by Cheryl Bolen
She returned a moment later, frowning. “Mr. Thompson says he did give the letter to Mr. Birmingham and that Mr. Birmingham read it. He said his master sat there for a long while afterward, looking gloomy. Then when Mr. Thompson helped him into his evening clothes, Mr. Birmingham was much quieter than normal, and Mr. Thompson said he was very irritable.
Sophia's humiliation was complete. There was no hope. No hope she could dissolve her marriage. No hope she could ever again know William's love. No hope for happiness the rest of her life. A raw void centered in her heart. If she lived to be a hundred, that aching void would never be filled. For only one man could ever fill it. At seven and twenty, her life was over. A bride jilted at the altar could not feel more despair than Sophia felt at that moment.
Eyeing Dottie, she sighed. “Since my romance has withered so utterly hopelessly, I do hope, dear Dot, that you've got good news to report on your own.”
“I've been waiting all afternoon for you to ask.” Dottie's buoyant smile stretched all the way across her face. “We sat together, and he 'eld me hand. No fellow's 'eld me hand since I was twelve. Course he can't talk to me because I can't answer—or leastways, he thinks I can't answer.”
Dottie's happiness took a bit of the sting away from Sophia's own moroseness. “It sounds like you're having a proper courtship.”
“But if I were really and truly proper I wouldn't be alone in a coach with a man with no chaperone.”
“I believe those rules of propriety apply to maidens significantly younger than you. By the time a woman's reached thirty, she should be able to serve as her own chaperone.”
Dottie's eyes widened. “I was forty on me last birthday.”
“I know that very well.”
“That's right. You got me this pretty little gold ring.” She looked from the delicate ring up at Sophia, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. “I never in me whole life had something so beautiful.”
Sophia was touched. “It certainly looks as if the last half of your life is shaping up to be the best. You are fortunate that your affection is returned by the only man who's ever really held it.”
“Aye, milady.”
Sophia would take her consolation in Dottie's joy. She stood. “Since Mr. Birmingham's gone out, I will avail myself of his library.” She had to copy the list of Finkie's wicked schemes.
If she couldn't have William she would at least help him crush the awful man she'd had the misfortune to wed.
* * *
The following morning she watched solemnly as William left the house just before noon. Because the rain had finally stopped, he wore riding clothes and left on his horse.
She set the candelabra on her windowsill.
Not five minutes later, her brother came. Had Devere been watching the house? He would not have come so early if he bore bad news. She raced down the stairs to greet him.
“Mr. Beresford,” she said for the benefit of the butler, “how very good of you to come! Why do we not go into the library today?” She did not want William to hear of her entertaining gentlemen in her bedchamber. Even if he never spoke to her again, she could not bear it were he to think her a woman of depraved morals.
They strolled along the entry hall to the library. She closed the door snugly behind them and faced him with a broad smile upon her face. “You've come with good tidings!”
He gave her a coy look. “Since I was a lad, you've always been able to read me like you used to devour those Minerva novels.”
She happily nodded. “Please say Rutherford has found a way out of my . . . “ She could not say marriage. “My misalliance with Lord Finkel.”
He shook his head solemnly. “Sorry, Soph, that's not my good news.”
She had been thinking with her heart and not her head. The possibility of ever dissolving her disastrous marriage to Lord Finkel was close to nonexistent. Her face collapsed.
“Rutherford's less optimistic with each passing day.”
That's exactly what her mind had been telling her. She nodded gravely. “Then you got the money?” There was no way he could possibly be carrying eighty thousand pounds on him.
“I did, but I mean to protect my investment. I've hired a pair of Bow Street runners to deliver it. The money has been put into a fairly large sized valise which I daresay your Isadore will not be able to lift. It's beastly heavy. One of the runners will stay on at Grosvenor Square to protect you and the money until you give it to the real Isadore.”
“You've thought of everything.” She had to own she had been worried about the burden of being responsible for the money until the transfer.
If Isadore had done anything like this before, she would know to bring her own guards. Now Sophia would no longer be looking for a lone woman.
“While we're in this room I want you to see Mr. Birmingham's ledger. I've copied it for you, too.” They went to the large writing table. Morning light streamed onto it from the tall, velvet-draped window a few feet behind it. She opened the ledger, and the two of them peered at the notes.
“Good God! I remember that scandal about Lady Sandington!” Devere said. “Her husband banished her to Scotland after Smith's newspaper ran that story. I suppose when she could no longer meet Finkel's demands, he exposed her. And that kind of exposure is just the kind of thing Finkel needed to ensure his other victims would keep on paying him.”
“It's shameful.”
“I wonder why your Mr. Birmingham is so interested in Lord Finkel? This investigation was obviously done before you two were acquainted.”
She shrugged. “If you'll look at the last two entries. The first, Lord Livingston. If I recall correctly, his seat is in Yorkshire?”
“It is.”
“Then the final entry is merely a woman's name and a church name in Yorkshire. The night I met Mr. Birmingham, he was traveling from Yorkshire. He said he'd been visiting his sister, but I believe he went there to further his inquiries about Lord Finkel.”
Devere's brows lowered. “What can be Birmingham's interest?”
“The vile Lord Finkel must have destroyed someone Mr. Birmingham loves. It's hard for you to conceive, but in this short time in which Mr. Birmingham and I have been acquainted, I have come to know his character. He is a true gentleman. Not only that, he's the sort of man who will always put himself out for another's benefit. He jeopardized his own life to keep me from Finkie's armed men. When they found me the morning after . . . the wedding.”
“Then I am indebted to him. I shall have to meet this paragon. Even if he engages in criminal activity.”
“I can't allow you to meet him. Not now anyway.”
There was a knock upon the library door, and Fenton stepped in. “Mr. Beresford? Some men here to see you.”
Devere and Sophia went to the door, and her glance dropped from the two sturdily-built men in red vests to the paisley valise that was sitting at the top doorstep.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Devere said, bending down to lift the valise. “I'll carry this upstairs for my s- - - friend, Miss Door.”
As the brother and sister climbed the stairs, Devere spoke under his breath. “I warned the runners not to refer to me as Lord Devere.” The higher they climbed, the shorter his breath became. “This is devilishly heavy,” he said, panting. “Did you get a look at the chaps?”
“I don't know. I suppose I did.”
When they reached her room, he said, “One of them will always be lurking around the center of Grosvenor Square. If you ever need help, you must seek one of the runners.”
“I'm very grateful to you.”
* * *
He'd been avoiding his house night and day all because of that blasted Isadore. It really wasn't right. The sooner they exchanged the bullion, the better. As long as the woman slept beneath his roof, he couldn't be free of the torturing pain of knowing she was just steps away, knowing that even if she were wed to another, she loved him. That she was in love with him increased his pain tenfold. How difficult it had been n
ot to rush to her once he'd read her wrenching letter.
Nothing could ever alter the fact she was married to a noble man. Evers did not deserve to be a cuckold.
With firm resolve, William returned to his house that afternoon. Certain matters of business must be attended to in his library. If he saw Isadore, he would not speak. Surely by now she had discovered he was inflexible about his resolve not to renew their . . . affair was too sordid a word for what had occurred between Isadore and him that night.
Lovemaking. His mouth went dry. Melancholy seeped into every pore in his body.
As much as he still longed for her, he would ignore her persistent tug at his heart. He would ignore his own throbbing need. By omission, he would take the first steps to healing.
When he finally entered his home that afternoon, he strode straight to the library. As soon as he entered the chamber, he smelled roses. Her scent. His heartbeat accelerated. Then she stood. She'd been seated on the sofa near the fire, a book in her lap. Her huge dark eyes were incredibly solemn. “Hello, William.”
He hadn't wanted to see her. But now he drank his fill of her loveliness. Today she wore a pure white day dress and looked as if she'd fallen from the heavens. The white brought out the white in her eyes and matched her perfect teeth. It was stunning with her deep brown hair and dark eyes.
As unconsciously as breathing, his gaze swept over her. From the spiral of her curls to her bare, milky shoulders to the smoothly rounded tops of her breasts, he looked. She was perfection.
He could not deny he was mad with love of her. And, God, but he wanted her!
Like a sheet of foolscap thrown on fire, his resolve was destroyed. “Good day, madam.” He tried to sound stiff as he strolled to his writing table.
She remained standing. “May I ask you a question? It does not pertain to me, and I give you my word your response will be held in the strictest of confidence.”
“Very well. One question and one question only, then I must ask you to leave my library.”
A hurt look swept across her face.
He was not unaffected. It had pained him to hear his own words.
“I'm sorry there have been lies between us,” she said. “I seem to make a habit of doing things the wrong way. I confess that whilst in this chamber sitting where you're sitting right now, I opened your ledger.”
His anger flared and he swore beneath his breath. “You had no right!” Information in that ledger could destroy people's lives. He should have guarded it better. He recalled that she had just used the words held in the strictest confidence. In spite of her catalogue of wrong-doing, he believed that she would not use the information in that ledger for nefarious purposes.
She nodded ruefully. “I know. You see, I'm a hopeless rule breaker.” She took a couple of steps closer. “I should like to know why you want to destroy the vile Lord Finkel.”
It was several moments before he could answer. Her question had taken him by complete surprise. The fact she'd used the word vile indicated she must know something of the man's evildoings. “I will not answer that question until you answer mine.”
Their eyes locked.
“What question would that be?” she asked.
“Do you wish to see Lord Finkel destroyed?”
“More than anything.”
“Then I will not deny that is my desire. I won't rest until he's ruined. He destroyed the life of my closest friend.”
She nodded. “It is because of his threats to ruin my sister that I entered into my calamitous union. I should like to help you ruin him in any way I can.”
“I've spent four years trying to gather information against him.”
“I wish you'd tell me about your friend,” she said in a soft voice.
He was powerless to deny her. He moved to the fire and watched the dancing flames while gathering his thoughts. She came to stand beside him, all softness and smelling of roses, and he thought his heart could burst with love of her. A love he would never acknowledge.
“David Balderstone was one of the nicest persons I've ever known. I met him when I was eight. I was new at Eton and enormously homesick and scared, and—already having a year there under his belt—he took me under his wing and showed me great kindness. We became great friends, lifelong friends. He told me things he told no one else.
“That's how I learned about his compulsive attraction to his elder brother's wife. Her marriage was not a particularly happy one, and because his brother was many years older, Stoney—that's what we called David—wasn't particularly close to him.
“The attraction turned to something much deeper. Finkel somehow found out about it and threatened to tell his brother. Stoney gave Finkel every farthing he possessed. But Finkel wanted more. Stoney then came to me for a loan. I knew it would never be repaid, but that didn't matter. It was the first time in our long friendship Stoney had ever asked me for money, even though I was much wealthier than him. He had grown thinner. He was distraught. He had severed the relationship with the woman he loved if not wisely, most passionately. I was worried about him.
“I didn't hear from him for weeks. I grew concerned and went to his lodgings.” William drew in a deep breath. Even after four years it was still painful to recall that day. “Stoney killed himself with a razor to his throat.” William's voice broke.
Isadore moved closer to him and set a gentle hand to his shoulder.
He gathered his composure. “He left a letter for me. He was too proud to keep coming to me for money. In his desperation, he thought killing himself was the only way to protect the woman he loved. There was also the shame of ever having to face his brother.”
“The poor, poor man,” she murmured. “Finkel's depraved. We must stop him.”
“The pity of it is none of those I've talked to will publicly denounce him. I can't even tell the magistrates about Stoney's plight without violating his last wishes.”
“There's no one on the list who would testify against him?”
He shook his head sadly. His eyes met hers again. “I don't suppose you—or your sister—would?”
“My sister's still a maiden. It would ruin her.”
Something within him sagged.
“I . . . could testify about the vile man's threats and schemes with me, but I could never mention my sister's name.”
“In a case like this, a preponderance of evidence would be most helpful. It would also be helpful to have someone from the aristocracy speak of his ill deeds. What would be most helpful of all would be to find something in Finkel's own hand which would reveal his evil scheming. Did you, perchance, save the blackmail notes you received?”
She shook her head. “I burned them.”
“A pity.”
“A person I know well—an aristocrat actually—is acquainted with at least one name on your list. I will see if he can encourage that person to speak against Lord Finkel.”
Her husband. No, not her husband. Her husband must unknowingly be allies with Finkel. William could never believe Lord Evers of being in league with a blackmailer. Not one word had ever been uttered against Lord Evers' integrity. And William's own experiences with the ambassador reinforced his high opinion of Evers' honesty. He had once declined a bribe from William. No government official in any capital had ever refused to be beholden to the powerful Birmingham family. Except for the noble Lord Evers.
How peculiar it was to be standing here with the man's wife.
Especially after William had vowed he'd not speak with the woman. Yet here he was spilling details of private matters he'd never told anyone other than his brothers. He turned to her and did his best to appear icy. “That would be very good, madam.” Stiffly, he returned to his desk. “Any word on the bullion?”
“Any day now.”
He avoided eye contact with her, merely nodding as he opened a drawer and tried to appear as if he were searching for something.
She knew she'd been dismissed.
From beneath hooded eyes, he wa
tched her go. How elegantly she moved. What a fool he was to be so obsessed with her. Would she ever lose her vast appeal?
She might be a liar, a criminal, and another man's wife, but William could take painful consolation that he was the only man she'd ever given herself to.
Her letter had not been a lie.
Chapter 12
As had become her constant custom, Sophia was sitting before her window looking out over Grosvenor Square the following morning. She'd allowed herself to hope that after breaking the ice the previous night in his library, William might thaw. Perhaps he would come to her this morning and not be that icy stranger who had so curtly dismissed her the night before.
But that was not to be. She watched with a sinking feeling as he left the house just before noon. He had not tried to utter a single word to her. He had not wanted to see her at all.
She'd once more been thinking with her heart and not her head. Nothing had thawed since he'd spoken his final chilling words.
After his horse pulled away, she set the candelabra in her window. Perhaps her brother might come. Even though she knew that dissolving her marriage was hopeless, she continued to hope Devere's solicitor had found a way.
To be pragmatic, she dispatched Dottie and Thompson to Curzon Street once more. They would walk today since it was not raining. That would give them more time together, Sophia thought affectionately.
She only prayed that Dottie would not forget and start talking.
As Sophia had lain awake in her bed, unable to sleep, she realized she had to do whatever she could to bring Finkie to justice. She and William working together was far better than either of them working alone.
His ledger had provided her with a lead. A man acquainted with her brother.
Her brother arrived in Grosvenor Square at noon. As she saw him approach on horseback, she rushed to Dottie and asked that she relieve her at the window. “Come to the library at once and let me know if you see any woman who might be Isadore,” Sophia instructed.
In the library, Sophia greeted her brother.
“What is it now?” he asked impatiently.