by Regina Scott
But no. Safton’s head of black hair was too wavy to be a wig, and his height could not have been manufactured.
“Trevithan,” he acknowledged. “What campaign do you mean?”
It had been a calculated shot. He hadn’t thought the man would betray confidences so easily. Allister made himself chuckle. “Do you have so many?”
The lady tugged on Safton’s arm as if to remind him of her presence. Safton ignored her. “Not at all. As a gentleman of means, I have no need to campaign, for a lady’s favors or for funding. You are misinformed.”
Not likely. Safton lured eager young lads into his net with offers of camaraderie, knowledge of the ton and the forbidden parts of London. Once he captured the poor fellows, he turned them to vices no man should embrace and fleeced them of every penny. He had to know Allister would not stomach such an acquaintance, and surely Joanna would be too clever to associate with the fellow. Why would he be watching them?
“My mistake,” Allister said with a bow that included the lady. Safton continued on, though his companion glanced back at Allister with open curiosity.
Allister turned for the Upper Brook Street entrance to the park. Once again he’d have to tell Joanna that he’d discovered nothing of import. The writer of the note remained unknown. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that the fellow was still a danger, to his upcoming marriage and his sanity.
Chapter Six
Joanna was still simmering when Allister stopped by the house a short while later. He’d embraced a mystery more fervently than he embraced her. It did not bode well for their marriage.
He was entirely apologetic. “I should not have allowed myself to be drawn away from you. I assure you it will not happen again.”
If only she could believe that.
Still, she made herself go about her business that evening, meeting Jenny for a discussion of what next to propose to the reading group Jenny led in her home, catching up on correspondence. If Allister’s face intruded on her thoughts more than usual, she let know one guess.
She and her mother were working on her trousseau in their sitting room the next morning when Harris their butler announced that Davis Laughton had come to see them. Her mother hastily bundled up the frilly lace underthings they had been stitching and hurried them from the sunny little room. That left Joanna with a little time alone with the man, their footman standing against the wall.
Mr. Laughton bowed over her hand and seated himself on the edge of a nearby upholstered chair, brown-coated elbows tight against the curving arms. She had not done more than glance at him when they had met in Allister’s flat the other day. Now she considered him more carefully from her place on the primrose-patterned sofa, noting the youthful face and slender frame. He would be easy to take for a scholar or a young solicitor. But beneath the boyish exterior, she felt a confidence and tension that spoke of an older, more experienced man.
“Is everything all right with Allister?” she couldn’t help asking when he did no more than exchange pleasantries.
“Yes, he’s fine,” he assured her. “He asked me to stop by and check on you. I take it everything is fine here as well?”
So Allister was still worried. Kind of him to send his friend, for all she might have wished to see him instead.
“I have nothing to report,” she told him, smoothing down the skirts of her green-sprigged muslin gown.
He blinked as if surprised by her choice of words, then offered her a polite smile. “I thought you should also know that Lord Trevithan may be busy the next few days. You needn’t worry if you don’t see him.”
Disappointment shot through her, at both the situation and Allister. “I had hoped he would bring me bad news himself.”
He returned her gaze without squirming. “I’m sure he didn’t see that as such terrible news.”
No, he probably didn’t. That is entirely the problem.
“Forgive my disappointment, Mr. Laughton,” she said aloud. “It is always sad to hear I shall be deprived of my betrothed’s company. Thank you for troubling yourself to deliver the message. As you are obviously a particular friend of Allister’s, I’m sure he would want me to invite you to the wedding. Where shall I have my mother address the invitation?”
His smile was pleasant, but it lacked depth. “Don’t trouble yourself. Just give the invitation to Lord Trevithan, and he’ll see that I receive it.”
A singular request, but she supposed it was reasonable, particularly if he was staying in a hotel with unreliable post service. “I’ll do that then,” she replied. “I trust Allister’s investigation goes well?”
He shifted ever so slightly on the chair. “Investigation, madam?”
“For the writer of that note,” she explained, then she frowned. “That is what keeps Allister from my side, isn’t it?”
He pursed his lips, eyeing her. “May I speak frankly, Miss Lindby?”
“I wish someone would!”
“Very well.” He inched closer and locked gazes with her. Joanna leaned forward as well.
“I’m sure Lord Trevithan has told you that he works for the War Office. I work there as well. It can be a dangerous job, Miss Lindby, to us personally and, sadly, often to those we love. Lord Trevithan would be angry with me for telling you, but he has made a number of enemies over the years. It is not surprising that one of them seeks to ruin his chance at happiness.”
Her throat tightened, and Joanna swallowed. Allister had reason for his preoccupation, it seemed. She could not make herself grasp it. “Goodness! Is this person dangerous? Homicidal?”
He rose, and she rose with him. “One would certainly hope not. However, it is possible. Lord Trevithan will no doubt do everything in his power to protect you, but there is always the slightest of chances that he will fail. I thought you should be warned.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Joanna mumbled, mind churning. Dark and dangerous was one thing. Deadly was quite another. Where had her impetuous heart led her? Was she at risk? Was her mother in danger? Would Allister be harmed trying to protect them?
Her thoughts must have been written on her face, for Davis took a step closer, dark eyes glittering.
“Under the circumstances, Miss Lindby,” he said, “I think Lord Trevithan would understand if you wanted to call off the wedding.”
Call off the wedding?
Some would have said that was the wisest course. She did not consider herself a particularly brave person. Surely if she called off the wedding she would be safe. She would not be a target if she were not connected with Allister. And she would not have to worry about whether she could keep his attention throughout their marriage.
But to call off the wedding when even a homicidal madman saw that Allister cared for her enough to be concerned about her wellbeing? To forego the excitement of Allister’s kiss, the joy of his presence in her life?
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Laughton,” she said firmly. “I will not call off the wedding. I will be married, in June.”
Her mother returned then, and more pleasantries were exchanged, but Mr. Laughton left shortly thereafter. Joanna managed to excuse herself from her mother as well. She simply had to find a moment to think.
She retired to her room and paced back and forth across the vine-pattered carpet. She had been right about Allister’s involvement in the War Office. While she did not know details and probably never would, she could interpret Mr. Laughton’s words. Allister must be a member of that valiant group of men who ferreted out the secrets of the Empire’s enemies. In doing so, he had made enemies of his own. One of them sought to hurt him.
By hurting her.
In a strange, twisted way it was flattering. Obviously, the letter writer and their mysterious stalker assumed she was important to Allister. Why else attempt to part her from him? But she’d meant what she’d said to Mr. Laughton. She loved Allister. She refused to let him go because of a threat that might never come to pass. She would stand beside him, no matter the cost.
–
“Are you certain about this?” Allister asked that evening as Davis led him toward the back of the Drury Lane Theatre. On the other side of the heavily painted backdrop, he heard the applause from the audience as the first act ended. Actors and actresses hurried past to change for the next scene.
“The Skull was once sighted in her company,” Davis maintained, twisting past a stuffed camel whose glass eyes gleamed balefully in the dim light. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn whether she’s seen him recently.” He stopped at a door and rapped.
A dulcet voice called for him to enter.
Allister followed him into the narrow room. The scent of roses hung in the air. Costumes of every color and cloth were draped over screens, chairs, trunks. Framed to advantage in a brass looking glass, Lydia Montgomery paused in powdering her perfect face. Once Allister might have found the luscious curves, the mysterious violet eyes intriguing. Now her artifice paled before Joanna’s worth.
“Miss Montgomery,” Davis said, offering her a bow. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”
She turned with a smile. “Anything for those who protect our dear prince. You did say you’d mention my service to his royal highness.”
“Assuredly,” Davis promised, as if he was personally acquainted with the prince regent.
She batted thick lashes a shade darker than her golden hair. “How might I help you?”
Davis pulled the drawing of the Skull from his coat pocket. “Have you seen this fellow recently?”
Lydia made a show of examining the print. “No, I don’t believe so.” She glanced up. “He isn’t the sort one would forget. Lord Hastings asked me all about him last year. He never explained the interest.”
“Research,” Allister said. “Then he hasn’t approached you in the last year?”
She lowered her lashes. “La, sir, gentlemen approach me all the time. I only associate with those of the best families.”
And the ones with the deepest pockets. “Is there a gentleman you currently favor?”
She rose, showing her figure to advantage in the deep-necked ruby-colored gown. “Mr. Safton and Mr. Robert Whattling have been persistent callers, but I always appreciate a gentleman who knows how to treat a lady properly.” She ran a finger up his sleeve.
Another connection to Safton. Allister couldn’t like it. Neither could he like the predatory gleam in her violet eyes. He took a step back. “I regret that I’m about to be married.”
Her smile showed her canines. “That’s not what I heard.”
Heat flushed up him. Allister grabbed her fingers, held her fast as he searched her face for answers. “What have you heard?”
There was a momentary flash of panic, as if she knew she’d overplayed her hand. Then her smile curved up once more. “Why, that you grew tired of your tame Society kitten and turned her out into the cold. So ruthless, my lord. I admire a man who knows what he wants.”
She was playing with him. His grip tightened. “What I grow tired of is this game. The man we’re trying to find is dangerous, to England and to you. Perhaps I should lock you up in Newgate for safekeeping.”
Her eyes widened. “No, Lord Trevithan, you wouldn’t.”
“He might,” Davis put in helpfully. “He’s that sort, I’m afraid.”
She glanced from Davis’s boyish regret to the determination Allister knew sat on his face. Then she straightened. “I haven’t seen him, but I have reason to believe he’s in London.”
Allister released her. “Why? What’s happened?”
She took a step back as if to make sure he could not put hands on her again. “I favor a particular sweet from Gunter’s, plum comfits. Few know of it. He does. A box of them arrived with no note two days ago.”
Two days. The same time Joanna had received the note rejecting her. Was the Skull truly back in London and intent on stopping his marriage?
Or was it a coincidence? When France teetered on the brink of defeat, why waste time on revenge?
Davis seemed just as agitated, for he matched Allister’s stride as they left the theatre. “He must be in town, Trev. We have to tell Lord Hastings.”
“Agreed,” Allister said, raising his hand to hail a cab. “I’ll leave you to do the deed. Tell Hastings I advise posting a watch on Miss Montgomery and the sweet shop. Very likely he’s using an intermediary, but we have to take the chance of catching him.”
A driver drew his dark carriage up beside the pavement. Davis climbed in after Allister. “And what do you intend to do while I’m playing message boy?”
“I’m not convinced it’s the Skull,” Allister told him, settling back against the seat. “Someone told Miss Montgomery about Joanna’s dismissal. My money is on Safton. I need to know if there’s a connection between him and Joanna.”
Chapter Seven
Joanna began asking her questions the next day following church services at St. George’s Hanover Square. Jenny often sat with her and her mother in the elegant church that served most of Mayfair. She readily agreed to return home with them for refreshments and conversation. Then it was merely a matter of encouraging Lady Lindby to pay a few calls, leaving Joanna and her friend alone in the sunny yellow sitting room.
“What are you plotting?” Jenny asked, leaning back on the sofa with a smile.
Joanna raised her brows. “Plotting? I never plot.”
“Rarely,” Jenny agreed. “But there is a determined light in your eyes. What’s happened?”
Joanna knit her fingers together in the lap of her cerulean lustring gown. “I have reason to believe someone is trying to come between me and Allister.”
Jenny stiffened, grey gown rustling with the movement. “How dare they! Who?”
“I don’t know,” Joanna said, warmed by her friend’s indignance. “But I’m hopeful the two of us can determine the culprit.”
Jenny nodded. “Count on me. What do you know so far?”
Joanna sketched out the story of the note and the incidences on the balcony and at the park.
“Even at Lady Badgerly’s musicale?” Jenny exclaimed. “Is nothing sacred?”
Joanna smiled at the outraged tone. “Apparently not. Allister is looking into the matter, and I feel it incumbent on me to do the same. Can you think of anyone who might wish me ill?”
“You?” Jenny’s eyes were wide. “Joanna, you are well thought of by all.”
Her face heated. “Perhaps not all. Think, Jenny. Is there any lady I might have inadvertently slighted?”
Jenny’s round face screwed up. “Constance Templeman? You did dance with Lord Borin when it was thought he was pursuing her.”
“But he married her stepsister,” Joanna protested. “And Miss Templeman is now married.”
“To that dashing Captain Randolph,” Jenny agreed with a sigh.
Joanna cocked her head. “Were you sweet on him, Jenny? You never gave the least indication.”
Jenny dropped her gaze. “No, no. In truth, I’ve only met one gentleman who piqued my interest. He was kindness itself, everything you could want a gentleman to be.”
“Who is this paragon?” Joanna couldn’t help asking. “Why have you not mentioned him before?”
Jenny’s chin looked decidedly stubborn. “His name is immaterial. He will not pursue me. You know the gentlemen of the ton find me no more than a dreaded bluestocking, to be avoided at all costs.”
“That’s not true,” Joanna scolded. “Any number of gentlemen would be delighted to pay you court.”
Jenny merely eyed her.
“What of Robbie Whattling?” Joanna challenged. “He’s personable, chivalrous.”
“Immature, uneducated, sporting-mad,” Jenny countered. “And I believe you asked me here to h
elp you, not the other way around.”
Joanna sighed. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that I find so much to commend about you. Your intellect, your kindness, your loyalty. I don’t understand why the gentlemen cannot see you as I do.”
Jenny took her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Because you are a dear friend, and you are blind to my faults, faults that are readily apparent to the gentlemen. I am headstrong, opinionated, and plain. I fear the combination is deadly to matrimonial pursuits. Now, let’s determine who would be so brazen and foolish as to attempt to part you and your dear Lord Trevithan.”
They talked a while longer but reached no conclusions. Jenny was right. Joanna tried to be kind, polite to everyone she met. She’d never consciously attempted to harm another, by word or deed. Certainly she’d never attempted to steal another lady’s beau or attract the attention away from others for her own gain. And she liked to think any gentleman who had been interested in courting her had parted as a friend.
“It must be someone known to Lord Trevithan,” Jenny insisted as Joanna rang for tea. “Talk to him. Perhaps he cut someone off in a horserace. Gentlemen can be notoriously touchy about such things.”
“He doesn’t race,” Joanna said. “At least, not that I’ve ever heard. Nor does he gamble, so he cannot be holding a voucher against another player.”
Jenny fidgeted with the lace on her sleeve. “Another woman, perhaps? Surely other ladies have sighed after such a fellow.”
She’d heard them often enough. “I cannot think of any name coupled with his before he sought me out.”
Now Jenny was adjusting her skirts, gaze still avoiding Joanna’s. “It need not be a lady. I understand some gentlemen keep mistresses.”
“Not Allister.” She wasn’t sure why she was so certain, but her tone must have been sufficiently strident, for Jenny raised her head, mouth turned down sympathetically.