His belly tightened. “What look?”
“Like you wish to be kissed.” She scooted closer. “I could kiss you, if you wish.”
As though he needed any favors from her. Didn’t she know who he was? He was the Marquess of Fawley. He could have any woman he pleased for the right price, even some ladies. “You’re injured,” he said instead.
“I’m not that injured.” Her grin held a cunningness that he kind of liked. She leaned closer. Her breath brushed his lower lip.
His belly burned with need. “Not now.”
She stopped. “Are you sure?”
He pulled away and stood. It was either that or kiss her and if he kissed her, he would not stop at that. He’d get underneath those pretty skirts and devour her so completely that there would be none of her left. “Tell me about the man. Why does he visit if not for pleasure?”
“He is looking for something I don’t have.”
“Is his name Mr. Smith?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t want you to ask. I don’t want you near him.”
She said nothing, but her eyes shone with warmth.
He ignored it. “What does he want?”
“Something that belonged to my father.”
Clive’s thoughts immediately went to the letter containing Kent’s truth. He turned to her. “What exactly is it?”
“I’d rather not say.” She held his eyes. “I don’t even believe my father had it. I’ve looked. My servants have looked both here and the estates. It is nowhere.”
What if she was speaking about Kent’s letter?
“Is it something… bad? Something that could hurt others?”
She blinked. “How did you know?”
It was the letter. Who else wanted it? Kent actually had a reason to worry. “How long has this man been after you?”
“Since my father’s death.” She stood. “How did you know about the book?”
“The book?”
She frowned. “Never mind. I don’t think my father had it.”
“He did.” Clive moved to stand before her. “Your father… was not the nicest man.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t know him. No one knew him like I did. He helped so many people. So many children.”
He’d also hurt people. He’d hurt Clive, but Clive wasn’t ready to tell her that.
“He has an orphanage,” Irene said. “No one knows this, because my father was humble, but it’s true. The orphanage has helped so many children. Many of my staff have come out of it. My father went there himself. I took him most weeks while he was alive. The children knew him and trusted him.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that your father was incapable of good.” Though Clive was surprised by this newest revelation. Had Van Dero truly opened and operated an orphanage? Did he actually employ children from the streets to attend his family?
Clive didn’t like that image of Van Dero. It resonated with the boy Clive had once been, the one who’d done anything to put food on his family’s table, even if it meant stealing it from someone else.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to believe that any true goodness existed in Irene’s father. Therefore, he didn’t.
∫ ∫ ∫
1 3
* * *
“I’m going to help you,” Clive said. “But you’re going to need to tell me everything.”
Everything? “I can’t,” Irene said. She loved him terribly, but she knew her father and Clive hadn’t gotten along. If she exposed what she’d found out about the immoral acts that had been hidden in her father’s businesses, how soon would the rumors be spread around London, destroying her father’s legacy? “I can’t tell you anything more than I already have.”
“Why not?” He stood before her with his hands on his narrow hips. She’d never seen eyes so beautiful or so watchful. They looked past her eyes and tried to find the heart of her. “Why won’t you tell me?” His voice was quiet but angry.
“Because it’s none of your concern.”
“Then whose concern is it? You’ve chosen me,” he said accusingly. “I am the man you want, and your father’s heir is not in the city and for some reason, you don’t wish to get the police involved. Therefore, there is no other man who will come to your rescue.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it just became my concern. I’ll take care of it.”
Irene was without breath as she consumed his every word. He could come to her rescue. She wasn’t sure how many husbands would do the same for their wives, wage war against those who’d bring them harm, willing to get themselves injured in the process. Most husbands would call for the authorities or hire thief takers. Clive was willing to get his hands dirty.
Her body filled with heat.
He’d take care of it. He’d take care of her.
She shook her head. “You can’t.” What if her painted assailant shared what he knew with Clive?
The muscles in his face tightened. “You think me incapable of protecting you?”
She was surprised by his anger. “No, I don’t think that at all. I’m sure you could take down a beast with your bare hands if you tried.”
The muscles in his face relaxed. His eyes lit with humor. “That would be a feat, even for me, Irene.”
She smiled. Her heart squeezed painfully at the amount of love for him that filled her. She almost told him then, almost released it just so she could empty some of it. It was overflowing, pouring from her veins, tangled in her every breath and every touch. He had to feel it. “I trust you with my life, Clive.”
He touched her cheek tenderly, over the bruise. His smile fell. “I’d feel terrible if anything happened to you and very responsible.”
“Responsible? Why? I’m not truly your responsibility.”
He frowned and his hand fell away. “You are.”
Her heart flipped. Was it love that made him think so? Why didn’t he simply propose then? Why wouldn’t he put them both out of their misery and marry her? She wanted to shake him sometimes. Aside from her father, who’d been a terrible patient and had insisted on attending a party almost every night of the Season even though he should have been resting, Clive was the most infuriating man she’d never known.
“He comes to you at night?” Clive asked.
She nodded.
“Did he seek you out at Cecilia’s?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps you should leave here and stay elsewhere.”
“Like at your home?”
He glared. “Like at an inn.”
That dampened her hopes of getting into his bed. “I’m not sleeping at an inn.”
“You’re not sleeping here alone either,” he said. “You were hurt.”
She looked at the pendulum clock on the wall. She had an appointment at Holtsburg Shipping in three hours. Mr. Crow was to meet her there, but this time, Irene was planning to arrive early. She wanted to catch him off guard, perhaps even in the act of hiding something from her. She’d learned from the last three businesses that this was the way to go, but never before had she done it without Mr. Crow. This would be her first time.
She turned to Clive. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to discuss this later.”
“Where are you going?”
She hesitated. “That isn’t for you to know.”
His hands were back on his hips. “For a woman who claims to know everything about me, you’re very secretive about yourself.”
She crossed her arms behind her back. “And what is it you wish to know about me?”
“Where you’re going.”
“Anything else?”
He blinked. “Your favorite color.”
“The color of your eyes. What is yours?”
“The color of yours,” he said with sarcasm, but it still made her blush. “What else do you know about me? What else did your father tell you?”
She sighed
. “He said my hairpin wasn’t the first thing you’d ever stolen.”
Clive gave no reaction, but she could almost feel the anger seeping from the mask he now donned. He looked calm, but he was not.
“Was my father right?”
“Your father knew far too much about too many people,” Clive whispered. “Good day, Lady Irene.” Clive sauntered from the room so quickly that he missed Irene’s trembling. The words seemed to align with what her painted assailant claimed was in the Book of Affairs.
Her attacker claimed that every home in the ton was mentioned. Did Clive have a page? If it were so, if her father truly had this book, then she had to find it.
She set those thoughts aside, got control of herself, and called for her footman. She would not take her carriage today. Instead, she would arrive in a hack as part of her surprise. They would not see her coming.
Her hackney arrived at Holtsburg Shipping to find every available man rushing to and fro in a chaotic manner. She watched from her window as the foreman, Mr. Hemmish, shouted to a group of men who were moving a large wooden box from the big warehouse toward a smaller one. The foreman looked troubled.
Then Irene’s eyes widened when she saw Mr. Crow come out of the warehouse. The old man marched over to Mr. Hemmish and began to speak rapidly about some matter. What was Mr. Crow doing here so early? He was supposed to arrive at the time they’d discussed. That was how it had been in the past. They’d arrived at the same time.
Had Mr. Crow arrived early in the past to assist in the cover up and then left only to pretend he’d arrived with Irene? She didn’t want to believe it.
She watched the boxes that they moved from the big warehouse to the small one. They were marked with a number, but she couldn’t make it out. She turned to the driver. Her eyesight had never been the best. “Can you see the numbers on the boxes?”
“462. 497. 418.”
She nodded her thanks and sat back to study everything that happened for the next few hours until all grew quiet. Then, when the time was right, she had the driver circle around and bring her back. She arrived, and her heart fell as she watched Mr. Crow step out of his own carriage.
He smiled as he approached. “You are ever punctual, my lady. Your father would be pleased.” His soft gray eyes held their usual warmth. He was likely laughing at her. He likely thought her a fool.
And perhaps, she had been a fool, but she would not let the men knew just yet what she’d seen. Instead, she tightened her fingers on her parasol she’d positioned over her head and smiled around the pain in her chest. How dare this man mention her father? “Shall we go see what Mr. Hemmish has been up to?”
He tipped his hat to her and then escorted her into the big warehouse. Mr. Hemmish greeted them at the large bay doors. “This place is quite dirty. Definitely not a place for a lady.”
“Of course. Lady Irene knows. We don’t plan to be here long and have no ambition to get in your way,” Mr. Crow answered for her, just as he always did.
Again, Irene said nothing as they moved her forward.
The warehouse was stacked with trunks. Some were open. They took her toward the open case that held vases and mirrors with exotic carved frames. They showed her the beauty of the business, the things they thought a woman would want to see.
She noted that none of the boxes had been painted with a four as the first number. There were 343, 825, and 103, but no four hundreds in sight.
She smiled through the discussion of just how many men worked for the shipping company and their daily routine.
When half an hour had passed, Mr. Crow gave Mr. Hemmish a certain look. She’d seen him give that look to the woman who’d been in charge of the all-girl’s school.
Mr. Hemmish turned to Irene. “My apologies, my lady, but my men and I must get back to work if we are to deliver the shipments on time.”
“Of course. Shall we, my lady?” Mr. Crow asked.
And this was the part when she was supposed to leave, because she was simply an empty-headed girl who would only get in the way.
∫ ∫ ∫
1 4
* * *
Irene ignored Mr. Crow. “But I haven’t seen the other warehouse.”
Mr. Hemmish’s eyes widened. “What other warehouse?”
“The one across the field. The little one.”
Mr. Hemmish’s mouth fell open, but he could say no words.
“That warehouse is where the animals are kept. It smells terrible.” Mr. Crow gave her a sad face. “I would hate for you to leave smelling like a pigsty, my lady.”
“Yes. Yes. It’s filthy,” Mr. Hemmish rushed in. “The animals… they smell terrible.” He shook his head.
“I love animals!” Irene said with false warmth. “Let’s go see them.” She turned and started for the bay doors.
“You can’t!” Mr. Hemmish shouted at her back.
“My lady!” Mr. Crow shouted. “Stop. Please, come back. It is not a place for you.”
Irene quickened her steps. “Do you have any horses? I adore horses.” She could hear the men following her. The parasol was slowing her down. As were her skirts. She gripped them tightly as she moved faster down the path that separated the warehouses.
Mr. Crow grabbed her and yanked her around. He looked angry. “My lady, your father would not wish for you to go in there. It is not for a lady.”
“My father left me this company, therefore I have every right to go where I please.” She tried to yank her hand back, but Mr. Crow’s hold only tightened.
“Your father left you the means to live well. He felt terrible that you’d decided to care for him instead of marrying. What he left you was wealth, my lady, but he did not expect you to go gallivanting through his companies in search of crimes that aren’t taking place.”
“Unhand me, Mr. Crow.”
“Not until I have seen you to a carriage. The day is clearly too warm for you. The weather has gotten to your head. You should rest.” Using his vice grip, he started for his carriage.
She gasped at his rudeness. “The weather has not gotten to me. You will let me go this minute.”
“I will not. You will go home, and you will rest.”
“Let me go, Mr. Crow.”
Mr. Crow ignored her and kept moving.
A deep voice from behind made them both still. “I believe I heard the lady ask that you take your fingers from around her arm.” Clive’s expression was menacing. He gripped his walking stick in one hand. He stood amongst the men who were actively working. He cut a fine figure against the crowd. “Will you be needing assistance, Mr. Crow, or can you figure it out on your own?”
“Clive,” Irene whispered, both surprised and elated.
Mr. Crow let her go and Irene ran to Clive.
He opened his arms without hesitation, and she crashed into him. He must have followed her. Had he waited outside just as long as she had? She was as annoyed as she was pleased. She wrapped her arms around him boldly and breathed in the scent of her man. He’d wore a fragrance that reminded her of the deep woods. It mixed well with his own spicy aroma.
Clive held her tightly with one arm as he addressed Mr. Crow. “What’s going on here?”
“Lord Fawley, you have no right here,” Mr. Crow said. “You may take Lady Irene and leave.”
Clive didn’t move for a long while, but then turned as though ready to obey. Irene leaned away and grabbed his shoulders. “No, we must go into the smaller warehouse.”
His words surprised her. “I’m more inclined to listen to Mr. Crow.”
* * *
Clive watched shock settle on Irene’s face. His next words were sure to displease her further. “This is no place for you.”
“Right you are, my lord.” Mr. Crow was finally starting to settle and even offered a grin. “The docks themselves are far too rough for one of Lady Irene’s nature.”
She’d been staring at her man of business, but when she turned to Clive, there was clear betrayal in her eyes. S
till, she clung to him. “No, Clive, we must go to the small warehouse.”
“Another time.” He knew what would be in there and didn’t want Irene to see it. He didn’t want her to see such darkness. He’d return, as he’d promised he would take care of her, and taking care of her meant keeping her away from the worst that Society had to offer.
She leaned closer to him and whispered very slowly, “We must go now.”
She knew. She’d watched them move the chests just as surely as he had. There was something in the small warehouse that warranted a search, but he had no wish for her to see it.
“Shall I call for your carriage, my lord?” Mr. Crow asked, going impatient.
“Irene—”
“Either I go with you or without you.” She pulled away from him and straightened. With more than a little need in her gaze, she said, “Please, Clive.”
He groaned. Guilt hit him. He couldn’t refuse her. She could ask for almost— almost— anything and he’d feel obliged to give it to her. “Are you certain?”
“My lord.” Mr. Crow moved closer. “You must understand the docks—”
“Yes,” Irene said.
“My lady,” Mr. Crow said, exasperated.
“Lead the way,” Clive told the man.
Mr. Crow turned to him and narrowed his eyes. “Again, the lady may have a right to be here, but you don’t.”
“I give him permission to be here,” Irene said. “Now, you’ve wasted enough of our time, Mr. Crow. You can ether show us the smaller warehouse yourself or we can go on our own.”
It took seconds for Mr. Crow to make a decision. He started them down the path again. “Honestly, you’ll find nothing there and it reeks tremendously. I would rather we stay by the door where the air is slightly fresher. Then we’ll leave.”
Neither Clive nor Irene said anything as they followed. If they were going to check the second warehouse, they would do so thoroughly.
The smell assaulted Clive’s nostrils before they were within ten feet of it. He gave Irene his handkerchief. She took it and covered her grimace.
Mr. Crow saw her expression and said, “You can always turn back now.”
“Open the door, man.” Clive was quite tired of Mr. Crow. He’d seen the man oversee the moving of the trunks and then pretend to arrive when Irene faked her own arrival.
Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 7
