Shana Galen

by When Dashing Met Danger

  Alex squeezed her elbow now, and she blinked, taking in the bright, airy shop for the first time. She’d always pictured men’s tailors as dark and musty. But Schweitzer & Davidson was neat and orderly—the bolts of material stacked and straight and the ready-made items arranged in an efficient display. Lucia slowed, this aspect of male private life new and intriguing to her. She felt as though she were peering into Pandora’s box or tasting the forbidden fruit.

  Like a naughty child, she peeked over her shoulder. Dewhurst was closing the door behind them, and she relaxed when she saw there were no other customers inside. A young clerk with a shock of blond hair popped out from behind a counter. “Good afternoon!” His voice was high and overly eager. He bounced around the counter, hands clasped together in eagerness. Where were the stoop-shouldered old men with the thick spectacles and gnarled hands? The towheaded clerk hardly seemed older than she.

  “Lord Dewhurst!” The clerk’s pale features brightened. “My lord, you’ve returned.”

  Dewhurst stepped forward. “And I’ve brought companions, Pimms.” He gestured to Lucia. “This is the Honorable Miss Dashing.”

  Pimms bowed. “Miss Dashing.”

  “And you know Selbourne.” Dewhurst made a sweeping gesture toward Alex.

  “I do, yes. Lord Selbourne, always a pleasure.” But the tone of his voice seemed to say it was anything but. The clerk turned back to Dewhurst. “How may I assist you today, my lords?”

  “We are trying to find—” Lucia began, but Alex squeezed her arm almost painfully. She glanced at him in time to see the tic in his jaw and the warning in his eyes.

  Before she could say another word, Dewhurst stepped in front of her. “Woke up this morning and simply had to have a new waistcoat,” the dandy said, waving his arms expressively. “Wilkins, my man, brought out waistcoat after waistcoat this morning, and all were simply beneath my touch. Well, I need not explain to you, sir, my state of high dudgeon.”

  “Oh, no, my lord. I perfectly understand.” The clerk nodded fervently. “But I fear the pink waistcoat with that fashionable stand collar you ordered last week is not yet ready.”

  Lucia rolled her eyes. Pink waistcoat? Why was Alex wasting precious time shopping for Dewhurst’s fripperies and foibles? “Selbourne,” she muttered as Dewhurst went on, his voice rising as he warmed to his topic. “What are we doing here? Don’t you think—”

  “Freddie,” Selbourne said. “Get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

  Lucia stared. She hadn’t expected such an easy victory.

  “All right. Don’t get snappish on me, old boy.” Dewhurst swiveled back to the tailor, who was now frowning at Alex. “As I was saying, Pimms.” He shot Alex a dark look. “I thrust aside waistcoat after waistcoat this morning until, finally, a notion entered my brain.”

  “That must have been a novel experience,” Alex muttered, and Lucia covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  Dewhurst cleared his throat and ignored the barb. “And not a bad notion at that, if I do say so myself.” Dewhurst chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. “A few months ago I saw a splendid waistcoat—splendid, I tell you—worn by Mr. John Dashing.”

  Lucia’s head shot up, and she dropped her hand to her side.

  “I simply must have one. Selbourne here saw the waistcoat as well and assured me Schweitzer & Davidson were the tailors.”

  Lucia turned to Alex. He gave her a cursory nod, looking both bored and annoyed.

  “Not that I’m surprised,” Dewhurst added. “Always say that Schweitzer & Davidson outfit all the swell of the first stare.”

  The clerk puffed out his chest at the compliment. Lucia turned back to Alex. He raised a brow, and she frowned. Dewhurst was lying, and Alex’s nod of agreement involved him in the lie as well. Alex and her brother were not in the same set, and the idea of the two of them discussing a waistcoat was ridiculous. Not to mention, Alex had been out of the country.

  “Thank you, my lord,” the clerk was saying. “Schweitzer & Davidson would be honored to make you the waistcoat. If you could just describe it to me? Mr. Dashing has ordered so many, you understand?”

  Lucia snorted. Her brother was no dandy. His morning toilette consisted of reaching into his wardrobe, latching on to an item of clothing, and haphazardly pulling it out. But she saw what the men were doing now. The clerk obviously had no idea what waistcoat Dewhurst referred to, and no wonder, as Selbourne and Dewhurst had fabricated the entire scenario. But she had to admit it was as good a strategy as any for acquiring the information they needed.

  “You don’t know the waistcoat I mean?” Dewhurst said, hand fluttering at his snowy cravat.

  “Ah—” the clerk hedged.

  “Told you this was a waste of time,” Alex said, turning her toward the door.

  “Wait!” the clerk screeched. “I am certain I can make you the waistcoat, my lords. Just give me some hint as to color or cut.” The poor man sounded desperate.

  “Bloody hell,” Alex cursed, and the clerk jumped. “Dewhurst was drunk and doesn’t remember the specifics. Why the devil do you think he dragged me along?”

  Lucia glanced at the baron. He played his role perfectly, face red, grin sheepish. “I remember it was splendid,” he offered.

  “Perhaps you could describe the garment, Lord Sel—”

  Alex cut him off with a scowl. “If I could do that, I’d be the tailor. Go get your account book and make me a list of all Dashing’s purchases this last year. We’ll look it over, come back, and order the waistcoat.”

  The clerk frowned. “But that is highly irregular, my lord. I am not certain—”

  “Smashing idea, good fellow!” Dewhurst said, slapping Alex on the back. “There might be other items I’d like to order as well. I’ve been thinking about a new greatcoat.”

  The clerk’s eyes lit up.

  Alex frowned at him. “I’m waiting.”

  “Ah, yes. Um. One moment. I’ll go in the back and make the list.”

  “Hurry,” Alex warned as the clerk scurried to the back room.

  “Bloody hell, Dewhurst! A pink waistcoat?” Alex said when the clerk was gone.

  The dandy grinned. “Doing it a little too brown? Although, I have to say that you played your part very nicely just now.”

  “And both of you are wasting precious time.” She rounded on Selbourne. “You think John is in debt, don’t you? That’s why you want an inventory of his purchases. You think debt accounts for John’s disappearance.”

  Alex spread his hands. “I’m merely considering every possibility.”

  Lucia thrust her fists on her hips. “Well, I can assure you John is not in debt, so there’s no need to replay this…scene in half the shops in Town. It will be much faster just to ask for the information we want—when the shopkeeper last saw John.”

  Alex’s eyes darkened, but Lucia merely tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Faster,” he said, voice low and restrained, “but foolish. Unless you want the whole of London gossiping about the disappearance of your brother.”

  “I quite agree,” Dewhurst chimed in. “Any other means of inquiry would be too smoky by half.”

  Lucia folded her arms across her chest. “Well, if it’s such a secret, Lord Selbourne, why are we telling Lord Dewhurst? No offense, my lord.” She nodded at Dewhurst.

  “None taken, Miss Dashing. None taken.” Dewhurst waved a gloved hand.

  “We,” Alex said, and Lucia swore it was a growl, “are not doing anything.”

  “Oh, I see, he can be of some assistance.” Lucia thrust a finger at Dewhurst. “But I—”

  “Lucia.”

  She huffed and tossed her curls. “Arrogant cretin,” she muttered. Then Alex’s hand was on her back, propelling her into a corner. She glanced back at Dewhurst, but he had become engrossed in a selection of pastel fabrics.

  Alex’s hand tightened on her waist, and she jumped. “If you want to be part of this—and I’m not making any promises”—h
e squeezed her waist for emphasis—“you’ll have to trust me and do as I say.”

  “I don’t see why.” She snorted. “You don’t trust me or do what I say.”

  Behind them, Dewhurst chuckled.

  Alex glared at her. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  She sighed. “If you can’t trust me, how will I ever trust you, Selbourne?”

  He gave her an exasperated look, raking a hand through his wavy hair. “All right. For what it’s worth, I do trust you, Lucia.”

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.” His mouth barely moved when he spoke.

  “No, you don’t,” she repeated blithely. The look he shot her was murderous, and she quickly continued, “I have repeatedly told you that John isn’t in Town, but you refuse to believe me.”

  His jaw tightened. “Because there isn’t enough evidence yet to confirm it. That’s what Freddie’s for.”

  “Hmm.” Lucia pursed her lips and slanted a glance at Dewhurst, now picking through a stack of bright yellow silks. She dropped her voice. “Lord Dewhurst seems a questionable choice.” She tapped a finger to her lips, looked back at Alex. “He’s a dandy, not an intellectual.”

  “Appearances can be deceptive.”

  She arched her brows. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that Dewhurst shows you only what he wants you to see.”

  Lucia couldn’t help but wonder if Alex was doing the same.

  “Here is the inventory, my lords,” the clerk cried, bustling back into the shop, paper held aloft.

  “Very good, sir,” Alex replied, moving away from her to take the paper. Lucia followed, leaning forward to peer at it, but Selbourne folded it then tucked it into his coat.

  He turned to leave.

  “Oh!” the clerk called out. “I almost neglected to ask, Lord Dewhurst, do you want a special pocket in the waistcoat?”

  “Special pocket?” Dewhurst repeated, the flippant tone absent from his voice for the first time. He exchanged a look with Alex.

  “Yes. When I looked at Mr. Dashing’s account, I noticed he’d requested the addition of a special pocket on the last waistcoat he purchased. Surely he told you about the special pocket? He was most pleased with it.”

  “Of course,” Selbourne said, clapping a hand on Dewhurst’s shoulder. “There’s no question of the pocket. Dewhurst wouldn’t take the waistcoat without it.”

  Chapter 10

  “What do you think the clerk meant about a special pocket in John’s waistcoat?” Lucia asked Alex, who was seated across from her in her father’s carriage. Alex frowned.

  “Do you think that could be important?” Her heart was beating fast now, her excitement at a promising discovery mounting.

  “Possibly,” Alex answered, tone indifferent.

  She sighed and looked at Dewhurst, seated beside Alex, for support. He gave her a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, Miss Dashing, it’s not unusual for a gentleman to request particular additions to his garments.”

  Despite Dewhurst’s obvious effort to temper her enthusiasm, her pulse jumped. She sat forward. “What if John ordered the special pocket to hide something? Something to do with his disappearance?”

  Alex scowled and shook his head at her. “You’re making too much of this, Lucia.”

  “I suppose,” she acknowledged, some of her excitement fading. “But it might mean something.”

  “Looks to me like you have a regular bluestocking here, Selbourne,” Dewhurst interjected. “Brains and beauty all in one. What a pleasant surprise.”

  He was changing the topic, but he did it so smoothly, Lucia had to smile. “Lord Dewhurst, I can see how you earned your reputation as the most charming man in London.”

  “Thank you, m’dear, but, alas, that title goes to my cousin Sir Sebastian Middleton. By the by, Selbourne, have you spoken to him about the, er, matter we discussed?”

  “Damn, I completely forgot. I will. No sense in him making a fool of himself again.”

  “Where is Sir Sebastian?” Lucia asked. “I’ve rarely seen you without him, Lord Dewhurst.”

  “He is, well, he is—” Dewhurst opened his mouth, closed it and glanced at Alex. Selbourne raised a brow.

  “In the country!” Dewhurst said, looking every bit the naughty child trying to wheedle his way out of a sticky situation.

  “In the country, my lord?” Lucia smiled silkily. If only Dewhurst knew how often she’d been that naughty child. His tricks weren’t going to work with her. “But I saw Sir Sebastian at the duke’s ball last night.”

  Dewhurst’s face fell. “Yes, well, he—dash it!—I knew that story wouldn’t work!”

  “I think that what Lord Dewhurst is trying to avoid telling you, Miss Dashing,” Alex said, and Lucia admired him for coming to his friend’s aid. “Is that at this moment Sir Sebastian is probably in the bed of Lady Randall.”

  Lucia’s mouth dropped open. “But—but—she’s married!”

  He grinned. “I warned you, sweetheart. If you insist upon furthering this intimate connection with me”—his eyes warmed, and Lucia felt her stomach flip in response—“you’ll undoubtedly find that some of my…associates display an appalling lack of propriety. A vice, I fear, I am often guilty of myself.” He winked at her.

  Lucia sat up straighter. The rake! Well, she could play at world-weariness, too. “No matter.” She waved her hand in a gesture she hoped conveyed a suitable degree of ennui. “I was only surprised because Lady Randall seemed so happy.”

  Alex snorted. “Lord Randall is over sixty. I think there may be areas where her husband…does not rise to the occasion?”

  “Oh!” Lucia felt her face heat and lowered it, knowing she must be crimson to the roots of her hair. Her eyes bored holes into the pattern of her dress. She heard Dewhurst attempting to cover his laughter with a cough.

  “Then you’ll speak to him?” Dewhurst finally choked out.

  Alex nodded. “Lady Randall and I are…” He glanced at Lucia. “Acquainted. She’s not worth Middleton making a fool of himself.”

  Lucia felt like throwing something at the gloating rake. Instead she said icily, “Lord Selbourne, is there any woman in London—nay, in the country—you aren’t acquainted with?”

  He raised a brow. “You.”

  She clenched her fists in restrained anger. “Horrid man. Don’t even talk to me.”

  “I only meant that Middleton falls in love once a month and walks about in a daze for weeks proclaiming his undying devotion. The puppy looks a complete fool.”

  “I assure you that the ladies don’t think so. We think he’s romantic.”

  “Really?” Dewhurst’s eyes lit up with interest.

  Alex gave him a quelling look. “I’m sure you do, but he’s still a fool.”

  “Why?” Lucia knew she was annoying him almost as much as he annoyed her, but he’d intrigued her with his comment. He’d offended her as well. Why was falling in love foolish?

  “Miss Dashing,” Dewhurst answered for Alex. “Selbourne thinks any man in love is a fool. He doesn’t believe in love.”

  Alex frowned but didn’t object.

  “Now I, on the other hand—”

  “Middleton is not in love,” Alex interrupted. “He’s in lust, and it’ll soon pass.”

  Lucia huffed. “You don’t know that. Have you ever been in love, Lord Selbourne?”

  His gaze met hers, and she blinked innocently.

  Dewhurst coughed, “Perhaps I should get out here?”

  Lucia merely stared at Selbourne. She’d asked the question to prove a point, to get the better of him, but now she was curious as to his response. What of Alex’s French mistress? Could he be in love with her? He didn’t act like a man in the throes of such a passionate emotion.

  “I could ask you the same question, Miss Dashing,” Alex said finally, still not breaking eye contact.

  But the question so surprised her that Lucia glanced quickly awa
y. “That’s not the point,” she began feebly. “I asked you—”

  “And now I’m asking you.” His gaze continued to pierce her.

  “I’m not the one afraid of love and marriage.” She tossed her curls.

  “Are you insinuating that I am?”

  “You told Francesca you’d never marry, and now you admit that you believe any man in love a fool. Doesn’t that indicate some fear?” She raised a brow, and her chin with it.

  “No. I’m merely being practical,” he said, sounding unfazed. “I prefer my freedom to the constraints of conjugal bliss. I have no intention of making a fool of myself over some chit.”

  Lucia huffed, offended again for some inexplicable reason. “Even if you loved her?”

  “Not even if I loved her.” The sarcasm was back, thick as porridge.

  “Well, then you must certainly never have been in love.” Lucia nodded, sat back, and crossed her arms.

  “And how have you come to that conclusion?”

  “Because a man, or woman, in love will do anything for the object of his or her devotion. A man in love will risk death, pain, humiliation for his love. Look at history!” She sat forward again, warming to her topic. “Look at all the great lovers and their sacrifices. Certainly if men through the ages are willing to risk their lives and their honor for the women they adore, then, were you in love, you wouldn’t be afraid to appear a little foolish.”

  “You’ve been reading too many novels, Miss Dashing. Next you’ll be telling Dewhurst and me that knights slew dragons and Lancelot risked all for Guinevere.”

  Lucia smiled. “Make light of it all you want, but you’re only doing so because your argument is without merit.”

  “I see. In that case, I wait with bated breath to witness the great love-inspired deeds Dandridge performs for you or you for him.” He gave her a smug smile, and Lucia glared at him.

  “Certainly one who speaks so eloquently on the subject of love must be deeply in love herself.” Alex’s comment, heavy with sarcasm, hung in the carriage between them.

  Tossing her curls again, Lucia didn’t deign to reply. How did he always manage to get the upper hand? She’d yet to win an argument. She tapped her toe and stared out the window, hands clasped together tightly.