“The thief admitted as much. It was a slip of the tongue. One he instantly regretted.”
Henderson lowered to his chair, dismay in his expression. “I was afraid of this. Lord Weston was concerned that recent events in America suggest the Fenians are exploiting the immigrants for money and arms to stage another attack on the Queen. While I don’t understand the full measure of this message, I’m certain ‘Yanks’ refers to the Irish immigrants in America.”
“What recent events?” Rafferty asked, suspicious. “If the Fenians have spread to America—”
“Basil Toomey has been spotted there.”
Rafferty lurched from his seat. Toomey! He’d searched so long for the foul beast, he’d given up hope of finding him alive. He’d assumed the devil had claimed one of his own and the bastard’s soul burned in eternal hellfire. Now, to discover that the villain still lived . . . his jaw tightened. “I’ll sail immediately.”
“Sit down, Rafe. I understand your urgency, but there’s more you need to know.”
“I’d prefer to stand,” Rafferty insisted. “The more time spent here, the less opportunity I’ll have for catching the bastard.”
“Sit!” Henderson glared, pointing to the chair. “Toomey will still be there when you’ve heard all that I have to say.” Reluctantly, Rafferty acquiesced, and Henderson continued. “I can’t allow you to hunt Toomey in America as you might here. There are matters of diplomacy involved . . . especially now. I sent you to that reception last night for a reason.”
“You knew about Toomey earlier?” His eyes narrowed. Lord Henderson knew of his determination to find Toomey. Why had he kept this information secret?
The butler, a man old enough to be Henderson’s grandfather, interrupted. “Excuse me, my lord, but Lady Arianne Chambers requests an audience.”
“Excellent. Send her in.” Henderson smiled, then glanced at Rafferty. “I invited Lady Arianne, as you may have need of her unique abilities. I had hoped you two would meet at the reception.” His brows raised in question.
“Unique abilities?” Rafe was familiar with women who possessed unique abilities of a basic, more intimate nature, but Lady Arianne Chambers had already assured him that “a sister of a duke” would have no such inclinations. Pity that. His dreams had run rampant last night of that very same lady panting about her relationship to the Duke as he clasped her pert little bottom, while his common but straining—
“Lord Henderson.” Green finery burst into the room, banishing his pleasant reverie. Both men immediately stood. Lady Arianne swept right by Rafferty in her headstrong march toward Henderson. A lavender scent trailed in the wake of her flounces and lace. Drat. She’d corrected her fragrance from last evening.
Not a shy, retiring miss, this Lady Arianne, he mused. His mother, may she rest in peace, may have likened her to a fairy merrow. What a shame that such energetic passion had been wasted on a woman determined not to use it in a way that mattered.
“Lady Arianne, how lovely to see you again.” Henderson nodded. “Thank you for coming.”
“I must admit I was surprised by your note. Especially as I had a disturbing encounter last evening and wished to consult you about—”
“Me?” Rafferty interrupted.
She quickly turned toward his voice, shock halting her tirade. Her widened eyes sampled the whole of him, before focusing on his injured lip. A soft pink rose from her neck, and for an instant, he imagined her upper-class brain could read his decidedly lower-class thoughts. He lowered his eyelids and offered his best provocative smile. Shocking the prim and proper Lady Arianne was proving most entertaining.
“You’ve met Mr. Rafferty?” Henderson nodded in his direction, a twinkle barely hidden in his eye. “He’s one of my best investigators and well suited for the part he’s to play. I had hoped you would have an opportunity to observe him.”
She was certainly observing him now, he thought with an inner victorious gloat. The colleens at Brannigan’s would have already removed his shirt if he were to offer them this same unspoken invitation. The flush rising from her neck turned a shade darker, yet otherwise she appeared unfazed. “We met yesterday evening,” she said hesitantly, her gaze still latched onto him. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rafferty.”
She was a miserable liar. He’d wager she was just as uncomfortable as her perusal was making him. His earlier lurid imaginings had inspired certain areas of his body to action. Fortunately, she turned her attention away from him and toward Lord Henderson, allowing him opportunity to compose himself.
“I’m sorry, did you say you needed my help for a part in a play?” Lady Arianne’s brows knitted in confusion. “I assure you I have no talents in theatrics. Perhaps—”
“Not a play, my lady.” Henderson gestured toward the chair beside Rafferty. “Please take a seat. I have much to explain.”
Lady Arianne sat, allowing the two men to reclaim their seats as well.
“I have already mentioned to Mr. Rafferty that recent events in America require his attention. We only have a small diplomatic presence in America. Too small to even warrant an embassy. Therefore, I propose to send Rafferty to Washington, D.C., as the British minister to head up the legation there.”
“British minister?” Rafferty exclaimed. “That’s preposterous!” He could hardly search for Toomey if he were entangled in diplomatic hogwash.
“Lord Weston is the British minister in Washington,” Arianne protested. “Why would you replace him with Mr. Rafferty?”
Compassion replaced all vestiges of humor in Lord Henderson’s face. Rafferty leaned forward, anticipating this might be “the event” spoken of earlier.
“It grieves me to tell you in this manner, Lady Arianne. Especially as I know you’ve a close relationship with Lord and Lady Weston and Kitty, their daughter, but . . . Lord Weston has been murdered.”
“Murdered!” Her eyes widened while color drained from her face. Fearing she might faint, Rafferty stood, prepared to catch her should she slump in unconsciousness. He needn’t have bothered. She snapped open a fan and directed a current of air toward her face, but she never lost awareness. Impressed, Rafferty reclaimed his seat. Lady Arianne was apparently made of sterner stuff than the gentry lassies he’d had occasion to meet.
“How is that possible?” she gasped, dabbing at the corners of her glistening eyes with the tip of her glove. Behind the flurry of her fan, hidden from Henderson’s observation, her lips trembled. Only Rafferty, seated to her right, saw her silent fight for control. Damn. He remembered too well his own battle for control when as a young boy, the headmaster sternly informed him that a Fenian bomb had made him an orphan and that tears were not to be tolerated, especially not in public. Damn English with their stiff upper lip.
Rafferty retrieved his handkerchief from his inside pocket and extended it in offering. She raised her glance to his, her lips fighting for a semblance of a grateful smile before she reluctantly accepted the linen. In that moment, Rafferty wished he had met the man that elicited such an emotional reaction from this courageous young woman.
“Lord Weston was the kindest man I know.” She delicately pressed his cloth to the sides of her nose. “Does Kitty know?”
“This is not the sort of information that is conveyed by a note,” Lord Henderson said. “I’ll call on her as soon as I finish here.”
“She won’t take the news well, I’m afraid.” Lady Arianne bit her lip as if to hold in a sob. Rafferty almost reached to take her hand, offer her support, but he knew such gestures would not be appreciated, not from a man like him.
“Who . . . who would do such a thing?” she asked.
“That’s precisely what I’m sending Mr. Rafferty to investigate,” Henderson said. His lips tightened in his own acknowledgment of grief. “He’s one of my best.”
“Mr. Rafferty?” She sniffed, then cast him a dubious glance. “You are sending Mr. Rafferty as a British minister?”
Henderson’s lips twisted in a sympathetic smile while his eyes remained fastened to Lady Arianne. “I believe you are beginning to understand why I sent for you.”
“I do not,” Rafferty interjected. “With all due condolences to Lady Arianne on the loss of her friend, I don’t think—”
“Mr. Rafferty may be a wonderful investigator,” Lady Arianne said, addressing Henderson as if Rafferty hadn’t spoken at all, “but he won’t suit. What does he know of diplomacy? He doesn’t even know how to dress properly for an evening reception. How can he pass for a British minister at more demanding functions?”
Henderson glanced at him, his brows lowered. “You dressed inappropriately?”
“My jacket ripped in the earlier scuffle,” Rafferty explained. “I exchanged jackets with Phineas. But that is not the point—”
“He will not be taken seriously,” Lady Arianne continued as if he wasn’t sitting right beside her. “Who will be his hostess?”
“I don’t need a hostess,” he grumbled. “I’m perfectly capable of—”
“If he doesn’t have a hostess, no woman in society will attend a legation event. If the women won’t attend, neither will the men.” She abruptly turned toward Rafferty. “You must have a hostess. Is there a wife?”
He shook his head.
“A cousin? A niece?” she asked as he continued to indicate no.
“Lady Arianne, you have the experience to make the perfect hostess,” Henderson said. “I thought you might—”
Her jaw dropped. “You cannot expect me to marry him!”
“Good Lord, man! She’s the sister of a duke,” Rafferty spoke over her protest.
An uncomfortable silence settled after their joint loud remonstrations. They glanced at each other for a moment as if suddenly realizing the other existed, then quickly averted their gazes. The expansive room felt much too constrictive. Rafferty rose and moved to the window, believing it would be easier to think if some distance existed between him and Lady Upper Crust.
Strange that she had leapt so quickly to thoughts of marriage, but then wasn’t that the focus of all vacuous lassies of her sort? He frowned, recognizing that “vacuous” did not fit this particular lady. Thus it was all so predictable that she would protest such an arrangement. Miss Prim-and-Proper to be wed to Mr. Dark-and-Dangerous. He had to swallow the chuckle that the thought inspired.
Lord Henderson’s calm voice sounded behind him. “I was going to ask if you could recommend someone to act as hostess? Your reputation as a matchmaker has given you knowledge of all the available women that might consider a match with Mr. Rafferty—”
“I’ll not marry a stranger just so women can drag their husbands to social events,” Rafferty grumbled. He glanced out the window, noting Phineas dressed in a multilayered cape, pretending to be a cabman at the station across the way. Phineas turned toward the window and scratched his nose, signaling that he was alert and watching but had noted nothing of interest.
“I cannot imagine a single woman who would consent to such a proposition.” Lady Blue Blood huffed behind him. “He hasn’t even a title to recommend him.”
“Then what do you propose we do?” Lord Henderson sounded exasperated. “Rafferty must have a hostess as soon as possible so he can investigate Lord Weston’s murder.”
“And track Basil Toomey,” Rafferty added. It was likely not a coincidence that Toomey appeared in America and a diplomat’s death ensued.
Rafe watched Phineas tip his cap to a matron hurrying her young charge past the cab station. Given his remarkable theatrical abilities, Phineas could probably do a convincing masquerade of a hostess. The mental image caused him to shake his head in silent laughter, but the thought sparked an idea. He turned away from the window. “What about an actress? Surely Phineas knows of someone who could act the role for the right price.”
“An actress!” Lady Arianne exclaimed, her face contorting in disgust. “An actress would never know the sort of deportment one needs to be the hostess of a diplomatic legation. If society were to know that an actress—”
“But they won’t know,” Rafferty interrupted. “Because you would teach her how to act, what to say.” The idea gained substance in his mind. “Her ruse would allow me the time to unravel the murder and locate Toomey. I’m certain he has a hand in this.”
“It might work,” Henderson agreed. “As long as the masquerade doesn’t extend for an overlong period of time. It might work.”
“No,” Lady Silk-Stocking protested. “Those women, they’re little more than . . .” Her face began to color.
Lord help him but Rafferty enjoyed her discomfort. The aristocracy had no hesitation about proclaiming their superiority over individuals no more than two feet away—but at the first mention of something as basic and ancient as a tumble under the blankets, they fussed and blushed and pretended innocence.
“Yes, Lady Arianne?” Rafferty taunted. “What are they precisely?”
Her spine stiffened, and she refused to look at him. “They’re . . . unsavory women.”
“Then one should make a convincing wife”—he leered at Henderson—“at least behind closed doors.”
She stood. “Really, Mr. Rafferty. I must leave if you gentlemen are going to discuss such coarse topics.”
“My apologies, Lady Arianne.” Rafferty bowed in her direction. “I forgot for a moment that you are not a farmer’s daughter but a woman of higher station.”
She glared at him, in no way amused by his levity.
“Arianne, please stay,” Henderson interceded. “I’m sure Rafferty will mind his manners.” His glower served as reprimand. Rafferty’s smile faded. “Now, if we can find a suitable candidate to play the role of Mrs. Rafferty, do you think you could teach her what she’ll need to know in a short time?”
Lady Arianne narrowed her eyes. “How short a time?”
“I’d like you to travel to America with the actress.” Lord Henderson paused as if suddenly inspired. “Do I not recall that it was through your instigation that your brother met his American wife?”
Rafferty noted the resurgence of pink on Lady Arianne’s throat. While the poor woman did not wear her heart on her sleeve, her delectable throat was apparently another matter.