Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (16 page)

After drawing a deep breath, she began, “I was fatigued after so many readings and went in search of a quiet haven in the hopes of finding a moment of sanctuary.” She then calmly related how she’d come to the study, the conversation she’d overheard, then the note she’d left for Lord Malloran, concluding with, “As I feared discovery should I be found in the corridor, I decided the window was my safer exit option. Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware you were lurking in the bushes.”

“I wasn’t lurking. I was standing.” His brows bunched into a frown. “You’re quite certain that one of the persons you overheard was Malloran’s now-dead footman?”

“Yes. I didn’t see the other person, but I would know
that voice again.” After a quick internal debate, she added, “I heard it again, last night.”

His gaze sharpened. “When? Where?”

“At the Newtrebble soiree. Just before I left my fortune-telling table for the night, as I leaned down to retrieve my reticule.”

“Did you see who’d spoken?”

“No. There were too many people to tell who’d said it. I listened, but didn’t hear it again.”

His gaze searched hers. “That’s why you were so pale.”

She offered him a half smile. “I’d been listening all night, but hadn’t really expected to hear it since it was a whisper, as opposed to someone’s true voice. I’m afraid that hearing it gave me a bit of a turn.”

“Do you recall whom you saw?”

“Of course. I wrote down the names as soon as I arrived home so I wouldn’t forget.” She closed her eyes to visualize the groups. “Walking past me were Lord and Lady Barnes, Lord Carver, Mr. Jennsen, Lord and Lady Ralstrom, and their daughter, Lady Margaret. Standing nearby were Lord and Lady Whitemore, their daughter Lady Alicia, Lady Malloran’s distant relative, Lady Miranda, and Lords Mallory and Surringham. There were also two footmen nearby.”

He moved around her and pulled a piece of vellum from the desk, then dipped his pen into the inkpot. She watched him quickly write the names she’d just recited, her gaze riveted on his hands. Such strong, yet elegant hands. Hands that only hours earlier had touched her with a breath-stealing combination of gentle strength and heated impatience. Hands she wanted to feel touching her again, with a need that confused and frightened her.

“You have a good memory. And you’re very observant,” he said, setting down the pen, then moving to stand in front of her once again.

She blinked away the thought of his hands caressing her. “Remembering people, watching them…it’s a habit of mine.”

His gaze probed hers, then he asked quietly, “What is in the knapsack you take to The Broken Barrel each day?”

His question halted her breath, then she fisted her hands in an attempt to control her anger. “You followed me there as well. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I suppose not. What do you bring there?”

“Why didn’t you ask the barkeep?”

“I did. Mr. Wallace declined to tell me, in spite of my offering a substantial bribe. I won’t bore you with the details, but his next words involved various threats of bodily harm should I bother you.”

“Jack is very…loyal.”

“A conclusion I reached on my own.” He studied her intently for several seconds then asked, “What is he to you?”

“A friend.”

“Nothing more?”

She considered lying, telling him Jack was more so as to erect a barrier between them that she badly needed. But instead she shook her. “Nothing more.”

“What’s in the knapsack?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I agree. But I’m asking anyway. Tell me.” His eyes searched hers, then he added softly, “Please.”

That single word, spoken in that quiet voice, combined with his green-eyed gaze resting so seriously on hers, conspired to wash away the anger she couldn’t quite seem to summon. Where had it gone? Trying to resurrect it, she lifted her chin and said, “Even if I tell you, you won’t believe me.”

He remained silent, and she grudgingly credited him for not offering false reassurances. “Biscuits,” she finally
muttered. “And orange-flavored muffins.” When he still said nothing, she blew out a breath, then said in a rush, “My friend Emma and I bake biscuits and muffins every day. She sells them, along with oranges, near Covent Garden and Drury Lane. Jack buys a sack every day to give to the children who beg for food near The Broken Barrel. They get something to eat, and in return don’t steal from him.”

He nodded slowly. “I see. So that is why you always smell of oranges.”

“We use whatever oranges Emma didn’t sell that day in our baking. We also distill orange-scented water from the rinds. I’m very fond of the scent.”

“It is…unforgettable. Thank you for answering my question.”

Did that mean he believed her? Before she could decide, he said, “Now I would like to know about the fictional Monsieur Larchmont.”

She heaved an inward sigh. Obviously, there was no point in prevaricating with him any longer. “I don’t like to lie—”

“Which is why, I’d wager that your ratcatcher of a cat is named Monsieur.” Clearly her expression indicated he was correct for he added, “A very ingenious way to assuage your conscience.”

Botheration, the man was too clever by half. She wasn’t certain if she was more impressed or irritated. Curling her fingers over the edge of the desk, she said, “Inventing a husband affords me freedoms and safety that I would not otherwise have. I don’t need to fear for my reputation as an unmarried woman would, and I always have an excuse to reject unwanted advances. It gives me a measure of security that people know there is a protective husband awaiting me at home. And, of course, the title
Madame
adds a nice mystique to my fortune-telling enterprise.”

“Indeed it does. But what if you decided you actually wished to marry?”

“In truth, I’ve not given the matter any thought as I’ve no desire to marry. My time and efforts, my heart and passion lie in my work.”

“Telling fortunes?”

“No. That is simply a way for me to earn money to fund my passion.”

“Which is providing a safe haven for children like Robbie.”

She lifted her chin. “Yes. If I had a real husband, I would be legally obligated to answer to him. To obey him. He would own everything that I’ve worked for—an arrangement that would not in any way benefit me or my cause. Given that my pretense hurts no one, I would ask that you not reveal my true marital status.”

“Your secret is safe. However, you should have immediately reported to the magistrate what you overheard in Lord Malloran’s study.”

She couldn’t very well tell him that her former life as a criminal had prevented her from doing so. “There are some people who look askance at the way I earn my living, believing it is, at best, havy cavy. I feared it more likely that I would be looked upon as a suspect rather than a witness.”

“Do you know Lord Wexhall?”

“Not well, although we’ve been introduced. He engaged me to tell fortunes at his upcoming party.”

“I am well acquainted with him, and he is completely trustworthy. I would like you to tell him what you’ve told me.”

“So he can tell the magistrate,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice, “so that the magistrate can accuse me of murder. A crime you obviously believe I committed.”

He reached out and clasped her upper arms. Even
through the wool of her dress, his touch ignited sparks. She attempted to step back, but with her hips already pressed against the desk, she was trapped. His gaze searched hers, looking, for what she didn’t know, but she met his probing regard steadily. Finally, he said, “I believe everything you’ve told me. I do not doubt your account.”

An unfamiliar feeling washed through her, something she couldn’t name, that felt like a swirl of relief and gratitude and surprise. She almost asked him
why
he believed her, but instead merely said, “I…I’m glad.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I am.”

Again his gaze searched hers. “You are not accustomed to your words being accepted as truth.”

It wasn’t a question, and an odd sensation shivered through her. Forcing a lightness she was far from feeling into her voice, she said, “It’s common in my profession. Some people believe what I say, others think I simply make things up for entertainment.”

He nodded, then said, “I understand. But Lord Wexhall must be told. The murder is to take place at his home next week, and he has the resources to take precautions to hopefully prevent it from happening.” His fingers tightened on her upper arms. “You must realize that because you overheard this plot, you, too, are in danger.”

“Sadly, I have considered that possibility.”

“I’d say it’s more than a possibility. You require protection.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Under normal circumstances, I’m certain you are. These, however, are not normal circumstances. Have you noticed anything unusual? Has anyone said or done anything that felt threatening in any way?”

His thumbs brushed over her sleeves, shooting heated
tingles down her arms. Very distracting heated tingles. And he was standing very close…close enough to see the fine grain of his clean-shaven skin. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I felt as if someone was watching me, following me, after both the Malloran and the Newtrebble soirees, but as it turns out, it was you. I experienced the same feeling both yesterday and today as I made my way here. Other than that, nothing unusual has occurred.”

He frowned. “As you made your way here? Do you mean from your rooms, or from The Broken Barrel?”

After considering for several seconds, she said, “From my rooms both days. From The Broken Barrel only today.”

His frown deepened. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. I strongly sensed I was being watched.” A shiver ran through her at the memory of feeling someone’s eyes upon her. She attempted to hide her discomfort with a small smile. “If I’d looked closely, I gather I would have seen you lurking behind a nearby tree.”

“No. I did not follow you here today. Which, if you’re correct, means that someone else did.”

Colin stared into her chocolate brown eyes, and
felt as if something inside him shifted. He’d wanted to know if she was still a thief, and part of him had secretly hoped she was, as he could then easily dismiss her and talk himself out of this unreasonable attraction.

But this facet of herself she’d revealed, this person who devoted her time and earnings and heart to helping children…this person had honor. And integrity. Was loyal and brave. Traits he greatly admired. And to which he found himself strongly drawn. A mere physical interest he could walk away from. But an attraction that engaged more than his body, one that touched his heart and mind…he wasn’t quite certain how to dismiss or talk himself out of something like that.

Other than to give in to his desire to know more.

To know everything. To uncover each fascinating layer of her personality and discover exactly who she was, and how she’d come to be this woman who so captivated him. Her eloquence, the polite manners with which she deported herself…how and where had she learned such things?

Was she still a thief? His instincts now told him no. His suspicions that her fortune-telling enterprise was merely a ruse to steal from the wealthy people in whose homes she conducted her readings appeared unfounded, especially as he’d heard no reports of anything being stolen.

He’d been fully prepared to disbelieve everything she told him, but he couldn’t.

“You need protection,” he said, forcing himself to concentrate on her eyes and not look at her mouth, which beckoned him to taste, to explore its lush fullness. “We must figure out the best way to provide it.”

“I’m not a sheltered Society miss, my lord. I’ve taken care of myself for a long time.”

An image of her, that night in Vauxhall, her face dirty, the scent of despair and desperation clinging to her as she lifted his pocket watch, flashed through his mind, filling him with an ache he couldn’t name.

“And have clearly done an excellent job,” he said, his voice rough with an emotion that was part pity and part something else he feared examining too closely. “However, now we are dealing with someone who has most likely already killed two people, in a very bold manner, and is planning to see someone at Lord Wexhall’s party dead. The fact that you felt you were being followed when I wasn’t doing so shouldn’t be ignored. And you must consider that any danger directed toward you might carry over to your home. And to those you’re trying to protect.”

Her eyes widened at his words, then narrowed with clear resolve. “I won’t allow anything to hurt those children. Or Emma.”

“Then I think it best that they be warned and that you stay away from them until after Wexhall’s party and this is resolved.”

She moved her hands in a helpless gesture. “A fine
plan, but I’ve nowhere else to go. I cannot afford—”

“You can stay here. With me.”

His words hung in the air, and she went perfectly still under his hands, which still clasped her upper arms. His inner voice admonished him to release her, but he ignored the warning, instead listening to the louder, compelling need to touch her.

Damn it, he wished she weren’t so skilled at hiding her feelings. Her expression gave nothing away.

Finally, she said, “While I appreciate your offer, it would present problems for us both. If I took up residence in your home, everyone would assume I was your mistress. The members of Society who currently employ my services would surely be scandalized and no longer seek me out. I fear that your offer, while perhaps providing for my physical safety, would prove the death of me both financially and socially. And then there is the matter of your bride.”

“My…bride?” he repeated, feeling uncharacteristically bemused. He’d lost his entire line of thought after she said the word
mistress
.

“Yes, your bride.” Clearly he sounded as befuddled as he felt for she clarified, “The woman you came to London to find? The woman you’re going to marry and bring back to Cornwall?”

“Er, yes. What about her?”

She blew out a clearly exasperated breath. “Even if such an arrangement as you’ve suggested didn’t prove disastrous for me, having people believe that you are openly living with your mistress certainly wouldn’t help in your search for a bride.”

Finding a bride…yes. That’s what he was supposed to be doing. But instead all he could think of was the fact that she’d said it again—that thought-destroying word.
Mistress
. He instantly recalled the dream he’d had of her, walking toward him wearing that daring
negligee, her eyes glittering with sensual intent. The way a mistress’s would. An image flashed through his mind, of her in his bed, naked, aroused, waiting for him. Wanting him.

He suddenly became very much aware of how close they stood. The warmth seeping into his palms from where they rested on her arms. The subtle sweet scent of oranges teasing his senses. He shook his head and frowned, appalled at how easily she could make him lose his concentration.

Deciding it was best to put some distance between them, at least until after their discussion was concluded, he released her and moved to the window. Golden ribbons of afternoon sunlight rippled through the panes, beckoning him outdoors.

Which is where he should be. Riding through Hyde Park, chatting with marriageable young ladies of impeccable breeding who, at this time of day, would be visiting the park with a parent or chaperone, making the most of the fine weather to further acquaintances. Unfortunately, he had no desire whatsoever to chat with any of those marriageable young ladies. The only woman he had any desire to talk to stood ten feet behind him.

But at least now that he wasn’t looking at her, wasn’t touching her, wasn’t absorbing her scent, his thoughts once again fell into alignment. After a moment of consideration, he turned to face her. And as it always seemed to when he looked at her, his breathing hitched. As if he’d sprinted across the room.

“I’ve arrived at a solution,” he said, forcing himself not to move closer to her. “You shall stay at Lord Wexhall’s town house, which is very close by. You’ll be safe there, and as my brother and his wife are currently in residence as well, there will be no question of impropriety.”

A look of pure confusion passed over her features.
“Why would Lord Wexhall agree to such an arrangement?”

“Because we are close friends.”

“But if I am in danger, I could be placing his entire household in jeopardy.”

“If you are in danger, there is no safer household in England than Wexhall’s. He and his staff are well trained in such matters. As is my brother. And myself.”

Her brows shot upward. “Trained in such matters? Three gentlemen? You make it sound as if you are all spies or some such nonsense.”

“
Were
spies. But old habits die hard. Believe me, you’re in capable hands.”

Her inscrutable mask fell away, and she looked at him with pure disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. You wondered how a gentleman would know anything about picking locks, and that is how. In fact, Lord Wexhall was my first lock-picking teacher. While you’re staying with him, you might want to ask him for a pointer or two.”

She folded her arms over her chest and looked at him askance. “Lord Wexhall? That genial, absentminded man? Now I know you’re jesting.”

“I’m not. Until his retirement several years ago, he was in service to the Crown. My brother and I both reported to him.”

“Your brother the doctor.”

“Who is also an expert decoder—and retired. And the only brother I have.”

“You’re telling me you’re a spy—”

“
Was
a spy. I, too, retired from active service four years ago.”

“Why?”

“Why was I a spy—or why did I retire?”

“Both.”

“Wexhall approached me originally with a plan to
station one of his spies on my family’s estate in Cornwall, because of its strategic location in relation to France. I agreed to his plan, with the proviso that he take me on and that I be the spy. Knowing my brother’s affinity for puzzles and codes and such, I recommended him as well.”

Confusion flitted across her features. “But why would a man like you want to involve yourself in such a dangerous enterprise?”

“That is the second time you’ve said ‘a man like you.’ What, precisely, do you mean?” He clenched his jaw, irritated at himself for allowing the question to pass his lips. Especially when he knew exactly what she meant. She meant—

“A titled gentleman, of course,” she said.

A titled gentleman. Of course
. He swallowed the humorless sound that rose in his throat. Well, he certainly couldn’t deny the accuracy of her words—that was indeed the sort of man he was. Unfortunately, to most people, that’s
all
he was. A title. He’d thought himself long since immune to the hurt that had accompanied that youthful realization, but based on the undeniable sting from her words, clearly he was mistaken on that score. She saw him only as most everyone else did.

Pushing aside his ridiculous disappointment, he drew a deep breath and cast his mind back, to the unfulfilled young man he’d been eight years ago. “Growing up, my entire existence revolved around my duties to my title and estates, and by my twenty-first birthday, my father had taught me everything I needed to know. I took great pleasure in the work, but Father enjoyed—no,
needed
—to fill his lonely days with running the estates himself. I didn’t have the heart to ask him to do less so I could do more and thus deny him what he needed. As such, I wasn’t doing anything a steward couldn’t do. I felt…restless. Unnecessary. Empty. And basically useless.
Nathan had his medical profession, but I had nothing other than the usual country gentleman pursuits, which, while enjoyable, were of little use or value.”

He paused, vividly recalling his growing discontent. “I’ll never forget the day when I’d finally had enough of being nothing save, as you so aptly described me, a titled gentleman. Nathan told Father and me about how he’d saved a man’s life that morning. I listened to his words, heard the pride in his voice, and realized I’d never done anything for which I could be that proud. That awed. Certainly nothing as important as saving someone’s life.”

The memory washed over him, those feelings of dissatisfaction as sharp as if they’d happened yesterday. “I knew then that I wanted,
needed
to prove to myself that I was more than just a title, but I wasn’t certain how to go about it. I considered purchasing a commission in the army, but then Wexhall came along wanting to use the estate for spying purposes, and I saw an opportunity. He was doubtful at first about my spying, but I convinced him to give me a chance to prove I was up to the task. Turned out I was, and that I possess a talent for picking locks and gaining entry to places where I wasn’t supposed to be. Very handy for a spy.”

“Yes, I imagine it is. Did you enjoy spying?”

He considered, then said, “Yes. I enjoyed serving my country. Making a difference. Doing something important. Being useful. I loved the challenge.” He didn’t add that there were a number of assignments, one in particular, he hadn’t enjoyed at all. That had taken deep physical and mental tolls on him. “Looking back, I’d have to say it was the happiest time of my life.”

“Why did you retire?”

He pressed his palm against his thigh and decided to tell her the simple version. “I was injured.”

“How?”

“I was shot.”

Her gaze flicked down to his thigh. “Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

He shrugged and moved his hand, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sometimes.” He offered her a half smile. “More when I’m forced to sprint through London’s back alleys while in pursuit of fortune-tellers.”

She nodded toward the locked drawer. “You could pick that lock?”

“Of course. And in far less time than it took you to get caught at it. Which is only understandable, as you would not, naturally, have lock-picking experience.” He inwardly chuckled at the flash of outrage that glittered in her eyes. It clearly galled her and required a great effort on her part not to correct him, for in truth, before he’d made his presence known, he’d noted she’d been about to open the drawer, and it had taken her less than a minute to gain access. Very impressive. It occurred to him once again that she would have made a hell of a spy.

“Are you willing to provide a demonstration?” she asked.

For an answer, he handed her the key. “Why don’t you make certain it’s securely locked. I wouldn’t want to have any unfair advantage.”

“Delighted,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. After she finished, she stood and handed him the key, which he slipped into his waistcoat pocket.

Instead of kneeling before the desk, however, he stepped closer to her. Alarm flickered in her eyes and she backed up, halting when she bumped into the desk. He moved closer still.

“Wh…what are you doing?” she asked in a breathless voice that instantly made him want to do something to render her even more breathless.

With his gaze steady on hers, he reached out and deftly plucked a pin from her hair. Smiling, he held his
prize aloft. “I can hardly pick a lock on my passable good looks alone.”

Her gaze roamed over his face, lingering on his mouth in a way that tensed his every muscle. “I suppose not,” she said in that same breathless voice. “What did you do when there wasn’t a woman nearby from whom you could conveniently pluck a pin?”

Bloody hell, it required a Herculean effort not to reach out and touch her. Instead, he shot her a jaunty wink. “I always carry my own.”

Dropping to one knee, he made a show of first cracking his knuckles, then rubbing his hands together. Finally, he looked up at her. “Ready?”

“I’ve
been
ready,” came her dust-dry reply.

Without further ado, he delicately inserted the hairpin into the lock, jiggled the device twice, then withdrew it.
“Voilà!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That drawer isn’t unlocked…”

Alex’s words trailed off as he slowly slid the drawer open. She had to clench her jaw to keep it from hanging agape in utter amazement at his dexterity and skill. She caught sight of what looked like a shiny black box, but before she could see more, he slid the drawer closed, inserted his key, and locked it. Then in a single fluid motion, he stood and tucked the key away in his pocket.