by Cheryl Bolen
There was a whimsical look on Dottie’s smiling face.
“Why in the devil are you smiling about me being in danger?” Sophia demanded.
“I ain’t smiling because yer in danger—which I won’t deny. I’m smiling because I get to spend the afternoon pretending to be a couple with 'andsome Mr. Thompson.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Give me your word that you’ll not slip and speak to Thompson.”
Dottie sighed. “Very well, milady.”
Sophia then summoned a servant and asked that servant to summon Mr. Birmingham’s valet. While she waited, she penned a letter to Devere.
My dear brother,
I am in grave danger and need you to come to me. I’ve sent Dottie to fetch you because your house is almost certainly being watched by servants of the vile Lord Finkel. Pray, do NOT acknowledge Dottie. It’s imperative that she’s thought to be my mute sister. Come to me at Grosvenor Square—but not in a vehicle with your crest. And make sure you’re not being followed.-Sophia
When Thompson arrived at the sitting room off Sophia’s bedchamber, she said, “I hope your master will not object if I ask your assistance this afternoon.” She eyed him in an attempt to determine if he could pass as gentry or possibly even nobility.
His austere clothing—a black cutaway coat over a white shirt paired with black trousers—was as immaculate and tasteful as his master's. But it needed brightening.
As she peered at him, she was reminded of Dottie's fierce attraction to the man. It was an attraction Sophia failed to understand. The valet was at least a decade older than his master and several inches taller. Master and servant were quite a contrast. Mr. Birmingham was just under six feet and burly with golden hair. Mr. Thompson was over six foot, lean, and possessed of straight black hair. She supposed his face was nice enough.
Thompson nodded. “Mr. Birmingham has charged me with looking after you sisters.”
“Since I’m not altogether well, I need to send my sister to carry out a commission for me, but you must know how difficult it is for her, given her . . . condition.”
“I would be honored to be of assistance to your sister.”
“I need you to escort her to Curzon Street. It’s not very far, but I worry about her.”
“I will protect her with my very life.”
* * *
Before William went to his brother’s on Threadneedle Street, he stopped at London’s finest coachmaker's and ordered a new coach. When Isadore’s health was restored, he might need to convey her about the city, and he did not want her taking another chill. He felt responsible for her present state of ill health. If only he'd not allowed the ladies to ride all those hours in the rain.
“My current coach has suffered casualties from a band of highwayman.” He ignored the coachmaker's exclamations and continued. “I wondered if you could loan me a coach until the new one's made. I'd be most happy to pay a fair price for its rental.”
“Certainly, Mr. Birmingham. Allow me to show you one of the used coaches I have for sale.”
William made his selection, they came to terms, and William continued on to The City. Later he would send a servant to bring home the tilbury he'd arrived in at the coachmaker's. As he rode into the City, he chastised himself. What made him think Isadore would still be with him when the new coach was finished? She could exchange the gold bullion with him tomorrow and pass out of his life forever.
He did not like to contemplate that.
When he reached Nick’s establishment, he jumped down from the box and tethered his horse. It was late enough in the day to expect Nick here rather than at the Exchange.
When William entered the inner chamber to Nick's office, his elder brother looked up from a ledger he'd been perusing. William was struck by the dissimilarity of the brothers' appearance. No one ever took them for brothers. As it happened, Will was the only one of the four siblings who was not possessed of dark hair and eyes, and he was the only one of the three brothers who was muscular. He sighed. He would have liked to have his brothers' height.
“How was our sister?” Nick asked.
William had almost forgotten that visiting their sister in the North had masked his clandestine purpose of traveling there. “Apparently, breeding suits her. She looked lovely, and Agar treats her as if she's made of eggshells. Doting is not a strong enough word.” William dropped into a chair by the fire.
“I cannot in my wildest dreams imagine our meek little sister ever living the role of lady of the manor. She's such a quiet little thing.”
“Agar is encouraging her to not be so excessively humble, and I'll say she actually looks as if she's always been Lady Agar. I believe the staff rather worship her for her kindliness and gentle ways.”
“I was happy that someone from her own family went to see her. It had to be difficult to be away from her family for the first time in her life.”
“Don't worry about Verity. She and Agar are uncommonly happy.” He eyed Nick. “Allow me to rephrase. Perhaps not uncommon—given that you and Lady Fiona are equally as nauseatingly in love.”
Nick chuckled. “I hope you experience something just as satisfying. You need to stop living out of a portmanteau and settle down with a nice wife. Agar and I highly recommend marriage.”
Will was powerless to keep his thoughts from drifting to Isadore. It had fleetingly crossed his mind that she was THE one. How could he even think of such a thing about a woman who could likely end up in prison? Or worse. “I believe I'll wait until I'm thirty.”
“If you live to be thirty. Is there nothing Adam or I can do to make you abandon your dangerous pursuits? Good God, man, it's not as if you need the money!”
“I'm not cut out to be a banker like Adam or a stockbroker like you. Spending every day at the same place – indoors, at that—would be worse than treading water in the middle of the ocean. I'd die.”
“I wish you'd come to the Exchange. I cannot convey how exhilarating it is to win and lose fortunes every day.”
“I probably will—after I marry. When others depend upon me I will no longer risk my neck. Then I'll likely risk other people's money—as you do.”
Nick laughed. “How was the other part of your journey?”
“I'm getting closer.”
Nick raised a brow. “Closer to bringing that vile piece of dung to justice?”
“That . . . or crushing him. I'll get him one way or the other. I keep learning of more innocent lives he's destroyed.”
“Yet he dances through Society as a peer beyond reproach.” Nick shook his head. “It was a bloody shame about Stoney.”
“Perhaps something good will come of his death—if I can expose Lord Finkel's deeds most foul.”
“And have you the bullion?”
“Not yet. But MacIver's go-between has made contact with me.”
“The mysterious Isadore?”
Will pictured her. Would that a Romney could capture her incredible beauty with those rich dark eyes set in a creamy face and crowned by sparkling brown locks enhanced with glints of red. He nodded, a smile curving his lips.
“Was she as pretty as MacIver said?”
“Prettier.”
“When does she give you the bullion?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are circumstances that have conspired to keep us from communicating about the bullion.”
Nick's dark eyes narrowed. “What the hell?”
“There's her mute sister, who I believe is in the dark about Isadore's illegal activities. And there's the armed men who tried to abduct her. Or . . .”
Nick held up a hand. “Armed men?”
“Thompson and I handily dispatched them. The only casualty was my coach.”
“You think they thought you had the bullion?”
“Not directly. Somehow they must have known Isadore has access to it because they wanted her.”
“Where in the devil is the bullion?”
<
br /> “I don't know. Isadore's supposed to connect me with it.”
“Why can't you just ask her?
“I've not been able to have a private moment with her.”
“Then for God's sake, go ahead and ask her in front of the sister. I don't suppose one could hope the sister's also deaf?”
“No, her hearing is normal.” William sighed. “I wouldn't feel right being the one to bring up the subject. Isadore's awfully protective of her sister. I shouldn't want to be the source of friction in their family.”
“How can you get back in communication with Isadore?”
“She's actually staying at Grosvenor Square with me.”
Nick gave him a sly smile. “Is she now? And I'll vow you've enjoyed that very much.”
“It's not what you think. She's a . . . lady.”
Nick burst out laughing. “Of course. A lady who smuggles gold bullion into the country. A lady who's acquainted with MacIver. You must be losing your touch, old fellow. I always thought you had a good eye for the ladies.”
“You can't possibly understand. She's not like you think. . .”
“Are you sure you and she . . . ?”
“The extent of our intimacy was that I read poetry to her.”
A hearty laugh broke from Nick, and soon he began to guffaw. When he was finally able to restore his decorum, he said, “I've got to meet your Isadore.”
“She's not my Isadore.”
“Listen to your older brother. Go home and demand that she tell you where in the bloody hell the bullion is.” Nick regarded his brother solemnly for a moment. “I was never in favor of you buying the bullion in such a manner, but once you started, Adam and I have lined up buyers. We can't let them down. I need to know when we can expect delivery.”
Nodding ruefully, Will got up and bid his brother farewell.
* * *
Sophia listened patiently as her brother climbed the stairs, but the moment his feet hit the landing, she ran from her chambers and threw herself into his arms. He patted her back in a rather patronizing manner before separating from her and regarding her with a serious expression. “What the bloody hell did you do to Finkel?”
She sighed. “Come, let's speak in private.”
“Who's place is this?”
“A wealthy man named William Birmingham.”
His brows lowered. “Nicholas Birmingham's brother?”
“Was that the one who married Lord Agar's sister?”
“Yes, and his sister wed Lord Agar.”
“That can't be my Mr. Birmingham.”
“There's another Birmingham brother who's a banker.”
She shook her head. “This man couldn't possibly be a banker, and I've seen the sinfully handsome Nicholas Birmingham. Believe me, William Birmingham cannot be related to him. Though he's handsome, he's not tall, and he's not dark like Nicholas Birmingham. Can you credit Nicholas Birmingham with a golden-haired brother?”
“Not really.” He scanned the opulent surroundings as they strode to her chambers. “What are you doing here with a man who's clearly not your husband?”
She closed the door and bade that he sit beside her on the settee near the fire. “I'm not sure. He thinks I'm a woman named Isadore.”
“You've lost me.”
“Tell me, have you heard from Lord Finkel?”
“I have, and he's livid. He says you abandoned him on your wedding night, but he insists on forgiving you—which I thought was rather generous of him.”
“There's nothing generous about him. I've come to believe he may actually be wicked.”
“Why did you marry him if you didn't love him? Don't even like him from the sound of it!”
“I had a good reason, though my decision was probably also tempered by the fact I was facing confirmed spinsterhood. I had turned down almost fifty suitors and had come to believe that I would never find a man I could love. No woman wants to be an old maid with no home and family of her own.” How she wished she had waited! She now believed there quite possibly was a man she could love. Even if he was most likely a dodgy character.
Her eyes solemn, she peered at her brother and continued. “Lord Finkel did something which compelled me to accept his offer. Like you, I was fooled by what I thought of as his generosity.”
“How did he compel you?”
She sighed. “I had planned to take Maryann's secret to the grave, but I can no longer do so. We—you and I—must stop Lord Finkel from having the power to destroy an innocent lady.”
“Maryann?”
A grave expression on her face, Sophia nodded. “During a stay at the Colgroves' Stonebridge Manor with her friend Lady Louisa, Maryann behaved in an inappropriate and foolish manner with the Colgroves' second-eldest son, whom she'd always been sweet on.”
“Dear God, she couldn't have . . .” His brows shot up.
Sophia nodded. “She was only fifteen. He was seventeen and scheduled to go fight in the Peninsula. They were both young, fancied themselves in love, and feared that they might never see each other again once he went off to war.”
“And Finkel knew of this . . . intimacy?”
“I don't know how he did. In fact, I didn't believe him. Until I confronted Maryann. She was horrified that anyone else could ever have found out—then she remembered that Lady Louisa had told her someone in Spain had stolen all her brother's letters from his tent. Maryann had written to Captain Landsdowne about her regrets.”
“Are you saying that in order to secure your hand in marriage, Finkel threatened to expose our sister—and ruin her chance to ever marry?”
“Yes. I think, too, he wanted more than my hand. Don't forget I had a sizeable dowry.”
Devere uttered a curse.
Her brother had never used such words in front of her before. Nor had he ever said bloody hell. Until today. She supposed discussion of Finkie merited foul language. He was proving to be a most foul man.
“I have now decided that since you're head of the family, you must decide how to approach Lord Finkel.”
“I'd bloody well want to murder him!”
“That is not an option.” She frowned. “Will he be entitled to my dowry?”
Devere cursed again. “I'll put my solicitor on it.” He shook his head. “I just keep remembering the case with poor Lady Wapping.”
“Me, too. Oh Devere, you must help me. I don't want to be like Lady Wapping.”
His hand cupped hers. “I'll speak to my solicitor.” He stood. “Come, I'll take you home.”
She shook her head. “I can't go there. I know Lord Finkel has to have servants watching Devere House.” Her voice cracked. “I believe they would forcibly remove me. They tried to abduct me yesterday, but Mr. Birmingham and his valet—whose not like any valet I've ever heard of—thwarted them.”
“How could Finkel's servants be authorized to abduct the lady of the manor?”
“I'm telling you they did. And they were armed. They did not treat me with even a modicum of respect. You'd have thought I was a common criminal the way they spoke and acted with me.”
Her brother cursed again. “That is in no way satisfactory.” He came back to the settee and squeezed her shoulder. “We've got to find a way to get you out of this. I'm also going to speak with Finkel, but I don't like leaving you here with this . . . this Birmingham fellow.”
“He's a gentleman. I have no fears for my safety or my virtue as long as I'm with him.”
“I must at least speak with him.”
“I can't have him know who I really am. I am only welcome because he believes I'm Isadore.”
“Who is Isadore?”
“I wish I knew.”
He strode to the door. “I'll return tomorrow.”
“You mustn't come when Mr. Birmingham is here. I'll send a note around when he leaves.” She thought for a moment. “If ever you wish to talk to me, look up at my window. If Mr. Birmingham is out, you will see a brace of candles right here.” She pointed to the ledge
beneath the tall window. “If he's at home, there will be no candelabra.”
* * *
“I thought you might be interested to know that Miss Isadore Door had a caller today,” Thompson said to William as he was tying his cravat for dinner.
William raised a quizzing brow. “A male caller?”
“Indeed.”
“Who was he?”
“I don't know, but I do know that he resides in a fine home on Curzon Street.”
“Now how would you know that?”
“Because Miss Isadore Door asked that her sister and I go there. Miss Dorothea Door carried a note to the gentleman who resides there.”
“Do you know what the note said?”
The valet shook his head.
“Where did Isadore meet with this gentleman?”
“In your mother's chambers. The sitting room there, I believe.”
“And the door was closed?”
“It was.”
“It must be the person she's entrusted with the bullion. It's rather odd that a man who lives on a fine street like Curzon would be mixed up with smuggling.”
“No odder than a gentleman who lives on Grosvenor Square. And like you, this man was a gentleman.” Thompson cleared his throat. “You may wish to know that Miss Isadore Door embraced the man.”
William felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut.
What was this so-called gentleman to Isadore? William didn't like to think of her being connected in any way with another man.
Thompson helped him on with his dinner jacket. William was tired of dancing around the issue of the bullion. The time had come to ask Isadore outright. He was going to the dinner table right now.
Chapter 6
By the time he reached the dinner room, his rising anger prevented him from cordially greeting Isadore. The tight control he exercised over his tongue did not extend to his eyes. They raked over the stunning woman in red velvet. Her dark lashes lifted as he neared the table, and a soft smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She was exquisite.
He quickly averted his gaze and addressed the sister. “Good evening, Miss Door.” Then he allowed his gaze to skim toward the lovely one. “You must be feeling better, Miss Door.”