Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9)

by Lana Williams

  “Not all of them are bad.” He reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, surprising her.

  They strolled behind Ronald and Charlotte, keeping as much distance as possible from the cages. Amelia was relieved the children didn’t wish to linger overlong. They soon stepped into the fresh air, and she drew a deep breath.

  “It smells nearly as bad in there as in some parts of London.”

  She chuckled at Christopher’s jest even as she removed her hand from his arm. Already, she could feel curious stares from the other governesses. While she didn’t recognize any of them, their looks were a reminder that it was inappropriate to walk so closely with Christopher.

  The afternoon passed enjoyably and far too quickly. She hadn’t laughed so much in a long while. Christopher’s humor was delightful. The children clearly loved being with him. She hoped he’d given up on the idea of sending them to the country to live.

  Next was the Tasmanian Tiger.

  “Hmm,” Christopher said. “It’s smaller than I expected but still looks fierce.”

  “I wouldn’t want to come across it in the woods.” Charlotte gave a little shiver at the thought.

  “Especially at night,” Ronald added.

  The zebras were amusing to look at as were the ostriches and other African animals. The lion paced his cage, his restlessness suggesting he was less than pleased to be in such a small enclosure.

  “His paws are larger than my hands.” Ronald held out his hands as if to compare.

  “They’re larger than your head, silly,” Charlotte advised.

  As they watched, the animal yawned, revealing its large sharp teeth.

  Ronald took several steps back at the sight, eyes wide.

  She was pleased the children’s endless questions didn’t annoy Christopher even when he didn’t know a few of the answers.

  “Do you have any books on African animals we could borrow?” she asked him.

  “I don’t remember seeing any, but I’ll look when we return home. If not, we’ll find one.”

  They were all ready to rest by the time they reached the far end of the zoo and found a bench on which to sit. Christopher purchased a lemonade for each of them. The children were quiet, watching other people pass.

  Amelia glanced at Christopher, certain he must be ready to return home. He studied the crowd, something he’d done throughout the day. The bruise on his cheek had turned a dull yellow but was still visible. He changed positions often, whether they were walking or standing, so she knew his ribs bothered him.

  “What else would you like to see you before we go?” Amelia asked the children.

  “We haven’t seen the monkeys,” Christopher suggested. “Should we venture there next?”

  The children thoroughly enjoyed the monkeys’ antics and studied the orangutan for a long while.

  “Let us visit the fish house and then return home,” Christopher suggested. “We can come back another day soon.”

  To her surprise, the children agreed, and they walked along the path to the barn-like building where the fish were kept.

  “Did you know the word aquarium means a watering place for cattle in Latin?” Amelia asked.

  “Why on earth would they use that term for large fish tanks?” Christopher asked with a shake of his head as the children giggled.

  “Over three hundred types of fish and other species of marine life are here,” Amelia advised. “No other place in the world has aquatic animals on such a large scale.”

  The children pointed out the most colorful fish as well as the oddest-looking ones. Charlotte was fascinated by the seahorses and Ronald the pufferfish.

  When Amelia noticed the boy yawning and rubbing his eyes, she looked at Christopher with brows raised.

  He nodded, sharing a smile with her.

  “It’s time to go,” Amelia said.

  As expected, Ronald protested but only for a moment, and they returned to the entrance.

  Christopher stiffened, causing Amelia to look at him with concern only to see his gaze pinned on something in the distance.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m not certain. Someone who doesn’t belong.”

  Her gaze followed his to where a rough-looking man leaned against a tree just outside the zoo entrance, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. Based on his dark whiskers, it didn’t appear he’d bothered to shave that morning. His brown tweed jacket was tattered at the cuffs and in desperate need of cleaning.

  As they watched, his attention brushed over the crowd but paused on Christopher before shifting to Amelia and then the children, giving each a long look.

  Unease swept over her. “He’s not one of the men who attacked you, but he certainly doesn’t look as if he has any interest in entering the gardens.”

  The man’s gaze continued past them only to return a few moments later.

  “No.” Christopher scowled as he searched the rest of the crowd. “I’d have to agree.”

  The way the man so boldly stared made Amelia all the warier. The sooner they left, the better.

  “Children, what do you say to your uncle for accompanying us?” Amelia asked as they walked toward the carriage.

  “Thank you for coming with us,” Charlotte said as she smiled up at him.

  “Yes, thank you,” Ronald added.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied as he returned their smiles. “Thank you for allowing me to escort you.” He helped them into the carriage then leaned close to Charles. “Take a hard look at the man over my shoulder. I want to know if you see him again.”

  “Shall I approach him, my lord?” Charles asked, glaring at the man. “I’d be happy to warn him off.”

  “No need unless you see him again. Then we’ll decide how to proceed.”

  “Very well.”

  Christopher assisted Amelia into the carriage next to Charlotte before taking his place beside Ronald.

  “Can we truly go again soon?” Ronald asked as the carriage eased forward.

  “If it fits in with Miss Tippin’s lessons, we certainly can.” He turned from the window to smile at Amelia. “I will leave the timing in your capable hands.”

  Her heart warmed that he always deferred to her on questions that involved the children.

  Though the carriage ride home was a short one, Ronald fell asleep. To her dismay, Christopher started to lift him to carry him inside upon their arrival.

  “Christopher.” She placed a hand on his arm in alarm even as his mouth pinched with pain.

  “Allow me, my lord,” Charles said. “You don’t want to make those ribs worse.”

  With a sigh of frustration, Christopher relented. “They can’t heal soon enough.” He alighted to assist Charlotte and Amelia before Charles lifted Ronald.

  Dauber held open the door, smiling at Ronald’s sleeping form. “The outing must’ve been a successful one.”

  To Amelia’s surprise, Christopher accompanied them up to the nursery, opening the door so Charles could place the boy on his bed. Charlotte settled into her bed for a nap as well while Amelia assisted Charles to remove Ronald’s shoes.

  “I’ll fetch the nursery maid,” Charles offered.

  Amelia nodded as she and Christopher slipped out of the bedroom and into the hall, closing the nursery door behind them.

  “Thank you.” Amelia kept her voice quiet as she looked up at Christopher. “You made the outing very special for the children. I truly appreciate it.”

  He trailed a finger along her cheek. “I’m pleased to have gone with you. The children are right. You do make everything more interesting.”

  Her breath caught at the heat in his green eyes. She knew they were speaking about the outing, but the way he looked at her made her wonder at his thoughts. Then again, perhaps it was best if she didn’t know what he was thinking. Especially when her mind was filled with the memory of his kiss.

  Nothing could come of her feelings except hurt. He was the heir to an earldo
m while she was the daughter of a knight with nothing to her name. She should keep a professional distance between them and ignore her longing for something more.

  Yet the distance melted away when his gaze dropped to her lips. As if reading her mind, he leaned closer ever so slowly and pressed his lips to hers. Tingles spread through her, making her limbs heavy.

  Then he drew back with a smile and walked away, leaving her to press a hand to her lips with the realization that it was too late for distance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “In almost every case these vermin combine with the exercise of their supernatural gift of prophecy the matter-of-fact business of the ‘commission agent.’”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Christopher left the house as quickly as possible before he did something ridiculous like kiss Amelia again the way he longed to, with all the desire he’d been holding back.

  Watching her with Charlotte and Ronald at the zoo had been enlightening. She was so wonderful with them, sensing when they were bored and shifting their attention to a new aspect of whatever subject they discussed to make it more interesting.

  But she was no namby-pamby. Far from it. She made certain the children were on their best behavior at all times, aware of their surroundings and others, and pleasant to anyone they met.

  That only made him admire her more. She should be having children of her own and raising them rather than serving as a governess. But he was grateful for her arrival in his life and nearly shuddered at how close he’d come to losing her.

  Yet thoughts of her were a distraction from his goal. Her presence allowed him the freedom to focus on identifying the blackmailer and that was where he needed it to stay. Not on his growing attraction for the governess. At least for the present moment. The future would have to wait.

  The man watching them at the zoo was a reminder of the danger looming over them. Should he instruct Amelia to keep Charlotte and Ronald inside until this was over? Surely that wasn’t necessary when he was the true target of the man’s interest. He’d make certain a footman accompanied her if she took the children anywhere.

  He’d had plenty of time to think about the next step he should take while recovering from his injuries but had yet to see a clear path to his goal. He’d visited all the places Edward had frequented of which he was aware. Two he’d crossed off the list of possibilities because they were either too small or hadn’t held much potential for danger.

  His best hope was to discover all he could about Malcolm Connolly. Though he didn’t have proof the men who’d attacked him were associated with Connolly, why else would they have done so? He had to have struck a nerve with the man.

  The police had noted the information he’d provided with the promise to look into the matter, but he had little hope they’d gain results when he had nothing more than a description and one surname to give them.

  He had even less faith in the racecourse official who’d paid him a visit. The man had asked questions reluctantly as if he didn’t want to find the guilty men. If Christopher had to guess, he’d say the man knew who’d been involved but had no wish in bringing them to justice.

  That left the matter for him to resolve.

  He’d decided against telling Millstone of the attack. The marquess was already distraught. Before Christopher confronted Connolly again, he wanted to speak with Rutland and arranged to meet him at Brooks’s. Millstone had yet to give his permission to share any details, and Christopher wouldn’t break his word. But that didn’t mean a few questions were out of order.

  If the viscount knew of Connolly, any information he shared could give Christopher the advantage he needed. With the help of Rutland’s resources, Christopher felt renewed hope that he could identify the blackmailer before the deadline.

  As the carriage took him to the club, he did his best to tuck thoughts of Amelia into a little box in his mind that he could open and examine more closely later. He needed to keep his wits about him in the days ahead.

  “Return in an hour, James,” Christopher instructed his driver as he alighted. That should be long enough to meet with Rutland and find out if he knew anything that would be helpful.

  He entered the gentlemen’s club, nodding at a few acquaintances, ignoring the stares his bruised face received, before finding Rutland already seated at a table.

  He rose to shake Christopher’s hand, his gaze lingering on Christopher’s bruised cheek but showing no surprise at it. “Good to see you, Beaumont. I’m pleased to see you’re recovering from your injuries.”

  Christopher held back his amazement that Rutland knew of the incident. He supposed he should assume the viscount knew everything from this point forward. Was keeping Millstone’s identity a secret still necessary? But until he knew for certain, he wouldn’t risk revealing it.

  “The ribs are still sore, but I’m well on the mend.”

  Rutland had started at the Intelligence Office in a desk position, analyzing documents and information from a variety of sources in an effort to track threats both within England and abroad. He’d since moved into fieldwork, which he said was a challenge of a different kind. Christopher couldn’t imagine what the viscount had encountered since then but knew he’d been vital in stopping a major tragedy from occurring that had saved the queen and her beloved Royal Albert Hall.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” Christopher said.

  “Happy to help if I can.” Rutland waved for a waiter to come and take their order then looked back at Christopher. “Do you know who was behind the attack?”

  “I believe it may have been done at the order of a man named Malcolm Connolly. Have you heard of him?”

  “Can’t say that I have, but I can tap my London contacts for information. Where have you encountered him?”

  Before Christopher could respond, the Duke of Burbridge greeted them both, a man near their age with whom they were both good friends.

  “Mind if I join you for a moment?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.

  Burbridge had lost his father just before Margaret had passed. Though they’d already been friends, their mutual grief had united them. Christopher took extra care to spend time with the duke’s mother whenever he saw her, whether it was with a game of cards or a dance. He’d been horrified when Burbridge had told him how he’d recently uncovered a criminal who placed additives in alcohol and sold them to the ton. The dowager duchess had fallen ill because of it.

  “Please do.” Rutland gestured toward a chair, acting as if he had all the time in the world to visit.

  Christopher supposed that was what made his cover so effective. No one suspected him of doing anything other than what a normal lord would. From what Christopher understood, his connections were one of the reasons he’d been so successful in his position.

  After they exchanged pleasantries and received their drinks, Burbridge sat forward, elbows on the table. “I’ve just heard the most alarming news.” He raised a brow at Rutland even as he glanced toward Christopher as if asking Rutland’s permission to share what he had to say in front of another man.

  Rutland gave the smallest nod. If Christopher hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve missed it. Was Burbridge also involved in work for the Intelligence Office?

  “The Earl of Lyndenhall shot himself.” He kept his voice low as his gaze swept those nearby as if to make certain they hadn’t heard him.

  Shock seeped through Christopher. Though he didn’t know the older lord well, he was a familiar fixture amongst the ton.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Rutland’s grave expression echoed how Christopher felt. “What would cause him to do such a thing?”

  “I’m sure I don’t have to ask that you both keep our conversation confidential.” When they both nodded, Burbridge continued, “I have been working with his son on a charity. The viscount said his father had just confessed to him that he was being blackmailed.” Burbridge held Rutland’s gaze. “I’m hoping you might be able to help discover who
’s behind it.”

  Christopher could only stare in astonishment. This was no coincidence. It couldn’t be.

  “Of course, I’ll do whatever I can.” Rutland frowned. “Do you know any details?”

  “The blackmailer threatened to reveal information on the earl’s gambling habits along with a few other unsavory activities unless he paid an outrageous sum for the person’s silence.”

  “He made a different choice. How terrible for his family.” Rutland’s gaze swung to Christopher for a long moment before returning to Burbridge.

  “From what little his son said when he told me the news, he couldn’t face having his dirty laundry aired to the public. Not when he was a member of the House of Lords whom everyone respected.”

  “It takes confidence to blackmail a member of the House of Lords,” Rutland said.

  “That’s why I wanted to tell you about this.” Burbridge’s lips tightened with concern. “The criminal needs to be stopped before he finds another victim.”

  Christopher glanced about the other men in the room, wondering who else might be a target. Cigar smoke hung in the air and the clink of glasses and conversation sounded ordinary, so different than their discussion.

  “Do you know what sort of gambling the earl was involved in?” Christopher asked. If it was somehow connected to what had happened to Edward, he might have his first helpful clue.

  Burbridge shook his head. “Other than visiting a few gaming hells and horse racing, I don’t know. But those activities aren’t unique. Many men do the same or worse.”

  “There must be more to it than gambling in order to be blackmailed, otherwise half the ton would be at risk,” Rutland said.

  “Could it be the amount he gambled?” Burbridge asked before taking a sip.

  “Only if he lost to the wrong person.” Rutland frowned as he turned his glass on the smooth table.

  “Perhaps it’s not the type of gambling, but a combination of events,” Christopher suggested, thinking aloud. Both men stared at him.