He could hardly tell her the truth—that watching Gwyn play the social butterfly was difficult, knowing how quickly men would be calling on her after tonight. Would then be giving her offers. Perhaps already had. It wasn’t as if Gwyn would tell him about it.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t. Don’t you remember? Shortly after the four of you came in this evening, Gwyn mentioned that she’s planning on taking Aunt Lydia shopping tomorrow, which I assume means you’re going, too.”
“Of course.” He had forgotten, mostly because while Gwyn had been talking about it, he’d been too busy scanning the room for Malet to pay attention to what she was saying. A shopping trip. Damnation. “I should have put my foot down the moment she mentioned it. It’s too dangerous.”
“Nonsense. Surely the man won’t attempt a kidnapping in broad daylight on Bond Street.”
It did seem unlikely. “Are you going, too?” Even his hoyden sister enjoyed the occasional day on Bond Street, according to Greycourt. “Or Heywood’s new wife? What’s her name again?”
“Cassandra. She and Heywood had a long trip and are fairly exhausted. As am I. So I intend to be asleep. Gwyn is only going because she has to. Aunt Lydia’s birthday is next week, and our social schedule is so crowded that tomorrow was the only day she could buy a present for her mother. She would have preferred not bringing her mother along at all, but Aunt Lydia insisted, because the two of them have scarcely had any time together.”
And ladies did like to shop. It seemed to be the female equivalent of hunting. He would simply have to be on his guard the whole time they were out to make sure Malet didn’t “accidentally” show up at one of the places they went.
That reminded him: he still had work to do this evening. “You’d better go on in, before Greycourt comes looking for you and realizes I was out here alone with his half sister.”
She blinked. “You’re right! I hadn’t thought of that. He’s a bit irrational when it comes to the possibility of you and Gwyn together.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for understanding. I probably will see you often at various social gatherings in the coming weeks.” She turned away, then paused. “Promise me you’ll think about what I said.”
“Which part?” he countered, though he knew which one.
“Never mind. You never listen to me anyway.”
“Damn it, Beatrice—”
But she was already hurrying off, and as he watched her go, he felt a lump in his throat. She had grown up so well, his ducky. And with very little help from him, too. One day, he would have to find a way to repay her for the months upon months she’d spent nursing him back to health after he’d come home so badly wounded.
For how often he gave her pain.
Wincing, he went to check the settee and the area around the stove to make sure neither he nor Gwyn had left anything incriminating. Then he spotted his gloves, half hidden under the settee. Damn. Had Beatrice seen them, too, or worse yet, noticed he wasn’t wearing them? God, he hoped not.
After putting them on and making sure his attire was presentable, he strode off across the garden to the entrance gate. With so many people at the party, the hackney coaches lay thick upon the ground, so he had no trouble finding one to take him to the address in Chelsea.
He was spoiling for a fight after the discussion he’d just had with his sister, and the best candidate as sparring partner was that damned Malet. If Gwyn wouldn’t reveal what was going on between them, Joshua would get the information from the man himself.
Unfortunately, he was to be denied that as well. When he arrived at the address Fitzgerald had given him, the landlord, Pritchard, informed him that “Captain” Malet was out on the town.
That chilled Joshua. “Where?”
Pritchard shrugged. “How the devil should I know? You officers do as you please.”
Joshua pulled out a sovereign and held it up. “Can you at least tell me what part of town he’s in tonight?” Because if it was Mayfair, Joshua was going to throttle the man when he found him.
Pritchard’s eyes widened. “Covent Garden, of course. No doubt he went to find a soiled dove or two to spend his money on. God forbid he should pay for his lodgings.”
Thank God it wasn’t Mayfair.
When Pritchard reached for the coin, Joshua pulled it back. “Not until you answer all my questions. How long has he been living here?”
“Nigh on to five months now. Owes me two months’ rent. But he did say as how he was coming into a great deal of money soon, and he’d pay his rent then.”
“Did he say why he was coming into money?”
“No. And I don’t care how he gets it neither. Long as he pays his rent.”
It was a damned shame the man didn’t know more. Was Malet counting on the money he’d get by marrying Gwyn, either by kidnapping her or some mutual arrangement? The latter made Joshua grit his teeth, but he had to consider it.
Or was Malet sure of getting money because he was selling information to the French? That possibility appealed more to Joshua, because it meant Gwyn wasn’t involved. Then again, if Malet was expecting to get paid by the French, that didn’t explain why Gwyn was communicating with him, a man who was supposedly a stranger to her.
“Have you ever seen Malet with any Frenchmen?” Joshua asked Pritchard.
“Not here. I’m not letting any frogs into my place. If he’s got dealings with the French, he’s taking them elsewhere.”
Interesting. Where would Malet go to carry off such delicate negotiations? Clearly, the landlord had no answer for that.
Having run out of pertinent questions, Joshua gave the landlord the guinea. “One more thing: Don’t let Captain Malet know anyone was asking about him.”
Pritchard’s eyes gleamed with avarice. “It’ll cost you another guinea to keep me quiet.”
“Fine.” Joshua handed him another.
At the rate he was going, he would run out of hard cash soon. But Fitzgerald would pay him back for this one, and if he didn’t, Thornstock would.
Joshua considered hanging about a while longer, but if Malet had gone to Covent Garden, the arse might not return until morning. Meanwhile, Gwyn’s shopping trip was tomorrow, and Joshua fully intended to accompany her for that. So he’d better return to Armitage House.
He wouldn’t put it past her to try to sneak out without him.
Chapter Fifteen
Unfortunately for Joshua, the next day dawned clear and bright. After coming back from Chelsea last night, he’d drunk an ungodly amount of brandy, only to awaken near ten with an aching head. Bloody hell. He rarely drank like that, and this was why. He’d better get himself presentable before the shopping trip or the ladies might try to leave without him, and he’d have to fight them. He wasn’t in the mood today for any battles.
It took a cold bath and some cups of coffee to have him feeling almost human again. And just in the nick of time, too, for his cousin Sheridan came into the morning room at eleven to help himself to some toast.
Usually his green eyes were dark with worry and his light brown hair was disheveled from the many times he’d raked his fingers through it. After all, he had the weight of the dukedom on his shoulders, and the dukedom was ailing.
But this morning, Sheridan appeared damned cheerful. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” Joshua muttered. “I feel like hell.”
Sheridan chuckled. “I should have warned you about our brandy.” Sheridan sat down opposite Joshua and poured himself some tea. “It’s fairly potent.”
“That’s an understatement.” Joshua looked at his cousin. “Wait, how did you know I’d indulged in brandy last night?”
“We use the same valet, remember? And I’m afraid he’s a bit of a gossip.”
With a groan, Joshua made a mental note not to use the valet for anything when he was cropsick.
Sheridan perused the papers, letting Joshua drink his coffee in peace f
or a while. When he finished eating his buttered toast, he rose. “I have to meet with William Bonham, Father’s solicitor.” He headed for the door, then paused to grin at Joshua. “Enjoy your shopping trip with the ladies.”
As he walked out, Joshua gritted his teeth. “Thanks for your support, Coz,” he muttered under his breath.
At least he had a little more respite to fight with his queasy stomach. Then the ladies entered the morning room around noon, chattering like magpies. The noise reverberated.
He grimaced. Perhaps he could use yet another cup of coffee. A few more hours of sleep.
A new post.
“You don’t have to go with us, you know, Joshua.” To his surprise, it was his aunt who’d spoken. “We already have a footman coming along to carry packages.”
“One footman?” he joked feebly. “I doubt that will suffice. Besides, I’ve been wanting to shop for a hat and haven’t had the chance. I can’t imagine a more pleasant way to do so than in the company of you two ladies. And as you both can probably tell, I could use a pair of females to help me make sure my new hat will pass muster with the fashionable sort.”
His aunt laughed. “You’ve come to the right place, then. We are both quite good at being fashionable.” She glanced at Gwyn, who wore a day gown as vivid a purple as the sky at sunset. “And I know my daughter would enjoy having your company.”
“But only if you feel up to it.” It was Gwyn’s turn to smirk at him. “I understand you drank a great deal of brandy last night.”
“Gwyn!” her mother said.
“Well, he did. My maid told me so. She had it from your maid, Mama, who had it from Joshua’s valet. So we know it’s true. Servant gossip is always the most reliable.”
“All right, you termagant.” Damn it all to hell, did the entire family know how he’d spent last evening? Joshua swallowed the last of his coffee and rose. At least he was steadier on his feet than before. “Now you force me to prove I can hold my liquor.”
Gwyn chuckled. And off they went.
With the day so pleasant and Bond Street only two miles from Armitage House, they decided to walk. After a while, he began to feel like himself again, especially with Gwyn’s hand on his arm. As they neared the corner of Hyde Park, a loud clap sounded near them, and Joshua tensed. He probably would have done more if Gwyn hadn’t held on to his right arm with both hands.
It was nothing, of course—a workman who’d started pounding a piece of ironwork into place with a large hammer—but it left him shaken enough to wonder how he would have reacted if Gwyn hadn’t been next to him.
“Thank you,” he bit out under his breath.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly, turning his insides to putty.
Or perhaps that was just the lingering effects of being cropsick. Regardless, he was careful to watch for Malet as they walked. Nor did he relax his vigilance once they began shopping. Whenever Gwyn separated from her mother, he made sure to go with Gwyn; the footman always went with Aunt Lydia anyway.
Oddly enough, his story for why he had to shop with them proved useful. He actually did need a hat, and the ladies were eager to help him find one: a handsome beaver top hat he could wear whenever he didn’t wear one of his uniforms . . . or his old clothes as a gamekeeper. It certainly looked better than the one of rabbit felt he’d been donning.
What’s more, Gwyn insisted that he charge his purchase to Thornstock’s account. While her mother was examining the straw hats for ladies, Gwyn murmured, “If not for Thorn, you wouldn’t even have needed a tale for why you must shop with us. Let him pay. He can well afford it.”
“You merely wish to get some of your own back on him by spending his money.”
Her eyes twinkled. “That, too.”
“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll tell him to take it out of my pay.”
She huffed out a breath. “You suck the fun out of everything.”
“I can think of a few things I didn’t suck the fun out of for you last night.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely pink that made him wish he had the right to kiss her in the middle of a hatter’s shop.
Damnation. Best not to think of that.
The next shop they went to was a glover’s. “I shall see if they have any gloves for ladies doing archery,” Gwyn said. “You ought to get better gloves yourself, Joshua. The ones you had a few days ago were showing signs of wear.”
With a nod, he went over to the counter where men’s gloves were laid out, but he watched her furtively while he pretended to look at them. She appeared agitated and kept glancing up at the clock on the wall.
Her mother said she was heading to a shop across the street in search of a new watch for Thorn, and that seemed to relieve Gwyn, which only made Joshua pay more attention. But subtly. If she was expecting a note from Malet or, worse yet, expecting the man himself, Joshua wanted her to continue with her plans so he could actually catch him in the act.
He had just finished paying for a pair of gloves in Yorkshire tan when he noticed her drape her shawl oh-so-casually over a chair tucked away in a corner, where it wouldn’t easily be seen by the clerk.
Joshua was fairly certain it wasn’t accidental. But was it a signal of some kind? If so, he couldn’t figure out what. When Gwyn said she was ready to go and made no move to pick up the shawl, he knew it meant something. But it was better to keep quiet and see what happened.
With a thank-you to the clerk, Joshua thrust his new gloves into his greatcoat. Then he and Gwyn walked out to the street and found her mother and the footman waiting for them. The four of them were halfway down that block, when Gwyn said, “Oh, Mama, we should have ices at Gunter’s. It’s right down here.”
“Ices, my dear? Truly? I still find it a bit chilly for that, don’t you?”
“Balderdash,” Gwyn said. “I’ve heard they have a new elderflower flavor, and I know how much you like elderflower wine, Mama.”
“Well,” her mother said, “now that you mention it . . .”
But no sooner were they in Gunter’s than Gwyn said, “Oh, dear, I left my shawl in the glover’s shop. I shall just run back and get it while you order. Do make sure you order an ice for me, too.”
She turned to go, and Joshua hurried to her side. “I’ll go with you.”
“Please don’t,” she whispered. “I have to purchase Mama’s birthday gift there. It’s a darling pair of gloves made of gray kid, which she can actually wear throughout her half-mourning. But I need you to keep her occupied so she doesn’t find out what I’m doing.”
“Very well,” he said, watching closely for her reaction.
She looked inordinately relieved, and that convinced him that he was right—this subterfuge had more to do with her note to Malet than with her mother’s birthday. He let her leave and gave her time to reach the glover’s shop. Then he walked out and scanned the street. He was just in time to see her dart right past the shop and then disappear.
He walked as swiftly as he could to the glover’s shop, then heard raised voices coming from the alley that ran next to it. Halting at the end near the street, he hid himself to eavesdrop on their conversation. Gwyn was definitely arguing with Malet. Joshua recognized the bastard’s voice from before. And what he heard chilled him.
“You asked for fifty pounds, Lionel, and I agreed,” Gwyn said.
Lionel? She called Malet by his given name? Damn it, she had known the fellow before their recent encounter! And what was this about her giving the scoundrel money?
“Then you doubled it,” she went on, “so I’ve brought you a hundred pounds. Now you wish to have more? Do you know what I had to do to get this to you? How many lies I had to tell, how many subterfuges I had to arrange?”
“And who were you lying to, dearest Gwyn?” Malet said, his very voice a sneer. “That cripple of an officer, Wolfe?”
Joshua nearly bit through his tongue trying to keep his anger in check.
“Don’t call him that!” Gwyn cried.
“Ah. So you have a tendre for the oafish major, do you?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Gwyn said, sounding desperate now.
Or was that just his wishful thinking?
“I wonder, is he aware of how sweet your lips are or how tender your tits? I wonder how much you would pay to keep him from knowing about—”
“This has naught to do with him!” Her voice hardened. “I have paid you all I intend to pay. Go ahead, tell the world whatever you wish.”
Blackmail? Was the woman paying for Malet’s silence? But for what?
“Just remember that Thorn will have your head if you say a word,” she went on. “He gave you a fortune ten years ago to leave me be. So if you renege on your bargain with him, he will call you out.”
The conversation in the carriage on the way to London leaped into Joshua’s mind. But she’d said that the fellow Thornstock had paid off was named Hazlehurst.
No. Her mother had said it. Gwyn had merely gone along. It had to be Malet, unless Thornstock had paid off two of her suitors. And what was Malet holding over her head that necessitated her giving the scoundrel more money?
Joshua had a sickening feeling he knew the answer to that.
“I’m not afraid of your brother, dear girl,” Malet said. “I’ll fight a duel with him any day of the week.”
“No!” she cried. “You will not. I will turn you both in to the magistrate before I allow it. You have your hundred pounds, so we are done, I tell you. Done! And if you don’t like it, you can go to hell.”
“We are not remotely done, my sweet.”
“Let go of me, Lionel!” she cried. “Stop it!”
Time to intervene. Joshua would have preferred to preserve her secret by not letting her know what he’d heard, but clearly that had become impossible. He headed down the alley toward them, fire erupting in his blood as he saw that Malet had her pinned against a wall and was fighting to kiss her. She shoved at him and tried to hit him, but was clearly losing the battle.
The Bachelor Page 15
