A Daring Liaison

by Gail Ranstrom

  “Imminent? How imminent?”

  “Within a few days. A week at most.”

  “Why?”

  “The pressure was severe a week ago when I put you on this matter. With nothing to acquit her and new evidence to implicate her...it’s becoming a losing proposition, Hunter.”

  “Damn it, what new evidence?”

  “Laudanum.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That was the word whispered to me this morning in my office. It isn’t official. Not yet. But, if you can, find out what Mrs. Huffington knows about laudanum.”

  Charles nodded. He would be seeing Georgiana tonight. If the word meant anything to her, he’d know it.

  * * *

  As predicted, Finn looked quite peculiar sitting in a small wooden chair in the reception area of La Meilleure Robe. That he felt out of his element was obvious by the way he fidgeted and kept turning his hat around by the brim. Every member of the Wednesday League mentioned it when they arrived.

  “Who is that great hulk in the foyer?” Lady Annica, the last to arrive, asked as she entered the dressing room and took a chair.

  “Finn. My bodyguard.” Georgiana, standing in her chemise and corset, explained the circumstances for the fourth time before she could be asked again.

  “As if you haven’t enough trouble,” Grace Hawthorne added. “Still, Finn is a good idea. I would certainly think twice before accosting you with him in the way.”

  Sarah shook her head. “My brothers know the oddest people. I wonder where Charlie found him.”

  Georgiana was spared a reply by Madame Marie’s entrance, a heap of pale violet silk in her arms. She stepped onto the low platform and dropped it over Georgiana’s head. “Come, chèri. This will be the last fitting, yes?”

  Once the gown was settled around her, Madame knelt and began tugging the hem to pull the folds into place for pinning.

  Grace folded her hands in her lap. “Now tell us, Georgiana, have you been able to uncover any information that might be useful?”

  “I fear I only have more questions.” She hesitated, recalling the warning she’d been given, but surely that information would be safe here. “We went to Vauxhall Gardens last evening, and while I was alone on a path waiting for Charles to return, a man approached me from behind. He instructed me not to turn around, so I did not see his face. He seemed to know me, but I would swear I have never met him. I am positive I would have recognized his voice. He warned me to stay away from Charles specifically and all the Hunter men generally. He said I should do as he said and that he had plans for me. He ran off when we heard Charles returning, but not before he said he would find me again.”

  Sarah’s face had gone quite pale. “Dear heavens! Did you warn Charlie?”

  “The moment we were alone. He seems to think this may be progress.”

  “Progress?” the ladies said as one voice.

  “That...that someone has come forward.”

  The ladies shared a meaningful glance, then turned back to Georgiana. “No wonder he has hired Finn,” Sarah said.

  Madame Marie stood and turned Georgiana toward the mirror. “Magnifique, n’est-ce pas?”

  Speechless, she nodded. Yes, it was, though it exposed more of her than Aunt Caroline had ever allowed. But she was a widow now and no one would think twice about her gowns. She noted the smiles of the ladies behind her reflected in the mirror. They approved. Thank heavens she would not be criticized by the ton.

  With a few deft moves, Madame Marie had her gown unfastened and over her head. She handed Georgiana a wrapper. “François will join you in a minute. I shall ’ave my girls sew the ’em immediately so that you can take it ’ome with you.”

  True to her word, her husband was waiting. He entered through a side door and assumed his usual position in one corner, almost at ease with seeing a woman in a dressing gown. “Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them. “We have a bit of news, at last.”

  “Do tell,” Lady Annica said.

  “I’ve just gotten back from Kent.” He removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped the cover back. “I fear the news is not all good. No one remembers your mother, Mrs. Huffington. The villagers only recall when Lady Caroline returned from Cornwall with you in tow. You must have been about two or three at the time. Quite a favorite in the village, by all accounts.”

  Georgiana recalled her weekly trips to the village and smiled. The only friends she’d had growing up were the butcher, the greengrocer and the baker. Later, she’d gone to the tea shop and dressmaker, but all those friendships had lacked intimacy. They were just acquaintances, really.

  “I also took the opportunity to meet your cousins, Walter and Robert Foxworthy. They raise horses as well as crops. Told them I was interested in buying a horse and got them to chatting about families. They mentioned you, but did not expand on the matter. Decent sorts, I thought—Robert more than Walter. There was something crafty in Walter’s manner. I thought he was simply trying to bargain the best price for his stock, but there could be more. I do not believe there is anything to worry about, but should you meet him, be careful.

  “I asked if they’d been in London recently or if they had any plans to come. Robert says he’s never been. Walter does all the traveling, it seems. I could not pursue the subject as diligently as I’d have liked without raising their suspicions, but as near as I can tell, Walter makes monthly trips to town, as well as other destinations as business requires. Hard to determine if he was in the area of your husbands’ homes at the appropriate times.”

  Georgiana let out a long-held breath. “That is more than I expected, Mr. Renquist. Thank you very much.”

  “I’m not done yet, ladies. Walter Foxworthy will be coming to town soon, and I’ve asked him to look me up if he’d like to meet my price on the stallion I inspected.”

  Grace clapped her hands. “Excellent.”

  “I also caught up with some of the rookery lads upon my return. And this is the news that worries me.”

  The ladies all sat forward in their chairs and Georgiana drew the wrapper a bit closer around her.

  “There are whispers circulating that someone from the rookeries has a very singular interest in you, Mrs. Huffington. Just what that interest is remains a mystery, as yet.”

  Georgiana frowned. “An interest? Is that all?”

  “All? There are some very unpleasant men in the rookeries, Mrs. Huffington. It is not a place you would want your name mentioned, or where you’d want to provoke interest.”

  The voice from last night rang in her head. We gots a secret, you an’ me. Was he the one with the singular interest?

  It could not be Hathaway. He’d only just been dismissed. Whatever threats he’d made, he hadn’t had time to instigate them, let alone to have displayed and “interest.” Heavens! How many men wished her ill? She quickly told Mr. Renquist about the incident at Vauxhall and her dismissing of Hathaway.

  A worried frown played at the corners of Mr. Renquist’s mouth. “The blighter at Vauxhall, Mrs. Huffington. That’s the one that worries me most. I shall put my men to uncovering that first. As for Hathaway, we cannot eliminate him. He has had access to your home and all your secrets the whole time. I shall see if I can find out more about him.”

  “Yes, but I only dismissed him yesterday and Mr. Hunter removed him from my house last night. There has not been time for him to cause a stir in the rookeries.”

  “If he whispered a prayer in the rookeries last night, it would be common knowledge by dawn, and if it were a juicy bit of gossip, sooner.” Renquist shook his head. “It is beyond me how guarded they are with outsiders, yet how ready they are to gossip among themselves. Well, I should have more information in a few days. Perhaps even the name of your...admirer at Vauxhall. I will send you a note when I have something to tell you.”

  Pray it would be soon. Very soon.

  Before that horrid man found her again.

  Chapter Twelve

&n
bsp; Charles strode from Doctor’s Commons, his head down and deep in thought. For the sum of five pounds, he’d just purchased the right to marry Georgiana at any place, any time, for the next three months. Two witnesses and a minister were all he’d need. Those were easy.

  Georgiana’s consent would be more difficult.

  He’d spent most of the day after his meeting with Wycliffe and Richardson at the Archbishop of Canterbury’s office, and now the shadows were deepening, the sun obscured by surrounding buildings. He crossed the commons to the stables, still deep in thought. He’d have to hurry if he was to make it home, wash, change for the evening and still fetch Georgiana on time.

  When she had mentioned that she was at leisure this evening, he had asked her to join him at his brother Andrew’s home for a family dinner party—a very good place to introduce Georgiana to the rest of the family. Perhaps he would test the waters there.

  He’d find some logical way to present the idea without mentioning the special license. She would, no doubt, be angry that he’d had the presumption to acquire one without consulting her. But, if they were to do it, it would be best to do it quickly. Surely she would see the sense in that.

  He winced when he thought of what she would say. No would be the kindest thing. After all, she’d said it before. And rather emphatically, at that. He’d have to coax her, convince her that this was the most logical and expeditious course of action considering that her arrest might be imminent and she could be locked away in Newgate or Fleet Prison. Between his name and marriage he might be able to protect her or gain her better treatment. He’d even lie and tell her he’d consent to a divorce or annulment afterward. Seems he had very few scruples where Georgiana was concerned.

  The shadow of a movement from behind drew him from his introspection and he turned just in time to see the flash of a blade slicing downward. Instinctively, he dodged to the side and rolled, coming up on his feet. Both slashes would have been killing blows if the attacker had made contact. A second later and he’d have been dead, a knife in his back.

  Still a possibility.

  His assailant lunged again and Charles bobbed to the side, then drove into the man’s midsection with his right shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Through the gloom, he could see that the man wore a black woolen hood with two ragged eyeholes cut out, much like an executioner’s mask. Why the precaution unless Charles would recognize him?

  “Gibbons,” he snarled. “Finally decide to do your own dirty work?”

  The man pulled off his mask and grinned, exposing two rows of rotten teeth. “Think yer clever? How clever will y’be when yer dead?”

  Gibbons gained his feet and crouched, swaying from side to side in an invitation for Charles to lunge again.

  Instead he fell back a step. “Big words, Dick. Back them up.”

  Gibbons charged forward with his right leg, slashing the knife in a wide arc. Charles dodged to the side, the knife barely missing his midsection. He seized Gibbons’s arm, twisted and pulled, fully intending to break the infernal thing.

  Gibbons howled in pain, his numbed fingers dropping the knife. Charles slipped his own knife from his boot and advanced. Kill the bastard, or take him in?

  The gloom came alive with groomsmen, stable boys and drivers. “’Ere, now! What’s afoot, lads?” the stable master shouted, running up behind Charles.

  Gibbons used the moment to spin and retreat toward the maze of narrow lanes and alleys outside the commons, his arm dangling uselessly from the shoulder socket. Dislocated, but not broken, damn it all. As Charles leaped to follow, the stable master seized him by the jacket.

  “No trouble ’ere, lad. This be a peaceful place.”

  Charles jerked free, but the delay had cost him the pursuit. He’d never find Gibbons with such a lead—that scum-dwelling assassin.

  One of the stable boys, having recognized Charles, brought his horse. He slipped his knife back in his boot, tossed the lad a coin and mounted. As he turned toward home, the wry humor of the situation dawned on him.

  He’d been meaning to provoke an attack. If Gibbons had been following him, this had been a perfect place and time to act. But he’d meant to incite Georgiana’s tormentor. Not his. Ah, well. All in a day’s work.

  * * *

  Georgiana settled in the carriage, trying to calm her nerves. She’d met most of the Hunters, but she’d never met the eldest, Lord Lockwood, or his wife, Lady Elise. She took courage from the fact that she was wearing her new gown and knew she looked more than presentable and every bit as fashionable as Lady Elise would be.

  She’d expected Charles to take a place beside her after he handed her up, but he sat across from her instead, facing backward. They started off with a little jerk and he braced himself with a shoe to the seat beside her. A little smile hovered at the corners of his mouth as he studied her. He was so completely handsome tonight that she feared her heart was in her eyes so she glanced away.

  “No more country mouse,” he murmured. “You will not be easy to ignore.”

  “Do you want to ignore me?”

  “Not in the least, Georgiana. I thought you knew that. Would you like me to show you what I want from you?”

  “No!” The last thing she wanted was to arrive at Charles’s brother’s house looking disheveled and wrinkled. “I’d much rather you behaved yourself.”

  “Really?” He licked his lips and smiled again.

  Her heartbeat hammered rapidly and heat washed through her. She knew too well the havoc that tongue could cause to her senses. To her free will. And was causing havoc to her now with just his subtle reminder. “Behave yourself, Charles.”

  “’Twill be a long, boring evening if I do.”

  “’Twill be a mortifying evening if you do not.”

  “I am not feeling in the least bit civil.” He knocked on the roof above him. “Change of plans, Peter. Belmonde’s,” he called to his driver.

  “Belmonde’s?” she queried as the coach turned.

  “A place where it will not matter how I behave.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve decided I want you to myself tonight, Georgiana. My brothers will understand.”

  She masked her disappointment. She’d been looking forward to being part of a family, if only for an evening. “Are you ashamed of me, Charles? Or have you decided you do not want to involve your family further in our deceit?”

  “Ashamed? Good God, no! Selfish, perhaps. And my family will understand and forgive the deceit—if, indeed, there is one.”

  “But of course there is a deceit. They think we are engaged.”

  His eyes darkened and he merely watched her until she could not bear the silence.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Exploring options, m’dear.”

  “You are being quite cryptic, Charles. What options?”

  “The deeper in we get, the more difficult it will be to extricate ourselves. Might as well go through with it.”

  “Go through with what?”

  “The marriage.”

  She was stunned to silence. The steady clop of the horses’ hooves punctuated the silence, and the dim light in the coach made Charles’s expression difficult to read. Was he teasing? Serious? Had he forgotten the fate of her husbands? “I—”

  “I know. Shocking, is it not?”

  “Stunningly so.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Imagine how surprised I was when it popped into my mind.”

  “How... Why were you thinking of such a thing?”

  He shrugged, then rubbed his right shoulder. “We’ve been unable to provoke an attack until today. Alas, it was my enemy to show himself, Georgiana, not yours.”

  “Are you well, Charles? Did he hurt you?”

  “Only my pride.”

  Relief spread instant warmth through her. “Do you think the deaths were coincidental after all?”

  “I believe Booth’s death was coincidental. As for Allenby and Huffington...that remai
ns to be seen.”

  Relief and disappointment mingled in a confusing blend. “Then we can dispense with our ruse?”

  “To the contrary, it is more important than ever. Events have taken on a life of their own.”

  “Is there something new?”

  “Laudanum, Georgiana.”

  He was studying her for a reaction, but she could not make sense of his statement. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

  “Do you take laudanum?” he pressed.

  “I have taken it on rare occasions to help me sleep.”

  “Do you keep it on hand?”

  “Aunt Caroline used to. Her scars would sometimes pain her.”

  Charles shook his head. “We could have a problem.”

  Georgiana thought of the vial of laudanum at home in her dressing table drawer. Who had found out about that? And why did they think it could have had anything to do with her husbands’ deaths? “How can my aunt’s laudanum matter?”

  “I intend to find out.”

  The coach drew up outside an elegant establishment in the neighborhood of St. James. Charles alit and turned to help her down. “I am about to become the envy of all my friends. Did you look in a mirror before coming out, Georgiana?”

  She looked down at her gown and patted her hair into place. “Am I disarrayed?”

  He laughed and took her arm. “You are perfection.”

  A gloved footman in a greatcoat opened tall glass doors for them and stood aside as they entered a wide foyer. Georgiana was nonplussed to hear a string quartet playing quietly and nearly drowned out by the sound of conversation and laughter. A man standing behind a desk smiled and nodded at Charles. “Good to see you, Mr. Hunter. Will your companion be playing this evening?”

  “I believe so. Shall we say fifty pounds, Biddle?”

  “Of course.” The man made a notation in a large ledger and gave Charles a small chit, which he put in the pocket of his dark jacket.

  Biddle came around the desk and held his hand out. “Your wrap, madam?”

  Charles moved behind her and slid his hands over her shoulders to take her shawl. She blushed when he skimmed his fingers over the exposed flesh in the deep V between her breasts as he parted the shawl to lift it away. She shivered, her body remembering the sweetness of his touch. His sigh fanned her cheek before he handed Biddle the shawl and led her toward a second set of glass doors where another footman awaited.