Brand rubbed his jaw where it ached. She was right. As much as he would like to lock her away, if she didn’t cooperate…He sighed. “Will you at least promise to stay out of harm’s way?”
“No.” Verena paced away, then returned, her steps pulling Brand’s gaze. She was innately graceful, her stride smooth. Brand decided he had never before met a woman so worth watching.
She tapped a finger on her chin. “What we need is a plan. Something to—” She stopped so suddenly, her skirts swung forward, outlining her hips before setting back about her feet.
James straightened. “What?”
Verena tilted her head to one side. “What if…” Her lips parted, her gaze softening as if she saw something in the distance.
Brand frowned. “Wha—”
“Sh!” James said, waving a hand in his direction. “Let her think.”
Verena pressed her hand to her forehead. “What if we—” She turned and began to pace.
In that instant, she reminded Brand of his own mother. She’d always paced when upset. Strange how he hadn’t thought of that until now.
He wondered what Mother would have thought of Verena. He touched the talisman ring where it hung from his pocket and was a little surprised to find it warm beneath his fingers.
“What if,” Verena said, “what if we pretend we’ve found the list?”
James frowned. “What good would that do?”
Brandon’s mind raced. “Wait, James. She makes sense. If we can convince this villain that we’ve found the list, then all we have to do is sit back and wait. He’ll be forced to act, especially…” His gaze met Verena’s.
She nodded. “Especially if he believes we might turn it over to the Home Office.”
“Check,” Brandon said.
“No,” Verena said, a gleam in her violet eyes. “Checkmate.”
“I see!” James exclaimed. “That’s brilliant.”
She rewarded her brother with a wry look. “Don’t act so surprised.”
He chuckled. “Sorry.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult. We know the size of the list. Besides, the villain thinks we already have it—he expects us to have it.”
Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “We can make something fairly close in size—no one will need to see it except from a distance. All we have to do is wave it around a bit.”
James rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We’ll demand to exchange it for the letters—at our preferred location. That way we can control the situation, gain back those blasted letters and discover who is after that list in the first place.”
It was a daring plan. But a good one, providing Verena stayed far away from the exchange. Brand began to feel a little more hopeful.
James paced rapidly in front of the fireplace. “We’ll need a coach and some fast horses. I brought my best pistols, but Ver, you’ll need two for the carriage.”
“Of course,” she said coolly as if being told she’d need to arm herself was something she heard every day.
“Hold on a minute,” Brand said. “It’s one thing for James and I to draw out the villain, and an entirely different issue for you to involve yourself in a face-to-face meeting.”
Verena frowned. “I don’t see that.”
“You should. This person has killed before and will kill again. I won’t allow you to take such a chance.”
Verena blinked as if amazed. She turned wide eyes his way, and Brandon could almost hear what she was thinking. Surely he hadn’t forbidden her to do something. Forbidden her as if he had some sort of say in her life.
Well he did have a say in her life, damn it. “Verena, I cannot allow it.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
“Like hell. James, you tell her.”
James held up his hands. “I’m not saying a word. I’ve seen her temper far too often to offer my opinion.”
Bloody hell. Brandon sliced a glance at Verena where she stood in rigid disbelief. “It’s dangerous.”
“It’s been dangerous since Humford was given that damnable list and I, believing him to be nothing but a genial old man who told amusing stories and liked to pretend he was a government saboteur, invited him to my house for dinner.”
Brand’s jaw tightened. Damn it, how could he make her see reason? He eyed James with a gloomy stare. “I take it you aren’t going to help. You’d just let your sister walk into danger without saying a thing.”
James shrugged. “She’s spent her entire life ignoring my advice. She’s not going to start listening to me now.”
“Exactly,” Verena said with a triumphant lift of her chin. “If my involvement bothers you, St. John, then feel free to leave. James and I can carry on quite well without you.”
Brandon was trapped. If he didn’t join in and help, Verena would be left to her own devices, doing God knew what, and without assistance. “Very well,” he said heavily. “I suppose we should start now.”
“What do we do?” James asked.
“Act as if we just found that bloody list.”
Verena nodded. “Since we don’t know the culprit, we have to convince everyone we meet that it’s real. The servants, our relatives, passersby.”
It seemed simple enough, Brandon decided. “What about the Home Office? Do we tell them the truth?”
“No,” Verena said. “Tell them that you believe I have the list, but will not tell you where.”
“I don’t like deceiving them.”
Verena locked gazes with him, her brows lowered. “Who killed Humford?”
Brandon shrugged. “We don’t know.”
“Exactly. But who did know that Humford had that list in his possession?”
The Home Office. Brandon rubbed his forehead. Good God, the web became more tangled each day.
James cursed. “I hadn’t thought of that. We have to proceed exactly as Verena says. We have to look excited, walk with purpose, act as if we really had that scrap of paper in our pocket.”
“We’ll need a hiding place, too,” Verena said, looking at her desk. “Perhaps I shall keep it hidden in there.”
Brandon frowned. “Why do you need a hiding place for a piece of paper that doesn’t exist? We’ll just pretend we’ve got a hiding place.”
Verena barely gifted him with a glance. “If we veer from the course even a little, they will realize we are shamming.”
And someone could get killed. They were playing with fire and they all knew it. Brand caught her gaze and held it, a shivery hot hum of attraction sparking between them. He thought of her in bed, her creamy skin flushed with passion, her eyes half closed as she breathed his name in her release. His body tightened instantly.
Damn it, what was wrong with him?
Think of something else. An image came to his mind of Humford. Of a slit throat and the drip of blood on the cobblestones. Right outside this very house. Near Verena. Brandon had to curl his hands about the arms of his chair to remain seated. “Verena, don’t—”
“Brandon.” She didn’t move toward him. She didn’t raise her voice, or gesture threateningly. But he heard the warning nonetheless.
“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t assist this plot if you are going to put yourself in danger.”
Her eyes flashed, but before she could speak, James cleared his throat. “Pardon me, you two. You both seem to have forgotten one thing: there are only three of us involved. It will take all three of us working together if we’re to expose whoever killed Humford.”
Brand tore his gaze from Verena. “Exactly my point. If you want my help, you will promise to keep your sister away from harm. I will drive the coach and you can be inside. There’s no need for her to even go with us.”
James hesitated, clearly divided between his masculine inclinations and his knowledge of his sister. After a long moment, he looked at Verena with an apologetic smile. “Ver, he makes good sense. You would just be a distraction.”
“Oh!” Verena plopped her fists on her hips. “I can�
�t decide which of you vex me the most. I am perfectly capable of helping and you know it. I’m a dead-on shot and I know how to handle the horses, too!”
“I know, but I’ll be worried about you and—”
“Father would let me go. He would never suggest that I be left behind.”
James stiffened at that. “Yes, well, I’m not Father.”
Brandon cleared his throat. “Verena, we only want to protect you.”
Her eyes flashed contempt. “I don’t need protecting. I will go on this venture, either with you or without you.”
Brandon sighed. “We’ll discuss it later. In the meantime, we all have things to do.”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her jaw tight.
James cleared his throat, his gaze moving between Verena and Brandon. “Ah, pardon me for intruding, but…should we continue looking for that bloody list?”
Verena shrugged. “Why bother?”
“Because once our little contretemps is over, the Home Office will expect to get that list. I don’t believe they’ll accept that we were merely pretending to have it.”
She bit her lip. “You’re right. We’ll deal with that later. Although, it might not be a problem once—” Verena hesitated, glancing at James.
Something passed between them. Brandon sat up in his chair, frowning. What was behind that calm, almost sad look?
Whatever it was, after a moment, Verena continued smoothly, “Once we have captured the villain.”
James rubbed his hands together. “You know, Ver, I think this will work very well indeed.”
Brandon rose from his chair. He’d question Verena about it later. Right now, he had things to do. “We’re agreed then. We proceed from here on out as if we have the list.”
Verena nodded. “How long will it take the villain to make his move?”
James frowned. “I’d give him two or three days. He will be cautious now. He can’t afford to take any chances.”
“I hope to God you are right,” Brandon said. There was more to be said, but now was not the time. He gave James one last nod, sent a hot, telling look to Verena, then turned on his heel and left.
Once in the foyer, he paused. Damn it, he didn’t like this plan one bit.
But what could he do but support it? If he didn’t, Verena and James would go on without him, and he’d be damned if he’d leave Verena alone to face this mess.
“’Ere now,” Herberts said brightly, coming down the hallway, Brandon’s coat over his arm. “Is ye leavin’ already? Oiye was jus’ brushin’ yer coat, oiye was.”
Brandon took his coat from Herberts and pulled it on.
The butler scurried to open the door, standing to one side, his hand held out.
Brand stepped out the door, then stopped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, then turned and tossed it to the butler.
Herberts instinctively caught it, his eyes widening appreciatively. “A monkey! What’d ye give me that fer?”
“To keep an eye on your mistress. A very close, accurate eye.”
“Ye wants me t’ put me eyes against the peephole? Oiye suppose oiye can, o’ course, though there’d not be much to see since Mr. Lansdowne is Lady Westforth’s brother and all they’ll be doin’ is talkin’ ’bout the weather or som—”
“For the love of—” Brand didn’t know whether to laugh or black the man’s eye. “I don’t want you spying on her, you lummox. I want you to keep an eye out for anything…unusual. If you find anything amiss, send word to me at once.” He pulled out one of his cards and handed it to the butler. “Do you understand?”
Herberts took the card, squinting at it with one eye. “Oiye suppose it wouldn’t hurt to keep me blinkers peeled, seein’ how ’tis me dooty anyway.” His smile suddenly sank. “Wait a moment, guv’nor! Do ye think something moight happen? Something bad?”
Brandon nodded. And no one would dare harm a hair on Verena’s head. She might be prickly as hell and an adventuress to boot, but she was his whether she knew it or not. And the St. Johns always took care of their own, even when that someone was a beautiful, highly accomplished member of the Lansdowne family.
Brandon frowned. He was beginning to think it was imperative that he meet Verena’s family. All of them, if possible. He wondered if he should look for them at Tyburn, or if they were abroad at this time of year, residing in the Bastille. “Your mistress is a very unusual woman.”
“’Deed she is.” The butler touched a finger to the side of his nose and winked. “Haf no fear, oiye’ll watch her day in and day out, oiye will. Like a hawk.”
That was all Brand needed. He gave a brief wave and was soon climbing into his phaeton.
Silence filled the sitting room. Verena found that she couldn’t look at the door without her eyes watering and her throat tightening in a painful knot.
James took the chair Brandon had recently left. After a moment, he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Verena nodded mutely. They had no choice. Once they recovered James’s letters, they would leave London. They would have to. She placed a hand on the embroidered cover of the settee and looked about her. This was her home. The only one she’d really ever had. “I suppose you are going back to Italy?”
He nodded. “Long enough to finish my investments. You will come with me.”
She didn’t really care where she went. “I suppose we should write Father and tell him—” Her voice broke and she pressed her lips together in a vain effort to stop the tears.
James leaned forward and took her hand in his. “I wish there was some other way.”
So did she. God, so did she. She disengaged her hand and wiped her eyes. “What else can we do? The Home Office knows I’m a Lansdowne and will soon realize you are here as well, if they don’t already. And we don’t have the missing list, though they would never believe us.”
“Especially once we pretend we do have it. St. John is right,” James said with a heavy sigh. “Someone will pay for that blasted list and it will be one of us.”
“Brandon thinks he can protect us.”
“To protect you.” James’s frown deepened. “Ver, what’s St. John to you?”
What was he? He was kind and concerned, his gruffness hiding a soul as large as any she’d ever seen. She found him irresistible and impossibly stubborn.
And she wasn’t sure but that she could be beginning to care about him. Far, far more than was safe.
For a short period of time, she’d allowed herself to forget who she was. Who he was. She’d not make that mistake again.
She disengaged her hand from James’s and gave her brother a smile, forced as it was. “Brandon St. John is nothing to me. A friend, perhaps. But that is all.”
And that’s the way she’d keep it. There was no future for a man like him in her life. None at all.
Verena pushed away the unwelcome thoughts. She couldn’t think about that now or she’d be reduced to a quavering mass of tears and recriminations. She had to focus her efforts on helping James. James and no one else.
“Come,” Verena said, rubbing her hands together with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “There’s work to be done.”
Chapter 20
It is quite strange how one little incident can stick in your mind, no matter what you do. Take me, for instance. I’ve never forgotten the day I lost 50 pounds on a horse named Unlucky. Mainly because my wife reminds me of it at least three times a week.
The Duke of Wexford to the Earl of Greyley, while waiting for their wives outside of a modiste’s on Bond Street
Hours after Brandon left the Westforth residence, he found himself still mulling over their plan. He hated it, even though he could think of no alternative. They had to draw the blackmailer out. And quickly, before someone else got hurt.
But he’d be damned if he left Verena alone in that blasted house with no one but a half-cocked butler and a freckled footman to act as guards. Brandon St. John was about to become a guest at Westforth H
ouse.
He returned home to find Poole waiting anxiously. The butler peered closely at him. “Sir, how are you feeling? Your voice—”
“Has returned.” Brandon lifted his nose. Cinnamon and lemon and all sorts of delightful scents drifted from the front room. “Hmm.”
Poole helped Brandon remove his coat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I knew you wouldn’t have a mustard plaster. So instead I made a nice batch of rum punch. A hot rum punch can do wonders for a putrid throat.”
Brand hoped it would help with a soured disposition, as well. “I shall have two glasses, then.” In truth, his throat was still a bit strained. The exertions of his conversation with Verena and that young hothead she had for a brother had left him more hoarse than before.
“Mr. Chase and Mr. Devon St. John called while you were out,” Poole said, smoothing Brand’s coat over his arm. “They asked that you meet them for a late dinner at White’s at half past ten. Shall I—Heavens! What happened?”
Brand turned to catch the butler’s astounded gaze fixed on his coat. “What?”
“Your buttons, sir! They are gone.”
Brand grabbed his coat. Amulti-caped overcoat of fine Shetland wool, it was an expensive trifle. At one time, the garment had been made all the more attractive by a double row of large, expensively set brass buttons. Not a one was in evidence now. “That blasted thief! I’ll strangle Herberts the next time I see him.”
“Sir?”
“The Westforths’ butler, Herberts. He tends to fancy shiny objects.”
Poole’s eyes seemed in eminent danger of popping from his head. “Sh-shiny objects? Like a black bird, sir?”
“Only larger. And infinitely more cunning.”
“A butler who steals!” Poole seemed to be having trouble swallowing. “Surely you jest.”
“I wish I was.” He tossed his coat back to Poole. “There’s nothing for it now. Hang it up and I’ll retrieve the buttons later.”
Confessions of a Scoundrel Page 23