A Match of Wits (18 page)

“Not really, because you have this vein on your forehead that always throbs when you’re really angry, and it’s throbbing up a storm at the moment.”

Drawing in another breath, Zayne turned and gestured to Roger, who was standing by the door. “Mr. Watson, would you be so kind as to fetch my crutches? They’ve fallen behind the chair.”

“Why do you want your crutches?” Francis demanded as Roger went to fetch them.

“Why, I was going to whack Agatha over the head with them, of course,” Zayne bit out before he took the crutches from Roger, popped them under his arms, and started toward Agatha, his eyes stormy. He stopped in front of her and released a breath right as some of the storminess disappeared. “Agatha, I have no idea why it is that the two of us always find ourselves in peculiar situations, but here we are again.” He shook his head, and the last bit of storm in his eyes vanished. “You and I have been friends for a very long time, and I must apologize for hurting you by not giving you the proposal you deserved back at the jail.”

“I don’t think proposals really should be made in jail,” she said slowly even as her treacherous heart gave another one of its pesky lurches. She took a step closer to him. “But, you’re right, we have been friends for a very long time.”

Zayne smiled. “Yes, we have, and because of that, and because I’m quite fond of you, I’d like to try this whole proposing business again.”

Her pulse slowed almost immediately, but before she could speak, Cora stepped forward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“How lovely Zayne, but if I may make a suggestion? You
should get down on one knee, but . . . wait to do that until I go fetch some flowers. They’ll add a nice touch.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Watson, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do the getting down on one knee, considering one of my legs is firmly encased in plaster.”

“Good heavens, you’re right,” Cora exclaimed, “but at least allow me to get you flowers. Roger gave me flowers when he proposed, and . . . it was so very romantic.” She turned and began hurrying for the door, but thankfully, Agatha found her voice before her mother disappeared.

“We won’t be needing any flowers, Mother.”

Shoulders sagging ever so slightly, Cora turned. “We won’t?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I thought you liked flowers,” Zayne said with a frown.

“I do.”

“Then why don’t you want your mother to get us some?”

He was so dear, and charmingly oblivious at times, but he’d only proclaimed how fond he was of her, and sadly, even though there was a part of her that wanted to hear his new proposal, she knew he wasn’t capable of offering her enough.

She didn’t want him to simply be fond of her—she wanted him to love her.

Since it was clear he wasn’t ready to profess that particular emotion, might never be ready for that if the truth were told, she knew what she had to do.

“I can’t marry you, Zayne,” she finally said quietly. “Not like this.”

The vein on Zayne’s forehead began to throb again. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I was fairly explicit.”

“You won’t marry me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Zayne’s eyes flashed as he stared at her for a long moment. “Fine, that’s the last time I’ll ask, and now that I think about it, I rescind my offer. I don’t want to marry you.”

“Fine,” Agatha shot back, ignoring the shocked faces of her parents and Francis, “rescind your offer. It was a horrible offer anyway, and I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last gentleman on earth.”

She spun on her heel, lifted her nose in the air, and stalked out of the room, dead silence following her—until Matilda streaked past her into the library and let out a monstrous squeal. Then Agatha heard what sounded like crutches crash to the floor.

L
aying aside the book he’d been trying to read, Zayne rubbed a hand over his face and stared into the fire, his mood dismal. In the hours since he’d been knocked off his crutches and then provided a carriage home by a clearly unhappy Mr. Watson, he’d had plenty of time to think, and his thoughts were anything but pleasant.

Agatha had flatly refused him.

Mr. and Mrs. Watson were decidedly put out with him, and he was fairly certain that Mr. Blackheart was contemplating bodily harm, and harm that just might be centered around breaking Zayne’s other leg.

Why no one could understand that he’d truly had Agatha’s best interests at heart was beyond him. He’d summoned up the courage to tell her how fond he was of her, and she’d thrown that fondness right back in his face, embarrassing him in the process.

Granted, he hadn’t even considered bringing flowers, something that Cora seemed to feel was a necessity when a gentleman proposed, but an independent lady of Agatha’s nature would surely not have expected flowers, would she?

A knock on the door had him turning his head and finding the butler standing in the library doorway.

“A Mr. Blackheart is here to see you, Mr. Beckett. Shall I show him in?”

The last person, besides Agatha, Zayne wanted to see was Mr. Blackheart. That gentleman had been less than helpful getting him off the floor after Matilda had charged him. In fact, Zayne was fairly sure Mr. Blackheart had deliberately dropped him, not once but twice, in his attempt at helping him to his feet.

“Tell him I’m not at home, Mr. White.”

“There’s no reason to tell me anything, Mr. White, since I took the liberty of following you and can clearly see that Mr. Beckett is, indeed, at home.” Mr. Blackheart brushed past the butler, ignoring the gentleman’s sputtered protests.

“Shall I summon the authorities, Mr. Beckett?” Mr. White asked.

“Tempting, but no,” Zayne returned as he watched Mr. Blackheart cross over to the windows and begin looking behind the curtains.

“Are you certain?” Mr. White pressed.

“Not really, but I’ll call for you if I change my mind,” Zayne said absently as Mr. Blackheart pushed aside a large chair and bent down to look under it.

“Forgive me for being forward, Mr. Beckett, but he’s acting somewhat peculiar,” Mr. White whispered in a voice that carried, even though it didn’t distract Mr. Blackheart at all as he went about searching the room.

“He’s always peculiar, Mr. White, but he’s harmless, at least most of the time, so you may go.”

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me, sir, and . . . I have a pistol.” With that, Mr. White quit the room, leaving the door wide open.

“What are you looking for, Mr. Blackheart?”

“Please, call me Francis, because everyone else seems to be doing that today, and I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.” Francis got down on the floor and looked under a table that was pushed against the wall. “Where’s Agatha?”

“You don’t honestly think she’d be here, do you?”

“She hasn’t stopped by in the last hour or two or . . . three?” Francis asked, rising to his feet.

Sitting forward so fast that the book in his lap fell to the ground, Zayne narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost her.”

“Misplaced, not lost.”

“You’re supposed to be guarding her.”

“I’m perfectly aware of my job description, Zayne, but a man does need to eat upon occasion, and while I went off to the kitchen to fetch a sandwich, Agatha, along with Drusilla, disappeared.”

“You should have known better than to go off and get something to eat while she’s in a temper.”

“Since you’re the reason behind that temper, you’re as much to blame as I am.”

“I asked the woman to marry me.”

“What you did could never be mistaken for a proposal.”

“Fair enough, but my botched attempt was no reason for Agatha to set her pig on me and allow it to maul me.”

“Matilda didn’t maul you. She was simply distraught because you’d upset Agatha, and all she did was knock your crutches out from under you. If she’d really been intent on mauling, she would have gone for your good leg.”

“I don’t understand why everyone believes I upset Agatha so much. She did turn down my proposal after all, and if anyone should be distraught, well . . .”

“You offered her an insult, but we don’t have time to get into that right now. Agatha’s never been a lady who acts rationally when she’s annoyed, which probably means she’s out on the streets at the moment. I’m afraid she might be dressed as a man since I found whiskers missing from her black trunk. If you’ll recall, every single time Agatha has donned a disguise, especially when she puts on whiskers, she gets into trouble.”

“It was hardly proper of you to go through Agatha’s belongings.”

“I’ve never claimed to be a proper gentleman.” Francis headed for the door. “If Agatha does happen to drop by, tell her I’m looking for her and that I’m not happy.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’d like to see you stop me.”

Francis’s lips curled. “Do you really think it will take much for me to stop you?”

Pushing to his feet and sticking a crutch under his arm, Zayne shrugged. “I know Agatha better than anyone, and I can guarantee you that we’ll find her faster if I come with you.”

“Why didn’t you mention that whole knowing her better than anyone when you asked her to marry you?”

“Do you think that would have made a difference?”

“You really
don’t
understand women, do you.”

Not bothering to address that ridiculous statement, even though Zayne was rapidly coming to the conclusion he didn’t have the slightest understanding of women, he got his other crutch into place and began moving to the door. “I’d love to be able to take Charlotte’s cart, but the wheels keep falling off, and I must admit, since Matilda knocked me to the ground, I’m bruised in far too many places.”

“You’ll just have to wait in the carriage when we make stops then.”

“We’ll see about that.” Zayne headed for the hallway, taking a moment to reassure Mr. White that he was leaving the house on his own accord and not because Francis had threatened him. Stepping through the front door, he paused on the landing, waiting for Francis to join him.

“Ah, Zayne. Going out, are you?”

Lifting his head, Zayne found Theodore walking toward him, a grin on his face, but that grin faded when Francis stepped out of the house.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Blackheart?” Theodore asked. “Where’s Agatha?”

“She’s missing,” Zayne said before Francis could speak. “And do make sure, while you’re taking your man to task for misplacing his client once again, to call him Francis. He doesn’t want anyone to feel left out.”

“I really should have prodded Matilda into a little mauling,” Francis muttered before he moved to shake Theodore’s hand. “I suppose one could say Agatha’s missing, but Drusilla’s with her, if that’s any comfort. Zayne and I are heading out to search for them now.”

“And Agatha would be out at night with only Drusilla because . . . ?”

“Zayne proposed to her again but then had the audacity to rescind that proposal.” Francis shuddered. “It was not a pretty sight.”

“She’ll be back in jail in no time.” Theodore spun on his heel and headed toward a carriage that was parked in front of the house. “We’ll search together, shall we?” he asked over his shoulder.

Thinking that was a wonderful idea, since he wasn’t ex
actly keen to spend time alone with Francis, Zayne followed Theodore to the carriage. Handing his crutches to the waiting groom, he hoisted himself up and took a seat as Theodore and Francis sat down on the seat opposite him.

“You didn’t
actually
rescind your offer, did you?” Theodore asked before Zayne barely had a chance to get settled.

“It was not one of my finer moments, but in my defense, Agatha really annoyed me when she refused my proposal.”

“Agatha always annoys you, which begs the question of why you asked her to marry you if you have a problem with her annoying you all the time.”

“I decided she needed a man—a husband, to be more specific—to keep her in line. After she got herself thrown into jail yet again, I realized that finding her a gentleman to take her on would be somewhat daunting, so . . . I figured I might as well marry her.”

Theodore sent him a rather pitying look. “You’ve lost your mind. Agatha isn’t a lady who can be taken in hand, and marriage certainly won’t keep her out of mischief.”

“Of course it will. Married women don’t run amok. They’re content to stay home and mind the children.”

“You do remember that Gloria is your mother, don’t you? She
still
runs amok upon occasion.”

“My mother, bless her heart, has always been rather odd.”

“And your sister? Even though Arabella is happily married to me, she continues to enjoy a bit of mischief.”

“Oddity runs in the family, at least as pertains to the Beckett women.”

“And evidently one man.”

“
However
,” Zayne continued, “because Agatha turned me down, even though I proclaimed myself quite fond of
her, I’m now at a loss as to how to proceed forward with the exasperating lady.”

“You told her you were ‘quite fond’ of her?” Theodore asked weakly.

“Perhaps I should have said
exceedingly fond
.” Zayne tapped his finger against his chin but stopped when Francis let out a grunt. “What?”

“I’m
exceedingly fond
of Agatha.”

Heat began to curl through him. “If you’re so fond of her, why did you balk when I suggested clear back on the train that you should consider forming an alliance with her?”

“Because being fond of a woman isn’t enough of a reason to marry her.”

“Since when did you become an expert on ladies?” Zayne asked.

“I’ve spent years guarding one lady after another, and before I entered this business . . . Well, no need to get into that.” Francis smiled in a far too condescending manner. “I’m an observer, Zayne, and from what I’ve observed, ladies expect a certain amount of romance, and they also expect professions of love when a proposal is being made—not a profession of fondness. I highly doubt your declaration caused her heart to go all aflutter.”

“Agatha does not have a heart that flutters.”

“And that right there is exactly why she turned you down.”

Zayne rolled his eyes. “What ever happened to the time when gentlemen simply listened to another gentleman’s woes and would shake their heads in commiseration, instead of all this troubling business of wanting to discuss feelings?”

He nodded to Theodore. “Take you, for instance. You did an abysmal job of proposing to Arabella, and”—he nodded to Francis—“no matter that you claim to be an observer of
ladies, you’re not in a relationship at the moment, nor do I remember you ever being in one, which means you’re not exactly qualified to give me advice.”

“My not being in a relationship has nothing to do with giving you advice, because I
could
have a lady if I set my mind to it,” Francis countered. “Why, with all this talk of Agatha and having admitted I’m exceedingly fond of her, perhaps I should reconsider my role in her life, especially since I
have
seen the lady in her bath and . . . Is something wrong, Zayne?”

Only the glimmer in Francis’s eye kept Zayne from flinging himself across the space that separated them and strangling the man, an urge that took him aback.

Why the mere thought of another man witnessing Agatha in her bath upset him so much was a bit of a mystery, especially since he’d just admitted he was merely fond of her, not in love with her, but . . . if he was only fond of her, why feel the compulsion to inflict bodily harm on Francis?

Unwilling to dwell on what such things might mean, especially since both Theodore and Francis were now watching him oddly, Zayne forced himself to relax back against the seat. He didn’t even wince when Francis, after Theodore questioned him about it, began speaking about the whole bathing fiasco.

However, when Francis got to the part about almost falling into the tub, Zayne had heard quite enough and decided a change of topic was definitely in order before he really did give in to the whole strangling urge.

“Getting back to the situation at hand, do either of you have any suggestions regarding where we should start our search? It’s getting dark, and I, for one, have to admit I’m getting concerned.”

Theodore smiled. “If you’ve forgotten, my friend, I’m
Theodore Wilder, the most sought-after investigator in the state. Do you really doubt my ability to locate two ladies, and find them quickly?”