“I’m sorry for asking this of you, Sophia, but I’ve no one else to turn to.”
A wry chuckle sounded in the quiet of the room. “Lord Westby said you’d bedded half of London’s eligible young ladies. You’re a famous actor and, apparently, a notorious aristocrat. You must have dozens of friends in the city.”
He didn’t. Acquaintances, yes. Connections through his family or the theater. Conquests, lovers, and pursuers. He had hundreds of those. But none were reliable, honorable, or discreet. They were like him, not her. “You’re the one I need.”
When she turned back to face him, her eyes had softened. “Why?”
“You already know the details of Liddy’s poor judgement, and you have a way about you, Sophia. She’ll trust you.” He dipped his head and cleared his throat. “On very short acquaintance, I trust you.”
“I take it you mean to pursue them by train?” She began fussing with the lace at the edge of her dress’s bodice.
Grey glanced at his pocket watch again. “If we make the earliest departure, we should arrive in Brighton before they do.”
“And then we must find them in a bustling town. How long do you think that will take?”
We. She’d echoed his use of the word. The vice grip of worry that had been choking him since learning of Liddy’s disappearance began to ease. Just a bit. “Not long, I expect.”
“In a seaside resort teaming with summer visitors?” Sophia offered him what he was coming to recognize as her dubious look, one blonde brow quirked high.
“I’m tempted to simply impress you with my detecting skills once we arrive.” Grey reached into his coat pocket and slipped out a small notebook he kept there. “But, honestly, the coachman at the inn told me to which hotel Holden asked to be delivered.”
She nibbled her lower lip as she assessed him and then let out a long sigh. He knew that soft wisp of escaping breath spelled victory for him.
“Give me a few moments to prepare.” She started toward the door, then changed course and returned to her corner desk. She opened the wide center drawer and drew out Liddy’s journal, laying it on the blotter. “You forgot to take this with you.”
“Were there any other details about Clive?” A part of him didn’t wish to know.
She jerked back in surprise. “It wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to read your sister’s journal.”
“Of course.” When she left the room he let out a long exhale of relief. Considering matters from Sophia’s very proper perspective, she had conceded a great deal by agreeing to accompany a man alone on a train journey. He glanced at the corner desk, at the spot where he’d seen her envelope from Mr. Ogilvy, and wondered what else she might be risking, beyond her sterling reputation.
Sophia laid her book aside and studied Jasper Grey the moment he began snoring softly.
He’d started their journey by treating her with scrupulous care, making sure not to touch her or even use her given name. Almost as if he realized the impropriety of an unmarried man and woman traveling together. Though they had an entire first-class carriage to themselves, he’d chosen the bench opposite her and kept his gaze fixed out the train car window.
Expecting his usual flirtatious banter to commence the moment they departed the station, she’d pulled out a book and found herself skimming the same paragraphs over and over. But instead of interrupting or attempting to draw her attention, he’d allowed her the quiet to read as his eyes grew steadily heavier. Within an hour, he was sprawled in his seat, chin tucked to his chest, head bobbing from side to side as the train swayed around curves in the track. He’d straightened one leg, so that his boot rested between her feet, pressing against the hem of her gown.
If possible, the man was even more appealing in repose. The same carved Greek sculpture beauty, but none of his cocksure arrogance. No devastating grin. No molten gray gaze to contend with. Just his lean body stretched out before her and a vulnerability in his chiseled jaw and the bow of his mouth that wasn’t apparent when he was quipping and flirting and doing his very best to live up to his dreadful reputation.
She forced her gaze away from his body and reached into her small traveling satchel, retrieving her pen and a few pages of manuscript she’d impulsively grabbed before their departure.
Her lady detective was on the verge of a first encounter with the story’s killer, a desperate and depraved aristocrat. Sophia tapped the fountain pen on her lower lip and considered how to describe her villain. Lord Westby came to mind, with his cold eyes and dark hair. Then she recalled the slithery feel of his tongue on her lips and winced. Her villain would need to be much better at seduction if she was to convince readers he’d ruined a respectable young lady.
What of Clive Holden? What made him so appealing that Phyllida Grey would risk everything?
Sophia had never met a man who tempted her to risk anything, let alone the reputation her father spent his life urging her to protect. She bent her head, arranged her manuscript page on top of her book, and added a few lines of description about her villain.
Grey shifted, and her glance strayed to his booted foot, then up his long black trouser-clad leg to the buttons of his sapphire waistcoat and finally into two cool gray eyes.
“Enjoying the view?”
“Yes.” She turned her head and watched the Surrey countryside rush by. “Beautiful . . . wildflowers along the line.” Daisies and a purple flower dominated. Lupines? She wasn’t sure. Clarissa had always been the flower lover in the family.
“I would never have taken you for a wildflower enthusiast.” He sat up straight in his seat but didn’t fully retract his foot from between hers. “They’re untamed. Tenacious. Disorderly.” He straightened his waistcoat as he spoke, as if realizing he was as disorderly as the blooms visible through the train car window.
“I don’t mind wildflowers when they’re in an open field.” The openness of the landscape truly was appealing. She’d never been a very good horsewoman, but it put her in mind of dashing across the field on the back of a beautiful stallion.
“And if they pop up in your garden, you simply have someone mow them down?” His teasing tone did nothing to temper her irritation.
“You have a very low opinion of me, Mr. Grey.”
“I don’t.” His mouth tightened, and all the humor drained from his eyes. “I’ll always be grateful to you for assisting me today, Sophia. I’ll refrain from teasing you.” He glanced out the window and crossed his arms, falling silent. Not so much sulking as forcing an end to his usual exuberance.
“So what is your plan?”
“My plan?” His brow crinkled under messy waves of copper hair. “Get my sister back to Derbyshire. I’ll carry her over my shoulder the entire way if I must. After thrashing Holden within an inch of his life.”
Sophia’s brows shot high.
“What?” he queried irritably. “The man deserves as much, and duels, unfortunately, have been outlawed.”
“Brute force,” Sophia said with a sigh. Somehow, she’d expected more from him. “That’s the whole of your strategy.”
“What did you expect me to do? Unleash my wit and charm?” The lofty cut of his cheekbones began to simmer with color, and the usual sparkle in his pale eyes sharpened to daggers.
“I thought you might consider unleashing your intellect.”
He dipped his head, appearing chastened, even sullen. Then he lashed his arms tighter across his chest and retorted, “I’m not challenging Holden to a quiz. I’m confronting the man about absconding with my sister.” He drew in a deep breath and caught her gaze before offering a nod. “But you may be right. A bit of strategy and persuasion might be in order, especially with Liddy.”
Sophia’s father had allowed her to assist him with his business correspondence, and her brother often listened to her advice, even if he didn’t choose to take it. Somehow, none of that compared to the satisfaction of Jasper Grey acknowledging she “may” be right.
“What if we don’t find y
our sister in Brighton?” She asked the question softly, tentatively, knowing the same worry must be weighing on his mind.
“We will,” Grey assured in the most serious tone she’d yet heard him employ. “We must.”
“And what if it’s too late?”
For a moment Grey squinted at her as if she’d begun speaking in a foreign tongue. “You mean if she and Holden have become lovers?”
Now it was Sophia’s turn to blush. She willed the heat to cool, even as she sensed it infusing her cheeks.
“You speak of your sister’s chastity too flippantly.” And too recklessly. To call them lovers sounded romantic. Even appealing. But if Mr. Holden had no intention of marrying Phyllida Grey, or if a child resulted from their dalliance, the young woman’s life would never be the same. Any prospects for a fortuitous match would be forever ruined.
“Ah, yes, a woman must remain virginal while a man can do as he pleases.” He seemed offended on behalf of women and the dual standards applied to each sex. Which she found completely unexpected and the opposite of every man she’d ever known. Certainly the opposite of her father’s views.
“That’s generally how society sees the matter.”
“I disagree.” He tipped his head as he assessed her. “Isn’t ruination a prospect you were considering when I found you alone with Westby in his study?”
“Not at all.” Sophia’s blood heated a few more degrees when his bow-shaped mouth tipped up in a grin. “Though the earl was intent on kissing me.”
Grey’s whole demeanor changed, his jaw hardening into sharp angles as thunderclouds banked in his gray eyes. He leaned toward her across the train car, his elbows braced on his knees. “And did he?”
“None of your business.” The memory of Westby’s tongue on her mouth turned her stomach, and none of what she’d done was any of his concern. She’d already admitted too much.
“I’d wager he did.” His gaze fixed on her mouth. He looked into her eyes as if trying to find the truth there.
“You’d lose your wager, Mr. Grey.” Sophia lifted the watch fob pinned to her blouse to check the time, and to avoid getting pulled into his magnetic gaze.
“I can’t tell you how much that pleases me.”
When she looked up, Sophia expected to find a mocking grin curving his mouth.
Instead, he watched her with a solemn gaze. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” Sophia said a bit too vehemently.
Westby had been rude, but the incident served as a reminder that she was no longer the naïve girl who’d once followed a dishonorable man into a moonlit garden.
She understood how tempting scoundrels could be and also how perilous.
Yet as Grey watched her, she glimpsed—just for a moment—something beyond his bravado and charm. Not the dangers of a rakish man but the raw need of one who craved her kiss.
He leaned closer, his gaze flickering to her mouth. All the heat that had bloomed in her cheeks a moment before seemed to gather in her chest. And it spread, simmering beneath her skin, making her pulse race.
A thought came, one she couldn’t chase away. Jasper Grey would know how to give a woman a first kiss that she wouldn’t soon forget.
Just when she thought he might reach across the space between them and draw her near, the train began to slow. Grey turned to scan the ladies and gentlemen lining the platform.
“Quite a crush.” Sophia expected the station to be busy on a midsummer weekend, but the platform was teeming with travelers and carts bearing their luggage.
He lurched toward the window, pressing a hand to the glass. “That’s Liddy.”
“Where?” Sophia leaned to get a better look, but realized she had no idea of Miss Grey’s appearance. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He stood and reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come. Let’s see if we can catch her.”
The moment his foot hit pavement, Grey started off at a sprint.
Sophia rushed after him, skirt and petticoat fighting her every step. Stopping as the crowd rushed past her, she lifted onto her toes.
She couldn’t find him. Only a sea of strangers lay ahead.
“You’re blocking the pavement,” a man snapped as he brushed past.
One more push onto her toes, and Sophia spotted Grey. Lifting the edge of her skirt, she hurried after him, boot heels pounding the pavement as her corset crushed the breath from her lungs.
“Watch yourself, miss.” A gentleman jabbed her with his elbow as she attempted to pass. He stalled her, planting himself in her path and slowing his pace.
“Excuse me!” Shooting an arm out, she maneuvered past him and scanned the men ahead for Grey.
Her heart clenched. Across the crowd, his metal-gray gaze held hers. He trudged toward her, face pale, expression stark.
“Your sister?” Sophia held her breath.
“Not Liddy after all,” he said when he reached her side. “Let’s try that hotel the coachman mentioned. We won’t need a carriage,” he assured as he assessed the long line of travelers waiting for a hired conveyance. “It’s just a few blocks from the station.”
As they started through the throng of travelers, Grey took her arm and linked it with his. Sophia allowed him the familiarity, mostly because she had no wish to be trampled by the more aggressive in the crowd.
“Winship?”
Sophia heard the call first and turned to see a blond man striding their way. “I believe he’s calling you,” she said over the din of chatter in the station, tightening her grip on Grey’s arm.
He twisted to glance back and stopped in his tracks, his muscles tensing under her touch. The gentleman was no stranger.
“Who is it?” Sophia asked.
Emotion swirled in Grey’s eyes, churning like the waters of the English Channel that lapped the Brighton shore. “Clive Holden.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“As a tenacious lady investigator, I have no shame in admitting I’ve broken a few rules of propriety in order to solve a case.”
—CASEBOOK OF EUPHEMIA BREEDLOVE, LADY DETECTIVE
The moment Holden approached, looking smug and feigning innocence, Grey longed to wrap his hands around the baronet’s scrawny neck. Of course, a fist to the nose would be the wiser choice. If he throttled the blackguard, Holden wouldn’t be able to tell him anything about Liddy’s whereabouts.
Then Sophia cut in with sense and logic. With the intellect he sorely needed.
“We should get him to a place where we can question him privately,” Sophia whispered as she unlatched her arm from his.
Yes. He wasn’t used to hearing a voice of reason ringing in his head, cautioning him not to rush into foolishness or pointing him toward the right path. He’d always bucked being managed by anyone, but Sophia had the voice of a siren. A very practical, sensible siren.
Making a scene on the pavement in front of a dozen holiday goers wouldn’t do. It would also give Holden a chance to disappear into the crowd if he didn’t like their questions. And there was every reason to believe he wouldn’t.
“Fancy finding you at the seaside, Winship,” Holden called as he planted himself in front of Grey and offered a gloved hand in greeting.
“It’s been too long, Clive.” Grey gritted his teeth and shook the man’s hand as a sour queasiness stewed in his gut.
“Well, yes. Never see you at the usual rounds of parties and balls. Too busy on the West End stage, I suspect.” Clive turned his gaze on Sophia. “Enjoying a holiday? You must introduce me to the vision at your side.”
Sophia ignored his question and posed her own. “Did you come to Brighton alone, Mr. Holden?”
“I did not,” he admitted in a clipped tone.
“Who accompanied you?” Grey clenched his fist at his side. The prospect of throttling the man was more and more appealing.
“My cousin.” Holden’s mask of friendly joviality slipped as he subjected Sophia to an impudent perusal from her mouth to her breasts to her hips. �
�A much less enthralling companion than yours, Winship.”
“Where is she?” Grey stepped forward and felt a hand on his arm. Sophia seemed to sense his barely leashed ire and was determined to keep him from beating the truth out of Holden.
“I never said my cousin was a lady,” Holden sneered. “Isn’t one female enough for you? He was fatigued from our journey and has already settled in at the hotel.” He gazed off in the distance as if he was eager to reach the hotel too. Or simply ready to escape their questioning.
“I had the pleasure of meeting your sister today, Mr. Holden.” Sophia spoke the words with a pleasant lilt, but the moment they were out, all the color began to leech from Holden’s skin. “She told us Mr. Gr—Lord Winship’s sister has been visiting for the last few days.”
“Has she?” Holden darted his gaze, doing his best imitation of a nervous squirrel. “I pay no mind to my sister’s social calendar.” He huffed out what might have been intended as a dismissive chuckle but emerged as if the man was choking on his own tongue.
“She said you took Liddy out riding,” Grey added, watching Holden’s panic rising. A vein began pulsing in the baronet’s neck. “Alone.”
“What exactly are you implying, Winship?” Holden sniffed in offense as color rushed up his cheeks. “If you’ll excuse me, I will not stand for being cross-questioned.” With a finger to the brim of his hat, he ducked in Sophia’s direction, then turned and began striding away.
“We have to go after him,” Grey insisted, glancing at Sophia.
“I agree. He knows where she is, or at least more than he’s admitting.”
As they started after him, Sophia pointed to a narrow side lane between two buildings. Grey stretched his legs to catch up with Holden and lashed an arm around the man’s shoulders.
“Not so quickly, Clive.”
The man attempted to shrug him off, but Grey wrapped his fingers around the back of the scoundrel’s neck. When he gave a satisfyingly hard squeeze, Holden attempted to wriggle away, only stopping when Sophia wrapped her arm around his as if he’d offered to escort her along the promenade.
A Study in Scoundrels Page 8