by Regina Scott
He hoped Rehmouth was taking note of how unbecoming her rose-tinted lips looked in that petulant pout. He’d seen it far too often. Unfortunately, if he’d only seen it sooner, he wouldn’t now be in this awkward position.
“I would never be so foolish as to attempt to part you from your beloved baubles,” he replied. “However, I happen to be carrying the ruby I intended to give you, and I find myself curious as to why you think it already in your possession.”
“Another ruby?” She licked her lips. “Certainly I would be delighted to show you the first stone. Perhaps a trade – iformation for the ruby you carry?”
“If it is the right information,” Alex allowed. “Your Grace, would you excuse us for a moment? I promise this will be my last visit with Miss Montgomery.”
The duke inclined his dark head. “Very well, but be quick about it. I have tickets to the opera.”
Alex returned the nod, then took Lydia’s elbow and directed her to her dressing room.
“Ah, my dear Borin, how I shall miss you,” she murmured. Alex noted the moisture in her eyes. She was a talented actress, he’d give her that. She moved around the clothes that had been strewn about, costumes for her work in the theatre, and out of it. The swing of her hips told him she knew he was watching. He shook his head.
“You will miss my pocket book,” he told her. “Rehmouth, unfortunately, is not quite as well heeled.”
Approaching her dressing table, she turned to make a face at him. “He will be far more devoted than you were,” she informed him, turning back to open one of her jewelry cases.
“Then you should shed no tear for my absence.”
She snatched up a ring and held it out to him. “This was delivered a few moments ago.”
So the duke had arrived before the stone. He made a mental note to ask Rehmouth who had passed on the news earlier. Now he joined her to examine the bauble. It was a large stone, in an elaborate gold setting from an earlier time. Tiny diamonds ringed the center ruby. It was lovely, but not, he thought, as expensive as the pendant in his pocket.
“Did you recognize the man who delivered it?”
She shook her head. “I only caught a glimpse of him at the door. Maudie dealt with him. I assumed he was in your employ.”
“Was he dressed in my livery?”
She frowned. “No, now that I think of it. But of course you might have had him dress in a common manner to avoid the gossip mongers.”
“And you never doubted I would be so cold as to cut you off without coming myself?”
She had the good sense to blush. “Well, you had been distant. And I heard rumors.”
Alex eyed her. “Rumors?”
“About Miss Templeman. I saw her at the theatre once. A beautiful girl and an heiress as well, I hear. You are to be congratulated.”
“Your congratulations are premature,” he informed her. “Might I speak with Maudie?”
“Why?” she asked with a frown. “Do you doubt me?”
“Not at all,” he replied truthfully. “But I didn’t send this ring. And I would like to see what she knows about the fellow who did.”
With obvious curiosity, she called her maid. The little woman cowered in front of Alex as if expecting a beating. With Lydia’s volatile temper, he supposed the idea wasn’t too far-fetched. He spoke as gently as he could, but her trembling answers told him she knew nothing more than Lydia about the mysterious messenger.
It was little different with Rehmouth. His valet had heard from another servant that Lord Borin intended to call off the affair. Rehmouth had been only too happy to postpone his other activities and hasten to the side of the fair Lydia to persuade her of his devotion. Alex would have liked to discredit their stories, but neither seemed to have reason to lie. He had left the pendant with a delighted Lydia and taken his leave.
Outside, he turned up the collar of his coat against the chill wind that had blown up. Just when he thought the mystery ended, more intrigue appeared. He’d been thinking of ending his liaison with Lydia in any event, so he supposed he owed someone a favor for extracting him so neatly. But it galled him that someone would have the temerity to manage his life for him.
And why? What did it profit anyone whom he partnered? He dallied with the idea that Lydia was the person passing secrets to the foreign agents, but he could not see how. Her beauty gave her access to high circles, but it had been well known she was under his protection. Even Rehmouth had been unwilling to do more than drool until hearing Alex had thrown her off. Besides, Lydia’s temper made her an unlikely agent. One needed a cool head to play at political intrigue.
As cool a head as whoever was playing with his life.
His only clue lay in his recognition of the Collins’ butler. The fellow could have had a reason to visit Lydia’s apartment house – any number of other families lived above and below her. However, they did not appear to be poor enough to be a relative to the average servant, or rich enough to be acquainted with people in the same class as the Collins. And then there was the fact that the butler bore a strong resemblance to the man who had been following him earlier.
Like it or not, his only clue led back to the Collins’ house. He hated to think of Richard Collins as a traitor. He’d far rather prove his innocence than his guilt. But to do either, he’d have to find a way into the house that went beyond these polite public visits. He needed to be able to search for evidence that linked the Collins family to him and told him why they might want to follow him.
His pulse quickened as he sorted through possibilities on the walk home. He did not like the idea of playing thief. Breaking windows and crawling about a darkened house sounded like an excellent way to get himself shot, and he rather pictured Miss Collins at the other end of the barrel. Sneaking inside in broad daylight while they were busy with other tasks sounded chancy at best. Forcing his way in at gunpoint would likely end him up in Bethlehem Mental Hospital.
Of course, there was seduction. His smile widened. Easy to imagine ways to get Miss Collins alone. Even easier to imagine ways to lull her into a false sense of security. He would take her in his arms and pull down that ridiculous knot of hair, letting the auburn tresses slide past his fingers. Perhaps he’d even bring a strand or two to his lips. He’d wager they were soft as silk. He’d lift the hair and kiss the back of her neck, the tender spot behind her ear, her cheek, and those tempting lips. Good God, he was getting aroused just thinking of it.
This would never do. Besides, what was he supposed to do with the rest of the family if he succeeded in gaining mastery over Miss Collins? And how was he to master her when she so easily mastered him, even in his thoughts?
The answer, luckily, awaited him at home. Retreating to his study, he had sunk into a comfortable chair and proceeded to absently thumb through correspondence that had arrived that day. The invitation from the Collins family was easy to spot.
So, Miss Templeman was having a party. He tapped the refolded paper against his lips. He had never hosted a party himself but had seen friends and acquaintances go through the process any number of times. These events required visits from tradesmen and deliveries of wine, extra plate and cutlery, and flowers. Parties frequently required musicians and caterers, not to mention extra servants.
He could attend the party. It alone might give him sufficient opportunity to search the house. On the other hand, if Miss Templman had invited him for the purposes of keeping an eye on him, he would be under surveillance. Best to go in ahead of time, while they were busy preparing.
At last, a chance to put his skills to work. He could hardly wait.
Katherine was fully prepared to wait outside her uncle’s door the next day if need be to quiz him about Alex’s intentions. However, Constance’s revelation at the breakfast table changed all her plans.
“I thought we should host a dinner party Friday,” she announced as she calmly buttered her toast.
Katherine glanced to where Bixby stood by the sideboard. He shrugged as if
to say the idea was news to him as well.
“Certainly we can host a dinner,” Katherine replied. “But Friday might be a bit too soon. What brought this on?”
Constance kept her gaze on the toast as she followed the butter with a thick smear of apricot preserve. “Since I had to forego the drive with Lord Borin, I thought I should try to make amends. I proposed dinner then dancing afterward. And maybe card tables for those like Sir Richard not inclined to dance.”
Katherine knew her smile was strained. Constance could have no idea the amount of work necessary to pull off such an event. Between Katherine’s attempts to interest Lord Borin and keep her uncle from making a fool of himself, she already had her hands full. “How clever of you, dearest,” she told Constance. “A small dinner might just be the thing. Perhaps in a few weeks.”
Her stepsister met her gaze at last with a frown. “Does that mean I shall have to rescind the invitations?”
Katherine stared at her. “Invitations? When did you send invitations?” She looked at Bixby again. He shook his head, clearly as confused as she was. Constance merely smiled.
“Why yesterday while you were driving. Eric helped me. It was quite easy. I made a list.”
The list! It could only be the one she had seen last night. But there had been at least thirty names on it. Yet if invitations had been sent, she was well and truly trapped.
Bixby did not see it that way when he caught up with her later that morning. “Might as well spend Miss Constance’s money on a worthy cause,” he told Katherine. “With any luck, she’ll snag Borin or another fellow, and we won’t have to worry about giving the fortune to Lord Templeman.”
Sir Richard agreed with him when she finally managed a moment to corner her uncle. “A party might be just the thing to bring the girl out of her shell,” he mused.
That she could not argue. Resigned, she took the opportunity to ask her uncle about Lord Borin’s discussion with him. Sir Richard shrugged.
“He seemed to think he was being followed, and we had something to do with it.”
Katherine swallowed. “Really? And what did you tell him?”
Her uncle was watching her, and she held herself still, hoping he would not notice how her pulse had sped. “I told him I would look into the matter. It is nonsense, is it not, Katherine?”
“Absolute nonsense,” she assured him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must begin planning for this party.”
She hurried away before he could question her further.
It took Alex a great deal of work over the next few days to put his plan into action. Giles Sloan helped him interview caterers until he found the one the Collins were going to use. Alex then had to arrange an anonymous bribe to the fellow to allow a particular person to serve as footman for the affair. Alex thought perhaps he should have more of a disguise than simply playing a servant, but Sloan shook his head.
“People pay no notice to servants,” he explained. “You shall be in livery, with a powdered wig on your head. You will look no different from any other fellow working a temporary job.”
Alex couldn’t quite believe that. He decided that a bit of blacking to darken his brows and some cotton padding in his cheeks to change their shape would help ensure he was not detected.
His determination to undertake the charade was only encouraged by the fact that his shadow had returned and appeared to have been augmented. Instead of the old man or boy, now it was a far more menacing fellow, tall, muscular, and darkly dressed. Alex spotted him loitering in the street outside his townhouse, near White’s on St. James’s, and on the corner near Gentleman Jackson’s boxing emporium. Twice he gave chase, only to lose him far too quickly.
He had no idea whether the occurrences were connected to the Collins. He had received no word from Sir Richard, which might mean the man had learned nothing about why Alex was being followed. On the other hand, it might mean that he never intended to tell Alex what he knew. It looked as if Alex was justified in invading their home in search of answers.
Still, the idea of his charade seemed so dashed unsporting. As a gentleman, Alex felt he owed it to Sir Richard to ask him for an explanation. Besides, he had told Miss Collins he might call again. Accordingly, the day before the party, he returned to their home.
As usual, the butler met him at the door, looking as imperious as he had on the previous occasions. Alex thought he saw a look of interest flit through the fellow’s eyes. He had no sooner requested a moment of Sir Richard’s time, however, when there was a crash overhead.
“I shall kill him!”
Alex jumped, pulse racing. Something was going on in that house! As if the butler realized they had been caught, he blanched and made to close the door. “Terribly sorry, my lord. Sir Richard is out. Good-day, Lord Borin.”
Alex shoved his shoulder in the crack, wedging open the door. “What is it? Is everything all right?”
“Places!” This time the cry came from Katherine’s voice. Footsteps clattered on the stair.
“Please, Lord Borin,” the butler begged, pushing ineffectually against his shoulder. “Another time.”
Alex refused to be stopped. This could be exactly what he had been looking for.
“Bixby!” Alex recognized Sir Richard’s tenor, severely strained. “Fetch me my sword cane. Wellington’s honor must be defended!”
Nothing would keep him out of that house. Alex gave a mighty heave, knocking the butler backward and throwing the door against the wall with a crack. He leaped over Bixby’s body into the entryway.
Chapter Nine
Sir Richard halted halfway down the stairs. Katherine, poised to ascend, whirled to face Alex, face ashen. Their secret was out. The ton would know that her bon vivant uncle had fallen into ruin. Below her, Bixby looked just as panicked. He scrambled to his feet and backed away from Lord Borin. She met Alex’s wide-eyed gaze and noted it was nearly as crazed as her uncle’s. Her heart plummeted to her feet. No doubt that was why she couldn’t move as Sir Richard swept past her.
“Borin, my lad,” he declared, clapping Alex on the shoulder of his well-cut camel coat. “A sight for sore eyes, to be sure. Did you read that editorial in The Chronicle?”
He blinked, then focused as if with difficulty on Sir Richard. She waited for him to denounce her uncle, but he merely nodded, relaxing his stance. “Claptrap,” he said. “No intelligent man would give it credence. If Wellington’s honor must be defended, count me in.”
“Capitol,” Sir Richard replied enthusiastically. “Come in, come in. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Katherine, we must have something for our guest.”
“Right away, Uncle,” she managed. At a nod from her, Bixby ceased dusting off his dark coat and breeches and hurried down the corridor. “This way, gentlemen,” she said, waving them up toward the withdrawing room.
Sir Richard turned to comply and nearly lost his balance. Katherine started forward, but Alex slipped deftly against him as if to murmur a private word. Deep in conversation, they meandered up the stairs. Alex’s wink to Katherine behind her uncle’s back was her only indication that he knew the trouble he had averted.
Eric came hurrying from the library. “What happened? I was all set to beg Uncle’s help as we planned. Was that Lord Borin?”
“It was indeed,” Katherine replied, staring up the now empty stair. “And I am not certain what is happening. For now, stay out of sight until I call for you.”
Nodding, he scampered back to the library. Shaking her head, Katherine went to fetch Constance.
Her stepsister, however, refused to join the men. “I am to drive in a few minutes with Allison Munroe. Had you forgotten?”
“Miss Munroe will understand completely that you must wait upon Lord Borin,” Katherine insisted. “She is in the middle of her first Season as well.”
“I do not wish to make her understand,” her stepsister replied kindly. “It is wrong to break a promise. I am disappointed that I cannot see Lord Borin today, but I will console m
yself with the fact that I shall see him at the party tomorrow.”
Katherine wanted to press the issue, but she recognized the set to Constance’s lovely mouth. Pushing her now might win the battle, but lose the war. Shaking her head, she hurried back to the withdrawing room. She reached the door just as Bixby arrived with refreshments.
“Let me take that,” she said, smoothing down her gray poplin skirts before reaching for the tray of lemonade and cakes. “After last week, we do not wish Lord Borin to get a good look at you.”
Bixby made a face. “Poor timing to have him catch me like that at Miss Montgomery’s. Luckily, he didn’t try to follow me home.”
“If he recognized you, there would have been no need to follow you home,” Katherine replied. “Best let me take the refreshments in, just in case. Perhaps I can learn what he wants with Sir Richard, and what he intends to tell others.”
Bixby nodded, and she entered the withdrawing room.
Both men rose from their seats on the blue velvet chairs. Her uncle looked less delighted than when he’d first sighted Lord Borin; his face was nearly as dark as the aubergine coat he wore. He did not, however, appear to have returned to his previous ire, for which she was grateful. If anything, he looked thoughtful, auburn brows gathered over his dark eyes.
The viscount, on the other hand, looked determined. His chin was set, his deep blue eyes cool. The way his arms crossed over his broad chest only strengthened her desire to know why he had come.
“Here we are, gentlemen,” she declared, setting down the tray on the gilt end table and seating herself beside it with every intention of playing hostess. “Lemonade, Lord Borin?”
He sat and accepted the glass she poured with a word of thanks. Her fingers brushed his, the brief touch surprisingly warming. She made herself focus on serving her uncle as well. Still neither man moved to continue the conversation.