A Perfect Gentleman

by Barbara Metzger

“You carry a pistol around with you?” The idea of a gun in any woman’s hands was terrifying.

  She nodded. “For protection. Especially now, not knowing what happened to Isabelle.”

  “And you let it drop like that? Good gods, ma’am, don’t you know those things are notoriously unreliable, hair trigger or not?” He knew he was ranting, more to cover his licentious thoughts than anything else. In a way he was thankful that Miss Kane had reverted to being rattle-brained, which he could manage far better than her being ravishing. Ravishable, ravish-meant, rats! “By heaven, it could have gone off when it hit the ground. Thunderation, you might have shot yourself, or me! Of all the cockle-headed, caperwitted ideas, that one wins the—”

  “It was not loaded.”

  He turned to look at her. It was safe now that her head was all covered in that crime against manhood. Of course, now he could not see her eyes or her expression. “Good grief, ma’am, how can an empty pistol be protection?”

  “Oh, that is your job now,” she said as she took his arm to walk toward her maid and the park exit. “Isn’t it?”

  Chapter Ten

  “You could have hired a blasted bodyguard!”

  “Yes, but he could not have helped find my sister.” As they neared the bench where her maid sat, Ellianne asked, “Do you have siblings, my lord?”

  “No, to my regret. Not even a half brother or sister. I do have a handful of cousins scattered across the country, mostly on my mother’s side. I have barely seen them since her passing.”

  “Isabelle and Aunt Lally are all the family I have left now. I would do anything for my sister, pay any amount to have her returned. Or if she does not wish to come home, I would do anything in my power to see that she is safe and happy. Anything.”

  “Even hiring a vagrant viscount to parade you through polite society, which can be anything but polite?” He smiled at his own self-deprecation.

  “If that is what it takes, my lord, then yes.”

  “I would feel more comfortable if you managed to forget the title part. Well, the vagrant part too, but I’d rather you called me by name. For both our sakes, we can give out that our families have some distant connection. No one needs to know that you had to hire yourself a gentleman escort.”

  “Or that you have to squire misfit misses about Town to pay your bills.”

  “Oh, I think everyone knows that by now,” Stony said, “but they will accept the pretense of a longstanding friendship.”

  Ellianne had to laugh. “They cannot be such fools as to believe Ellis Kane and the former Viscount Wellstone were bosom bows.”

  “No, but your aunt might have introduced us years ago, as a distant cousin to my mother.”

  The notion of her penny-pinching Aunt Augusta introducing her to a profligate peer was almost as absurd as her egalitarian Aunt Lally making her known to a pockets-to-let lord. She laughed again, and Stony had to smile at the sound.

  “So will you? Call me by name, that is. Nobody but Gwen addresses me as Aubrey, but Wellstone will do if you cannot bring yourself to call me Stony.”

  “I will think about it.” The informality might raise other questions, fueling more gossip that she wished to avoid. She did not suggest that he call her by her given name, either.

  By this time they had reached her maid. The attendant’s presence a few steps behind them put an end to any personal, private exchanges, although they both knew their conversation was not concluded.

  *

  For Ellianne’s part, she thought things had gone well so far, although Lord Wellstone was a bit more assertive than she might have liked. Ripping up her chart was certainly no act of a subservient employee, nor was shouting at her about the pistol. Alternatively, a docile, biddable man might not serve her purposes half as well. She simply had to be more forceful, so his lordship did not forget who was steering the ship, so to speak. Toward that end, she decided, she might stop using his honorifics, but she would not relinquish the dignity of Miss Kane. Let Lord—no, let plain Wellstone, although there was nothing plain about him, from his shining blond curls to his polished leather boots—remember that she was a woman of substance, of standing, of independence. Otherwise, she feared, he would be treating her like one of his silly protégées, or a pet pony on a leading string. Goodness, he’d be calling her Ellie next, or the dreaded Nell, or “my girl.”

  His girl? Where had that idea come from? Perhaps the sun had been stronger than Ellianne thought, for her cheeks were growing warm. She erased any notion of such familiarity from her mind on the instant. He was her hireling, that was all.

  It was too bad that she could not call him Stony, though. The name suited him, not that there was anything gray or harsh or forbidding about his countenance or personality. The casual shortening of his title seemed to match both his open friendliness and the solid strength of his character, though. For a moment Ellianne regretted that they could never be friends, that an ocean of differences flowed between them, that she had to maintain her authority.

  Ellianne thought she had conducted herself in a manner befitting her age and consequence. Except for when she screeched at him for destroying her chart, or when she dropped the reticule with the loaded pistol. Of course it was loaded. She was not fool enough to carry a weapon she could not fire—or to argue a minor point with an angry, officious gentleman. Oh, and she was not proud of herself for becoming moonstruck in the morning, just because an attentive, handsome, virile man had leaned close enough to her that she could breathe the same air he did.

  Other than those few lapses, Ellianne told herself, she had done well. She had not been permanently reduced to schoolgirlish imbecility over a practiced charmer, and she had acquired the perfect colleague for her quest. Together—but with her in charge—they would find Isabelle. Ellianne felt comforted by the thump of the heavy reticule against her right thigh, and the firmly muscled arm under her left hand.

  *

  Stony liked the fact that he did not have to shorten his stride to accommodate a petite female. He liked too that Miss Kane’s wider skirts, while not precisely unfashionable, allowed her free movement. For once he did not have to walk at a woman’s mincing pace. He also liked the fact that he was one of the few people, so far, who knew what was concealed behind the obscuring black coverings. Half of him couldn’t wait to see the ton’s reaction to the woman, sure to be dubbed an Original. Another half wanted to clasp her secret to himself like a precious jewel. A third half—he was that flummoxed—still wanted to clasp her, period.

  He would not, of course. His job was to act as escort—and detective, it seemed—not seducer. With that check in his pocket, the woman was in his care, and out of bounds.

  Of course, nothing in his personal code of honor said that he could not enjoy himself, or could not try to bring some pleasure to his client. He remembered her laugh, no titter, no giggle that grated on one’s nerves, just a sound that had to make anyone near her smile in return. She should laugh more, and would, he swore, as soon as they found her sister.

  He’d rather not examine why he should care so much about relieving her anxieties, but he thought any decent man would feel the same. The sister was in hugger-mugger up to her eyebrows, but his Miss Kane was innocent of anything more than devotion to her family, which he could understand and admire. As for understanding anything more of how the woman’s muddled mind worked… Well, she was a female. There was no comprehending.

  Contrary to his first impressions, Stony thought he might come to like her, when she came down off her high horse. Someone had to keep reminding her that she was a woman, an incredibly attractive one at that, not a financier. The gentlemen of her acquaintance must have made poor work of it, for the woman seemed oblivious to her allure. She thought her brilliant hair was impossible and unfashionable. Hah! When had glory been out of style? Stony thought he just might take on the job of proving that Miss Kane’s worth did not lie in her wealth. Add that to the chore of finding the sister, and Stony was pleased wi
th his new undertaking. Here was a far better challenge than choosing which waistcoat to wear, or which gentleman might make an acceptable dance partner for someone’s spotty sister. He started to whistle a jaunty tune.

  *

  Amazingly enough, the parrot was singing the same tune when they arrived at Miss Kane’s residence, if the squawking could be considered a song. Unfortunately, the parrot was singing the words, not whistling. Even more unfortunately, the verse to “The Mermaid’s Ball” was not fit for the ears of a gentlewoman. Stony was left to wonder once more about the bird’s former owner when the maid clapped her hands over her ears and fled for the servants’ stairs, and Miss Kane hurried into the front parlor.

  “To put Polly in his place,” she said, slamming the parlor door behind her before Stony could follow. He stayed where he was, waiting for her return, so they might find a private place to continue their discussion. Stony had a few more queries to make, especially about the Bow Street man’s investigation, so he did not repeat the other man’s obviously futile search into coaching inns, et cetera.

  Timms was not on duty in the entry hall, but Stony was not concerned at missing a conversation with the old man. Miss Kane had given him ample information to consider, answering a lot of the questions Stony would have put to the butler. If Timms was as forgetful as Miss Kane said, he’d be of no help anyway.

  Except for fetching another bottle of that excellent Madeira.

  Ah, there he came. But no, the wheezing breaths might have been Timms’s, but that scrabbling sound was not the butler’s slow footstep. It was claws on marble tile, tearing down the long hall, sliding on loose carpet runners, careening off walls and side tables, straight for Stony. “No, Atlas. No. Good dog, sit.”

  Atlas did not sit. He kept coming, barreling down the hall like an asthmatic ale keg on legs. Stony could not afford a new pair of boots, or gloves for that matter. He looked around, frantic to find something to— Aha! The huge bouquet of exotic blooms in the Chinese urn. He snatched out a huge red flower to throw.

  “Silk? The flowers are made out of blasted silk? No, Atlas. Friends, boy. We are friends.”

  Atlas must have had a memory problem too. He did not seem to recall the viscount. He was steps away from Stony’s boots, about to launch himself for an attack. Could he reach a man’s throat? Could a toothless bulldog do any damage to a strong, fit man? Stony was not waiting to find out. He dove for the front door, pulled it open, and dashed through it. Atlas was on his heels. Atlas was out. Atlas was flying through the air. Before the dog’s short legs touched the ground, Stony swiveled and was back inside, the door firmly closed behind him.

  He adjusted his neckcloth and was placing the red flower back in the urn when Miss Kane came back to the entry. “Did I hear someone at the door?” she asked.

  “Oh, that was Atlas. He seemed to want to go out, so I opened the door for him. He does know his way back in, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, and how kind of you. I am more and more convinced that you are the perfect gentleman to assist me. I do have a few more items to discuss with you first, though. Will you come with me?”

  So she was once more the banker’s prim and proper maiden daughter, Stony thought as he followed her down the hall. She paused occasionally to kick a rug back into alignment with her foot, and once she bent to unfold a lifted corner. She’d removed the pelisse, though, and the black bonnet, leaving her hair loose except for two tortoiseshell combs at the sides. Her gown was crafted by a master seamstress, cradling what appeared to be ample breasts for such a thin woman, and the silk skirt, when she bent over, showed a nicely curved derriere. No starchy old spinster ever looked like this, he’d swear, a grin on his face.

  “This is serious business, Wellstone,” she said as they entered a well-stocked book room. She made sure the door was left partly open, for propriety’s sake, then sat at a large desk, indicating that he should take the smaller, facing seat across the vast expanse.

  He stayed on his feet.

  “If you are worried that this is the desk that Aunt Augusta hit her head upon, you may rest easy. I had that one carted out and this one brought down from the attics in its place.”

  A jerk of her head signaled him to sit.

  Stony looked at the wide desk, and the position of authority Miss Kane had claimed, and strolled about the room instead, admiring the depth of the collection on the shelves. A man could spend months here, visiting with old friends. And a woman could be taught not to play games with a professional.

  Miss Kane cleared her throat. She had another piece of paper in her hand, another chart.

  Stony knew he’d rather read the driest book of sermons than whatever she had written there. “Yes?”

  She consulted the paper in front of her and cleared her throat again, as if to make way for some unpleasantness she had to relate. “I wish to discuss the terms and conditions of your employ, so that neither of us has unfounded expectations.”

  “But I agreed to help find your sister in whatever manner is required. Finding Strickland, looking into whichever young ladies might have been her confidantes.” Stony had other ideas of how to proceed, but Miss Kane did not need to know about his going to exclusive brothels, or asking around whether anyone had recently taken a new redheaded mistress into his keeping. If the girl looked like her sister…

  Then again, if Isabelle had that poker up her backside like Miss Kane, he might save the effort. She had not flown the coop to fly with the birds of paradise.

  “Yes,” Miss Kane was saying, “and I have every confidence you will perform your part admirably. But these”—she tapped the list with one finger—“are more intangible aspects of my requirements. For instance, I must be assured of your discretion. I would be a fool to tell people that Isabelle is visiting relatives if you contradict me at a later date. In your clubs, perhaps, or in your cups.”

  “I do not drink to excess, if that is what you are tiptoeing around with your list. Nor do I gossip about my affairs. I would never be entrusted with a young woman again were I to bandy her name in smoke-filled rooms. For that matter, no lady would speak to me if I betrayed her confidences. Do you wish me to supply references, testimonies to my character? That might be difficult without divulging names, which, of course, I am sworn to keep private.”

  She ignored the sarcasm, and the angry tapping of his fingers on the bookshelves. “A young woman’s reputation is invaluable.”

  “As is the reliability of a man’s word.”

  “Quite.” She checked the first item off her list. “Next is loyalty. You were known to, um, escort more than one young lady at a time. My sister is an extremely wealthy young woman. What if someone else offered you more money than I do to find her for his own reasons? Or to not find her?”

  Now his booted toe joined Stony’s fingers in a rapid tattoo. Was she really accusing him of turning traitor?

  “I should wish to know that man’s reasons. The young lady’s welfare must come first.”

  “But if it were a friend of yours who had an interest in my sister and her fortune?”

  “I count as friend no man who would run off with a gently bred female, damaging her reputation and wounding her family.”

  Ellianne’s brows knitted. “I suppose that means I have your loyalty?”

  “I suppose it does.”

  She read off the next item on her list. “Communication. We must have open conversations.”

  “Are we communicating now, Miss Kane?” Stony thought they were having an exercise in seeing how many insults she could offer him before he walked out.

  “Well, yes, but I mean that if you discover any information, I wish to be advised instantly. I do not want to be protected from any unpleasantness, as gentlemen are wont to do with women. Nor do I wish you to take any actions without discussing them with me first.”

  He was supposed to tell her about the bordellos? Or his plan to visit hospitals and the morgue? The docks to see what ships left, and what cargo they
carried? He’d tell her, all right. When pigs flew. He replaced the volume of Aristotle’s Poetics back among its brethren and said, “Miss Isabelle is your sister. Of course you should be kept abreast of the investigation.”

  She smiled then and he almost forgave her for being a prig. Her features softened and golden flecks in her eyes danced when she smiled and said, “There, we are building an excellent understanding, are we not?”

  He understood she was still a prig, who knew nothing of life and less about men. She did not know when enough was enough either. He went back to perusing the shelves, hoping the haughty hen-wit would get the hint, and let him get on with finding her sister.

  “There is one other item on my list, an item of a somewhat…delicate nature.”

  That got his attention.

  “You see,” she began, “I know all about Lady Valentina and your friend Captain Brisbane, who is not the man she is presently engaged to wed.”

  “And?”

  “And I should not like to be placed in any such awkward position. An unprincipled rogue could easily take advantage of my situation, thinking to better line his pockets. I need your word as a gentleman that—”

  Plato slammed back onto the shelf. “Madam, if I am a gentleman, I would not betray a female in my care. If I am not a gentleman, my word is not worth tuppence. You must decide which I am.”

  She bit her lip. “I can see that I have offended you. I am not casting aspersions on your honor; I am simply trying to make it clear that I cannot be forced into marriage like Lady Valentina.” She ignored his snort of derision. “Any attempt to destroy my reputation will fail, because I do not care. I can go home, where, scandal-touched or not, I cannot be denied. I own the bank, and I run the school. The people who matter know who and what I am.”

  “You mean you have paid for their loyalty also?”

  “No! I have earned their—”

  Stony held up his hand. “If it is assurance you want, Miss Kane, let me swear on my mother’s grave that I have absolutely no desire to have you for a wife, at any price.”