They completed their final clash of blades and saluted one another. Olivia then pulled off her face mask and her hair tumbled down with it.
‘And now you are patronising me.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘As if it weren’t mortifying enough that you used your left hand and still won.’
‘I was fortunate,’ Jake said diplomatically.
‘Nonsense. You are too good for me, even with your left, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Perhaps you ought to find a more worthy opponent.’
‘You know very well that no such person exists.’ Jake lowered his voice to an indolent drawl. ‘You always have kept me on my toes, Olivia, and probably always will.’
Olivia’s musical laugher echoed around the cavernous ballroom. ‘And yet I am so very notorious. Not in the least socially acceptable.’
Jake shrugged. ‘Such considerations don’t concern me. You ought to know that by now.’
She sent him a considering look and raised a brow in challenge. ‘Ought I?’
Olivia tossed her head, sending her thick hair tumbling over her shoulders. Jake was transfixed by the sight of it shimmering down her back in a riot of unruly curls. If pressed, that was how he would describe Olivia. Unruly, unconventional, wild, untamed. Untameable.
Intriguing, desirable, and strictly out of bounds.
She was one of his most effective operatives, and Jake made it a rule never to cross that particular line.
‘Stay in town,’ he said, laying his sword aside. ‘I might have a job for you in a day or two.’
‘As always, I am at your disposal.’
A half-smile played about Olivia’s lips, almost as if she could read his mind and understood how difficult he found it to keep his distance from her, especially when the devil got into her as it had at that moment. She kissed her own fingers, waved their damp tips at Jake and sauntered off. He watched her go, enjoying the sight of her swaying hips and slim body encased in the tight breeches she wore for their fencing practice. One of these days he really would take their perpetual flirting a stage further and part her from those damned breeches. The prospect of finally getting his hands on the voluptuous body beneath them became daily more difficult to resist. Olivia was a widow—make that a beautiful and notorious widow—which made her fair game. But in his extensive experience, the reality of such situations seldom lived up to his expectations.
‘She’s here,’ Parker said, stepping into the ballroom on the lower floor—a room that Jake used more regularly for fencing practise than for actual dancing.
‘What’s she like?’ Jake asked.
‘She’ll have your ring on her finger if you keep inviting her over here,’ Parker replied. ‘I keep telling you she’s out to trap you.’
‘Not Olivia, idiot.’ Jake fastened his shirt and turned to the mirror to deal with his four-in-hand necktie. Folding it on the diagonal, he tied it so that the pointed ends formed wings and then secured the entire arrangement with a superb Ceylon sapphire pin. ‘She works for me and has no interest in matrimony.’
Parker snorted. ‘All women think about matrimony.’
‘I was referring to Mrs Dalton.’
‘Oh, her.’ He sniffed. ‘She’s hiding something.’
‘Who is?’ Isaac Arnold, Jake’s associate and friend, ambled into the room.
‘Mrs Dalton’s here,’ Jake replied, slapping Isaac on the back and then sliding his arms into his waistcoat, swiftly buttoning it. ‘Parker’s come to the astonishing conclusion that she has something to hide.’
‘Sorry, Parker,’ Isaac said, flashing a sympathetic smile. ‘But we already know that much. Our advertisement obviously did the trick and reeled her in. I have to hand it to you, Jake, you were right about that. I didn’t think it would work.’
‘Wonder how many responses Mrs Cole got?’ Jake mused.
‘Dozens I should think. Hopefully she chose the right one.’
‘I have every confidence in her.’ Even so, Jake felt uncomfortable when he thought about what he must now do. ‘Let’s go and see what the beautiful lady has to say for herself.’
Parker pulled a doomed face. He picked up Jake’s sack coat and brushed non-existent specks from its shoulders before holding it out so Jake could slide his arms into the sleeves. ‘What makes you think she’s beautiful?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t say so.’
‘Mrs Cole knows better than to send us a dog,’ Jake replied cheerfully. ‘Besides, I knew her before she married. Is she in the study, Parker?’
‘Don’t say you haven’t been warned,’ Parker replied in a doomed voice.
‘He worries too much,’ Isaac said, buttoning his own coat.
‘That’s what butlers do, my friend, that’s what they do.’
Jake and Isaac took the stairs two at a time and entered the room next to Jake’s study. Through the spyholes conveniently situated in the adjoining wall they observed Mrs Dalton with interest. She was seated in front of the large mahogany desk, hands folded neatly together in her lap. She looked the picture of poised serenity but Jake could detect a nerve working beneath her left eye that told a very different story about her state of mind.
‘She’s beautiful all right,’ Isaac said with enthusiasm.
Jake nodded. ‘And it’s definitely her. Mrs Cole hasn’t disappointed.’
‘I’ve never met her before. I would definitely remember if I had,’ Isaac said decisively.
Jake merely nodded again, thinking it unnecessary to admit she had made quite an impression upon him when she came out and he had never completely forgotten her. Mrs Dalton’s gaze lingered on the wall behind which the men stood, causing them both to inhale sharply when they got their first full view of her face.
‘What a stunner!’ Isaac enthused. ‘Even with that god-awful hairstyle, she’s a diamond of the first water.’
‘Don’t lose sight of why we went to so much trouble to get her here, Isaac. We need her help.’
Isaac returned Jake’s warning glower. ‘And you have never mixed business with pleasure?’
‘Not to my recollection. Besides, she is married.’
‘Ah yes, there is that.’ Isaac brightened. ‘Still, the marriage clearly isn’t a happy one, or she wouldn’t be here.’
‘Come along,’ Jake said. ‘Let’s make ourselves known to her.’
Their visitor started when the two men entered the room from a different door to the one she had been shown through, taking her by surprise.
‘Good afternoon,’ Jake said, holding out his hand. ‘I am Jacob Morton, Earl of Torbay. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Eva.’
Eva Woodstock gasped, turning luminous green eyes upon Jake, a combination of shock, fear and expectation clouding their depths.
‘You know who I am?’
Chapter Two
William Woodstock sat behind his ornate desk in the study of his Sloane Street home. Purchased from the estate of a gentleman ruined through his inability to manage his financial affairs, the desk afforded William considerable satisfaction. It was worthy of a man of his talent and ambition. He never tired of running his hands over the smooth green leather top, or the carved mahogany pillars that were polished daily to within an inch of their lives. The solid item of furniture soothed William and he took childish pleasure in rifling through the meticulously organised drawers and cubbyholes, keeping visitors waiting while he pretended to look for documents, the location of which had never been in question. He was confident that even the most determined intruder wouldn’t discover the sensitive papers secreted in a place no one knew existed.
Today the desk failed to give him the pleasure William usually enjoyed simply from owning it. It was a gentleman’s desk and William was so close to achieving that status he could smell the elitism, the respect, he so earnestly craved. Anyone with brains and determination could make money. To be socially acceptable was something else altogether, but he was now tantalisingly close to achieving that lofty ambition. William had worked so hard to reach this point that he
would not be bested by anyone, least of all his ungrateful wife who didn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty.
Outwardly the epitome of calm, inwardly William’s rage was close to boiling point. He twisted his wife’s ornate wedding band around his little finger and quietly seethed, never before having felt so disadvantaged, especially not by a woman. The diamonds set in the tails of the entwined lovebirds winked back at him, as though mocking him for his inability to control his wilful wife.
‘Found in a pawnbroker’s in Whitechapel, you say.’
He addressed this rhetorical question in a calm tone to Stoneleigh, his right hand man, who stood in front of his desk.
‘It was left there three days ago by a woman calling herself Mrs Dalton. She was offered a fraction of its worth but took it anyway.’
‘Three days?’ William’s voice became even quieter. Anyone who knew him as well as Stoneleigh did couldn’t fail to detect the danger signs. Unlike most people, the angrier William became the more softly he spoke and the worse the consequences for the person unfortunate enough to have disappointed him. ‘Have the goodness to explain how three days can have passed without my being aware of this development.’
‘I had to prioritise,’ Stoneleigh replied, shrugging. ‘I set your people to search the most likely places first. Didn’t occur to us that Lady Eva would go anywhere near Whitechapel.’
It hadn’t occurred to William either. Unfortunately for Stoneleigh, just the thought of his sheltered wife being exposed to the brutal realities of life in that part of London only served to fuel his rage.
‘We…that is to say I, assumed she would run to the West End and turn to one of her high-class friends for shelter—’
‘Why, in your expert opinion, would my wife require shelter?’ William’s voice was reduced to a sibilant hiss. ‘She has a perfectly safe home here.’
‘Well, I…’ Stoneleigh shuffled his feet. He usually said whatever he wished in front of his employer without fear of retribution. Clearly, he now understood that privilege didn’t apply when discussing Lady Eva. ‘She was scared. Not surprising after what she saw, so I imagined she would go back to the people where she felt most at home.’
When William considered what she had actually seen he could no longer contain his temper, especially since he was powerless to discipline the man who had dared to threaten his wife and caused her to bolt in the first place. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on William. At last he had an opportunity to carve out a niche for himself as one of the wealthiest and most influential individuals in the realm. Influential for reasons that would be frowned upon, he understood that much, but you had to play the hand life dealt you and make the best of it.
After this episode, like him or hate him, society would no longer be able to turn its back on him—especially not with Eva at his side. Her pedigree was impeccable. She also looked like an angel, was known to and respected by everyone whom it was worth knowing, and was welcomed everywhere. Even though society frowned upon William, Eva was still received when she called upon her society friends. Not that he allowed her to do so very often. He didn’t like her going to places where he was unable to control the situation. It was a balancing act from William’s perspective. It suited his ambitions for the higher echelons of society to remember who she was and, by association, whom she was married to. Familiarity didn’t always breed contempt.
Privately, William agreed with Stoneleigh. When Eva didn’t return home, his first thought was that she must have gone to one of her aristocratic friends. At least that meant she would be out of harm’s way until she came to her senses and returned to the safety of Sloane Street. Being a patient man, William knew it could only be a matter of time before she had to come back, voluntarily or otherwise. The law was on his side and no one had the right to forcibly separate a man from his legal wife.
Now that he knew she had been hiding in Whitechapel of all places, his blood ran cold. She had virtually no money, as borne out by the fact that she had been forced to pawn her wedding ring. The very ring he’d had designed especially for her and slid onto her delicate finger five years previously. William chose to believe Eva loved him in her own way and would never remove that ring unless she was desperate.
But just how desperate was she and what else had she been forced to contemplate in order to stay alive? By God, if another man had laid so much as one finger on his wife he would track that man down and tear him apart with his bare hands. Then he would beat her senseless for allowing it. He would beat her anyway for her disloyalty; for daring to show independence and distracting him at such a crucial point in his planning. When he ought to be concentrating all his efforts on his latest endeavour, William was reduced to fretting over his ungrateful and disobedient wife.
At first he thought she would find her own way home and he was ready to forgive her for turning away from him. He could quite understand how afraid she must have been and he would have reassured her on that score. Now he had to face the unpalatable truth—a truth he would never willingly admit to anyone except himself—his wife had left because she no longer wished to be with him.
Damnation, she was his! He had saved her wretched family from ruin for her sake and yet all she had done during the entire course of their marriage was look down her pert little nose at him. Not that she ever dared to voice her disdain, but then she hadn’t needed to. He sensed it in every fibre of his being. She was cool and aloof with him and he was never able to interpret her thoughts. She erected a barrier around her emotions and never showed her feelings, except when she was with their daughter. That was why he had allowed her to keep the brat. In his innermost heart he had always known that in spite of his kindness and generosity, she despised him. But she adored the child and would never leave her, which ensured that she would never leave William either.
Or so he had always thought.
‘Three days?’ William’s voice rose. He so rarely shouted that Stoneleigh looked truly taken aback. ‘Three days this ring has been in your possession and only now I find out about it?’
‘Well no. We only found it ourselves late last night.’
William crashed his fist on the surface of his desk. ‘I have been offering huge rewards for any information leading to my wife’s whereabouts this past week, and yet we’ve only just found out about the ring. Damn it man, this won’t do!’
William stood up and paced the length of the room. He hated losing his temper, couldn’t remember the last time it had happened, and strove to regain control of himself. He caught sight of his heightened complexion and wildly staring eyes in a nearby glass. He looked like a madman, barely recognisable; a timely reminder of the futility of anger that helped to calm him. Out of control people seldom made rational decisions. He took several deep breaths and waited until he felt he could safely speak again. Eva was the only person on the planet who had the ability to make him lose his composure so comprehensively, mainly because she was the only person in the world whom he cared about.
‘All right,’ he said, returning to his seat. ‘We now know she has been in Whitechapel. Why in the name of the devil has it taken this long to find out? A lady of quality would stand out like a fox in a hen house in such surroundings.’
‘As I say, we weren’t looking there.’
William wanted to throw something at the man for being so obtuse. Later he probably would, but right now he needed him. He took a deep breath and glanced up at his prized duelling swords, prominently displayed in a case on the wall opposite his desk. The jewelled hilts glistened in light reflected from the windows, helping to calm him. The swords were another purchase from a gentleman’s estate sale. William had thrown himself into the sport because it was an acceptable occupation for the gentleman he planned to turn himself into. It transpired he was a natural with a rapier—a skill he would put to good use when it came time to slice Eva’s lover through his miserable heart.
‘What are you doing to track her down?’ he asked Stoneleigh in a morda
nt tone.
‘We’ve had a dozen people scouring the streets of Whitechapel since first light, asking at boarding houses, offering rewards for sightings of her. The net’s closing, sir. We’ll have her any time now.’
Before William could formulate a suitably scathing reply, a servant tapped on the door.
‘Someone here to see Stoneleigh, sir,’ William’s butler said. ‘He says it’s regarding Lady Eva and is urgent.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ William barked. ‘Send him in at once.’
A man William recognised but whose name escaped him walked into William’s inner sanctum.
‘What news?’ William demanded to know.
‘We’ve managed to track a Mrs Dalton down to a boarding house in Whitehall,’ the man replied.
William tried not to show any reaction but suspected his relief was self-evident.
‘Is she here?’
‘No, sir. She was seen leaving the building this morning. Someone followed her to Mitre Square but before he could accost her, she got into a Hansom.’
‘So we’ve lost her again,’ William said in a tone of muted fury.
‘We went to the room she’s renting. The landlady says she paid for another two nights and her possessions are all still there.’
‘She has no possessions.’
‘She bought a few essentials, apparently,’ the man said gruffly.
William was suddenly grateful his wife didn’t choose to wear, at least during daylight hours, any of the expensive jewellery he had bought her. Her unwillingness to do so used to irk him because it implied she questioned his taste. It occurred to him now that just one of the huge diamonds he liked to see against her alabaster skin could have kept her in style for months. The abandonment of her wedding ring no longer seemed such a travesty, but more a sign of desperation.
‘So presumably she’s planning to return,’ William said pensively. ‘Have her quietly brought home the moment she does.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You can go,’ he said to both men. ‘Oh, and Stoneleigh, send Rose to me.’
Saving Grace (Victorian Vigilantes Book 1) Page 2
