Ashton felt his brow furl. “Where is my father?”
“Everyone is in the foyer, sir.”
The commotion near the front entrance greeted him before he could approach. One uniformed bobby restrained two determined females who seemed oblivious to his father’s pronounced displeasure and the butler’s silent but obvious vexation.
“Are you certain the young woman is not here, Mr. Trewelyn?” the bobby addressed his father. “These ladies seem to think—”
“My son is most likely off enjoying himself in a most inappropriate manner, but I assure you, he’s not doing so here. These young ladies are mistaken in—”
“There he is!” One of the ladies, a harsh-looking young woman with an unfortunately predominate nose, pointed a finger in Ashton’s direction. “Casanova! He’s the one!” Everyone turned to look his way. “He and his friends have taken Edwina for their own sordid purposes.”
His father’s anger found a new target. He turned toward Ashton. “You’d best have an explanation for this accusation! I’ll not have that sort of violation under my roof.”
Ashton pretended to look about him as if the allegations were meant for someone else while he scrambled for a solution. He couldn’t very well admit that he had Miss Hargrove sequestered in the library. Given their lustful imaginations, that would not do at all. Someday, he vowed, he’d have a frank discussion with the engaging Miss Hargrove about what sordid activities these women imagined occurred on a nightly basis. He leaned heavily on his walking stick. “Who exactly am I accused of violating?”
“Miss Hargrove, sir,” a soft-spoken woman with a compassionate air replied. “She is one of our friends.”
He liked this woman. She was far more agreeable than her harsh companion. He directed his reply to her. “What makes you believe she might be here?”
“We were in the area for . . . a recital. Edwina . . . expressed an interest in this residence.” Lying apparently was difficult for her. That failing spoke well of Miss Hargrove’s friends.
“It sounds as if you simply misplaced Miss Hargrove,” Ashton said with what he hoped was a meaningful glance. “I suspect she is probably looking for you at this very moment.”
The soft-spoken woman smiled lightly then nodded her head. Message received. Ashton discreetly nodded as well, not surprised that Edwina had intelligent as well as compassionate friends.
“Yes,” the harsh one insisted. “She is looking for us to save her. Don’t be fooled by him, Faith. He’s the devil.” She pushed forward. “Edwina!” she shouted. “We’ve come to save you! Cry out if you can!”
“Now see here, Miss—” The policeman tried unsuccessfully to restrain the irritating woman, but she brushed by Faith, causing her to knock the policeman off balance. Ashton moved to catch Faith before she fell. Unfortunately, this provided the determined woman the opportunity to surge down the passageway.
“I’ll save you, Edwina!” she called. “Even if I have to search the entire house!”
“Young lady, stop this!” his father yelled ineffectively.
The policeman righted himself and gave chase to the intruder. The one called Faith regained her footing and murmured her thanks to Ashton. After a quick nod, Ashton dashed after the others to stop the madness before they reached the library and his curious intruder. If discovered, not even a self-proclaimed modern innocent like Miss Edwina Hargrove would survive the ensuing scandal.
• Five •
EDWINA GLANCED AT THE FLOOR-TO-CEILING BOOKcases surrounding her and sighed. If circumstances were different, if she had been an invited guest rather than a snooping annoyance, being abandoned in such a library would be akin to a fantasy. She could spend hours curled up on the alcove window seat lost in a swashbuckling adventure. However, after her unsolicited appearance this evening, she imagined this was the last she’d see of this room.
Her gaze fell to a square book with a plain cover on the center wooden table, nested in paper wrappings. She was fairly certain that this table had been empty when Trewelyn pushed her into the secret chamber. Curiosity carried her closer. She tentatively lifted a few pages at a corner and noted the bright flat colors and pen and ink technique of the books in the gallery. What had Trewelyn called them? Oh yes, a pillow book, used to teach young wives what to expect in a marriage. A tremor of excitement slipped through her. She hadn’t had a very good opportunity to closely examine the books in that chamber, not with Trewelyn watching her every expression.
Cautiously, she opened the pillow book more fully, hoping to spot some of the symbols Trewelyn had mentioned, meaning within meaning. The sight of the exaggerated sexual genitals—and please God, let Trewelyn be telling the truth about that—did not shock her as they had earlier. Instead, she was able to focus on the entire print, the setting and the emotions. If the prints were to be believed, “having a bit of bum” as her brothers called it, was not limited to a private room or to a single couple. Some prints depicted what she would describe in whispered conversation as an orgy. A shiver slipped down her spine. Yet, in all the prints, the women had soft reassuring smiles, which made her wonder. Perhaps the act of coupling was not as tortuous as she had been led to believe. She turned a page and noted a slip of folded paper had been tucked into the binding of the book. She started to remove it when she heard voices. Loud agitated voices. Someone was coming, and she suspected the library was their destination.
There’d be no hiding under the table as there was no cloth to provide privacy. Certainly the attractive alcove would be no help; she’d be spotted immediately. Her only recourse was to find the latch that unlocked the secret chamber. With the pillow book in the crook of her arm, she attempted to duplicate Trewelyn’s moves. She tugged on books in succession, praying for the sound of an opening latch. Unfortunately, the only sounds beyond the pounding in her ears were the approaching agitated voices. The latch must be here, she prayed. Please. Please. Please . . .
• • •
“STOP HER!” THE SENIOR TREWELYN SHOUTED. “DON’T GO in that room!”
The policeman caught the noisy meddler just outside the library door. She was a fighter, that one, swinging her arms and grabbing everything she could to free herself from the policeman’s grasp.
Ashton sagged with relief. He could well imagine poor Miss Hargrove trying to press herself into the corner of the bookshelves, attempting to make herself invisible. His lips tightened. As if that could happen. If she hadn’t been able to make herself unnoticeable on the crowded streets of London, she certainly couldn’t escape notice in an empty room.
Just as the policeman was attempting to pull the feisty intruder forcibly away from the library door, she grabbed the doorknob and pushed the library door open for all to see.
“There!” she cried out triumphantly, pointing to the interior. Ashton’s stomach clenched hard as a rock. There could be no saving Miss Hargrove now.
The policeman paused and peeked cautiously into the room. The senior Trewelyn pushed his way forward, causing both the policeman and his captive to enter the library. Ashton followed behind the others, trying desperately to think of some logical explanation for a woman to be secluded in a stranger’s library at this hour of night.
But there was no need. The library was empty.
Ashton quickly glanced at the secret door and noticed a slight, almost unperceivable crack. The door wasn’t closed completely. He moved deeper into the library, placing himself directly in front of the opening, hiding it from sight. “I hope you’re satisfied, miss.” He used his best glare. “As you can see, there’s no one here.”
“You could have her sequestered upstairs,” she replied. She opened her mouth so as to shout again, but Faith clamped a hand over it.
“Enough, Claire. At this rate, you’ll have all of London on the Trewelyns’ doorstep. She’s not here.” She glanced at Ashton. “I think we s
hould follow Mr. Trewelyn’s advice. Edwina is most likely waiting for us at the carriage right now, wondering what happened to us.”
“But . . .”
“She’s not here,” Faith insisted. She turned to his father. “My apologies for the intrusion on your household, sir. We were obviously mistaken in our information.”
“Would you like to press charges against this one, sir?” The policeman scowled at Claire. “She’s guilty of disturbing the peace, she is.”
His father stared at the empty table as if Edwina herself sat there wrapped in a flowing Japanese robe with a beckoning smile. Ashton shook his head, wondering why imagination had conjured that particular image. “No,” his father said. “Just take her out of here. I don’t wish my wife to witness this disturbance.”
The policeman escorted the two women out of the library. As their footsteps retreated up the passageway, his father turned toward him. “That was quick thinking on your part. I must admit I panicked when that chit flung the door wide open. I would have had a difficult time explaining the pillow book.” His lips quirked as if he wasn’t quite certain . . . “You did move it, did you not?”
Ashton suspected the talented Miss Hargrove waited on the other side of the secret door, pillow book in hand. “Yes,” he replied. “At the moment, it’s well concealed.”
“Good.” His father closed his eyes and sighed. “I should have placed it in the chamber myself once the Guardians had left, but then that commotion erupted.”
“Guardians?” Ashton asked, silently thanking the powers that be that his father didn’t stumble upon the both of them in the chamber. Edwina was correct about the meeting. His admiration for her talent increased tenfold. “Who are the Guardians?”
“Did I . . . ?” His father’s eyes widened a moment before he looked away. “Perhaps one day I shall be able to introduce you, but for now it would please me greatly if you just forget you ever heard that name.” He fumbled about for a moment, as if he’d misplaced his pocket watch, then he glanced back to Ashton with a weak half smile. “I’d best make sure those women have left. Wouldn’t do to have your mother discover them here.”
“Stepmother,” Ashton corrected.
“Yes . . . yes . . . of course. I meant to say that.” His father turned for the door. “With Matthew in the house, referring to Constance as ‘mother’ has become something of a habit. I’m sure you understand.”
No. Ashton was quite certain he would never understand why Constance occupied that particular role in this house.
His father, framed by the library doorway, looked back toward him and frowned. “You don’t know anything about that missing woman, do you?” His father shook his head. “I had hoped after your stint with the Rifles you would abandon these frivolous romantic interludes.” He didn’t wait for Ashton’s reply but kept talking as he walked down the passageway. “It’s small wonder that every time a woman goes missing, the police appear on my doorstep.”
• • •
ASHTON FELT A PROTEST FORMING DEEP IN HIS BELLY. Perhaps if his father had acknowledged his presence in the slightest way in those early years, he would have traveled a different road, and not one that earned him this Casanova title. He stood in the library fuming, when the press of the door to his back reminded him he wasn’t alone. He pulled the secret door fully open and Miss Hargrove tumbled out, the missing pillow book in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” she managed in between gulps of air. “I just picked it up to look at it. After you had shown me the others, I was curious. I should never have taken it.”
“Actually, you did my father a service, not that you can ever tell him.” His lips lifted in a smile. So the contents of the chamber had intrigued her after all. Enough to study the new arrival for his father’s collection. He would have liked to discuss that interest further, but now was not the time.
“Allow me to put the pillow book away. Then we need to get you out of here and reunited with your friends.” She placed the book in his hands with downcast eyes and a bit of color high on her cheeks. She blushed very sweetly, that one. It made him wonder what else beyond embarrassment would cause that rise of color. He mentally gave himself a shake. Most likely he’d never see her again. Sweet innocents did not travel in his jaded circles. “I’ll need to douse the lights. This may take a moment or two.”
He returned the book to the secret chamber, then paused, sensing a faint scent of oranges in the room. Funny that he hadn’t noticed her scent earlier. His attention must have been focused elsewhere. He turned off the gas jets and returned to the library to discover Miss Hargrove studying a piece of paper. “What is that?”
She folded it and handed it to him. “I found this in the pillow book. It must have fallen when I gave you the book. It was lying here on the floor.”
He slipped the note into his pocket. “I’ll read it later. Let’s get you safely away before my father returns, looking for his latest purchase.” Ashton peeked down the corridor and spotted his father involved in conversation at the far end. Constance must have returned home. All the more reason to get Miss Hargrove out of the residence. He turned toward Edwina. “My father is busy at the front of the house. I’ll distract the servants from the back entrance. Wait here a few minutes, then slip out the back door. Understood?”
She nodded.
“I’ll meet you outside,” he said. She began to protest, but he silenced her with a quiet hush. “I’m not about to let you wander unescorted in the dark. Just wait for me outside and I’ll see you safely returned to your friends.”
• • •
EDWINA WAITED FOR TREWELYN AS INSTRUCTED, GRATEful for his promise of escort. The hour had advanced beyond that for which she had confidence. Even Faith’s frilly parasol would prove no match for the sorts of miscreants that might be out at this hour. While she and her friends hadn’t uncovered the sort of debauchery they had suspected when they embarked on this adventure, she had enjoyed an experience she hadn’t anticipated. Could she . . . would she . . . describe the contents of the secret chamber to the Rake Patrol? Or would that cause them to think less of Trewelyn? For some reason, their opinion of him held importance to her.
He appeared a moment later as promised. “Shall we?”
She had to admit, the mews was less ominous with Trewelyn at her side. “Thank you for this,” she said. “I suppose I’m not as brave as I’d like to believe.”
“Given tonight’s discoveries, I would disagree,” Trewelyn said, his voice companionable and warm in the dark. “I’m sure those Japanese prints were rather shocking to you.”
“I’ve not seen anything like those before.” It was easier to talk like this, in the open, in the dark. “They were certainly lewd and . . . common, but at the same time”—she shook her head—“I don’t know how to explain it.”
He laughed, a soft sound that vibrated deep within her. “So tell me, Miss Hargrove, have I passed inspection? Will I be able to continue to look for a suitable companion for my friend without interference?”
“Will you do that?” In light of all the recent activity, Edwina had forgotten that a personal ad had started it all. “Will you continue to advertise for a companion?”
“I haven’t decided,” Trewelyn acknowledged. “For the most part, the responses I received from that first advertisement were not exactly what I had hoped. Perhaps I should employ more traditional methods, or”—he laughed— “perhaps I should leave James to search for himself.”
Once she reported back to the others, she was certain the Rake Patrol would no longer question Trewelyn’s intent and would thus terminate their intervention. That he passed their inspection was a disappointment, as it meant she’d have no valid excuse to spy upon him. If nothing else, the research had proved an adventure.
“Are your friends waiting in that carriage?” he asked.
She nodded.
It was the only carriage pulled along the curb. So much for discretion.
“Then I’ll leave you here.” Trewelyn turned toward her. “You’ll be safe under the driver’s gaze, and while I admire her loyalty, I’d prefer not to encounter your friend Claire.”
Edwina smiled. “She can be an acquired taste.”
“Good night, Miss Hargrove.” He took her hand in his. Edwina’s heart jumped a little at the contact. “Though it was accomplished through unconventional means, I must say I enjoyed making your acquaintance.” He smiled down at her. “I can understand why your Mr. Thomas is so protective of you. I think he might have his hands full with that endeavor.”
“He’s not my Mr. Thomas,” she insisted.
“Good night, Miss Hargrove.” He hesitated a moment then kissed her hand. She thought her knees would melt on the spot. He turned to walk back the way they had come.
“Mr. Trewelyn?” she called.
He stopped and turned.
“Should you need my assistance, I’ll be at the Crescent Palace about three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
He chuckled. “That sounds a bit presumptuous, Miss Hargrove. Why do you believe I shall have need of your assistance?”
“Because the note that fell from the pillow book, the one you placed in your pocket. . . . it’s in code.” She smiled sweetly. “Good night, Mr. Trewelyn.”
• Six •
SHE COULDN’T VERY WELL TELL HER FRIENDS THAT she’d been sequestered in a secret chamber of lewd Japanese prints with the most lascivious man in all of London. Claire would most likely storm the Trewelyn residence again with loud protests of the secret gallery. No, Edwina would have to keep that information to herself. But then how to explain her absence? She didn’t wish to lie to her friends, but she saw no other recourse.
The Casanova Code Page 7