Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B)

by Gail Ranstrom

  Taking this opportunity to make good her escape, Sophie scuttled quickly to her chamber where, after dashing inside, she hurriedly locked the door. Not that this fairly basic precaution would necessarily keep her free from harm, she realised, since not only did Mrs Dixon, the housekeeper, possess a full set of keys to every room in the house, but there was also the spare set which hung inside the butler’s pantry, in the event of a fire or other emergency. Meaning that just about anyone in the household was free to invade her privacy whenever they might choose to do so.

  Gasping for breath and collapsing on her bed, she could not help wondering whether the plodding continuance of her formerly uneventful existence had not been a sight more preferable to the ongoing turmoil of the past couple of days. Not that this unexpected hiatus was likely to last for very much longer, she reminded herself brusquely. Not beyond Tuesday evening, at any rate. Having finally made her attitude clear to him, there was nothing else for her to do but wait and see whether Helstone would have the sense to cease his ridiculous pursuit of her and walk away, leaving her to her own devices. But even as she contemplated the prospect of so bleak a future the haunting image of his very perceptive glances swam into her thoughts and a sudden shiver rippled through her. It would be so very easy to allow herself to succumb to his persuasive entreaties and simply agree to his demands, she thought, as she closed her eyes and endeavoured to recapture the unbelievable thrill of that first breathtaking moment when the Viscount’s firm, warm lips had finally made contact with her own. It had been as though every one of her recent dreams had come to fruition, only to find themselves suddenly dashed into a million irreparable fragments and cast to the four winds.

  With a soft sigh, she rose to her feet and began to undo the buttons of her gown. The die, it seemed, was well and truly cast, for had not she herself been the one to cast it? She had made her decision and all that remained was for his lordship to abide by his agreement to respect her wishes. Provided that she held fast to her resolve for the next forty-eight hours or so, she could see no reason why her life should not slide back to its former mundane tenure.

  In the meantime, there was still the problem of Fisher to be addressed, but, since the footman was also entrusted with the house messages, it was difficult to see how she was going to manage to get word to the Viscount to inform him of her recent discovery. Even if she were able to persuade young Monks the Boots to take a note, she doubted that she could do so without drawing Fisher’s attention to the fact. The problem, it seemed, looked to be insurmountable.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marcus stared at his brother in disbelief.

  ‘Are you telling me that you have been aware of this Fisher chap’s involvement all along?’ he demanded, slamming down his glass and rising to his feet in a fury.

  ‘Steady on, old son,’ entreated Giles, as he hurriedly thrust out his hand to prevent the still full glass from tipping its contents over the edge of the table. ‘The information was passed to me scarcely an hour or so ago. Once we’d got hold of Miss Flint’s invoice I deemed it necessary to check out everyone in the Crayford household—I’d already put two men to watching the bookshop, as I told you. Anyway, as soon as it was learned that the footman and the clerk shared the same surname, it was not difficult to put two and two together.’

  ‘And yet you’ve still not done a thing about it!’ Marcus was incensed. ‘Soph—Miss Flint’s life might well be in danger and you’re prepared to sit back and allow that fiend to run loose in the house!’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know about the lady’s room having been ransacked until you informed me of that fact less than five minutes ago,’ returned his brother, in his own defence. ‘That sort of information does tend to put a different complexion on the matter.’

  ‘But, if you are sure that these two are your men, why haven’t you already had them both taken in charge?’

  ‘Because we don’t want to scare off the entire gang, that’s why. It would be difficult to arrest the clerk without word getting out, thereby sending the whole bunch of them to earth. Additionally, we have reason to believe that the recipients of the coded message are group leaders—possibly running cells of four or five contacts each—which would explain Fisher’s anxiety to get hold of his list of instructions.’

  ‘Which Miss Flint no longer has in her possession!’ pointed out Marcus, in some irritation. ‘What if he decides to confront her head on? No one in that establishment is going to rush to her defence. I can assure you of that! The son is lily-livered; the woman is a self-centred sycophant and the husband appears to have the wits of a four-year-old!’

  ‘Crayford senior is somewhat advanced in years, that’s true.’ The Major nodded. ‘The blonde pea-goose is his second wife, I’m reliably informed.’

  ‘Yet another fine example of married bliss, I dare say,’ grunted Marcus, getting to his feet and glaring down at his brother. ‘More than enough to put a fellow off for life! But enough of this chit-chat. Do you mean to sort out this Fisher chap or do I have to deal with the devious swine myself?’

  ‘I think you had best leave the apprehension of felons to the experts, old son,’ returned Giles briskly, as he leaned across and reached for the bell-rope. ‘It is true that I had hoped to have returned the lady’s invoice before matters reached such a crucial stage in the proceedings, but it now appears that I could have been just a little more incisive in my planning—ah, come in, Peters. It would seem that we might have some sort of crisis on our hands.’

  Thus it was that, barely five minutes into Mrs Crayford’s fervent cross-examination of Sophie, a wide-eyed Hawkins thrust open the drawing room door and stumbled inside, bearing the shocking news that two constables had invaded his kitchen and were now in the process of arresting the footman! At which point the mistress of the house promptly dissolved into one of her habitual vapourish fits and the elderly master of the house seemed unable to do anything other than shake his head at the thoroughly discomposed butler while murmuring, ‘Well, ‘pon my soul—two constables—in the kitchen—well, ‘pon my soul, whatever is the world coming to?’

  Since both Arthur and Lydia appeared to be similarly mesmerised by Hawkins’s astonishing declaration, Sophie, mentally counting her blessings, realised that some sort of decisive action was required.

  ‘Pray do not distress yourself, Hawkins,’ she advised the still clearly shocked butler. ‘No fault can be laid at your door, of that I’m sure. Nevertheless, do you not think that it might be wise to return to the kitchen in order to ascertain exactly what is happening? Added to which, I do feel that Mrs Crayford’s maid ought to be informed of her mistress’s apparent need of her sal volatile bottle.’

  Then, getting to her feet, she approached Crayford senior and laid her hand on his arm. ‘I imagine that you will wish to speak to the constables, sir,’ she said gently.

  ‘What—me? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—Eleanor’s the one—she’ll sort it all out.’

  His bottom lip trembling, he shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes.

  ‘But Mrs Crayford is not well, sir. Hawkins has gone to fetch her maid.’

  Receiving no response to her observation, Sophie gave a frustrated sigh and turned her attention towards the other two members of the family, who were now regarding her movements in a fascinated silence.

  ‘Do try to rally your father, Arthur,’ she urged him. ‘Surely you can see that the poor man is in a considerable state of shock—the constables will be upon us shortly and might well want to ask questions.’

  ‘Why should they want to question us?’ returned the youth belligerently. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong!’

  ‘Do you suppose he has murdered someone?’ breathed Lydia, clutching at her brother’s arm, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘Slit their throat with a carving knife or stabbed them in the back, perhaps?’

  ‘Who? Pa?’ exclaimed Crayford junior, impatiently shrugging himself away from her. ‘Don’t be so stupid! You read far too many of thos
e paltry Minerva mysteries!’

  ‘I was referring to Fisher, you great clunkhead!’ retorted the girl crossly. ‘And I shall tell Mama what you just said to me.’

  ‘Mama has perfectly good hearing of her own, thank you very much,’ came Mrs Crayford’s weakly rejoinder, as she thrust herself up into a sitting position. Having discovered that her performance had failed to achieve the effect that it usually commanded, she was not about to allow her governess to take centre stage. ‘Help me to my feet, Miss Flint. I need to see what’s going on in my kitchen.’

  ‘I have sent for Capstan, ma’am,’ said Sophie, hurrying forward. ‘Perhaps you ought to wait and take a little sal volatile before you involve yourself in anything too energetic?’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Crayford was already on her feet. ‘It’s clear that the man must have been helping himself to our property—I need to take an immediate inventory of all our valuables in order to see what might have gone missing. Come along, Miss Flint, you can take down the list.’

  Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Sophie gave a disbelieving shrug and prepared to follow her employer, only too aware that the exercise in which they were now about to involve themselves was going to prove a total waste of time. ‘Might it not be better to go down to the kitchen first and hear what the constables have to say?’ she ventured, as soon as they had reached the hallway. ‘Perhaps Fisher’s misdemeanour has nothing to do with his employment here?’

  ‘Just as long as the dreaded constabulary hasn’t advertised its presence to the entire neighbourhood,’ moaned her mistress. ‘What if that wicked creature has been raiding houses up and down the street? I shall never be able to hold up my head in public again!’

  She did, however, agree to visit the kitchen prior to starting on her inventory and by the time they reached the basement Sophie was beginning to feel almost sorry for the footman, whose crimes, in Mrs Crayford’s imagination, ranged from petty thievery all the way up to organised crime on the grandest of scales.

  ‘Sedition?’ repeated her employer, staring at one of the constables in some confusion, after he had acquainted her with the charges against Fisher. ‘I’m not sure I …’

  ‘Sort of treason, ma’am,’ put in the constable helpfully. ‘Incitement to riot and all that sort of thing.’

  ‘Not stealing, then?’

  Keeping her eyes carefully averted from the spectacle of her only footman standing heavily manacled at the back door, Mrs Crayford sank slowly into the chair that Sophie had had the good sense to position at her rear. ‘Thank God it’s nothing serious, then,’ she murmured, as she clung on to the table-edge. ‘But how on earth we are expected to manage without a footman to serve at table defies even my imagination. Why couldn’t the selfish creature have put off his stupid sediting until later in the week, I ask you? I can hardly bear to contemplate what his lordship will think of such shoddy service when he next visits us.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure Hawkins will be able to arrange a suitable replacement by tomorrow evening,’ Sophie was quick to assure her, as she cast up a questioning look at the butler who, having recovered from the humiliation of having two burly men of law bursting into his kitchen and apprehending his footman, had managed to revert to his former dignified persona.

  ‘As you say, miss,’ he replied gravely. ‘I was about to make a similar suggestion myself—I shall deal with the matter first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Well, make sure that you don’t get another seditor this time,’ snapped Mrs Crayford crossly, as she rose to her feet and prepared to depart. ‘You may take yourselves off now,’ she added, waving a dismissive hand to the still waiting constables. ‘And do try not to cause too much of a commotion outside when you leave. This is a very respectable neighbourhood, you know.’

  ‘But we still have several questions that we need answers to,’ insisted one of the men, edging his way forward. ‘Where this fellow came from, how long he’s worked for you and all that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well, you can hardly expect me to know those sorts of details about people in my employ,’ returned Mrs Crayford edgily. ‘Hawkins deals with all that kind of thing. He’ll tell you anything you need to know. And now, if you will excuse me, I have other far more important matters to attend to.’

  The Crayford soiree looked well on the way to becoming quite a resounding success, thought Sophie in considerable surprise, as she took in the bustling scene that surrounded her. The level of noise had already reached ear-piercing proportions and there was scarcely an inch of space to spare in any direction, making the air in both this and the adjoining room decidedly oppressive. The whole event, it would seem, had every sign of turning out to be the sort of crush for which her employer had been craving much of her married life.

  Having been the one to whom the task of writing out the fifty or so invitations had fallen, she had supposed that perhaps half of the illustrious personages invited might deign to attend such a lowly gathering. The sheer volume of numbers turning up on the front doorstep, however, had come as something of a shock even to Mrs Crayford, who had been obliged to keep pinching herself in order to convince herself that the whole thing was not some sort of wild, improbable dream.

  ‘I really cannot recall having invited either the Hetheringtons or the Liskeards,’ she whispered to Sophie in awe, as still more guests from the upper echelons of Society continued to pour into the lower hallway. ‘I can only think that they must be associates of his lordship’s—I did tell him that he was welcome to bring along some of his friends if he wished.’

  ‘Well, he certainly seems to have taken you at your word,’ returned Sophie, biting back her irritation. All this, presumably, was another of Helstone’s far-flung ideas of attempting to give the Crayfords the impression that she came from much more worthy stock than they had originally supposed. But, whilst it was certainly true that the family’s attitude towards her had changed for the better since the Viscount’s claim to be a distant cousin of hers, it was not hard to envisage the level of antagonism that would be directed towards her when his assertations were found to be untrue and his visits came to a halt—as they most surely would, once this evening’s affair was over.

  Craning her neck to seek out Helstone’s distinctive dark head of hair, she scoured the room but could see no sign of him. Her heart sank at the thought that, after her unsatisfactory performance of Sunday afternoon, he might well have decided not to attend the soiree, after all.

  ‘Looking for anyone in particular?’ came the Viscount’s deep drawl, from somewhere in the direction of her left ear.

  Spinning around, the tell-tale flush still on her face, Sophie gasped, ‘But how on earth did you manage to fight your way through that crush of people without me catching sight of you?’

  ‘I had my driver drop me off as we passed the mews and I came in through the back garden,’ he said, motioning her gently towards the nearby terrace doors. ‘Nice to know that you were keeping a weather eye out for me.’

  Taking in a much needed breath of fresh air as she stepped out on to the deserted terrace with him, Sophie gave a careless shrug.

  ‘I merely wanted to ask you whether the extraordinary number of uninvited guests who have turned up this evening is any of your doing.’

  ‘Well, I have to admit that I did call in a few favours,’ he replied, with a somewhat sheepish grin that immediately had Sophie’s heart executing violent somersaults. ‘But I must confess that I didn’t expect them all to be repaid on the one night. I trust that her greatness is suitably impressed?’

  ‘Completely overwhelmed, I should imagine,’ responded Sophie, letting out a little chuckle. ‘Although I am given to understand that such an unforeseen increase in numbers has made considerable inroads into Mr Crayford’s stock of champagne, as well as having put paid to Mrs Crayford’s idea of setting up a dance area at the far end of the drawing room, as was her original intention.’

  ‘Now, that is a pity,’ sighed Marcus, who was finding it almost imposs
ible to tear his eyes away from the tantalising sight of the soft swell of Sophie’s bosom peeping teasingly above the low-cut neckline of her hastily redesigned evening gown. ‘I’m bound to admit that the idea of holding you in my arms again has enormous appeal—even if it’s only to whirl you around the room in time with the music.’

  Her mind unable to erase the piquant image his words had conjured up, Sophie stepped away from him, doing her best to manufacture a frown of disapproval. ‘You really must desist from making that sort of remark—I was under the impression that we had finally reached an agreement over that matter.’

  Marcus offered her what was intended to be a penitent grin. ‘You can’t blame me if my baser instincts threaten to get the better of me whenever I am close to you.’

  Her pulse ratcheting up another notch, Sophie took a steadying breath.

  ‘If you refuse to behave yourself, sir, I shall just have to go back inside.’

  ‘No, please don’t.’ Marcus caught at her hand. ‘I shall try to be good, I promise.’

  ‘You really shouldn’t make promises that you have no intention of keeping,’ she retorted shakily. ‘You have already broken your word to me on two previous occasions. I had always been under the impression that a gentleman’s word was supposed to be his bond.’

  His eyes darkening in exasperation, Marcus stared down at her, frowning. ‘I think you’ll find that that much used adage generally applies to financial agreements made in gambling dens and other such unsavoury establishments.’

  ‘And only between persons who number themselves gentlemen, presumably?’

  ‘Goes without saying, I should have thought.’

  Her eyes widening in indignation, Sophie drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘Are you saying, then, that a promise given to a lady doesn’t require to be treated with the same respect as one you might give to a fellow gambler?’

  ‘Why, yes, of course it does,’ he snapped, then, hesitating, began to run his fingers through his hair in a somewhat distracted manner. ‘Well, not in the same way, perhaps—the two cases are somewhat different. The first is a matter of honour—no, that’s not what I mean. They are both matters of honour, of course but—damn, it, woman! How can you expect me to think straight when you look at me in such a way?’