It was not what he might or might not know about her scandalous behavior that preoccupied her now. Their last meeting had proven that he did not know for certain that she had been at that party.
But he had wondered. She had seen the surprise and suspicion in his eyes as he scrutinized her on the sofa.
There had been something else in his eyes too.
For an instant, as he weighed the possibility, she had also seen his shock. This man might attend Lyndale’s parties, but the notion that she did had appalled him enough that it had killed his desire.
She swallowed the sour bile of her disappointment. When he had reached out to her, she had concluded he knew everything. She had thought, for a short while as they embraced and kissed, that he was glad that they could claim again what they had shared.
She would not think about it anymore. It no longer mattered what he knew or did not know, what he thought or did not think, about that party.
What did matter now, what had sickened her these last three days, was the evidence that Knightridge was investigating Mardenford’s family and looking for evidence of some lost boy.
There was no lost boy, or any other secret. However, if he poked around and asked questions, it would be worse than if Finley told lies in court. Nathaniel Knightridge was no criminal and his suspicions would carry weight if they became known. There was nothing logical about gossip either. It speculated and assumed. It gained substance through repetition and destroyed reputations without cause. Without a factual rebuttal, it would soon encompass every man in Mardenford’s family, not only distant relatives.
She made her way to the chambers of Mr. Knightridge. A clerk looked up from his scrivener’s podium as she entered. The young man assessed her card quickly, then his gaze drifted quickly over her midnight blue cloak and ice blue skirt to ascertain their value and the card’s reliability. He scurried into the next chamber.
A few moments later he returned and escorted her into a large, airy chamber with many glass-enclosed bookcases and a dark, tidy desk. Nathaniel rose from his chair and gestured the clerk away.
Nathaniel’s gaze swept her from head to toe much as the clerk’s had. Only this time the examination was slow and bold, and that of a man looking over a woman who had granted him liberties.
His attention settled on her hand, which held the handle of a parasol. “Weapon at the ready, I see.”
She was in no mood for levity. She placed the parasol down flat on his desk. It landed harder than she intended, with a decided thwack.
“I will be plain, Mr. Knightridge. Our last meeting destroyed my peace of mind. It was unfair and ungenerous of you to call on me with such ulterior motives.”
“It was only a kiss, Lady M.”
“I am not speaking of a silly kiss, but of your accusations regarding Mardenford’s family.”
His lids lowered. “If my kisses are silly, you should do a better job of refusing them.”
“I will, you can be sure of that. I only need to think of how you so quickly take up this criminal’s quest to make me reject even the playful flirtation of the last two weeks.”
“I can see you are inexperienced in playful flirtations. The phrase implies both more pleasure and more resistance than I have enjoyed.”
Her pride reeled from the slap of the insult. Her face warmed. Her throat tightened and burned.
She turned away and battled the stupid impulse to cry. She had insulted him first, after all.
In the past his words would not have affected her in the least. She would have parried the thrust and lunged in turn. This time, for some reason, his scorn pierced her like a flaming sword.
“Please accept my apologies. That was inexcusable.” The words flowed on a soothing voice close behind her. “However, you should not goad me. It provokes bad behavior in me, as you learned long ago.”
It embarrassed her that he had seen her close to tears about such a little thing. His apology enabled her to collect herself.
She turned to find him watching her carefully, as if he feared a scene. She summoned enough composure so he would be reassured that she would not act foolishly.
She arched her eyebrows to let him know he stood too closely. With a vague smile, he retreated to a position near his office window. As if he accepted she was back in true form, he became the man she knew well—Nathaniel Knightridge, confident, self-possessed, and provocative.
“Now, as to the other matter you addressed, I have accused no one. I merely asked a few questions.”
“You asked, with no thought to the damage just asking can do. You are no John Finley and your interest will give credence to that rogue’s blackmailing lies.”
“I promise you that I have been discreet in all inquiries.”
“In such matters as these there can never be enough discretion. However, your statement implies you have inquired of others besides me. What have you learned?”
He hesitated. She glared a warning that if he did not satisfy her, there might be a scene after all.
“I have learned that there is an uncle on the distaff side who spent time in India a dozen years ago. Also a second cousin who, as a member of the navy, has traveled widely.”
“The cousin would be Peter. I have met him and he is very religious. I find the idea that he fathered bastard children difficult to believe. As for the uncle, I do not know him. Does this boy look to have Indian blood?”
“I would say Mediterranean. Of course, any man in the family might have had a liaison with a gypsy or immigrant right here in Britain.”
He was being very smooth and most careful.
He was dissembling.
Her ill ease crystallized. Suddenly Knightridge represented real danger.
“You have inquired about relatives, but you really think James might be his father, don’t you?”
He rested his shoulder against the window frame and gazed out for a spell. When he turned his attention back to her, his expression was serious, and honest.
“I do not know what to think, since my inquiries have been very restrained. The boy’s apparent age suggests his birth occurred within a year of your brother-in-law’s grand tour eleven years ago.”
“My husband was also on that grand tour. Do not be delicate for my sake, Mr. Knightridge. Surely you have considered that Philip might have fathered this lost boy.”
“I considered it. However, the resemblance is to James. Finley did approach your brother-in-law, and great pains were taken to make sure that Finley would not tell his story in court. While I do not doubt James’s devotion to his brother’s reputation, I hardly think finding the illegitimate child of a dead man warrants either blackmail or your brother-in-law’s distress.” He paused hard and long. “And, since we are not being delicate, I weighed that Philip fathered no children in his marriage.”
Her face warmed. “Due to his illness, no doubt you assume.”
“Yes.”
“Let us speak frankly or my visit here is wasted. You assume that was due to his illness, and so do I. The whole world says so on its kinder days. But one cannot be certain.”
Her bluntness surprised him. His face colored a little. “Not certain, but all evidence indicates this has nothing to do with your late husband. I would never have approached you for information if I thought it did. Do you think my assessment is wrong?”
“I think you are wrong about the whole matter, from beginning to end. However, on this one point I am sure you are correct. That boy is not Philip’s child. Nor is he James’s child, however. I am sure of that too. I know James very well and it is not in his character.”
“I would say that such things are in most men’s characters. A youthful passion, a bastard child—it is not a new story, or even an interesting one. The attempts to silence Finley were in excess of the notoriety that could result. It would not have been a very big scandal, even in these days.”
He was correct. Revelations of a bastard son would not cause a big scandal. That truth began to settle her emotions. A
n oasis of calm formed and attempted to spread.
Something in Nathaniel’s expression thwarted her heart’s quest for peace. His gaze had turned inward, as if his own words had provoked new and compelling thoughts.
He glanced at her, then dismissed his distraction with a half smile.
He strolled forward and faced her across the desk. “Let us say that this boy is indeed related by blood to Mardenford in some way. He may have no legal rights but he deserves a moral justice. The boy is in the gutter, and will die there if he is not helped. I hope you can understand my interest, in that light.”
She realized this had little to do with Mardenford or scandal or even Finley. Nathaniel was thinking of the boy and nothing else. If finding this boy’s family meant creating scandal, this man would think it a fair cost.
“This is really about your guilt over Harry Binchley, isn’t it? You think that if you do not help this lost boy get found, one day you will be drinking too much brandy and waiting for another young life to end.”
His expression hardened. He looked away, but she recognized the deep fire in his eyes.
She understood his desire to help this boy. She empathized with his bleeding conscience more than she wanted to. Her need to protect her own was stronger, however. And right now her defensive instincts were screaming.
She feared what had distracted this lawyer during his intense contemplation at the window. She had read his mind while he considered the other possible explanations for this claim of a lost boy.
The worst one would bring an insurmountable scandal to Mardenford. It would also have devastating consequences on Ambrose’s life.
“Mr. Knightridge, I feel that I must lay this matter to rest and return Finley’s lies to his grave. I came here today to tell you that I will see the boy.”
“That is very good of you. I will make arrangements for you to meet him in a day or so.”
“Today. Let us do it now.”
“Finley’s lair was deep in St. Giles rookery. It would be more prudent if I found the boy and brought him to you.”
“I will not make this a formal meeting, nor allow the matter to continue even one more day. If the boy is in this lair, and the lair is in the rookery, let us go there now. It will not be the first time I have ventured into such a neighborhood. With you as my escort I am sure I will be safe.”
She was not stupid. Whatever else he thought of Lady M., Nathaniel knew she was very astute. Irritating, but smart. Her perceptions could be discomforting, mostly because they were often correct.
They had not really spoken frankly of what this lost boy might mean. They had not put the worst possibility into words. She knew the danger, however. He did not doubt that she had seen it all, even without knowing exactly what Finley had said that day.
Born better than you . . . Born to be a lord.
Those words had not implied there was an unknown bastard at large, but an unknown son of legitimate birth, who should one day have the title.
Not Philip’s son. It was not only Philip’s illness and lack of progeny that convinced Nathaniel it had not been Philip, if indeed it had been either of them. For all his blandness, the last Baron Mardenford had exuded a quiet strength of character. Philip also would never have been so stupid as to contract a secret marriage, since he expected to inherit the title. James, on the other hand, was a vague, less distinct man who as the second son could afford to be reckless.
He realized there was another reason he was certain it had not been Philip. Charlotte had married the man. She would not have missed such a flaw in him. She would never tie herself to a man capable of the deceptions and dishonor implied by the worst explanation for Finley’s ambiguous accusations.
As Nathaniel joined Charlotte in her carriage, he admired her confidence in how this outing would conclude. He envied Mardenford’s family the loyalty they had in their dowager baroness. He did not doubt that she would fight like a lioness to protect those she loved.
He hoped that by day’s end she would not have cause to.
She toyed with a little ribbon on her parasol’s hilt. He watched her slender, delicate fingers, so elegantly sheathed in snug lambskin gloves, stroke and smooth the tiny strip of silk. He began imagining that feathery touch gliding over his naked skin.
He forced himself to look away from those seductive fingers, and at her face. Beneath her determined and thoughtful expression he perceived the soft vulnerability that made her so similar to the other woman who occupied his thoughts.
Actually, right now, in the dull light coming through the carriage window, her eyes, her mouth, her chin . . .
For an instant his sensibility was almost certain, despite how his rational mind rejected the possibility out of hand.
“Mardenford is lucky to have you as his hostess. His son is lucky to have your love.”
“I am the one who is lucky. Ambrose is like a son to me, and James like a brother. It is good to have such a family, and a place where one is at home.”
He realized that she did not know that Mardenford was in love with her. She did not see that this brother wanted her in a way the law permitted no brother, even one through marriage.
“You were hardly without family before. The bond of the Duclaircs is famous.”
“I know my good fortune in the loyalty and love of my brothers and sister. This is different, however. Peaceful. I grew up in a family full of high drama. When I was a girl, there were scandals and heart-wrenching sorrows and big secrets. They thought that I was too young to know, but I knew everything. I love my brothers and sister, but that world was a stormy sea, throwing my little boat hither and fro. In comparison, my husband’s family was the most placid lake.”
“I expect the contrast had an appeal.”
She smiled with a girlish chagrin. The way her lower lip quivered had his heart humming with recognition and excitement.
Damn, the similarities were undeniable and alarming. He had spent three days tossing them over in his mind, convincing himself he was imagining things. But now . . .
“Oh, yes, the quiet, the stability, had enormous appeal. It first attracted the coward in me. Later I appreciated that there was more there than the perfect reflection of a perfect order on that unrippled surface. The lake was placid, but that does not mean it was shallow.”
Her expression became reflective and private, just as it had the afternoon in her drawing room when the memories overcame her. She was not only speaking of the world into which she had married. She was also referring to her husband, and her marriage.
A profound empathy entered him, just as it had at the party. The woman that night had not spoken much, but her whispers had alluded to another life and another time and an old love.
An intimacy wrapped them, as it had in her salon. She did not look at him this time, so he was not sure she experienced it too. He did not reach for her again, although he wanted to.
He was glad she had found that quiet lake as a girl. He knew something about the waves that had buffeted her little boat, and could imagine how they seemed to threaten her.
In setting her anchor in that lake, she had found safety. She alone of the Duclaircs had remained untouched by scandal. She alone was received in all the best houses. Such things mattered to most people, especially in the world to which she had been born.
He made a decision. He had no stomach for this investigation, and would not have pursued it at all except for the way those boy’s eyes haunted him. If Charlotte saw no resemblance, that would be the end of it.
If she truly saw none, that was. He would know if she lied.
Nathaniel stepped out of the carriage and scowled at the old brick house with broken, chipped shutters. A lot of noise came from within. An inebriated woman sat at an open window right in front of them, grinning in sodden, private mirth.
“It is a flash house,” he muttered. He shot Charlotte a glare of exasperation. “I told you I should bring the boy to you.”
“I am aware of what
you told me. Is it likely he is in here?”
Nathaniel had paid a costermonger a guinea for the location of this house. According to the informant, Finley had bought stolen property here, and had a partnership with the bawd whose women used the upper floors.
Charlotte had been in St. Giles rookery before, but she had never entered a flash house. The government insisted they did not exist, but everyone knew they did. A combination of gin house, brothel, hideout, and cheap lodgings, there were hundreds of them in London, all little centers of crime that flourished with impunity in neighborhoods like this.
Nathaniel looked up and down Bainbridge Street. Charlotte assumed that with his height he could see more than she could. From her vantage point at the carriage window it was a sea of people in poor clothing, making so much noise it was a wonder the din in the house could be heard.
His survey did not improve his humor. “I cannot leave you out here with only your coachman to watch both you and the horses, and I cannot bring you in. I will take you home and then I will—”
“Mr. Knightridge, do you really think I will come to physical harm in that house? With a man of your size and strength beside me? In the middle of the day?”
“It is impossible to say. It would only take four drunken men with knives to cut me down.”
“Dear me, I have indeed been negligent with my own welfare. When I insisted on coming, I just assumed it would take at least six drunken men with knives to—”
“I spoke conservatively, to leave a margin of safety on your behalf.”
Despite the sparring, he appeared truly indecisive on how to proceed. She found that rather charming.
“I have been on this street before, Mr. Knightridge, in the interests of certain charitable endeavors. I have witnessed most of what occurs in that house, only not all in one place. While I believe you are truly concerned for my safety, I suspect your hesitation has more to do with my seeing indelicate things. Since we cannot stand here all afternoon, let us be done with this and see if the boy is in there.”
Face stern, not liking it one bit, muttering things that sounded like “infernal woman” and “stubborn, troublemaking harridan,” Nathaniel helped her down and guided her to the door with a very firm grasp on her arm.
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