by Cheryl Bolen
“Nothing is ever all black or all white, my dear sister. Withhold judgment on Mr. Birmingham until you meet him.” What female would not fall hopelessly in love with him? His absence of rank or pedigree mattered not. There wasn't a man in the kingdom who was William's equal.
Dottie nodded emphatically at the younger sister. “While ye normally can't trust yer sister's selection in men, I'm telling you this man was put on this earth for Lady Sophia. You'll see fer yerself. He be a real gentlemen—in spite of his occupation.”
Sophia put an index finger to her lips as she opened her chamber door and started for the dinner room.
When the three of them entered the dining chamber, William stood. His tanned face was illuminated by two large chandeliers suspended above the table and three candelabrums which formed a line from the table's head to foot.
“You're looking very fit,” she said by way of greeting him. Then, tossing a glance at her true sister, she added. “Permit me, Mr. Birmingham, to introduce you to my sister . . .” She caught herself just before she blurted out Maryann. “Theodora.”
He was sure to think she was lying again for the two sisters looked nothing alike.
“I hope you're comfortable, Miss Door,” he said to Maryann. “You don't have to share a chamber with your sister. It would be no trouble to put you up in another room. A room of your own.”
All of Maryann's former haughtiness vanished like whiffs of smoke. She smiled. “That's very kind of you, Mr. Birmingham, but I'm comfortable with my sister. In a strange house, it's good to have something familiar.”
He nodded, staring at Maryann for a moment. “At first I thought your sister might be deceiving me—something at which she is most adept—but now I do see a resemblance. It's in your mouth. Your upper lip is almost exactly like Isadore's.”
It was true. Few people ever noticed that the two disparate sisters shared the Beresford mouth. Sophia was flattered that he knew her face so well after so short an acquaintance. More than that, when she had heard her first name on his lips she had allowed herself to remember that night—and the following morning—when her name on his lips had sounded like a lover's endearment.
The ladies sat, then William returned to his seat at the head of the table. Sophia was at his right. “My dear Mr. Birmingham, I owe you my profound thanks for the cloak. It's not only much needed, but it is also lovely. I do hope you did not select it yourself for I would be distressed to learn you left the house after I implored you not to leave before making a full recovery.” She gathered the crimson velvet about her neck and stroked its softness.
“I did not make the selection. My footman did. You must thank him.”
“I am especially moved by your thoughtfulness.”
“It was nothing. You know I'm a very wealthy man.”
“I'm happy you were able to stay home today.”
“If I have no setback, I shall conduct some business tomorrow, but I have learned my lesson about riding my horse on frigid winter days. I'll take the coach.”
Maryann, who sat at William's left and across from Sophia, could not remove her admiring gaze from their host. Nor could she repress a smile.
It sickened Sophia to realize Maryann was available for courting.
And Sophia was not. She could weep.
“Did you finish your letters this afternoon?” Sophia asked him as she sipped her claret.
“No. Since I'm staying home tonight, I'll finish them then.”
Sophia's face fell. She had hoped to engage him in some sort of game, even though three made an odd number. A pity Dottie didn't know enough to attempt any form of play.
* * *
Later that night as he sat in his lonely library, he congratulated himself on his ability to turn his back on the temptation of Isadore. At the completion of dinner, he had wanted nothing more than to prolong their time together. How he had wanted to play three-handed whist or chess or something so that he could continue being near her. He'd fleetingly thought of their closeness the previous night. It was almost worth getting sick to be comforted by Isadore. How gentle and loving she had been.
His throat went dry. He should not have allowed her to stay here. He'd not reckoned on how painful her presence would be.
Tomorrow he would talk to her. He would tell her he could wait no longer for the bullion.
Then he could exchange one pain for another. It was almost unbearable to contemplate her complete loss. Like a limb with gangrene, healing could not commence until one was severed from the other.
* * *
She left the house before William the next day to meet Devere at Sir George Malvern's on Half Moon Street. Because William had said he needed the carriage today, she walked. Thankfully, she had the thick warm velvet cloak to keep her from being too bitterly cold. Wearing it gave her the illusion that William was close, that William must care for her. How thoughtful it had been of him to procure it for her. She owned no possession she valued more.
The walk to Half Moon Street took less than ten minutes.
Locating Sir George's house was easy because her brother's mud-splattered, crested coach was parked in front of it, and Devere sat inside it, waiting for her.
When he saw her, he disembarked. “The things I allow you to talk me into!” He shook his head. “Now I remember why I choose not to marry.”
She slipped her arm into his. “Don't tell me you're afraid of allowing a woman to manipulate you.”
“Fear has nothing to do with it. Does it not occur to you I've already got my hands full looking out for my two errant sisters?”
She smiled up at him as they strolled toward the front door of Number 2. “You're a dear brother, and I'm very grateful to have you. Which reminds me, have you any word from your solicitor about my . . .” She turned up her nose in disgust. “Marriage?”
He shook his head solemnly. “But I received a strange letter from Finkel. It didn't mention you but said he would have your maid arrested for stealing his valuable valise. He wants it returned to him immediately.”
“How very odd. I told Dottie to take it because it looked like rubbish.”
“He's obviously anxious to have it back.”
They climbed two steps and he rapped at the shiny black door.
Her chest tightened. This has to be successful. If it wasn't, she would have to break into Finkie's house. Which was almost as terrifying as Maryann's preference of leaping from the dome of St. Paul's.
The dark-haired butler opened the door and spoke first. “Lord Devere?”
Her brother nodded.
“Sir George is expecting you. Do come in.”
Once inside, they divested themselves of their heavy outer clothing, handing them to the butler. A lump lodged in her throat as she looked at the velvet cloak William had bought her.
This narrow house was about the same width as William's, but it was not decorated with the same level of good taste. Where William's entry hall was floored in marble, this one was constructed of wood. The art work at William's came from the brushes of European masters while the paintings on Sir George's walls were portraits of Malvern ancestors by lesser artists. Everything at William's was freshly painted and polished and in perfect condition—as bespoke the house's purpose of showcasing his collections.
Sir George's house, on the other hand, had a cozy quality to it. Not only was a woman's hand evident, but this also had the look of a house where children had been raised. Her stomach knotted when she thought of the son who was now dead, the son who indirectly had brought them here today.
The butler showed them to the drawing room. This was evidently the pride of the Malverns, for it was furnished in opulent gilded furniture in the French style. The sofa and chairs were covered in bright pink and green silks that were beginning to wear thin. Such a baroque look was incongruous with the house's other dark furniture and scuffed wooden floors.
Since Sophia was uncertain what her role would be this afternoon, she lowered herself onto the cha
mber's most modest chair while her brother sat in a throne-like chair near the fire.
At least this house was warmer than William's. Even though she sat fairly near a window, none of the day's chill seeped into her bones.
A moment later Sir George strolled into the chamber, a smile on his face and a welcoming tone in his voice. “Good day to you, my lord.” His gaze flicked to Sophia, and his brow hiked.
“Sir George,” Devere said, “I should like to present you to my sister, Lady Sophia. She and I have a personal matter we wish to discuss with you.”
The baronet looked even more puzzled as he came to sit upon the sofa. “I am at your service, my lord.”
Sophia had not met him before. She would judge his age to be around fifty. Though his hair remained a warm brown, it has thinned considerably. His clothing was well cut in a most conservative fashion. He'd likely worn this fine woolen jacket for at least ten years. While it wasn't the first stare of style, it was of a sufficient plainness to render it rather timeless.
Devere drew in a breath. “We have come into possession of highly sensitive information about a scheme propagated by an evil man. A member of our family was the victim of his blackmailing, and we have reason to believe that your family, too, was affected.”
Sir George's eyes widened. “You know the man responsible for this?”
“We do,” Devere said. “Lord Finkel used his position in Society—and other disreputable means of bribery—to learn of scandals that could destroy people's lives. He also used his relationship with Josiah Smith's newspaper to lever his threats of exposure.”
“You say your family was affected too?”
Too. He was not denying his involvement.
Devere nodded grimly. “The man doesn't care how many lives he ruins—or threatens to ruin.”
“That's why we've come to you,” Sophia said softly. “You can help us stop him. He must be stopped.”
“I don't see what I can do.”
“I am not in a position to testify against the fiend. I must protect an unwed sister's reputation.”
Sir George sighed. “I see. You think because my son is dead that I can come forward, that he can't be hurt anymore?”
Sophia nodded solemnly. “I know how difficult it will be, but don't you want to spare others from having to go through what you and your son suffered?”
“I nearly beggared myself to protect my son's integrity. I can't let his memory be tarnished.”
“But your son wasn't a thief,” Devere said. “He was only borrowing the money with the full intention of paying it back on the quarter. That's just the kind of lapse in judgment that Finkel preys upon.”
Her eyes never leaving the baronet's, Sophia nodded. “If Lord Finkel is tried in the House of Lords, a man of your stature would be an ideal witness. You command respect. Your own reputation is unblemished. I doubt you'd even have to go into particulars of your son's alleged indiscretion.”
Sir George shook his head emphatically. “I can't. I can't drag Harold's name through the mud. He had children, you know? I can't do that to his children, my grandchildren. His illness was already so hard on all of us.”
Sophia had heard that he suffered from consumption. The poor fellow was just her age when it claimed his life.
“I want my grandchildren to know their father as the fine man he was.”
She started to protest. She wanted to point out that Harold would have wanted his father to expose Finkel, but she could not say those things. She had to respect the father's wishes. The man had suffered enough.
Devere stood. “I'm sorry to have wasted your time.”
Their host got to his feet and walked to the door with them. “Believe me, Lord Devere, I am grievously sorry that I cannot help in bringing that horrible man to justice.”
Sophia directed an understanding nod at him.
On the way back to Grosvenor Square, she realized how futile today's visit with Sir George had been.
Now she would have to move to the last resort—a harrowing prospect.
Now she would have to break into Finkie's house.
Chapter 15
He dined at home again. That blasted Isadore had left before him that morning, robbing him of the opportunity to talk to her, to give her an ultimatum about the gold. He kept telling himself that was the only reason he was here this evening. He had to talk to her.
But the moment she strolled into the dining room, he forgot all about the gold. He could not remove his gaze from her dark-haired beauty. She was stunning in red velvet. Hair the colour of rich coffee beans piled gracefully on her head, a few loose wisps spiraling along her elegant neck. From her neck it was only natural that he lazily perused her incredibly creamy skin as it dipped beneath the bodice where the plump swell of her breasts instantly aroused him.
He'd been with many beautiful women, but none compared to Isadore.
What a bleak day it would be when their venture was completed and she returned to her husband. He would never again gaze upon her feminine perfection. Something inside of him sank. He would never again gaze upon any woman who affected him as she did. It wasn't just her beauty. Or the softness of her melodious voice. Or her obvious intelligence. Not even her incredible lovemaking accounted for the way this woman dominated his thoughts and leeched into his heart. It was the combination of all those things with one extra component—she loved him. She'd never tried to hide the fact.
He believed nothing she had ever told him. Except that. She loves me. Was he the biggest fool in all of England to believe her?
He eyed her as she came to take the same seat she had sat in the night before. “What? No cloak tonight?” He strove for flippancy in his voice to disguise the devastating effect she had upon him.
She gave a little laugh as her dark eyes met his, and then they sat down. “I wore it last night to demonstrate to you my gratitude.” She rubbed her arms. “Though I daresay I could use it tonight. Why is your house always so cold?”
“It's not always cold. I assure you it's rather pleasant on warm, sunny days.”
She and Theodora both laughed.
He began to pour the wine as Isadore scooped a ladle of leek soup into her bowl, then passed it to Dorothea.
He made pleasantries with Theodora, but he really only wanted to speak to Isadore. Lying, cheating Isadore who still fascinated him. Theodora was a lovely young lady, but he had no interest in misses straight from the schoolroom. Alarmingly, he had no interest in any woman except Isadore.
“So you left the house today?” he said to her.
She nodded. “Thankful I was for my lovely new cloak. I was quite the best dressed lady in all of Mayfair.”
She was avoiding telling him her destination. He hated like the devil to pry. “You surely must have been the only lady in Mayfair walking today in this beastly cold.”
“There was that,” she answered with a laugh and a shrug.
“I hope your mission pertained to the business agreement between us.”
She hesitated a moment before responding. “Of course.”
She's lying. “Then you have a date set for the delivery?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Not yet, but clearly it will be soon.”
That was just what he wanted. Wasn't it?
He needed to bring closure to this maddening week. More than a week, actually, since she'd come into his life. Nine days. Nine days that had irrevocably changed his life. Closure, he knew, would be much more final than his persistent aching for this woman. How long before he could purge her from his mind and heart?
Isadore did her best to keep up a jaunty conversation, but neither he nor the shy Theodora made many contributions. He kept thinking that he needed to speak to her privately. Toward the end of the dinner, he asked, “Tell me, Miss Isadore, do you play chess?”
“Of course.”
“I shouldn't like to exclude your sisters, but it's been a long while since I've played, and I find I very much want to tonight.”
<
br /> Isadore's face lit up like the chandeliers above their table. “I am so happy you'll be staying home tonight and even happier to be able to play chess with you. I give you fair warning that I'm going to beat you like a drum.”
“Indeed, Mr. Birmingham,” Theodora confirmed. “My sister always wins. Our elder brother gets very angry about it.”
“And don't mind about Theodora,” Isadore said. “She has promised to read to Dorothea tonight.”
* * *
While Maryann quietly read one of Mr. Scott's novels to Dottie on one side of the drawing room, Sophia and William sat at a card table near the fire. “I asked Fenton to have this table moved near the fire since you're always complaining about my chilly house,” he said.
“I give you my thanks, but I'm even more grateful that you're taking care not to get chilled. I worry you'll have a setback.” She was finally free from the worry that had dogged her these past two days.
“I am a great deal more improved today than I was yesterday.” He began to set up the chess board.
She watched his strong hands fingering the chess pieces. Though he wasn't a particularly tall man, his hands were twice the size of hers. Everything about him bespoke rugged masculinity. “Yes, I can hear it in your voice. And you only coughed three times at dinner tonight. A vast improvement.”
He chuckled. “Surely you didn't count?”
“Of course I did. I take my nursing very seriously.” She started to say, “I take you very seriously,” but she had no right to offer him any hope they could ever be together.
After he set up the board, he offered to let her make the first move.
“Do you really want to play me at chess, or do you want to discuss the bullion?”
He smirked. “How is it you've come to know me so well in so short a time?”
“Because I've waited my whole lifetime for you.” Why in the blazes must she always speak so truthfully? Well, maybe not always. She had developed a talent for lying with the same facility as she blurted out her innermost thoughts.
Anger singed his face. “I don't want to hear that. Whatever may have happened between us happened because you lied and told me you were a maiden. I would never have allowed myself to even think about touching you had I known you were married.”