Aah, but first things first.
Setting his hand to the architrave molding, he eased the panelled door open so slowly one wouldn’t notice its movement from the other side. He held his breath and listened. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Late enough for a fellow’s schedule to be underway and yet early enough not to risk discovery as Muller returned from appointments or whatever ostentatious preoccupations kept the dandy busy. The staff, with surety, broke for nuncheon.
He stepped across the threshold, bold as a firework on Guy Fawkes’ Day, more silent than a monk at Blackfriars, and surveyed the room in the slanted sunlight filtered through the east windows. Retrieving the item in question should make quick work if luck remained on his side. He paused to ascertain he remained alone and crossed to Muller’s desk to shuffle through the paraphernalia strewn across the blotter. Luke hadn’t expected to find the papers easily. Where was the fun in that? He moved to the drawers, three on each side of the desk, which slid open with ease and revealed nothing of value. The topmost drawer remained locked. At last, a challenge.
With a silent snap of his burl-handled knife, he angled the blade beneath the underside of the desktop and forced his wrist downward to release the catch. Confident the documents were in wait of his discovery inside, he found nothing more than a collection of naughty etchings wrapped in a worn portfolio. Disappointing, that.
Replacing the pictures, he closed the drawer and scanned a glance for another target. On the sideboard, a polished cedar cigar box rested. He lifted the corner and peered inside. Seven tightly rolled cigars lay against the velvet. Soon Max would light a cigar and celebrate the birth of his first child. A misplaced pang of jealousy for the security Max owned caused him to shut the box promptly. A book of sonnets rested on the opposite side of the table. Was Muller a romantic? It wouldn’t appear so, although gentlemen often rehearsed the classics to flatter ladies insincerely.
With stealth, he angled two large portraits to check behind each for a hidden safe. He displaced a wooden carton at the foot of the hearth to find nothing of interest, and silently rummaged through a magazine rack for the sake of leaving no opportunity unexplored, though they all proved inimical.
Skimming to the wall aligned with the hallway, he advanced a few strides and entered the foyer, as anonymous as a single raindrop amidst a downpour. He climbed the stairs to the upper floor, made quick work of securing his privacy and entered the master chambers.
Indeed, Lord Muller was a bit of a tatterdemalion. Assorted articles of clothing littered the floor, strewn across area rugs and armchairs with no discrimination, all scattered in disarray and disregard of the valet who would collect them.
Luke plucked his way across the floorboards, ignoring what or where he stepped as long as it didn’t impede his soundless journey, while his eyes perused the interior, touching on and rejecting the furniture and assorted contents of the room piece by piece. Confounded, he eyed the large bed, its rumpled linens in terrible disorder. Where would a lackadaisical lord hide his most precious possession? Under the ticking and within reach at all times, no doubt.
He slid his flattened hand beneath the mattress and bedframe. At once his fingertips flickered a tight bundle of pages, easily pinched and pulled to the edge. He glanced at the document, his eyes narrowed to confirm it held what he sought, and folded the codicil in thirds to tuck into his trouser pocket.
A burst of conversation sounded in the hall, a signal the staff were about their business and he needed to exit. Pressing his body to the plaster behind the door, he waited, and when the pair of young maids breeched the room, behind them, in their wake, he left only a shadow dispersed by sunshine.
Luke stood on the inlaid steps of the Harwood townhouse on Hemlock Street. A glance to the clock post on the corner informed he could salvage the last fifteen minutes of calling hours. Lords and ladies, with their strict adherence to complicated rules, baffled him, yet he’d dressed in his finest wool suit, shaved every whisker clean and remembered his calling card.
Confident, or so he told himself, he lifted the ornate brass knocker and let it drop. A stoic, well-tailored butler opened the door, accepted his card and led the way across the polished, white-veined marble tiles to a formal drawing room. In wait, he assessed the predictable and somewhat ostentatious contents of the interior. Were he that kind of thief, he’d palm the monogrammed ivory letter opener left atop the escritoire or abscond with a crystal figurine from the delicate display near the window, but he sought one prize only.
The gentleman of the house entered two minutes later.
‘Good morning, Mr Reese.’ Congenial niceties aside, Harwood cut directly to the core of the matter. ‘How may I help you?’ He resembled Georgina, or perhaps Luke had that backwards. Either way, similar blue eyes examined him from top to bottom as they briefly shook hands. The older man could be no more than fifty years, the slightest greying at his temples where a fringe of hair defied the neat presentation.
‘I’m here on a matter of business.’ He followed as his host walked to a pair of matched leather wing chairs before the hearth. ‘And additional personal interest.’
‘I read your card. I’ve never frequented your establishment.’ Harwood cleared his throat, his expression unreadable, more one of bland perpendicularity than true interest.
‘You should. As my guest for the evening, of course,’ Luke elaborated, anxious to peak Harwood’s interest. ‘The hell provides gaming to those eager to wager their luck and is a lucrative investment as well as profitable business.’
‘Investment? I’ve never considered it.’ Harwood gave a slight nod of his head as if he wished to say something but held himself back.
‘You’d be surprised how my involvement has bettered my life. I’m a man of illegitimate birth, a by-blow raised on the streets of Charing. As a child, I staved off London’s brutal winter in any random damp alley which provided shelter and a wink of sleep. An occasional meal meant a few stolen pippins from the fruitmonger’s cart. I owe my survival to perseverance, but the wealth I’ve amassed is due to my propriety at The Underworld.’
Harwood stared into the flames a beat too long before he spoke. ‘Had your visit come a year ago I would have avoided much hardship and disparity within my family. My oldest daughter, most especially…’ His voice trailed off.
‘You speak of Lady Georgina.’
Harwood’s head shot to attention now. ‘How do you know my daughter?’
Now that was a devil of a question.
‘Your daughter and I are acquainted, although she does not know I’m here. The reason for my visit is twofold.’
Harwood watched with keen interest and Luke patted his pocket, the diamond ring safely nestled beside the codicil. He’d visited the best jeweller in London and selected an exquisite setting of nearly five carats. When he’d showed Nate the purchase, the lad’s eyes widened larger than teacup saucers.
How did you capture the stars, Papa? Look how they twinkle. Can I have one too, please?
Luke smiled briefly at the remembrance and the scene it represented. Family. Then he matched Harwood’s intense stare, aware the man before him fought for his family’s security as well. ‘The Underworld is seeking a silent partner. One of the proprietors is leaving to begin a new life with his bride and the anticipated birth of their child. As the exclusive pastime of many elite members of the ton, the hell earns profit with little effort. A new investor—’
‘Excuse my interruption, Mr Reese.’ Harwood shook his head with what could only be despair. ‘Your proposition sounds intriguing but I’d rather not waste your time. No matter how attractive the offer, my funds are in a precarious situation at present.’ The words were spoken with solemn regret.
‘I understand and have considered an option.’ Luke paused to allow the words to settle. ‘I would put forth your initial investment to be repaid through residual profits at one per cent per quarterly earnings.’
Harwood made an indistinguishable sound, his
brows winged high on his forehead, so much so they chased his hairline backwards.
‘What’s this? Some kind of swindle? You claim to be a shrewd capitalist and I’m inclined to believe it’s true, but this endeavour and its terms are poor business. You’ve given me all the advantage with no risk. Why would you offer me this surreptitious and otherwise beneficial agreement? What could you possibly want?’ Harwood’s expression took on a suspicious shade. ‘Now see here, what’s the underlying provocation for this visit?’
Luke held no doubt Georgina’s father was too clever by half. Hadn’t he already noticed father and daughter shared a multitude of qualities?
‘In that you are correct, sir.’ He nodded with a slight smile, at last coming to the most important matter. ‘There is one more matter if you can spare the time.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Luke wasn’t a common housebreaker. He was an excellent thief with a superior plan who’d executed a vigilant list of preparations for the most precious act of robbery he’d set to accomplish in all his twenty-nine years. Preparing a compact satchel with necessary articles, he mounted Snake Eyes and rode towards Harley Street, straight out of London and northward, hellbent on Coventry and at the ready to steal his bride.
Georgina breached the winding, tree-shrouded path which led to Lord Tucker’s large cottage. She didn’t hold optimistic expectations for their discussion. She’d sent a note ahead to explain the conflict within the arrangement, but now that her life veered in a drastically different direction, she owed Lord Tucker an improved explanation. And, too, she wished to thank him and, if needed, assist in finding another governess to serve as her replacement. Squashing a sudden rush of apprehension and the threat of suffocated displeasure, she moved her feet forward.
The cottage appeared as always, yet her steps slowed decidedly the further she traversed the path. On a few occasions, Lord Tucker had intimated towards a future that included her in a different role and she’d kindly dismissed his advances as nothing more than misplaced attraction, rebuffing the random flirtation or two. Now, faced with the expected turmoil of the task ahead, she examined the telltale signs in the light of greater understanding.
Botheration. Did Lord Tucker believe they shared a personal relationship? The startling conclusion fell to the pit of her stomach like a stale heel of bread, indigestible and unpalatable. The alternative, a plan to return to London and marry Lord Muller in agreement of her uncle’s perverse conditions, met with equal emotional opposition.
A few strides from the front door, she came to an abrupt stop on the slates. The same persistent niggle reminded were she already married, she wouldn’t face confrontation with either Lords Tucker or Muller. But alas, then Joy would be forced into the sour predicament. How had her present become so muddled? A skitter of regret or misplaced resignation reminded with imperative vigilance, past and present remained fraught with danger.
In truth, all this mental riddling was an unsuccessful attempt to distract from her emotions concerning Luke. Her heart ached for him and the tender remembrance of their intimacy. The precious hours of their lovemaking and exchanged endearments sang in her blood like an imperious sonnet, demanding and passionate. If she allowed the slightest remembrance to slip through her flimsy barricade of control she would crack, break, shatter, and she couldn’t permit that to happen. At least, not yet.
The oak panel opened and John, her charge, peered through the frame.
‘Miss Smith.’ A smile broke loose on the lad’s face. ‘I’ve waited for you.’
Lord Tucker appeared behind his son and, when she matched the lord’s eyes, it was as though an offensive blow struck her. Her stomach pitched and roiled. She’d suppressed the remembrance overlong, dismissed it without objection and now regretted every day she’d allowed it to fester, her exit from Coventry all the more difficult for her denial.
The memory cast an obscurant shadow with no effort. It had occurred four months prior and quite accidently as she’d sought out Lord Tucker’s advice concerning young John’s inconsistent progress with his lessons. She’d hoped Tucker would enlighten her concerning John’s habits, but instead, when she’d knocked and entered his private study, she found a different man awaited. An empty brandy decanter sat on the small mahogany table near the hearth and Tucker had a volatile gleam in his eye she’d never witnessed before. When she attempted to withdraw he rushed upon her and took hold of her to pull forward, his words harsh and vulgar.
Don’t look so stricken. I’ve watched you for months now. A feisty woman makes for a challenge and I’ll find great pleasure in breaking your temper before I enjoy what you keep hidden beneath your skirts.
Taken aback, she’d failed to form words, certain her face expressed shock and abhorrence. She’d yanked her arm free and left straight away. But, the next day, Lord Tucker expressed sincere remorse and she’d accepted his apology, deciding his unusual behaviour was prompted by inebriation more than ill intent. She’d only just arrived in Coventry and secured employment. She did not relish the thought of earning disreputable gossip that would mar her chance at financial independence, her confidence fragile and fears very much alive.
Days passed, then weeks, without incident. She pushed it from her mind with success, except in sleep when his appalling suggestions continued to haunt. As time advanced, she believed the incident isolated and not worthy of any other emotion, but now old reservations and misgivings revived. Her skin crawled with apprehension, much worse than Lord Muller’s attempts at a clumsy kiss. Lord Tucker’s threatening advances composed her nightmares.
‘Hello.’ She managed a tone of civility though her pulse beat hard. ‘I’ve come to say farewell.’
‘Come in, Miss Smith.’ Lord Tucker swept wide the door to permit her entry.
‘Lord Tucker.’ Georgina forced a smile of greeting as brittle as the hardbake she preferred in childhood. ‘I’ve returned to Coventry.’
‘As I see.’ His grin did not falter.
Could it be the gentleman meant her no malice, her mind a-scatter with superfluous fear and embellished fabrication. She blamed her mother for the unwanted inclination to assume the worst possible outcome, the good woman instilling a fear of ravishment since Georgina’s earliest days.
Now, having been thoroughly ravished by Luke, her heart stumbled over the piercing memory. She wondered at her mother’s misplaced advisement. Georgina treasured Luke’s touch.
Perhaps that was the lesson learned. To only allow intimate freedoms to the man who claimed her heart for ever.
And Luke had.
Entirely.
‘I’ve read your letter.’ The door closed and her pulse leapt. ‘Your decision to leave Coventry seems sudden. Is something amiss?’
He took the lead silently and started down the narrow hall to the back of the cottage, which compelled her to follow. John waited inside the study, a book on his lap where he knelt near the fire. She wondered at the wholesome scene and her nerves pricked in wary curiosity.
‘Yes.’ She settled on the chair he indicated. ‘I’ve decided to return to London and be closer to my family.’ Stated as such, the words held a dual meaning.
‘I see.’ Lord Tucker paused, his response deliberate and devoid of telling emotion. ‘I always assumed you a soiled dove, alone and transplanted to the country. I’ve entertained many thoughts on the subject.’ He huffed a breath as if reorganizing his postulations. ‘Now I realize I’ve been remiss in courting you properly, Georgina. Since you mentioned leaving, I will need to assert my plans.’
His use of her Christian name alerted a note of distress, the discussion all at once too personal. She realized belatedly that she’d missed the end to his sentence, busy in consideration of the beginning.
‘Pardon?’ She swallowed, worrying the edge of one sleeve with her fingers. An uneasy quell arose, the memory of that isolated night, when he’d had too much liquor and handled her roughly. It caused her pulse to quicken. Despite it was the middle of the
day, one glance to the sideboard revealed a half-empty decanter. Could he have imbibed?
‘Ladies prefer flowers and courting rituals. You likely believe I regard you as governess alone, but I’ve long noticed your finer qualities.’ His voice lowered, though a hint of assertive authority remained. He stated a stern command without turning his head. ‘John, take yourself abovestairs.’
‘But Father, I want to stay.’
‘Go.’ Tucker’s sudden attention and piercing glare sent the child scurrying to the door and out.
‘That truly wasn’t necessary. I wished to talk to John.’ She watched the panel close, her misgivings in full bloom.
‘I can’t speak plainly with a child in the room. You’ll have time enough to converse with him later.’ He indicated the liquor service near the far wall. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? I have brandy as well. It may put you more at ease.’
‘No, thank you.’ She ought to end this peculiar madness and be on her way. She’d planned to leave for London at dawn, but wondered now if she could arrange for the rented carriage as early as this afternoon. Riding through the night held its perils, but all of them were worth the risk if Lord Tucker became incensed.
‘You must know the extent of my feelings for you.’ He poured himself a full glass of liquor and took a long swallow.
‘I’m sorry, but this all seems inappropriate, and while it has been my pleasure to help shape John’s education—’
He held up a hand to stop her objection. ‘Do not dismiss what is plain to see. Feelings grow over time. You’ve no need to play coy or pretend you don’t desire my attention.’
‘What?’ Pervasive tension crept into her voice and she turned so he could only see her profile. She refused to allow him the advantage, yet at the same time her heart hammered in her chest.
The Last Gamble Page 23