The Scandalous Flirt

by Olivia Drake

  “I took the mail up to her this morning,” Grimshaw intoned, his eyes betraying pleasure at being the bearer of bad tidings. “She mentioned nothing of your visit.”

  “When will she return?”

  “It is impossible to know. She was summoned by the Duke of Whittingham’s mother to discuss the wedding preparations. I’m sure she found that to be more important.”

  Rory’s disappointment showed on her expressive features. Lucas felt a stab of the same frustration. The second blackmail payment was due the following evening, and they needed to devise a plan to entrap the villain. From the moment he had seen Stefano with Mrs. Edgerton, Lucas had been certain the two were conspiring together. But he had yet to persuade Rory of that fact.

  He had yet to forgive her, too, for inserting that loathsome reference to his marital plans in The Weekly Verdict. With his imminent betrothal, this was the worst possible time for him to be embroiled in a scandal. He would never forget the moment of realization when he’d put it all together, her modern notions, her expert knowledge of Miss Cellany’s columns, her excitement on spotting the newspaper office.

  Because of her careless disregard for his privacy, he would become the topic of titillating gossip. All of his life he’d taken pains to avoid controversy in order to overcome his father’s tarnished legacy, and she had blithely dragged his name through the mud.

  Nevertheless, he stepped to Rory’s side, placed his hand at the small of her back, and fixed the butler with a cool stare. “I would like to write a note to Mrs. Paxton. You are to see that it is delivered immediately to Whittingham’s house in Berkeley Square. Is that clear?”

  Grimshaw’s lips curled sourly as his gaze flicked downward to take in Lucas’s protective gesture. “I shall be happy to oblige, my lord. However, you must not expect her to hasten back here. Her Grace’s wishes surely must take precedence.”

  Lucas could see why Grimshaw rubbed Rory the wrong way. She’d said that he listened at keyholes and had a meddlesome manner. The man also had an irritating way of injecting his opinions into every response rather than merely obeying orders.

  “That remains to be seen,” Lucas snapped. “Now, fetch me pen and paper at once.”

  “There’s a writing desk upstairs in the drawing room,” Rory said. “I’ll show you the way.”

  She started toward the staircase along one wall of the foyer. Grimshaw fairly leaped into her path, nimble for a man approaching his middle years. “Miss Celeste is entertaining a visitor in the drawing room. I very much doubt that she wishes to be disturbed.”

  Lucas had had quite enough of the butler’s insolence. “I very much doubt you are paid to make such determinations for your betters. Now move aside.”

  Grimshaw complied with a pretense of subservience. “Only kindly remember it isn’t my fault.”

  He lowered his gaze, though not before Lucas noted a strange excitement in his eyes. Fault? What mischief was the man contemplating now?

  Then Lucas forgot about it as he started up the stairs after Rory. He told himself not to ogle her, yet her womanly form served as a siren’s call. The gown of leaf-green muslin embraced her curves and accentuated the slenderness of her waist. As she lifted the skirt slightly to keep from tripping, he glimpsed her shapely ankles. His obsessive mind produced a fantasy of untying her garters, peeling down those white silk stockings, putting his lips to her soft bare skin …

  He felt a light touch on his upper arm. “What do you suppose he’s up to?” she whispered.

  Lucas realized they’d reached the top of the stairs. Rory was leaning close to murmur in his ear, and with a searing jolt, he realized it wasn’t her fingers resting on his sleeve. It was her bosom. A feast of creamy flesh swelled above the edge of her bodice, and his body reacted with irrepressible swiftness. Desire sizzled downward and brought him to throbbing readiness. The fierce urge to take her into his arms made him dizzy.

  But she wasn’t even gazing at him. Her attention was focused down the stairs. When she turned her head to look inquiringly at him, he realized she was commenting on the butler.

  With effort, he broke the delightful contact of their bodies and guided her a few steps down a carpeted corridor to an alcove out of sight of the foyer. He kept his voice as low as hers. “I presume you mean Grimshaw.”

  “Yes. I had the distinct impression that he’s hiding something. Do you suppose it has to do with the missing letters?”

  “He did seem determined to keep us from talking to your stepmother. Yet it’s a bit of a stretch to conclude that that makes him guilty of a crime. He is merely a servant, after all.”

  “Oh, but you can’t begin to imagine his twisted ways. Why, just look at how he…” Rory compressed her lips into a firm line that he dearly wanted to soften with a kiss.

  He tipped up her chin with his fingertip. “How he what? You cannot expect me to believe him a viable suspect unless you tell me everything.”

  She studied him another moment, then spoke in a low, resentful whisper. “If you must know, Grimshaw is the one who saw me with Stefano in my father’s study. He’s the one who reported me to Papa.”

  Lucas could see how that might seem horribly interfering to a young girl who fancied herself in love. Surely with the perspective of maturity, though, she ought to recognize it for a stroke of luck. “You deserved to be caught.”

  “But … it was underhanded! The snoop opened the door and peeked inside the study!”

  “Suppose he had simply closed the door again. Suppose you’d carried on your affair with that knave. You might have ended up with child, Rory. It was best to put an end to it. So maybe Grimshaw did you a favor.”

  She uttered a harrumph. Brushing past him, she flounced down the corridor. It was clear she was miffed with him for not taking her side, and he found himself unexpectedly charmed by the willful tilt of her chin.

  He went after her, catching up just as she sailed through an arched doorway and into a drawing room decorated in rose-and-cream hues. “Rory, if you’ll just stop and think—”

  She did stop. But her attention was not on him. He turned his head to see what had made her eyes suddenly widen.

  And he cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

  A young couple sat on a chaise by the window, their heads close together in conversation. Afternoon sunlight dappled Celeste Paxton’s golden hair—and his brother’s debonair handsomeness.

  The pair glanced up and saw them. They sprang apart almost guiltily. Henry jumped to his feet. “Dash! Fancy meeting you here!”

  Lucas didn’t trust that suave smile. He walked closer. “I should say the same to you. Why are you here?”

  “I only stopped for a moment to return a handkerchief that Miss Celeste dropped at the ball last night. There it was, lying on the street, after she and her mama departed in their carriage.”

  The girl waved a white scrap of lace. “I’m ever so grateful, Lord Henry. It was very kind of you.”

  The couple exchanged a smile, and Lucas was struck by how attractive they looked together. There was an air of conspiracy about them, too. Damn it, his brother couldn’t be so reckless as to flirt with Celeste Paxton. She was betrothed to Whittingham.

  A man old enough to be her father.

  That phrase from Rory’s column disturbed Lucas on a profound level. He didn’t want to consider that she might have a point, that it was wrong to pair a dewy-eyed innocent with a man more than twice her age. He hesitated to face it because he, too, was intent on marrying a girl much younger than himself.

  A girl he did not love.

  “I’d best be on my way,” Henry said, bowing to Celeste. “You’ll be wanting to visit with your sister, I’m sure.”

  He walked jauntily toward Lucas, gave him a playful salute, and then headed out the door and down the corridor to the staircase. Lucas could swear his brother was whistling under his breath. He debated whether or not to go after Henry and read him a lecture, then decided it could wait until later.

&nbs
p; Rory had gone to take the spot vacated by Henry on the chaise. She was talking to her sister in a low tone, and from Celeste’s guilty expression, it was clear she was being chastised for receiving a gentleman without a chaperone present. Lucas deemed it prudent not to interrupt them.

  Glancing around, he spied a dainty desk and sat down to write the note to Mrs. Paxton. He opened a silver inkpot and picked up a quill. He had a clear view of the sisters, and instead of composing the message on a sheet of cream vellum, he found himself watching Rory.

  Rory with her sparkling brown eyes and lustrous black hair. Rory who was optimistic and opinionated, blushing and bold, witty and wise. Rory who still believed in love though it had led her to ruin. He wanted to explore every inch of her lush body. It wasn’t just her physical attributes that fascinated him, either. He also wanted to discover all the complexities of her mind. He wanted to debate her views and tease her into a hotheaded response. No other woman had ever maddened him so much or made him feel more alive.

  The truth caught him by the chest and squeezed hard. It was Rory he loved with all his heart. Rory, whom he could never, ever marry.

  * * *

  “I’m shocked that you would make such a horrid accusation,” Kitty said as she paced back and forth in a huff. A rich gold gown adorned her plump figure and her graying fair hair had been arranged in an elaborate coiffure of curls. After returning home late from the duke’s house, she had insisted upon dressing for the evening before meeting with Rory and Lucas. “Why, Nadine is my very dearest friend!”

  Rory exchanged a glance with Lucas. He was standing with his arm propped on the mantelpiece in her father’s old study. Dusk had fallen, the lamps had been lit, and shadows played across his solemn features. Nevertheless, she could see frustration in the set of his jaw.

  “Lord Dashell and I saw Mrs. Edgerton with Stefano at Newcombe’s party,” Rory said. “She told you she has a new lover, didn’t she?”

  “She would never take up with that cad! You must be mistaken.”

  “There is no mistake about it. They were kissing openly—in full view of everyone there.”

  Kitty sniffed. “That doesn’t mean she stole my letters. She would never do such a terrible thing!”

  “She had the opportunity. So did Stefano. They may very well be working together. Did you know that he sneaked into Celeste’s betrothal ball?”

  Her stepmother stopped pacing to stare at her. “What? Here in this house? Why, that’s impossible. I would have noticed the fellow. And Grimshaw would have stopped him for certain. He sees everything that goes on here.”

  Rory pursed her lips. It did seem odd. Was it possible the butler had seen Stefano but had kept quiet for some unknown reason? “Speaking of Grimshaw, are you aware that he allows Foster to leave the house in the evenings? I saw her departing the other night.”

  “Her mother is quite ill. Some sort of chronic condition. So long as she readies Celeste and I me for the evening, she may go. I am not a harsh mistress, you know!”

  Rory stepped to the glass door overlooking the shadowed garden. It was out there that she’d caught Foster leaving by the back gate. Remembering the maid’s furtive manner, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something peculiar was afoot. And that Grimshaw was in cahoots with the maid.

  “We are wasting time speaking of servants,” Lucas said, a note of impatience in his tone. “We should be focusing our attention on Stefano and Mrs. Edgerton.”

  “Only Stefano,” Kitty said, turning toward him, her skirts rustling. “Why, he surely resents me for telling Mr. Paxton to banish him from England. The fellow might blackmail me just for the sake of revenge. But never Nadine! I would as soon believe the villain to be your brother, my lord.”

  “Henry?” Scowling, Lucas stepped away from the fireplace. “How ludicrous.”

  “Is it?” She flashed him a mistrustful look. “On the night of the ball, I saw the two of you quarreling in the morning room. The letters were hidden there in my sewing basket. With all due respect, my lord, you may proclaim your innocence, but can you be certain about Lord Henry? As a younger son, he must have very little money and may be seeking to feather his nest at my expense!”

  Rory knew Kitty still harbored doubts about Lucas. Her stepmother had been shocked to learn that he’d been helping Rory search for the diamond necklace in pawnshops. Lady Milford had convinced Kitty that because the letters had been written by his father, Lucas must have taken them. Now she seemed to have transferred the blame to his brother.

  But she was wrong about Lord Henry. The young man might be guilty of courting Celeste on the sly, but that was the extent of his subterfuge. Rory had not been able to wrest the truth of their romance out of her sister. Celeste had coyly refused to admit that she and Lucas’s brother were anything more than friends.

  Clearly exasperated, Lucas took a step toward Kitty. “Good God, woman! A man would never think of poking through a lady’s sewing basket. Another woman is far more likely to have done so. Your friend, Mrs. Edgerton. She is undoubtedly working with Stefano.”

  “Bah. I shall ask Nadine when I see her this evening. She is sitting with Celeste and me in the duke’s box at the theater.”

  “You daren’t ask her such a question outright,” Rory cautioned. “What if she is the blackmailer? You’ll have alerted her that she’s under suspicion!”

  “All of this is nonsense,” Lucas said crisply. “Time is short and we should be devising a plan to entrap the villain. The next payment is due tomorrow evening. The letters must be found before then—unless you wish to give up a thousand pounds.”

  “Good heavens, no,” Kitty said faintly, wilting into a chair and fanning her face with a lace handkerchief. “I haven’t the means to come up with such an amount, anyway. Oh, what shall I do?”

  Rory stared at her stepmother in shock. That thousand was supposed to be her reward for finding the blackmailer. “But you must have the funds!”

  “Not after the expense of Celeste’s come-out. And the marriage, too! Whittingham’s mama is demanding that I pay for the wedding breakfast—and there shall be more than three hundred guests!”

  Anger surged in Rory. She felt betrayed, tricked by a false promise into helping her stepmother recover the stolen billets-doux. Now there might not even be any recompense for her efforts. What was she to do?

  Too incensed to speak, she pivoted to stare fiercely into the darkness. She had been counting on that money. It was to be a nest egg for her and Aunt Bernice. She’d already been planning to purchase new furniture for the cottage, to refurbish her wardrobe, to provide her aunt with a few comforts in her old age …

  Something moved in the gloom of the garden. Rory leaned closer to the window glass. A hooded figure slipped through the shadows and disappeared out the rear gate.

  Foster!

  Rory made a snap decision. If she failed at all else, she could at least discover for certain where the lady’s maid went in the evenings.

  She spun around. “Foster just left. I intend to follow her.”

  Ignoring the astonished look on Kitty’s face and the glower on Lucas’s, Rory snatched her shawl from the back of a chair and opened the door to head out into the chilly night. She didn’t care what they thought. She needed to take action to clear her head and work off her fury.

  Darting down the path, she reached the gate and pushed it open, the hinges squeaking. She had no sooner stepped into the murky darkness of the mews than Lucas appeared like a ghostly apparition at her side.

  “You needn’t accompany me,” she snapped. “I know you won’t consider anyone else but Stefano to be the culprit.”

  “No woman should be out alone at night.”

  “Foster is.”

  He said nothing to that, only kept pace with Rory as she headed toward the main street, where the occasional gas lamp glowed like a yellow moon against the deep purple twilight. Carriages rattled past, partially blocking her view of the few pedestrians who hurried along th
e foot pavement. Most appeared to be workmen heading home for the night.

  After a moment, she spied Foster’s slight, hooded figure a good distance away. Huddled in her cloak, the maidservant glided along the street, moving swiftly past a row of town houses. “There she is!”

  By hurrying, they were able to close the distance and then maintain a pace half a block behind the woman. They crossed the busy traffic of Piccadilly and headed into a less prosperous area. As the night air cooled her temper, Rory found herself glad of Lucas’s presence at her side, especially as they passed a number of dark alleys where thick shadows might hide any manner of criminal.

  “I’m sorry I was short with you,” she murmured, while keeping Foster in her sights. “I do hope this isn’t a wild-goose chase.”

  “If nothing else, we’ll benefit from a brisk walk.”

  “There is something odd going on between her and Grimshaw. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “We shall see, then, what it is.”

  “But you’re still convinced the blackmailer is Stefano.”

  “Yes. He’s proven himself to be unscrupulous. Any man who is corrupt enough to prey upon an innocent girl is more than capable of other crimes.”

  The conviction in Lucas’s voice made her glance up at him. His jaw was set in an uncompromising line, his expression harsh in the gloom. She felt a thrill to know that he was firmly on her side when so many in society had turned against her. But she didn’t want that to color his judgment in finding the blackmailer.

  “She’s going into that house,” he said.

  Rory looked ahead to see Foster mounting several steps to a row house. The neighborhood was dilapidated, rubbish piled in the street, the residences small and mean. There were no gaslights in this part of the city. Only a candlelit window here and there broke the darkness.

  The maidservant disappeared inside the house. They made haste to follow, going up to the stoop, where Lucas knocked on a door with peeling paint of a color indiscernible in the darkness. Rory wrapped the shawl more tightly around herself. It was a blessing to have him with her, she thought again. She would not wish to be alone, unsure of what situation she might encounter in the house.