by Merry Farmer
He picked up on that much, jumping to offer his elbow. Katya took it, and they strolled away from the Serpentine toward Rotten Row.
“I’ve lived my whole life in the country,” he explained. “I managed my father’s land before inheriting it. I’ve far more experience dealing with farmers and tradesmen than London’s elite.”
“Then why did you stand for Parliament?” she asked, surprised that she was genuinely curious about the answer.
Christopher shrugged. “I didn’t, in a way. My father traditionally held the seat. The election campaign had already begun when he died. Before I knew it, my name had replaced his on the ballot, I won the election, and here I am.” He shrugged again, the gesture serving as bookends to his situation.
“There are so many advantages in being an unknown in these waters,” Katya said, searching for the quickest way to come to her point. The fewer people saw her walking with Christopher, the more likely he would be able to infiltrate the Black Strap Club without Shayles knowing he was a spy. She steered their steps toward a cluster of trees that would block them from full view.
“I have no issue with being unknown,” Christopher went on. “I’m rather more concerned with being thought of as a country rube.”
“London gossip can be cruel,” Katya agreed with a nod.
“Especially when my own kinsmen whisper about me behind my back,” he added in a voice so low Katya was convinced he was talking to himself. “They’re not convinced I have a right to the Dowland name, considering the rumors that abounded about my mother.” He shook his head and grinned crookedly at her. “But that’s unpleasant talk for such a lovely day. I understand you have something you’d like me to do for you?” he asked.
“Yes. Something of vital importance.” Katya let her soothing smile melt into a look that was pure business. “You met Lord Theodore Shayles the other day, but are you familiar with his club?”
A burst of color filled Christopher’s cheeks, and he was suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve heard of it,” he said, clipping his words.
Katya raised a brow. “Have you visited it?”
“No,” Christopher answered immediately. “And I’ve no wish to. From what I understand, the place is an abomination.”
The fierceness of his words was a paradoxical encouragement to Katya. Obviously, Christopher wasn’t of Shayles’s ilk, which meant that he would be the perfect candidate to provide honest, believable testimony against the club, as Inspector Craig had requested.
Katya patted his arm. “If you know the place is an abomination, then you know how necessary it is that it be shut down.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed enthusiastically. “I don’t understand why Scotland Yard hasn’t boarded up the place already.”
“Because where Shayles and his club are concerned, the law looks the other way.”
Christopher gaped at her with an expression of shock and dismay, as though personally hurt that the law could be corrupt.
“At least, until now,” Katya added with a sly grin.
Christopher frowned. “How do you mean?”
“A few days ago, the Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard was removed from his position and arrested for corruption. He was the one who had been protecting Shayles’s club. The man who took his place, Inspector Craig, is not on Shayles’s payroll, and could, therefore, shut the place down for good.”
“Thank God for that.”
“However,” Katya stopped him, “Inspector Craig requires reliable, insider information that would give the police enough fuel for a raid. He needs someone who has patronized the club to break the vow of silence that Shayles’s customers maintain. Someone who would be willing to testify about what they have seen inside the walls of the club in court.”
Christopher blinked. “But I’ve never been there before. How could I—” He stopped, his mouth hanging open, and turned to her. His eyes held understanding far beyond the ridiculousness of his features. “You want me to patronize the club, gather information, and take it to the police, to your Inspector Craig.”
“Precisely,” Katya said.
Christopher let go of her arm and took a step back, rubbing his hand over his face, brow knit in thought. Katya stood patiently where she was, watching the man’s inner debate. His face betrayed his thoughts in a way that made her wonder if he was up to the job after all.
At last, he let out a breath and met her firm gaze with a serious one of his own. “You wouldn’t be asking me if there were anyone else who could do this, would you?”
“No.” Katya nodded. “You’re a newcomer in town, an unknown. Shayles knows everyone associated with me and my friends, the group that has been seeking to bring him to justice for years.”
“But he does know we’ve met,” Christopher said. “He saw us together at Westminster the other day.”
“And that wasn’t enough of an interaction to indicate we’re more than passing acquaintances.”
Christopher winced, running a hand through his hair. “What sort of evidence would your inspector need?”
“Reports of the activities of the club,” Katya said. “Documentation, if you can get it. I’m uncertain if Shayles has such a thing as a contract his customers sign.”
“I wouldn’t have to…do anything, would I?” he asked, writhing with discomfort. “To those poor girls, I mean.”
“That would be up to you,” Katya said, finding it sweet that the man wouldn’t want to take advantage of the situation. “Chances are you would only need to spend an hour or so with a girl behind closed doors. I could give you the names of the girls who are my contacts on the inside, if you’d like.”
Surprise lit Christopher’s expression. “You’re in contact with those poor girls?” He shook his head. “Why not get them to testify?”
“We plan to, but the court gives more weight to a man’s testimony, especially when the court trying Shayles will ultimately be the House of Lords itself.” Katya couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “My girls are there to keep the other girls from greater danger than they are already in, and to get them out when they can.”
Christopher seemed to understand, but he also looked as though he might be sick. “When do you need me to do this?”
A burst of hopeful relief filled Katya’s heart. He would help them. “The sooner the better. Tonight, if possible.”
Christopher made a sound as though she’d asked him to wade into the sewers. In a way, she had. “I’ll see what I can do. But, Lady Stanhope….”
Katya waited for him to go on, but had to prompt him with, “Yes?”
He winced, shifting uncomfortably. “I…I hope that you would be willing to do something for me in return.”
Katya’s stomach clenched, not over whatever Christopher would ask, but because Malcolm had been right. Christopher wanted something in return for his assistance. She squared her shoulders, ready for the worst. “What can I do for you?”
Once again, Christopher seemed unable to meet her eyes. His face turned beet red. “I’m new to my title, such as it is. It’s not anything as grand as yours. It’s small enough that I can still serve in Commons. But it does have a certain amount of responsibility to it,” he rambled, dripping discomfort. “And as such, there are certain expectations on me. Marriage, for instance.”
Katya’s brow shot up. “I’m well past marrying age, Sir Christopher, and if you need an heir, which I assume you do—”
“No, no!” He glanced to her in alarm. “I wasn’t proposing. I just wondered if you could introduce me to some suitable young women who wouldn’t be completely repulsed by me.”
The innocence in his eyes and the implication that most women would be repulsed by him touched Katya’s heart. She smiled, feeling a burst of maternal affection for the man, even though he couldn’t have been more than ten years younger than her. She took his arm and resumed their stroll.
“Of course I’d be willing to make a few introductions for you,” she said. “In
fact, I can think of a few young women who would be lucky to have you.” Victoria Travers, for one. Mariah deVere’s younger sister had been holed up at Starcross Castle for more than a year, unwilling to reenter society after the debacle with Peter’s horrid nephew, William. Christopher was just the sort of gentle soul a frightened doe like Victoria needed. And Christopher’s estate was close to Peter’s.
She was already making plans to bring the two young people together as she and Christopher turned the corner at the end of the trees, following the path as it arched toward the Serpentine again. Her matchmaker’s smile vanished in an instant as she spotted Malcolm pacing at the water’s edge, not far from where her daughters and Cece were giggling like fiends while staring at a pack of young bucks on the prowl. Malcolm saw them. His expression darkened.
“He isn’t going to challenge me to a duel, is he?” Christopher asked, a note of genuine terror in his voice.
“No,” Katya laughed. “But I might have to challenge him.” She narrowed her eyes as Malcolm grew near. “All the same,” she went on, letting go of Christopher’s arm, “it would be better if we weren’t seen together.”
Christopher nodded. “I’ll let you know what happens with…the thing.” He turned and strode off in the opposite direction, sparing a final, wary glance for Malcolm.
Katya continued forward, meeting Malcolm at the intersection of two paths.
“I see your young conquest doesn’t have the chops to face a real man,” Malcolm said.
Katya rolled her eyes and took Malcolm’s arm when he offered it. “Please tell me you’re only saying that to maintain the illusion that my interest in Christopher Dowland was something other than the task we need him to do.”
Malcolm grumbled, the sound neither confirming nor denying her statement.
“Honestly, Malcolm,” she huffed. “Jealousy in a man of your age is unbecoming.”
“Just as flirting with young men at your age is obscene.”
She pursed her lips and stared sidelong at him. “Are you saying I couldn’t have a man of Christopher’s age if I wanted him?”
Malcolm remained silent, his expression darkening further. Because, of course, he knew she was fully capable of seducing any man she wanted. Young men of a certain ilk were particularly eager to learn from their elders. What Malcolm failed to understand, however, was that she didn’t, in fact, want a dozen young, virile men in her bed. Quite the contrary.
“You’re too competitive,” she told him, facing forward and smiling at the sunlight glinting off the Serpentine. “That’s always been your problem. You can’t stand to feel as though you’re capable of being bested in anything.”
“That’s not true,” he argued. “I know where my strengths and weaknesses lie.”
Katya laughed. “It eats away at you to think of anyone winning at your expense, whether it’s a vote in Parliament or a woman’s affections or even a hand at cards.”
“Nonsense,” he barked. She had a feeling he would have used a far more colorful word if they’d been in private. “I’m fully capable of losing.”
“Really?” Katya arched a brow at him. “Prove it.”
They had reached Bianca, Natalia, and Cece at the water’s edge. Katya held out her hand, eyes fixed on the reticule of breadcrumbs that Natalia carried. Natalia handed it over. Katya opened it and scooped out a small handful, depositing it in Malcolm’s hands. She kept a bit for herself, then handed the reticule back to Natalia.
“Do you see that swan out there?” She nodded toward the center of the lake, where a particularly majestic swan paddled, eyeing the people on the bank with suspicion. “The first one to lure that swan to the side of the lake wins.”
“That’s completely ridiculous,” Malcolm grumbled.
His grumbling stopped when Katya stepped away from him, scooting along the Serpentine’s bank to get clear of the cluster of waterfowl waiting to be fed by passersby. “Here, swanny,” she called out to the large bird. “I’ve got a nice handful of breadcrumbs for you. Here, swanny, swanny, swanny.”
“Come here, you big bastard,” Malcolm called out from the stretch of bank on the other side of the girls. He tossed crumbs out into the water, nearly hitting the swan as he did.
“Here, swanny,” Katya called a little louder, casting her crumbs as far out into the lake as she could, nearly reaching the bird. “Lovely, fine, swanny.”
The rest of the ducks and geese sensed something was afoot and swam madly to snatch up the crumbs that the large swan was suspicious of. He paddled this way and that, closer to Malcolm then closer to Katya. Katya was sure he thought humans were a strange and ridiculous lot.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Malcolm snapped when the swan drifted closer to Katya’s side. “My crumbs are better than hers.”
“That’s a good boy, swanny,” Katya cooed, worried that she was running out of crumbs. “Come to mama.”
“Good Lord, Mama. You realize it sounds as though you’re propositioning that poor swan,” Bianca laughed.
Katya straightened and glared at her daughter. As she did, Malcolm sent a flurry of tempting crumbs sailing at the swan. It turned its head and looked as though it would choose Malcolm over here.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she said, resuming her efforts to lure the swan to her.
The rest of the birds quacked and squawked and fluttered. The girls laughed uproariously along with them. More than a few pedestrians had stopped to see what was going on and were laughing too. But Katya was glad to look like a fool if it meant she could prove a point to Malcolm.
“There’s a good boy,” she cooed as the swan made a definitive break toward her. “Ha!” She turned to Malcolm with a triumphant grin.
A moment later, the swan let out a ferocious honk and sped toward her. The move was so unexpected that Katya reeled back with a yelp. The other birds parted, leaving the swan free to charge up the bank in pursuit of her.
With another outburst that was something between a shout and a laugh, Katya dashed to the side. She wished she’d brought a parasol to defend herself with, but as it was, her only option was flight. The swan charged after her, long neck extended, honking up a storm.
Malcolm had stepped away from the water’s edge, so Katya ran straight toward him. “I’ve got you,” he said, extending his arms as though he would fold her into a protective embrace.
Katya reached for him as well, but the moment they made contact, the swan charged. Instead of playing the hero and clasping her to his chest, Malcolm shouted a curse and leapt back, tugging Katya with him. The two of them turned and ran, bursting into laughter.
They didn’t stop until they were on the other side of a stand of bushes that reached out into the water. Completely abandoning dignity, Katya laughed like a woman half her age, sagging in Malcolm’s loose embrace. He snorted with laughter along with her, his face red with embarrassment and amusement.
“This proves nothing,” he said, glancing back to make sure the swan wasn’t still chasing them.
“It proves that we’re a pair of old fools,” Katya said.
Malcolm made a sound of agreement, slipping his arm around her waist. He met her eyes with bright joy and lust. “If we weren’t in the middle of Hyde Park on a busy morning, I’d drag you into that bush and ravish you until you honked like that swan.”
Katya laughed louder, the ache of arousal heating her. “As I recall, you’re the one who sounds more like that swan when you come,” she murmured close to his ear before backing to a respectable distance. Several people were watching them, and age and titles could only protect them from social scandal to a point. It wasn’t as if most of London didn’t know what was between them anyhow. All the same, neither of them would be invited to a church bazaar any time soon.
“Really, Mama, you’re an utter embarrassment,” Natalia said in imitation of Katya’s scolding tone as she, Bianca, and Cece approached.
“What kind of an example are you setting, Papa?” Cece asked.
<
br /> But it was Bianca who squinted off in the distance and said, “Is that Sir Christopher Dowland talking to Lord Shayles?”
Katya caught her breath. She and Malcolm turned in unison to glance across the Serpentine. There, on the path that led toward Kensington Gardens, was Christopher walking side-by-side with Shayles. It was too far to judge Christopher’s expression, but Shayles had a hand on his back.
“I do believe the plan is working,” Katya said, the thrill of victory zipping through her.
“Shayles’s days are numbered,” Malcolm agreed with a menacing grin.
Chapter 6
The concept of waiting was one Malcolm had never mastered. Knowing that a dolt like Dowland was in the process of infiltrating The Black Strap Club, that an idiot of Dowland’s kind was the one who might pip him at the post and bring Shayles down, made him impatient, short-tempered, and restless for days.
In moments of relative calm, he was willing to admit quietly to himself that Dowland probably was the ideal man for the job at hand. His frustration with the situation was most likely simple jealousy over the way Katya spoke so highly of the younger man. If he were honest with himself, he’d never been comfortable with the company Katya kept. He should have been the man standing by her side for the past fifteen years. He should have been the one warming her bed, not the parade of lovers she’d flaunted in his face. And yes, the argument that had nipped their original affair in the bud had been his fault, but surely fifteen years was more than ample time to be in a snit.
“My lord?”
Malcolm was jolted out of his thoughts as Galston stepped into the doorway of his study, holding a silver salver.
“What do you want?” Malcolm snapped, setting the large tumbler of scotch whiskey he’d been nursing on the mantle of the fireplace he’d been staring into and crossing to meet Galston at the door.
Unperturbed by his foul tempers as always, Galston presented the salver. “A message has just arrived.”
Malcolm swiped the small sealed envelope with a bare nod to Galston. His pulse shot up. He knew the stationary well, was tempted to hold the letter to his nose to breathe in Katya’s scent. Without pause, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out the message.
