“Are you blushing, Miss Cresswell?” Chance lightly teased.
“No, I am not,” she denied. “I am simply cold.”
“Allow me.” With gentle care, Chance leaned forward to pull the blanket up to her shoulders, lingering to gaze deep into her widened blue eyes. “You smell of lilacs.”
A timeless moment passed as Chance allowed his gaze to drop to the satin softness of her lips. What would they taste like beneath his mouth? Would they part in invitation? Would they tremble with innocent fear or ignite with passion?
A crazed, nearly uncontrollable urge to discover the truth had his head bending downward before her soft gasp had him abruptly sitting back in his seat.
Good gads. What was he thinking? He was no clumsy schoolboy to attempt to make love to a maiden in his own carriage—and with Lucky looking on, to boot.
Clearly he was in need of seeking a new mistress.
Maybe several.
“Shall we discuss the names upon the list?” Miss Cresswell asked in uneven tones.
Chance struggled to regain his normal nonchalance. “By all means.”
She peered at the list. “May I ask who Fiona is?”
Drat. Chance gave a small cough, his entire body tingling with an unfamiliar heat.
“My brother’s . . .”
“Mistress?” she finished with a casualness he could only envy.
“Yes.”
“I believe I shall investigate her next. She must have some acquaintances among the courtesans.”
His momentary discomfort was banished at her outrageous proposal. “You cannot visit a member of the demimonde.”
“I can and I will, my lord,” she retorted in firm tones, a hint of cool challenge in her blue eyes. “I quite understand if you prefer to cry off.”
His lips snapped together. Whatever insanity had given him the sharp desire to bed this maiden did not diminish his realization that she was, indeed, a lady. He would not allow her to tramp through the dens of iniquity unattended.
The devil take Ben and his foolish behavior, he seethed. By rights he should be the one in this carriage.
The earl dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head. If anyone was going to the local brothels with Miss Cresswell, it was he.
“I shall call on you first thing in the morning.”
Six
The following morning, Sarah attired herself in a heavy wool gown and scraped back her hair in a stern mood. She had deliberately ignored the cabinet filled with satin and jaconet gowns that were far more flattering.
She was a spinster, she reminded herself for the hundredth time since she had fled Lord Chance’s carriage. She was far too old, not to mention far too wise, to yearn for the feel of a gentleman’s kiss.
Granted, when he had been poised above her in the carriage, her stomach had trembled with a strange excitement. And perhaps her dreams had been troubled by pale, elegant features and mocking black eyes. But it was nothing more than ... a momentary lapse.
This morning she was once again in firm command. And she possessed the comfort of knowing Lord Chance could not possibly have suspected her brief madness.
And he would never suspect, she assured herself as she crisply headed out of her chambers and down to the front salon.
From today forward she would be calm, rational, and utterly sensible, not at all the sort of maiden to yearn for heated kisses.
With this comforting thought, she swept inside the room, prepared to await Lord Chance’s arrival. She had taken only a few steps, however, when she stumbled to a halt at the sight of her father.
Once again, he was flamboyantly attired in a striped crimson coat and knee breeches. And once again he sported that ridiculous eye patch.
Turning from the pier mirror, where he was busily fussing with his cravat, he offered her a roguish smile. “Oh, Sarah, tell me what you think.” He minced in a circle to offer her the full effect of his ensemble. “A trifle gaudy perhaps, but precisely what a French rogue would choose, I believe.”
Sarah gave a delicate shudder. “It is very bright.”
“Festive,” the Devilish Dandy corrected. “Precisely what is needed to combat this dreary English weather.”
“I believe the weather is particularly fine in India,” she said in dry tones.
“As hot as Hades, I should rather think.”
Strolling further into the room, she eyed her unpredictable relative with a firm gaze. “May I inquire where you took yourself off to yesterday?”
“But of course.” He gave a vague shrug. “As I promised, I was assisting you, my dearest.”
Sarah felt a chill of dismay inch down her spine. She had no desire for her father’s particular brand of assistance. “What have you done?”
He calmly arranged the lace at his cuffs. “Merely made a few discreet inquiries among those who would be in a position to know if the Chance diamonds were floating about.”
She released a tiny sigh. Her father was clearly indifferent to the danger of his position in London. Indeed, she would not put it past him to visit the Prince himself if the urge was to take him. At least he should be safe enough if he remained among those he trusted.
“And are they?” she demanded, knowing that if anyone could discover the truth it was her father.
“No. There has not been so much as a whisper.”
Sarah nibbled her bottom lip. “So whoever has taken them has not yet attempted to sell them.”
“Not in London,” Solomon pointed out. Then, holding out one foot, he studied the pointed shoe. “What of these buckles?”
Sarah shook her head in a rueful fashion. “Ghastly.”
“I fear you may be right.” He sighed. “Still, they set my stockings off quite nicely.”
Sarah was no more fond of the pink stockings than the flashy buckles. “Few gentlemen still wear such attire unless it is a formal affair.”
“But I am an elderly, rather eccentric gentleman who prefers the more gracious fashions of days past.” That charming smile flashed again. “Besides, it would be a sin to hide such a shapely calf.”
The memory of another lethally charming gentleman referring to shapely legs sent a shock of heat through her body. She stiffened in annoyance with herself. “Please, Father, I have heard quite enough of legs in the past two days.”
“Really?” His one visible green eye narrowed. “I thought you were with Lord Chance.”
Sarah refused to blush. The devil take Lord Chance. “I was.”
“And he speaks to you of legs? Perhaps I should have a word with the gentleman. I will not have my daughter treated as a lightskirt.”
“You will do no such thing,” Sarah retorted in tones that defied argument. “Lord Chance is interested in nothing more than retrieving his mother’s diamonds.”
“No gentleman is that tediously dull-witted,” her father protested.
“No, he is not dull-witted. He is arrogant, interfering, and altogether annoying.”
Too late, she realized she had revealed more of her inner disturbance than she had intended. With a practiced motion, Solomon raised his quizzing glass.
“Well, well.”
“Do not regard me in that fashion, Father.”
“No, no, enfin.” He gave a click of his tongue. “Not Father, but Uncle Pierre.”
Sarah rolled her eyes at his chastisement. “You do realize that if you encounter a true Frenchman, he will no doubt run you through for torturing his language in such a wretched fashion?”
The quizzing glass dropped as the Devilish Dandy gave an indifferent shrug. “He might make the attempt.”
Knowing her father was indeed a master with both a sword and pistols, Sarah allowed his confident boast to stand. “Will you be dining in tonight?”
“I have received an invitation to dine with Mrs. Surton and several other notable guests.”
Sarah took a startled step forward. “No.”
“Do not fret.” Her father gave a chuckle at her
obvious dismay. “I have sent a lovely bouquet along with my regrets that I possess a prior engagement. Such a lovely lady.”
“She is detestable, as you well know,” Sarah retorted in tart tones. No one could ever presume to consider Mrs. Surton as a lovely lady, not even the Devilish Dandy. “But I have need of her for my school. I would appreciate your staying away from her.”
“So she can dribble out a pittance and keep you firmly beneath her heel?” A rare hint of annoyance flickered over his lean features. “Nonsense. With a bit of encouragement, I can assure that she provides you a proper sum as well as keep her far too occupied to bother you.”
It was, indeed, a tempting thought, she acknowledged, to have the money that was so vital to keep the school open with none of the aggravation of enduring the meddlesome attentions of Mrs. Surton. At the same moment, she realized she could not possibly allow her father to trifle with the older woman’s affections. Good heavens, could there be anything worse than having a lovesick Mrs. Surton crying upon her shoulder? The revolting image sent a shudder through her slender frame. “I appreciate the thought, but I would prefer you do not meddle in my affairs.”
Solomon gave a pat to his intricate cravat. “But, my dear, I am your father. It is my duty to meddle.”
Sarah’s expression hardened. “Father.”
“Not now, Sarah,” the Devilish Dandy pleaded as he strolled toward the door. “I really must be off.”
“Where are you going?”
Pausing in the doorway, Solomon smiled with wicked amusement. “Did I not tell you? I am meeting Lord Maxwell. Au revoir, my dearest.”
* * *
The ornate brothel was discreetly set back from the street and nearly hidden by a high hedge.
It was a house Sarah had, shockingly, visited on a number of occasions. Her work with children had often included those offsprings of prostitutes. And as one of the most elegant and renowned brothels in London, it had only been a matter of time before she had arrived on the doorstep to meet with the notorious owner.
In truth, Sarah had been caught off guard by Madame Vallenway, not only by her shrewd intelligence, but by her genuine concern for the women who resided in her brothel. Although Sarah could never condone such a life, she was wise enough to realize the woman could prove a valuable ally in improving the future for the children born within her home.
Since that day, Sarah had regularly visited with trifling gifts and, more importantly, with recommendations for establishing a small school for those children old enough to study.
Of course, as a rule she made her visits with Watts as a companion, she acknowledged with a covert glance at the dark-haired gentleman seated across the carriage. It was bound to be a trifle more awkward with Lord Chance.
With a silent chastisement at her uncharacteristic bout of nerves, Sarah pulled the large basket she had brought with her onto her lap.
Blast those ridiculous dreams. They were making her as silly as a schoolgirl.
Thankfully, Lord Chance had seemed far too distracted to note her odd behavior. Since he had arrived to collect her, there had been a reserve in his manner that had not been present since their initial encounter. She could only presume he was growing impatient with their lack of success in locating the diamonds.
No more impatient than she was, she acknowledged with a inner sigh. Even with all her silent admonishments, she could not deny she was wretchedly conscious of the male cologne filling the carriage and the occasional brush of his knee against her own.
Preparing to alight as the carriage pulled to a halt, Sarah was detained as Lord Chance gave a choked cough. With a flare of surprise, she turned to discover his aloof expression had been replaced with one of dark disapproval. “Good gads, you do not propose to enter such an establishment.”
She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Of course.”
“Miss Cresswell . . . Sarah . . .” he was provoked to mutter, his dark eyes uncommonly somber. “I will not allow you to expose yourself to such a place, even for the sake of retrieving the diamonds.”
Oddly moved by his concern, she conjured a reassuring smile. “You need have no fear, my lord. I will survive quite nicely.”
Without giving him an opportunity for further protest, Sarah slipped through the door being held open by the groom. She then set a brisk pace up the pathway to the front steps. Lord Chance had just managed to pull even with her when the door was opened to reveal a stout, decidedly muscular butler.
At the sight of Sarah, the servant abruptly dropped his intimidating scowl to smile with genuine pleasure. “Miss Cresswell, welcome.”
“Thank you, Dodwell. Is Madame Vallenway available?”
Dodwell gave a brief, considering glance toward the silent gentleman at Sarah’s side before nodding his head. “Of course. This way.”
The butler led them through the overly lavish foyer and down a long hall to the back of the vast home. As always, Sarah kept her gaze averted from the shocking statues and paintings that lined the walls. Not until Dodwell had unlocked a heavy door and escorted them into the private quarters did she once again lift her head.
The salon they entered was far more traditional in decor. With solid oak furnishings and framed panels of crimson silk upon the walls, it might have belonged to the most prim hostess in London.
Stepping close beside her, Lord Chance bent to whisper in her ear. “You are acquainted with Madame Vallenway?”
She glanced up to meet his narrowed gaze. “I know many people in London, sir.”
Whatever he might have retorted was halted as a magnificent woman rose from a writing desk to cross toward them.
Although no longer in the first blush of youth, Madame Vallenway was still breathtakingly lovely, with a mass of titan curls and dark eyes. It would be a mistake, however, to presume she relied solely on her beauty. There was an iron will and innate cunning beneath the carefully polished image.
“Sarah, dearest.” She smiled happily, then turned a coy glance toward the handsome gentleman. “And Lord Chance.”
The most absurd prick of annoyance entered her heart at Madame Vallenway’s swift recognition of Lord Chance. The toad. Little wonder he was reluctant to enter the brothel.
“I see no introductions are necessary,” she said in determinedly even tones.
Perhaps sensing Sarah’s sudden tension, Madame Vallenway was swift to distract her young visitor. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Sarah held out her basket. “I have brought you this.”
With a fond click of her tongue, Madame Vallenway accepted the basket and set it on a low table. “Sarah. I have told you that you must halt your generosity.”
“It is just a few treats for the children.”
“Children?” Lord Chance spoke for the first time, his tone one of confusion.
A faint smile curved madame’s full lips. “A hazard for women in my profession.”
Lord Chance gave a choked noise. Feeling her own surge of embarrassment, Sarah rushed into speech. “Madame ensures that the women are allowed to keep their children with them. She even hired a teacher for the older ones.”
A hint of satisfaction could be detected in her lovely features.
“It is my hope they will be given the opportunities that too few are ever given. However, it is a modest effort when compared to dear Sarah’s school.”
Sarah felt Lord Chance’s piercing gaze upon her profile. “Nonsense,” she murmured. Then, anxious to bring the rather awkward meeting to a swift end, she came to the point of her visit. “I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Are you acquainted with Fiona Snow?”
“Of course.” Madame’s gaze once again shifted to Lord Chance. “Is she not currently under the protection of your brother?”
Chance cleared his throat. “Quite right.”
Madame turned back to Sarah, clearly intrigued. “What do you wish to know?”
“What sort of woman is she?”
&
nbsp; “Pretty, of course,” Madame readily answered, “but unfortunately a silly widgeon.”
“Is she devious?”
The courtesan gave a startled blink. “Good heavens, she hasn’t the sense to be devious. Why do you ask?”
Sarah was well aware she had to choose her words with care. The last thing she desired was to stir undue gossip, not only out of fear that it might eventually flutter its way back to Lady Chance’s ear, but because she had no wish to frighten the thief into flight, taking the diamonds with him.
“There are ... belongings missing from Mr. Coltran’s home.”
Madame shook her head without hesitation. “No, not Fiona.”
“How can you be so sure?” Sarah demanded.
A twinkle entered the dark eyes. “In my business, you learn a thing or two about people. Now, Fiona might lie or even cheat if given the opportunity, but she has no nerve for theft. It takes a brassy wench to steal from a gentleman and then lie in his arms as if nothing had occurred.”
She sounded so very certain that Sarah chose not to press the issue.
“If she happened to know of the belongings, would she share the information with her acquaintances?”
This time Madame gave the question considerably more thought. “Fiona has only been in town a few months, hardly long enough to develop many acquaintances,” she at last retorted. “And in truth, I have not heard her utter anything that was not connected to her latest gown or the ribbons in her hair.”
“Does she spend much time here or perhaps with one of the other girls?”
“Since being provided a house, Fiona rarely stirs from her bed,” Madame retorted with a wry smile. “She is rather indolent and not at all inclined to make an effort to do much of anything. I’ve warned her such habits will soon ruin her beauty, but she hasn’t the sense to pay me any heed.”
“And none of the other girls have called on her lately?”
“Not to my knowledge. Actually, I would be very much surprised if they had. None of them were particularly close to her, and there is always a bit of jealousy when one girl or another is chosen by a handsome young gentleman.”
Knowing that Madame would have been the first to notice if Fiona was behaving oddly or had suddenly come into a fortune, Sarah conceded defeat. Unless the chit was far more clever than she pretended, it did not seem she could be involved in theft.
When You Wish Page 7
