Ellen nodded to the footman stationed just inside the door. He was one of Brantford’s men. Another was midway down the hall and a third was by the door leading out into the back garden. She wondered just how many men had been added to Overlea’s staff and had to push down her guilt at the turmoil she’d caused.
Brantford had told her Catherine was also in danger from Lord Standish. Whether or not she resided with them, the marquess would have needed to increase his security. Lord Kerrick knew of the danger the other man posed to his betrothed’s safety and would have seen to it.
Catherine came rushing into the entrance hall, and Rose felt a pang of dismay looking at her. They hadn’t known each other long, but Rose had taken an instant liking to her and had gone out of her way to befriend Catherine. She hated to think her friend had reciprocated only because she wanted to help Lord Kerrick gain information about her father’s activities.
Catherine smiled at Ellen and turned to face Rose. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t pry, and I mean to stick to that promise. I just wanted to make sure you were fine after your visit with your father.”
Rose hadn’t told Catherine the real reason for her visit, but her friend did know that Brantford had escorted her instead of Kerrick. And since Catherine was a smart woman, she’d have guessed that something important had taken place.
That was one of the reasons Rose had liked her immediately. Catherine wasn’t like many of the debutantes who’d come out that season, concerned only about her hair and the cut of her dress.
She didn’t want to have this conversation, but there was no point in putting it off. “Can we speak privately?”
Catherine’s brow creased. “Of course. Would you like to come into the drawing room?”
Rose nodded, then turned to Ellen. “Thank you for coming with me today. I’ll let you know if I need you again.”
The other woman gave her a brisk nod but didn’t leave right away. Rose could feel her speculative gaze on her as she followed Catherine the short distance to the drawing room and closed the door behind them.
Catherine waited for Rose to speak first, clearly unwilling to press her for details she might not want to share. Rose had always appreciated that about her.
Rose began to pace, trying to ignore the look of concern on her friend’s face.
Catherine moved to the settee. “You don’t have to tell me anything about what happened today. I understand completely if it’s too difficult for you.”
Rose turned to face her, needing to have this conversation over with as soon as possible. The uncertainty about Catherine’s friendship was killing her.
“Is our acquaintance genuine, Catherine?”
If the way Catherine’s mouth gaped open was any indication, she was truly surprised. But did her reaction stem from her surprise at having her friendship questioned or at having her ruse discovered?
“I… What? What do you mean by that? Of course it’s genuine. Why would you think it wasn’t?”
Rose dropped into a chair, hating that she felt guilty for the hurt in her friend’s face. But she was hurt too.
“I know your betrothed was investigating my father. I never understood why he was courting me when it was clear that he preferred you. It didn’t make sense that he was acting on the wishes of his parents and mine.”
Catherine leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t learn about that.”
“Well, I did, and it explains so much. Such as why you, the woman who wanted him for herself, would form a friendship with the woman he was courting. Were you trying to ply me for information?”
The guilt in Catherine’s eyes when she opened them was answer enough. Rose stood. “You were.”
“Ugh, I am so bad at this. Why did I think I should involve myself?”
Rose turned to leave the room, but Catherine sprang up and grabbed her hand. Reluctantly, Rose allowed Catherine to pull her down next to her on the settee.
“No, I won’t allow you to leave until I’ve told you everything.”
“What more is there to say?” Rose didn’t know how she would be able to stand the sting of this betrayal. To discover that the one friend she’d thought she had left wasn’t her friend after all was more than she could bear.
“I was a silly, ignorant child when I visited you that first day at your house. You remember that, right? I thought that if I got close to you, I could help Kerrick come to the end of his investigation more quickly. But you pulled me into your confidence right away. Used me to dodge all those men who’d called on you and we escaped to the garden.” Catherine smiled, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You threw me completely off with your welcome. And I discovered very quickly that I enjoyed your company very much.”
Rose really didn’t want to ask the next question, but she had to know. “Were you and Kerrick laughing at me behind my back?”
Catherine’s eyes widened. “No! Absolutely not! We never poked fun at you. In fact, the opposite was true. Once I came to know you, I hated that your father was under suspicion. I wanted nothing more than for Kerrick to find information that would show Brantford he was wrong about him.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’ve said too much. You weren’t supposed to know that.”
Rose nodded. So Kerrick had been acting on Brantford’s orders. She wasn’t surprised.
“Rose, my friendship is real. I will do anything you need me to do. Anything.” She dashed a tear from her eye as she spoke.
Catherine wasn’t that good of an actress. If she were, she would have been able to conceal her feelings for Lord Kerrick. Catherine would have been able to get more information from her if so many of their outings hadn’t centered around Rose’s schemes to bring Kerrick and Catherine together. And now that she thought of it, Catherine had never once pried for information about her father.
“I believe you,” Rose said, tears coming to her own eyes. “You understand why I had to ask.”
“Of course,” Catherine said, gripping her in a hug. “I hate that you’re going through this. I wish there was something I could do to make it better.”
Rose pulled back and gave her a tremulous smile. “Just continue to be my friend. I couldn’t get through this if I didn’t know you were at my side.”
Catherine nodded, the tears falling freely as she pulled her into another hug.
Chapter 8
Brantford couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out in the field. For several years now, he’d collected information solely through his many associates.
He’d considered asking Kerrick to perform tonight’s particular mission. It wouldn’t have taken much convincing since Catherine was still in danger from Standish. But in the end, he decided he needed to observe Standish himself.
Which was why he now found himself in a seamy gambling hell by the docks that his quarry was known to frequent. Standish would have heard about his and Rose’s visit to the Tower and would know exactly why Brantford was there.
His thoughts kept returning to the promise he’d given Worthington, which was another reason why he’d decided to undertake tonight’s activity. He needed to ascertain just how much danger Rose was in. If he’d learned anything over the years, it was never to ignore his instincts, and right now they were telling him it was possible he might need to fulfill his promise to Rose’s father.
He sat with his back to the wall, facing the entrance. The position would allow him to watch Standish unobserved when he arrived.
A few men had glanced his way, but no one bothered him. He wasn’t the only man sitting alone, but he was the only one not in his cups.
He didn’t have to wait long before Standish strode, alone, into the dark establishment. Brantford had entertained a vague hope the man would be accompanied by at least one of his associates. He knew they existed since Standish was too well informed to be acting alone. At the very least, the man had his own network of informants.
Brantford remained where he was seated near the bac
k of the establishment, which afforded him the opportunity to study his prey before he was spotted.
Standish was about the same age as him. They hadn’t been classmates at Oxford, and Brantford had assumed the man had gone to Cambridge. But thanks to Kerrick, he knew now that Standish had never attended university because his father had sent him abroad to shield him from the consequences of having murdered his cousin.
Outwardly, Standish was the very epitome of a man of his station. His brown hair was kept short, as was the current mode, and he took great care to flaunt his wealth through his attention to fashion. Beau Brummell himself could take lessons from the man.
He’d noticed that Standish gave off a sinister air that made others nervous around him. Brantford had witnessed it on more than one occasion, but of course he’d never really cared one way or the other.
That was before the man became a threat to Rose.
Standish’s eyes swept across the room. He started toward one group but stopped and changed direction when he spotted him. Brantford took note of the men he’d been about to join—he knew many of the patrons present this evening. He had a few of his own men interspersed throughout the room and knew they’d provide him with the names of those in that group he didn’t already know.
His attention focused on Standish. He half expected the man to leave, but it appeared Standish was willing to play the game. He stalked toward Brantford, not bothering to hide his amusement, and lowered himself into the other seat at the small table.
“This is a surprise,” Standish said, his eyes sweeping over the table and no doubt taking in the fact that Brantford wasn’t drinking. “Though I must say, not an unpleasant one.”
“I found myself bored this evening.”
Standish smiled, a gruesome affair that threatened Brantford’s composure. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ve long wanted to play you, but everyone knows you never gamble. Tell me, are you really that bad? Surely you can afford to lighten your pockets every once in a while.”
Brantford looked the other man over slowly, knowing how much Standish would hate the implied censure in his gaze. “Quite the opposite. It’s tiring winning all the time. No challenge.”
Standish’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing briefly in annoyance. “I think you’ll find me a worthy opponent.”
Brantford looked away, forcing Standish to wait for his response. It was a small thing, but he could almost feel the weight of the other man’s glare. After several moments, he raised a hand, making a casual motion to one of the barmaids. A pack of cards appeared within seconds.
Standish opened the pack and began to shuffle. “It will be a pleasant change to play someone who isn’t already completely foxed. Piquet?”
Brantford gave the man an abbreviated nod, watching as he handled the cards with the finesse of a sharp. He knew then that he wouldn’t intentionally throw this game. Most men would be too wrapped up in their victory to know—or care—how they’d won. Pair that with a few drinks, and they’d be an open book. But Standish wasn’t a fool. He’d know if Brantford lost by design, especially since he too wasn’t drinking. Nothing would be gained.
Better to work on the insight Worthington had given him that morning—that Standish feared him. Frustration at being unable to best him might work where empty victories wouldn’t.
The task proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. He shouldn’t have been surprised to discover Standish was skilled at cards. Not as skilled as he, however. After his third loss, Standish threw the cards down in disgust.
“You really do think you’re better than the rest of us,” Standish uttered, a dangerous gleam in his eye.
“Three hands would seem to bear that out. Perhaps one day I’ll meet my match. But we both know that won’t be you.”
Standish stood, his chair scraping back in protest at the abrupt motion. He leaned forward, towering over Brantford, who moved not a muscle.
“I’m going to wipe that superior look from your face. Don’t think I don’t know that the Worthington chit is under your protection. The young swains are already lining up, waiting for the opportunity to offer her carte blanche when Overlea sets her loose. But when I’m through with her, there won’t be anything left for them.”
Brantford dropped his facade then, allowing the other man to see the cold, deadly heat he knew was in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to tear Standish limb from limb for even thinking about Rose. Satisfaction flowed through him when he saw the doubt that entered the other man’s expression.
“If you go near Rose Hardwick, it will be the very last thing you do.”
Rallying, Standish tossed out an eager “Let the games begin, Brantford” before turning and striding from the hell.
Standish had to sit there for a full minute before he was able to get his temper back in check.
He made eye contact with his men, signaling that they should concentrate on the group seated at the table Standish had been heading toward and then stood to leave.
Standish had made a grave error that night in threatening Rose Hardwick. Time would tell whether he’d actually live to see the gallows or if Brantford was going kill him with his bare hands.
Brantford looked up from the report he was reading when the door to his study swung open. His sister sauntered into the room and sat primly in his guest chair.
“You sent for me, Lord B?”
Brantford closed the file and set it aside, working to tamp down his annoyance. His thoughts had circled around his conversation with Standish the previous evening and he hadn’t been able to concentrate on the documents. He’d have to try later to read the file. After everything was settled.
“Is that necessary when it’s just the two of us?”
She lifted one shoulder. “All right, Brantford.” At his frown, she continued. “You may be my younger brother, but you ceased being Lucien a long time ago. I can’t even remember the last time I caught a glimpse of that sweet little boy.”
Brantford rose and moved to the sideboard. He poured his sister a glass of sherry and for himself a small measure of brandy. He needed to keep his wits about him and couldn’t afford more than that.
His sister’s words brought up unpleasant memories he’d tried his best to forget. That sweet little boy she missed had died a long time ago, crushed under the unrelenting demands his father had made of his heir. He couldn’t begin to imagine why she’d bring the past up now, and he wasn’t about to ask.
He handed Ellen her glass and resumed his seat behind the desk.
His sister frowned. “You work far too much. You couldn’t step outside your study to receive me?”
“If memory serves, you barged in here and made yourself at home. Besides, this isn’t a social call.”
His sister sighed and took a sip of her sherry. “No, I suppose it isn’t. I told you I’d keep you informed of Rose’s movements. She hasn’t left the house since your visit to the Tower yesterday, and nothing untoward has occurred. No attempts to break into the house, no unusual correspondence.”
Brantford had to restrain himself from downing the small amount of brandy he’d allowed himself in one gulp. Even then, half was gone when he lowered the glass and faced his sister.
“In exchange for his information, Worthington extracted a promise from me to watch over his daughter.”
Ellen gave a small shrug. “He should have realized you’ve been doing that since the beginning.”
“Not quite. He wanted me to promise him that I’d give her the protection of my name.”
That got his sister’s attention. She almost choked on her sherry.
Ellen placed the glass on his desk and glared at him. “You could have waited for me to finish taking a sip before springing that on me.”
Brantford didn’t hide his amusement. “Yes, but it’s always so much fun to catch you off guard. It happens so rarely.”
“So.” Ellen leaned back and glared at her brother. “Worthington made you promise to wed Rose. And y
ou agreed. That doesn’t seem like you.”
“Not quite.” Brantford resisted the urge to down the rest of his drink by placing the glass on his desk. “He only insisted I do so if it became necessary.”
“And is it? Necessary?”
“I didn’t think so when I spoke to him. I thought I had things well in hand, but I ran into Standish last night.”
Ellen’s eyes gleamed with interest. “And?”
“And he threatened her. He didn’t come right out and say he was planning to kill her, but that was the substance of his statement.”
Ellen gave her head a small shake of her head. “Leave it to you to make an already bad situation worse.”
Brantford refused to rise to the bait. “We both know her life was already in danger. Why else would Worthington admit to a crime he didn’t commit?”
“Don’t try to make light of this. You said yourself you didn’t think you’d have to marry the poor girl, but now you’re saying that after running into Standish, you do. Therefore, you made the situation worse.”
Brantford narrowed his eyes. “Standish knows I’m closing in. If Miss Hardwick had retired to the country with her mother, she’d be safe right now. Standish would have no need to pay her any attention. She put herself in this position by remaining in London and insisting on visiting her father. And yes, I used her desire to help her father to my advantage yesterday, but it was always going to happen. Standish couldn’t very well ignore a potential leak.”
He downed the rest of the brandy, hating that his sister could rile him up so easily. “What are you smiling at?” he asked when he noticed she no longer appeared angry.
“You want to marry her.”
His stomach hollowed at the certainty in her voice. Did he want to marry Rose Hardwick?
It only took him a moment to realize that he did. She was temptation itself. When he was around her, he had to hold himself severely in check. Force himself not to betray just how much she affected him when the very opposite was true. He noticed everything about her. He’d never admit it to his sister, however. Nor would he let Rose know she held such power over him.
The Unaffected Earl Page 7
