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

by Lana Williams

  Christopher loosened his hold but didn’t release her as his heated gaze kept her captive. “You have bewitched me. I want you so much.”

  His confession caused liquid heat to pool low in her belly. But she didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t risk allowing this to go further. If she were ruined, she’d be without even the limited prospects she had now.

  “Christopher,” she began.

  He placed a finger over her lips and shook his head. “No need for you to say anything that I don’t already know. But you should understand how much I care for you.” Rather than kiss her again he ran a finger gently over her eyebrow down her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. “You are beautiful. Far too beautiful to be a governess.” He tapped her temple. “You are clever and intelligent. More so than many men I know.” He placed his hand over her pounding heart, causing her to quiver. “Your affection and concern for Charlotte and Ronald touch me each time I witness it.”

  His words weakened her knees, making her want to throw her arms around him and hold tight. Was she a fool for drawing back when everything within her longed to do the opposite?

  “I don’t know quite what to do with this attraction we have,” he whispered. “Not yet. But I intend to decide soon. I hope you will give it some thought as well.”

  She could only nod. No words could escape the tightness in her throat. Not when his words suggested she had a say.

  “One more kiss?” he asked, the wistfulness in his tone easing her tension and making her smile.

  “Please.” This time, they both moved forward, meeting in the middle. She never wanted the moment to end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “No capital is required to run this business, excepting a considerable stock of impudence and a fathomless fund of cold-blooded rascality.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  The next morning, Christopher reviewed the report he’d received on Malcolm Connolly. Considering the fact he’d reread the previous sentence three times, he realized his thoughts were not on the man. Far from it. His mind had been filled with Amelia since he’d come upon her in this very room last night.

  He was torn between berating himself for having kissed her, let alone what he’d said to her, and wishing he’d done more.

  While he knew it was inappropriate to dally with one’s governess, that scenario didn’t begin to describe his feelings toward Amelia. He was not only attracted to her, he respected her. Her kindness and empathy were refreshing in this world.

  What was it that drew him to her? Did he merely want what he couldn’t have? He liked to think he was above such feelings. She intrigued him in many ways. He’d been honest with her when he told her how much he admired her beauty, intelligence, and heart. She’d bonded with the children and mysteriously with his father in ways he’d never expected.

  But his attraction to her also encompassed how he felt when he was with her. She was an example of all that was good in this world. She made him want to be a better man. Better with the children, better with his father. To try harder to be the person they needed him to be.

  And then there was the physical attraction. He’d never felt anything like this before. Now he knew it wasn’t all one-sided and doubly so after last night. The science his father dearly loved stated that it wasn’t possible for a flame to burn that brightly with only one fuel source. What sparked within him was echoed in Amelia.

  However, he appreciated her caution when it came to the feelings between them. That didn’t mean he liked it. He told himself nothing would’ve happened last night even if she’d been willing. But he wasn’t certain that was true. When he was with her, all thought fell away, leaving only passion—a highly unusual experience for him.

  The question was what was he going to do about it? He truly didn’t know. Part of him felt he should ignore it. That would be the right thing. She was his niece and nephew’s governess, after all. With everything happening in his life, how could he deal with the complications his attraction to her presented?

  But the other part of him realized this was special, especially since he’d never before witnessed it. Such feelings didn’t come along often, if ever, in a person’s lifetime. That made it even more imperative that he make the right decision as to how to proceed. He was in no hurry to wed and didn’t feel any pressure to do so. He’d hoped to find a wife he could consider a friend and companion. But with Amelia, he had the chance for so much more.

  That meant he needed to tread cautiously and not allow whatever this was to cause him to act impulsively. He had Charlotte and Ronald to think of, as well as his father. And Amelia. That nearly made him laugh. She seemed to be all he thought about of late.

  They hadn’t known each other long. Perhaps the best thing to do was keep his distance over the coming weeks. At least until he resolved the situation with the blackmailer. Then perhaps he could devote some time to considering how best to move forward with her.

  Yes, that was definitely for the best. A little professional distance was what they both needed. Now, if he could only convince himself of that.

  With renewed determination, he returned his attention to the report. While he didn’t have Rutland’s resources, it hadn’t been difficult to have his man of business hire someone to look into Malcolm Connolly and his background.

  Christopher had given specific instructions for the investigator to take extreme caution. He had no doubt Connolly was well connected on the streets and would easily get word if he learned someone was poking around.

  He scanned the report then returned to the beginning to read it more thoroughly. The investigator, who’d followed Connolly for two days, was able to confirm that Malcolm’s father was a relatively successful horse trainer just as Connolly had claimed. He’d also discovered that he lived in a modest lodging house and was “no trouble” according to the landlord.

  Christopher stared at the address noted on the report—the very same lodging house he’d ventured to a week ago. His thoughts raced at the realization.

  Edward had been closing in on Connolly. Why else would he have the address in his possession?

  The rest of the report was even more interesting. Christopher had thought he’d seen Malcolm at the lottery drawing, and he’d been right. The investigator believed Connolly was in charge of the one often held at the Three Ships Pub.

  The report noted that while there were no formal accusations of foul play regarding the drawing, many had suspicions that those in charge skimmed money from the prizes. That matched what Gideon de Wolfe had found at a different drawing. It made sense that there was more than one scheme. If someone found a system that worked, why not copy it?

  The drawing was of concern, but Christopher was more interested in his other activities. The investigator shared that Connolly had been selling advice at the racetrack for at least two years. Whether that was illegal remained to be seen. The report included clippings of advertisements from both The Times and The Sporting Life, which he believed Connolly had placed.

  Surely that wasn’t legal. But it was only the beginning of the man’s scheme from what Christopher had pieced together. He growled with frustration. This was all circumstantial guessing. Nothing more.

  In order to stop Connolly, he needed evidence of his crimes. At this point, they had nothing to tie him to the blackmailer. Christopher intended to return to Newmarket this afternoon, along with Charles, though he had reservations about what purpose it would serve now that Connolly suspected him.

  He assumed the man watching them at the zoo had been sent by him. The thought that he and Connolly were watching each other was both logical and highly disturbing. Christopher hadn’t liked the way the man had studied the children and Amelia. He and Charles had been watching for him since that outing with no success. Christopher had yet to decide if that was good news.

  Dauber entered the room. “A message for you, my lord.”

  Christopher took the missive, recognizing Millstone’s upright scrawl. �
�This can’t be good news.”

  “The footman who delivered it is awaiting a reply.”

  Just as he’d feared, the note from the marquess shared that he’d received a letter from the blackmailer stating the payment was required tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock on a street corner not far from the docks. Unfortunately, the amount had increased from a thousand pounds to twelve hundred.

  Christopher shook his head. “The marquess must be beside himself.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “Convince Millstone not to pay it.” An idea came to mind, but he had no idea if it would work, let alone if it was wise. “I’m going to need a disguise of sorts, Dauber. Something that allows me to blend in on the streets near the docks.”

  “Of course.”

  “Advise the footman to tell the marquess that I’ll call on him in two hours’ time. Also, tell Charles I won’t be in need of his company this afternoon after all.”

  Dauber cleared his throat, causing Christopher to look up. “Need I remind you to take care?”

  “I intend to.”

  “Very well,” Dauber said with a nod and took his leave.

  Christopher leaned back in his chair as he carefully considered his plan. If it failed, the blackmailer might make good on his threat, and all would be lost. Edward’s name would be ruined as well as Margaret’s. Though many would’ve forgotten by the time the children were old enough to enter Society, others would not. This slur on the family name would affect them for the rest of their lives.

  But Christopher was willing to bet that instead, he’d increase the amount of his demand even more. The stakes were high. He hoped he was making the right choice, and he could convince Millstone to agree.

  ~*~

  Millstone narrowed his eyes as he studied Christopher’s still bruised cheek. “What happened to you?”

  “A mishap I don’t care to repeat.” Though tempted to tell the marquess of the incident, he held back, not wanting the older lord to worry any more than he already did.

  “You intend to deliver the envelope on the morrow, but it won’t include what the blackmailer expects?” Millstone asked.

  “Exactly. We’ll mix real notes with blank paper in the envelope, which should be enough to fool whoever retrieves the demand long enough for us to catch him.” It sounded simple when he said it out loud, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

  The rest of the mission was still a bit blurry, which was why he needed Rutland. Did he attempt to catch whoever appeared to take the payment? Did he hand over the notes and follow the man to find out where he went and to whom he reported?

  Christopher had more questions than answers with little time to resolve them. But the marquess didn’t need to know that.

  “Are you certain this is going to work?” Millstone pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and patted the sweat beading on his forehead. The marquess’s nerves were getting the better of him. “It seems far too risky.”

  Christopher agreed, but the only other option was to pay the demand, which the marquess couldn’t afford. Nor did Christopher want him to. However, he’d feel better about his idea for the payment if he could discuss it with Rutland.

  “The risk is high, and the outcome is far from certain,” Christopher warned him. “If you have a better plan or have reconsidered and would allow me to contact the proper authorities—”

  “No.” The marquess glared at him. “I told you no one must know.”

  “I appreciate your request for privacy. But I can request assistance without revealing your identity.” As the marquess opened his mouth to argue, Christopher added, “or Edward’s. Our chance of success would be far greater with Viscount Rutland’s assistance. He doesn’t have to know for whom I have hatched this plan.”

  The marquess’s furrowed brow suggested he was far from convinced.

  “I need assistance.” Christopher shifted to the edge of the chair before the marquess’s desk to make his point. “Forgive me for being blunt, but you can’t provide the help I need.”

  Millstone closed his eyes briefly, seeming to fight some internal battle. “I appreciate that you cannot do this alone.” He pursed his lips, and Christopher’s hopes rose that the older lord would relent. “Very well. If you’re certain Edward’s identity will remain a secret as well as the details of his...faults.”

  “I will do everything in my power to make certain it does.” He hoped Rutland wouldn’t press him for details though he feared that was asking too much. He walked a fine line by expecting help without providing information in return.

  He’d learned a harsh lesson at the hands of the two thugs that he was far from invincible. Having Rutland’s expertise was both an attempt at self-preservation as well as to improve the chance of a favorable outcome.

  “Humph. Very well.” Millstone tucked away the handkerchief then pointed a finger at Christopher. “I’m counting on your discretion. For the sake of both Edward and Margaret.”

  Christopher stiffened. “I have no desire to smudge my sister’s memory any more than her husband’s, and I remain determined to identify the blackmailer so that we may stop this for the sake of Charlotte and Ronald.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” Millstone drew a deep breath. It was then that Christopher noticed how his suit coat sagged.

  Had the blackmailer’s threats caused him so much distress that he’d lost weight? Christopher hoped the lord’s health remained in good standing for the sake of the children. While the marquess and marchioness weren’t a part of their lives right now, surely with further effort on Christopher’s part, that would change.

  “Perhaps one of my footmen—” Millstone began.

  “Involving someone with experience is a necessity in case something goes amiss. A footman wouldn’t know what to do if I’m forced to change the plan. Connolly is a dangerous man.”

  “Very well. I hope this goes according to your plan. I’m weary of this hanging over me.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Christopher stood. He had no time to waste to comfort the lord. “I’ll report back as soon as the meeting is over.”

  The marquess held up a hand. “Send a message. Another visit from you might draw the notice of my wife, something I’d prefer to avoid.”

  “Of course.” Christopher wanted to argue. To suggest he not only tell the marchioness the truth but involve the authorities if he truly wanted success. But he’d already tried both without success.

  Hopefully, he could get in touch with Rutland, and the viscount would be willing to assist him.

  Lydenhall’s death had made Christopher aware of a risk he hadn’t considered. He didn’t want a similar fate to befall the marquess. Already he could see hints of despair in the older lord, and he refused to allow the blackmailer to steal anyone else from his family.

  ~*~

  Christopher drew a deep breath as he adjusted the ill-fitting suit he wore. He wouldn’t have been caught dead in it on a normal day. Then he pulled the bowler hat with its artificial red posy tucked in the band low over his brow. The flower was the sign for the blackmailer to identify the person delivering the money. He hunched his shoulders, just as Rutland had suggested. He hadn’t shaved that morning and had smeared a bit of dirt on his face.

  The viscount told him clothing wasn’t enough of a disguise. He had to hide his mannerisms as well. Knowing Rutland watched from a hidden nook between two buildings nearby was reassuring, but nerves still gripped him.

  Would he fool Connolly if he appeared?

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned a shoulder against the brick building on Telford Street not far from the docks. The busy area provided a form of protection with its numerous passersby. Carts piled high with goods, horses, and hackneys filled the street. The clamor created additional chaos.

  Yet all that hid the blackmailer as well. Connolly or one of his men could easily stick a knife between his ribs without anyone the wiser. The thought had him drawing an uneasy brea
th.

  Rutland had cautioned him from watching the crowd too closely. If Connolly appeared, he also needed to mask his reaction and hope his changed appearance kept the other man from recognizing him until it was too late.

  The viscount had offered to be the person to meet the blackmailer, but Christopher had refused. While he was willing to ask for help with this meeting, he wanted to be the one to face Connolly.

  Christopher was grateful his friend seemed to understand his request to not reveal the identity of the person on whose behalf he did this. Or had he already guessed? Rutland knew Christopher wouldn’t do all this for just anyone. That was a possibility Christopher hadn’t considered until now.

  He gave himself a mental shake. All that mattered was Rutland’s presence. He’d take that as a blessing, the consequences be damned. They could be dealt with later.

  As his gaze swung over those on the street once again, he scowled. How could he not watch for Connolly? Tension had him reaching up to check for the posy on his hat even as anger simmered within him.

  He rounded his shoulders yet again and forced himself to glance up and down the street as if bored. How did Rutland manage these moments? The waiting felt endless. The stakes ridiculously high. Acting nonchalant while every nerve tingled in anticipation for something to occur was excruciating.

  The viscount had suggested that Christopher didn’t attempt to restrain Connolly or whoever approached on his own—not with his injured ribs. The man more than likely would bring a couple of his thugs to be certain all went well even if Christopher didn’t see them.

  “Do you have something for me?” a man asked in a familiar voice as he came to a halt beside Christopher.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had no doubt this was Connolly.

  “What might that be?” Rutland had told him to drag it out as long as possible so he had time to arrive to help capture the man.

  Christopher kept his face averted as much as possible—anything to help make certain Connolly didn’t recognize him.