Blair chuckled. “We’ve alerted the night watchman. He’s had some experience too.”
“Raven says there are two strangers coming down the alley,” his animal-mind-reading cousin called down. “Signal Henry and Wolf, please.”
“Stables,” Blair said crisply, nodding to a footman stationed in the hallway.
Reassured somewhat by this sign of preparation, Gerard shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll give Mortimer this much credit, he’s done his research. Or someone has, if they know every Malcolm hiding place in the city. If we tie up this pair, do we hope that will prevent others from arriving? I’ve not your experience at skullduggery.”
Blair shrugged. “An organized gang might eventually realize this pair hasn’t reported in. It won’t matter. The animals are alert all night and will hear any newcomers. Go back and get some sleep. You look as if you’ve been a round or two in the ring.”
“That’s at least clean fighting,” Gerard muttered, tipping his hat back on. “I think I’ll just go back and punch Mortimer in the jaw and end it all.”
“No reward in that,” Blair said cheerfully. “And you’d have to kill him to end it all.”
And without the reward, he wouldn’t have the funds to pour the bastard onto a ship.
Growling as irascibly as the old soldier in his head, Gerard stalked out. Calling up the imperturbable, gentlemanly demeanor for which he was known, he tipped his hat to the watchman and strode down the street to walk off his temper.
The old soldier muttered something that loosely translated as stupid turd. Then added, Wealth isn’t in coin, before falling silent again.
Well, fine time to tell him that. “You mean there is no treasure?” Gerard shouted at the empty street, startling roosted pigeons.
Did not say that.
No more listening to stupid coins and ancient voices.
Noticing an odd vibration on the night air, he swung around and caught a tall, ragged adolescent raising a cudgel. Just what he needed.
He kicked the lad in the nuts and walloped him with his walking stick.
Twenty-one
“I’m coming with you.” In the School of Malcolm’s shabby front parlor the next morning, Gerard’s Great-Aunt Winifred adjusted an old-fashioned straw hat on her graying blond hair. “My nephew has blind spots a mile wide.”
Iona shook out the folds of the gown that had been delivered early this morning. A lovely gold-striped skirt with a toffee-colored bodice and a prim train, it was the most delightful attire she’d owned since her come-out. “No, Lord Ives simply has different priorities. Sending my new gowns here was thoughtful, and the kind of mundane detail that keeps his world running smoothly. We cannot expect him to understand our concerns can’t be solved with a new gown.”
Winifred was so much a part of Wystan that her arrival at the school had startled Iona, but she was grateful for the older lady’s sturdy presence. Perhaps if miracles happened and all went well, they could buy presents for the other ladies and travel back together. She’d love that.
She knew the chances of it happening were next to nil.
“It’s the mundane that blinds him,” Winifred muttered, stabbing a hat pin into the straw.
“Men are like that.” With her gray curls and earrings bobbling, Lady Agnes adjusted a fold on Iona’s new attire. “Especially Ives men. It’s hard for them to grasp all the nuances of the world they inhabit when they only think in steps to the task they wish accomplished. My son can see ghosts. Do you think he bothers to discover why they appear to him? Unless they’re offering him an architectural drawing, he’s not interested.”
Iona chuckled. Lady Agnes’s son was Max Ives, the engineering husband of the Malcolm Librarian. She remembered Lydia laughing at her husband’s obliviousness. Being able to talk with other Malcolms renewed her confidence, even if her gift paled beside that of others.
“Well, one of us has to open Gerard’s eyes,” Winifred said, still not completely appeased. “You can be certain he’s only thinking of money and not the futures of Lady Iona and Lady Isobel. Imagine, letting a lady marry an uncouth American just so her sister can be safe! Honestly, I don’t know what the boy is thinking.”
“I am the one who wishes to marry for wealth,” Iona reminded her, smiling at the lady’s defiant defense. “I have no need of a worthless title, but I have a great deal of need for the wealth that Mr. White can provide. Let us not argue the matter. Lord Dare’s carriage is waiting.”
Lady Winifred huffed, then took Iona’s arm down the steep school stairs to the street. Iona noted with interest that the earl’s diminutive valet sat beside Lord Dare’s driver, armed with a rifle. He greeted her with a tip of his hat but continued scanning their surroundings. That made her nervous enough to look around as well.
What had Gerard learned last night that had him fortifying carriages?
Smelling nothing untoward, she allowed a footman to assist her inside after Winifred. She knew they did not have far to go, but after yesterday’s experience, it had become apparent that a carriage was safer than walking.
Lord Ives was not inside the carriage, to her disappointment. But as soon as it halted in front of a towering brick building with a neat iron plaque at the entrance, the earl appeared in the doorway. He hurried down the stairs, a brass-handled cane over his arm. She feared the bulge in his coat pocket might be a derringer. What on earth had happened?
She took his offered hand and didn’t dare ask. Her heart pounded faster—out of fear of this next step, or his proximity, or both. He swiftly hid his surprise when Winifred popped out of the carriage.
“Interesting chaperone,” he murmured, dutifully waiting to escort his aunt up the stairs.
“Try talking her out of anything,” Iona murmured back. Now that he’d steadied her with his presence, she decided her racing pulse was in anticipation of gaining a very large sum of money. The moment was almost upon her. She gripped the earl’s arm harder.
She would not think about never seeing him again.
“I hope your journey was not too difficult, Aunt Winifred,” he said as they climbed the stairs to the solicitor’s floor.
“Travel is always difficult, as are men and most of life. If everything was easy, we would never learn, would we? Now let us proceed so we may take Lady Iona back to Wystan, where she belongs.” On the landing, Winifred tapped her foot.
Lowell, the valet, opened the office door and bowed for his betters to proceed him. Iona noted he, too, carried what appeared to be a pistol in his coat, although he’d left the rifle in the carriage. She shuddered and allowed Gerard to rush her past the receptionist.
“What trouble are we expecting?” she asked as they reached the glass-paned door with the solicitor’s name painted on it in gold and black.
“Your stepfather is in deeper than we thought,” was all he had time to say before they were inside.
How did one go deeper? Deeper in debt, perhaps? What else was new? Puzzling out what he may have meant, Iona held out her gloved hand to greet the solicitor who had agreed to handle the reward money, ostensibly for Mortimer. Since the office was a respectable one, she’d surmise Arthur had chosen it.
“Lady Iona, it is a pleasure,” the gentleman said. “Please, have a seat. Your father should be here shortly to confirm your identity. And your sister is well?”
“Quite,” Iona said, sitting stiffly in the chair so as not to crush her new bustle. She handed over the letter from Isobel, witnessed by the librarian and her husband, to prove her twin’s existence. “I cannot say why our stepfather is at all concerned, but it was good of Lord Ives to find us and let us know.”
That set the solicitor back a bit. “Yes, well, a father must be concerned. . .”
“Let us not pretend any such thing,” Gerard said, taking a chair near the desk after seating his aunt on a sofa. “Mortimer wishes to sell one of his stepdaughters. The twins objected. The offer of a reward changed Lady Iona’s mind and brought her here. Lady Isobel
is content where she is. You are to see that the reward is given without strings attached and the lady is free to leave. She’s of age and independent of her stepfather’s care. My aunt and I are here to assure that no undue pressure is applied.”
“Yes, well.” The lawyer polished his spectacles. “As to that, I have no grounds to speculate. I am merely here to transfer the funds upon the approval of Lord Craigmore.”
“Ralph Mortimer,” Iona corrected. “My father was the Earl of Craigmore. The impostor claiming concern is not my father. He is a wart on a toad without a farthing to his name.”
The lawyer looked relieved at a knock on the door. “Yes, Brown, what is it?”
The secretary who had been at the front desk peered in. “The Earl of Craigmore and Mr. Arthur White are here, sir.”
Iona tensed. She glanced at Gerard. He sat with long legs sprawled, hands crossed over his chest, looking as if he might nod off at any second. She almost laughed. Now that she knew him, she knew that pose smelled of dangerous wrath.
Her stepfather slouched in, smelling of the dreadful shaving soap he’d taken to using once he learned of her talent. She had to give him credit for recognizing that his wife wasn’t entirely normal, nor were her daughters. The man might be a craven weasel, but he had an animal’s instinct for survival.
Mr. White tipped his expensive hat to her and bowed admirably over Winifred’s hand when introduced. She could not fault Mr. White for having too much money. But she could fault him for lacking the sense to understand that aristocrats were no different from anyone else. A title did not make a gentleman out of a toad wart.
“Lady Iona, it is good to see that you have come to no harm from your little misadventure. I am truly grieved that you may have taken my proposal in the wrong way.” White took her gloved hand in his. His scent was more of bewilderment than harm. His grip was flaccid in comparison to Gerard’s.
She withdrew her hand. “I am not a child. I have every right to visit family without being hunted like vermin.”
Mortimer wisely stayed silent, only answering the solicitor’s questions and signing the paperwork allowing the reward to be released to Gerard. He immediately produced a document transferring half the funds to Iona and had the solicitor witness them. He was indeed very good at mundane details.
“That’s not enough to pay the estate’s debt.” Mortimer finally spoke. “We’ll have to let the place. You’ll have to move your belongings elsewhere, including those infernal bees.”
Iona tightened her grip around the document Gerard solemnly handed her. His anger had coalesced into a sharp odor much like that of burning gunpowder. She tucked the document in her bag without looking at him.
“The estate’s debts are yours, Mortimer, not mine. Lord Ives has been generous in offering me a share of the reward to show myself here. I will not insult his generosity by giving it to you.”
“You’re a bloody countess,” Mortimer shouted. “You cannot abandon your land!”
Thankfully, Lord Ives chose to lean back in his chair and let the fireworks explode without his aid. She loved a man who knew when to stand back.
“I can and will abandon anything your touch has rotted, Mortimer. For Isobel’s sake, I will consider the marriage settlements Mr. White offered,” she acknowledged. “Lord Ives had his solicitor draw up the codicils I require. In preparation, I have requested that my mother’s title be restored in my name. I cannot promise when that will happen.”
Mr. White lit up as if she’d handed him the keys to a kingdom. “I am beyond delighted, my lady! You will never regret this, I promise. I will shower you with everything you can ever wish and see that your sister is surrounded in comfort.”
Iona offered a tight smile. She regretted it already, but she ignored her grinding insides. “That will mean hanging Mortimer from the highest tree, so do not be so generous in your promises.”
Gerard unfolded from his chair, offered Iona his hand, and addressed Mr. White. “Tell me where I should have the lady’s requests for the settlement sent so you may peruse them at your leisure, sir.”
No hand had ever felt so wonderful as his when he clasped her fingers and assisted her from her chair. Clutching her bag with the precious bank note, she was almost knock-kneed in relief. The earl, of course, was focused on Mr. White.
“I’ll be having a say in what’s fair and proper for the settlements. She’ll be leaving with us, my lord,” Mortimer insisted, confronting them belligerently. “That’s what the reward was all about—having my daughters back with me. And I don’t have the other yet.”
“You won’t have the other,” Gerard corrected harshly. “You do not have Lady Iona. She is not yours to possess. I thought we made that clear. The ladies are safe. They are of age and independent of your will. From here on, Lady Iona will only correspond with Mr. White. You are free to go to hell.”
“Now wait a minute!” Mortimer bunched his fists.
Mr. White settled a gloved hand on his shoulder. “You will be appropriately reimbursed, my lord, as promised. There is no need to antagonize my fiancée.”
Iona winced at the appellation. She might as well become used to it.
Winifred rose to her full stout height and stood between Iona and Mortimer. “Now, we will be off to the bank. Gerard, call for the carriage, will you, dear? We have a trousseau to prepare.”
Without looking back at her fuming stepfather, Iona obediently followed his lordship and his aunt out. In truth, she could not have moved on her own.
She longed to be like her queen bee and hide in her hive.
* * *
Gerard slammed the lid on his disgust and fury and buckled it closed. He led the ladies to the bank where Iona deposited her funds in the name of her and her sister. The amount was meager given the expense of operating an estate. He felt guilty about keeping his half, but if she meant to marry that. . .
He couldn’t even think of it. He wanted to exterminate Mortimer, but White was an effeminate sod who would probably treat Iona like a princess. Not that a woman with her lusts would appreciate that, but it was her damned choice.
What he and Blair had learned last night from the miscreants who had dared follow and attack him chilled his blood though. He could keep his fury with Iona down while he watched every man around her with murder in his heart.
Winifred nearly beat him over the head with her umbrella when he insisted on taking them back to the school.
Iona perceptively took the umbrella away and made room for him inside Dare’s carriage. “What is it, my lord? Has Mortimer made threats already?”
She was officially affianced to another. Gerard didn’t want to be that close to her again, but he had no choice. He sat next to his aunt on the forward-facing seat though. “Your stepfather has gambled himself into a hole so deep, he cannot climb out. It is not just debts to gentlemen, but to nefarious characters he had no business gambling with. If he does not pay them back, they are likely to kill him and come after you and your sister next. That’s why there are eyes on us everywhere we go.”
Winifred swatted him again. “That’s reprehensible, Gerard. You had no right to terrify a young lady with such sordid stories. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Had it been any other woman, he would have politely held his tongue. With Iona . . . he could not play charades. She knew when he tried to hide anything and would despise him for being less than honest.
He watched as she took a deep breath and processed his news. She looked like a delicate butterfly in that frilly bodice, with wings of striped skirts billowing around her. He wanted to be the man to strip her from those fripperies and expose her naked skin to the air as it should be.
“You have a plan?” she asked steadily.
“I do, but it means keeping you locked behind closed doors until we have Mortimer safely on a ship sailing to China. I’ve sent warnings to Max to do the same with your sister.” He awaited her verdict.
“China! That is creative, but I don
’t like the idea of placing you in any more danger, my lord,” she said slowly, as if thinking aloud. “Your good deed is done. Isobel and I are considerably richer. I should appeal to my future husband for protection.”
Gerard nearly broke his walking stick in half while he tamped his fury back in place again.
Winifred spoke before he could. “Don’t be ridiculous, child. You cannot marry that man-milliner. You will be fine living with us. Gerard can bring his many cousins to visit and perhaps you’ll find one of far more use than an American in search of a title. We should simply take the train and leave town now.”
“Man-milliner?” Iona’s lips twitched. “I do not think I wish to know the definition. You heard Mr. White. I need only ask and he will provide anything I wish. I could ask to be surrounded by guards. I really cannot expect Lord Ives to delay from his other duties any longer.”
“Give me tonight,” Gerard insisted. “I have everything in place. I want to finish this once and for all. I could not live with myself knowing you cannot safely return to your own estate because I did not follow through.”
She made a moue of distaste and studied the street they traversed. “I need to learn to act on my own again. Could we stop at the church for a few minutes?”
“The church where the gang’s bullies have already attacked us once?” he asked, unable to hide his incredulity.
“Yes, please.” She folded her hands in her lap, looking like a demure princess and not the stubbornly perverse beekeeper she was.
Beekeeper, of course. He refrained from rolling his eyes and ordered the driver to halt at St. Giles. In his lust, he’d forgotten that this was a woman who commanded bees. And he was a man who might die from stings. Charming.
Dangerous the old soldier said in satisfaction.
Gerard didn’t appreciate the notion of the butterfly countess being dangerous—but the spirit was right.
Entrancing the Earl Page 18
