England's Perfect Hero (37 page)

"I changed my mind," she interrupted, then took a moment to run her gaze down the length of him and back. "You look… interesting."

"Um, excuse me, but if you don't have time to tell me what's going on, you certainly don't have time for this," Evie put in. "We need to get back. Did you hear enough to convince you?"

"Almost," he returned. "Evie, I need a moment."

Lady St. Aubyn grimaced. "Yes, of course you do. I'll be over there." She stalked back to the entrance of the alley, folded her arms across her chest, and turned her back on the two of them.

"What do you want to know?" Lucinda asked, tugging at his sleeve.

"You're the reason I have another day, aren't you?" he murmured, searching her eyes.

"We'd best be right about this, Robert," she whispered back, "or I will have a great deal of apologizing to do to my father."

"Speaking of General Barrett, I… need to know if you would be willing to ask him about the source of the rumors again. No one else needs to hear about it, but it would answer the last question for me about this."

"About Geoffrey, you mean," she said quietly.

"Lucinda, I don't know how else to do this. I'm sorr—"

"My father told Geoffrey about you and Chateau Pagnon. It had to have been the day before he went to his meeting," she interrupted. "It was before I confirmed that you were the one who told me, but he already knew it was you."

White-hot relief pierced through him. They'd been right. It had to be Geoffrey. His lips curved in a smile, even though he knew it wasn't appropriate, even though he knew how much she had to have hated asking her father the question. "Thank you."

"I like that," she whispered.

"Like what?"

She lifted her hand, running her fingers along his mouth. "When you smile." Leaning up, she kissed him again, slowly, as if she savored the touch as much as he did. "We have to get back."

"And I have an errand to run. Can you keep him occupied?"

" Yes. Be careful, Robert. And if you have to leave the country to save yourself, then leave. But you had best get word to me about where you are."

He touched her cheek. "You're the reason I smile," he murmured, and strode away. He had a house to break into.

"Stop stalling," Robert snapped, stalking back and forth. "I don't like leaving Lucinda there to keep that bastard at bay."

"I believe St. Aubyn and Evie are with her," Tristan said dryly, his gaze on the small house beyond the row of shrubs. "And I prefer not to be seen breaking in somewhere."

"He's not home, Dare. That's the point. Jesus Christ." Robert pointed at the leopard-shaped face piece Tristan held in one hand. "And we have masks. Let's go." Their third companion leaned against an elm tree, but he wasn't watching the house. Rather, he'd been staring at Robert for the past three minutes. And it was becoming rather annoying. "What?" he finally snapped, turning.

The Duke of Wycliffe tilted his head. "I'm merely trying to get used to a few things," he drawled. "Your clothes, for one."

"I told you, it's a disguise. Bloody hell."

"And your increased vocabulary, for another."

"Get used to it later." Robert threw up his hands. "I'm going. You two can talk each other to death if you want, but don't expect me to listen to it."

Grumbling, he drew the tiger mask over his face and started across the street. A moment later he heard Wycliffe and Tristan fall in behind him, and he increased his pace, trying not to limp. If anything could give him away, it would be that.

"Ready?" he murmured, lifting his hand to the door knocker. "Office first, then library, and then bedchamber. If it's not any of those places, we tear the damned house apart."

The other two nodded, and he knocked at the door. A moment later it opened. The butler, a dignified older man, gave them one look and shrieked. "Robbers!"

Scrambling backward as Robert pushed his way into the house, the butler grabbed a walking cane and swung it. Robert intercepted, blocking the blow with his arm and then wrenching the cane from the butler's hands. "Get in there," he growled, gesturing at the closet off the morning room.

"But—"

"Inside," Wycliffe echoed in his lower rumble, half lifting the servant off his feet and tossing him into the storage room.

A pair of footmen emerged from the servants' hall. Pointing the cane like a pistol, Robert advanced on them. "Both of you, in there with the butler."

"Six servants total," Wycliffe called, releasing the butler's neckcloth.

"And only three of you," the larger of the two footmen said, fisting both hands.

"We're not after anything that rightfully belongs here," Robert snapped, losing patience, "and we don't want to hurt anyone. But don't get in our way."

"Bugger that."

The footman swung at him. Ducking, Robert brought the cane around and thwacked it into the side of the man's head. He dropped like a stone. Robert looked at the second man. "In the closet or on the floor. Your choice."

With a grimace the man lifted his hands and sidestepped toward the storage room. Tristan crouched to grab the downed servant under the arms and drag him inside, as well.

"Next time," he said, panting, "only knock out the scrawny ones."

"Three more," Robert said, heading down the servants' hall toward the kitchens. "Check upstairs."

He heard Tristan pound up the stairs while Wycliffe kept watch on the three in the closet. It was doubtful the servants knew anything about Lord Geoffrey's activities, but neither did he want them fleeing the house and bringing half of Bow Street back with them. The search needed to be done quickly, and they needed to be gone before Geoffrey returned.

A cook and her helper washed pots in the kitchen, and it only took a moment's persuasion to convince them to join their fellows. Dare came downstairs at the same time, a large, panicked-looking-housekeeper preceding him. As soon as the servants were closed in, Wycliffe locked and barricaded the closet door.

"All right," Dare muttered. "Let's find those damned papers."

"That's a fine-looking bay," Geoffrey said, leaning so close to Lucinda that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"Yes, he's lovely," she agreed, using every ounce of willpower to keep from edging away from him. "I've seen him at auction before though, haven't I?"

"You have," Saint agreed. "He threw Lord Rayburne last week, and that was after he bit Totley's son last autumn."

"Hm. Probably a bit headstrong for Papa, then." She'd spied Bradshaw a few moments earlier, seated on a balcony with half a dozen young ladies of questionable reputation. With Saint beside her and Shaw keeping a watch, she should have felt perfectly safe. She couldn't help thinking, though, that the man standing next to her had been inside her house, had chatted and lied about God knew what with her father, had even kissed her and asked her to marry him.

And if they were right, he'd stolen papers that could have no purpose but to start a war. He'd spread a rumor knowing the damage it would do to another man—counting on the damage it would do. Why? Had Robert just been convenient? Or had Geoffrey considered his victim, and figured that Robert would be an easy target? Either way, they were in the process of proving him wrong.

"Half the fun with a headstrong animal is breaking it," Geoffrey observed.

Lucinda kept her gaze on the pen before them, hoping he'd been speaking in generalities and hadn't meant to send anyone in particular—her—a message. And she knew that wasn't so.

"Lord Geoffrey, you're hoping for a posting in India, are you not?" Evie said brightly.

"Yes, I am. Wellington served there, and it didn't do
him
any harm."

"And would you wish your spouse to join you there?"

Geoffrey turned his pretty green eyes on Lucinda. "I expect that she would wish to be by my side."

But her father had made it clear to Geoffrey that the decision of whether or not to travel to India would be hers. She couldn't mention that, though, without him realizing that she'd been eavesdropping. How odd, though, that even before she'd known about his involvement in this mess, the idea of Geoffrey going off to India without her for several years hadn't caused her a moment of hesitation—while just the thought of Robert fleeing London sent her into a panic of yearning and need.

Thank goodness this friendly conversation was only a pretense now. She forced a smile. "I've heard so many enchanting things about India. The spices, the music—it all seems so exotic." She paused as another thought occurred to her. As long as they were looking for evidence… "I'm certain the general would enjoy it there, as well."

Something passed behind those emerald eyes, so quickly she couldn't be certain what it was. "General Barrett? He'd be welcome, of course, but I hardly think he'd find it interesting. None of his old cronies would be there, after all, for him to regale with his stories."

"But you and I would be there."

"Yes, of course. Having a superior officer of General Barrett's reputation in the house would be very prestigious, to be sure, but he is becoming elderly, Lucinda. Don't you think he'd be more comfortable here? The ocean voyage itself can be quite harrowing."

Well, this was interesting. General Barrett's "reputation" for honesty and fairness would also have the effect of making it more difficult for his son-in-law if said relation intended to engage in smuggling, or coercion, or profiteering, the swiftest, surest ways for an enterprising young major to make his fortune. "My goodness. 'Harrowing?' I'm not certain
I'd
be comfortable there," she returned. "If I even survived the journey."

His smile tightened. "Surely this is a conversation best left for another time and another setting," he murmured.

"I'm merely familiarizing myself with your plans," she said. "It occurs to me that you haven't told me much more than the basics. If you wish us to marry, I think I have some right to know where I'm expected to live, for instance."

"You're a general's daughter. Surely you're accustomed to a military lifestyle."

"I was practically a child when my father fought on the Continent. I stayed with my aunt, and at various finishing schools. He didn't want me traveling about in soldiers' camps."

He gazed at her. "So your delay in answering my proposal wasn't in deference to Carroway's troubles," he said slowly. "You don't wish to marry me at all."

Drat
. Suspecting him as she did, he'd made her more angry with practically every sentence he spoke, and she'd stepped too far. "That's not what I said. I merely wish to have all possible information first."

"Look, Lucinda," Evelyn broke in, "that bay is gorgeous."

"And you chose here to have this conversation?" Geoffrey pursued, ignoring Evie.

Oh, hang being amiable
. "You're the one who said you enjoyed breaking headstrong animals," she retorted. "How am I supposed to interpret that?"

He wrapped hard fingers around her upper arm. "Answer me this, Lucinda. After this mess with your good friend is concluded, do you intend to accept my proposal? Or are you merely baiting me to amuse your friends and waste my…"

This time she didn't want to interpret what flashed across his eyes. Closing his mouth, he turned on his heel.

"Geoffrey!" she called after him. "Where are you—"

"Damnation," Saint hissed. "A little hard on him, weren't you?"

"If I'd fluttered and giggled he would have known something was wrong," she returned, turning her frantic gaze toward Bradshaw. He'd vanished as well, hopefully to warn Robert that Geoffrey was most likely on his way home. "Blast it. I'm so stupid."

"No, you're not," Evie countered. "You're right. Once this began, one way or another he was bound to realize we were delaying him here for no particular reason. That's why Bradshaw was keeping an eye on things, as well."

"What vehicle did you arrive in?" Saint asked, taking one of the ladies' hands in each of his and heading away from the pens.

"A curricle. My maid was waiting for us there. Oh, goodness. He wouldn't hurt Helena, would he?"

"I don't think so. It would take him a moment to remove her, though. Shaw's on horseback, so he should end with a five- or six-minute lead on Newcombe. I hope."

"What do we do?" she asked, still cursing herself. If she'd held her tongue for just a few more moments—oh, what if they hadn't had time to find the documents? She might have just condemned Robert.

"You said your father had a meeting this morning," Saint prompted.

"Yes, at the Horse Guards."

"Then we go to the Horse Guards and find him. If Robert has the evidence, he'll need someone to show it to."

"It's not here, either," Robert growled, shoving the mask up on the top of his head. Damnation. The office had been immaculate, as if no one had ever done a minute's work inside, though they'd left it in less than pristine condition. Likewise the books in the library didn't look as though they'd ever been opened. The fact that most of them now rested in haphazard stacks on the floor didn't bother him in the least. Lord Geoffrey had made far more of a shambles of his life than they were making of the bastard's house.

"Not in the cabinet either," Tristan seconded. He straightened from his crouch, glancing at Wycliffe as the duke went through the scattering of books and papers on the oak credenza. After a moment, Wycliffe shook his head.

Robert cursed. "It's here somewhere. It has to be. If you had papers which could either make you a great deal of money or get you thrown in prison, you would want them somewhere close by, so you wouldn't have to worry about someone stumbling across them. At the same time, you wouldn't want your servants to be able to find them, and you wouldn't want to hide them somewhere you'd look conspicuous retrieving them or checking on them."

"That still leaves a great many hiding places," Tristan noted, brushing his hands across his thighs.

Pacing around the room, Robert ran the floor plan through his mind. It was a small house, a rented lodging. That in itself pointed to the fact that Geoffrey was not plump in the pockets. He was, however, a self-professed war hero with a great deal of pride in his looks and his reputation. A war hero. One who would either marry to become a major, or start a war to receive a battle promotion.

"His uniform," he said, heading out the door and toward the stairs. "Where do you think he keeps his uniform?"

"His uniform?" Tristan repeated. "Why—"

"He's still in the army," Robert said over his shoulder. "He would have had it pressed and put away—ready for whichever special occasion could give him the most use out of it—with no one else allowed to touch it. It's his pride and joy; his future, one way or the other."