by Brenda Hiatt
She prowled restlessly around the perimeter of the room, looking at porcelain figurines on the tabletops and framed sporting pictures on the walls. They were undoubtedly of fine quality but seemed randomly selected and conveyed no sense of their owner. Was this the English sense of style? She had not forgotten the look of English rooms, with their chimneyed fireplaces and double-hung windows so different from the Spanish, but it surprised her how foreign she felt in this elegant, impersonal room.
After several more minutes passed she began to wonder in earnest what might be keeping the footman from returning. An ominous grumbling from the region of her stomach reminded her that neither she nor Benita had eaten. An equally hungry Maggie and Carlos were waiting for them back at their lodgings. Falcon had promised to bring food when they returned.
There is only enough money for a few days, she reflected, staring at a scene of a swarming pack of hunting dogs without seeing it at all. Last night’s wrenching loss of her funds had made her aware of every penny she spent, and the distance to Lord Danebridge’s house in the West End had been much farther and more expensive than she’d expected. What would she do if Lord Danebridge could not help her?
With a sigh she turned away from the picture and began to wander about the room again, studying the patterns in the Turkish carpet. She had lost so much more than simply money! She had felt last night as if the last shreds of her heart had been lost with the miniature portraits of her parents and the few of their belongings that had been in that trunk.
Falcon’s mother had given her the heirloom pearl and emerald jewelry on her fourteenth birthday and had instructed her to someday give it to a daughter of her own. It was the last time they had celebrated together. The Bible and the rosary had been her mother’s, too, and the miniatures had been a gift from her father.
Falcon had let the tears come briefly during the night, but now she could not afford the luxury of grief. She must think!
“Doña Alomar?”
She started at the sound of her borrowed name and looked up. Lord Danebridge himself stood in the doorway.
“Lord Danebridge! ¡Cielos! You must please excuse me. I never expected—that is, I did not think—oh, my. I had no idea that you would be here. So soon, I mean. Already. I would never have called at such an hour—that is to say…”
She managed to close her mouth before any more gibberish came out of it. Her pulse was doing a wild dance—no doubt from embarrassment and surprise—while her cheeks burned from blushing. Why had it never occurred to her that he might have already arrived? Just because they had traveled from the same place in Wiltshire on the same day and never once crossed paths or saw each other?
“I must say this is an unexpected pleasure. Unexpected apparently for both of us. You called because you did not think I would be here?” He advanced into the room, sounding more amused than puzzled. “Shall we be seated?”
He moved with the smooth grace and assurance of a fine athlete, Falcon thought. She nodded and looked nervously behind her for the settee where she had perched so briefly earlier. Seldom had she ever felt quite such a fool. Benita, bless her, had risen upon his entrance and moved to an unobtrusive position near the window.
Lord Danebridge sat upon the settee across from Falcon. For a moment he just studied her. She frantically tried to organize her thoughts.
“I don’t know how—” she began.
He started speaking at the same instant. “I don’t know—”
They both broke off, and he chuckled, a rich, pleasant sound that was deep, like his voice. Falcon swallowed. Why was she so distracted by him? She tried again.
“I must apologize! I don’t quite know how to explain. I never expected that I might need to consider your offer of assistance yesterday morning as anything more than a polite gesture. It was, of course, very polite, and very generous…” She was floundering again. She did not want to sound unappreciative. She was afraid she sounded completely rattle-brained.
Jeremy watched her struggle and decided to take pity on her. He gave her an encouraging smile. “But now you find that you are in need of some assistance, is that it?”
She had the grace to color again and look at the floor. If she was not genuinely distressed by all this, she was a consummate actress. But then, of course, a good agent would need to be. He truly was not certain who was duping whom in this game they were playing. If it was a game, of course. He still could not shake off the feeling that she was an innocent caught up in circumstances far beyond her control. Surely the fact that she had come seeking help after all counted for something?
“I began to say that I don’t know quite the proper way to handle a business call from a lady so early in the day.” At least, not a respectable lady. “I think we are both feeling deucedly awkward. As I have not yet breakfasted, what would you say to my having a tray brought in here? Would you partake of some refreshments?”
There was no mistaking the look that clouded her green eyes or the quick glance that darted to her maid. He would wager the Crown jewels that they had not eaten. Dear God, had she no money at all? He felt a momentary stab of guilt.
She stood. “I, we, that is, no—we mustn’t keep you from your breakfast. This is unforgivable. Truly, we only came by to learn when your staff were expecting you—I never dreamed that you meant to be in London so quickly! Perhaps—perhaps we could call back later. No—I should send ’round a note, I suppose. Oh, I am so very sorry to be troubling you!”
Jeremy admired the señora’s show of pride and apparent concern for propriety, whether or not they were genuine. Although his attention was fixed upon the young woman opposite him, he caught the faintest sound from the maid by the window—a tiny note of disappointment, protest, or frustration—he could not quite tell which. He decided to try a bold move.
“Please, señora, I can see that you are distraught.” He had risen when she did, and now he approached her and gently took the hands she had clenched in front of her between his own. “Since you are already here, does it not make more sense to simply proceed with the business that brought you here? I insist that you stay long enough to at least have—let me see, would a cup of chocolate tempt you? You can tell me how I may help you.”
Watching her eyes was like looking into her soul. Jeremy did not think any actress could have pretended the conflict he saw there. She was clearly surprised and shocked when he so improperly touched her, yet she did not pull away from him instantly. She seemed to weigh his suggestion. He thought he saw trust battling with suspicion and prudence battling temptation.
He released her hands the moment she did try to reclaim them, and then he tried to pretend that nothing untoward at all had occurred. But it was not true. Something had happened the moment he had taken her hands into his, and he felt quite shaken. Something had moved in him, some stone from the walls of his heart, perhaps, and like a hot coal dropped on tinder it had kindled both a feeling of protectiveness and a spark of desire.
Absurd, of course! He did not even know the woman. She might be a spy or she might be seeking a protector of a very different sort. And to feel protective of her went beyond absurd, since he was the one who was investigating her, had ordered her trunk stolen, and yes, was even considering seducing her if it would help him to learn who she was. What a villain he had learned to be!
As she turned away from him he saw the surrender on her face. “I suppose it does make sense, since we are already here.” She sat down again upon the settee. “We have already disturbed you.”
In more ways than you know, he thought grimly. He stepped to the bellpull and rang for the servants, then resumed his seat across from her.
She raised her chin and looked directly at him. He saw defiance in her green eyes.
“I am sorry to say that since arriving in London we are most unexpectedly in need of assistance. You were generous enough to make your offer to complete strangers, and as I know no one in the city, I am forced to put that generosity to the test.”
The question was rhetorical, of course. The conversation halted when his butler appeared at the door, but after instructing the fellow to have breakfast served to them in the reception room, Jeremy continued. “How may I be of service to you, Doña Alomar?”
She looked down at her lap. “The lodgings that were recommended to us have proven to be highly unsuitable. For one thing, I was hoping that you might be able to recommend something more, well, appropriate to a modest purse but at least respectable.”
She flushed as she uttered the last phrase, and Jeremy found himself admiring her again. She was indeed beautiful. But he must react to her news.
“Where is it that you are currently lodged?” he asked in horrified tones.
“Near Covent Garden. The neighborhood is appalling and the house itself—well, I cannot say.” She looked away, as if she could not bear to meet his gaze. Her embarrassment and distress seemed very believable.
He summoned all the indignation he could scrape together. “This was recommended to you by a friend? Certainly you must not stay there another day! I will have you moved out of there in the blink of an eye.”
“Oh, no! I’m afraid we must stay until our friend arrives—he expects to find us there. I would not trust the landlady to deliver a message if we should remove before then. And I do not wish to impose upon you any more than I am already. But if you could suggest any more suitable establishment…?”
“There is a house on Charles Street just a few blocks from here. It is run by an elderly widow whose reputation is impeccable.”
A rattle of dishes and a discreet knock at the open door announced the arrival of breakfast. A virtual feast was brought in by a procession of several under-servants supervised by the butler. Coffee, tea, and chocolate were arranged upon the side table while a card table from the corner was pulled closer to the center of the room and its leaves opened out to support loaded platters of ham, kippers, warm rolls and buttered eggs.
While the servants were at work, Jeremy had a moment to think. He would have to speak with the woman who ran the Charles Street lodging house and make some arrangement to procure “modest” rates. It was fortunate he had had occasion to use her establishment before—she might put a very wrong interpretation on his behavior if he were not known to her. He was also in no position to vouch for the señora’s character. But it would be very helpful indeed to have a useful pair of eyes and ears inside the very house where the young lady from Spain would be lodging.
Once the servants had departed, he rose and began to fill a plate for his guest. “You said recommending lodging to you was one thing. Is there something more I can do?” Would she mention the trunk? Ask him for money? She had set him up nicely for that.
As he delivered her plate she looked up at him with eyes clouded by—what? Sorrow? Worry? Both?
“Perhaps you could give me some advice,” she said, scarcely noticing the plate of food. “We suffered another calamity—a part of my luggage was stolen. I must make every possible effort to recover it, but I have no idea how to proceed.”
Was this distress genuine, or was she simply far more clever and subtle than he imagined? He played along. “What was lost?”
“A fair-sized trunk. It contained some valuable items. Do I have any recourse at all?”
He thought for a moment. An honest reply would be best. “Bow Street might be able to look into the matter. I doubt the trunk would be recovered, but the individual items might show up if the thieves try to sell them. Another possibility would be to advertise for the return of the trunk with its contents, and offer a sizable reward.”
Hope brightened her eyes, but only for a moment. The light went out of them as she shook her head. “Without the trunk I am in no position to offer any reward, I fear. I will have to place my hopes on your Bow Street. What is it? The hackney driver mentioned some sort of patrol.”
“It is a magistrate’s court with its own force of officers. There are law agents who patrol the streets and runners who are thief-takers and skilled investigators.”
“A patrol of such men would have been welcome indeed last night, but we saw no one.”
“You will have to call there to fill out a report, and it is no place for an unescorted lady. Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you?”
She sighed. “You are very kind, and far too generous. It is too much to ask.”
Not if you knew the truth, he thought guiltily. Aloud he said, “You have had a most unfortunate introduction to our city. You must allow me to do what I can to make amends.”
She had not yet so much as touched her food. “Please, eat. I will feel the worst cad to eat in front of you otherwise, and I admit to being famished.”
She picked up her fork and looked longingly at the food in front of her, yet still she did not eat.
“Is it not to your liking? I suppose English food is quite different from what you are accustomed to eating.”
“It is not that.” She appeared to be in an agony of indecision, glancing first at him and then in the direction of her patient maid, standing silently by the window. Finally she said, “Would you be horribly offended if I offered something to my maid? To be perfectly frank, we have neither of us broken our fast yet this morning, and I cannot bear to eat in front of her while she goes hungry.”
For a moment he did not know what to say, he was so caught off guard. This woman fascinated him with her talent for doing and saying the unexpected. She was worried about the maid! He set his own plate aside immediately. “I will fix a plate for her myself.”
Lord Danebridge not only fed Falcon and Benita but also insisted on transporting them back to their lodgings in his own carriage, by way of Bow Street. This was a great deal more help than Falcon had sought or expected, not to mention a great deal more time spent in the man’s company, and she had objected.
She told herself afterwards that she should have known better. After all, how well had she managed to prevail over him at the inn in Triss’s village? Her determination to refuse was weakened by her awareness of the money he could save her—the considerable fare for a return hackney, after he had already saved her the cost of food for herself and Benita. But she was afraid to be under too great an obligation to him.
He had countered her every argument, agreeing to stop so she could purchase food for Carlos and Maggie and then to stop again at the lodgings to deliver it on their way to the Bow Street offices. She could not disagree when he pointed out that Bow Street had a better chance of helping her if she reported the stolen trunk as soon as possible. When she suggested that he might not wish to be seen in the vicinity of her lodgings, he only called for his carriage.
“You must consider, señora, that no one I know or who knows me is likely to be in that neighborhood, to begin with. Beyond that, I pay no heed to gossip unless it is of the most malicious kind. If that is the case, and I am the subject, I simply take steps to stop it.”
“How do you do that?”
“Like most successful campaigns, it requires several methods in combination, both defensive and offensive.”
It was not the first time he had made a comment that hinted at a military background. Falcon studied him surreptitiously as they made themselves ready and went out to climb into his carriage. During their meal she had been kept busy deflecting questions subtly designed to draw out information about herself, but a few times during the conversation she had noticed Lord Danebridge’s use of terms or a turn of phrase that struck her as odd for a civilian.
Who was he really? What did she know about him? Nothing, in a word. She was supremely uncomfortable trusting him as much as she already had. Yet he had the strangest effect upon her, as if her mind became separated from her will whenever she looked into his gray eyes.
Like now, she thought as he t
urned to hand her up into the carriage. Their eyes locked momentarily as he took her gloved hand into his.
The warmth of his touch affected her even more strangely, as it had for those moments in the reception room. Such brief, casual contact should not cause her blood to race nor her feelings to eclipse all rational thought! Her only hope was that he might not wish any further contact with her after helping her today.
Of course. That is just the reason he suggested lodgings only two blocks from his home, said the little voice in the back of her mind. Suddenly she wondered if taking up his suggestion would be so wise after all.
Chapter Six
“You and your maid are very much at risk in a neighborhood like this one,” Lord Danebridge lectured Falcon when he returned her to her lodgings after their visit to Bow Street. “Are you certain you do not wish me to see you safely to your rooms?”
“It is not necessary, thank you,” Falcon replied in a firm voice, appalled at the idea of him coming inside. She gave him her hand. “You have done so much already. You have upheld the honor of your countrymen in assisting a lady in distress! I appreciate it more than you can know.”
To her relief, he seemed to recognize her dismissal. “It has been an honor to do so,” he said, brushing her gloved fingertips with his lips. “But please, if you should need to venture out again today, promise me you will take your manservant with you, instead of your maid. He would be of far more use in case of trouble.”
Falcon smiled politely and nodded, thinking that it was kind of him to care. Only afterwards did she wonder how he knew she had a manservant.
The baron bowed and returned to his carriage, where he waited, doubtless to see that she went safely inside.
The landlady met her in the passage. “There’s a man waiting to see you in your rooms,” she announced with an arrogant smirk, making Falcon doubly glad that Lord Danebridge was not still with her.