He sliced the thought off, discarding the possibility. If Mrs. Brown planned to extort funds from him, she wouldn't be likely to share that information with Bradford -or anyone else. Everyone knew the duke and duchess were at their country estate awaiting the birth of their child. If Mrs. Brown had come to England to visit the duchess, then why hadn't she gone on to Bradford Hall? Had she remained in London to see him'? To blackmail him? If so, she certainly must have the ring. If so, you won't have it much longer, Mrs. Brown. And once the ring is in my possession, your usefulness will be finished. And so will you.
He tossed back his brandy, savoring the slow burn down his throat, then turned to Redfern. "I hired you, Redfern, because I thought you both discreet and capable."
Unmistakable anger flared in Redfern's eyes. "I'm both, my lord. Don't you doubt it. Just had a bit of bad luck and circumstances. That'll change."
"See to it that it does. I believe Mrs. Brown has the ring. Search her belongings again. Thoroughly. It should pose no problem, as the duke and duchess are not in residence. Get Mrs. Brown away from the house. Then find that ring." He pinned Redfern with a stare. "And if you do, I want her gone."
"Yes, my lord."
"And Redfern? Do it tonight."
*******
Allie stepped from the hack and looked up at the painted sign hanging above the door of the Bond Street establishment. Fitzmoreland Antiques.
"Fitzmoreland's the best antiques man in London," the hackney said from his driver's perch, jerking his head toward the sign. "Shall I wait fer ye?"
"Yes, please. I'll only be a few minutes." She entered the shop, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dimly lit interior. Neat rows of books, vases, and porcelains lined floor to ceiling shelves, while tables and larger pieces of furniture were tastefully scattered about, lending the shop the appearance of an elegant sitting room. An impeccably dressed, middle-aged gentleman with graying hair approached her.
"May I assist you, madam?"
His gaze swept over her black gown, and although he was very discreet, he was clearly taking her measure. No doubt he was accustomed to dealing with wealthy clientele, and she was thankful she'd taken extra time after her bath to arrange her hair and dress in her best gown. Raising her chin, she said, "I am looking for Mr. Fitzmoreland."
He bowed his head. "Then look no further, madam, for I am he. How may I help you?"
No other customers were in the shop, and Allie relaxed a bit. Opening her reticule, she withdrew a piece of vellum and handed it to him. "I need to identify the coat of arms depicted here. I was informed you are an expert at such matters."
His brows lifted. "Your accent indicates you are American. May I ask who recommended me?"
His question was spoken in a perfectly polite tone, but Allie easily heard the tinge of underlying scorn. No doubt he thought her some destitute foreign widow, desperate to sell him some cheap baubles. If only I had some cheap baubles to sell…
She lifted her brows exactly as he had. "The duchess of Bradford -"
"The duchess recommended me?" His demeanor instantly transformed, and he seemed to grow two inches taller. " 'Twas very kind of her."
Allie suppressed the urge to inform him that it was actually the duchess's butler who had recommended him, and that if he'd allowed her to finish her sentence, he would know that. Instead, she pushed aside her guilt for allowing him his incorrect assumption and asked, "Do you think you can help me?"
Mr. Fitzmoreland studied the drawing for several seconds, then nodded slowly. "I'm certain I can. It may take several days, however."
"I'm more concerned with discretion than speed."
"Of course."
His keen eyes seemed to bore through her to see all her secrets, but she forced herself not to avert her gaze. "My name is Mrs. Brown and I'm staying at the Bradford town house here in London."
He inclined his head. "I shall report my findings to you as soon as I know anything."
Thanking him, she exited the shop, breathing a sigh of relief at having chipped away another small piece of the burden she carried.
With any luck, she'd soon learn to whom the ring belonged. She would return it, and then, for the first time in three years, she'd be free.
Chapter 3
Shortly before eight that evening, Robert arrived at the town house for dinner. As the night air was delightfully cool and the usual fog had not yet rolled in, he'd walked from his rooms on Chesterfield.
"Good evening, Carters," he said, handing the butler his walking stick, hat, and cape. "How is our guest faring?"
"When I last saw her, as she returned from her errand, she appeared quite well."
"Errand?"
"Yes. Late this afternoon Mrs. Brown asked if I knew a reputable antiquities expert in the city. I of course directed her to Mr. Fitzmoreland."
Curiosity raised Robert's brows. "Did she say why she required an antiquities expert?"
"No, Lord Robert. She merely asked for a referral, then inquired about transportation. I arranged for a hack and a footman to escort her."
"I see." Annoyed at himself for not thinking to do so earlier, he made a mental note to arrange for a carriage to be placed at Mrs. Brown's disposal. "And where is Mrs. Brown now?"
"In the drawing room."
"Thank you." Robert headed down the corridor, his strides slowing as the sounds of piano music drifted toward him. He silently entered the room, then leaned back against the door, observing Mrs. Brown in profile.
She sat at the pianoforte, her head bent over the ivory keys, her brows and lips puckered in concentration. She was again dressed in stark black, making the curve of her smooth cheek appear impossibly pale, like fragile porcelain. The waning vestiges of daylight glowed through the tall windows, bathing her in a subtle stream of gold. Without her bonnet, she proved incorrect his earlier impression that her hair was merely brown. Indeed, her shiny tresses were a deep, rich chestnut, shot with streaks of red. She'd arranged her hair in a simple chignon at her nape, lending her a regal air.
Her fingers continued to caress the ivory keys, but he did not recognize the tune she was playing. Of course, that may have been because-his face puckered in a grimace-she was appallingly bad.
Her hands suddenly stilled, and she turned her head. When she saw him, she snatched her hands away from the keys as if they'd bitten her. A rose-hued blush colored her cheeks, and he bit back a smile. Except for the mourning gown, she looked like a child caught snitching sweets from the kitchen.
"Lord Robert. I did not hear you come in."
He crossed to the pianoforte, then made her a bow. "I was listening to your concert. I was not aware you played."
She looked up at him, and his breath caught when he detected a tiny flash of what appeared to be mischief in her eyes. "How polite you are. If you'd been listening, however, you would know without a doubt that I cannot play. I've always wished I could." She cast a wistful glance at the keys. "I love music."
"As do I. Unfortunately, not one member of my family possesses an iota of musical talent, neither for the pianoforte nor singing, and I fear I am the most tone-deaf of us all. However, my philosophy has always been that if you cannot play well, play with enthusiasm, and if you cannot sing well, sing loud. A source of great embarrassment for the entire family, I'm afraid." He smiled at her, but she did not smile back. Not even the slightest twitch of her lips. Making this woman laugh was fast becoming a quest, just as it was with Carters. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see the joyful woman from Elizabeth 's sketch. "Tell me, Mrs. Brown, can you sing?"
"Worse than I play the pianoforte."
"Excellent. Shall we have a duet?" He perched himself next to her on the bench and made a great show of flexing his fingers. "I can only play one song. It's all my family would allow me to learn. For some inexplicable reason, some emergency or another always seemed to pop up whenever I sat down to play as I was growing up." He looked around, as if to ensure no one could overhear, then confi
ded sotto voce, "Actually, the truth is that, in spite of the family's best efforts to squash my budding talent, I did manage to learn a few other ditties, but I fear that as I learned them in pubs, they are not suitable for a lady." He cleared his throat and nodded toward the music. "I'll play the upper notes, and you can play the lower. Ready?"
She hesitated, her serious gaze roaming his face as if looking for something. After several seconds, she nodded. "I'll try."
They each played their parts, most often with her several notes behind him. Instead of improving as the song went on, however, it seemed their efforts yielded worse results. By the final verse, their voices were raised in jarring harmony:
The sunlight reflected her features so fair
As she waited and wondered, to see if he’d dare.
And he did not disappoint his lovely young miss,
For upon her sweet lips he did bestow a sweet kiss.
The final discordant note lingered, then faded into silence. With laughter rumbling in his throat, Robert shook his head and turned toward her. "Egad, that was stupendously awful."
"Awful, indeed," she agreed in a somewhat breathless voice. "I don't believe I played one correct note. And I am forced to admit you were correct."
"Of course I was. About what?"
"You, sir, are indeed tone-deaf."
An oh-so-brief, yet this time unmistakable, spark of mischief gleamed in her eyes and his pulse jumped. A tingle started in the region of his heart, and zoomed down to his… feet.
He pulled himself together and smiled. "And you, madam, cannot play worth a jot." He rubbed his hands together, then offered forth his most evil chuckle. "I cannot wait for us to entertain the family with this song."
"They'll run from the room screaming."
"Then we shall simply have to play and sing louder."
The slightest twitch touched one corner of her mouth, and he stared at her, his heart thumping at twice its normal rate. His gaze lowered to those incredibly full lips, and another tingle shot through him, this one settling directly in his groin. His attention riveted at the beguiling dimple gracing her chin, and his thumb itched to trace the shallow indentation.
Drawing in a much-needed breath, his head filled with her delicate scent, shooting heated awareness through him. She smelled lovely. Like some sort of flower, but not one familiar to him. He inhaled again, straining to catch the elusive fragrance, somehow resisting the growing urge to lean forward and simply bury his face in her enticing neck.
She blinked several times, then her expression went blank as if she'd drawn a curtain, and she abruptly stood. Crossing to the fireplace, she stared into the flames.
He remained seated, pulling in several unflowery-scented deep breaths, and mentally berated himself. Not well done at all, you nitwit. Finally get her to give you a tiny twitch of the lips, then what do you do? Stare at her mouth as if you're starving and she were a meat pie. Then sniff at her as if you 're a hound and she were a lamb chop.
Bloody hell, where had his finesse disappeared to? Not to mention his decency. Good God, he'd never before considered himself a cad, but who else but a cad would feel lustful urges for a grieving widow? And as much as he hated to admit it, he could not deny that what he'd experienced was lust. Certainly he was familiar enough with the feeling to recognize it when he felt it. Yet the smacked-in-the-head sensation this woman gave him was definitely unfamiliar territory.
So, perhaps it wasn't lust. Perhaps he'd merely been… charmed. And… pleased to see the beginnings of a smile from her. The poor woman needed to laugh. Hadn't Lady Gaddlestone said as much? And even if she hadn't, a blind person could see Mrs. Brown needed a bit of fun.
He just hadn't planned that the merest hint of a grin from her would impact him like a punch to the heart.
*******
Allie sat at the long, mahogany dining-room table, trying to do justice to the delicious meal of creamed peas and savory beef, but her thoughts were too jumbled to concentrate on her dinner. Peeking up from under her lashes, she covertly observed the man sitting across from her.
Lord Robert was engrossed in cutting his meat. Her gaze settled on his hands, holding his silver cutlery. Large, long-fingered, strong-looking hands. She'd noticed them when they'd played the piano. They looked like they belonged to someone accustomed to the outdoors rather than a gentleman of leisure.
Warmth suffused her cheeks as she recalled their impromptu duet. She'd been unable to resist his teasing invitation, yet she'd allowed herself to get far too carried away, singing with such abandon. But it had been so long since she'd done something silly. For just a moment, exhilaration had filled her and she'd forgotten whom she was with.
A charming, handsome man. A man she barely knew. A man who laughed easily, but whose gaiety did not always reach his eyes… eyes she recognized as guarding secrets. A man who'd looked at her in a way that made her heart pound.
Just like David.
David and Lord Robert were so obviously cast from the same mold. How could she have forgotten herself that way? But even as she asked herself the question, the answer came to her. Because David never let you play the pianoforte. And he never would have encouraged you to sing. Indeed, David had laughingly told her she sounded like a frog in the meadow, and she could not disagree with him. Still, her family had not minded, and except for her mother, they were all dreadful singers. Yet that had not stopped them from singing together every Tuesday evening, which they'd designated as "music night." David had hated music night, and after they'd married, he'd found any number of reasons to tempt her to stay home on Tuesdays. Most often he'd bring her to their bed and-
She sliced off the thought and ruthlessly buried it. She'd enjoyed the marriage bed, at least in the beginning, but that part of her life was over. Scooping up a forkful of peas, she again peeked at Lord Robert. And discovered his dark blue gaze upon her.
"Is the meal to your liking?" he asked.
Hoping she didn't appear flustered, she said, "Yes, thank you."
"I seem to recall Elizabeth mentioning you have a brother and sister?"
"Two brothers and a sister. All younger." A wave of love washed over her. "The boys are twins, and we call them the identical devils."
"How old are they?"
"Sixteen. My sister will turn twenty this month." A wistful sigh escaped her. "I miss them very much. Miss the noise and happy chaos that always reigned at our house. It's been… too long since I saw them."
He sipped his wine and nodded. "I understand. Although I keep my own rooms here in town, I cannot go too long without seeing my family. They occasionally drive me mad, especially Caroline, but they are also my greatest source of joy. And if it's noise and chaos you want, you'll get more than you ever hoped for at Bradford Hall."
She swallowed to relieve her tight throat. "I'm looking forward to it."
He looked toward the ceiling and shook his head. "You may change your mind once you arrive. Indeed, I can just picture what's happening there right now. Austin is glowering and pacing the floor, his hair standing up at odd angles due to his ramming his hands through it, demanding every eight seconds to know when Elizabeth is going to give birth. Caroline is telling her two-year-old daughter Emily to stop chasing the kittens, and Emily is completely ignoring her and looking to her father Miles, who, with a sly wink, will encourage her to continue.
"My brother William, his wife Claudine, and their daughter Josette are drawing pictures, which won't bode well for William, for he is a miserable artist. And my mother has undoubtedly taken Austin and Elizabeth 's son James out into the garden where his chubby little hands will decapitate all her best roses for his 'mummy' while his grandmother beams at him." He made a comical face. "Humph. Mother used to fly into the boughs when Austin, William, and I so much as glanced at her roses."
A poignant ache filled Allie at the picture he'd painted for her. "It actually sounds much tamer than what I was accustomed to," she said. "Jonathan and Joshua routinely brought h
ome injured animals, until Papa finally turned over a small barn to them that he called the healing room, all the while grumbling he'd never seen so many hobbling pigeons, ducks, and squirrels in his life. And don't ask about the toads, snakes, and ant farms.
"My sister Katherine looks like an angel, but she was forever skinning her knees and elbows as she joined in all Jon and Josh's adventures. Mama simply smiled through it all, bestowing hugs and kisses, applying bandages as needed, and delivering the occasional stern lecture. She loved to see us running about, swimming, and playing. She had an older sister who was bedridden most of her life, so she did not like to rein in our hoydenish activities." A wave of homesickness washed over her. "Mama always smelled like freshly baked bread."
"I suppose you were the reserved member of the family who kept the others in line," he said with a grin.
She shook her head. "Actually, I believe I was the most unruly of the bunch. I forever had twigs in my hair, grass stains on my dresses, dirt on my face. And as I was the eldest, I'm afraid I set the precedent for the others." She set down her fork, her meal forgotten. "Tell me, if you were with your family right now, what would you be doing? Playing with the kittens, drawing pictures, or beheading roses?"
He stroked his chin and pursed his lips. "Hmmm… I'd have to say none of those. Most likely I'd be challenging Austin to a game of billiards in a vain attempt to get his mind off Elizabeth for a bit before he wore out Mother's favorite Axminster."
"And would you succeed?"
"Eventually. But not until I'd riled him by calling his bravery into question for refusing to play an astute player"-he cleared this throat with exaggerated modesty-"such as myself."
"I see. And would you win?"
Whirlwind Affair Page 4