Lord Warwick nodded as he used the cane to step up next to her and look down at the page in her hand.
“Yes, I am sure, I’ve known about him for over a year. He talks too much when he drinks and he likes to drink, especially other people’s whiskey. He’s a minor functionary in the home office.”
Amanda nodded. FB was listed six times, each time with the sum of one hundred pounds listed after the name.
“And the others?” she asked as she read the list of names he had written out, each one crossed off, obviously not a match.
“I was working on the LS, three payments, each for five hundred pounds. Names that start with L are far and few. I thought perhaps Lawrence. Or Lionel. But nothing makes sense. Then I thought Lord, but all the Lords that begin with S aren’t in a position to know anything valuable or are too firmly on the government’s side.”
Amanda continued to stare at the list. “Couldn’t it be a Lady, not a Lord.”
Lord Warwick eyes grew larger in surprise as he thought about it. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Amanda continued to stare at the list. “Could it be Lady Simpson. I saw them talking the night of the party, she seemed rather upset at him. Nothing blatant, but a feeling. Plus, remember, she came here a few days after you were shot. Asking if I knew where you were. Very convenient, don’t you think.”
Lord Warwick stared back at her, his face frozen in shock. “Perhaps,” he said as he turned to look off into the distance. “Her husband is very miserly with her allowance. But then that is understandable as he despises her. And she him, I might add. Fifteen Hundred pounds would go a long way to making her life better. And heaven knows, she has shared enough men’s beds to have picked up a thing or two.”
Amanda desperately wanted to ask him if she had shared his bed but bit her tongue to stop herself from saying the wrong thing. Saying something that would lead him to think she cared who he had been with.
No, she told herself. Focus on the problem in front of them.
Suddenly, Lord Warwick rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“What?” Amanda asked,
“Last year, Lady Simpson was known to be sharing Lord Havenbrook’s bed. A steamy affair that ended rather suddenly.”
“And that is significant how?”
“Because,” Lord Warwick said with a smile. “Havenbrook is in charge of supplying Weseley’s forces in Portugal. He would have access to shipping schedules. Budgets, everything. Information that Napoleon would pay dearly for.”
Amanda continued to stare down at the list, but nothing else came to her. As the two of them stood there, both looking at the list in her hand, she felt an energy building between them. An awareness of each other that tore at her very center.
Would it always be like this? She wondered. This attraction. Would she always feel this pull towards him?
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked before she realized what she was going to say. Freezing, her fingers clenched the paper even harder as she held her breath. Would he laugh at her? Ignore her as a silly woman?
He leaned the cane against the table to reach up and gently turn her to face him. Smiling down at her, he said, “Because I couldn’t not kiss you.”
Her heart leaped inside her chest. It had been the perfect answer.
“You are beautiful, brave, and possess a remarkable mind,” he continued. “So of course I kissed you. I would apologize, but I have reason to believe you enjoyed it as much as I did, so I refuse to dismiss it.”
Her cheeks erupted in heat that she just knew he would read as embarrassment.
“Oh,” she managed to say as she pulled her eyes away from him to look back down at the paper in her hand. But everything was a blur, the letters and numbers merging together as her mind wandered to other thoughts.
All she was aware of was the large man standing only inches from her. He seemed to take up half of her world. Pulling at her with an invisible force.
“Listen, Amanda,” he said as he gently lifted her chin so that he could stare down into her eyes. “You mustn’t worry. I would never do anything to compromise you.”
She looked back up at him as her insides churned. “Why not?” she asked, again before she could stop herself. But it seemed her tongue had taken on a life of its own.
He leaned back, his eyes registering surprise.
“I mean,” she added quickly. “You have a reputation, shall we say. What is it about me that restrains you?”
He smiled for a second then his lips straightened and his brow furrowed. Obviously, the man had never had to deal with such a frank discussion. He grimaced then shook his head. “Because, my dear. If I seduced you, I would feel obligated to marry you and as you know. I am not the marrying type.”
Amanda’s heart continued to race. She found it hard to believe she was having this conversation with this man, here in his bedroom. But her curiosity and something else. Something deep inside of her, drove her to find out the truth.
“But you don’t marry those other women.” She said with a frown as she pushed her spectacle back to the bridge of her nose. “What is different about me?”
He sighed heavily as he took a step away from her, obviously upset with the direction their conversation had taken.
“Come, Amanda, you are aware of the difference. If we were together. No man would ever marry you. At least no man of standing. Therefore, it would become my responsibility.”
“But …” she hesitated, she really wanted to understand. But how to do it without it seeming as if she were brazen or demanding his attention?
“But,” she continued, “Widows remarry, they do not come to their wedding bed chaste and innocent.”
He sighed heavily. “Most men don’t marry a widow to create an heir, at least not in the ton. They marry a widow to gain access to her deceased husband's wealth. Or to raise the children he already has.”
Amanda gasped, she had never heard it expressed so blatantly, but he was probably right. It seemed all so mercantile.
“Here, sit down,” he said as he pulled a chair out for her then gently guided her down to the chair. Once she was seated, he set the cane aside and used the chair arms to lower himself to a sitting position.
“What is this about, Amanda? Why these questions? You know what is expected of us. People of our standing. You know the rules and ramifications. So why.”
Amanda studied her folded hands in her lap. How could she explain? How could she make this man understand?
“I will never marry,” she said, her tongue deciding to just say what it needed to say.
“Why?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Because I don’t need to. I don’t need a man’s protection or his wealth.”
He laughed, “There are other reasons to marry, you are aware of that?’
She looked back at him, “Really, why? Give me one good reason. Love? You mean like Lord and Lady Simpson. How many people do you know marry for love and that love lasts? How many women end up abandoned and alone while their husbands are off gallivanting around.”
“Family?” he said. “Children?”
She looked at him, “In reality, marriage is not necessary to have a family. Half the men of the ton have a bastard or two. Again, a license from the church isn’t necessary to procreate. Granted, the children would be better off with a father who was married to their mother. But, as I said, not fully required.”
He frowned and slowly shook his head. “How did someone so young become so cynical?”
She laughed, “You forget, I have no desire to climb the social ladder and no fear of becoming destitute. That freedom grants a woman a different perspective.”
He continued to study her for a long moment. “You are like no other woman I know,” he said as if he were both shocked and resigned. “Somehow, it just doesn’t seem natural. A young, beautiful woman without romantic ideals. Do other women think like this?”
Amanda
laughed, “No, but in all honesty, I haven’t discussed it with them. Like you, most of the young women I talk to would find my ideas terrifying.”
Her insides tightened up when she realized how far their conversation had gone. How much she had revealed about herself. What must he think? Would he think less of her? He had already told her that she was different, strange. Would that make him think of her as silly in her own, unusual way?
Would he think she was asking him to take her to bed? The thought sent a cold fear through her. What if he thought that, but decided not to pursue it. What if he found her openness unattractive? Maybe he preferred coy, innocent women. Women he must pursue and persuade. Was it the hunt that he preferred?
She knew so little about men, really. And why was she telling him all of this? Why expose her innermost thoughts to this man.
Lord Warwick continued to study her for a long moment then pulled himself back to the papers on the desk. But as he studied them he slowly shook his head.
“You, Miss Waters, are remarkable.”
Yes, she wondered, but was that a good or bad thing in his eyes?
Chapter Ten
Lord Warwick’s world had been shaken to its very core. Everything he had thought he knew about women was wrong. At least when it came to Miss Waters.
First, the woman pointed him to a name on the list. A fact that he wouldn’t have seen if he’d studied the note for a hundred years. Then she openly talks about marriage and chastity as if she were discussing the weather. At no time in his entire life had he ever had such a discussion. It just wasn’t talked about. Not in such a frank and open way.
Was she giving him permission to pursue her? Did she want him to seduce her? The thought sent an animal need to his very center. He wanted her. He wanted her under him. He wanted to be buried inside of her.
Yet.
How did a man seduce an innocent who wanted to be seduced?
And after? What then?
Closing his eyes, he took in her lavender and rose scent, he felt the energy between them. Her body called to him. Something about the way she sat, those gorgeous eyes she kept hidden behind her spectacles. The way she looked at a problem. Everything about her pulled at him.
Yet.
She was an innocent, remember that, he told himself. She has no experience in such matters. How could he even think of taking her? She would be ruined. Nathanial and Bradford would never forgive him.
What if she never forgave him? Would she spend the rest of her life regretting him? The thought tore at his stomach. For some reason, it was important to him that she not regret anything about him. For the first time in his life, he worried about the morning after. At least with this woman.
He studied her as she read the list of names he had drafted. Her profile was feminine. A picture of female beauty. Her eyes darted over the page, fighting to find patterns or connections. Remember your honor, he told himself for the hundredth time.
Sighing to himself, he leaned forward, his shoulder brushed hers as they both studied the pages and lists. She turned, staring into his eyes. An energy passed between them. A force that pulled them together.
He started to lean forward, disregarding his doubts, disregarding his worries. He wanted this woman.
A soft knock and the click of the door opening forced its way into his awareness.
“Excuse me, Mum,” Molly said as she stepped into the room. An envelope in her hands. “This just arrived.”
He watched as Amanda swallowed and forced herself to turn to her maid. Swallowing again, she held out her hand and said, “Thank you, Molly.”
The maids face turned a lighter shade of white as she nodded towards Lord Warwick and said, “It’s for him. The boy said to give it to Lord Warwick.”
Amanda’s face froze for a second. The look of fear in her eyes tore at him.
“Thank you, Molly,” he said as he took the note from her. The maid curtsied and then scurried from the room. The door clicking shut behind her.
“How is this possible,” Amanda demanded. “I assure you, no one knows you are here. They can’t know.”
Warwick opened the note and read it quickly. His stomach dropped.
“My butler,” he told her. “I must go.”
Her brow furrowed. “Your butler. But how?”
He smiled weakly at her. “I told him. In my note to my mother.”
“Your mother knows you are living under this roof?”
The look of shock and shame that flashed across her face made him wince. “No. No. My mother knows nothing. … The note I sent her. Peters, my butler reads her mail to her. She refuses to admit that her eyesight is failing.”
Amanda nodded, she had probably noticed it on the several times the two women had come into contact.
“Anyway, knowing that, I made sure to include information in the note that only Peters would understand. Just in case he needed to reach me.” Waving the note Molly had delivered, he continued. “Which it seems he does.”
Amanda continued to frown as she tried to understand, then her face became concerned.
“You can’t leave. You can barely walk.”
“Never the less, it seems I must.”
Her eyes held him, mixed with concern and some hidden thought. He smiled back at her and shrugged. “Just think, you will finally be rid of me and can get on with your life.”
She continued to stare at him then slowly shook her head. Turning, she glanced down at the papers they had been working on and frowned. “It is over, isn’t it.” She said with a sad whisper. Biting her lip, she looked back at him, “I don’t want you to go.”
A simple statement that said so much. His heart jumped. He had never wanted a woman so much. Had never felt such an overwhelming sense of connection. Never needed someone as he needed this woman right then.
The surge of desire filled him. Yet, at the same time, a sense of protectiveness filled him. Counterbalancing the desire. No, he couldn’t. He was walking out of this woman’s life. Duty called. Honor demanded he leave her untouched.
“Amanda,” he said softly, all the while regretting to the bottom of his heart what he was about to say. “Amanda,” he repeated as he reached out and took her hand.
She looked up at him, fear in her eyes.
“It is for the best,”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why couldn’t you chase your spies from here. I could help.” The look of desperation pulled at him.
He sighed heavily. “Amanda, it is for the best, I have been delaying it longer than I should have. This attraction between us cannot be denied. If I stay we both know what will happen.”
She held his stare for a long moment then said, “Would that be so terrible?”
He smiled softly and slowly shook his head. “No, it would be wonderful. That is what worries me. I might fall into those gorgeous eyes of yours and never come out. You must understand. A man could become enamored of you very easily, Miss Amanda.”
“Again, would that be so terrible?”
He laughed. “No, it wouldn’t but I am not the man for you, Amanda. And this is not the time. I have a job to do. A job that very well might find me dead in some alley. You deserve so much more.”
She pulled her hand from his and turned away, but not before he saw the look in her eyes that said she wanted him, not some other imaginary man. Him, John.
“I will send Molly to get a coach,” she said still without looking at him as she hurried out of the room.
His heart hitched as the door closed behind her. It is for the best, he told himself, over and over. Yes, it would have been glorious. But what he had told her was true, he could easily find himself in love with the woman. A risk he could not afford to take at the moment.
Looking down at the note, his insides clenched. He trusted his butler with his life, on more than one occasion in fact. Peters would never have reached out to him. Never risked his exposure, unless it was critical.
He turned and examined the room. The sha
ving blade, her father’s blade rested on the dresser. Reaching into his pocket he ran a finger over the ivory penknife. No, there was nothing to take. Sighing, he folded the papers and Amanda’s copy of Lord Hicks’s ledger. The clothes he had arrived in were long gone. All he had was the clothes Molly had obtained for him.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Excuse me, M’lord,” Molly said as she stuck her head around the corner. “The coach is here.”
He smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” There was no longer any need for the maid to call him John.
The young maid continued to hold the same position as she obviously tried to gather her courage to say something. Feeling sorry for her, Warwick said, “Thank you for everything you have done for me, Molly. And I have done as you requested. I am leaving Miss Waters unharmed.”
She scoffed and shook her head. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that your Lordship.” Having said what she came to say, she turned and closed the door.
Warwick sighed, it had never been his intention to harm Amanda. That was the last thing he wanted. In fact, it was that driving force that had held him back all of these days and oh so long nights.
Taking up his cane, he leaned on it heavily as he made his way out of the room and down the stairs. On reaching the bottom of the long staircase, he found Amanda standing there, tying her bonnet under that pretty chin of hers.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a frown.
She looked back at him as if he had grown a second head. “I am going with you, of course,” she said as she drew on her gloves.
“What if someone sees us leaving together? Have you thought of that? Your reputation would be ruined?”
He could have sworn she actually thought he had lost what little sense he had left. “You can’t honestly believe I would let you travel unassisted,” she continued. “No, I won’t be able to relax my responsibilities until I see you safely in your staff’s care. London is not exactly safe, after all. Especially for someone in your condition.
“You are dressed as a workman,” She continued. “We are entering a coach I have hired. People will think you are assisting me with a project. Perhaps taking me to your workshop to retrieve an item I have commissioned.”
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