“It sounds like a possibility, yes,” Lucas said. He gestured toward the chairs for Harrington to sit. They gathered around the small table in the middle of the room. “Tell us, did you discover anything today?”
Beatrice clapped her hands, cheeks flushed in excitement. “We found the man who crafted Papa’s ring.”
Gemma drew in a sharp breath and shifted forward, her eyes intense on Beatrice. “Did he know anything?”
Beatrice sagged a bit at that. “Well, no. Not much about the club other than it existed and that they commissioned the rings for it.”
Harrington was studying his hands while Beatrice spoke. He glanced up when she finished, his little half smile tugging at his lips. “I was telling Lady Beatrice that any information on a case such as this is a step forward. I do believe we discovered several things today. Important or not, they could lead to the right clue in the end to help solve the mystery.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes dangerously, seemingly recovered from her brush with danger. “You are right, of course, Mr. Harrington,” she said, sounding as if she wanted nothing more than to be able to say the opposite to him. “The jeweler also told us that a young man had come in asking about the very same ring.”
Gemma’s muscles bunched. “Our villain,” she murmured. Lucas’s eyes slid to hers and their gazes held.
“Possibly,” Mr. Harrington cautioned.
“What did you learn about him?” Lucas asked.
“He is not a wealthy man.” Beatrice turned to Lucas and Gemma when she spoke. She missed Harrington’s approving nod, but Gemma did not.
“Why do you say that?” Gemma asked. They suspected it was someone who ran in their circles of the ton, but that did not mean that he was necessarily rich.
Beatrice glanced at Harrington, who remained quiet, letting her share the information. “The young man visited the jeweler to try to either force him to make a replica of the ring, or to simply get information out of him,” she said. She shrugged, though, an unladylike gesture that Gemma found endearing. “It does not matter, for I would wager he was unsuccessful on both accounts. The jeweler would not make another ring, and, as I said, did not seem to have a depth of knowledge about the men who had commissioned them. But, our villain—if we are to assume he is our villain—stopped to admire a pocket watch on his way out. When told the price he continued on his way.”
“If he were a collector and had the blunt, I believe he would have purchased what he was admiring,” Harrington added.
Lucas nodded. “That has sound logic to it, and fits with other aspects of the case. We believe he is blackmailing a number of people,” he said, without revealing he was one of the victims. Poor Beatrice, Gemma thought, before Lucas continued. “Just as much as they can afford, and not more. It might be paying for the villain to be able to keep up appearances. A Season in London is an expensive endeavor.”
“He also had a description of the man,” Beatrice informed them.
“Oh!” Gemma exclaimed, sitting forward on the edge of the seat. Why they had not mentioned that fact first?
Harrington cleared his throat. “It was a young man. Blond, curly hair. He walked with a limp and had a cockney accent.”
Lucas sat back, steepling his fingers. “Ah.”
Beatrice, though, looked as confused as Gemma felt. “That is wonderful, is it not, Lucas? That will help us narrow down our field of suspects dramatically.”
Lucas and Harrington exchanged a knowing glance. “Does it not seem a bit too easy, my dear? For us to have a very precise picture of the villain,” Lucas drawled. “My guess is we are in fact looking for the opposite of that descriptor.”
“You see, Miss Lancaster, they are quite obvious traits,” Harrington added. “They are something a witness would see and remember, and then remember nothing else. The person could be invisible in plain sight.”
“The accent, though, I wonder at,” Lucas said. “If he is not a wealthy man and can affect a cockney accent at will, then perhaps he was not raised a gentleman.”
“And you learned something else today, too,” Gemma said, after they had spent a few moments in contemplation. “You learned that we are on the right path with the ring. Our current predicament has something to do with the secret club your father helped start years ago.”
“We also learned that you ladies should not be involved in this case any further,” Lucas said, his face set.
“That is enough, my lord,” Gemma said with barely controlled temper. “This is my case, too. More so mine than yours. And I will decide for myself if it is safe enough.”
“Hear, hear, Miss Lancaster,” Beatrice cheered. “This dreadful experience only made me want to find the culprit more. Now tell me, you are to visit Vauxhall tonight? Are you ever so excited?”
The men exchanged a meaningful glance Gemma was sure Lucas thought she had missed. But she did not. High-handed, arrogant… She turned to Beatrice. “I cannot wait.”
Chapter Eleven
Gemma was buzzing by the time they arrived at Vauxhall. They had taken a boat across the river to get to the pleasure gardens, and she had never felt more exotic. She’d wanted to draw a lazy hand through the river, even though she knew that would not have been a smart idea.
But it wasn’t just the excitement of the adventure that was making her blood hum and her pulse skitter. It was him.
She hadn’t even tried to deny it or justify it to herself. She just let her eyes have free rein over his features. Something pulsed deep within her when a lock of dark hair fell over his eyes. The feeling was so new to her that she could barely put a name to it. But in the quiet of the night she recognized it for what it was.
Desire.
They joined the mass of people streaming into the pleasure gardens. Some were masked; others were decked out in marvelous gowns. The excitement of the crowd shot through the air like lightning.
She was determined to enjoy the night and put the investigation out of her thoughts as they strolled toward the brightly colored tents. Music and laughter floated by. It was similar to a ball, Gemma thought, but she preferred the gardens. Being outside under the blanket of stars and inky night sky felt somehow magical, like anything could happen here, and did. A small child dashed by, a lolly in hand, giggling wildly; an older man helped his wife onto a bench to wait for the fireworks; a group of young men guffawed and punched each other’s arms, putting on a show for the ladies who had just walked by with their chaperones. And underneath it all was an undercurrent of wildness—a sense of inevitability since they were all free from many of society’s strict rules.
“Do you come here often when you are in town, my lord?” she asked, nodding to an acquaintance she recognized.
“Almost never, actually. My parents brought us when we were children, of course. But I have only been back a time or two since then,” he answered.
“Why did you want to bring me here tonight?” she asked, curious.
It was as if he were courting her.
The fanciful notion was captivating but dangerous for her heart to believe. They were partners on a case, nothing more—regardless of the desire that sparked across her skin when he touched her, or the feeling that blossomed in the pit of her stomach when he turned those emerald eyes on her.
He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. “One of the last times I came here I had just finished my education. I was about to take on all the responsibilities of an earl’s heir. I knew all my life that was what I was destined to do—run our estates, take care of the family name.” He paused. “I am not resentful of it, but at the time I was feeling…a bit stifled, as young men can. I was unaware of all the privilege I was afforded, and instead focused on all that I would not be able to do.”
“That seems natural,” Gemma said, pulling him to a stop at the edge of a small crowd. A vibrant canary and crimson canvas was sprawled on the ground, attached to a large woven basket. A small man with a large gray mustache and very little hair u
nder his tall top hat was gesturing frenetically at the contraption.
“You can kiss the sky!” His voice boomed over the crowd as he bounced and danced around. “Fly with the angels, sing with the birds, look down on your fellow man as if they were the smallest of creatures!”
“I would think you would want to avoid flying with angels, as that would mean you have been called to your reward a bit early,” Lucas said under his breath.
Gemma laughed. “Oh, hush. It does look amazing, does it not? I have always wanted to go up in a hot air balloon. Perhaps we could share the experience with someone a bit saner, though, yes? He seems like he is about to turn cartwheels.”
Lucas smirked, and they continued on.
“Please, my lord, finish your thoughts from earlier,” Gemma prompted.
“Yes, right. Well, I came here one night with some chaps from school, I don’t even remember who anymore. But when I got here…” He trailed off, seeming hesitant. “It was a different world. Dock workers, dandies, whores, families. It was like traveling to a different country, to an exotic land—England felt continents away. It made me want to travel.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “And by that I mean travel, nothing more. I wanted to see the world. I thought you would like to experience that. As you are committed to staying in London until we solve this case, I wanted to give you a taste of adventure.”
She felt a long, slow swoop in her chest and wondered how long she’d been in love with this man. Had it been from the moment he’d forced an introduction? From when he found her hiding in the library? From the moment his lips had touched hers in that sensuous glide? She didn’t know. She had never experienced the feeling before, but she was absolutely sure that she loved him. There was a quiet acceptance and certainty there. This man who wanted to give her adventure, even if it was just at a pleasure garden in the middle of London.
She cleared her throat, shaken. “Well, you have given me that. And I will always remember it.”
“’Tis nothing, really,” he said, embarrassment coloring his voice.
“It is, though,” she said. They entered into a covered walkway that was painted with detailed scenes of lively revelry. She smiled at the image of a curvaceous blond coquette offering wine to a besotted lord. “As much as I consider myself a woman of the world, I have not seen much outside the bounds of our small village. Uncle Artie instilled in me a need to travel and see as much as possible, but my circumstances have tied me to the English countryside. You may think this is nothing, but to me this is everything. I am getting a taste of adventure tonight.”
She smiled up at him, trying to control her emotions. She refused to fall apart just because she realized she was in love with Lucas.
This was not the night to worry about the future. It was not the time to think about how hopeless a true match between them might be. She would not despair over the inevitable end, but cherish the moments that she had with him. Savor the look of him, his smile, the way he made her laugh…even if it was just for this one night.
A loud crack brought her back to reality. She giggled out her nerves and turned toward the sound: the fireworks had begun.
The dark sky exploded with golds and blues; greens and purples. She leaned against Lucas and let his warmth seep into her as she enjoyed the display. She’d thought falling in love would be like the fireworks, a riot of noise, color, and light. It had been more of a slow burn.
They clapped at the finale, sparks raining down like falling stars. Gemma never wanted it to end, and was happy there was still more to see.
“Oh!” She let out a happy exclamation and pointed toward one of the tents. “Look, Lucas, it is a tightrope walker. Let us go watch.”
After the demonstration, Lucas pulled her to her feet, and they joined the crowd pushing toward the exit. The audience was being herded into one path and people were jostling about, eager to get on to the next attraction. For the first time all night she began to feel claustrophobic. A gentleman bumped into her from behind, and she felt a catch in her throat. She was not prone to discomfort in large crowds, but she was getting desperate to reach the cool fresh air.
A moment later she felt a hand push something into hers. She clutched at it without thought, glancing back to catch a glimpse of who was behind her. She saw a flash of blond hair, but before she could see a face, a pair of hands on her back propelled her toward the hard ground. It happened so fast she did not have time to brace for the impact. Lucas grabbed her arm before she hit the dirt, hauling her up and close to him. He pulled her to the side and out of the flow of the masses.
“Are you all right?” His eyes roved over her face, searching for signs of injury as he maintained his grip on her.
She felt out of sorts, but conducted a mental inventory on herself. “I am unhurt, my lord.” Gemma glanced back toward the entrance. “I did not trip, though. I was pushed.”
Lucas went still. “Someone knocked into you?”
She shook her head. “It was not an accident. Someone wanted me to fall. I felt the hands on my back. It was deliberate.”
Lucas’s eyes shot back to the crowd, scanning faces. “He is probably long gone, my lord,” she told him. His fingers clenched on her arms for a brief moment, his face a hard mask. “I think it was because of this.” She held up the folded slip of paper she’d managed to hold on to during the incident.
He studied her face. Outrage shown in his eyes, but his gaze caressed her skin. Her own breathing was returning to normal, and she waited patiently for his adrenalin-fueled anger to subside as well.
Finally, his gaze slid to the note in her hand. “What is it?”
“I do not know. Someone slipped it to me moments before I was pushed. I turned to see if I could identify the culprit, and that’s when I was shoved to the ground,” she said.
He took the paper she held out to him, his jaw clenching as he read it. She reached over and snatched it back to read it herself.
Dearest Gemma,
Abandon this reckless path you have set upon. Stay out of this affair. If not, someone will end up hurt. Or worse. You do not want that on your conscience, do you, my darling?
She exhaled and met Lucas’s grim eyes. “The writing. Is it the same?”
“It looks similar to the blackmail demands,” he confirmed.
Excitement hummed through Gemma, at odds with what she thought she should be experiencing at such a moment.
“I cannot say I enjoyed the encounter, but between the carriage incident this afternoon, and now this…well, now we know one thing,” Gemma said.
“What is that?”
“We are doing something right.”
…
Lucas tapped the roof of the carriage, a signal they were ready for their next destination: Lord Dalton’s residence.
To her credit, she appeared in good spirits after the encounter. He had been watching her closely since her lithe body had crashed into him on her way toward the ground.
He would not forget the terror soon. The fact that she was unhurt was irrelevant; someone had been close enough to slip that paper into her hand. If the person had wanted to, he could have slipped a knife between Gemma’s ribs and been gone before Lucas even realized she was injured.
He had to do a better job of protecting her. She was so willing to march directly into danger and that meant it was up to him to keep her safe. Sweat beaded on his palms at the thought of not being able to keep her out of harm’s way. He’d lived through that before. But for some reason he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive it, if something happened to Gemma. He didn’t want to delve into why he knew it would be different. He wasn’t ready.
He watched the moonlight play along the soft contours of her face. Something about her pulled at him. There was attraction there, especially in his heightened state of awareness. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her soft body, to reassure them both they were very much alive.
But that’s not all.
It was the t
enderness. The way her happiness was his. The way her pain was his. Tonight had been a sharp reminder that this was not a woman he could walk away from easily.
Gemma did not attempt to fill the silence, for which he was grateful. It gave him time to think. By the time the carriage clattered to a halt at the end of the alleyway behind Lord Dalton’s house, he had formulated a plan. While he did not think Gemma would particularly like it, he knew she would come around eventually. It made sense. He would mention it to her tomorrow, though, after all the emotions surrounding her assault had calmed. As it was, she would be upset. She might even believe he’d tricked her. She would not want to feel he’d been pressured into the decision by outside forces.
He shifted his attention to the alleyway. He had instructed the coachman to stop around the block so they could enter through the back gardens without being noticed. He considered telling Gemma to stay in the carriage, but he knew she would not follow such orders. And it would be better to keep her close, he told himself. He could keep an eye on her that way.
He made a few adjustments to his clothing, stripping off the crisp white cravat from his neck, turning up the collar of his dark greatcoat. He eyed Gemma’s apparel with approval: she’d chosen a dark green gown with a black cloak. Her hair was slicked back and out of the way, and she’d worn sturdy boots instead of soft, ineffectual slippers.
“That was impressive, my lord,” Gemma commented from her darkened corner of the carriage. “You fade into the night as if you were a shadow.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The skill has come in handy a time or two.”
“I’m sure,” she said, nodding that she was ready after adjusting her skirts one last time.
He jumped to the loose pebbles below, not bothering to lower the carriage’s steps. He landed with the grace of a hunting cat and spun to grasp Gemma by the waist, lifting her down from the cab. He let his fingers skim up to her rib cage almost to her breasts before dropping away. Her eyes were deep pools in the dark night. Focus, he told himself.
One Step Behind Page 14