by Wolf, Bree
As well as his support.
Apparently, a rather notorious English peer had swindled Pembroke’s family out of an heirloom and then gotten himself killed in a duel before anyone—namely Lord Pembroke—could persuade him to reveal what he had done with said heirloom. At present, it was somewhere in London.
Most likely.
That was about all they knew, which—granted—wasn’t much. Unfortunately, each clue seemed to lead to a dead end which, in turn, explained Pembroke’s rather insufferable mood.
“I suggest you calm down,” Pierce said, raking a hand through his dark hair in annoyance, “for there is nothing to be done about it.” His gaze drifted unobtrusively across the ballroom to the two women eyeing them with interest while, of course, feigning disinterest. “Go and dance with the pretty girl you’ve been staring at for the better part of the evening.” Unfortunately, Pembroke proved to be equally inept at hiding his true intentions as were those two misses across from them.
“What girl?” the man beside him croaked.
Pierce grinned. “I’m not blind, nor am I a fool as I believe I’ve informed you already. She’s the one you were gawking at in Hyde Park the other day, isn’t she?”
Pembroke tensed. “I don’t gawk. I…I observe.”
A chuckle rumbled in Pierce’s throat at the absurdity of that statement. “If your eyes had opened any wider, I’m certain your eyeballs would have fallen out of their sockets.”
Gritting his teeth, Pembroke remained silent. His demeanor grew almost painfully tense when Coleridge asked the girl to dance. For a few moments, Pembroke continued to watch them before he excused himself and wandered closer to the dance floor, his eyes never leaving the fiery-haired woman who seemed to have caught his interest.
Oddly enough, Pierce himself found his attention return to the little, grey mouse the fiery siren had left behind. There was something…peculiar about her. Something that didn’t quite fit, like a puzzle with the pieces put together wrong, giving a contorted image of the item depicted.
With his thoughts occupied by either his concern for Daphne or his desire for retribution, Pierce rarely sought the company of the fairer sex, for the night Daphne had lost her family had changed everything for him. It had opened his eyes to the true character of his peers, men and women who cared for useless trappings and nothing else. In truth, the only reason he mingled in society at all was because he needed to uphold his reputation—as dark as it was. He could not risk for anyone to get suspicious and connect him to his nightly activities. Additionally, he could not deny that he felt a certain sense of satisfaction upon teasing the men he’d robbed.
Unfortunately, Kearsley had not yet made an appearance!
Still, tonight Pierce found his attention returning time and time again to the little, grey mouse standing by the refreshment table across the ballroom. Her colorless gown buttoned all the way to her chin, which looked downright uncomfortable and apparently was as she continued to tug on the collar as though it were a noose around her neck. Her presumably brown hair looked strangely dull, almost greyish and had been pulled into a tight chignon, giving her an oddly stern expression. And then there were the spectacles that rested upon her nose…
Angling his head, Pierce observed her more closely when her gaze suddenly moved and met his.
For a second, she seemed to freeze, her lashes fluttering as though to clear a speck of dust that had settled in her eye. Then her chin dropped a bare fraction, allowing her to peek over the rim of her thick spectacles.
Pierce paused as a triumphant smile claimed his features. How odd, indeed! Why on earth would she peek over her spectacles? Generally, they were used to aid one’s eyesight, were they not? And if so, why would one peek over them? One wouldn’t if, indeed, one needed them in order to see. However, why would anyone wear spectacles if they didn’t need them?
What a curious little mouse!
Apparently, she did not care for his interest in her for she lifted her chin in that haughty fashion women of station often employed and turned away, pretending to be observing the dancers. In truth, Pierce noticed her glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes.
His smile deepened, and he wondered what secrets hid behind that innocent-looking face.
So far, he’d never met a woman who’d purposefully taken steps to reduce her appeal. Was she not looking to snare a husband? Why would she wear these hideous spectacles if she didn’t need to? Again, his gaze wandered over her attire. Was there a reason for the way she dressed?
Intrigued, Pierce moved to lean against the marble column at his back, his gaze still trained on his grey mouse. However, she no longer shifted uncomfortably from side to side, trying to ignore him while keeping an eye on him at the same time. No, she barely seemed aware of anything, her gaze distant and her jaw tense as though the thoughts running through her head were not of a cheerful nature.
Years had passed since Pierce had last felt the desire to get to know a woman, to learn who she was and what she thought. Usually, he found himself quickly bored with the ladies at these events. A single dance or a quick conversation were enough to prove to him that there was not a single bone in his body that cared for such a woman.
Cared to know her.
The moment he turned his back she was all but forgotten.
Still, Pierce had a feeling that his little, grey mouse would linger in his thoughts tonight long after the ball’s end.
And he hadn’t even exchanged a word with her!
Was that what it was? Would his interest plummet to its death once she opened her mouth? A part of Pierce urged him to seek her out while another was hesitant, unwilling to give up the small delight he found in watching her.
Inhaling a deep breath, Pierce resolved to continue his observations…for now. He wanted to see what else he could learn about her before he sought her out. After all, if she was indeed hiding something, it was by far more advisable not to tip his hand. If she suspected him, he would lose any chance of learning her true intentions.
And so, Pierce spent the better part of the evening as well as those that followed watching his grey mouse.
As he soon found out, she was the fiery siren’s cousin whom Pembroke had grown quite obsessed with, and her name was Caroline Hawkins. She always attended balls in the company of said cousin as well as her parents. Interestingly, her parents paid her very little attention, their time consumed by the obsessive notion of pushing their niece, Miss Rebecca Hawkins, into the arms of one particularly dull viscount.
Much to Pembroke’s displeasure.
In the meantime, Miss Caroline Hawkins wandered from room to room, never dancing, but instead conversing with the very matrons Pierce loathed. They were manipulative, judgmental harpies and deserved a good set-down alongside their husbands!
Pierce had refrained from robbing women. Not that it had been a conscious decision. The only ones he ever found out and about town at the hours before dawn were men. After all, what sensible woman would sneak around London at night? She’d be ruined if she was discovered.
A gentle smile rested on Miss Hawkins’ features as she addressed these women, their demeanors full of delight at seeing her. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as though they knew each other well. Odd, Pierce thought. Never had he seen a young woman endear herself to these harpies.
Young ladies certainly tried not to incite their anger for that would be utterly foolish considering the vindictiveness these women possessed when dealing with one they deemed unworthy. Still, young women generally were occupied with attracting the opposite sex.
Then why wasn’t Miss Hawkins?
Again, his gaze swept over yet another colorless gown, again buttoned to her chin. Her hair dull and expressionless, swept into a pile atop her head. And, of course, those spectacles! Was this why she dressed like a grey mouse? In order to endear herself to these women? To gain entrance into their exclusive circle? To gain their favor?
Still, the truly fascinating q
uestion was, why?
Slowly, the Season drew to its end and most of London began to make preparations to depart for the country. Pembroke still had not discovered the whereabouts of his family’s heirloom, a ring to be precise, and was thus in foul spirits, even more so since the night the other Miss Hawkins had withdrawn her attentions. Something seemed to have happened for she’d all but cut him for the second half of the Hawthorne ball.
What that was, Pierce didn’t know and couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
For he had somewhat belatedly realized that he could not allow Miss Caroline Hawkins to slip through his fingers until the beginning of the next Season. He needed to speak to her. Only once, to glean a deeper insight and see if the past few weeks of observation had been in vain or if, indeed, a most fascinating creature lived beneath those drab clothes.
And so, when her cousin was once more engaged on the dance floor, Pierce sidled closer to where she stood in the corner, her gaze once more distant and her posture tense. Something was clearly weighing on her. Had been for the past few weeks.
Then before he could open his mouth to speak, she spun on her heel and hastened away, a look of fierce determination lighting up her blue eyes.
Rather dumbfounded, Pierce stared after her, watching as she composed herself before once more addressing the conniving harpies. Her manner was impeccable, and her smile all but dazzled him. She seemed perfectly comported, and the way she spoke to these women held something utterly fascinating. A hint of unease rested in her blue eyes though. It immediately vanished, replaced by a smile of utter delight and relief, when one of the harpies—Lady Woodward, Pierce believed—nodded her head in what seemed like agreement.
What had happened? Pierce marveled. What had Miss Hawkins asked for? What had she quite obviously been granted? It had to be something of great importance judging by the joy that now rested on her lovely features.
And lovely they were for despite the unfortunate hair-do as well as those hideous spectacles, there was something deeply moving about the way she smiled, the way her gaze lit up. Kindness marked her features, and yet, despite the gentle softness of her face, the iron in her gaze gave him pause.
She was quite unique, his little mouse.
His eyes lingered on her as she continued to converse with London’s matrons for a little while longer, then followed her as she made her way along the back wall of the ballroom. Her features portrayed a hint of exhaustion now that the firm tension he’d seen in her posture had finally subsided. Reaching the terrace doors, she stepped outside into the cooling night air, and he could see her tip her head back as though inhaling deeply.
Determined to avoid a scandal, Pierce was relieved to find that many had ventured out onto the terrace, some even farther into the garden below, fleeing the somewhat stifling air indoors. He stepped out as well, slowly moving closer to where she stood by the stone balustrade, her hands resting on the smooth rock, eyes closed as she breathed in deeply.
“The night air is refreshing, is it not?”
At the sound of his voice beside her, his little mouse flinched. Her eyes flew open, and she spun to face him, her head dipping a fraction so she could peer at him above the rims of her spectacles.
Pierce chuckled. “It would seem your spectacles do not serve you well, my dear Miss Hawkins.”
At the informal tone in his voice, she tensed and suspicion came to her light blue eyes. “Excuse me, my lord. But have me met?” Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. Her gaze held his before she purposefully pushed the spectacles up her nose.
Again, Pierce chuckled. “We’ve not been introduced if that is what you mean.”
“Then I cannot help but wonder why you would address me in such a way,” she chided, deep reproach in her voice as though he were an unruly child and not worth her time. She made to step away. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“I will not,” Pierce replied, stepping in her way and forcing her to remain where she was. He doubted she’d push him out of her way, or would she?
Drawing up short, his little mouse seemed a bit taken off guard. She masked her discomfiture quickly. Her gaze met his and held, unwavering, a challenge there. Indeed, she might be a little, grey mouse, but she was not weak-minded, not fearful, not easily intimidated.
Pierce could not deny that he liked that about her. “Do you truly need them to see?”
Her gaze narrowed, not in confusion, but in suspicion and perhaps a bit of concern. “Why have you come here, my lord?”
Glancing at the other occupants of the terrace, currently deep in conversation and not paying them any mind, Pierce moved closer, his gaze holding hers. He delighted in the way her eyes widened and her lips parted, a soft breath shuddering past as she forced herself to remain where she was and not take a step back. “To learn your secrets,” he whispered, glancing at the rapidly beating pulse in her neck. “Am I making you nervous?”
Her shoulders jerked back and her lips clamped shut. Daggers shot from her eyes, and he would not have been surprised if she’d slapped him. The desire to do so stood as clear as day in her now thundering blue eyes. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I would appreciate it if you would let me pass.”
Her voice remained hard, annoyed, perhaps tinged with a hint of concern, and her gaze held his without wavering. She did not beg nor ask. She stood tall, demanding he comply. Never had he seen a grey mouse act with such courage.
Pierce was tempted to test the limits of her resolve, of her self-control. “What if I don’t?”
Rather unexpectedly, he found the corners of her lips curl upward into a devilishly wicked smile. “Don’t cross me, my lord,” she whispered as she moved closer ever so slightly, her blue eyes holding his captive even through those hideous spectacles. “Believe me, you wouldn’t win.”
Stunned, Pierce stared at her, too shocked, too taken aback, too overwhelmed to catch a clear thought, let alone move.
Wicked as she was, Miss Hawkins used that very moment to slip past him. Like the little, grey mouse she portrayed to the world.
Unseen.
Unnoticed.
There one moment and then gone the next, with none the wiser.
Staring after her, Pierce marveled at the contradicting facets of her character he’d observed thus far. If he’d been intrigued before, he was now completely taken in by the need to solve the mystery she presented.
If she was a mouse, then he would be the cat, and he would give chase until he had her.
Chapter Five
What Must Be Done
“Have you seen Rebecca?” her mother asked, her blue eyes slightly narrowed as she settled onto the settee. “I must say, she’s been very quiet these last few days and rarely left her chamber.” Her gaze narrowed in concentration, no doubt trying to remember when she’d last seen her niece.
Caroline looked up from her book, careful to maintain that moderately interested expression she always used when dealing with her parents. “I’m afraid she’s been a bit under the weather,” she replied, willing a hint of unease into her voice before she dropped her gaze for the barest of seconds—another practiced routine. “I believe…it’s that time of the month.”
In truth, Rebecca had left the house almost a week ago. She’d been utterly disappointed that Lord Pembroke’s interest in her seemed to have subsided and as annoyed as she’d been with Lord Coleridge’s attentions, she’d needed some time away.
Of course, Caroline had aided her beloved cousin in her escape, distracting her parents so that Rebecca had been able to sneak out of the house and hire a coach. Presently, her cousin was in the country, visiting an old friend who’d recently been married—something her parents would never have agreed to.
As expected, Caroline noted her mother’s cheeks redden slightly with discomfort. “Of course.” Her gaze dropped, and she busied herself smoothing out her skirts. “I’m afraid your father’s business keeps us in Town for a good deal longer, my dear.”
“O
h, I don’t mind, Mother,” Caroline assured her, which could not be more true for she was still working on securing the funds to have repairs made to the children’s home. Lady Woodward had promised a sizable donation. However, convincing the dear lady to allow Caroline to handle the money was a bit of an unusual and, therefore, time-consuming request. However, Caroline could not risk the money to fall into Mr. Wolsey’s hands for she could not be certain he would use it as intended.
Unfortunately, Lord and Lady Woodward were departing for their country estate soon and, therefore, time was of the essence.
A few days later, Caroline and Sarah made their way over to the children’s home in a hired carriage. She was afraid news of her whereabouts would reach her father’s ear if she were to use his own. They’d first stopped to purchase a few essentials with Caroline’s own money, knowing that the only way to ensure the children benefited from her hard work was to present them with the very things they needed herself. If there was no money, Mr. Wolsey could not spend it on spirits!
While Sarah assisted Mary and a few other nurses with a search for lice before they would scrub the little rascals from head to toe and wash all their clothes and bedding, Caroline searched out Mr. Wolsey in his office.
Unfortunately, the man was barely conscious, lying slumped over on his desk, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Outraged, Caroline stood in the door, for a moment too overcome with anger to decide on how to proceed. However, the second her thoughts focused, she took hold of the door and then slammed it closed with as much strength as she possessed. The sound was deafening and even managed to make itself heard somewhere in the darkest recesses of Mr. Wolsey’s alcohol-induced slumber.
With a jerk, he shot upright before all but crumbling back down into his chair. His hands flew to his head and he pinched his eyes shut.