She took a deep breath and opened the door enough to admit Clara, who went straight to her bed and began turning down the sheets and fluffing the pillows. “Oh, madam! They say you’ve given Mr. Hathaway the sack! Is that true?” she asked over her shoulder.
Georgiana went to her dressing table and began pulling the pins from her hair. “Yes, Clara. This afternoon. I had hoped he’d be gone by now. Charles is quite unhappy that he is not.”
Clara snorted as she laid out her nightgown. “We gathered as much, missus.”
“We?”
“The others. Cook, Sanders and me. The day help stayed out of his way. Mr. Hathaway has been in a dither all day, he has. Not two words said to any of us. Just storming around and going all about the house. He was in the attic, missus. What would he want in the attic?”
What, indeed? “I do not know, Clara. Perhaps he’d put his valise up there.”
“Hmm” was Clara’s only comment as she came to run the brush through Georgiana’s hair.
The sharp thud of the library door closing made her jump just before voices carried upstairs from the foyer.
“You’ve no right here, Mr. Hunter!” Hathaway’s voice echoed throughout the house. “Who are you to—”
“I am Mrs. Huffington’s fiancé, lest you forget. Sanders! Bring Hathaway’s valise!”
“You think you’re going to get away with this, don’t you?”
“Think? I am certain of it, Hathaway.”
Georgiana stood and glanced at the door. Should she go down? Interfere? Mistaking her intentions, Clara began to unfasten her gown.
The voices grew louder. “You underestimate me, Mr. Hunter. You will be sorry you dealt with me thus—you and that little street urchin who is no better than she ought to be. Why, she thinks she’s mistress of the manor now.”
Street urchin? Heat flooded Georgiana’s cheeks. What must Charles think of her now?
Charles’s voice had gone low and deadly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll watch what you say about Mrs. Huffington.”
There was an ugly laugh before Hathaway responded. “Even if it’s the truth? Do you really want to be her next victim?”
“That is a vile insinuation and I’d advise you to watch your tongue.”
“You think things are bad for her now. Just see what happens when I’m finished.”
The sound of a scuffle rose to the two women. Clara gasped and covered her mouth. A sharp crack and splintering told the fate of the entry table. The front door rebounded and Clara ran to the window.
“Oh, madam! He’s given Mr. Hathaway the boot! Oh!” Clara covered her mouth to muffle a giggle. “And his satchel after him!”
Georgiana joined her maid at the window to watch as Hathaway gained his feet and slapped the dust from his jacket. Thank heavens it was late and only a single street lamp lit the dim scene below.
Hathaway snatched up his bag and faced the door where Charles must have still been standing. “You’ll regret this, Hunter. Until the day you die. And that won’t be long if you keep company with her. I know things. Things that could turn this town upside down.”
“If you repeat one thing about Mrs. Huffington, derogatory or otherwise, you’ll answer to me. Do you understand, Hathaway?”
But Hathaway had turned his back and Georgiana couldn’t make out his reply. As the butler faded into the darkness, the front door slammed and she heard Charles’s footsteps take him back to the library. For his coat and hat?
“Oh, madam! That was quite thrilling. What I’d give to have a champion like your Mr. Hunter.”
Her Mr. Hunter. Georgiana sighed. How she wished that were true.
* * *
In a reckless mood, Charles finished his brandy in a single gulp and poured another. No wonder Georgiana hadn’t wanted to deal with that bastard! Who the hell did he think he was, calling Georgiana’s birth into question? Damn near refusing to leave? Making threats?
He examined his skinned knuckles and decided he wouldn’t need more than a good scrub. He actually regretted not doing more damage. How had Georgiana put up with Hathaway for so long?
The hell of it was that he could not even dismiss Hathaway’s threats as idle bluster. He had dealt with enough ne’er-do-wells to recognize them when he saw them. In Georgiana’s present circumstances, he had to allow for the possibility that the former butler was somehow involved with her misfortunes.
He sank into the club chair by the fire and stared into the flames, warming the brandy between his palms. The flickering, ever-changing patterns in the fire usually calmed him, but at the moment all he could think of was how everything had changed since he’d started this investigation. He’d wanted to prove the woman who’d scorned him was guilty of murder, and now he desperately wanted to prove her innocent. He’d wanted to know if she’d had his best friend killed, and now he suspected she was not capable of such duplicity. He’d wanted to confirm that he’d lost nothing all those years ago in Lady Caroline’s parlor, but he’d only confirmed that he’d never stopped loving her. He’d wanted to nurse his mistrust and anger to prevent another disappointment, but he’d begun to trust her and the old bitterness was fading.
God help him, he wanted their engagement to be real.
He finished his second glass of brandy and headed for the stairs. It was time to straighten a few things out with the infamous Mrs. Huffington. He stepped over the scattered fragments of the foyer table and took the steps two at a time. He knocked but opened the door before she’d had time to answer.
Clara dropped a nightgown trimmed in blue ribbon over Georgiana’s head, and both of them turned to stare at him in shock. Manners required an apology, but he did not feel like offering hypocrisies at the moment.
“Thank you, Clara. That will be all,” he said.
The maid turned to Georgiana and waited for a nod before complying. At least someone in this house recognized Georgiana was in charge.
“Sorry if I’ve caught you at a bad time,” he said.
She retrieved a sheer wrapper from her bed and pulled it on over her nightgown, which did nothing to cool his lust. “I was going to send for you.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. He did not think he would be so lucky.
“We must call off our engagement.”
“Disappointing,” he murmured. “Do you mind telling me why?”
“I never should have agreed to such a reckless plan. It is not too late to turn back. All we need do is tell the appropriate people that we’d been a bit precipitate. I doubt the rumor has had much time to spread.”
He laughed. “In London? Surely you are not that naive. I would imagine society matrons are already ordering gowns for the wedding and their husbands are making wagers as to whether I will make it to the altar alive.”
She winced and he regretted his teasing. “Too late for cold feet, Georgiana,” he said. “We are bound to go through with this now. We’ve set the stage, and I think we should start making more public appearances together. The more people who know, the more likely we will provoke a response from our villain.”
“But that is just it!” She came forward and placed her hand on his arm. “I cannot risk your life. I cannot.”
“I thought we were agreed that it was the fastest way to get to the bottom of our little mystery.”
“Oh! It is not a little mystery. Three men are dead! And you could be next. How could I live with that?”
“You care?” He strove to sound blasé, but his future hung on her answer.
“Of course I care. You have been very kind to me. Without your help, I would not have come so far.”
“And how far is that?”
“I...I...”
“Precisely. Not nearly far enough. We are on the verge of discovery, Georgiana. We have taken a path
and committed to it. We would be foolish to abandon it now.”
She looked desperate, as if she were about to cry. “Charles, there was a man tonight. At Vauxhall, when you went to fetch the others for supper.”
A tingle of anticipation prickled the hair on the back of his neck. “A man? Why did you not tell me?”
She answered his last question first. “He warned me not to say anything. I thought he might have a weapon and would hurt you. He mentioned that he would rather ‘cut me’ than have me with you.”
Charles’s heart went ice cold. “Who was it, Georgie?”
“I do not know. I never saw his face. He came up behind me and warned me not to turn around. He told me to stay away from you and your brothers. He said you were not for me.”
“What the—?” Who would warn her against him? “Has he ever come to you before? Did anything like this, any warnings, happen before your marriages?”
“I’ve never heard that voice before. I swear it. But when he said your name, I feared for you. Oh, Charles, I do not want you to die.”
Then she did care. And for the moment, that was enough. What matter if he died tomorrow as long as he had tonight? He pulled her into his arms and looked into her eyes—those captivating eyes that had haunted his dreams for the last seven years.
Her lips parted on a sigh and her hand came up to stroke the back of his neck as she lifted on her toes to meet him halfway. There was something shy and innocent about that kiss that humbled him. He took her offered lips and nibbled at the corners until she moaned and tightened her arms around him.
“Charlie...kiss me, please,” she said on a sigh.
And he did just that, plundering the heated recess of her mouth with all the ardor he’d held back when he’d expected rejection. His desire was wreaking havoc with his body. He didn’t want to give it rein. He wanted to make love to her as she deserved. Slowly. Softly. Thoroughly. He’d not given her his best last time, and he would not have her again until he could.
And he could not when he half expected Hathaway to return to fulfill his threats. Or when he had to solve the puzzle of who the strange man in Vauxhall Gardens had been. The bastard would rather cut her? Not while he was alive. Damn it all, he would have to make new plans.
While he was still able, he broke the kiss, unwound her arms from around his neck and stepped back. “I will be in the library. Call if you need me. Good night, Georgiana.”
Chapter Eleven
Georgiana read the note from Charles for a third time, her mind bouncing between anger and gratitude. It seemed he had spent the night in her library making plans for her safety. When morning came, she found he’d hired a bodyguard, dressed him in footman’s livery and sent him to protect her against Hathaway’s possible return or any mischief he might have in mind. The man’s name was Finn, the note read, and Charles further instructed her to take him with her to any appointments or outings. And he was standing before her in the foyer this very instant.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. The man looked as if he’d been born to a race of giants. He was quite tall, with a large nose and hands the size of hams. “Finn, is it?”
“Yes, madam,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“And where did Mr. Hunter find you?”
“I, uh, have worked for friends of his from time to time, madam.”
She was certain she did not want to delve further into that explanation. “Did Mr. Hunter give you instructions?”
“Yes, madam.”
“And if I dismiss you?”
A look of near panic crossed Finn’s face. “Mr. Hunter hired me, madam. I would not go until he gave me leave.”
Then there was no use in trying to send him away. She had visions of this man sitting on her front steps all day, frightening neighbors and passersby alike. She would simply have to deal with Charles tonight. As surly as Hathaway had been, she could not imagine that he would return. Charles was just being overly cautious.
“Are you day help, Finn? Or staff?”
“Staff, Mrs. Huffington.”
“Very well, Finn. Go to the kitchen and introduce yourself to Cook and Sanders. Ask them to assign you a room. I will be in the attic.” At the man’s indecisive look, she hastened to explain. “I am going through my late aunt’s things. I doubt Hathaway will scale a wall in the middle of the day for all the neighbors to see.”
“Mr. Hunter told me to watch for danger from any direction, madam, not just from someone named Hathaway.”
Oh! She never should have told Charles about the man at Vauxhall Gardens. Really, he hadn’t exactly threatened her. Just mentioned that he had plans for her. Hmm. Well, perhaps that could be taken as a bit of a threat. She shrugged. “Very well,” she allowed. “We shall discuss this further with Mr. Hunter tonight. Meanwhile, please try to make yourself inconspicuous.” Though she doubted that was possible for man his size.
He nodded and stepped out of her way as she walked to the stairway. She had no doubt he would come looking for her sooner rather than later and then laughed to herself as she thought of him at La Meilleure Robe this afternoon. Madame Marie would make short work of him, she was sure.
The attic door was unlocked and the narrow windows at each end had been uncovered to allow light to pour through. Yes, Clara had said that Hathaway had been in the attic yesterday. She frowned as she noted that dust covers had been tossed into a heap. Spare furniture had been left bare. Trunks and boxes were open. Someone had been rummaging through Aunt Caroline’s things. Hathaway.
A prickle of fear made her shiver as she looked around more carefully. What could he have been looking for? Hidden treasure or something of value? Something to carry off? Or...or something in particular? More personal?
Georgiana had played up here as a child when she and Aunt Caroline had made short trips to the city to tend business matters. She knew every nook and cranny. Every crate, box, trunk and broken chair. She knew right where Aunt Caroline’s childhood toys were stored. Where the gowns now out of fashion had been kept for their trims and fabric. She knew where her old lesson books were, and the sheet music from her pianoforte lessons.
And she knew something was very wrong.
She turned on her heel and hurried down to the library and the desk where Hathaway had seen her place the pouch with money for household expenses. How foolish of her not to secure it in the safe at once! That money had to last her until the confusion over inheritance had been settled. She opened the drawer and unfolded the pouch. After carefully counting the cash, she went weak with relief. There! It was all there. She sank into the chair and opened the bottom drawer where a heavy lockbox was secured. She removed the key from her chatelaine, opened the box and placed the pouch inside. When it was secure, she sat back and pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to think.
If Hathaway had meant to rob her, he’d known right where to go. But he hadn’t. Thus, he’d been looking for something more precise than his valise when he’d gone to the attic. But what?
He’d been employed by Aunt Caroline’s father a year before his death, and had stayed on afterward. It was not unreasonable to think that he might have collected quite a few belongings in that space of time. All the servants had their own lockers in the cellar to store their valuables, and Hathaway had been no exception. In fact, he’d had two lockers.
No. Hathaway had not been looking for his own belongings. And that meant that he’d been looking for something quite specific.
She did not know how long she’d sat there, trying to think of anything Hathaway might have wanted, but she started when Clara touched her shoulder.
“Madam? That Finn fellow said you’d gone to the attic, but here you are in the library. I came looking for you to get you ready to go to the dressmaker. Finn says he’ll be escorting you today.”
“Oh, yes. I just
forgot something here. Could you get the key to the attic and lock it for me? I won’t have time for it until tomorrow.”
“Aye, madam. How long is Mr. Finn going to be with us?”
“Not long, I think.” She noted the flash of disappointment that passed over Clara’s face. “I do not believe ‘footman’ is his usual occupation, Clara. He will likely leave when the danger has passed.”
“Danger? What danger, madam?”
Georgiana stood and went to the library door. “Mr. Hunter seems to think Hathaway could come back to cause trouble. Finn is here to prevent that from happening.”
“He’s a bodyguard, madam?” Clara asked in wonder.
“Something of the sort.” She gave her maid a wry smile. After the discovery of Hathaway’s thorough search in the attic, she was suddenly very glad Finn was here.
* * *
Charles paged through the betting book at his club and sighed. Yes, there it was. Hunter—Huffington Nuptials. Odds were not favoring his surviving marriage to Georgiana Huffington, née Carson. The long odds were giving him a week. On the short end, someone had bet he wouldn’t arrive at the altar. Only three had taken odds for survival—Lord Lockwood, Andrew Hunter and James Hunter. His brothers. He hoped he’d make them rich.
But, of course, the engagement and pending marriage were a farce. No one would win. Well, maybe Georgiana if they found the killer.
“I vow, I do not know which odds to take,” Wycliffe spoke over his shoulder.
“The only right wager would be no wager.”
Wycliffe grinned. “I’m not so certain of that, Hunter. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And the way she watches you.”
Sir Harry Richardson joined them with a hearty smile. “You look to be in a good mood, considering the odds against you.”
Charles gave them both a quelling glance and headed for the parlor. They gathered three chairs in a conversational circle with a low table bearing a coffee service in the middle. He poured himself a cup and prayed it would be strong. He’d gotten very little sleep last night between listening for Hathaway’s return and thinking of Georgiana. The only new plan he’d been able to conceive was so shocking that he could scarcely believe he’d thought of it. And yet there was a certain logic to it. Nothing else would answer all their needs.
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