Face flaming, she groaned. No, she wouldn’t even
think
of that.
As if prompted by her groan, Mr. Clancy said, “Are you comfortable, milady? Is there anything I can get you? A cushion perhaps? We don’t have any here, but I imagine I could pop round to a shop and—”
“I am perfectly comfortable, thank you,” she put in, praying that her blush did not betray her indecent thoughts.
One thing she could say for Mr. Brennan’s clerk—he was certainly friendly. He quickly launched into another subject. “We were all very happy when Mr. Knighton married your sister, y’know. She’s a fine woman, a fine woman indeed.”
She swallowed her shredded clove. “Thank you. I’m sure she’s flattered by your regard.” If Rosalind even noticed it, with Griff around. The stars in her eyes undoubtedly blinded her to anybody but him.
“It did seem like a good match. She and Mr. Knighton looked happy as larks.”
“They are.” What else did one say to that?
They’re blissfully, annoyingly, maddeningly happy?
She knew it was peevish, but Rosalind’s connubial bliss made her ache with envy. And a bone-deep loneliness. Until this summer, the one consolation of being called a Swanlea Spinster, that dreadful nickname society had given them, was that she shared the title with Rosalind. She’d always assumed that Juliet would marry someday—the girl was too pretty to do otherwise—but Rosalind was to have been her companion in old age. Now she was alone once more.
“They ought to enjoy their stay on the continent,” Mr. Clancy babbled on. “The weather’s fine for travel this time of year.” He leaned forward to wink at her—actually
wink
at her. “Besides, newly married couples never notice a drop of rain or two—”
“How long have you worked for Mr. Brennan?” she broke in before he could speculate on what newly married couples
did
notice.
The clerk adjusted to the abrupt change of subject
without blinking. “Nigh on two months now. Before that, I worked at Knighton Trading. But when Mr. Brennan set up his own office in August, I was awful proud he gave me the job as his clerk.”
August? Directly after his disastrous visit at Swan Park? Surely Mr. Brennan hadn’t parted ways with Griff over that. Yet she couldn’t imagine his leaving Knighton Trading simply because Griff was marrying. That made no sense.
Mr. Clancy warmed to the subject of his employer. “Mr. Brennan has fine prospects ahead of him, fine prospects, to be sure. Long before he set up for himself, he increased the fortunes of many a man with his advice. Indeed, if your ladyship has funds to invest on the Exchange, you couldn’t do better than Mr. Brennan for an adviser.”
“I shall bear it in mind.” She could well imagine where an unprincipled devil like Mr. Brennan had gained such knowledge and in what shady concerns he would invest her money. No, thank you.
Suddenly she heard voices in the hall, and Mr. Clancy leaped from his chair, hurrying around his desk and across the room to the coat rack, where he gathered up a gentleman’s many-caped box coat and beaver hat. Seconds later, a well-dressed young man of obvious refinement entered the foyer, followed closely by Mr. Brennan.
Despite herself, Helena’s pulse quickened at the sight of the burly Mr. Brennan. It was that wretched dream, of course, making her react to him like a silly girl. She must put it out of her mind at once.
She tried to guess from his expression if he’d found out anything, but he didn’t even look at her. He was too busy playing the man of business with his client.
And looking very much the part. He’d replaced his
fustian coat and trousers from yesterday with a tailcoat of dark brown kerseymere, buff leather breeches, and a striped waistcoat, all of which were remarkably well-tailored. He looked attractive, even gentlemanly.
But none of the other attributes of a gentleman were in evidence. As always, the illusion of good breeding on Mr. Brennan was as thin as the veneer of oils on a painting; a mere scrape of a knife would expose raw canvas beneath.
And no canvas was rawer. His speech and manner proclaimed his true character, brash and ungoverned. Instead of tempering his opinions as a man in his position ought, he voiced them freely. Amazingly, his client did not seem to mind. Then again, Mr. Brennan’s familiar manner did have a certain appeal. It always had.
A tiny part of her wished she could be like that—say and do as she pleased without thought to the consequences, without worrying about Mrs. N’s rules. But look where such recklessness had led Juliet.
She would not make the same mistake. Besides, Mr. Brennan was reckless enough for both of them.
“I’ll invest the funds this very day, Brennan,” his client said as Mr. Clancy handed him his coat and hat. “Knighton must have been mad to let you go. But his loss is my gain, eh, old fellow?”
“Just be sure to look over that other proposal.” Mr. Brennan spoke in a brusque and confident tone. “Your gain will be trebled if you invest in that coal mine in Wales, your grace.”
A
duke,
for heaven’s sake. One of his clients was a duke, and Mr. Brennan spoke to him like an equal? His investment advice must be valuable indeed.
“Don’t worry,” the duke was saying, “I’ll consider it carefully. I’ve seen what your counsel has brought Dryden and Blackmore, and I don’t intend to lose my chance
at it. I’ll be sure to make my decision before you return from your trip.”
Trip? All her interest in the duke vanished. She searched Mr. Brennan’s face. Then his gaze met hers, and she knew. He hadn’t found Juliet or Mr. Morgan in London.
The two men continued to talk, but she just sat there numb, wishing she could shove the loquacious duke out the door. Now what? Did Mr. Brennan intend to go after them? But why would he do so after grumbling about her request for his assistance?
She was so distracted, she didn’t notice the surreptitious glances the duke was paying her until he said, “I’d best depart now. I would not wish to keep you from your other visitor.”
Startled, she glanced up to find him eyeing her with interest. No doubt he thought her one of Mr. Brennan’s fancy women. The very idea made her blush.
Thankfully, Mr. Brennan had the good sense not to introduce her and hurried the man out. By the time he returned to her side, she’d already pushed herself to a stand.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, m’lady.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go back to my office?”
“Certainly.” She took it, though holding on to him seemed incredibly intimate. But when his gloved hand covered hers, alarm bells of a different sort jangled in her head. He was being very kind and courteous. Had he discovered something he knew would alarm her? Cold fear turned even her good leg to lead.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asked as they made their slow way across the foyer to a hallway.
Her worry made her curt. “Yes—a whole day, if you’ll recall. But I could not expect you to put aside a duke to attend to a mere annoyance like my sister’s—”
He cleared his throat, and she looked up to see him glance meaningfully at the clerk. Merciful heavens, she must be more discreet. And less tart-tongued.
Honey,
she reminded herself.
I must scent my words with honey.
Glancing around, she forced a smile to her lips. “Your place of business is very pleasant. Very tastefully furnished.”
“I claim no credit for that. Mrs. Knighton did it all.”
“Rosalind did this?” Rosalind was many things, but tasteful wasn’t one of them.
“Christ, no!” he exclaimed, then seemed to remember to whom he was speaking. “I meant Mrs. Leonard Knighton. Griff’s mother.”
“Oh, of course.” That made more sense. Rosalind would have draped the walls in violet silk and gold tassels or something equally…provoking.
“Speaking of Griff’s mother,” he said, “is she still at Swan Park with your father?”
“Yes. I was thankful she could stay there with him while I came to London.”
He made no answer. Having run out of innocuous conversation, they both kept silent until they reached the end of the dark hallway.
He led her into a cramped office piled high with newspapers and books. As he closed the door, she glanced around. This looked more like what she’d expect. Assorted documents littered his desk: snippings from newspapers, letters, and what were probably invoices and bills of lading. All were marked in ink—portions circled, notations scribbled in the margins. An odd device resembling beads on a loom lay atop one pile.
He caught her staring at it. “It’s an abacus,” he explained. “One of Griff’s trader friends taught me how to
use it for calculations.” When she nodded absently, he added, “But you didn’t come here to learn about the tools of a trader. Sit down, if you please. We have much to discuss.”
Her pulse stuttered. “Why? Where are they? Have you found them?”
With a sigh, he circled to stand behind the desk. “No. They’re not in London.”
Though the news came as no surprise, it still struck her hard. She hadn’t realized until just now how much she’d hoped that he’d find them quickly. “You’re sure.”
“Yes. They
were
here, mind you, but they’re not here now. Half a dozen people remembered seeing them both at an inn called the Golden Lion three nights ago. And another several saw Juliet get into a hired carriage with Pryce the next morning.”
“Pryce? Who’s that?”
“It seems that Will Morgan is an alias. The man’s real name is Morgan Pryce.”
An alias. Lord, she couldn’t breathe. The scoundrel was using an alias. “And I suppose he has some nefarious reason for changing his name.”
“We don’t know that. I expect all he wanted was to make it harder for somebody to follow them.”
“But is he a smuggler?”
He hesitated. “It’s…possible.”
“Merciful heavens, I knew it! I knew he was a bad sort! What does he want with Juliet? No, I know what he wants, the wretch. He wants to ruin her, to hurt her—”
“Calm down, m’lady. He doesn’t want any such thing. He called her his fiancée more than once, and nobody ever saw him lay a hand on her except in courtesy. From all I could gather, he truly wants to marry her.”
“If he wants to marry her, it’s only for her dowry—you know that!”
“We don’t know yet what he’s after.” He spoke with an edge of impatience, even irritation. “Everybody I spoke to said he treated her very respectfully. You may be wrong about him. Free traders aren’t all bad, y’know; he might only be eager to marry.”
Her worry twisted into a fury most uncharacteristic of her. “Then he’ll have to settle for marrying one of his fellow smuggler’s sisters, because he is not getting mine!”
“He’s already got her—that’s the trouble.”
“But not for long. You have to help me now. You must!”
“Of course. Why d’you think I spent last night in the taverns finding their direction and this morning preparing to leave?” Resignation laced his words. “Besides, I like Lady Juliet. She may fancy herself in love with the rascal, but she can’t know what she’s got herself into.”
“Of course she doesn’t! Juliet is the most naive, trusting girl in England. He probably spun her a romantic tale to sweep her off her feet.” She stabbed her cane into the carpet viciously. “Well, he can just set her right back on them, because I shan’t stand for this!” Her gaze fixed on his broad shoulders, the ones that seemed capable of bearing any burden. “When do we leave, Mr. Brennan? I can be ready very quickly, I assure you.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “
We
?
We
aren’t going anywhere.
You
are going back to Knighton House and staying there until I return with your sister.”
“What? Not on your life! I shan’t sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you race about the countryside. I’m going with you.”
He drew himself up with all the stubbornness of a man
used to making his way alone in the world. “You’ve got no choice in this. I won’t take you.”
“Then I shall hire one of those Bow Street fellows to take me.”
To her shock, he burst into laughter. “A runner? Not bloody likely. Yesterday you didn’t even know what they were.” He sobered. “Besides, you’re too concerned about your sister’s reputation for that. And with good reason.”
Oh, the man could be so exasperating. “All right, then I’ll follow you myself. Alone, if I must. You can’t prevent me from traveling the same road as you if I wish.”
That wiped the smug assurance right off his face. “You wouldn’t be so foolish.”
“Is it foolish to do all in my power to help Juliet?”
“Following me won’t help her. You’d just get yourself into trouble, too. You’d be prey to every blackguard and varlet who trawls the highway. And what will you do if one of them tries to take your money or worse? Fight?”
“If I must. I’m not worried about myself, only Juliet.”
Rounding his desk, he strode up to loom over her. As always, his sheer size roused a trifle apprehension in her chest. She feared no man, but Mr. Brennan was not just any man. For one thing, despite her height, her nose reached only to the top of his shoulder…his big, brawny shoulder attached to an arm that could fell her with one swipe.
He was so close now that his breath warmed her cheek. “See here, Helena, can’t you trust me with this at least?” His tone was softer, laced with genuine concern. He’d never used her Christian name without her title, and it seemed shockingly intimate…and thrilling at the same time. “I’ll bring her back safe as can be. There’s no need for you to go.”
“But there is. I know what he looks like. That sketch is not nearly good enough, but I can recognize him—”
“And I can recognize your sister, which is all that matters.”
She went on the offensive. “What reason could you have for
not
taking me? Other than the stupid ones you’ve given so far?”
“Stupid?” He stepped back from her with a low oath. “To be concerned for your safety? Pryce might be a smuggler, remember? I’ll have to go into seedy taverns and unsavory inns to ask after him, places you shouldn’t even enter.”
“I don’t have to go into all those places with you. I’ll simply stay out of your way while you do.”