Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  Eva cocked her head. “Did he offer to make a better arrangement for you?”

  Eva had bluntly asked if Ives asked her to be his mistress. Padua never thought she would speak so frankly with a woman, but Eva had found Ives in her bed. That had created a special intimacy between them. An instant friendship.

  “He did not offer directly. He intended to help me find a home, however.”

  “And when a suitable one proved too expensive, he probably intended to help you afford it.” Eva narrowed her eyes on Ives. “He has formed some bad habits over the years. It may be cruel of me, but I am glad you did not accept that help, Padua. His dealings with women have been too efficient for my liking. It will do him good not to get his way for once.”

  “We neither of us have gotten our way, Eva.”

  Eva’s expression fell into one of concern. She stopped walking, and her hand on Padua’s arm stopped Padua too.

  “Padua, did you fall in love with him? It is not the same thing as desire and passion. I trust you know that.”

  Had she? She did not have enough experience to know how it was different from passion. Perhaps passion did not have the ability to break one’s heart. Maybe only love made it so difficult to be near Ives today, and so hard to pretend she did not ache for his touch, his smile, and the sound of his voice.

  Up ahead, the brothers had also stopped and chatted. Padua looked at Ives, so handsome in his face and form, a smile softening a mouth so easily stern. She wanted him to hold her again. She wanted to let him have his way, whatever that way might be.

  “Eva, I am going to leave you now. Please make my apologies to Gareth and Ives. Say I promised to meet a friend.”

  “But—what are you—”

  “Please, Eva. I am in grave danger of making a fool of myself. I must go.”

  Eva leaned in to give her a kiss on her cheek. “Call on me. Promise you will.”

  She only nodded, because emotion choked her words. She turned and walked away quickly.

  CHAPTER 19

  For two days Padua thought about the things her father had said to Ives. He claimed he had been coerced to store that bad money in his chambers. The men who did it knew about the brothel. He logically guessed they had something to do with the brothel, or else they would not have known of his connections to it.

  The obvious suspect was Mrs. Lavender. Eva had proof the woman was at least mildly dishonest. Upon examining the accounts, she discovered a small but repeated irregularity in the way her father’s share had been calculated. Of more interest was the lease. Mrs. Lavender had omitted one significant term when describing it. The lease renewed every five years, unless one party chose otherwise.

  Presumably the rent could be renegotiated then. Shrewd of Mrs. Lavender to give the landlord part of the business. It was not in his interest to demand a rent that would kill the golden goose.

  If those men still made their counterfeit notes, would they not want to find a new way to store them? If they used the house in other ways, or were in league with Mrs. Lavender, would they not want the other partner in their net, too, once again? Perhaps the men involved in this scheme had written to her, to inform her of her father’s incarceration. If so, that sounded as if they indeed hoped she would take his place.

  The next day Padua went downstairs at the dinner hour, and entered the dining room. All the women ate together, along with Hector and the groom. They all looked at her. Silence fell.

  “I thought I should introduce myself. My name is Padua Belvoir. My father is John Hadrian Belvoir. He is Mrs. Lavender’s partner.”

  Faint buzzing suggested all the young women did not know there was a partner.

  “My father is indisposed, so I must stand in for him here. I will be executing his responsibilities and obligations.”

  All eyes turned to Mrs. Lavender. Her eyes pierced Padua.

  “My father is easily distractible, and did not involve himself in this business. I am cut of different cloth. I have ideas for improving everyone’s lot here. I do not mean to interfere, but my father has been foolish to neglect such an important part of his income.” She sat in an empty chair, and looked expectantly at one of the serving girls. The girl hurriedly brought her a plate and fork. Two of the soiled doves passed her the tureens of stew and rice.

  Conversation resumed. The woman sitting next to Padua, a plump, pretty young woman with sandy hair, spoke to her. “I do not think Mrs. Lavender appreciates your interest in the house.”

  “She has borne the burden on her own for so long, and she can imagine no other way. However, in a few weeks she will be glad I am here to help her. She must grow tired of taking care of everything.”

  “Do you think to greet the guests too? I doubt she will give that up.”

  The very idea terrified Padua. “I see no reason to ask her to, then. However, what happens if she takes ill? Does Hector do it instead?”

  The woman laughed, drawing Mrs. Lavender’s attention. “Goodness no. She has a friend who joins us when she needs some money. That is who takes her place if she cannot take the helm. It does not happen too often, I am glad to say. I do not care for Emily.”

  Padua looked down the table. “Is Emily here now?”

  “Not today. She has her own trade, with longtime patrons. A carriage trade, to hear her tell it. The Honorable this and Lord that. She comes here maybe one night a week. You will notice her. She is older than most of us. There’s some men who have a fondness for older women. Some even try to convince Mrs. Lavender to take a turn again, but I think it has been twenty years since she did.”

  Little cakes passed along the table. Padua helped herself to one. At least Mrs. Lavender fed her doves decent food. Far better than what had been sent up to Padua’s chamber the prior evenings.

  “Are we to call you Miss Belvoir?” her tablemate asked. “Mrs. Lavender permits no informality with her own person.”

  “Then it might be best if you did address me that way.”

  “I am Susan. Most of us don’t have last names here. Not real ones, anyway.”

  Being of inquiring mind, Padua had a lot of questions she wanted to ask Susan, most of them rude and personal.

  Susan ate the last of her cake and licked her fingers. “You’ve never done this work yourself, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Mmm. I didn’t think so. We can tell. You ain’t one of those reformer ladies, are you? We don’t need that sort here.”

  “I would not presume to try to reform you.” Actually, it had crossed her mind.

  “Then welcome.” She grinned, and pushed back her chair.

  Mrs. Lavender walked over to Padua. “A nice little speech, Miss Belvoir. I will brook no interference, however.”

  “In just under six months, the lease on this house renews. Or not. I will not interfere. But I will be keeping an eye on my father’s interests.”

  Mrs. Lavender barely contained her anger. “Gentlemen will be arriving soon. I suggest you make yourself scarce, unless you want them in my office, bargaining for you.”

  Padua would not have minded being a fly on the wall of the office, observing how those bargains were struck. As an idea, a brothel repelled her. Now that she was in one, however, she found it interesting.

  She climbed the stairs to the deserted top floor, and repaired to her chamber. She wondered if announcing her presence would bear any fruit. If her father’s problems had begun here, and if he had become unavailable, would someone now approach her? She hoped so. She could think of no better way to help him now than to point the authorities to the source of those bad notes.

  * * *

  “So I stopped my horse and had it out with him,” Lance said. He lounged on a chair to the side, watching Ives and Gareth fence. “I said, Listen here, Radley. Why are you showing up like a love-struck boy whenever I go riding? He did not care for the boy part, but I swear I feel as if he has improper designs on me sometimes.”

  Gareth smirked, but did not los
e his concentration.

  “I wish he had declared his passion then and there,” Ives said. “That would have stunned the wit right out of you.”

  “Such a man would never admit those inclinations if he had them. He is never seen without a hat. He always talks as if he is addressing a bishop. I don’t think he has any passion at all, and hates me because I know how to have fun.”

  “How like you to assume you are admired for your excesses,” Ives said. “But do go on. What did Radley say to your challenge?”

  “He said, and designs on my person would have surprised me less, he said that he hoped to gain my confidence and friendship, because he wanted to introduce his female relatives to me.”

  That impressed Gareth enough that he stepped back and lowered his foil. “For what purpose does he pursue this introduction?”

  Lance shrugged. “So I will receive them, I suppose. So they can drop my name at the county assemblies. So he can tell people he has a connection.”

  “So you might marry one of them?” Gareth added.

  Lance looked up, surprised, then began laughing. “He is a fool, but not an idiot, Gareth,” he choked out. “A ride or two with me is one thing, but that—even Radley is not so stupid as to aim that high.”

  Ives waited for Lance to stop guffawing.

  “Did he say anything else?” Ives asked.

  Lance sobered up, and thought. “He implied he would call off the hounds if I accommodated him on this small favor.”

  “Implied?”

  “He could not say it outright, could he? That would be asking for a bribe. Radley does not want me off the hook only to find himself on one.”

  “What did he say?” Gareth asked.

  Lance waved his hand in a circle. “Something about friends and neighbors and the good of the county and, wait, something else. What was that now?” He frowned while he searched for it in his somewhat foxed head.

  Ives’s patience thinned by the moment. “You grab him,” he muttered to Gareth. “I’ll duck his head in a bucket of water to clear his thinking.”

  Gareth chuckled. “Do not blame him that you are out of temper. He has been behaving fairly decently since he came up yesterday. He is only half-foxed, and you have to admit that Lance happy is far preferable to Lance miserable, since he insists on infecting everyone with his humor good or bad.”

  “I’ll blame him if I want. I did not plan on spending days on end with him as my shadow, nor I as his.”

  “Ah, I have it.” Lance stuck a finger into the air. “I remember his exact words.”

  “Are you going to share them?” Ives asked. “Or am I supposed to shake them out of you?”

  Lance’s expression fell. He looked at Gareth. “He is talking like a vicar again.”

  “Vicars do not thrash people,” Ives said.

  “I trust you will remember that, Vicar,” Lance shot back.

  “Ives has important matters on his mind,” Gareth said.

  Lance’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “That woman? Of course it is. She is still a ticklish subject, I see.”

  Ives prayed for forbearance. “Could you please turn your half-addled mind back to the exact words that Radley said to you, to imply he would call off the hounds?”

  “Ah. Yes. He said, and I think you will agree his meaning was unmistakable—I certainly comprehended him immediately—”

  “What. Did. He. Say?” Ives said.

  “He said, County neighbors should look out for each other, and friends even more so. I always honor my debts when I am beholden to a man, especially if I have the means to resolve his greatest concern.”

  “It certainly sounds like an overture to me,” Gareth said.

  “I am more interested in what means he thinks he has,” Ives said. “Radley cannot end that investigation on his own. He is not the only authority involved.”

  “What do I care how he will do it?” Lance said. “I allow an introduction to these women, I nod to them at an assembly, I receive them and Radley when they come to call once or twice, and it is over.”

  “I don’t like it,” Ives said. “Don’t agree to anything until I have a chance to speak with him. If it is as simple as that, he will not mind some frank negotiations on the matter.”

  Lance threw up his hands. “He isn’t one of your mistresses, Ives. A little subtlety is in order at times.”

  “What would you know about subtlety? Just do not agree to anything.”

  One of the servants at the fencing studio approached them. “Milords, there is a man outside. He asked to speak with you, sir.” He addressed the last to Ives.

  “What man?”

  “A big one. Black. He did not give his name.”

  Rather suddenly, his brothers lost interest in Radley. Lance eyed him. “Didn’t Mrs. Lavender have a big black man at her door? An ex-slave from the islands. What was his name? Achilles or something.”

  Ignoring him, Ives walked to the door and stepped outside. Hector waited there. “Mrs. Lavender said you are to come. Very angry, she is.”

  “Tell her I will come tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “She said you are to come at once.”

  “Fine, go and tell her I will be there soon.”

  He strode back to his brothers, unfastening his padded vest as he went. “I must do something.”

  “Are we going to Mrs. Lavender’s?” Lance asked.

  “You are not.”

  “I think I am. I have not thought about Mrs. Lavender in a long time. Years. I always liked her. She reminded me of a mother.”

  “Not our mother, I hope.”

  “Of course not our mother. A real mother. Warm and concerned. Don’t you agree, Gareth?”

  “I never visited her.”

  “No? I thought everyone did, at first.”

  “Take him to his club,” Ives said to Gareth. “He will have to be Aylesbury there. That should make him manageable.”

  “I am not a member of his club,” Gareth reminded.

  Damn. He kept forgetting. “Then take him home.”

  “I’d rather go to Mrs. Lavender’s,” Lance said.

  Ives glared at him. “Don’t you dare show up there. I mean it, Lance. You have all of London to distract you. Do not go to that house.”

  He threw off his vest and turned to go.

  “You heard him,” he heard Lance say to Gareth. “We have all of London, with the vicar’s blessing.”

  * * *

  Ives did not know what he expected to find at Mrs. Lavender’s. Nothing good, that was certain. He imagined the various ways Padua might have caused enough trouble to cause Mrs. Lavender to send Hector to find him.

  Hector let him into the house. The night was far enough along that Mrs. Lavender had taken her position in the office. He had to wait while some business occurred behind its closed door. Eventually it opened, and a young man who looked all of eighteen came out. Mrs. Lavender escorted him away, to make the introduction to the woman she had just sold him.

  She returned, gave Ives a stern frown, and entered her office. He followed, closed the door, and sat in the patron’s chair much as he had when he was as green as its last occupant.

  “Miss Belvoir is not keeping to herself, as I was led to think she would.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what she has done to distress you.”

  She treated him to a long description of Padua joining the household for dinner, making a speech, and threatening Mrs. Lavender with the loss of her lease. “She intends to look after her father’s interests, she says. She intends to watch the accounts most closely, she says. She intends to involve herself in the running of things, she says.”

  “I will talk to her.”

  “I’ll not be tolerating such cheek. She thinks she can threaten me about the lease? Well, I have a few aces in my pocket, too, if need be.”

  He took his leave and walked to the stairs. Above one level he heard laughter coming from the drawing room. He kept climbing, past the chambers, up
to the servant quarters.

  Padua opened her door a crack when he rapped. She peered out, startled.

  “Let me in, Padua.”

  “I don’t think I should.”

  “Open it, or I will kick it in.”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  “What you hear is as restrained as I am likely to be, and I grow less restrained by the moment. Open the door. Now.”

  She did, but gave him a pinched, low-lidded look he suspected she used on students who challenged her authority.

  He paced around the little nest she had made for herself. “You said you intended to use this chamber as a free bed. You said you would go and come by those stairs outside, and no one would be the wiser.”

  “That is true, I did say that.”

  “Mrs. Lavender says you dined with the prostitutes.”

  “We call them the young ladies.”

  “We?”

  She backed up a step. “Mrs. Lavender. And, um, Hector. And . . . me.”

  “Have you decided to enter the trade now? Should I offer you coin, when you refused less insulting forms of support?”

  “That is uncalled for. I am not one of the young ladies, nor will I be one.”

  “How reassuring. You will, however, be a madam, like Mrs. Lavender.”

  “If she told you that, she exaggerated.”

  He sat on the bed, and pulled her in front of him. He looked up. “Tell me how she exaggerated. What are you up to? Are you so disillusioned with him that you want to rub your own ruin in his nose?”

  “I am not doing this to spite him. I am doing this to save him.” She laid her hand on his face and leaned down so her gaze filled his own. “Do you believe me so stupid as to risk everything for no worthy reason?”

  Her touch both soothed and seared. He reacted like he had been starved for years, not mere days.

  “I have a plan, Ives. I think it will work.” She spoke seriously. Earnestly. He barely heard her.

  He pulled her onto his lap and raked his fingers into her hair. “Later.” He kissed her. “Tell me later.”