He patted the ground. “Let’s have a bite to eat.”
She eyed the dirt. Colin noticed and produced, of all things, a handkerchief from his pocket, and made a production of spreading it out carefully on the ground.
“That’s about the size of your bottom, I would guess,” he assessed.
Oh, God. She didn’t want to be entertained. But she was. She settled down onto the handkerchief, modestly pulled her dress down over her knees, and waited for Colin to unwrap their bundle.
He pinched up a slice of ham with a slice of bread and handed it over to her, then made a similar sandwich for himself.
“The investors love to race various smart conveyances. The club has its own carriage, and all the members can avail themselves of it. Gorgeous thing it is, and a bit flashy—they’ve even had their insignia painted on it, a sort of coat of arms featuring a pair of winged ankles. They all pride themselves on being skillful drivers, and they are quite good, Marcus included. They all own beautiful cattle, too. Matched teams. I’ve bet upon them many a time. Won a few times. Lost quite a few times. A harmless pastime, for the most part. No one has ever been harmed, anyway.”
“Buttons,” Madeleine reminded him.
“And one of their conceits, if you will,” he pressed on as if she hadn’t said anything at all, “is a sort of uniform: it features a waistcoat with very striking mother-of-pearl buttons. Again, a bit flashy for these men, all of whom are generally conservative. But distinctive. One might even say unmistakable.”
Madeleine absorbed this stunning little bit of information. “So you think that Marcus could have—”
“I don’t think anything at all.” Unfortunately, his curt tone made a liar of him. “I know only that this man with the waistcoat buttons is very likely part of this group of investors.”
Madeleine didn’t believe him.
A tiny flame of suspicion had probably taken hold some time ago, when he entered prison, Horace Peele disappeared, and it became known that Louisa and Marcus would be married. Madeleine doubted there was much else for Colin to do in prison other than sift again and again through the reasons he was in Newgate, no matter how unpleasant. He was an intelligent man, after all. He could not have missed the possibility that his brother wanted him out of the way for good. She had a good deal of faith in Newgate’s ability to wear down even the most stalwart filial loyalty.
“What is your brother like?” she asked.
He hesitated. “A good sort,” he said stubbornly, but she heard the strain in his voice. “I’m closest to Ian, probably, but…Marcus…Marcus taught me how to fight.” There was the faintest of smiles now. “We’re fond of each other. And I’ve always assumed he’d defend me to the death. He did pull me from a river once when I nearly drowned. That’s another story. But I’ve never met anyone more…” He paused over a choice of words. “…determined than Marcus.”
Interesting, that word. “Would you consider him ruthless, then?”
“No.” Colin was adamant now. “Determined. In that…well, Marcus has wanted for very little in his life, but what he does want…he sets out very methodically to get. And he always gets it. Whether it’s a particular horse at Tattersall’s, or a piece of land adjacent to Eversea House, or skill with a pistol. He had to practice so much more than I. He hasn’t Ian’s effortlessness or my…whatever it is I have.”
“Panache,” she supplied diplomatically.
“Is that what it is?” He was distantly amused. “But he always becomes just as good as any of us in the end. I never really saw Marcus as ruthless. Then again…when it comes to love…when people are in love…”
Another sentence Colin Eversea seemed disinclined to finish. He had wound up in Newgate, indirectly because he was in love. Yes, indeed: love was hazardous.
“Is he in love with Louisa?”
“Everyone is in love with Louisa, Mrs. Greenway.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. She fought an eye roll. “What I meant—”
“All right. Yes, yes. I know what you meant. And I think…” Colin rubbed at his forehead and sighed. Then he tipped his head back against the wall, closed his eyes briefly and gave another of those short humorless laughs. “Yes.” The word was weighty. “I do believe he genuinely loves her. In fact, I’m certain of it.”
“And Marcus knew about your attachment to Louisa before your arrest?”
“Oh, I believe everyone in Pennyroyal Green knew about our attachment. Louisa never had a London season—her family hadn’t money for it. But she could have had her pick of Redmonds or Everseas or landed gentry. And, well…You know the rest of the story…”
His voice trailed; his fingers closed into a fist. He bounced it lightly on his thigh in thought a few times, then stopped. And was quiet for a time.
“Are you married, Mrs. Greenway?”
The question surprised her into answering quickly. “No.”
“But you have been married?”
“Yes.”
Colin smiled crookedly at her monosyllabic mood, and passed the skin of water without looking at her. “What became of your husband?”
She swallowed a bit of the water. “He died.”
Colin brushed a crumb from his cheek with his hand. And then he turned to study her, uncomfortably as though he were researching a point of entry. “Were you sorry?”
The question landed like a blow between her ribs.
She was speechless. For a moment she couldn’t breathe or think clearly; she could merely stare back at him. But it was also perhaps the one question guaranteed to surprise an honest answer from her.
He was dangerous, Colin Eversea.
“Yes, Mr. Eversea,” she said evenly. “I was sorry.”
He turned his head away again. She passed the skin back to him.
“How did he die?” he asked. “Was it the war?”
“Oh, no. He survived the war.” She said this ironically. “It was illness.”
“Are you certain you didn’t accidentally shoot him with your stick?”
The question was wry, but she sensed there was an object to this inquiry. Colin Eversea still didn’t trust her. Any more than she fully trusted him. She knew a good deal about him, but he knew nothing at all about her, which was how she preferred it.
“I never accidentally shoot anything.”
He liked this. He smiled a little. A puddle on the ground reflected back the sky and part of the clean glossy carriage and part of Colin, too. The day was warm, and held all the smells of London close to the ground. It smelled of manure and coal and varying kinds of dirt, and faintly from that small elegant yard behind the earl’s town house came the sweet smell of blooming flowers.
“Do you have any children, Mrs. Greenway?”
She shifted restlessly. “What did I tell you about friendship and winning me over, Mr. Eversea?”
“I’m just making mealtime conversation.” He said this innocently around a bite of ham and bread, and he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking up at the sky instead, squinting, as though the man with the mother-of-pearl buttons could be found there. So she found herself studying him again. His hair was dark brown shot through with copper, it waved loosely about his temples and ears and glittered where the sun caught it. His eyelashes were the same color, and nearly metallic in the sunlight. His jaw was beginning to shadow with whiskers, but the shadows beneath his eyes were all but gone. A good night’s sleep on the flour sacks had done that.
“It’s quite warm today, isn’t it?” she replied pointedly, finally. “I don’t think we’ll have rain for quite some time. We could use a breeze, or the evenings will be insufferable. I wonder if it will be too dry altogether this year.”
He swiveled to stare blankly at her for a moment. And then his face cleared in comprehension and he was laughing. “Ah. Very good. You’re so right, Mrs. Greenway. The weather does make for fine conversation.”
His eyes were brilliant when laughter narrowed them, and they creased into lines at the corners
, and awareness entered Madeleine like a shard of glass. She looked away very slowly, because it was suddenly difficult to meet his eyes now that she was newly certain they were beautiful.
What in God’s name was the matter with her? She breathed in and out through the knowledge, as if it hurt. And instead of answering, because she was at a momentary loss for breath and thinking clearly was out of the question, she reached down and leisurely traced what turned out to be a flower in the dust. She took her time with it.
Colin studied it critically. “I would have drawn breasts.”
She laughed again. She couldn’t help it. He had a knack for coming at unexpected places, for opening up a new chink in her armor the moment she’d slid one closed.
But when she met his eyes, more bravely this time, his smile faded a little, leaving just the corners of his mouth tipped up. His eyes had gone darker, and his gaze was steady now. And now she knew they were both remembering those enclosed moments in the wardrobe, and in this moment she relived it: his breath against her ear, his thumb brushing across her breasts, the press of his hard body against her back, gooseflesh raining over her arms, her throat.
She allowed him to read nothing in her eyes. And coolly looked away.
She hoped it was coolly.
I’m not a callow girl, she reminded herself. She was a woman, and not made of ice, and he was an undeniably appealing man. He had, in fact, made rather a career of being an appealing man. But that was all it was. The fact that she still didn’t trust this man didn’t mean he couldn’t move her body, and he would be given no more opportunities to do so.
She almost laughed at herself, given that it was much easier to wrestle her senses into submission when she wasn’t looking at him, and much easier to say abruptly, “Do you think you’ll continue to be useful? Do you think we’ll be able to find this messenger with the fancy buttons?”
Colin had finished his bread and ham and made as if to rub his hands on his trousers, thought better of it, reached for his handkerchief, recalled she was sitting upon it, and resignedly used the square of muslin instead, dragging it over each long finger. He passed it to Madeleine, and she repeated it with her own hands.
“I don’t know where to begin looking. Presuming Harry and Eleanor have been more careful than we credit them, perhaps the good doctor is the only person who knows of their intimate relationship. But why would he have cause to make use of his knowledge? And I’ve never heard him mentioned as part of the group of investors. I should think Marcus would have mentioned such an eminent new member.”
“By ‘make use of this knowledge,’ you mean why would he use the information to falsely convict you, rescue you, and kill me?”
“I was attempting circumspection,” he conceded ironically, “but yes, that’s precisely what I meant. And you know of the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Are you personally acquainted with Dr. August?”
“Yes.”
He frowned at her a little, the amused kind of frown. “I’m a great admirer of your vast vocabulary, Mrs. Greenway.”
“We should go to Biddlegate Street,” was all she said. “It’s where he lives.”
Suddenly Madeleine felt very weary, a weariness that had nothing to do with the fact that she hadn’t slept for nearly an entire night. She’d thought a meal would make her feel stronger, but it only somehow made her feel saner, which wasn’t precisely an asset on this mission. It all seemed very quixotic.
But what choice did they have? What would become of Colin Eversea if they couldn’t prove his innocence?
What would become of her if she never earned another penny?
Unconsciously, her hand went back to touch the wall behind her, just to feel the reassurance of something solid. She could almost feel the abyss of her future behind her, threatening to suck her into it.
“Why do you need the money, Mrs. Greenway?” His voice had gone politely interrogatory once more.
She swiveled her head toward him, startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“You told me you needed the money urgently. Why? Debts? Blackmail? Where would you have gone if you hadn’t come with me?”
Why, in other words, should he continue to trust her? After all, rumor had it an award was now attached to his head.
She couldn’t help but wonder if this was true, and how much it would be, and if it was enough to get her to America.
“I’ve made plans to leave the country. And the money was necessary for me to complete my plans,” she said coolly. “I very much need the money, Mr. Eversea, and I need a good deal of it. I spent every penny I had rescuing you.”
“I hear Botany Bay is lovely this time of year.”
“Oh, very clever. I had another country in mind. America.”
“What are you running away from, Mrs. Greenway?”
“Funny question from the man I rescued from the gallows.”
He smiled at that, amused, and leaned back against the wall, gazing up at the sky again.
So they’d reestablished mutual distrust. But Colin’s smile lingered a little, as though he knew it was only a matter of time before he knew all he wanted to know about Madeleine Greenway.
His certainty was maddening, and absolutely compelling.
Then again, she imagined poking away at her with questions was a wonderful diversion from the fact that he’d been nearly hung for a crime he might not have committed, and from the possibility that a brother he’d loved his entire life was behind it, and about to marry the woman he’d loved his entire life.
The muscles of her stomach tightened, taking this in. She could hear in his voice the same weariness she felt, and wondered if it had a little something to do with the possible futility of ever proving his innocence—if he was indeed innocent. Of ever trusting anyone, or ever being trusted again.
Ah, how much easier all of this would have been if he did not persist in becoming a person to her. Madeleine fought the impulse to brush her hands over her face in frustration, and she suspected she looked a fright, and it irritated her that this was a concern because it hadn’t been in ages.
Colin gestured with one hand to the little bundle of food and raised a brow in query. She gave her head a shake: no, she didn’t want more. So he knotted the napkin and stood quickly, gathering up his bundle, and reached a hand down.
She stared at the hand knowing he’d extended it out of solicitousness and breeding, out of challenge, out of a wish to touch her because he knew he could move her, out of a wish to restore some order to his world, because in his world a man simply held out his hand to women.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t risen to her feet on her own a thousand times over the past several years. It wasn’t as though she needed him to help her rise. But she took it, allowed his fingers to close over hers, allowed him to help her to stand.
When she was upright, he held onto her hand a moment longer than necessary. And she allowed that, too, to prove he couldn’t move her so easily, or scare her.
Today, however, he’d proved he could do both.
His expression was somber, but one of his brows twitched up: There, that wasn’t so hard, was it, Mrs. Greenway?
He released her hand.
Madeleine pulled her gloves on as she walked, striding out of the mews in search of a hackney. She would do the hailing of it, as it was safer than parading Colin Eversea through St. James Square.
Chapter 10
English law enforcement was sadly fragmented, established in one parish and nonexistent in the next, which was marvelously convenient for thieves, who needed only to steal in one place and flee down an alley and—voilà! They were all but home free. The scaffold and the hulks and transportation had done little to discourage enterprising criminals. Everything in London could be stolen and resold.
All of this worked beautifully in their favor—for now. Though Colin was aware that he might well be a desperately wanted man, that there might indeed be a grand price on his head—though they h
adn’t been able to confirm this yet—his best protection was to stay away from his usual haunts and not look any soldiers in the eye.
Madeleine hailed the hackney in Grosvenor Square, and Colin, in his rumpled coat with the collar up, cravat tied with what he hoped would be construed as day-after-debauchery-devil-may-care—a common look among the young bloods of the ton—climbed into it while Madeleine discussed their destination with the driver.
Colin knew the doctor’s street. It was home to bankers and merchants, doctors and barristers, but it was a mere few minutes to Rotten Row by carriage, and the day’s weather—a great sheet of hazy blue for a sky, no clouds, and a forgiving but adamant heat—was the sort that drew out open carriages filled with people whom Colin had gambled, fought, or flirted (or rather more).
And despite the occasion of his hanging, he doubted all of these people would miss an opportunity to be seen by each other and to talk about him.
He wished desperately for clean clothes and for someone vacuous to flirt with. More than that, he wanted to sit across from the calm blue eyes of Louisa Porter, hold her knitting, and listen to her talk about how the chickens weren’t laying as well as they ought. He wanted to talk and talk, because that’s what he usually did with Louisa, and she did a good deal of listening and laughing. He missed the cooler, cleaner air of the downs, and he wanted to be out walking them with her.
He also wanted a pistol. He rather coveted Mrs. Green way’s handsome stick.
It had done no good to ponder and want, because now that the facts he’d gleaned and the ones he hadn’t—specifically information about Mrs. Greenway—were settling in and beginning to gnaw at him and he at them, he was in a mood.
“You’ll have to see if the good doctor is in, Mrs. Green way. I can’t very well waltz up to the door.”
His companion gave a start, and he studied her shrewdly. Ah, so Mrs. Greenway wasn’t made of iron. He suspected she’d been dozing with her eyes open. The fragile skin beneath her eyes was mauve. Her hair was also coming loose: one narrow little strand was tracing her pale, angular jaw, another floating close to that generous mouth, perhaps as a result of those moments in the wardrobe. She looked as though she’d been ravished. He doubted she would welcome the observation.
The Perils of Pleasure Page 14