Oh What A (Wedding) Night (Brazen Brides #3)

by Cheryl Bolen

  “If only there was some way to stop that odious Lord Finkel from ruining people's lives,” Maryann said, sniffing as she wiped tears on her sleeve.

  Sophia's face brightened. “Perhaps that's how I can continue staying here. I feel it in my bones that if we had enough time, William and I could find a way to crush Finkie.”

  “I'll do anything in my power to help.”

  * * *

  It was after three before Thompson returned. He looked dejected. “I went everywhere I could think of, but I was not able to locate Mr. Birmingham.”

  In an hour it would be dark.

  “Did he say if he would dine at home tonight?” Sophia asked.

  “He said it was his intention to dine at home.”

  An ambiguous statement, to be sure.

  She dismissed the valet, and the three ladies began to prepare for dinner.

  She was disappointed she hadn't requested her clothes that remained at Devere House. It grew tiresome wearing the same things over and over. She would have had twice as many dresses did she not share half her trousseau with Dottie.

  This night she again wore the red velvet. From the sultry expression in his eyes when she wore that gown, she knew William found her desirable in it.

  While Dottie was pinning up her hair, she heard William's step in the outer corridor. She had come to know so much of him—the fine blond hair on the back of his hands, the nobility of his character, the way his upper lip quirked when he was amused, the distinctive sound of his purposeful stride.

  She did not know how she could bear it if she never again had the opportunity to observe those things, if she never again laid eyes on the man who'd been created for her.

  She leapt from her dressing table and went to the door.

  “But, milady, yer hair ain't properly dressed!” Dottie protested.

  Ignoring her, Sophia flew into the corridor.

  He was almost to his chamber door and turned to regard her. Her heated gaze took in his complete masculinity. He wore Hessians and buff breeches and brown woolens that feathered together all the gold and tans that distinguished him from all other Englishmen she knew. A tuft of his hair casually dipped against his forehead. Despite that he was a gentleman, she'd never known a more rugged man. He was such a paradox.

  Instinctively, she knew there was something about him she did not know, just as there was much about her he did not know. It mattered not. They had been put on earth for one another.

  As he lazily perused her, her breath stilled. “You look lovely, madam.”

  How she hated being addressed as madam, as the wife of another man. What a cruel fate had been dealt her. “I've been trying all day to reach you.”

  His brows lowered. “Is something wrong?”

  “The gold's here.”

  His eyes flashed with some expression. Was it satisfaction? Or was it disappointment? “What do you mean here?”

  “Did you not see a cart in front of your house just now?”

  “I did not.”

  Perhaps his mind had still been occupied with whatever it was he'd been doing that day. That must explain why he'd not noticed the cart. Or perhaps he absently thought the cart belonged to the adjoining house. Since his house was so narrow, the space in front of the houses on either side could easily encroach on his.

  “Come, I'll show you,” she said.

  He offered her his crooked arm, and they began to descend the stairs. When they reached the marble foyer and started for the outer door, one of the footmen rushed to open it for them. “Won't you be needing yer coat, Mr. Birmingham?” the youthful footman asked.

  William shook his head. “No, we're just taking a quick look outside.” William let her exit first.

  She was smiling.

  Until she saw the cart was gone. Eighty thousand pounds of her brother's money—money she had promised to rapidly repay—had vanished.

  Chapter 17

  He'd trusted her. He'd known she was a lying, scheming, law-breaking cheat, but he'd believed in her inherent honesty.

  Now he'd discovered another of her talents. The woman was a skilled actress. She was most convincing in her surprise that the supposed cart of gold was gone. What new mischief was the woman conceiving?

  There were tears in her eyes and a tremble in her voice. “Oh, my God! I swear to you, it was here! I examined the gold myself. It was hidden beneath a shell of red bricks. How could someone just take it away?”

  His expression inscrutable, he spoke casually. “Were there horses?”

  She shook her head. “When the delivery was made, there were four horses ridden by armed postillions. When my . . . my contact left, the horses were untethered, and the four postillions rode off.

  “I sent Thompson all over London to find you. You needed to get the gold to your final destination. I didn't like the idea of leaving it unprotected.” She drew in a ragged breath. “And it seems my fears were justified.” Her voice trailed as she fought off tears. “I must have that eighty thousand! You can't know how desperately I need it.”

  Under normal circumstances, William might be more sympathetic to a crying woman. But Isadore had tried him one too many times. He should never have trusted her in the first place.

  He strove to keep the anger from his voice. “Madam, this is not my problem. It's you, not I, who is out a great deal of money. I have only your word for it the cart was delivered here today, and your word is not worth a farthing.”

  Her dark lashes lowered as she winced. “But MacIver will vouch for my honesty. Does he not say I'm an honest woman in a dishonest profession?”

  It was true that MacIver trusted this woman. And William trusted MacIver. They had worked together for several years, and MacIver, too, had proven to be an honest man in a dishonest profession.

  “Please William,” she whimpered. “You must help me get the gold back. Did you not say you employ a virtual army of highly trained soldiers? Can they not help us find the gold?”

  It suddenly occurred to him that she had nothing to gain by faking a heist of the gold. She had not yet gotten paid for it, and she had likely expended a small fortune to procure the gold in the first place.

  He was beginning to believe someone may have betrayed her. He slowly nodded. “I'll send for the General tonight.”

  * * *

  She did not touch her food at dinner. She was far too upset. They had to get back the gold. She had to get the eighty thousand from William to give to her brother. Devere would be ruined if she couldn't replace the money in a matter of days.

  The panic she'd experienced when she first discovered the cart missing briefly vanished as she looked to the park in the center of Grosvenor Square. Surely the Bow Street runner had seen everything.

  When she saw no one there, she realized her brother had hired a runner to protect the valise containing his eighty thousand guineas. Once the runner saw the exchange, saw Sophia hand off the valise, the runner's job was done.

  Her sense of devastation returned.

  William attempted to keep up the dinner table conversation, but she was too solemn, too distracted to contribute.

  Was Isadore behind the theft? Who else could have known about the exchange? Was MacIver really trustworthy? Was this shipment not the largest William had ever requisitioned? When one was dealing with that much money, even normally reliable men could turn corrupt.

  She found herself wondering if a neighbor on Grosvenor Square might have been looking out the window at the precise time Sophia was removing the outer bricks, examining the gold. Anyone watching would have seen the postillions ride off on the horses, leaving the gold-laden cart for the taking. It would have been child's play to hitch a pair of horses to the cart and ride off.

  To where? She sighed. She did so hope that William's General would be able to unravel all of this and locate the scoundrel or scoundrels responsible for the theft.

  As the others were finishing dinner, Fenton told William the General had arrived. Sophia thre
w down her fork and stood facing her host. “Please, will you permit me to speak with him?” It was a pity she could not be entirely honest with either the General or with William. She could not let it be known that the delivery was orchestrated by the real Isadore.

  Sophia was so desperate to get back the gold, collect her eighty thousand, and return the money to Devere that she had fleetingly considered revealing her true identity. But that she could not do. Were she to disavow being Isadore, William would send her packing immediately.

  She wasn't ready to put this chapter of her life behind her. Loss of William was the only thing that had the power to break her heart and make her weep. Other things—like losing her brother's eighty thousand—made her angry and sad and caused her voice to shake and her eyes to mist, but not to cry.

  Since she was ten she had only ever cried since coming here to Grosvenor Square and discovering the only man to whom she could ever give her heart. Even though she knew the impossibility of dissolving her marriage, the unlikelihood of ever holding William's heart, she had not the strength to sever that which bound her to him, even if it were only temporarily.

  William stood and nodded at her. “Come. Let us go to the library.”

  The General was a giant of a man. He must have stopped growing when he reached the midway point between six foot and seven foot tall, and every inch of him appeared to be rock-hard muscles. He greeted William with the congeniality of a long-time friend, though it was clear that he was in a subordinate position to the well-dressed gentleman who owned this fine home on Grosvenor Square.

  “You remember about that sizeable shipment of gold I was expecting?” William asked the General.

  “Me and the fellows have been at the ready for it for more than a week.”

  “It was brought here today when I was not here. It's been stolen.”

  The big man's jaw dropped. “That's terrible!”

  “I have confidence if anyone can find it and restore it to me, that man is you.”

  The General's eyes flashed, then he hung his head. “Thank you, Mr. Birmingham, for your confidence in me.”

  William met Sophia's gaze. “This lady examined the delivery and can tell you everything she knows.”

  Sophia nodded. How she wished she could tell the entire truth, that scheming Isadore had been the one making the delivery. But that was out of the question.

  Throughout dinner Sophia had been planning what she would tell the General if she had the opportunity to talk to him. “As you must know, General,” she said, “people who deal in the type of . . . transactions that I do rarely use their true names. We know not where these . . . colleagues live, so the information I can furnish is as shadowy as our activities. Even when we wish to reach one another, we go through a long chain of contacts.”

  She sighed and went on. “Because I have practiced these habits for several years, I trust the people I work with.”

  “When eighty thousand guineas are at stake, it's best to trust no one,” the General said.

  “But Mr. Birmingham trusts you and your . . . soldiers, does he not?” she challenged.

  “Ye've got me there, Miss! But all of the Birmingham employees are loyal because Mr. Birmingham compensates us handsomely.”

  She looked admiringly at William, then continued. “Before I suspect any of my colleagues, I would like to suggest that the culprit could be one of Mr. Birmingham's Grosvenor Square neighbors. We did make the exchange in broad daylight, and had someone been watching from a window, they may have seen me uncover the gold.”

  “Can you give me a description of the conveyance and of your actual exchange?”

  “Yes. The gold was brought in a cart that appeared to be a load of bricks.”

  “What size was the cart?” the General asked.

  “It was larger than average but not as long as some I've seen carrying slabs of marble. I would estimate it was about ten feet in length—the bed of it, that is.” She peered at William. “Would you not say the bed of an average cart is but five or six feet in length?”

  William nodded. “Was it constructed of metal or wood?”

  “Wood. Rather crude looking. I suppose that's why the people I deal with did not mind leaving the entire cart here. It couldn't have been of much value.”

  “How was the gold hidden?” the General asked.

  “There was an outer shell of red brick.”

  “Old or new brick?” he asked.

  “New. The edges were sharp and straight.”

  “How many layers?”

  “Just one layer of the red brick. Beneath it appeared to be all gold.” She realized that while she had told William about the delivery, she hadn't explained it to the General. “You see when it was delivered, the cart was pulled by four horses, each with an armed postillion. When the exchange was complete, they simply unhitched the horses, removed the harnessing, and rode off.”

  “Do you think these riders were from London?” the General asked.

  She shrugged. “It's impossible for me to say.”

  “You've given me enough to start on.” The General turned to William. “Immediately.”

  Sophia set a hand to his sleeve. “I pray that you're as good as Mr. Birmingham says. If you don't find it . . . not only will I be ruined, but also a person who's very dear to me.” She could not bear the thought of telling her brother about the loss. It would crush him.

  * * *

  William stayed in his library after the General left. He refused to sit before a chess table with bewitching Isadore.

  Why was it he always ended up believing her? After all she had done, he was still vulnerable to beautiful Isadore.

  Eighty thousand guineas was a lot to lose. Such a loss would diminish even the Birmingham coffers—and their family was the wealthiest in England. He hated to tell Adam about the theft. They already had buyers for the gold.

  As he sat there near the fire he could not quit thinking about Isadore's parting words to the General. A person who's very dear to me. Did she have another lover? What did he mean another? William was most certainly not her lover. Though they had been lovers. The very thought of that one exquisite night with her was like a vise around his heart.

  Had she been referring to Lord Evers when she spoke of a person who's very dear to me? But had she not told William there was nothing between her and the man to whom she was married?

  For a long time he stared at the flickering orange flames.

  And cursed the night Isadore had stormed into his life.

  * * *

  Finkel was playing faro at White's when Nicholas and Adam Birmingham strolled into the room. He'd been told Lord Agar had put them up for membership. How much had Agar received from the Birminghams to marry their mousy sister? The Cit had been tolerable enough looking, and it was said that nothing about her belied her origins. But, still. . . it was a rare occurrence for an earl to marry one of so inferior lineage.

  Finkel watched the taller-than-average men and stiffened. He shouldn't be uncomfortable in their presence. After all, he was a peer of the realm, and they were mere Cits, albeit the wealthiest Cits in all of England. Nevertheless, they made him uncomfortable, especially after the way he'd embarrassed himself in their presence a few days earlier.

  The men might be Cits, but they were welcomed with something akin to open arms whenever they entered the domain of the wealthiest men in the kingdom. The two Birmingham siblings who had wed had both married into the aristocracy. Finkel wondered if, like his siblings, Adam Birmingham was holding out for an aristocratic wife.

  The thought of an aristocratic wife rudely brought him back to his own dilemma. Where in the hell was that wench he'd married? Even more importantly, where was his valise? He'd gladly strangle that skinny hag who served as Lady Sophia's maid for stealing it. His entire body stiffened, and his hands fisted. He would take enormous pleasure in strangling Lady Sophia, too.

  “It's said the three Birmingham brothers can have any woman in the kingdom,�
� his companion, Lord Percival, said.

  Finkel whirled to Percival. “Three?”

  “One doesn't see the youngest much. He spends a great deal of time on the Continent. I've met him. They're all a handsome lot, though he looks different from his brothers.”

  Finkel's eyes narrowed. “And when this youngest brother is in England, where does he reside?”

  “His house in not so grand as Nicholas Birmingham's on Piccadilly, but he's got a fine house on Grosvenor Square.”

  Chapter 18

  “I be so tired of sittin' around this house with nothing to do,” Dottie said. “It be so pretty a day. Can we not at least go walk for a spell in the park at the center of the square?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Maryann asked Sophia hopefully.

  “I will own, that does sound good.” Sophia's gaze flicked to the window in her sitting room. “It's so nice that the rain has gone away. Let us don muffs and cloaks and do the very thing Dottie suggested.”

  “I only wish me Mr. Thompson were coming,” Dottie said with a little frown.

  Sophia directed a sympathetic look at her maid. She did so understand how Dottie craved being with her Mr. Thompson, for Sophia felt the same about his master. How she wished she could intrude into his library where he was locked away. “I shall have to think of a way to throw you two together. Perhaps Maryann can help me plan something.”

  As they strolled along the plot of green, she eyed the various houses, wondering if residents of one of them had stolen the gold.

  “What will we do if Auntie sees us?” Maryann asked.

  Sophia's worried gaze darted to her aunt's house. How mortified she would be if that kinswoman discovered her here. She had almost forgotten Aunt Gresham lived across the street from William. “Oh, dear, we must return to Mr. Birmingham's at once. Even if Auntie could keep quiet after identifying us, her servants would be sure to blather, and then William would find out, and I cannot allow that to happen.” She raced to the gate.