“No frills, you mean?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He shrugged, his deep voice rumbling low near her ear. “The scent is not of my choosing. It was a gift.”
“Oh.” Images of scarlet-haired coquettes flashed in her mind, causing a startling sinking feeling in her middle.
“Not by a woman,” he added quickly.
She raised her brow.
“It was a gift from Mr. Evans.”
“The old soapmaker?”
“Yes.”
“Why, may I ask?” she inquired, sensing a story behind the present.
He sighed. “I suppose we do have some time on our hands.” He settled deeper into the seat, pulling her close. “When I was growing up, a few of us were sent to help out at Mr. Evans’s shop during Christmastide each year. It was his busy season, and it allowed us to earn a few pence for the holidays. In my second season there—”
“Pardon, but how old were you then?” she interrupted, trying to imagine him as a boy. Dark, mischievous but likely quiet. Not one for tall tales or putting worms in girl’s bonnets, she would venture.
“Ten. Most of the boys were older, but Dunn allowed me to go along.”
“He seemed like a very special man,” she stated slowly, reminded of their last unhappy exchange on the subject and wishing to make amends.
His body stiffened, and he was silent.
“I’m just, well, very sorry. I did not mean to pry.” But she was probing and she knew it. She was insatiably curious about the man. She had thought that she had known so much about Redford from the accounts in the newspapers. But she seemed to know naught about him, really. Exploits in the broadsheets did not translate into understanding a human being, his motivations, his dreams…. It was no surprise that she was at sixes and sevens about Redford and hardly knew which way was north as far as he was concerned.
“It is no great secret,” he remarked, shrugging. “Dunn was like a father to me. I had no one, and his own son was…let us say, very different from what Dunn would have hoped.”
“It sounds like a beneficial arrangement for you both.” So why did he sound so disturbed about it?
“It was good for me, no doubt. And Dunn appreciated our friendship. He loved me well, but no matter how dear I was to him, I was never his son. There were times when I did almost wish to be of his blood, I’ll admit, but it was not the right of it.”
“And this saddened you?”
“Mostly, I was upset for Dunn. The rift with Marcus brought tremendous heartache to him.”
“What happened between them?”
“Marcus was smart, quick on his feet, a bit of a rake. Somehow, if there was trouble about, Marcus would be found in the middle of it. Dunn’s approach was to try to discipline the rowdiness out of him, mostly with chores and lost privileges. Not that Marcus didn’t deserve a thrashing now and again…but it seemed that with every punishment, there was retaliation. Marcus was a wild stallion, you see, and Dunn tried to break him. It was only a matter of time before something had to give.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know. Dunn would not speak of it. Marcus left for the Peninsula. Dunn was never the same after Marcus took off. He tried to hide it, but we all knew. He never fully recovered…” His voice trailed off with sorrow. After a moment, he straightened. “But I digress. I was telling you the story about Mr. Evans’s soap shop. Do you wish to hear it, or am I boring you to tears?”
“No, please go on.” She was anxious for every crumb he might offer about his childhood, so very different from hers.
“Well, the shop was pandemonium during Christmastide, but Mr. Evans was a sharp gent, and he realized that someone was filching from the till.”
“Did he accuse you?”
“No, he blamed my friend John William. John was a braggart. All talk but no deeds. He might have mentioned the easy money within reach, but he did not have the brass neck or the stupidity to actually steal a farthing.”
“So what happened?”
“I begged Mr. Evans to give me a chance to prove John William innocent.”
“So you knew even then that you wanted to be an enquiry agent?”
“I did not realize until years later exactly what I wanted to be. But I suppose, looking back, I already had the proclivity for untangling facts.”
“Were there that many mysteries to solve at the orphanage?”
He shifted. “Many of the children were curious about their parents….” He shook his head, stating slowly, “I confess I was hoping to distract you, but still, I can’t recall the last time I went on so extensively about myself…this is really not very interesting.”
“Please, I am anxious to know more.”
“Why?”
She lifted a shoulder. “We have had such very different lives. I suppose I wish to understand what you have seen.”
“What purpose could it serve?”
“Well, you did save my life tonight. Perhaps I need to fashion the appropriate reward?” She wanted to swallow her foot and never speak a word again in her lifetime! Glue her lips sealed and then add a sewing patch for good measure. Her face flamed. “I mean, I don’t mean…heavens, I don’t know what I meant…”
“I know what you meant.” Nick nodded slowly.
“You do?”
“Yes, you’ve figured out that the soap was a reward from Mr. Evans and you are wondering if it pleased me.”
She sagged against him, relieved. “Exactly.” She knew that he was trying to help her save face, and she appreciated his gallantry. Many gentlemen would not have been able to resist that easy setup. Especially after the way Lillian had treated Redford over the course of their acquaintance.
“Please tell me more about the pilfering in the soap shop,” she asked, ready to take his lead and leave her tongue-slip far behind.
After a moment, he sighed, continuing, “So if John William was not the villain, then Mr. Evans still had a thief in his shop.”
“Who was the crook?”
“Mr. Evans had an assistant, Ezekial Jones. He was taking a portion of the money and ensuring that it never made it to the till.”
“How did you discover this?”
“If you watched him long enough, it became clear. He probably knew that I suspected him. But I was a miserable, ten-year-old orphan. Who would take my word over his?”
“So you set out to prove his chicanery.”
“Jones slept in a back room in the shop. I asked Mr. Evans to send him on an errand, and then we searched his room.”
“And?”
“And he had stuffed his pillows with blunt. Money he never could have made on the up-and-up as a shopkeeper’s assistant.”
“Not exactly the way to endear Jones to his employer. Mr. Evans must have been very appreciative of your efforts.”
“That was when he rewarded me with almond soap.”
“And what else?”
“That is all.”
“You stopped a thief from pilfering under his nose, exposed a lying turncoat who had betrayed his trust, and he gave you a miserable bar of soap?” she cried, aghast, pulling back to look at his face.
“Calm down,” he soothed, grinning down at her, amused. “He gave me almond soap for as long as I wish it.”
“What does that mean?”
“For as long as I live, if I wish it. A box is sent to my residence the first Tuesday of the month.”
“Every month?”
“Since I was ten.”
She leaned back into his embrace, mollified. “Perhaps he is not so tightfisted after all. Still, Mr. Evans no longer owns the establishment.”
“He had specific provision for my ‘account’ written into the terms of sale.”
“I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither had Mr. Shafer. But he does not mind having me as a customer, as I make certain to keep an eye out for his shop.”
“And no one causes trouble when Nicholas Redford is about.”
<
br /> “That’s stretching things a bit far, my lady.” He shifted slightly.
“I heard about the thief of Robinson Square. How he never robbed a house on your watch.”
“Happenstance.”
“Not according to the Times, Mr. Redford.”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
“Very true, but—”
The carriage swayed as it took a turn around a bend, pressing Lillian deeper into his embrace.
“Sorry,” she muttered, her skin flaming, and not just with embarrassment.
“Think nothing of it,” he assured her coolly, ostensibly unaffected by the close proximity.
She tried to follow his lead, to pretend that there was nothing out of the ordinary about their situation and that she wasn’t enjoying it as much as she was. The coach righted and she relaxed, but he did not loosen his hold. She did not mind.
After a moment, he scratched his chin. “I have a request, my lady.”
“Yes?”
“I mean no disrespect or untoward familiarity, but, well, I would really prefer it if you called me Nick.”
“Nick” felt so intimate, and she was uncomfortable taking what felt like such a dramatic step. Especially since she was half-naked, hugged close in the man’s arms. Particularly since she felt his nearness like a fever that she wanted to catch. She seemed to need reminders that there was nothing going on between them. That she had to maintain her distance.
“I would not want to take liberties…”, he ventured.
“Of course you’re not taking liberties,” she replied. The man had just saved her life.
“It just feels like we’ve been through so much, yet to still be so formal….”
He was right. After the things that they had done…and yet not done. Despite the mistaken assumptions between them, a fragile trust was growing. He was an outsider, yet he knew all of her secrets. He had saved her life tonight. Had been more gallant than most men of her acquaintance would have been.
“Nick,” she mouthed. The name suited him; masculine, sturdy and make-no-bones-about-it succinct. So did the almond scent…. She straightened, insight piercing her like a lightning bolt. “The man in the park! He wore Dillon’s fragrance!”
She felt his body tense.
“What cologne?” he asked.
“Canterbury violet.”
“Many men wear it,” he commented. “Nevertheless, we can assume that we are dealing with a gentleman who can afford the finer things and probably travels in Beaumont’s circles.”
“Which is why he disguised his face and voice tonight.” She shuddered, but this time not just from the cold.
The coach rolled to a halt.
“Oaks Square,” the hackney driver called.
The door opened and Hicks stood outside, the drizzling rain shimmering on his cream-and-black butler’s uniform. “My lady! Thank the heavens! We feared the worst when Jon Driver and the men could not find you.”
“The servants are here?” Lillian cried, relief flooding through her. “Is everyone all right?”
“They were held up by a highwayman!”
“No!” Her heart constricted for her loyal servants. “Was anyone hurt?”
“They are all well and whole, my lady. But frightened out of their minds. And when they could not find you, they lost the last wits they did have.”
The hackney driver leaned over from his perch. “A highwayman, did you say?”
“Have you reported it?” Nick asked.
“Gillman is on his way to the Bow Street office. But we must send word that you are safe and well.” Hicks stepped forward. “Pray tell that you are well, my lady!”
“I am fine, Hicks.” Highwaymen in the heart of Mayfair. Was this Kane’s doing? she wondered. He had never gone to such lengths. But that did not mean that he was incapable.
“Lady Janus is not fine,” Nick insisted, interrupting her thoughts. “But she will be in a few moments. Please pay the driver, Hicks, and get out of the way.”
Nick maneuvered out the door and eased her from the carriage. Clamping his arm around her waist, he drew her up against his hard form. She was a bit embarrassed by his embrace, but she was feeling a bit drained from all of the excitement.
“Has Lady Rece sent any word?” Lillian asked Hicks, worried for her friend.
“I dispatched Jones to Lady Rece’s residence when you did not return. She claimed that you had called off your meeting until tomorrow.”
Lillian was relieved, but troubled. She had sent no such postponement.
Just then, Fanny cried from the threshold, “Oh, thank the dear Lord in heaven!” She advanced down the steps. “I called just when your servants returned. I’ve been half mad with worry! Were you robbed? What happened? Are you hurt?”
“Give the lady a chance to get inside before peppering her with questions,” Nick suggested brusquely. “She may be whole, but she’s had a difficult night.”
Lillian was thankful for Nick’s interference, feeling suddenly unequal to inquiries. Fanny’s good intentions aside, as long as everyone was well, all Lillian wanted was to get dry, warm and decently dressed. Now that she was out of the hackney, she felt the wind knife through her like winter’s frost. She shivered, keen to get inside.
Fanny eyed Nick warily but turned to the servants hovering in the doorway. “Stand aside. Don’t badger Lady Janus.”
The footman rushed down the steps with an umbrella and held it over their heads as Lillian and Nick managed the stairs.
Candles flooded the windows with welcoming light, and Lillian was so glad to be home. If not for Nick’s intervention…well, she did not want to think of how this night might otherwise have turned out.
Chapter 16
“Prepare a hot bath for my lady,” Nick instructed once they had breached the vestibule of her home. “Tea and biscuits, too. Then I want a full accounting from Jon Driver.”
Hicks rushed back toward the kitchens and the maids scurried away.
“This time I’ll not take no for an answer, my lady.” Hoisting her into his arms with amazing ease, Nick headed toward the staircase.
Lillian did not have the energy or inclination to fight him. Even his warm, brawny chest failed to diminish the dreadful chills that were making her feel as if icicles lived beneath her skin.
“It’s the third door on the right, Mr. Redford.” Fanny hounded their every step up the stairs. “Are you ill, Lillian? Injured?” Alarm made her usual throaty voice shriek.
“Just cold, Fanny.” Lillian shivered. “Cold, wet and miserable.”
Nick headed down the hall and kicked open the chamber door.
He studied the room, and after quickly scrutinizing every stick of furniture in the chamber, from the mauve canopied bed to the rose-colored silk Grecian settee, he decided on her favorite chair, the threadbare floral wingback by the hearth. He eased her down into the seat, turned and whipped the rose-embroidered coverlet off the bed to wrap it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, nuzzling her freezing nose under the blanket.
He leaned over her and carefully removed her hat, wilted plumes and all. “Let me have a look.” His fingers skillfully but gently examined her skull. “You still have a bump, but the cut has almost closed.”
“The burning has stopped,” she replied, realizing that it had. In fact, all she was feeling was rather cold and sodden, from her flooded feet to her tender head.
Just then the butler and maids clamored up the back staircase and charged into the room, hauling all sorts of implements for the bath. The housekeeper, Mrs. Marx, bustled behind them, carrying a tray with tea, the keys at her waist clanking with her every shuffling step.
Mrs. Marx handed Lillian a cup, and she gratefully sipped the burning Hyson. Heat slithered down her throat and into her hollow belly. “Thank you, Mrs. Marx. Hicks, please prepare a bath for Mr. Redford in the guestroom next door. And do your best to find him something to wear, woul
d you?”
“Yes, my lady.” Hicks turned and left.
Nick shook his head. “Thanks for the hospitality, but I’m going to speak with Jon Driver.”
Lillian did not like the pallor of his skin or the color of his lips. “You will not be of any use to me if you catch a chill…Nick.”
Pressing his fist to his chest, he bowed. “Your concern moves me, my lady.” But she caught the glint of amusement in his gaze.
“Please do me the courtesy of humoring me…Nick. I would hate for you to be so disobliging as to die on me.”
“I promise not to expire,” he stated mockingly, bowing, “until I have spoken with your coachman.” Then he spun on his heel and headed out the door.
Stubborn oaf, Lillian thought affably.
Fanny’s eyes were weighing the circumstances. “What in the blazes is going on, Lillian?”
Not meeting her friend’s gaze, she explained, “I was supposed to meet Lady Rece, like we usually do. But it seems someone had sent her a note—”
“I’m speaking of you and that dark Adonis, not the blasted correspondence with Lady Rece!”
“Can we discuss this later?” Lillian murmured as she nodded toward the servants. Although they were trying very hard to feign nonchalance, their motions had slowed down to a crawl as soon as Fanny had asked about Nick. “I’m a bit frigid at the moment.”
Fanny nodded, her face softening. “Warm up in your bath, my dear. Then we will chat. My curiosity is piqued. Piqued indeed.”
Once deep in a scalding, lily-scented bath, Lillian finally felt like a person again. In the sudsy water, her skin no longer felt frozen, her chills had waned and she felt wonderfully relaxed. It felt so good.
“So how in heaven’s name did Redford go from furious injured party to knightly savior in the span of three days?” Fanny asked, stretched out on the divan.
Had it really only been just three days? It felt like a lifetime. “Apparently, Fanny,” she stated, thankful that the maids were gone and the door closed, “our outlandish plan actually succeeded.”
“I knew it!” Fanny slapped her hand on her thigh. “I just knew it would work. Never underestimate a sleeping draught, a see-through night rail and a plan.”
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