They had played their hands at solving mysteries during their school days. Nothing too complex, but Sinclair had unraveled his share of misdeeds, including the case of Hunter’s missing waistcoat. As it turned out, another boy had stolen the coat in the hopes of seeing him punished.
“Are you planning to keep me in suspense all evening?” Sinclair took a drink of his whiskey.
“I was reflecting on our Eton days.”
“Ah, yes. We raised our fair share of hell back then.”
“I may need to do so again.”
Sinclair leaned forward. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
Hunter downed the contents of his glass. “Have you heard tell of a Mr. Dewitt Wolfe?”
“The name does not strike a memory. Should it?”
“No, but the situation would be easier to explain. The man seems to have taken something that does not belong to him.”
A slow smile spread across Sinclair’s face. “I must admit I am intrigued. Go on. Tell me all there is to know.”
Hunter relaxed back against his chair. He knew Sinclair would be interested. Now he hoped his friend would have some good ideas. A plan of action was what he needed--a way to protect Miss Woodcourt from Wolfe’s dealings. He recounted all he knew of the situation.
When he finished, he moved to refill his glass.
“How do you know the girl is on the level?”
Anger rose up in Hunter, heating his skin more than the spirits could. “I was there. I saw the interactions with my own two eyes. There is nothing dishonest about Miss Woodcourt.” He peered at Sinclair.
“Very well. How do you wish to proceed?” Sinclair stood up, ignoring Hunter’s burst of temper, and strolled to the window. “You need proof if it is your desire to see him charged with a crime and her property returned.”
Hunter reached for the decanter. As if he had not thought of that himself. The issue was not what he needed so much as how to get it. “Have you any pearls of wisdom as to how I might acquire said evidence?”
“I may have an idea.” Sinclair’s eyes twinkled as he held up his empty glass. “But first I need a refill.”
Hunter chuckled. “Plotting with a clear head would not do.”
“Never that.” Sinclair seated himself again and set the decanter on a nearby table. “You said this Wolfe fellow is a businessman. If I had to place a wager, I would bet the proof you seek is in his office.”
“Yes, my man informed me Wolfe keeps an office by the docks, but I cannot very well stroll in and expect him to hand over the proof.”
Sinclair held the decanter out to Hunter. “You have not had enough to drink as of yet, or you would be saying this yourself.”
“Saying what?”
“Get an address. Tomorrow night we break in.” Sinclair held his glass up.
Hunter grinned, reaching for the whiskey. He filled his glass, his blood suddenly racing with excitement.
Chapter 3
Rose’s blood turned to ice, freezing in her veins. She blinked at Mr. Wolfe as he ambled up her walkway. Why was he here again? Her dread climbed with each step he mounted. Surely, he had returned to demand her hand once again. She would never marry him, not for any reason.
“Do not look so put off, my lovely petal.” A lecherous grin spread across his lips, as he stopped in front of her.
She pressed her shaking hands into the folds of her gown. It would not do for him to see how intimidated she was by his presence.
“Your fancy lord attempted to purchase the cottage this afternoon, but have no fear. I sent him packing.”
Though her heart pounded like a herd of horses, she kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Wolfe’s. Fancy lord? He must mean Lord Aubry, but why would Lord Aubry want her cottage?
“You should have sold. I will never marry you.” She glared at him, her hands on her hips.
Wolfe feathered his fingertips across her cheek. “Never say never, darling.”
A shudder ran through her, and she took a step back. “Pray keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Wolfe.”
His eyes darkened, and a scowl etched deep lines in his face. “That is no way to speak to your betrothed.” He leaned toward her. “And make no mistake, we will be wed.”
Rose’s pulse quickened. This was not an idle threat. He had already proven how far he was willing to go. There had to be a way out of marrying him. She fisted her hands at her sides. “How did you manage it?”
The vicious smile he offered her chilled her to the marrow. She stepped back and snagged her shawl on the rough wood siding of the cottage.
“Manage what, my love?” He stepped closer, making her feel like a rabbit trapped in a snare.
“How did you make it appear as though my mortgage was unpaid?”
He leaned in very close, bringing his hand to rest against the house beside her head. The smell of unwashed body combined with his foul breath wafted up, and burned her nose. “It is of no consequence. What is done is done and shall remain that way. When we marry, I will give the cottage back to you as a wedding gift.”
She spun away before taking several steps across the porch. “You can sell my home, I do not care. Take everything I have, and you still will not have me. I will never be your wife.”
“We shall see about that.” His final words hung in the air as he stomped down the steps.
Rose slumped against the house, watching him gallop away on his horse. What was she to do? She could not marry him. A lump formed in her throat. How could her father promise her to such an odious devil?
She raised a fisted hand to her mouth, forcing back tears. Becoming distressed would only make the situation worse. There had to be a way to stop this madness. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the cottage and made her way to the kitchen.
The sweet smell of fresh-baked tarts comforted her as much as the sight of Gran bent over a ball of dough. “Your confections smell heavenly.” She forced a small smile. It would do no good to tell Gran about her confrontation with Wolfe. The knowledge would only cause the dear old woman to fret.
Gran’s skirt rustled against her starched apron as she carried a golden-brown and red tart to the table. “They are for the Devontons, but one will not be missed.” She placed a hot pastry before Rose. “Would you be a dear and deliver them for me? They will be ready in a snap.”
Rose nodded. She took a bite, but her upset stomach refused to let her enjoy the treat. Her gut contracted as she lowered the delectable confection back to the plate.
“Is something amiss?” Gran studied Rose through warm hazel eyes, her spectacles slipping down the bridge of her nose.
Drat her inability to conceal her emotions from Gran. “It is nothing, truly. Please do not fuss.” She reached for the tart again. How bird-witted of her to think she could spend time in Gran’s company without the woman noticing her upset.
Gran rested her warm, wrinkled hand over Rose’s. “I will not press, but I cannot help fretting. I saw Mr. Wolfe taking his leave. You are very dear to me, and I know what he is doing to you.” She gave a gentle squeeze. “If only--”
Rose dropped the pastry back to the plate. “There is no use in it, Gran. We can no more change the past than we can control the seasons.” She had told herself the very same thing at least a hundred times, but found little comfort in her words. Nothing would come of focusing on the past, when her future was what needed fixing.
Gran moved back to the counter. “Everything will work out, one way or another. It has to.”
“I believe that too, Gran.” Rose pinched the top of her nose and looked out the kitchen window. What other choice did she have?
* * * *
Rose tapped on the Devontons door, pushing her troubles to the back of her mind. She would have time enough later to consider her situation. For now, she wished to enjoy the company of old friends. The Devontons had been a part of her life for as long as she could recall. They were close friends of her grandmother’s, as well as long-time neighbors. After they be
came homebound, Gran had taken it upon herself to look after them. Rose gladly took on the tasks of delivering food and running errands for them.
The door creaked open. Mr. Devonton stepped aside, a warm smile lighting his weathered face. He leaned, with one hand against the wall. “Come in, dear.”
She grinned back at him, while lifting her basket. “Gran sent me to deliver some fruit tarts.”
“What a pleasant surprise.” His smile broadened. “Do come in.”
Rose stepped into the quaint space, the basket dangling on her arm. She nodded to Mrs. Devonton.
Mr. Devonton shut the door behind her. As he turned back, he wobbled on his feet.
She caught him before he fell. “Allow me.”
He wrapped his arm around her as she guided him to the worn settee where Mrs. Devonton sat. Their declining health broke Rose’s heart a little more each time she visited. They were no more than shells of the people who once danced with her around the yard.
A groan rattled from Mr. Devonton, as he lowered himself onto the settee. Mrs. Devonton offered a warm smile.
“Your Gran is the best baker in London. It is always a pleasant surprise when she sends us some of her fare.”
“I will be sure to tell her you said so.” Rose began to unload the basket. Some of her fondest memories involved this elderly couple. She used to spend hours here while Gran visited with them. She would help Gran and Mrs. Devonton with household work or sewing. Afterward, Mr. Devonton would regale her with fanciful tales.
“Why, if I were a might younger, I would sneak over and help myself to your Gran’s treats.” Mr. Devonton chuckled. “Do have a seat and visit for a spell.”
“I would love to. Just let me put these away first.” Rose picked up the tray of fruit tarts, moving toward the cabinet.
“You are very sweet, dear.” Mrs. Devonton pushed herself into a standing position. “Allow me to help.”
“That is not necessary. It will only take a moment.” Rose brushed against the counter as she turned back to her task, knocking the tray of tarts to the floor. “Dear me. Do sit back down while I clean this up.” She stooped to retrieve the wayward tray before piling the confections onto its cool surface. “My apologies. I have gone and ruined them all.”
“Do not fret over it, dear. Nothing is ruined.” Mr. Devonton’s voice filled the space. “They are still edible. Just stack them on the tray. A bit of house dust never hurt anyone.”
A wave of shock went through Rose. She would not consider eating food that had landed on the floor. All the same, she did as he wished, stacking the treats back on the tray.
“Would you care for a spot of tea?” Mrs. Devonton asked when Rose glanced up. “I can prepare it while you set the tarts to right.”
“There is no need. I have finished.” She placed the tray on the counter. Turning to the couple, she unclasped her crimson cloak and hung it on a hook near the door.
The latest altercation with Wolfe raced through her mind as she prepared tea. “And make no mistake we will be wed.” A chill ran through her. She would die before she ever agreed to marry the vile man.
“You seem distracted, dear. Are we keeping you from something?” Mr. Devonton exchanged a glance with his wife.
“It would not do to deny I am a bit distracted. All the same, there is no pressing matter requiring my attention.”
A bigger lie she had never told. She needed to get home so she could find a way to drive Wolfe off.
“Please do not feel that you must keep us company. We understand you have other duties.” Mrs. Devonton smiled, but her gray eyes appeared sad.
“Nonsense. You are the furthest thing from a responsibility. I consider you both family, and enjoy our visits. There is no need for me to leave so soon.”
She meant every word, but all the same Rose did not feel like good company today. Her stomach tensed. Perhaps Mr. Devonton would have a solution.
She glanced at him sitting near his wife, his back slightly hunched. No. She would not worry them.
Rose closed her eyes for a moment, chasing the thoughts of Dewitt Wolfe away, before carrying the tea tray into the sitting area.
After enjoying her drink, she fastened her cloak, scooped up the empty basket, and took her leave. The conversation with the Devontons proved to be just what she needed. She managed to forget her troubles for a short while, but the time had come for her to return home. She had to return to reality--back to Wolfe’s threats.
If only she could prove a misdeed on his part. She kicked at a stone, as she entered the wooded path. He had done something ill-sorted to gain her property, she had no doubt on that score. Surely, his actions must have been criminal. If she could find proof, perhaps he would wind up in Newgate Prison.
She recalled the story of a jewel thief Mr. Devonton once shared with her. If only… she shook her head, pushing away the foolish thought. Young ladies did not consider such indecorous lines of thought.
Chapter 4
Try as she might, Rose could not recall any helpful clues during her interactions with Mr. Wolfe. She needed help of the professional nature, but the authorities would never pay her any mind based on her lack of both evidence and coin. The constable would think her mad if she pressed her case. Mr. Devonton’s words whispered to her from the back of her mind. I would sneak over and help myself.
Perhaps it was not so foolish after all to behave a bit indecorous where Mr. Wolfe was concerned. If she disguised herself as a boy, she could break into Wolfe’s office. Doing so may prove fruitful. She could find evidence of his misdeeds, something tangible she could take to the constable. But what if she got caught?
She squinted as she stepped back into her yard, the forest no longer shielding her from the sun’s rays. Once her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she glanced around, looking at the familiar landscape.
A lump formed in her throat as her eyes drank in the cottage she had called home for so long--the stone façade, the cheery porch, her lush flower garden. All were dear to her. She pulled her cloak closer around her in the light breeze. How could she ever let her home go? She had to save her cottage--somehow.
Lord Aubry’s carriage came into view, parked in front of the house. Rose stopped. Her heart rate sped up. Your fancy lord tried to purchase the cottage. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. What would he want with her home? More importantly, why the devil was he here now?
Her breath quickening, she marched toward the cottage. Pushing open the door, she ignored the familiar squeals of complaint that discharged from the old wood panel. A part of her wanted to grin at his arrival, but most of her wanted to throttle Lord Aubry.
After placing the basket down on a bench and hanging her cloak near the door, she entered the drawing room. Her breath hitched at the sight of the long legs of his trousers stretched out in front of him, as he chatted amiably with Gran. Her gaze traveled up his narrow abdomen to his wide chest, as if drawn by a magnet. When she stopped at his handsome aristocratic face, heat engulfed her cheeks.
She was doing it again--ogling him. She should take him to task for trying to buy her cottage--her home--out from under her; she should not be standing here swooning over his physique and his far too handsome face.
The heat of attraction spread through her bloodstream, forcing a flush all the way to her ears. Rose ripped her gaze from his and settled her attention on her grandmother. “The Devontons send their appreciation.”
Gran sipped her tea with a nod, her eyes locked with Rose’s. She set her cup aside, and patted the chair beside her. “Come. Sit with us.” A small smile curved her lips.
Lord Aubry’s sky-blue gaze met Rose’s, setting her body aflutter. Mercy. How did he manage to discompose her so with a simple glance? When he grinned, her knees wobbled. She had never seen a more perfect smile. His entire face lit up. The anger she felt only a moment ago ran away with her reason.
Breaking the connection, she walked to a high-back chair and sat, folding her hands in her lap.
Curiosity unfurled in her and she let her anger burn it away. She would not allow him to steal her home anymore than she would allow Wolfe to do so. She could not permit herself to be taken in by his handsome face. Straightening her spine, she met his gaze. “Forgive my directness, my lord, but why are you here?”
“Rose.” Gran pinned her with a stern stare. “You must not present such forwardness. It is vulgar.” She looked to Lord Aubry. “Please excuse my granddaughter’s actions. I am afraid she has not been herself of late.”
Rose’s cheeks blazed, but she did not allow embarrassment to rule her. Perhaps her forwardness was improper, but also necessary. Her home was at stake. Had Gran been privy to her reasons for ignoring society’s rules, she would not have chastised her. In fact, Gran would have likely posed the question herself.
“It is quite all right, I assure you, Mrs. Oaklawn. No offense has been taken.” He turned his attention back to Rose. “I wish to provide you my assistance.”
“We are not in need of assistance.” The words came out strong, despite her nerves. That was a calm lie. Where had she learned such a skill?
“Miss Woodcourt, I was here when Mr. Wolfe burst into your home, then again outside of the constable’s office.” He pulled his legs in and leaned forward. “At the very least, please enlighten me as to what is going on.”
Her heart pounded against her corset as she averted her gaze. Should she admit the truth? Should she tell him about Wolfe’s attempts to force her hand? Perhaps he did wish to help.
She met his studying gaze once more. No. She would not, she could not confide in him. There was too much at stake for her to trust a man she did not know. Maybe in time she would be able to trust him, but that time was not now. Not until she knew he was worthy of her faith.
“Our situation is no concern of yours, my lord.” She stared at him in challenge.
Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection Page 86