The Heiress's Deception (Sinful Brides Book 4)

by Christi Caldwell

  The lady sat demurely at the foot of his desk, back squared, hands on her lap, gaze trained forward. The queenlike elegance of her positioning highlighted the length of her graceful neck. Not for the first time, he wondered about Eve Swindell’s story. He’d come to appreciate that people, regardless of station or birthright, all carried their own demons and darkness. It was what one made of it that determined a person’s worth, however. He pushed the door closed until it made a near-silent click, lost to the ticking clock. “Eve.” Her gasp exploded in the quiet, and she surged to her feet.

  “I didn’t hear . . . how . . . when . . . ?” She pressed a hand to her chest, and his gaze was involuntarily drawn to her small bosom, modestly constrained. But for the generous flare of her hips, there was nothing overly tempting about the lady. Not in ways he generally preferred in the women he took to his bed. He hooded his eyes. And yet there was an allure of innocence and a hidden beauty that made her somehow . . . intriguing. Much like the sapphire he’d found nestled in the cobblestones outside Covent Garden.

  “Please sit.” Pausing beside his desk, he tossed his paper down and then made his way to the velvet curtains. Feeling the young woman’s eyes on his every movement, he drew the heavy fabric back, letting the morning sun shine through the floor-length windows. A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” he called, fetching himself a brandy from the sideboard. “Leave them on my desk,” he instructed, not glancing back.

  MacTavish’s footfalls heavy in the quiet, and then a slight thump as he set the club’s books down. A moment later, he’d gone. Glass in hand, Calum claimed his chair.

  “How did you do that?” Eve blurted. “You didn’t even look at him.”

  Among the many skills he’d been forced to hone in order to survive had been his uncanny heightened senses. “I’m clear-sighted.” She eyed him suspiciously, adorable in her wariness. “There are also the windows,” he pointed out on a secretive whisper.

  She opened her mouth, no words coming out, and then whipped her gaze over to the crystal panes. Color tinged her cheeks. “Of course.” He’d not point out that he also knew the distinct footsteps of each person in his employ. That every footfall was different, defined by a person’s size, their shoes, and the rustle of their garments.

  Setting aside his drink, he sat and dragged over the ledger on top. “What have you found, Eve?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but froze, her attention fixed on the contents of his desk. At her protracted silence, he followed her stare and frowned. “Eve?”

  Jerking her head up, she met his gaze. “Y-your books are not as dire as I’d believed,” she said, clearing her throat. Regret coated that admission. “Your previous bookkeeper stole in sum fifty pounds, from the liquor and wheat budget. Her thievery accounted for the mistakes in those records. But for several mathematical errors in the other books, she was largely proficient in her role.”

  “With the exception of stealing,” he pointed out drily.

  “With the exception of her stealing,” she reiterated. Eve sank back in her seat and studied her clasped hands.

  Collecting his glass, Calum leaned back in his chair and studied her from over the rim. “And do you believe I’ll send you away for that revelation?”

  Eve lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug and looked him squarely in the eye when she spoke. “Given your reservations, I’m not altogether certain what your intentions are for my future here.” Where the two previous bookkeepers had been unable to meet his gaze and cowered in his presence, Eve Swindell was unapologetic in her directness.

  “One learns to take security when and where one can find it for as long as one has it,” he shared. That she didn’t yet know that lesson indicated the sheltered life she’d lived before this one. “Worry less about how much time you’ll have here, and worry that you are here for now.” He raised his glass to take a drink when she spoke, staying him midmovement.

  “That is easy for one who has a steady roof and security over his head to say,” she said quietly.

  “That is easy for one who has lived a life without both of those gifts to say,” he corrected without recrimination.

  She winced and swiftly darted her eyes from his . . . but not before he detected the guilt there. Feeling like the bastard who’d kicked a stray pup, he took a long drink. “I called you here to review your role and responsibilities, Eve.” Not to move her to sadness. It was those damned eyes. Her damned large brown eyes that may as well have been a window into her soul, mind, and thoughts. “You’ll oversee the ledgers, expenditures, and books. You’ll meet me each Friday to review your work.” It was a task they’d all been remiss in with the previous bookkeepers. “In addition, you’ll be responsible for conducting meetings and reviewing our shipments with our liquor distributor and suppliers.”

  “And where do these meetings take place?”

  From her question, he tried to make out sense of her thoughts or emotions but found none. “Primarily Lambeth. Chancery Lane.”

  She gasped, and the spectacles slipped forward, tumbling from her nose.

  “Do you have a problem with those streets?” he put to her. Most any lady born to a respectable family would.

  “Not at all, Calum.”

  The sound of his name wrapped in her husky contralto sent a bolt of lust through him. Hers was an unexpectedly deep voice for such a slender, small lady, and it conjured wicked words whispered in bedrooms.

  Calum gave thanks for the desk that concealed his burgeoning desire. What manner of employer was he, hungering after a respectable woman newly hired on his staff, no less? He cleared his throat. “You’ll have your own offices, separate from your chambers,” he added, for himself as much as for her. “Anything you require to fulfill your responsibilities should be put as a request to me, or Mr. Thorne, the other proprietor.” She nodded with each enumerated item. “Your payments will be made on the last day of each month.” He paused, taking in her brown, striped silk taffeta. The faded garment showed its wear and age. He settled for, “In the form of two one-hundred-pound notes.”

  Surprise shone in her eyes. “Two hundred pounds? Each month?”

  Unnerved by the reverent awe there, Calum shifted. That sum would have seen Calum and his siblings with food in their bellies for months and months. Instead of begging strangers in the street . . . or little girls sneaking around their family’s mews. He started. Where had the thought come from? After Little Lena had turned him over to her brother, he’d taken care not to think of her beyond the lesson she’d given him. Uncomfortable with the intrusion of his past in his meeting with the stranger before him, he nodded.

  “You’ll be expected to spend ten of your hours each day working, but you may set the hour at which you begin. You’ll have Sundays free. Do you have any questions?”

  “No.” Indecision filled her eyes. “Yes.”

  His lips twitched. Leaning forward, he dropped his elbows on the desk. “Which is it, Eve?”

  “Yes. Not a question, as much a favor,” she said quickly, her words rolling over one another. “Two of them, really.”

  “Just two favors?” he drawled.

  She either failed to hear or acknowledge his dry mockery. “The first pertains to my funds. The funds you spoke of.”

  Calum settled his eyebrows into a single line. Surely she wasn’t expecting more than he’d offered. He’d upped her wages by one hundred fifty pounds from the previous two who’d held the post. He set his glass down, waiting for her to put forth her favors.

  “I know I’ve given you reason for suspicion, and I surely have no right to ask for a favor and expect you’d grant it, but . . .” The lady drew in a slow breath. “Would you be willing to advance me my first month’s salary?”

  As a rule, no one, unless their familial circumstances were in crisis, merited an advance. Advances made for sloppy workers and encouraged laziness. Time and experience running the Hell and Sin had proved that. When one extended a branch of generosity, invariably it
was taken and turned to kindling. So why did he sit here, considering giving an advance to this woman—a stranger more than anything—who’d, as she herself had pointed out, given him leave to doubt?

  “You might deduct a percentage from my future wages,” Eve ventured. She was astute. Clever enough that she’d sensed his indecision.

  She needed the funds. That much was clear in the way she wrung the fabric of her skirts and squirmed under his regard. He’d known Eve Swindell less than two days and already determined she was a woman of resilience . . . and some pride, which was why she hated putting the request to him.

  He opened the center middle desk drawer, and Eve followed his every movement as he withdrew a leather folio and pulled out two notes.

  Calum slid them across the desk.

  Eve wet her lips and looked tentatively from the two hundred pounds lying between them, and then to Calum.

  He gave a slight nod, and with almost reverent hands, she collected those notes. She caressed the edges with her long, ink-stained fingers, and by God, if he wasn’t pathetic for envying a damned hundred-pound note for those attentions. Bloody pathetic fool . . . What would your brothers say about you not only advancing a stranger funds but lusting after her? “I’ll not dock your future wages unless you give me reason to do so.”

  “Why would you do this?” she asked quietly, wonder in her words.

  Uncomfortable with the adoration there, he grabbed his glass. “Because it is the right thing to do,” He stared at her over the rim. “Unless you prove that it was the wrong thing.”

  “I won’t,” she assured him. “You’ll find I am t-trustworthy.” She stumbled over her words and promptly colored. “I’ll serve you loyally while I’m here.”

  It was an honest pledge. One meant to assure him that he’d done the right thing in trusting her. And yet, in that handful of sentences, just three words gave him pause. The final three, tacked on the end of her promise . . . while I’m here . . . It was a statement that was telling.

  Calum swirled the contents of his drink. “Are you intending to go somewhere, Eve?”

  She froze. “It is an interim position,” she said cautiously. “By your own words, I’m here as a temporary member of your staff.”

  Once again, she proved her quickness and cleverness. She also proved she was hiding . . . something. And while all people had their secrets and were entitled to them—every last man, woman, and child inside his club included—there was a layer of intrigue to the spirited Eve Swindell that he wanted to peel back. Secrets that he wished to know for reasons he himself did not understand. “What’s the second?” At her perplexed look, he added. “Request you’d put to me.”

  She sat up straight. “Your kitchens produce a vast amount of food.”

  His lips twitched. “That is generally the purpose of the kitchens.”

  “I would ask that you permit me to donate the uneaten foods.”

  Calum’s smile faded at the solemnity of both that request and the words themselves.

  “There are foundling hospitals,” she entreated, turning her hands up. “Children who have empty bellies, and I’d—”

  “Fine,” he said quietly.

  The young woman opposite him parted her lips. “That is all?” she asked, her question heavy with bafflement. “You’d not have me make my case?”

  Did she expect him to be a monster incapable of aiding others? But then, you hadn’t given a thought to the very favor she’d put to you, until now. “Will the foods be put to use?”

  She nodded.

  “Then that is the extent of the case you need make.” A glimmer lit the young woman’s expressive eyes with such warmth, he shifted in his chair—unnerved. Bringing them back to safer talks that didn’t involve that awestruck glint, he said, “Later this afternoon, when you’re properly settled in your rooms and office, MacTavish will provide you a tour of the club. Tomorrow morn, he’ll show you to the club’s Observatory for our next meeting. You are free to go.”

  Her notes in hand, Eve rose with that ever-present grace. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Dropping a curtsy, Eve started for the door.

  “Oh, and Eve?” he called when she had her fingers on the handle. “Don’t ask my staff questions about me.” She stiffened. “If you have them, ask me yourself.” He couched that rebuke in an unspoken warning.

  Eve gave a nod and then left.

  Chapter 8

  The following morning, Eve stared at the bevel mirror of her temporary chambers. Her wide brown eyes stood stark among her even paler than usual cheeks. He was looking for her. But one glimpse of that page yesterday on Calum’s desk had revealed that truth—he’d begun his search for her.

  What did you expect? That he wouldn’t look for you?

  She balled her hands. Gerald was in need of a fortune, and he would not rest until she was located. And of all the places she could have gone, she’d unknowingly chosen the home of Calum Dabney—the friend she’d once brought hurt and suffering to. A man who’d not hesitated to grant her an advance and who’d also, without any questions asked, allowed her to coordinate deliveries of food to the foundling hospital.

  Weighted by guilt, she briefly closed her eyes. She’d no right being here. What choice do I have?

  The truth rang clear—none. Eve had no options. None that were feasible. With one brother missing and the other a reprobate who’d sooner see her raped than happy, she was remarkably without help, outside of that offered her by Calum.

  “You don’t have any other choice,” she whispered aloud, needing to give that fact life. The needless reminder didn’t drive back remorse.

  Calum had now not only given her work and security but with no questions asked, had given her two hundred pounds.

  And she was here on nothing more than a lie. She was the girl who’d betrayed him, and whose family had nearly seen him hanged. Yet here she stood, a recipient of his goodness. For there could be no accounting for why he’d done those things for her . . . a stranger, no less.

  But they were also generosities he’d shown many others. Ruby’s and Gideon’s fine garments and comfortable lifestyle were proof of that. For the cold, painful life he’d lived on the streets, he’d retained his heart, and through it—his goodness. With the work she did in the foundling hospital and her father and Kit now gone to her, she’d begun to lose sight that there were men still capable of that good. Men driven by more than avarice, greed, and their own self-importance.

  Eve smoothed her palms over her drab skirts. There was good she could do while she was here. She could keep his books, for the club he so loved, and on which so many depended. Nor would he even miss her services when she eventually left. After all, he’d already stated his intent and willingness to replace her—should she prove herself untrustworthy.

  Which she had no intention of doing. She’d not betray his generosity.

  “Any more than you already have,” she muttered. Sticking her tongue out at her reflection, Eve grabbed the loathsome spectacles, then paused.

  The damned spectacles she could not see a blasted thing through. It was really only a matter of time before the too-perceptive Calum noted her conspicuous habit of not wearing them. She studied the wire-frames in her hand. And, it was not as though he’d recognized her to this point. The spectacles were at best a flimsy disguise, ill thought by Nurse Mattison.

  Taking care to avoid the hint of sound, she lowered herself to her haunches and settled the frames in the middle of one of the slats. She straightened and then, throwing her arms open to maintain her balance, lifted the heel of her right boot and brought it down on the lens.

  Craaack . . .

  A sense of satisfaction raised a smile as the shattering of that glass filled her room.

  Eve bent and retrieved the pair. Plucking fragments of the lens free, she dropped them into the dustbin, and as she did so, her gaze caught the hanging clock on the opposite wall.

  Three minutes to six.

  A cu
rse slipped out.

  Bloody hell. Given Calum’s avowal on the importance of timeliness, the last thing she needed to do on her second day here was arrive late to another meeting. Eve grabbed free the last shard, gasping as it pierced her flesh. The sticky warmth of blood immediately sprang free like that Icelandic geyser Kit had regaled her with tales of on one of his infrequent visits home. Her stomach revolted.

  Oh, good God in heaven. Do not look at it . . . Do not look at it . . . Pressing her eyes tightly shut, she stuck the wounded digit in her mouth to stop the flow, gagging slightly.

  A knock sounded at the door, forcing her eyes open. “J-just a moment.” Her voice emerged a threadbare whisper, which resulted in another knock. “Just a moment,” she said again, steadying her voice. Stuffing her spectacles inside her apron with her uninjured hand, Eve grabbed a small journal and a charcoal pencil and rushed to the door. Pulling it open, she stepped out into the hall.

  “Mr. Dabney doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” MacTavish growled in his fierce brogue, by way of greeting. Not bothering to see if she followed, he led the way through the halls.

  That ominous threat also provided a distraction—albeit a terror-inducing one—from her earlier injury. Quickening her step to match the guard’s longer strides, she hastened after him. He brought them to a stop beside the last door on the floor, with a guarded entrance that led to a set of stairs.

  Not bothering with a knock, MacTavish pushed the door open.

  Holding her belongings close, Eve gazed about the wide room, immediately noting the large window where a wall should have been. It was not, however, that peculiar window that looked out to a ceiling lit with chandeliers that held her attention, but rather the broad, powerful figure who stood at the front. His legs slightly spread and his arms clasped behind his back, Calum had the look of a Greek god assessing the mere mortals who lay before him.