“It appears that Liza is becoming increasingly nervous in her role as Lady Stanholte.”
Biddles frowned. “Liza?”
As concisely as possible, Luke revealed the secret behind Miss Stanholte’s arrival in London and her determination to unmask the intruder posing as Lady Stanholte. Biddles listened in silence as Luke at last pointed toward the letter.
“Now we can be certain this Toby is involved in the scheme to steal Miss Stanholte’s inheritance.”
Handing the letter back to Luke, the smaller man pursed his lips in a thoughtful manner.
“No doubt he is involved,” Biddles agreed. “But he did not impress me as a particularly intelligent chap. I should be very much surprised if he managed to invent such a scheme on his own.”
Intent on the letter, Luke abruptly stiffened as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed eerily through the room. With a sharp movement of one hand, Biddles pointed toward a mound of costumes. Moving with silent speed, the two quickly secreted themselves behind the mildewed clothing, barely out of sight before the footsteps entered the room.
Shifting to one side, Luke carefully peered around the costumes, easily recognizing the thin form of Toby. Luke was unfamiliar, however, with the tall, surprisingly well-attired gentleman with him. He took careful note of the fashionably styled brown hair and the narrow countenance marred by a thin scar down one cheek. Not a face easily forgotten.
Impatiently tapping a riding crop against a glossy boot, the stranger paced the room with obvious anger.
“Can I not trust you to follow a simple command?” he demanded in an educated voice, distinctly at odds with his surroundings.
“Ain’t my fault those blokes appeared,” Toby whined.
The tall gentleman glared down his long nose.
“Really, Crumby, your excuses are becoming as tiresome as your incompetence. Is it so difficult to bring me one small chit?”
Luke and Biddles exchanged a knowing glance. Clearly, they had discovered the leader behind Miss Stanholte’s troubles.
“If it be so easy, why don’t yer get her yerself?” Toby sulked.
“Because, my dim-witted friend, that is what I have paid you to do.” The soft voice was menacing. “A payment I shall take out in blood if you do not succeed.”
Even from a distance, Luke could see Toby stiffen in fear. Clearly, Toby recognized the danger etched in the gentleman’s narrow countenance.
“Yer needn’t threaten me,” the smaller man attempted to bluster. “I’ll have the lady by tomorrow.”
Without warning, the riding crop cracked across the top of a scarred table.
“Do not be any more of a fool than you have to be, Crumby,” he snarled. “These two mysterious gentlemen are clearly aware of your interest in Lady Greer. What do you suppose would happen if she were to suddenly disappear?”
Toby flinched, his grimy face becoming pale. “What do yer want me to do?”
There was a brief silence as the gentleman resumed his pacing, obviously pondering how best to proceed. At last he halted and turned back to the cowering Toby.
“Nothing for now,” he commanded. “I shall have to devise a more subtle means of ridding myself of the pesky Miss Stanholte. One that can be passed as nothing more sinister than an unfortunate accident. I have no need for unwelcome questions.” Luke felt his blood freeze at the icy tone. The stranger was clearly devoid of conscience or emotion. “Until then you are to remain here. You have done enough damage with your blundering.”
Laying the crop against Toby’s white face in a taunting manner, the gentleman gave a contemptuous laugh. Then, certain he had suitably cowed his incompetent thug, he slowly strolled out of the room and up the stairs.
For a long moment Toby eyed the retreating figure, waiting until he was certain the gentleman was well away from the room before spitting on the straw-covered floor.
“Bloody bastard,” he cursed before turning on his heel and defiantly marching out the back door.
Counting to one hundred to ascertain that neither man was about to suddenly reappear, Luke and Biddies slowly moved from behind the costumes. Removing a perfumed bit of satin from his sleeve, Biddles lifted it to his pointed nose.
“Rather detestable sort of bloke.” He narrowly gazed toward the stairs. “A friend of yours?”
“No,” Luke retorted in a clipped tone, his hands clenched in unconscious fists. “At least he has satisfied my curiosity. We now know who possessed the cunning to devise a campaign to steal Miss Stanholte’s inheritance, indeed.
“But who is he? And how the devil are we to stop him?” Luke growled in frustration. The sense of Miss Stanholte’s danger had never been more pressing. The unknown gentleman had revealed a cold, calculated determination to capture his prey, and a thorough lack of scruples that would allow him to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goal. An image of a delicate face with large silver eyes and utterly kissable lips suddenly burned in the front of Luke’s mind. No. He would not allow this blackguard to harm a golden hair on her head. Not if he had to hunt the scoundrel from one end of England to another.
“Come along, Biddles. I must ensure that Aunt Sophia has secured Miss Stowe. The sooner Miss Stanholte is out of that neighborhood, the better.”
* * *
Ten days later, Luke stepped out of the glossy black carriage and crossed to the side of the elegantly situated town house. It was the first occasion he had allowed himself to visit Miss Stanholte since the morning he had revealed to her that he knew the truth behind her deception. Staying away was not an easy task when he was constantly on edge that something would occur in his absence, but the knowledge that all eyes of Society would be trained upon the newly arrived lady and her companion had kept him away. He wanted no undue speculation about his immediate interest in a country Miss.
Of course, he hadn’t left the safety of Miss Stanholte to chance. Even before she had been removed to the house, he had installed a footman in his service. The servant had been commanded to keep a constant guard on the lady and to report anything remotely suspicious. Luke had also devoted his time to scouring the gentlemen’s clubs, the gaming hells and brothels in search of the scar-faced gentleman from the theater. Annoyingly, he had caught no sight of the stranger; he was obviously keeping away from the more public entertainments.
Now Luke felt an undeniable surge of anticipation as he moved up the narrow path. He had missed his visits with Miss Stanholte more than he cared to admit, and it had only been with a disturbing effort that he had resisted the temptation to call.
First, however, he had arranged to meet with his trusted servant.
Feigning an interest in the neatly tended roses beside the house, Luke stopped to study a deep red bloom. With the same casual manner, a uniformed footman stepped through a side door and crossed to stand beside Luke.
“My lord.” The slender servant with trimmed brown hair and dark eyes gave a small bow.
“Ramsel.” Luke nodded at the younger brother of his own secretary. The Ramsel family had been tenants on his uncle’s estate for generations and had proven an unwavering loyalty to the earl. “Any news?”
“I caught sight of one chap staring at the house,” he duly reported. “I tried to follow him, but he was a slippery bloke. Lost him a few blocks away.”
Luke resisted the urge to jump to the conclusion that the lurker was Toby or his nefarious employer. As a new tenant in the neighborhood, Miss Stanholte was bound to attract the attention of many people. Not all of whom were determined to do her harm.
“How is Miss Stanholte?” he quizzed. “Is she settled in?”
The footman scratched his head as he considered his response.
“Didn’t appear a mite happy when she first arrived, but her maid Rose says that she seems to have perked up.”
Luke smiled wryly. He could imagine Miss Stanholte’s displeasure when she had received his note commanding her to remove to this town house. He had no doubt that he had been c
alled any number of colorful names.
“Have there been any callers?”
“A right number, my lord. ’Course it’s not surprising, with Lady Pembroke taking such an interest and Miss Stanholte being such a lovely lady.” His youthful features abruptly flushed with painful color. “If you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”
Luke swiftly eased the young man’s embarrassment. “Certainly not. Has there been a tall man with dark hair and a scar down one cheek?”
“Not that I seen.” Ramsel shrugged. “Mostly gents like Lord Westwood and Mr. Talvert. In fact, they are with Miss Stanholte this morning.”
“Good God, Aunt Sophia did not waste any time,” Luke muttered, reaching into his pocket to withdraw a slender envelope. “Thank you, Ramsel. Keep me informed.”
The footman accepted the envelope with a bow. “Yes, my lord.”
Moving to the front of the house, Luke mounted the stairs. Although he had deliberately requested his aunt to visit Miss Stanholte today so he would possess an excuse to call, he had not expected her to bring Lord Pembroke’s tedious cousin, Lord Westwood, and his constant companion. The knowledge that they were frequent visitors brought a frown to his handsome countenance as the elderly butler pulled open the door.
“Lord Mumford to see Miss Stanholte,” he commanded.
The thin, nearly bald-headed man waved him into the foyer. “Wait here, my lord.”
Luke was kept waiting only a moment before he was stiffly led to the front drawing room. As the butler announced his presence, Luke took a moment to admire his surroundings.
He had known the moment he had viewed the house it would be perfect. The rooms were well situated, with a number of windows and a classic simplicity that was quite lovely. Most charming of all were the delicate landscapes painted throughout the house. Rolling meadows, trees and clouds were offset by a trellis frame, giving the image of gazing upon the English countryside.
Luke had not missed Lady Greer’s wistful expression whenever he had spoken of his estate in Kent. It was clear that she missed her own country estate, and he had hoped the pastoral scenes would ease her homesickness.
Having performed his service, the butler stepped aside to allow Luke his first glimpse of Miss Stanholte in ten long days. Even prepared, he felt his heart give a sharp jerk at the sight of her seated on the satinwood and silk sofa.
She was beautiful.
Golden curls were elegantly arranged atop her head, with a handful left to caress the curve of her neck and her soft cheeks. Her gown was pale rose, and while more concealing than her previous attire, the supple muslin managed to cling to the slender curves in the most disturbing fashion. She looked extraordinarily young and innocent, and Luke experienced a most absurd desire to sweep her into his arms and carry her far away.
Decidedly odd behavior for a gentleman who had always branded such romantic nonsense fit for only fribbles and twits.
With an effort, he forced his gaze toward his aunt and the two young dandies seated on a nearby sofa. The three of them regarded him with varying expressions. Lady Pembroke was speculative, while the timid Mr. Talvert appeared struck by being in the presence of the Irresistible Earl. Lord Westwood was simply annoyed at having to share the attention of the lovely Miss Stanholte. Luke’s own expression was unreadable as he offered them a graceful leg.
“Aunt Sophia, I was told I could find you here.”
“Luke.” Lady Pembroke smiled as she lifted a heavily jeweled hand. “I do not believe you have been formally introduced to Miss Stanholte? She is recently come to London and is eager to enjoy the delights of town. Miss Stanholte, may I introduce my nephew, Lord Mumford?”
Swift to take advantage of the opportunity to move closer to Miss Stanholte, Luke crossed to the slender maiden. Ignoring her haughty expression, he deliberately reached down to grasp her stiff fingers and lifted them to his lips. He slowly smiled as he felt her sudden tremor.
“Your servant, Miss Stanholte.”
Her eyes flashed silver. Clearly, he was still out of favor.
“My lord.”
“And her companion, Miss Stowe,” Sophia interrupted their silent exchange, and Luke was forced to turn to acknowledge the small, rather dowdy lady nearly hidden in the corner.
“Miss Stowe,” he murmured, feeling a faint twinge of unease. Good God, the woman appeared as if she might swoon at the drop of a pin. How the devil was she to chaperon a spirited minx like Miss Stanholte? Then he met her steady brown eyes, and a portion of his fear eased. Perhaps there was more to the lady than appeared from her subdued manner.
“My lord.”
“And, of course, you are acquainted with Lord Pembroke’s cousin, Lord Westwood, and his friend, Mr. Talvert.”
“Westwood. Talvert.” Having performed his social obligations, Luke casually lowered his tall frame onto the sofa next to Miss Stanholte. He conveniently ignored the hiss from Lord Westwood and the raised brow of his aunt. “Tell me, Miss Stanholte, how are you enjoying London?”
Forced by her surroundings to make a pretense of polite civility, Miss Stanholte gave a small tilt of her chin.
“It is all that I expected, my lord.”
His mouth twitched at her subtle taunt. “Have you managed to see any of the sights?”
“Lady Pembroke has been kind enough to invite me to visit the Tower of London and the Royal Academy.”
“I am attempting to convince her to join my gathering tonight,” Lady Pembroke chimed in. “It will be the perfect opportunity to introduce her to Society. And Lord Westwood has promised to perform his latest poem.”
Having been unfortunate enough to have endured the tedious drivel Lord Westwood claimed as poetry, Luke barely swallowed his laugh.
“A delight not be missed. Of course, Miss Stanholte will attend,” he drawled, his smile widening as her slim form stiffened.
“Wonderful. Then I shall expect both of you.” Sophia easily tumbled Luke into his own trap and then rose with a satisfied expression. “Peter, I am ready to leave.”
With obvious reluctance, Lord Westwood rose and crossed to his hostess. Lifting her hand, he spared Luke a small glare before kissing the slender fingers.
“Until this evening, Miss Stanholte,” he reverently proclaimed.
Perhaps noting Luke’s steely gaze at Lord Westwood’s intimate manner, Mr. Talvert contented himself with a distant bow.
“Your servant, Miss Stanholte.”
The three made a protracted leave-taking, with Peter returning twice to retrieve Lady Pembroke’s fan and a missing glove. At last they were gone, and Luke was left alone with Miss Stanholte and her watchful companion.
Settling back on the sofa, Luke subdued a stab of regret that their days of conversing without the strictures of a proper chaperon were over.
“A charming establishment, Miss Stanholte,” he broke the awkward silence, a wicked glint of amusement in his eyes.
She lifted a cool brow. “Indeed? I suppose it is adequate.”
“Merely adequate?” His lips twitched, as he was well aware the town house was considered one of the finest in all of London.
“Unfortunately, the upstairs is unaccountably cramped, and there is a dampness in the air I cannot like.”
“Ah, at least you can find no fault with the furnishings.” He deliberately allowed his gaze to roam the satinwood furniture covered to complement the blues and greens of the landscapes. To one side, a heavy side table with a granite top sported three handsome Greek vases. On a far wall, a delicately scrolled chimneypiece reflected the classic style. “Unless you prefer the latest fashions from the Orient? For myself, I could never abide lacquer.”
She could not prevent her blush at his subtle taunt.
“As I said, it is all quite adequate.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I perceive that you have caught my aunt’s fancy.”
“Lady Pembroke has been very kind.”
There was no doubting the sincerity in her tone, and Luke smiled
with wry humor.
“Yes. It is difficult to believe we could be so closely related.”
“My thoughts precisely.”
“Of course, I might improve upon closer acquaintanceship. I am, after all, considered quite irresistible by many young ladies.”
The gray eyes once again flashed silver. Luke had no doubt that it was only the presence of Miss Stowe that kept her from tossing one of the lovely figurines at his head.
“Was there something in particular you desired, my lord?”
“I thought we might discuss a mutual acquaintance.”
“Mutual acquaintance?”
“Our delightful friend Toby.”
“Oh.” Her irritation faded as she cast a covert glance at the lady in the corner. “Would you care for tea, my lord?”
“Excellent notion.”
“Miss Stowe, may I impose upon you to see if Cook has any fresh scones?”
“Certainly.” The elder woman instantly rose, but there was a shrewd glint in her dark eyes. “I shall be gone but a moment.”
With her warning delivered, Miss Stowe quietly left the room, careful to leave the door open. Miss Stanholte barely waited until they were alone before she turned back toward him.
“What has occurred?”
Luke smiled in a lazy fashion, fully intending to enjoy their brief moment of privacy to the utmost.
“First, tell me how you are adjusting to your move.”
She frowned with impatience. “Well enough.”
“Is there anything you require?”
Most ladies of his acquaintance would have responded with an arch laugh and a subtle invitation. Miss Stanholte merely shook her head.
“If there is, I am perfectly capable of acquiring it on my own.”
“Naturally,” Luke retorted in dry tones. “At least allow me to tell you how extraordinarily beautiful you appear. As much as I regret the loss of the enticing Lady Greer, I far prefer the innocent charms of Miss Stanholte.”
For a fleeting moment, a charming confusion rippled over her delicate features; then she was hastily thinning her lips.
“I have no need for your flattery, sir.”
Lord Mumford's Minx Page 10
