Careful to stick to the shadows, Giles and Neddy made their way to the office door. “You keep watch,” Giles said, his voice muffled by the scarf that also concealed his features. He had his hat pulled down low over his eyes and had thrown one of Leach’s cast-off gardening coats over the top of his all black attire. Neddy was similarly swaddled, his auburn hair tucked away under his hat.
His friend melted into the shadows by the corner as Giles applied himself to the lock using a hairpin, one of Fortuna’s, and a slender file. There were definitely things to be said for his lifestyle. No lock had ever thwarted any of his nocturnal assignations, and this particular excursion had involved a deal less diplomacy than the path to most of the boudoirs he’d frequented.
The lock sprang with relative ease.
“We’re in, Ned.”
Within, the overpowering smell of beeswax made him sneeze. The beech wood surfaces were all sticky with it and dulled to a dreary mid-brown. Giles lit the lantern he’d brought with him from the carriage and shone a faint glimmering light over the office floor. The foyer had a high counter, beyond which lay three clerks desks and numerous rows of filing cabinets and shelves stocked with red and black bound ledgers. Beyond those, a half-glass door led into an inner office.
“In there I’ll bet,” Neddy said, pointing towards the inner sanctum.
Knapsley and Cox’s office was even more fiercely polished. It reminded Giles of his grandfather’s study, the furnishings respectably aged and luxuriously practical, if a little worn.
Neddy took the right hand desk, Giles the left.
Giles started at the top and began working his way down. It was a tedious task, sifting through the detritus of legal files, entailments and business accounts. He found one last will and testament belonging to a Mr. Archibald Clewes, apparently in the process of being drawn up, and still awaiting signatures. There was no sign of anything pertaining to Pimcock or Allenthorpe.
He reached the final desk drawer with a sigh. They didn’t have time to rake through every document in the building. He scanned the shelves of ledgers, but there was nothing to distinguish them, not even an alphabetical index. Think, Giles, he urged himself. Where would they store a will? He had to see it, had to know if their assumptions were correct, and more importantly if there were any way to pacify Macleane without giving him Fortuna.
“I have it.” Neddy’s loud whisper batted him back to reality. “I’ve found it.”
“The will, where?”
“Not exactly.” Neddy’s narrow face appeared over the edge of the desktop. His grey eyes were shining. He placed a soft navy-blue pouch on the surface and slowly drew the contents from the sack. Giles gasped. The Star of Fortune shimmered dark purple in the dim light, then with a blood red lustre as the lamplight hit it’s multifaceted surfaces. At least a hundred stones dangled from the golden setting, and the cabochon at the centre. Dear God! Gibbons hadn’t exaggerated.
“Fake?” he said, unable to rationalize even the possibility of it being real. This wasn’t the sort of piece one left a goddaughter you hadn’t seen for a decade. It was likely worth more than his entire estate, and a good portion of Darleston’s too.
“I’ve never seen a double asterism in a fake.” Neddy looped the necklace over his hand and held it up to the light so that it twinkled like a halo of stars.
“But just sitting here... Surely no one would leave such a piece just sitting around unguarded.” His incredulity made his voice sound sharp.
“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t exactly sitting in plain sight.” Neddy took a pace back from the desk to reveal a stout iron box and the hollow at his feet where he’d pried up a floorboard. “You’re not the only one who’s practiced with locks.” He smiled and the smile melted into a grin. They both stared at the ruby and their cheeks pulled taut into aching smiles.
“What is that?” Giles asked. “It has to be at least a thousand carats, maybe more?”
Neddy just nodded dumbly. “It’ll sting like hell to give this to Macleane.”
“We’re not giving it to Macleane. She’s not marrying him. Where’s that will?” Giles knelt down and rooted through the strong box. He found Pimcock’s name engraved upon the inside of the casing, and numerous papers folded into the lid.
The last will and testament of James Pimcock, Esq. was surprisingly short, comprising of only two pages of virtually indecipherable black letter calligraphy. Giles squinted at the papers, lead weights forming in his stomach as he digested the contents. It was as Fortuna told it. The Star of Fortune was to be held in trust by Messers Knapsley and Co until that happy occasion of her marriage, whereupon it would be released to her as a wedding gift.
Neddy curled his fingers into Giles’s shoulder. “What happens if she never marries?”
Giles shook his head. “There doesn’t appear to be any specific provision for that eventuality. Oh, wait a minute, here it is. If the recipient should decease this world while still a spinster, the trust and all its provisions will then transfer to Miss Alicia Allenthorpe, and so on, and so forth.”
Giles folded the paper and secured it along with the necklace back in the strong box.
“Do you think Macleane is aware of that clause?” asked Neddy.
“I deuced hope not, else he may be contemplating something fouler than a forced marriage if he finds Fortuna now. She’s not exactly made his life easy. He might just get rid of her and marry one of the others.” He fumbled his timepiece from his pocket. She’d been home alone now for well over an hour.
“You should marry her, Giles.”
The words winded him like a stomach punch. “What in damn creation made you say that? You know how I feel about marriage, Ned. And how would that help her? Her family would still end up ruined. I want her to have her freedom, not take what’s hers. Women aren’t livestock. They shouldn’t be treated as such.” He shook his head, his anger making the back of his neck tingle. “I want a union of equals not some indenture notice.”
Neddy sighed and shook his head. “You’ve a damned crooked view of things.”
“Neddy, don’t expect me to listen to a lecture from you on the subject of marriage. You’ve been bedding your brother’s wife for months.”
“Ah, Giles, but that’s exactly the point. You say you advocate freedom, then in the same breath you criticize me for helping Lucy indulge that right. What is it about marriage and Fortuna that scares you so damn much? Is it the fact that you can’t really trust yourself to allow her to have her freedom? Gentlemen always have their freedom, a mistress or three is customary and expected, but a wife. Well, a wife’s supposed to be demure and faithful. I think you’re frightened because while you can force yourself to share her affections now because you have no right over her, a legal bond would be another matter. As your wife you could demand whatever you liked of her.”
“Haven’t I already shared her with you?”
“You know I’m no real threat.”
“That’s not true.”
“Prove it. Share her with Robert.”
“Lucy’s threatened—”
Neddy raised his hand and cut him off. “It’s an excuse, Giles. One you are both using. Since when did my brother give a damn about what Lucy says? The fact is you’ve seen the way Fortuna looks at him, and you’re frightened that if she gets a taste of him you’ll not stand a chance. We all know Robert can be very, very charming when he puts his mind to it.”
Giles glared at him and shook his head. It wasn’t true, but damn if he didn’t feel sick just thinking about how she’d flaunted herself before Darleston earlier. He wasn’t even sure himself why Darleston hadn’t joined their ménage.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Neddy continued, “she’ll have a damn sight more social clout as Robert’s mistress than as yours. Handled carefully, she could still maintain some position in society.”
“Are you flaunting your aristocratic birth at me now?”
“No. I’m simply laying the facts befor
e you. Regardless of what you believe, if you want to bring Fortuna happiness there’s only one way you can do it.”
“That’s not true. I won’t take away the few freedoms she’s found for herself.”
“You don’t have to, Giles. But as you can’t see that, it’s irrelevant anyway because Macleane will do it for you.”
Giles threw his hands skywards in disbelief. “What is it with you and Darleston today? You’re determined to make life painful. I’m not going to let Macleane get anywhere near her.”
Neddy raised an eyebrow. “Then you’d best run home and chain her to the damn bed.”
Giles opened his mouth to retaliate, then closed it again. Shouting at each other wouldn’t change anything, and marrying her wasn’t the solution. It was only then, in that moment of silence as he willed his heart to stop racing that he realized the yelling inside his skull was not actually his barbarian instincts telling him to claim and possess but the piping call of a whistle being blown.
“Fuck!” Neddy spun to face the door as an orange light pierced the gloom of the outer office. Giles dowsed their lantern. “Get down. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”
Giles pushed himself flat against the wall as the door swung wide and a huge shaggy mongrel bounded into the room, its wet wrinkled nose held high as it scented the air. It whipped behind the desk, where Neddy was hurriedly pushing Pimcock’s casket back into place below the floor.
“Who goes there?” shouted the watchman.
Giles stopped breathing as the mongrel reared on its back legs and launched itself at Neddy, who knocked off balance, fell, smashing his cheek against the wooden floor.
Instincts pulled Giles in two directions, but there was only one real choice. He stretched out towards his friend, only to meet the warning stare of the dog. It growled, and then sunk yellowed teeth into the collar of Neddy’s coat.
“Ned.”
Neddy lay rigid.
Giles smelled the watchman approaching long before he reached the inner office. The reek of the gutters clung to him, stale sweat, maggoty meat and the mouldering sweetness of fruit over-ripened in the sun. He gagged into his hand, and tugged his scarf higher over his mouth and nose. It was something when a man smelled worse than his dog.
“Watcha found there, boy?”
The watchman made no attempt to dislodge the mutt, but instead thrust his lantern into Neddy’s face and a toe into his ribs. “Up, yer thieving cove.”
Giles leapt forward and brought his clasped fists down hard upon the back of the man’s head. The watchman slumped onto his knees, then keeled towards the dog, which leapt back and began to bark. Ignoring the angry mutt, Giles clasped Neddy’s arm, and dragged him into the outer office. They slammed the door behind them.
“Are you all right?”
A crimson bruise ran the entire length of Neddy’s cheekbone. He panted, and clutched his arm to his ribs where the watchman had kicked him. “I’ve felt better, and worse. Let’s go. You’ve only stunned him. He won’t be out long. Especially not with the noise that dog’s making.” The office door bumped against their backs as the dog growled and hurled itself against the other side.
Together, they ran, shedding their rough outer layers of clothing in the icy courtyard. “Home, John,” Giles called, as they climbed into the carriage, still waiting peacefully in Red Lion Square.
Neddy sank onto the upholstery beside him, a snow-filled kerchief pressed to his cheek. “I’m not sure what that gained us, besides confirming that Fortuna’s father is a bloody fool. Guess you were right to trust your guts on this one.”
“The only thing my guts are telling me at the moment, are that I really shouldn’t eat before embarking on such expeditions.” Giles closed his eyes and let himself dwell in the quiet space of his own skull. There in the darkness, he could see a perfect solution to Fortuna’s dilemma. He just couldn’t put it into action.
* * * * *
“Miss Allenthorpe!”
She’d heard the thud of feet upon the stairs, and was already out of bed, and into a shift when he flung open the door wide.
Hackles raised, she bit back the urge to shriek. “Lord Darleston! What is it? What do you want?”
A throb of excitement pulsed between her thighs as his eyes raked over her body. Finally, his gaze met hers. Dear God! The connection thudded against her chest. It gripped every part of her body and shook her hard. What was it about this man that scared her half to death? Was it simply the constant denial, the fact that in this house of freedom, they couldn’t be free with one another?
“You need to come with me,” he said.
“Why? Where to?”
“You’re no longer safe here, and as Giles and my brother are errant, you’ll have to make do with me as a guard.”
“A guard?” She took a wary step back, and snatched up the shawl from the bed, which she clutched around her shoulders.
“Macleane’s on his way.”
Now! No he couldn’t come tonight. She’d go willingly to him tomorrow, but not tonight. This was her time, her final evening with Giles. Although, what did Darleston mean that he and Neddy were errant. They’d tucked her into bed for a rest only a short while ago.
Darleston locked a hand around her wrist. “There’s no time for giddiness. We need to leave now. I think you want to say a proper goodbye to Giles, don’t you?”
Mouth dry, she stared at him, and nodded. How did he know she planned to leave? She didn’t trust him. He didn’t inspire confidence like Giles or Neddy. He made her feel excitable and irrational. “Where are we going? Have you sent word to Giles?”
“I didn’t know he was out until I got here.”
“Can we leave a message?” She turned, meaning to seek out ink and paper. Darleston pulled her against his strong body. His long hair had fallen loose from its binding and several auburn strands framed his narrow face. They tickled against the bare skin of her shoulder. “We’ll get a message to him via Neddy once we’re somewhere safe.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but heat flared in his eyes.
“At least let me dress.”
“You can dress in the carriage. I’ve already asked Leach to collect some things.”
Leach awaited them in the hallway, the front door already open, letting in the icy wind. “I’ve placed the items you asked for in the carriage, milord.” He bobbed about them hopefully, as if waiting for a message to deliver for his master.
“Good.” Darleston nodded his approval. “Now see that Miss Allenthorpe’s things are destroyed and Miss Emily’s are returned to their rightful places. It must seem as if the lady was never here, should anyone come looking. And go quickly, man. I doubt Macleane will come alone. He’ll bring his thugs, or a constable.”
Fortuna rubbed frantically at her bare arms as they hurried down the icy steps to Darleston’s waiting carriage. Once inside its dingy belly, Fortuna huddled amongst the squabs seeking warmth and comfort, her heart a solid beating lump in her throat.
Darleston drew the curtains across the windows as the carriage moved forward at a brisk pace, wheels and horses’ hooves rattling against the cobbles. He settled opposite her, with his knees apart, so that she could see the stretch of his inner thigh.
“Where are we going?” she asked again, and pulled one of the squabs into her lap. It made a feeble barrier.
“My club.”
“Brooks’s?” They’d never allow her to enter there.
“My other club. You won’t have heard of it, and I’m afraid it’ll necessitate a few changes to your attire.” From a dark cloth bag by his feet, he drew out a garment. “Take off your shift.”
Fortuna dug her fingers into the tapestry cushion. Regardless of the fact that he’d already seen her naked, she was not stripping in his carriage. When she didn’t move, his eyes took on an irritated gleam. “I can’t take a woman in to a gentleman’s club.” He threw a garment at her.
Fortuna unfolded what turned out to be a pair of r
usset-coloured breeches. She held them up and stared at them. They’d encase her thighs like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Even dressed in them, she’d surely seem naked. Yet, the nature of gentleman’s clubs had always intrigued her. Membership at White’s or Brooks’s were deemed the benchmark of gentlemanly worth, at least to one another, but she had no idea what exactly went on within their walls. And then there were the other clubs, many respectable, and others, the ones only ever mentioned in whispers. Nameless haunts that no true gentleman would frequent. The very fact that Darleston hadn’t offered up a name for the establishment to which they were going, suggested it was not a respectable place.
“They go on your legs, Fortuna.”
With a humph of discontent, she lowered them towards the floor and kicked off her delicate pumps. “You could at least turn your head.”
“You weren’t so coy when you were thrusting your tits in my face earlier.”
The coarseness of his language brought blood rushing to her cheeks. Fortuna clapped a hand across her mouth, and felt the first sting of tears in her eyes. Blindly, she tugged the breeches on beneath her chemise, aware that he was watching her every move.
“I have to wonder what exactly you were trying to goad me into earlier. It wasn’t as if my involvement was required. You could have taken them both upstairs and had them fuck you all night. Ain’t two men enough for you? Do you need a third for satisfaction?”
Fortuna quietly shook her head, not looking at him.
He leaned forward and his fingertips traced along her freshly dressed inner thigh. Scarlet heat washed across her skin. She jerked upwards off the seat, only to be thrown back down by the motion of the carriage. “Don’t touch me.”
Darleston grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head, leaving her bared from the waist up. Fortuna crossed her arms across her breast, but he touched her wrist, surprisingly gently and she let him ease her hands away from her chest.
Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells) Page 20
