“His Lordship received the honor in recognition for his services at Waterloo. A score of French soldiers were riding at Wellington and Vail…His Lordship prevented that attack.”
Her fingers curled reflexively. “He is a war hero,” she said blankly.
“Yes.” Mr. Winterly grinned and dropped his voice to a whisper. “But never allow him to hear you say as much. Quite despises all the fanfare.”
She briefly closed her eyes. She’d been set to steal from a man who’d saved Wellington’s life, returned from war to establish his own business so he might care for twelve siblings, and he didn’t care to speak of his accomplishments? Her heart pounded hard. Vail was a bloody paragon; a man larger than proverbial life. His greatness when presented with her total inability to look after the two people in her care, only highlighted the weakness and ugliness of her own character.
Edward pulled out his timepiece. “If you’ll excuse me. I have a meeting with His Lordship.”
“Of course.”
As he tucked that gold chain back inside his jacket, something he’d said earlier registered. “You said would,” she blurted.
Having taken several steps, Vail’s brother again faced her, his brow creased.
She hurried to clarify. “It is just you’d said the collection would fetch a heavy sum: not, will. He does not intend to sell this one, then.”
Mr. Winterly offered a half-grin that was also very much Vail’s lazy smile. “My brother is known as a ruthless businessman who believes every book can be bought and sold.”
She worried the inside of her cheek with her teeth. What did it say that Edward would describe Vail as ruthless? After all, she’d observed her own brother and read Society’s writings of him in the gossip columns to know he was referred to in the same light. Aware of Mr. Winterly’s gaze on her, she met his stare. “How very unfortunate to go through life where everything only ever exists for a profit.” She’d but a ramshackle cottage and meager possessions to her name and, yet, she still appreciated the gifts in those books she was fortunate enough to touch.
Edward frowned. “Being a ruthless businessman does not mean my brother is without a heart. Most nobles would use their fortunes on frivolous pursuits and scandalous activities.” And yet that was not his brother. His statement hung there at the end of the sentence as clear as if he’d spoken it. “His Lordship cares for men, women, and children, who, until recently, were nothing more than mere strangers. Some who are still nearly complete strangers. So occasionally, from ruthlessness comes good. Vail is one of those circumstances.”
That impassioned defense spoke to the depths of Mr. Winterly’s regard for his brother…and his respect. If a pistol had been placed to Bridget’s temple with an order to name a single redeeming aspect of her own brother’s character, she’d have said a prayer and prepared to meet her maker.
With Mr. Winterly’s words ringing in the room still, she looked to Dante’s collection. “He’s kept this one, though,” she ventured, more than half-wanting Vail’s brother to explain the baron’s connection to this set.
Mr. Winterly nodded. “He indicated this was special and it was to remain out of the auction.”
Bridget curled her fingers into reflexive balls. It was as though the Devil himself took vicious glee in taunting her. Of course, of all the works Vail might keep, he should hold on to this allegory of human life that had long served as a warning for individuals to stay on a path of righteousness. She should let him go. Let this topic die. In the end, her need to know proved too great. “Do you know what made him keep this one?”
Mr. Winterly shrugged. “Who can ever say what he is thinking? That is a question best reserved for His Lordship. I’d come by to determine whether or not you require anything, Mrs. Hamlet?” he asked, his meaning clear: he’d not share any further details about Vail with her.
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He nodded and, with a short bow, left.
Bridget stared after him long after he’d gone, considering the significant pieces he’d revealed about Vail Basingstoke, Lord Chilton.
How different he was from every other peer.
Vail was a nobleman who’d established a lucrative and prosperous business. His very life was anathema to everything she’d believed about how gentlemen lived their lives. Her brother and late father had lived extravagantly, wagering away fortunes and frivolously spending coin where there was none. Even when their wastrel ways had strained the Hamilton’s coffers, placing them nearly in dun territory, they still had never sullied their hands with trade.
Vail, however, revealed no shame in the work he did. That depth of character set him apart from the reprobates she’d been—and still was—unfortunate enough to call family.
And he did it for his family. Absently, she flipped through Dante’s Inferno. That blasted, dangerous heat inside her heart flickered to life. Despite her greatest efforts for it to cease, it continued to expand and grow, leaving her warm from the inside out. For Vail was not solely a man driven by material gains. He was a man who’d, according to his brother, grown his fortunes so he might help his kin find stability in an uncertain world.
And I will betray him. She paused, mid-turn of a page.
Lucifer’s woodcut image stared mockingly back; that bearded, horned demon with all the sinners about him.
Working with treasured tomes and manuscripts had been all too easy to make believe that this was, in fact, real…that she was here to assist a bookseller with his collections. And after that nighttime exchange with Vail where, for one breathless moment, she’d known his kiss, she’d seen neither hint nor hair of him.
She’d simply slipped into the role of a worker in his employ, living in this fictional state. It was far safer that way. For the man he’d been in her short time here—the man who’d taken her in his arms, and shared parts and pieces of his family, who’d spoken of the brothers and a sister he cared for—made him dangerous. Just as Edward’s words from moments ago made it even more so.
It made Vail real and someone she respected and admired. Someone who deserved far more than a faithless housekeeper who’d come to betray him with an act of theft.
With wooden fingers, she collected the Inferno and turned page after page, and then stopped: on Canto XXIV.
Bolgia 7-Thieves
Remorse churning in her belly, she frantically scraped her gaze over the words written there of Dante and Virgil as they left the Bolgia of the Hypocrites.
Oh, God. Seeing her son’s name there, an ironic reminder no doubt from God Himself of her complicity in evil, intensified the shame and guilt cleaving at her. A chill iced the room, and she shivered, forcing herself to continue reading of those thieves being chased by monstrous serpents.
She froze on the story of the sinner, Vanni Fucci, bitten by a serpent at the jugular vein, to then burst into flames, and be re-formed in the ashes, only to face the same fate at the Devil’s hands.
Bridget pressed her eyes closed. Surely the ends justified the proverbial means? In committing this act of thievery, Archibald had demanded she sacrifice her honor, and she’d agreed. Yet, how great a crime was it truly to steal from a man richer than Croesus to save Virgil?
“I’m only attempting to make myself feel better,” she whispered, forcing her eyes open.
And failing miserably.
Chapter 8
Since he’d taken Bridget in his arms, Vail had done an impressive job of avoiding his bibliophile housekeeper. He’d kept a wide berth; conducting his business the same way he had before she’d arrived, away from his residence, at meetings. And when he wasn’t overseeing upcoming transactions and finalizing sales, he was attending the business of his siblings.
Given that, it would be his damned vexing brother, Edward, who forced her back into his thoughts.
“I came to visit Mrs. Hamlet.”
Disgruntled, Vail continued reviewing his upcoming meetings with clients and potential clients, “Did you?” So that
is why he’d come then when there’d been no planned meeting. Feigning nonchalance, he continued skimming the page. “And how does Br—Mrs. Hamlet fare in her new post?” Mrs. Hamlet whom he’d taken pains to avoid.
At Edward’s answering silence, he looked up. Standing between the wingback leather chairs, there was a besotted glitter in Edward’s eyes. Vail thinned his own. Why…why…his book-loving brother was fascinated by the lady. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. And yet…he growled.
Edward spoke, slashing across that damning sound of his fury. “I must confess, when I’d initially received her credentials from Lord Stanwicke, I was, at best, skeptical.”
Good. Talk of Stanwicke and the lady’s references was far safer than an irrational annoyance with Edward’s fascination of Vail’s new housekeeper. “Anything coming from Stanwicke should be received in such a way,” he agreed.
Now that he had secured Vail’s attention, Edward claimed one of the chairs. “In my requests with the employment agency, they provided me Stanwicke’s references of the young woman. He’d spoken with such high praise for her handling of his texts and her keen understanding of their content that I’d doubted that such a woman existed.” Edward gave his head a bemused shake.
It was not uncommon for London’s leading book collectors to staff households with men and women who knew how to care for those valuable tomes. And yet, even with Bridget’s skill and competence, that man had released her from his employ? Vail frowned as, for the first time, doubts were born. “If Stanwicke was so pleased, how did the lady come to be looking for work?”
“A disagreement with the Lady Stanwicke,” Edward explained, looping his ankle over his opposite knee. “The marchioness took umbrage with the inordinate amount of time Mrs. Hamlet spent within the marquess’ office.”
The sliver of doubt about the lady’s presence here gave way, replaced, instead, with a dark, simmering fury…and different questions flitted forward. Ones about the lady’s previous employer. Nor could there be any doubt with Bridget’s proficiency in literature and her cultured tones, she was anything but a lady. “Did the gentleman…?” He left that question vague, even as a red, hot fury burned under the surface and threatened to spill over.
“Stanwicke?” Edward scoffed. “With his obsessive fascination with his books, I’m stunned the man’s gotten an heir and a spare on his wife.”
Yes, but the man’s wife was not in possession of Bridget’s talents…those skills would earn any bibliophile’s attentions. That dark, unwanted possibility that the lady had fled after a handsy employer forced his attentions on her.
Edward grinned, that affable expression at odds with Vail’s dark thoughts. “You know I don’t conduct my work seeking praise…”
At the unfinished thought, Vail tossed his pen down. “Good. Then do not begin now.” He blighted that teasing set-down with a grin.
Edward’s smug smile deepened. “However—”
“You intend to begin now, then?”
“—given my rather poor showing in hiring Mrs. Peach, Mrs. Batch, and, most recently, Mrs. Kelly, I’ve quite outdone myself with your new housekeeper.”
Who could have imagined that finding a reliable, effective housekeeper who knew her way around his books would have been such a bloody chore? “She’s been here but five days,” he said, far more grudging in the appreciation he favored a new person on his staff. “I believe applauding yourself and extoling the lady is premature at this time.”
“Ah, yes,” his brother dropped his other foot to the floor and, leaning forward, wagged a finger. “But I’m the one who has spent the better part of the week with her.”
Edward’s words conjured images of the pair, tucked away in Vail’s library—alone. And this time, it was not Vail who had her in his arms, but his brother. Something insidious slithered around inside. Something that felt remarkably like…jealousy. He scoffed. Jealousy? The lady had lived in his household for less than a week. In that time, he’d had three meetings and a handful of other polite, perfunctory exchanges when she brought coffee—which Gavin had, in fact, been correct on. The woman brewed a masterful cup. What in blazes…?
“Are you listening to me?” Edward asked impatiently, snapping Vail back to the moment.
“Yes.” No.
His entirely too-besotted brother proceeded to tick off on his fingers. “The woman knows how to properly handle antique books. She not only knows how to care for them, but also has an appreciation for the contents within. And she fluently reads and speaks Latin, French, Italian, German, and Spanish.” And with Edward’s regard for literature, his awestruck visage told the tale of a man more than half in love with Mrs. Bridget Hamlet.
Having already gathered her skill with antiquated texts, only one revelation about his new housekeeper commanded Vail’s attention. “Latin, French, Italian, German, and Spanish?” Surely, he’d misheard the other man.
Edward nodded.
Vail opened and closed his mouth several times. Only wealthy, highborn ladies were generally in possession of those skills. And even then, how many were fluent in Spanish, as well? Further questions about his peculiar housekeeper whispered forward, deepening his suspicions.
“Mm, mm,” Edward protested, already shaking his head. “Don’t you do that.”
“Do what?” Vail sat back in the comfortable folds of his chair.
“You’ve got the same cynical stare you don when dealing with purchasers and sellers.”
At that accurate charge, Vail remained silent.
“You don’t deny it?” Edward asked, relentless.
“I don’t think there is reason to.” He’d not make apologies for being skeptical…of anyone. He’d witnessed firsthand, as a boy, then as a soldier, and then as a baron doing business with the ton’s leading nobles, the evil a person was capable of.
“I’ve already found you the ideal housekeeper. If she could brew a perfect cup of coffee, then I’m fairly certain she’d be the perfect woman.”
“She does brew—” Vail closed his mouth. Alas the damage was already done.
His brother rounded his eyes.
“It is among her responsibilities,” he grumbled, resisting the urge to squirm. When she set one of those cups down at the front table in his offices each night and inquired about the books he studied, it had become one of the unexpected pleasures of his day.
“Humph.” Edward hopped up. “Then, it is official: accomplished in foreign tongues, capable with antique books, keen of mind, and skilled at making coffee? I’ve found you the perfect woman. No thank you is necessary,” he said, starting for the door.
“Where are you off to?”
Edward paused at the doorway. He glanced back. “I’ve a meeting with Lord Tennyson.” In deep from too many years of whoring, wagering, and drinking, the man had a recent reversal of fortune at the tables—which he’d promptly lost. And each time he did, he sold off another parcel of his collection. Edward, with his knowledge of books, was always the first to make contact and inventory the titles. “I just came to see how Mrs. Hamlet fared her first day without supervision.”
“How very devoted you are to Mrs. Hamlet,” he said in even tones, eliciting a blush from his brother.
“Yes, well, then.” Color on his cheeks deepening, Edward touched his brim and made to go…but then stopped. “I understand why you’re wary of people.” Having found Edward in one of those seedy clubs in the Dials, his younger brother’s life was largely a mystery that he didn’t speak on, and one that Vail didn’t force him with questions over. “But sometimes,” Edward said, the same way a tutor might dole out instruction to his student. “A person is exactly as they seem.”
And sometimes they weren’t. “I didn’t say she wasn’t.” He’d merely identified peculiarities about the lady.
Edward snorted. “I may only know you these five years now, but I know you well enough to gather precisely what you’re thinking about the young woman.”
The fortunes Vail ear
ned in the course of his sales were what allowed him to care for the children Ravenscourt had littered about England, and see they no longer struggled or suffered. Erasmus’ face trickled forward, once more… “You’d ask me to trust a fortune over to a stranger’s care?” A ball of regret and sorrow lodged in his throat.
“Hardly,” Edward shot back. “You can spend time with her yourself and ascertain whether or not your cryptic worrying is, in fact, merited. Or have Colin investigate her as he does those dregs of London Society,” he drawled.
“I’m not employing Colin to investigate her.” Not because he was at all opposed to using Colin’s services. His brother, Colin Lockhart, was one of the best Runners in London. He’d taken on plenty of work about clients and members of Vail’s staff over the years.
With a doubtful snort, Edward lifted his hand in parting and left.
“Cryptic worrying,” he muttered. Vail would hardly characterize cautiousness as a flaw on his part. As Edward had accurately pointed out, life had given each of them proper reason to be wary of all. He drummed his fingertips together and stared contemplatively over them at the doorway. After kissing his housekeeper, he’d resolved to keep his distance from Bridget. Mayhap, his brother was correct in this regard. After all, it would be unwise business to not monitor her work…at least periodically.
Shoving to his feet, Vail quit his rooms. A short while later, he found himself at the entrance to one of his seven Collection Rooms. He stood a long moment in the open doorway.
I should enter. I should, at the very least, announce myself loudly, so she might hear my approach.
Instead, he lingered, proving himself a literal and figurative bastard, and observed her at work. Her back presented to him, she’d the regal bearing most queens couldn’t master, a noble carriage that only further cemented this woman’s connection to the peerage. And yet…it was not questions of her origins, background, or history that compelled him in this given instance—he swallowed hard—but rather the pull of the sapphire muslin fabric as it stretched at her trim waist and generously flared hips. Fighting an inner battle—and losing—Vail dipped his gaze downward, to her rounded buttocks. Even in her modest muslin gown, Bridget Hamlet was a study of lush carnality. Lust bolted through him.
Beguiled by a Baron (The Heart of a Duke Book 14) Page 9