He slanted her a glance that said very clearly that it was none of her business and he regretted revealing himself in this way. “It is unimportant,” he said, though his tone belied his words.
So she fell back to his second reason. “I don’t understand. If you aren’t familiar with this country, why didn’t you just stay in England, where it would be easier to find an investment?”
Tight-lipped, he said, “Because I prefer it this way.” Then, pointing off to their right, he said, “Look, do you see that patch of lavender flowers?”
So she was getting too close to home, was she? Good—that was just where she wanted to be. “They’re dwarf irises, and you’re changing the subject,” she accused.
“Yes, I am,” he admitted. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate. Didn’t you come out to see the flowers?”
“Not really. You’re keeping something secret from me and I’d like to know what it is.”
“It doesn’t concern you,” he said flatly. “Let it be.”
“Can’t you just trust me?” she asked plaintively.
He gave a derisive bark of laughter. “Why should I? You hardly trust me.”
Again, she was surprised by the bitterness in his tone. “But I do trust you,” she assured him.
“That’s not entirely true,” he pointed out, “or you would tell me the name of the man you are trying to attract with these lessons I’ve been giving you.”
She colored. “I can’t tell you that.”
He nodded with an ironic grin. “As I thought.”
“But it’s not the same,” she protested. It wasn’t because she didn’t trust him, but because if he knew what she was really after, he would do everything in his power to stop her.
“Yes, it is,” he said firmly. “Until you trust me with the name of the man you care for, how can I trust you with the more intimate details of my life?”
Belle had no answer for that. Quite obviously, this matter of trust was far more important to him than she had imagined. Well, there was more than one way to learn his secrets.
And she had a good idea where to start. . . .
Chapter Eleven
The next day, Kit was still railing at himself for revealing so much to Belle. What was it about her that made him open up like that? She was just like a dozen other young women he had met—attractive, well-dressed, naive. It wasn’t as if she were a well-practiced courtesan skilled in extracting information from a man. So why had he told her so much about himself?
He didn’t know, but by God, he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He’d be on his guard from now on.
Today, he wasn’t up to giving Belle a lesson in winning some other man’s affections or to dealing with any member of the fairer sex, so he passed Madame Aglaia’s and went straight to the El Paso Club, where women were not allowed.
But just as he settled in with a paper and a good cup of coffee, Daltrey slithered into the seat opposite him.
His grip tightening on the newspaper, Kit didn’t take his eyes from the article he’d been reading. “What do you want?” he growled.
“What do you think?” Daltrey challenged.
Kit lowered his paper to get a good look at the man. Just as he thought, Daltrey was looking both smug and belligerent—a very bad combination. “It’s too soon,” Kit reminded him. “My remittance isn’t due for another few days.”
Daltrey shrugged. “I know that, old man, but I just thought I’d check.”
Kit gritted his teeth at the familiarity but chose to ignore it. “All right, you’ve checked, then.” He snapped his paper back in front of his face, hoping the blackmailer would get the hint.
No such luck. Using a pencil-slim dagger that he no doubt carried concealed on his person, Daltrey dragged down the top of Kit’s paper until their gazes met. “Do pay attention, won’t you?” Daltrey said, the threat evident.
So as not to draw attention to their discussion, Kit slowly lowered the paper to the table. “You asked, I answered. Aren’t you through?”
“Not quite.” Using the dagger to clean his nails, Daltrey added in a nonchalant tone, “I have a few debts to settle.”
“And how does that concern me?”
Daltrey continued to lavish attention on his nails. “They’re gambling debts—debts of honor, you know.”
Kit grimaced. It was a peculiar kind of honor, but he knew many of his acquaintances felt the same way, that paying gambling debts to peers was somehow more important than reimbursing mere tradesmen. “The honor would lie in not incurring debts in the first place,” he drawled. And in not blackmailing one peer to reimburse another.
“Shall we speak of honor, then?” Daltrey said with a bite in his voice. “What honor is there in fathering a bastard child on an innocent young girl?”
“None,” Kit said in a clipped tone. “But then, I didn’t do it.”
“Funny,” Daltrey mused. “Your family thinks you did.”
“They are mistaken.”
Daltrey shrugged. “Then you won’t mind if I whisper the rumor into a few ears . . . ?”
Kit glared at him, feeling impotent. If Daltrey chose to spread his rumors, there was nothing Kit could do . . . and unfortunately, many people would choose to believe those lies. While Americans admired British gentility, beneath their fawning ran an undercurrent of resentment.
Daltrey grinned, knowing he had Kit cornered. “I’ve seen you quite a bit about town lately, escorting a certain young heiress. Tell me, what would Miss Sullivan think if she knew you had ruined a young girl in England? Or, better yet, how would her straight-laced father react?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Kit bit out. He almost said he didn’t care, but he knew it for a lie, and so would Daltrey.
More confident now, Daltrey sheathed his dagger in its slim holder, then slid it into his jacket pocket. “And all those stupid Americans who fawn over ‘Lord’ Stanhope . . . what do you think they would say if they knew what you have done? It would be quite difficult to find an investment if no one could trust you.”
“You’re a fine one to be talking about trust,” Kit said with a sneer. But inside, he worried. Was there anything Daltrey didn’t know about him?
The man didn’t know about the indiscretion with Belle, Kit was certain of that. If Daltrey had known, he would surely have played that card by now. No, he knew only what any other interested party would be able to ascertain—that Kit was in the market for an investment. But that was already too much.
Ignoring Kit’s insult, Daltrey asked, “And just what did you plan on investing with?”
“With whatever little money I have left after you’re through with me,” Kit ground out. He wasn’t about to let Daltrey know about his secret cache.
Daltrey gave him a feral smile and said softly, “Oh, but I plan on taking it all.”
Frustrated fury seized Kit. How the devil was he supposed to get anywhere with this man bedeviling him? “Impossible,” he declared. “I must have some to live on.”
Daltrey grinned. “What good will it do you if your reputation is in shreds?”
“What good will it do you if I must return home in disgrace because I’ve run out of funds?” Kit countered. “It isn’t wise to kill the golden goose, you know.”
Kit knew he had scored a hit when Daltrey’s eyes narrowed. “You have other ways of making money. You said so.”
“Yes, but it isn’t that much.” And he couldn’t count on Belle’s generosity forever. It was time to explain the situation to Daltrey. “And if I don’t show a return on an investment soon, my father has promised to cut me off.” In case Daltrey didn’t fully comprehend, Kit spelled it out for him. “That means you would be cut off, too.”
Daltrey rose from the table and scowled. In a low, menacing tone, he growled, “I don’t give a damn about your personal problems. And I don’t care how you get the money. Just get it, or the whole town will hear of your sordid past.” With that, Daltrey abruptly left.
&nb
sp; Kit wanted to refuse, wanted to tell Daltrey he couldn’t meet his blackmailing demands. But it would be a lie. Sooner or later, he would have to comply.
Damn it.
Belle closed the door to her bedroom so no one could overhear. “So, what did you find out?” she asked her sisters eagerly.
Tired of being on the outside looking in, Grace and Charisma had wanted to do their part in helping Belle learn more about Kit. Belle had agreed to let them help and was glad she had when they came up with an excellent idea. Who, they reasoned, would know more about him than his former neighbor, John Daltrey?
Though Kit had warned Belle away from Daltrey, Belle had a sneaking suspicion that he had done so only so she wouldn’t learn more about Kit’s past. And since she was becoming known throughout town, it made it difficult for her to learn John Daltrey’s habits so she might approach him. Instead, she had asked Grace and Charisma to spy on him for her.
Charisma shrugged as she sprawled in a chair in a manner Mama would certainly object to if she knew of it. “It wasn’t much of a challenge. The man is rather predictable.”
Grace’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, don’t be so cynical. It was fun—admit it.”
A small smile curved Charisma’s mouth. “All right, it was fun—at first. We pretended to be nothing more than silly schoolgirls, and it worked like a charm. You know, it’s amazing how little attention anyone gave us. It’s as if we were invisible. I’m sure Mr. Daltrey never knew we were watching him.”
Grace giggled. “And Mama has been so busy with her new friendship with ‘Cousin Cora’ that she hasn’t paid much attention to what we’ve been doing either.”
“But what did you find out?” Belle asked.
Grace frowned. “I think Mr. Stanhope was right. I don’t think Mr. Daltrey is a nice man.”
“Why do you say that?” Belle asked in an apprehensive tone, hoping her sisters weren’t going to try to talk her out of questioning him.
“Well, he sleeps the morning away,” Grace explained. Then, in a lowered tone, she added, “I think he must stay up all night drinking and . . . and carousing.”
Belle laughed. “Most bachelors his age do.”
Charisma nodded. “True, but not Mr. Stanhope. We often see him out and about in the early morning hours.”
But Belle already knew that about Kit—she wanted new information. Especially since he seemed to be avoiding her of late. “But did you learn where Mr. Daltrey spends his time? Is there a place where I might approach him casually for a conversation?”
Shaking her head, Charisma said, “Grace is right—Mr. Daltrey isn’t the sort of man we should know. He spends much of his time gaming or drinking . . . or in the El Paso Club.”
Well, the El Paso Club didn’t admit women, and even Belle wasn’t courageous or assertive enough to brave the terrors of a gaming establishment or saloon.
“Surely there’s some place he frequents that is suitable for ladies,” she said in exasperation.
Grace and Charisma exchanged concerned glances. “There is one . . .” Charisma admitted.
Belle brightened. “Wonderful. What is it?”
“Well, he has luncheon every day around noon in the dining room at his hotel.”
“Which one?” Belle asked eagerly.
“The Cascade Inn,” Charisma said, frowning. “But I don’t think it’s really respectable. . . .”
Belle waved away her objections. She didn’t know much about the Cascade Inn, save that it was a little shabby, but it couldn’t be that bad if so many young gentlemen stayed there. Could it? “Surely there will be no harm in visiting a public dining room?”
“It’s just barely respectable,” Charisma said, and Grace nodded in agreement. “How are you going to convince Mama or Miss Keithley to take you there?”
Belle chewed on her lip. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but they were right. If the Cascade Inn was even a little shady, neither Mama nor Alvina would agree to a visit there, for any reason.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps Madame might help?” The dressmaker had been very helpful so far, so maybe she would assist Belle in this one little thing.
“She might,” Grace conceded. “But what are you going to tell her is the reason you want to go there?”
An excellent question, though Belle was getting a little annoyed at the constant obstacles her sisters kept throwing in her path. “I don’t know—why don’t you two help me figure it out?”
“Why not tell her the truth?” Grace asked, all innocence.
“The truth? How will that help?” Belle was of the mind that people didn’t need to know all of the truth all of the time.
“Well, part of the truth anyway,” Grace said. “Why don’t you just tell her you want to know more about Mr. Stanhope, and that Mr. Daltrey is the most likely person to have that information?”
“And if she asks why I want to know more about Mr. Stanhope?”
Charisma grinned. “Then tell her you’re in love with him. Now that she’d find believable.”
Belle shot Charisma a quelling look, but didn’t deign to respond to the provocation, especially since it might be more true than Belle was willing to admit to herself.
“It’s a good idea,” Grace said eagerly. “And what woman her age doesn’t fancy herself a matchmaker? I bet she’d love to help if she thought she was furthering the cause of true love.” To punctuate her statement, Grace made a sweeping gesture and managed to knock everything off the small table beside her.
After Belle cleaned up the mess, she allowed her sisters to persuade her. Then, later that day, she found it rather easy to blush and stammer enough to make it appear to Madame Aglaia that she was interested in Mr. Kit Stanhope in a very particular way.
Madame cocked her head to regard Belle thoughtfully, as if she were searching the very depths of her heart. For a moment, the woman’s shrewd expression made Belle believe she hadn’t fooled her a bit.
But soon, Madame nodded. “I see why you want to learn more about Mr. Stanhope, but why do you feel you must approach Mr. Daltrey?”
“They were neighbors back in Sussex, and there seems to be some bad blood between them. Kit—Mr. Stanhope—is keeping some secret from me, and I’m certain Mr. Daltrey knows what it is.”
Madame nodded. “But are you certain you wish to know what it is?”
“Of course. After all, Mr. Stanhope knows the most intimate details of my life and I hardly know anything about him. How do I know I want to . . .” She couldn’t quite say ‘marry him’ out loud. “. . . further our acquaintance if I don’t know what he’s hiding?”
“And if it’s something truly horrible?”
Belle shrugged, but she doubted Kit had done anything so bad that she couldn’t overlook it. “I’ll deal with that if it happens.”
“All right,” Madame said, smiling.
Belle’s heart lightened. “You’ll do it, then?”
“Yes. I’ve been wanting to learn more about Mr. John Daltrey myself,” she said cryptically.
Not wanting to change Madame’s mind, but wanting the dressmaker to understand exactly what they were getting into, Belle said, “It appears the only way to get close to Mr. Daltrey is to find a way to join him for lunch at the Cascade Inn.”
Madame nodded thoughtfully. “That can be arranged.”
Her confidence had the opposite effect on Belle. “But how are we going to do that?” She suddenly realized it might be more difficult than she thought to invite herself to eat at his table, and doubt filled her.
“Hmm,” Madame mused. “We must ensure the dining room is full, and assure the waiter that we are so hungry, we do not mind sharing a table.”
“But how can we do that?”
Madame Aglaia smiled. “Don’t worry about that, dear. I’ll take care of it.”
“But how?”
“Oh, I have my ways. . . .”
No doubt she did, but Belle refrained from asking for more information, fearing Madame would actual
ly give it to her.
The next day. Belle waited nervously outside the Cascade Inn for Madame Aglaia to join her. Charisma and Grace, saying they were still a little apprehensive, had insisted on escorting her to the hotel and waited with her.
“Oh, look,” Grace exclaimed with a bounce of excitement that startled several horses hitched nearby. “There’s Madame now.”
And Madame, beautiful as always, looked dressed for battle in a tailored walking dress of a rich shade of brown. Belle, too, had felt the urge to dress conservatively, and had chosen a plainly cut outfit to wear. She at least wanted to look respectable.
Madame eyed Belle approvingly. “An excellent choice. Now, just follow my lead.”
She led the way and Belle followed, but so did Charisma and Grace, Belle noted with dismay as she heard Grace stumble over something behind them.
Madame stopped short. “Oh, no. This won’t do at all. Miss Charisma, Miss Grace, you must not go in with us.”
“Why not?” Charisma asked with a belligerent tilt of her chin. “If Belle can do it, so can we.”
“I’m not questioning the propriety of it,” Madame said sternly. “But I don’t think Mr. Daltrey will speak as freely in front of two young girls.”
Charisma scowled. “But—”
“Madame is right,” Belle said sternly. “Besides, he might recognize you since you’ve been following him about, and wonder what you are up to. It would be best if you were to just go home.”
“But we want to know how it turns out,” Grace said.
“You will,” Belle promised. “I’ll come home straight away and tell you all about it.”
Charisma folded her arms, looking stubborn. “All right then, we won’t go inside, but we will wait right here. You can’t make us leave.”
Belle supposed she would have to be content with that. Once Charisma had set her mind to something, she could be as unyielding as Papa. “If you insist. But stay out of sight—don’t let anyone know you’re loitering here.”
“Don’t worry,” Charisma said with a grin. “We know how to be invisible, remember?”
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