Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  Padua laughed. “Someday I hope to have a school, Jennie. Would you teach there if I did? Would you be the Mrs. Ludlow?”

  Jennie laughed, too, then realized Padua no longer did. “You are serious?”

  “It is something I think I may be able to convince my father to support someday.”

  “You do?” Jennie gave her an odd look, then averted her eyes.

  Ten paces on, the little frown on Jennie’s brow had not smoothed.

  “What is it?” Padua asked. “You are subdued all of a sudden.”

  “You speak of your father as if there has been a rapprochement between you. If there has been, I am truly happy for you. But—”

  “But?”

  Jennie took a deep breath. “I saw a newspaper that had a small notice about a man with your name. Belvoir. He is to be tried for serious crimes. I wondered if he was your relative, and asked Mrs. Ludlow. She insisted he was not. But—” She looked embarrassed, and hopeful.

  Padua watched poor Jennie try to believe the best, the way dear Mrs. Ludlow had encouraged. If she were told that Hadrian Belvoir was not relation at all, Jennie would probably believe it.

  “The notice was about my father. A mistake has been made.”

  “Of course it has. I am sure it has.”

  “I know he will be acquitted.”

  “I know he will be, too, if you have cause to think that. Truly.”

  Did she imagine that Jennie moved away? Not a step was taken, but a shifting of weight had Jennie more distant. Her eyes looked worried, and her reassuring smile polite and forced. She fussed with her reticule and straightened her gloves.

  “I really must hurry back. I must take my class after lunch.”

  “Jennie—”

  Jennie stopped walking. “I wish I were as brave as you, Padua. Brave enough to stand up to the world. Brave enough to be different. To think differently. I am not.”

  “You do not have to be.”

  “Don’t I? Your father— It is the kind of trial that all the papers report. Every word. He will be infamous, once it starts.”

  “And I will be too. That is what you are saying, isn’t it?” Jennie could ill afford to have the taint spread to her too. She could not risk this friendship any longer. Padua felt the cut deeply, but she could not blame her friend.

  Jennie’s eyes teared. “I really must go.” She walked off, her expression stricken. “I am sorry, Padua. So sorry.”

  * * *

  “Are you ready?” Ives asked.

  They sat in his carriage, two streets from her father’s chambers on Wigmore Street. They had ridden past the building, to ensure a blond head sat near the window on the first floor.

  “I am ready, but you must do the shouting. I do not think my voice will carry enough.”

  “I will make sure she hears.” Every day this continued, his situation became more untenable. He was in far deeper than he ever thought possible, and he wanted it finished.

  Padua stepped out of the carriage. Posture rigid, she walked toward Wigmore Street.

  Ives’s mind followed her to the building’s door, and up the stairs. Only then did he set off on the same path.

  He approached the building, and spied Mrs. Trenholm at her window. She peered out, then pulled back, out of sight. He mounted the stairs like a man on the trail of an elusive quarry. He found Padua at the bookcase in her father’s apartment, running her finger along the spines. She paused and pulled out a small, thin schoolbook. A blue one this time. She held it upside down and shook.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Checking to see if you missed any money. As long as I am here, I thought I might as well see what other of my books were here.”

  Finding that money had been the first step on the path that had brought him to where he was today. He did not regret any of it, but abandoning one’s honor would leave any man in a dark humor.

  He pointed to the floor. Performance time.

  “Miss Belvoir, it is time you and I had a right understanding.”

  “Regarding what, sir?”

  He raised his voice. “I think that you have the evidence that is sought regarding your father. I am sure of it. If you do not tell me what you have found, it will go badly for you.”

  “I am sure I do not know what you mean.”

  “The plates, Miss Belvoir. The equipment,” he boomed. “He told you where to find it. A man was put in the cell with him, to watch you both. He reported a conversation, full of whispers and instructions, through that grating. Your father has made you an accomplice, and if you do not reveal all, you will end up on the gallows beside him.”

  “You are all bluster, sir. You know nothing.”

  “Then there is something to know!”

  Padua waited a five count. “If there were—and I am not saying there is—would I be able to bargain for my father’s freedom if I revealed it?”

  “His freedom? I should hope not. Some mercy, perhaps. For him and for you. You know where it is, don’t you? The equipment used to print the notes. The place where the bad money is stored, while it gets passed bit by bit into the economy. Tell me now.”

  “If I knew these things, I would expect a lot of mercy before handing the information over. I would need to have more than your word as guarantee too.”

  “My word is the best you will get.”

  “I am sure you believe it is all anyone would need. I do not agree. We have nothing more to say to each other. Please leave now. You were not invited in, but I will indeed invite you out.”

  Ives came over to her. “You did splendidly,” he whispered.

  “I actually grew angry with you. Your tone was very high-handed. I did not care for it at all.”

  “Let us hope the woman below heard every word.”

  “What if we are wrong? What if she has nothing to do with any of it?”

  “Then we will find another way to discover who does.” He gave her a kiss. “I must go. You have just thrown me out, remember?”

  He used heavy steps on the stairs, and frowned hard as he left the building. He strode away, then waited for Padua at the carriage.

  She took some time to arrive. He grew annoyed, then worried. Finally she walked around the corner.

  “What were you doing?” he demanded.

  “I finished looking in the schoolbooks. You missed twenty pounds.” She shook her reticule. “That was careless of you.”

  “This was not the time.”

  “It was an excellent time. Between your leaving and my leaving, someone else left.” She climbed into the carriage. “I think you were correct about her.”

  He settled onto the other seat. “Let us hope so. Take your supper in your chamber this evening. I will join you early, in case we have had success.”

  * * *

  They held vigil that night.

  Padua ate her supper, then they played cards. When that bored them, they read. The hours passed slowly. No one came to her chamber door. No messages arrived.

  Padua considered that her chamber was big enough for one, but not two. Unless the two were in bed, that was. They could not occupy themselves that way, however.

  She took pleasure just being with Ives. She hoped he felt the same about her. This was, she realized, the longest they had been in each other’s company like this, not even talking, sharing silent companionship. It created a domestic intimacy that she enjoyed. She tucked it away as a memory for later in her life, when she needed some cozy warmth.

  After midnight, Ives grew restless. She could tell he doubted matters would develop as quickly as he had assumed. The chamber became even smaller then. Ives at peace took up less space than Ives agitated and impatient. He did not actually do anything different, but his spirit churned and roiled.

  They had begun to give up that it would be this night, when a scratch sounded on her door. Both of them snapped alert. Ives moved silently to the wall behind her door, then nodded.

  They had rehearsed what she w
ould do and say, assuming the demands were those they anticipated. She opened the door a crack and looked out.

  A man stood there. A stranger. The door to the stairs remained ajar. He had entered the way she did, and Mrs. Lavender would be none the wiser.

  He had known where to find her. He had learned that from someone in this house.

  “You are Belvoir’s daughter.” He spoke lowly, with a thick Cornish accent.

  “Who are you?”

  “Never you mind. You’ve something that’s ours, or know where it is. I’ll be needing that information now.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She made to close the door.

  His boot, heavy and big, stopped her. He thrust it into the opening on the floor. He bent closer. “You don’t want to be causing trouble. A bit of iron and copper won’t help your father. If you turn it over, you will only ensure he hangs.”

  “If I turn it over to you, what will I get instead?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You think I have something you want. If I give it to you, I expect something in return.”

  “You are blackmailing us?” He appeared incredulous.

  “I am negotiating. Here are my terms. I want two thousand pounds. The real kind, not the kind printed up at night. It is a good bargain for you. Rebuilding your trade will cost much more.”

  He scratched his chin. “I’ll be needing to talk this over with the others. I will come back tomorrow or the next day or so.”

  The tiniest tap on her elbow made Padua ease back enough to see Ives out of the corner of her eye. He shook his head.

  She thought fast. “If you must do that, you are not the one making decisions. Tell him, whoever he is, that I will only bargain with him so we can make quick work of this.”

  “That is not how he likes to do things.”

  “It is the only way he will get what I have. If he does not agree by week’s end, I will hand it all to the local magistrate, and take my chances.”

  He shook his head. He gave her a stare full of disdain. “Just like that, you sell your father. What kind of daughter are you?”

  She felt her face warming, but she held her hard pose and expression. “The kind who would rather have two thousand in good notes than even thirty thousand of the amateurish forgeries you print up. I want this settled by week’s end, or I will become a dutiful daughter again.”

  She closed the door in his face, and held her breath. Neither she nor Ives moved a hair for a long time. Then, on his nod, she opened the door again and peered out. The man had left.

  “Do you think he will return tomorrow night?” she asked.

  “Two nights hence, or three is more likely. It sounded like the man we want is not in London. He will have to journey here.”

  “At least it is not Mrs. Lavender.”

  “She may still know of it. She may use the bad money in that office of hers.” One of his eyebrows went up. “I just realized I may know how to find out if she does.” He turned her around and began unfastening her dress.

  She waited until he was done. “It does not appear I will need protection tonight. Or until two nights hence, at least, you said.”

  He turned her to face him. He looked down, his hands still on her shoulders. “I have grown accustomed to it, but I will leave if you want.”

  She did not want that. It had taken all her strength to say what she had. She had grown accustomed to having him beside her too. Too much so, she feared. It had become normal. Expected. She wondered if she could even sleep now without his arm slung over her the way it was all night.

  “If you don’t mind that narrow bed and cold water for the first washing, I am glad if you stay.”

  Later, while she thought he slept but she stayed awake storing memories, he spoke into the peaceful space. “I want you to stay at Langley House tomorrow night.”

  “You are not sure I will be safe here?”

  “It is not that. I truly think nothing will happen for at least two days.”

  “Then . . . ?”

  “It would be nice to use a good bed for one night.”

  She had to laugh. “What? You do not find this one comfortable? You are not sleeping well?”

  “It isn’t the sleeping so much that is limited.”

  “I would have said you managed the other more than well enough, my lord.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He sounded pleased with himself. “A resourceful mind can always find a way. However, a night of comfort is still called for. For your sake, I mean. We will join the others for a good dinner, and you will remain there as a guest.”

  “I would not mind being spoiled for a night.”

  “Good. We will feed you delicacies, and put you to bed beneath lovely drapes, surrounded by soft pillows. And I will spend the night spoiling you without mercy.” He turned on his side, then tucked her back against his body. She nestled close, and felt the evidence that he would not sleep soon.

  Kisses on her back ensured she would not either. That possessive arm moved until its hand could fondle her breasts, then caressed lower to raise her nightdress. Experienced, efficient touches aroused her quickly. When she was dizzy with pleasure, he bent one of her knees up in front of her body and pressed into her.

  She smiled at the welcomed fullness. “How . . . resourceful.”

  “More than you know. Here, I will show you.” He demonstrated how he could reach her breasts and elsewhere easily, and how the front of her body remained available to him.

  “How wonderful,” she managed to say despite her short, shallow breaths. “It was naughty of you to save one of the best for last.”

  “Not quite the last, Padua.”

  Much later, when they were again entwined and he truly slept, she wondered if he had spoken of the way they joined, or when they would part.

  CHAPTER 22

  “I think a turn outside is in order,” Gareth said. “That was quite a feast and I suddenly feel portly.”

  “Eva said Ives here requested half of it,” Lance said.

  “I had a taste for a few old favorites. It was kind of Eva to tell the cook to indulge me,” Ives said. “Regrettably, I overindulged myself as a result. I will join you, Gareth. We can waddle down the street like two old uncles.”

  “I will enjoy my port, then retire,” Lance said. “The ladies have already gone above, so I will entertain myself.”

  Outside in the crisp, damp air, Ives and Gareth strolled in the mist. The houses at the far end of the block appeared ghostly, with only diffused light coming from a few windows and their dark shapes bleeding into the fog.

  “Eva is delighted that you convinced Miss Belvoir to visit,” Gareth said.

  “Your wife has been very kind to her. Not all women would be, after—”

  “After finding you in her bed?”

  “Yes. And after learning about her father.”

  They paced on, around the corner.

  “How compromised are you, Ives?” Gareth asked.

  “Thoroughly.”

  “Does it go beyond losing the Crown’s favor?”

  “Far beyond it.”

  “What Lance and I carried out of that carriage house was not in itself incriminating. You never mentioned what was in the box you hauled away, however.”

  “No, I did not. And do not ask.”

  “You are risking a lot for this woman. Lance thinks you have lost your mind.”

  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I have. Not the way he means, and not the way he would ever understand. You would, I think.”

  Gareth gave him a long look, then stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I am the last one to lecture. I have no right, and—”

  “You have every right, if any man does. As much as Lance. You will probably make more sense than he does too.”

  Gareth laughed lowly, then turned serious. “I have always been outside. I know the prospects from that vantage point. You have never been there. Do you think to
keep this affair going once that trial starts? Even being the son and brother of Aylesbury will not help you much if you do. The scandal will be unbelievable. Your dealings with her, for her, will be poked and prodded and dissected until leaving your house will be something you dread.”

  Gareth was correct. A year ago he might have braved it out. Secure in his honor, he could have withstood anything. He no longer owned that safe haven, however. He might never again.

  “Is there a way out of this?” Gareth asked.

  “She thinks so. She tried to throw me over. She will again.”

  “Then, perhaps, for a while—”

  “She does not know about that box, you see. I made a choice that night that I cannot, and will not, undo. A love affair with the daughter of a criminal has become the least of it.”

  Mood subdued, Gareth continued their walk.

  They had almost circled the block when Ives resumed the conversation. “I have spent most of the night debating whether to ask something of you.”

  “I hope you know you can ask for anything.”

  “Do not be so quick. It draws you into it, and more than I like. I have scoured my mind for an alternative, however, and there is none. I need to trust the man involved completely. Other than you and Lance, there are no such men.”

  “I hope you do not want me to commit highway robbery.”

  “Not quite. I need you to stand guard at that building the next few nights. With a pistol this time.”

  Gareth was not so foolhardy as to ignore the implications. “Just me? Will Lance—”

  “Aylesbury should not be further involved. He would not be at all if he had not inserted himself the other night.”

  “He inserted himself quite a lot that night, didn’t he? Especially after we left him, I think.”

  Ives smiled at the bawdy entendre. “He did speak of the ultimate sacrifice.”

  “He did not return the next morning until ten o’clock. Mrs. Lavender has how many young ladies? Ten? Twelve? You don’t suppose he enjoyed them all, do you?”

  “I have tried not to wonder. Now I will picture him staggering from chamber to chamber until he drops from exhaustion.”