by Kelly Boyce
“I have money,” he said, confirming Benedict’s suspicions. “But I might like a proper introduction.”
The man spoke in riddles. “To whom?”
“Not from you,” Hawksmoor said, turning back to where Marcus stood, arms folded across his chest. “From you.”
Wariness invaded Marcus’s expression, as was to be expected when one negotiated with a wolf such as Hawksmoor. “And who could I possibly introduce you to that you do not already know?”
“I understand you have a lady in your employ. A Miss Cosgrove?”
Marcus’s expression went from wary to cold. Benedict’s gaze bounced between the two men. The conversation had veered off the path and left him stranded on the roadside wondering what the hell had happened.
“Absolutely not.”
“You do not employ her?”
“I will not provide you with a proper introduction to her.”
“That’s rather definitive,” Hawksmoor said, taking a slow drink from his glass.
Marcus wasted no time in answering. “It is. Leave her be.”
“Should that not be the young lady’s decision?”
“Not while she is under my employ and my protection.”
The two men stared at each other, neither budging an inch. Benedict stepped forward. “I do not see what Miss Cosgrove has to do with the matter at hand, nor do I feel comfortable using an innocent to barter for what I need. If that is the only stipulation that will convince you to yield the information I require, then this conversation is at an end.”
As if to punctuate the point, a ruckus erupted beyond the doors to Hawksmoor’s office. He let out a harsh breath. “Son of a—! Do I not pay these people enough to do their jobs?” He brushed past Benedict and Marcus and threw open the door. “What is it?”
Benedict took a step forward in surprise. “Pengrin?”
A quite inebriated and somewhat disheveled Lord Pengrin pulled against the constraints of the two burly men that held him and lunged toward Hawksmoor. Hawksmoor, for his part, did not so much as flinch.
“I demand an audience!”
“It must be my lucky day,” Hawksmoor muttered.
Pengrin struggled to free himself, but Hawksmoor’s men refused to release him. This did little to curtail the haughtiness in the viscount’s next statement, however. “I understand you have cut me off at the tables.”
“Then I am certain you also are aware that you owe me a significant debt. Such debt you have made no provisions in which to pay. I do not run a charity, Lord Pengrin. You pay me what is due or there will be consequences, your inability to play at the tables is only the beginning.”
The threat hung heavy in the air.
“I will have the money soon,” Pengrin stated. “I have—” He stopped and looked past Hawksmoor to Benedict. Whatever he’d been about to say became lost in the space between them.
“Do not come back until you have settled your debt,” Hawksmoor said.
“You will regret this!”
“Doubtful,” Hawksmoor said and nodded toward one of his men. “Remove him from the premises and see he does not return unless his pockets are filled to bursting with the money he owes.”
Hawksmoor’s foot caught the corner of the door and slammed it shut in Pengrin’s face before turning to face Benedict. “Is there anything further I can assist you gentlemen with?”
Marcus glanced at Benedict, disappointment and resignation written across his sharp features. “Shall we go?”
Defeated, Benedict nodded. “I can see no other alternative.”
Whatever negotiation they had undertaken for information had come to an end. He had nothing to offer, and Hawksmoor, as he had said to Pengrin, was not running a charity.
When it came to uncovering his silent partner, Benedict was on his own.
Chapter Fourteen
“You seem more subdued than usual, my lord.”
Lord Glenmor glanced up and smiled, and though the expression never truly reached his eyes, they remained warmly fixed on her and brought on the familiar tingling in her toes that quickly traveled up her legs to pool uncomfortably between them. Judith had been most happy to see him arrive at the musicale and though she had warned herself to avoid him, she could not. He pulled her like a moth dancing about his flame.
“Do I often seem subdued?”
She returned his smile. “You are often much more understated than some of the other gentlemen.”
“I’m not sure if that is a good or bad thing.”
She shrugged and came to stand beside him as they stood on the fringes of the crowd invited to the Staythams’ musicale. The performances had left much to be desired, but such was often the case when one imbued one’s family members with more skill than they actually possessed. Judith grew weary of the constant little celebrations and events that went on about town this time of year. One would think with the House of Lords being out of session and the Season not yet begun, London would be quiet and dull, but those who had not settled in their country estates seemed determine to keep the party going year long.
“It is a good thing,” she answered. “Some gentlemen feel the need to strut about brandishing their accomplishments and such like a peacock on full display, but I find such things rather tedious after a while, don’t you?”
“You’re not overly fond of peacocks?”
“Not anymore, no.”
“Ah. Then I suppose I am just the man for you.” He winced. “That is to say—what I meant is that—”
She laughed. “I know what you meant. No need to tumble over your words.”
He joined her laughter and Judith relished the sensation of being insulated within it, just the two of them. But all too soon, the moment passed and they returned their attention to the crowd milling about in front of them.
“I see Lord Pengrin continues his pursuit of Lady Henrietta.”
The joy of the previous moment extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. “Yes, I am afraid he does.”
“You do not approve?”
“I find his motives questionable and his character even more so.” She left it at that. Any further drew perilously close to revealing her own truth. What hope did she have of enlisting Lord Glenmor’s assistance in getting Hen to see Lord Pengrin’s true nature if she revealed her own as less than respectable?
“You speak quite plainly, Miss Sutherland. Have you always done so?”
She glanced down at the floor where her toes pointed out from the deep lilac gown she wore. Another of Lady Henrietta’s cast-offs altered to fit her, to make her more presentable to society and less like a dowdy school marm as Hen had maligned the effect of the rest of her dresses. Judith could not claim to be fully comfortable in such garb, but the thrill at the appreciative gaze Lord Glenmor had given her was worth any discomfort. Perhaps she had a little peacock in her as well.
She nodded and smiled. “I have never held the opinion that a woman’s thoughts should be kept to herself. I have a mind and it seems a waste not to use it.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I find I have learned much from listening to women’s opinions.” He smiled again, and again the sensation of warmth swam through her.
How was it he could warm her from the inside out with nothing more than a curving of the lips? Lips she longed to feel upon her own. Lips that had touched hers every night in her dreams since that moment at the theatre. But no, those dreams had started well before that, hadn’t they? They had begun in the carriage on the ride to London when the carriage axle cracked and tossed her into his arms. She had believed he disliked her back then, but somewhere along the way, had realized such was not the case. He had simply hidden his emotions.
Something she had vast experience in.
“You are staring, Miss Sutherland.”
Heat seared her cheeks and she looked away, horrified at having lost herself, caught up in daydreams she had no business entertaining. “Forgive me!” The words squeezed out in a rush before humilia
tion strangled her.
Lord Glenmor held his hands behind his back and stared out at the other guests, his tone no more serious than if they were discussing the weather. She saw all this from the corner of her eye, for there was nothing that could make her meet his gaze now.
“No need to apologize. I find I am often fascinated by people’s mouths.”
She winced. Oh dear Lord above. Please make it stop. “Truly?”
What else could she say? Perhaps nothing, but it was such an odd statement and standing there silent, dying of humiliation at being caught out doing exactly what he claimed he enjoyed doing himself was more than she could bear.
“Truly. In fact I find myself staring at yours on a regular basis.”
Her erratic heart pounded fiercely, bruising her ribs from the inside out. What did he mean? What did any of this mean? They had been having a lovely conversation and somehow it had veered off and placed her on unsteady ground.
“Lord Glenmor—”
“No, no. Don’t respond. I just thought I would mention it, as it seems to be something we share. It is good to have common interests, don’t you think? If we are being truthful,” he continued, and in her fascination at his admission and the casual way in which he spoke, she forgot herself and lifted her gaze to meet his once again. “I find myself thinking of your lovely mouth quite often.”
“You do?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Yes. Too often to be proper, I’m afraid.”
“How often is too often?” Perhaps such things were commonplace and she had simply been unaware. And perhaps if such feelings were commonplace, then she could convince herself they meant nothing and go about her life.
“Every minute of every day.”
Oh dear.
“I cannot seem to help myself. You are in possession of a rather enticing pair of lips, Miss Sutherland. Ripe and pleasing with the most wonderful words always tripping off them. And when you smile, it is as if I have been lost in a fog and suddenly see a brilliant ray of light beckoning me out of the gloom.” The expression on his face turned painful and his brow furrowed. “And now I’ve gone and scandalized you, making it so you will never wish to speak to me again, haven’t I?”
“Was that your hope?”
He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “No, I’m afraid my dearest hope was to someday kiss those lips.”
Now she truly was scandalized. It was positively wonderful.
“I see.” Except that she didn’t, not really. For how could a man like Lord Glenmor think of her in such a way? Ordinary, unremarkable her.
“Now who is guilty of speaking plainly? I owe you an apology. I do not know why I admitted all of this to you, except that the words sit on the tip of my tongue and whenever I am near you, I struggle to keep them from leaping off. Tonight, it appears, I have lost that struggle. Can you forgive me? Or should I remove myself from your company with all due haste?”
“No, don’t go,” she whispered. Oh please, don’t go. If she was a light in the fog to him, he was the sunlight that warmed her heart. Without his presence in London, surely she would have withered and died. Knowing he was near, that she had someone she could speak to, go to for assistance, had made her life here more tolerable. “I could not bear your leaving.”
He glanced at her briefly then looked away and nodded. “Then I shall stay.”
What had possessed him? Had he lost his mind? No. Not his mind. His mind was perfectly intact, if somewhat crowded with thoughts of Miss Sutherland that overlapped everything else. She would be thoroughly scandalized if she knew it was not just her beautiful mouth that occupied his mind, but every other inch of her body as well. No, it was something else he’d lost, more than his mind. His heart.
She had stolen it. Quietly and completely. And as much as he suspected it was in good hands, it was not in the hands of the woman it needed to be. He had meant to hold the fragile organ safe and give it to the woman he married, in the vain hope that he could turn a monetary exchange of vows into one that would grow into love, or at the very least, warm regard.
But his plans had faltered. Not intentionally. He had tried to prevent it. Tried to push her from his mind, but it appeared when he did so, his feelings for her had migrated downward and settled in his heart. Some went even farther along then that and settled in his groin, but that was neither here nor there. One torment at a time, thank you.
Perhaps he could have stayed on course if he hadn’t caught her staring at his mouth with the same hunger he experienced whenever he stared at hers. Did she feel the same all-consuming need as he? Did she wish to throw caution and duty and every last speck of propriety to the wind and lose herself in his arms? To kiss him until every inch of her skin was aflame with desire and want?
Oh, bloody hell. He shifted in his seat.
This was not good. This was as far from good as he could get. In fact, it wasn’t even on the same continent as good.
It was almost a relief when the guests began their departures from the Staythams’ home. He had not taken the carriage. He spent too much time already in stagnant activity and any excuse to stretch his legs and move was more than welcomed. It would take all of five minutes to walk from the Staythams’ to his own home if he kept up a brisk pace. If anything, he embraced the cold night air with enthusiasm, in the hopes it would cool his ardor over Miss Sutherland. Though likely nothing short of an ice bath in the Thames would cure him of that.
He shook his head. What a fool he had been to speak with such open honesty to her. What if she believed there was a chance for something to develop? What a lark. As if something hadn’t already bloomed between them.
But it could not go beyond words. Despite his claim, or his feelings, he must make it clear to Miss Sutherland that she could hold no hope in that regard. If she held such a hope. He could not be certain. His brow furrowed. Should he ask her? It would be nice to know he was not alone in this madness. To hear her say the words. To feel them wrap around his heart and—
He closed his eyes pushed the image away. No. No, absolutely not. It would not be fair. Would it?
The sound of a horse’s hooves striking the road dragged him abruptly from his thoughts of Miss Sutherland. He looked up only to discover he was on the verge of being trampled. A large, black beast bore down on him. Its rider, dark as midnight, sat hunched over its neck and made no move to veer the steed from its course. The image imprinted in his mind as his brain screamed for him to move. He sprang backward, but the horse’s muscled chest knocked against him with brute force, throwing him back. In the distance, someone screamed as he landed hard against the cobblestones and the air rushed from his lungs.
How much time passed as he lay there, flat on his back staring up at the star-filled sky? He could not say. Cold seeped through his coat and into his flesh and bones as his mind replayed the event over and over again.
He had come within seconds of being trampled to death.
A death, he was certain, that had been the rider’s ultimate goal.
Chapter Fifteen
“Lord Glenmor!” Judith fell to her knees next to the earl’s still figure. Their carriage had barely stopped when she’d opened the door and vaulted out of it, catching her balance on the slick cobblestones. She ran to him, heedless of how she may appear or who saw her, and grabbed his hand, afraid to touch him anywhere else. “Are you hurt?”
His eyes were open and staring up at the night sky. For a flicker of a moment she feared the worst, but then he blinked once, then twice and relief rushed through her.
“No, I do not believe so.”
The words rasped out and he sucked in air like a man submerged too long underwater. Lady Dalridge and their driver arrived then, cutting off any further inquiry. “Lord Glenmor, are you quite all right? Can you stand?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze traveled down to his boots and Judith’s followed with it. He tapped his toes together then apart. Lifted one leg slightly, then the other.
“I appear to be in working order.” He motioned to their driver. “Perhaps you could give me a hand up?”
By then, others who had left the party approached and Judith could hear the whispers. Lady Dalridge turned and addressed them, putting an end to any erroneous supposition with her commanding tone. “A runaway horse. Frightful thing. His Lordship is fine, are you not, Lord Glenmor?”
Judith refused to release his hand as the driver assisted him up on one side and she the other. She leaned in. “Are you really?”
“Somewhat rattled, but otherwise in shipshape,” he said before turning to address the onlookers who would likely be telling tales about the event for the next few days, until something else occurred to tickle their fancy. “Lady Dalridge has the right of it. Fine as a fiddle, I am.”
“Did you see who was riding?” Someone called out.
“I’m afraid the only thing I had time to see was the broadside of a horse. But no matter. No harm done.”
But there was something in his tone that caught Judith, something that lingered just behind the confident words. He was rattled, though if not from the impact, then what? Had he seen what she had? From the window of their carriage, she had witnessed the horse barreling down upon him. The animal had swept past them in a blur and headed toward the walkway, straight for the earl. Her breath caught when Lord Glenmor stepped off to cross the road and the horse corrected its course as if the rider had intended all along to hit him.
She’d screamed then, called out in horror. Thankfully, the earl’s quick reflexes had saved him from being trampled.
“You shall come to Harrow House with us, Lord Glenmor, and we shall call for the doctor to ensure you are as well as you say you are,” Lady Dalridge stated, motioning for the driver to assist the earl to their carriage.
“I promise that is not necessary.”