He withdrew and she chased, and she was momentarily amazed at her own daring as she became a participant instead of just a willing spectator to the kiss.
It was only when his thumb brushed the underside of her breast that she pulled back, gasping.
His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed. It looked like he was in pain. But she thought she might look like that, too, if she could see herself in a looking glass. Silence filled the carriage, and she didn’t know how to break it other than with her small, shuttering breaths as she tried to regain control of her faculties.
She moved to scramble off his lap, and only then did he grunt and release her from his embrace. It seemed more an act of self-preservation than an attempt to help her restore her modesty. Another minute passed before he finally opened his eyes.
She almost wished he hadn’t. She looked away from what she saw there. It was overwhelming.
“Are you all right, my dear?” His voice was rocks and gravel compared to what it usually was.
She nodded, not sure she could form words at the moment.
He was about to say more, but his attention was caught by something outside the carriage window.
“Bloody, bloody hell,” Lucas cursed. Gemma followed his gaze and saw Perry heading into the park. Just then, there was a double knock on the partition. He flicked his chin up toward the sound. “That is the signal if we cannot follow in the carriage.”
He made a few adjustments to his clothing, then turned to survey her with a critical eye. She resisted the urge to pat her hair. He gave a little nod of approval.
“Would you care for a walk in the park?” he asked without a trace of irony.
“It seems like a beautiful day for it,” she managed to respond.
He smirked and pushed open the carriage door, vaulting down and holding up a hand to help her out. She adjusted her skirts one last time before she stepped from the carriage.
She looked around for Perry, worried they’d lost him in the mist. She caught a glimpse of his hat and was thankful the man was so tall. She took off after him, but Lucas nabbed her hand and pulled her back.
“We can’t just march right up behind him, my dear.” He laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “We are an affianced couple taking an afternoon stroll in the park.”
She pursed her lips in impatience, but conceded his point. They should strive to appear natural. The pebbles bit into her soft shoes as they started into the park. Even with the poor weather, ladies and gentleman dotted the expanse. If one let fog deter them from outside activities in London, she supposed no one would ever go outside.
“Do you enjoy London, my lord?” she asked, trying to think of what she would say if they really were an affianced couple on an afternoon stroll in the park. Something that was not about what they had just shared in the carriage. He seemed recovered from the experience, she thought with a slight pout. She wasn’t entirely sure she was, though.
Lucas furrowed his brow. “I do in some ways. I enjoy my club and the intellectual pursuits the city has to offer. I even enjoy Drury Lane and Vauxhall Gardens.”
“Oh, I would love to visit Vauxhall,” she said. She’d heard such wondrous things about the pleasure gardens.
“I shall take you to them,” he promised.
They walked a moment in silence before she prompted him to continue. “But…”
“I miss the solitude of my country home. I would ride the land every morning, and there are few things that compare to a crisp English morning when you are the only soul about. There are too many people in London. It makes it hard to breathe sometimes.” He paused, looking momentarily embarrassed by how much he’d shared.
“I crave the quiet of the country, as well. It is a bit freer there. You do not have to consider every move you make or thing you do. Sometimes you can just be, and I haven’t found that in London.” He glanced at her, his eyes soft. “Do not mistake me, though. I adore many things about the city. It is quite stimulating,” she said in a rush. Her face felt flushed and hot.
He murmured a low sound and inclined his head to two older ladies walking toward them. The women acknowledged them, and Gemma glanced over her shoulder to see them put their heads together and chatter.
“People are perplexed as to why you are with me,” Gemma stated. Lucas looked confused but then followed her gaze.
“People will gossip about anything in the ton. It is their favorite pastime,” he said easily.
“It’s more than that. A wealthy, handsome lord announces his engagement to a woman of low rank and less beauty—a peculiar bluestocking at that. It’s a wonder no one has questioned its authenticity to our faces,” she mused. She was more entertained than insulted by the whole matter. Of course, people would think it strange that she could land herself an earl. She was sure in clubs across the city there were bets about a possible pregnancy or secret inheritance. Why else would Lucas Stone, Earl of Winchester, lower himself to make such an unsuitable match?
Lucas turned to her and gripped her shoulders. She met his eyes and found his expression fierce. “If anyone dares say anything to you, you will tell me immediately.”
“Oh, I do not think anyone would say anything to me directly,” she said hastily, a bit taken aback by his ferocity.
“Gemma,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious. “Promise me, if you hear anything, you will tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
“I promise,” she assured him. He let go of her arms and fell into step beside her once more. “We will soon give them a great deal more to talk about anyway.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When you cry off. The ton will be aflutter. I’m sure many people will say they knew all along. Busybodies, the lot of them.”
He shrugged dismissively.
She tried not to think about never seeing Lucas again. She’d gotten strangely used to having him around. She would miss the thrill that shot through her whenever she saw him, their engaging conversations…and, increasingly, their passionate interludes. But that prospect was still a ways in the future. They still had a blackmailer-murderer to catch. She refocused on Perry, who was a bit in front of them. He did not seem to be meandering through the park; rather, his purposeful strides gave him the air of a man on a mission.
She was about to redirect their conversation toward Perry—Lucas seemed uncomfortable talking about their false engagement—when the sound of rapid hoof beats interrupted them. She stepped a bit to the side to make sure they were not in the way of the rider.
“Miss Lancaster!” The man atop the muddy brown horse called out in excitement. She felt a jolt of confusion at the voice’s confident familiarity and turned to peer up at the rider.
“Mr. Peterson, how lovely to see you,” she said once she recognized him.
“Indeed,” he said with a jovial smile as he slid off his horse to walk with them. “I spotted you down the way and thought I must come see if you’ve read the most recent edition of John Calderon’s series in the Times. He wrote it from South America.”
“I did read that,” she said, her delight in having found someone who shared her interest in faraway cultures temporarily distracting her from the true purpose of their stroll. “The Mayan civilization there is utterly fascinating, don’t you think?”
He nodded, excited, before launching into a rendition of Calderon’s piece, replete with hand gestures and exclamations. He was such a dear, but as she’d read the piece already, her mind drifted to how far Perry was getting out of view and then to the brooding man beside her. He had held out longer than she expected.
Lucas interrupted Peterson midsentence. “You will excuse us, Peterson. My fiancée and I must continue on.”
Peterson stumbled to a stop, hands spread, his face frozen in a moment of bafflement before he shook it off. “Ah, of course, my apologies for keeping you so long. I may have gotten carried away in my excitement. Winchester.” He curtly nodded at Lucas. “I woul
d be delighted to continue this conversation sometime in the near future, Gem—er, Miss Lancaster.”
Gemma could feel the thrum of Lucas’s frustration as he grasped her arm tighter. “I am afraid our schedule is quite packed for the foreseeable future, and such a conversation may prove impossible. Come, my dear.” Lucas strode forward along the path without a backward glance and dragged her along with him. Gemma cast a quick, apologetic smile at Mr. Peterson, whose normally mild face bore a strange expression.
“Lucas! That was unbelievably rude to poor Mr. Peterson,” she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.
“You will not talk to him again, Gemma,” he growled, not looking at her.
“Excuse me?” She struggled against his grasp, but he was far too strong for her. “You cannot dictate with whom I have conversation, my lord. You are not my husband.” She was reaching her breaking point with his high-handedness. She knew he had a stubborn, autocratic side, but enough was enough. She would not be bullied.
“No,” he said, stopping and swinging around to stand in front of her. He towered over her, but she met him toe-to-toe. “I am your fiancé.”
“Fictional fiancé,” she corrected. She felt her jaw clench and she wondered if she’d lost her mind. Here they were, trying to blend into their surroundings and instead they were making a huge scene in front of the beau monde.
They stared each other down for several beats before he broke the gaze. “This is not the time or place. Come along.”
…
He’d never met such a hardheaded, stubborn woman in his life.
He guided her toward one of the circuitous paths leading to the edges of Hyde Park. He’d kept an eye on which direction Perry had headed.
He didn’t know why Gemma couldn’t see that Peterson was drooling over her like a lovesick puppy. She was too naive regarding the predators of the ton, no matter how mild-mannered they appeared. It was his duty to keep her safe while they were on this case, whether it was from a blackmailer or a lecherous rogue in sheep’s clothing.
It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t.
They didn’t talk any further as they pushed their way through the growing mist. By this point, they’d left many of their fellow park-goers behind. Droplets dotted his face, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. He could not see enough in front of him to comfortably continue forward with Gemma.
“I believe it’s time to turn back, my dear. We shall try again tomorrow,” he said as firmly as possible. He was not surprised when she argued.
“But we’ve come so far. Should we not continue a bit farther to see if we can find him again?”
“No. It is time to leave.”
“Actually,” a voice purred from behind a cluster of trees, “I believe it is time for the two of you to explain what you are doing following me.” Gemma gasped as Lord Perry emerged like a specter from the fog—with a pistol pointed at Lucas. “And I believe you should do it quickly.”
Chapter Seven
Lucas took a swift step in front of Gemma, placing himself between her and the pistol, and put his hands up and clearly in Perry’s view.
“We weren’t following you, my friend,” Lucas said. He calculated that he wouldn’t be able to reach Perry before he could shoot. At least Gemma would be able to escape before Perry could draw a second weapon.
“Do not try that, Winchester. I heard you and your lady talking. You were trying to find me.” Perry’s hand was as steady as his voice. “What is your purpose?”
Lucas weighed the options. If this man was the blackmailer, there was a distinct possibility that he’d killed before and seemed to have no compunction about it. However, if he were the extortionist, it was not the most likely scenario for him to plead ignorance on why they were following him. He imagined that confrontation would have looked rather different.
He decided to gamble that he was correct.
“Are you by any chance being blackmailed?” Lucas asked. Perry’s face turned white. Certainty settled over Lucas in the same way it used to when he dealt with the best liars in the world. Perry was not the villain, but a fellow victim.
“How…how did you know that?” Perry asked, jerking the pistol higher, seeming unsettled for the first time since he’d materialized from the trees.
“I am being blackmailed as well,” Lucas said in soothing tones. Even if he was not the criminal they sought, he still had a pistol, and his hand had become decidedly less steady. As long as he had it pointed anywhere near Gemma, Lucas would remain on guard.
“It’s true.” Gemma stepped out from behind him. Perry’s pistol swung in her direction. Lucas growled. His heart clenched and lodged in his throat. What the devil was she doing? If they made it out of this alive, he’d throttle her himself. Lucas braced to move as Perry’s eyes darted between him and Gemma.
Gemma’s words spilled out in a single breath. “Sir, we erroneously thought you might be the perpetrator of this evil deed, and were trailing you to prove or disprove our theory. It seems we may be on the same side in this matter.”
“You are not the blackmailers?” Perry asked slowly, and Lucas watched as the tension of fear and excitement seeped from him. His hand drooped and shook, and finally the pistol’s dark mouth pointed to the ground.
Lucas’s heart unclenched. He had faced danger in his life, but never had he been so affected. The image of Gemma standing before Perry without a touch of caution would haunt his sleeping and waking hours for quite some time, he was certain.
“We are not,” Gemma said, even though it had not been much of a question.
“Do you have proof of that?” Perry demanded. Lucas sensed more than saw Gemma glance at him. He considered.
“Do you? This could be an elaborate act,” Lucas pushed. Could Perry be trusted? The consequences could be fatal if he was wrong.
“I have the latest note. I had just finished delivering a payment when I realized you two had followed me. I circled back, and here we are,” Perry said, reaching into his overcoat with his free hand.
“Yes, here we are indeed,” Lucas parroted the gesture, retrieving the letter he kept tucked away in an inner pocket. He held it out first in a gesture of goodwill. But he also knew that Perry would have to pocket his note or his gun to accept it. He studied him, waiting for him to make his move.
Perry looked from his note in one hand to his gun in the other. Finally, he pocketed the weapon and exchanged letters with Lucas.
Gemma stood on tiptoe and gripped Lucas’s arm to peer over his shoulder. He tipped the paper so she could better read it. Upon a cursory glance, it looked authentic. It was addressed to Perry, the handwriting appeared to be similar, and the blackmailer signed off in the same odd way: Inveniam viam aut faciam.
“I shall find a way, or make one,” Gemma translated in a whisper.
Perry looked up at them. “I believe we should discuss this further. Perhaps in a more comfortable setting? No doubt you know my address.”
A trap? Although not impossible, Lucas didn’t believe it to be the case, and after a moment assented. “We shall meet you there in one hour. It may be best not to leave this location together.” If Perry had come from making a payment, there was a good chance they were being spied on even at that very moment.
“I agree. I will see you then.” Perry traded letters once again and then melted back into the fog as quietly as he’d come.
…
She did not want to like him.
Beatrice cast a glance at Mr. Harrington as they exited yet another shop specializing in antique watches. No, she did not want to like him, but she could not help herself.
When Lucas had informed her of Mr. Harrington’s involvement she had been terrified. If another person discovered her secret, she would be humiliated. Once she was reintroduced to Mr. Harrington, though, she knew she would be more than that. She would be devastated.
“You are quite good at this business,” she commented now to the man in question. She could tell after
spending the afternoon together that he was too sharp not to eventually work out the real reason he was involved in the case. It was not if the shoe would drop, it was when. She wondered why she cared what her brother’s man of affairs thought of her.
He glanced over at her, a half smile tugging at his lips. They were walking back toward her carriage, and she did not want the afternoon to end. He had vastly improved her mood. He was certainly amusing, with his dry observations of everyone around him. He always toed the line of humorous rather than scathing, which she appreciated. But it was not just that. It was something about the way she felt immediately comfortable in his presence. The way he listened when she talked, no matter how inane the topic. She slowed her pace, and he fell back in step with her.
“I like mysteries,” he finally said, after some consideration of her praise.
The coach was up ahead, and she wondered if he would ride back with her if she suggested it. He might find it improper, but he would need to talk to Lucas about their afternoon anyway.
“What was the first mystery you solved?” she asked. She wanted to know more about him, although she could not exactly explain this desire.
His head tipped back in surprise. He was silent a moment, and she wondered if she’d asked a stupid question. She held her breath. But then he smiled, a full-on smile, and she felt a weight slide from her. His smile made her feel as though she’d been granted a special gift. “I have three older brothers,” he began, and she nodded. “One day when I was very young I came into the library, and our mother’s favorite vase was scattered in pieces on the floor.”
“Oh no! Your poor dear mother,” Beatrice said.
He laughed full out at that. “The ‘poor dear’ raised four hellion boys. A broken vase was hardly a surprise,” he said. “But it was her favorite, so she promised there would be consequences. She thought I was to blame, because I was standing over it when she found the disaster. She told me no pudding for a month.”
Beatrice gasped in faux outrage for the small boy, and squeezed his arm where her hand rested. “It was not even your fault.”
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