester, may I introduce Jacques Ives-Bellamy, my youngest brother.”
“My pleasure.” She offered her mitten-covered hand as if she were dressed in silk and standing in a reception line instead of looking like a ragged denizen of the slums.
“The disguise is adorable, my lady,” Jacques enthused. “You need only a feather bobbing from the bonnet to divert attention, because no one with eyes in their head could believe you are any other than one of the finest ladies of town.”
With a sigh, Will grabbed his brother’s neckcloth and lifted his feet off the ground. “Stop slavering. I asked you here for a purpose. Get on with it.”
The lady giggled, actually giggled. Will sent her a look of equal exasperation. “Don’t encourage him. He hangs about too many thespians until he thinks he’s one of them.”
Jacques nobly waited to be returned to his feet before responding with a punch directly to Will’s midsection—which didn’t hurt Will at all but probably cracked his brother’s knuckles.
Wincing, Jacques turned his back on Will to address Lela directly. “I have gone over your list, my lady, and marked those most likely to meet my clod of a brother’s description of circumstances.”
Lela glanced at Will questioningly. He didn’t appreciate having to explain, but he owed it to her. “Jacques is a playwright. He knows everyone who attends the theater and everyone with coins enough to invest or fund his work.”
“I know their financial status better than a banker,” Jacques continued with relish. “And as Ash’s relation, I’m granted access to all levels of society. I’m far more interesting than Farmer Will here. Shall I take you around and introduce you to more entertaining people than normally tread the hallowed halls of a duke’s residence?”
Lela laughed and squeezed Will’s coat sleeve. “I would love that, but only in Will’s company. What can you tell us of the men on my list?”
Will fought an urge to swell with importance that the lady preferred his uncouth company to Jacques’ far more polished presence. The lady was using him, he reminded himself.
Jacques’ expressive features formed a moue of disappointment. “Know that I am always at your disposal, my dear lady.” He pointed at the first name on the list, the one Will had ascertained as the nearest to the duke’s residence. “Lord Rush lives with his mother the next street over, but you waste your time on him—starting with, he lives with his mother. He’s a baron, near forty years of age, a fine supporter of the theater and several of. . .” He glanced at Will. “How would you like me to explain his predilections?”
“Illegal,” Will offered succinctly. “And if he does not court ladies, let us proceed to the next on our list.” He feared Lela would question him later, but she wisely held her tongue now. He liked that in a woman.
Jacques waved the paper. “None of the ones around Mayfair will be who you seek. We’re assuming the man you want is short enough of coin to steal a babe’s inheritance. That sort would be unable to afford this area. There are two names that might qualify, Clayton and Baldwin. Baldwin lives over in Richmond. It’s a respectable area, but you’ll need a carriage and a few hours to visit. Clayton has rooms in the City, where no lady should go. Neither of them have feathers to fly on. You should send Will and his mongrels to sniff them out.”
“I have a carriage at my disposal,” Lela replied eagerly. “I have always thought Kew Gardens charming and would love to explore Richmond.”
Jacques sent Will a sympathetic look. “Sorry, old chap, I did my best.”
So much for keeping the lady home. Will shrugged. “I appreciate it, thank you.”
Lela smiled in delight, so that even Jacques looked stunned in her glow. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Ives-Bellamy. I shall be sure to send you an invitation to my ball so you may raise funds all you like. You’ve been most helpful, even if your brother is now growling like one of his mongrels.” Lela made a full curtsy in her clumsy woolens.
Jacques laughed, offered more of the flummery ladies liked, and took himself off under Will’s glower. The tall footman waited at the corner of the park, as instructed. Will was taking no chances with the lady’s safety.
“I know I cannot go into the City,” Lela said, following Will’s lead in the direction of home. “I’m not sure taking Ajax there is wise either. But we can easily go to Richmond tomorrow. I don’t wish to sit idly about, doing nothing.”
The old City walls encompassed the Fleet Street and Whitechapel areas near the Tower, an all-male bastion of bankers, lawyers, and other criminals not welcoming to ladies. Will was heartily relieved that he didn’t have to argue with her over going there. He would take Ajax to search for scents, but he didn’t hold much hope of finding any in streets that crowded. “A visit to Richmond seems safe enough,” he agreed reluctantly. “Although it might be simpler to wait until your family can report back on Lord Ballwin’s situation.”
“I can ask anyone about Lord Baldwin’s family situation,” she said with a shrug. “Except coming into a recent inheritance or having an older sibling who married badly is no proof of guilt. But if the dogs can recognize his scent, that would be proof enough to investigate further.”
“It should be quieter in the countryside,” he agreed. “And perhaps safer for testing distances between us. I haven’t tried determining how far I can be from the dogs before I cannot speak to them, so that’s another experiment we can work on.
She tugged his arm until he halted, then stood on her toes and pressed her delectable lips to his cheek. “You are a man among men, Mr. Madden, thank you.”
He was a lust-riddled degenerate going up in a pillar of flames, that’s what kind of damned man he was.
Will nearly carried the lady back to the house so he couldn’t molest her.
Lela pouted when Will didn’t stay for dinner, but with her father nodding his approval of Will’s leave-taking, she couldn’t say a word. Instead, she inquired if the duke’s secretary had had time yet to peruse the rest of the list of guests at the house party. A duke’s secretary had i
nformation even the Malcolm ladies might not uncover.
Her father dismissed her request with a wave. “We’re up to our necks in political quagmires. As long as you’re safe now, it can wait.”
There was a villain on the loose and Bess needed her children and her home, but Lela bit her tongue on the protest. Her father had the concerns of an entire nation on his desk. Hers would have to wait.
She had spent the early part of the evening with Rose, attempting to teach her the sounds of the alphabet. Picture books helped. Pointing at an image of a dog, then at Tiny, and then at the letters made a visual connection. And Rose happily hunted through books looking for the same letters elsewhere. But it was a slow process and required a patient teacher.
Since Rose could almost pronounce bad and man, Aurelia worked with those as well, finding an image of a knife-wielding pirate and writing Bad Man underneath it. Rose laughed and grasped the concept fairly quickly, running down the picture gallery later and assigning Bad Man to half Lela’s ancestors wearing cloaks and swords.
She knew she should be satisfied with her day’s work, but she was still awake late that night, watching out her window for some sign that Will might have returned. He had no reason to, she acknowledged. He had his own life, his own family, and probably a willing woman elsewhere.
Lela felt like Rose, locked in a world from which she couldn’t escape, except where Rose’s world was silent, hers was filled with cacophony.
She knew the instant Will returned, even though she couldn’t see him. The distant din of arguments and drunken laughter gradually died away. Carriages rolled on cobblestones but their rattles were miraculously muted. She noted the time so she could ask him later how far away he might have been at that hour.
Relaxing for the first time since he’d left, she climbed into bed and wondered what it would be like to have him join her there—in every sense of the word.
And how in the devil could she bring about such an impossibility? Will was right in that—her father would kill him if she chose to lie down with a dog trainer.
Chapter 17
“It’s raining,” Will stated flatly when Lela came down for breakfast the next day.
Lela noted her father had already left, so she was free to tease. Having the freedom to think clearly was such a relief, that she couldn’t resist. “Let me see. . . The rest of that statement goes: It’s raining, we can’t go to Richmond or you’ll catch your death of cold,” she suggested.
“It’s raining and your coachmen will catch a death of cold,” Will retorted. “And there isn’t any chance of the dogs catching a good scent even if our villain just passed by.”
She couldn’t argue the point. But she had reason for wishing to be out of the house. “The ball invitations went out yesterday.”
He looked at her blankly. “I don’t believe I can complete that thought for you.”
She laughed and fluttered her lashes just to see if he was in the least susceptible to her wiles, such as they were. She thought the bronzed skin stretched over his cheekbones might have become a little ruddier. He turned to the buffet to fill his plate.
“That means my guests will start calling,” she informed him. “Today, we have assigned to accepting calling cards. I am not officially at home. So there will be no one on whom to eavesdrop. Tomorrow, I am to develop my catarrh, and Aster is to take my place in the salon, accepting callers. She often has interesting insights, but I do need to be in the house to overhear conversations.”
He set his plate down on the end of the table furthest from her. She really wanted to kick the recalcitrant man.
“And so today is the only day you can go out and play. Did I finish the sentence correctly?”
She beamed. He applied his considerable attention to his plate, refusing to look at her. She hoped she wasn’t being vain by counting that as a score in her favor.
“You are trainable,” she acknowledged solemnly. “I’ve been told there is a teacher at an orphanage school in Battersea who is teaching her deaf daughter. How difficult would it be to travel there?”
He appeared to be considering as he chewed his bacon, then washed it down with coffee. “With the new bridge, it’s less distance and safer than traveling to Richmond. Does your orphanage have a place where your coachmen can stay while you gossip?”
She wanted to roll her eyes and say they were servants, paid to stay with the coach in any sort of weather, but she realized that he was probably baiting her with their differences. “If it’s not too distant, I can ride. I won’t melt any more than my coachmen will,” she retorted.
This time, she thought she detected a twinkle in the wretched man’s eyes when he deigned to turn and notice her. “Find an unmeltable groom to go with us. Erran and his bride live in Battersea, and we can leave our horses in his stable.”
“You have to work at being disagreeable, don’t you?” She picked up her tea and ignored him for the rest of the meal.
She didn’t know why the aggravating man fascinated her so, but she was inexplicably thrilled to be spending the day in his company—almost alone.
Other than wearing her veiled hat, she had no good way to conceal her identity in a riding habit, but Will didn’t appear too concerned when she came down in her fashionable outfit with only a pelisse to conceal it. Rightfully so, she judged, as they rode into the heavy traffic crossing the Westminster bridge. Who would notice her in this mob?
They’d left Rose safe in her nursery and even left the dogs behind for fear of their being trampled. Surrounded by wagons, carriages, riders, and pedestrians, they rode down the main thoroughfare, following a direction Will seemed to know. She smiled as she realized he was humming as they rode along. Along with his muffling presence, the sound soothed her.
Lela had met Lord Erran on numerous occasions since his family and hers were related by politics as much as distant ancestors. His wife Celeste, however, was fairly new to London. A striking woman with skin tinted darker than most, lustrous dark brown hair, and spectacularly blue, almond-shaped eyes, she was the most exotic creature Lela had ever met. And she forgot Lady Erran’s looks the instant they began discussing Rose and voices.
“To me, the world is music,” Celeste said in her mellifluous voice.
“Siren music,” Lord Erran claimed. “She can seduce the multitudes with her voice.”
Will snorted inelegantly. “And you drive the multitudes to riot. Rose simply needs to make herself understood in a normal sort of way.”
“I wish I could grant her some of my hearing,” Lela said with a sigh. “But I am told the teacher uses a hand language that might aid in lessons.”
“Aster claims your hearing is so acute that you can listen to people talking anywhere in the house,” Erran said, warming his boot by propping it on an andiron at the fire. A typical Ives male, he had swarthy skin, high cheekbones, and thick black curls. “A pity you cannot be an international spy. Or even a domestic one, for all that matters.”
Lela shrugged. “Will would have to go with me. Otherwise, I would go quite mad. I have been unable to visit London for any length of time because of the constant cacophony inside my head. For whatever odd reason, only Will’s presence makes it bearable. Which is why I must do everything I can while I am here, before I’m forced to return home.”
As expected, Lord Erran and his wife exchanged glances. Lela didn’t care if they marked her a candidate for Bedlam or sympathized with her plight. She’d accepted her deficiencies. Her challenge now was to overcome them.
“Don’t look at me,” Will grumbled when his brother directed his gaze his way. “It is probably my empty skull that absorbs the noise.”
Lela laughed. “At least you’re not telling me it’s all in my head.”
“I have brothers like him.” Will nodded at Lord Erran. “I know it’s all in our heads. That doesn’t mean we can change anything. We simply must test our usefulness.”
A footman arrived with a reply to the message they’d sent out
when they’d first arrived. Celeste passed it to Lela, who unfolded the formal stationery. “Mrs. Snowden says she cannot leave her post today but would be delighted to help if we could come to her.” She glanced up at Will. “It is on the outside of town, but I can’t think that Battersea is very dangerous.”
“You need only follow the river road to find the orphanage. They’ve built some rather impressive mills and factories down that way,” Lord Erran said, after taking the paper and checking the direction. “The shoe factory alone is ingenious. It’s a pity we don’t need boots in that quantity now that we’re no longer at war. And the mill driven by air. . . well before it’s time, unfortunately. I understand the maintenance was too costly to keep it running. I would have loved to see it. Battersea isn’t London. You’ll be fine. I have a meeting in the city or I’d go with you.”
“And then we’d end up spending the day investigating musty mills and accomplish nothing,” Will said.
Rising, Lela sent him a laughing look. “The curmudgeon speaks. We should confine him to writing his thoughts.”
Erran cuffed Will’s massive shoulder. “Dogs don’t read, so Will doesn’t write.”
Lela thought Will flushed, but he shrugged off his older brother’s taunt. “I leave the writing to those with naught better to do with their time.”
He strode out, ordering up their coats and horses, leaving Lela to say their farewells.
She belatedly recalled the note Will had sent attached to Ajax. She had thought it the result of circumstance. Surely no expensive school would let a student graduate who could not write properly?
The lady’s silence as they rode east told Will she was ruminating over what she’d just heard. She would be asking him to write missives shortly, just to test Erran’s idiotic jest. Will supposed if he wished to end her unwarranted interest in him, he ought to comply.
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