My kind of scoundrel, p.19
My Kind of Scoundrel, page 19
They stared at each other, the world around them fading away.
But then a burly fellow stormed out of the solicitor’s office, complaining about the extortionate fees. “It’s criminal, that’s what it is.” Spittle flew from his mouth. “I’m the one owed money, yet I have to pay through the nose just to send a letter.”
He stormed off, waving his fists and cursing the law.
Eleanor straightened when Theo held the door open. “I’d have a few sovereigns ready,” she said. “I suspect information comes at a price.”
The clerk, a young fellow whose trousers were too short, brushed a greasy lock of hair off his brow and came to greet them.
Eleanor spoke before the clerk opened his mouth. “We have a meeting with Mr Thatcher. Don’t bother checking your diary. We’re here on official business.” She presented the letter. “If Mr Thatcher fails to grant us an audience, he will be required to answer our questions at Bow Street.”
Theo watched with glowing admiration. She would make an excellent enquiry agent, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her chasing criminals at night.
The clerk stuttered and eventually said, “Wait here. I’ll fetch Mr Crump. He’s in charge while Mr Thatcher is in Brighton on business.”
Crump, an elderly man thin enough to slip through gaps in the paving, came hobbling out of his office using a walking cane for support. He observed them and frowned. “Mason said there were men from Bow Street.”
Eleanor smiled. “We’re investigators acting on behalf of Lord Melbourne, the Home Secretary. He asked—”
“I know who Melbourne is, but I haven’t the faintest clue why it should concern me. Show me the letter.”
Theo presented the document, grateful it was vague. “As you can see, that is Melbourne’s official seal. You’re required to answer questions about a matter of national security. We’re investigating the possibility that a French spy is operating in London.”
Crump’s bottom lip quivered. “A French spy? Surely you can’t think anyone working here is involved.”
“May we discuss the matter in your office,” Eleanor said. “I’m sure you understand this is a sensitive subject.”
The fellow showed them into his office, a cluttered space that smelled of damp coats and old books. They occupied the chairs near the desk and waited for Crump to settle into his worn leather seat before pressing him for answers.
“I trust what we say here shall remain confidential,” Eleanor said.
Crump nodded. “Of course.”
“You have a client who made an unusual request. Lady Lucille Bowman invited Lord Wrotham’s creditors to apply to you to have their bills settled. Can you confirm that is correct, sir?”
The man mumbled, clearly worried about discussing such high-ranking individuals. “A client’s personal wishes are confidential.”
“I’m sure you’d agree there is nothing criminal about paying one’s debts,” Theo said. Having one’s betrothed pay them was utterly shameful. “Perhaps you require more information.”
Eleanor took that as her cue to list the debts that had been paid. She mentioned the bookshop in Highgate and the perfumer in Covent Garden. “The owner of Breadwell’s confirms you paid his debts on behalf of Lord Wrotham. As the person who delivered the letters on Lady Lucille’s behalf, there is little you can tell me I don’t already know.”
Crump rubbed his forehead. “Yes, but how is this related to a search for a spy? And if you know this much already, what do you hope to learn from me?”
“Understanding the lady’s motives is crucial in our hunt for the spy,” Eleanor said, sounding convincing. “You will tell us what she said when she gave you the funds to pay Lord Wrotham’s creditors.”
“It will give us a better understanding of the situation,” Theo pressed. “I see no need to mention your office other than to inform Lord Melbourne we received your full co-operation.”
Crump considered them before saying, “The lady dealt with Mr Thatcher, but I was party to their conversation. Lord Wrotham’s bills were excessive, amounting to over seven thousand pounds. She said it was a small price to save a lady’s reputation.”
“How many creditors were there?” Eleanor asked.
“Twenty or more. The viscount has wasteful tendencies.”
Theo gave a mocking snort. “I know. He’s my cousin.”
Crump’s cheeks coloured. “Forgive me. I did not mean—”
“Say what you like about him. I despise the ingrate. Any man who makes a woman pay his bills deserves to rot in hell.”
Crump jerked in the seat and appeared a bit more lively. “It’s odd you say that because Lord Wrotham had no idea who had paid his debts. He came asking questions, complaining he was a laughing stock, and left believing his aunt had secretly made the donations.”
A creditor must have mentioned the solicitor’s office.
Eleanor sat forward. “You didn’t tell him about Lady Lucille?”
“Heavens, no. I said we dealt with a courier. The lady insisted on secrecy. We assumed she had saved her allowance or her father had given her the funds. But she became teary and confessed to parting with precious jewels to pay the baker’s bill.”
But why?
It made no sense.
Many lords had mounting debts.
It’s why they married ladies with large dowries.
Theo sighed. “Is there anything else you can tell us that might explain her motive?” They were missing something. The clue that tied it all together. “What made her settle her betrothed’s accounts?”
Crump shrugged. “We all thought it most peculiar.” He leaned closer. “I’ll deny this if questioned, but I’m inclined to think Lord Wrotham is the spy.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
“Why would you say that?” Theo said. Spies needed nerves of steel. Wrotham was as weak as a wilting flower. Moreover, there was no spy. Just a devil out to hurt Eleanor and ruin her business.
“It’s fair to say she despises the man. I’m sure her father could find just cause to withdraw from the marriage agreement.”
So why pay the debts of a man you detest?
“She cursed him to the devil in a most unladylike manner,” Crump continued, “and made us swear not to mention her name should he call. Thatcher thought she looked as frightened as a doe. Before she left, she urged us not to accept his money unless we wanted to meet our maker. It was most perplexing.”
Theo’s pulse rose. He was a moth drawn to the flame of curiosity. Wrotham had something to hide. Seeing to his downfall was Theo’s life ambition. What secret was worth killing a solicitor over?
Having wrung Crump for every snippet of information, they left the office and returned to the carriage.
“Why would Lady Lucille entertain a man like Lord Wrotham?” Frown lines marred Eleanor’s brow. “Do you think her father is insisting she marry him?”
Theo relaxed back against the squab. “Nothing matters more to the aristocracy than maintaining appearances. While our visit answered some questions, it brings us no closer to the blackguard who threatened you.”
She pursed her lips, her expression grim. “Suspicion falls on Jack Rogers. He fits the profile and wanted me out of the shop.”
“When I threatened him outside the tavern, he swore he’d never been in your yard. The man is a drunkard. You’d have smelled liquor on him, and he cannot afford to waste money on books.”
Her shoulders slumped. “No one else has a motive. Mr Rogers needed me out of the way so Emily could steal haberdashery.”
Lucille Bowman could afford to leave a book in a coal shed. She had a motive for stealing Eleanor’s diary, and there was a record of her notes being delivered to Wrotham’s creditors. Had she hired a man to do her wicked deeds?
Theo aired his concerns. “Is it a coincidence that Lady Lucille requested the book with the blank note from Pickering’s library? She wanted you out of the shop so she could steal your diary.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes to stem her tears. “How did I get myself embroiled in the ton’s affairs? I should have known it would end badly.”
“Has it ended badly?” Despite every worrisome problem, the moments they shared were the most memorable of his life. “I’m not sorry we’re sitting here attempting to solve a mystery.”
In truth, he didn’t want the day to end.
Then, he would have the dilemma of where to sleep tonight. Did he leave Aaron alone at Fortune’s Den and join Eleanor? It shouldn’t be a difficult choice as being with her was his only desire.
“I bet you wish you’d never taken my wretched box.”
“I was destined to take it.” He had been unable to resist, compelled to have something belonging to her. “Fate granted me a boon the night you hid in my bedchamber.”
She brushed a tear from her cheek. “Part of me wants an end to the nightmare. Part of me doesn’t care what happens as long as I’m with you.”
He understood.
He wanted her with a ferocity that defied logic.
“Come here.” The need to touch her drummed a powerful beat in his blood. He called to Godby and instructed him to head to Finch Lane. Not because he cared about the recipient of Lady Lucille’s note. He wanted more than ten minutes alone with Eleanor. “Sit astride me.”
She crossed the carriage, gathered her skirts and straddled his lap. “You’ll need to hold me close. If we turn sharply, I’ll fall.”
“I’ll not let you go.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. He had no intention of ever letting go. “But I have a confession to make.”
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed twice. “You do?”
“I couldn’t stay away last night. I came to the shop at midnight and left at dawn. After what happened with Emily, I had to know you were all right.”
Her smile spoke of relief. “You didn’t wake me.”
“Gibbs said you cried yourself to sleep and I didn’t want to disturb your peaceful slumber.” He’d wanted to climb into bed beside her, hold her close and lose himself in the heat of her body.
Tears welled in her eyes again. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. If what Emily says is true, my entire life has been a lie.”
“It’s not a lie.” He drew the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “You’re a beautiful person with an extraordinary talent. The past is like a pebble in your shoe. You must discard it, or it will hinder your progress.”
She slid her arms around his neck. “My mind is full of other things. I cannot think about Emily or my mother now. The past is too painful to contemplate.”
“Is there anything I can do to ease your mind?”
“Yes.” Her gaze fell to his mouth. “You can kiss me.”
Kissing a passionate woman in a carriage was always a mistake. The moment their mouths met, they were consumed by a savage hunger. He didn’t tear his mouth from hers when he fumbled to close the blinds. He pulled her close. Kissed her harder. Though it wasn’t enough to satisfy his craving.
“Theo.” She pushed off his hat and tangled her fingers in his hair. She tugged a lock, anchoring him to her, as she devoured his mouth in a heart-stopping kiss.
He had never taken a woman in a carriage, but the need to push deep into Eleanor’s body had him fiddling with his trousers. “I need to be inside you, love, before I lose my damned mind.”
“Hurry,” she said, scrambling with her skirts and wiggling on his lap.
He entered her, their loud sighs like the notes of a beautiful symphony. Their gazes locked, the power of unspoken emotions passing between them with every deep thrust.
I’m in love with you.
The need to have her went beyond physical desire.
He knew what it meant.
He would have to disappoint someone.
As much as it pained him, that someone would be Aaron.
Chapter Seventeen
Finch Lane
Cornhill
By the time the carriage turned into the lane and stopped outside a quaint shop selling ladies’ trinkets, Theo had cleaned the evidence of their lovemaking from Eleanor’s thigh. They spent a moment straightening their clothes, looking at each other and smiling like they were the only two people in the world.
Were their thoughts aligned? she wondered. Was he imagining how impossible life would be if they did not spend every hour together?
“That’s the most scandalous thing I have ever done,” she said, tying the ribbons on her bonnet. “You’re a bad influence, Mr Chance.”
“You asked for a kiss.” Eyes a soft, sated blue lingered on her mouth. “I never do anything in half measures, Eleanor. You know that.”
No, he’d exceeded all expectations when tidying her shop. He had more than fulfilled his vow to put things right.
“Does this intense euphoria ever fade?” she asked. When would lust’s flames stop burning so brightly? Would the inner agony dull over time?
Theo shrugged. “What exists between us is unlike anything I have experienced before. Our relationship is unique.”
“Oh.” What did that mean? She was too afraid to ask.
When you secretly loved someone, there was still hope.
The pain of shattered dreams was hard to bear.
Seeking a distraction from her wayward thoughts, she glanced at the pretty reticules in the shop window and nearly fell off the leather seat.
She pointed at the sign. “Tell me my eyes deceive me.”
He read the name painted in red script on the pale blue background. “Franklin’s Emporium? Franklin? Any relation to the silversmith?”
“I don’t know. Might it be a coincidence?”
“There’s only one way to know for sure.”
They alighted. With Finch Lane being a five-minute walk from Fortune’s Den, Theo instructed Godby to return home.
“I thought you might appreciate the exercise,” he said to her, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Perhaps we might dine with Aaron tonight. He will be glad of the company. You can wait in my room while I assist him at the club.”
The thought of dining with Aaron filled her with dread. He didn’t want her there, but Theo loved his brother, and so she would smile and be polite.
“While I wait, might I sleep in your comfortable bed?”
His smile turned sinful. “Sleep while you can. When I return, I doubt we’ll keep our hands off each other.”
A vivid scene entered her mind. Them kissing until breathless.
I’m so in love with you, she wanted to say.
“You know how to appeal to a woman’s fantasies.”
“I know how to appeal to yours. I don’t care about anyone else.”
They locked gazes for a heartbeat.
No words were needed.
Upon entering the emporium, they were greeted by the tinkling of a tiny bell and an enticing display of costume jewellery filling the glass cases.
A woman of thirty approached them, her dark hair fixed in an elegant coiffure, a pretty lace choker fastened around her neck. “Good afternoon.”
Eleanor stepped forward. “Good afternoon. Might I look at the emerald-green reticule in the window? The one with the gold embroidery?”
“Of course.” The assistant removed it from the window and placed it on the velvet pad on the counter. “The colour matches your eyes perfectly.”
Eleanor could sew something similar in an hour, but she studied the stitches and the tiny glass beads. The design reminded her of something she had made to complement Lady Beckett’s new carriage dress.
“It’s beautiful.”
Theo moved to stand beside her. “It’s yours if you want it.”
She looked at him, tempted to say yes so she could thank him later. “You’ve spent enough money already.” She turned to the assistant. “Are they made by a local seamstress?”
“They’re made by my cousin. She’s a budding designer.” The lady explained she was the proprietress and introduced herself as Miss Franklin. “Those in the window are the first Anna has had the courage to sell.”
“Anna?” Eleanor feigned curiosity. “I’m quite sure I know her, assuming her surname is Franklin. I live in New Bridge Street and taught my neighbour Anna Franklin to sew.”
The lady clapped her hands in surprise. “You must be Miss Darrow. How wonderful. Anna speaks so highly of you. You’re her inspiration.” Her smile faded. “There’s been some terrible business in the street lately. Thieves running amok. It’s bound to ruin livelihoods.”
“Anna believes the men on the merchant ships are to blame.”
“I fear it’s a problem throughout the city. Anna’s friend had me make a paste version of her grandmother’s diamond necklace.” She gestured to the display of costume jewellery in the cabinet. “The poor lady was terrified to wear the original in case someone snatched it from around her neck.”
The cogs in Eleanor’s mind began turning. There would be an uproar if Lady Lucille’s family knew she’d sold her jewels. The only way to avoid detection was to have copies made.
“Ah, you speak of Anna’s friend Lucille.”
The proprietor tapped her finger to her lips. “It’s supposed to be a secret. Anna is quite protective of her new friend. Different social backgrounds can be a problem. Few members of the aristocracy are accepting of the working classes.”
“Of course. Lucille asked me to deliver a letter here for Anna, but a thief stole it when he ransacked my shop.” Eleanor slapped her hand to her chest as if she had spoken out of turn. “Forgive me. I swore my involvement would remain a secret.”
The lady offered a reassuring smile. “Yes, Anna was expecting the note. Her brother Geoffrey is very protective and would have bombarded her with questions if it had been delivered to the house. He would assume someone of Lucille’s standing was mocking Anna and then tear up the missive.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Eleanor said. But how had the women fostered an unlikely friendship? It can only have been when they met at her modiste shop. “But you have my word. I’ll not mention our conversation.”
The shop bell tinkled, and two women entered.
