"Ah. Patrick, my friend, here you are," drawled a well-known voice.
Patrick groaned. Meeting Nigel's twinkling eyes, he muttered, "Yes, as you can see, here I am."
Lifting his quizzing glass, Nigel took a long, leisurely look at Thea. "And with Miss Garrett, too, I see."
Patrick cursed the capriciousness of fate. Of all the people he did not want to meet at this particular moment, his very good friend Nigel Embry headed the list. Not only would Nigel tease him unmercifully, but he was an inveterate gossip. Before midnight half of London would know of his association with Thea.
"Yes, with Miss Garrett. Mother introduced us earlier this evening," Patrick said coolly.
"Ah."
"And what," Thea demanded, "do you mean by that?"
Patrick grinned down at her. "That, I believe, my dear, is my line." One black brow arrogantly lifted, he cast a challenging glance at his friend.
Nigel looked innocent. "Why, nothing, my friend, nothing at all." Looking beyond Patrick's shoulder, he said happily, "Here comes Paxton." He glanced at Thea. "I don't believe that you have met Blackburne's friend, Adam Paxton. It will be my pleasure to introduce you to him."
If Adam was surprised to find Thea Garrett with Patrick, he gave no sign. The light from the huge crystal chandeliers gleamed on his tawny head as he bowed politely and made the appropriate remarks. He stood as tall as Patrick; once the introductions were behind them, his golden brown eyes met Patrick's, and, from the glint in their depths, Patrick knew that he was in for a vast amount of raillery when his friend got him alone.
The four of them stood there talking for a moment, then Thea said brightly, "Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must be on my way." She glanced at Patrick and Paxton. "It was pleasant to meet both you gentlemen this evening. Perhaps I shall see you again around town." When Patrick started forward, his intention to accompany her plain, she smiled even more brightly, and murmured, "Oh, no, sir. I would not take you from your friends." The smile took on an impish cast. "I am positive that you all have much to talk about. Good evening."
Having had the ground effectively cut out from beneath him, Patrick could only watch impotently as Thea sailed away. He saw her approach a well-dressed, older woman, and, a second later, both ladies headed toward their host and hostess.
"Think that's her cousin and companion, Miss Modesty Bradford," Nigel said helpfully, when he saw the direction of Patrick's gaze. "Family had Miss Bradford come and live with Miss Garrett and her younger half sister, Edwina Northrop, after their mother died. When Edwina married Alfred Hirst, Miss Bradford stayed on with Miss Garrett."
"I know," Patrick said flatly, sending his friend a decidedly unfriendly look. A thought occurred to him. "You know nearly everyone in society," he said slowly. "Did, er, do you know Hirst?"
Paxton snorted. "Of course he does. We all do. Hirst hangs around on the edges of our group. Puffs himself up to be a blood-and-guts goer, but doesn't have the bottom to be a true sporting fellow—whether the sport is gambling or horses. He's a sluggard."
"After he married the Northrop chit," Nigel added, "flashed a lot of money around, gambled heavily, but hasn't either the head or fortune for it." Nigel frowned. "Think the bloodsuckers have their hooks in him deep. Pity." Nigel looked around. "Don't see him here tonight." He raised his quizzing glass. "See his wife though. Chit is making eyes at young Pennington. Bad ton."
"And Pennington is such a green 'un, he'll no doubt be taken in by those innocent blue eyes of hers," Paxton said wryly. "If you will excuse me, I better go rescue the young fool before he ruins himself."
Patrick stared in astonishment as Paxton's elegant form disappeared into the swirling crowd. "Why does he feel obligated to rescue Pennington?" he asked, his bewilderment obvious. Paxton was not known for his altruistic nature.
"Cousin, several times removed. Great-aunt or grandmother or some old family tabby coerced him into keeping an eye on the boy." Nigel grinned. "Has proved most amusing at times watching one of the most notorious rakes in London guiding a young innocent through the pitfalls."
"Well, if anyone should know the pitfalls, it would be Adam," Patrick replied, his gaze following Thea's progress through the ballroom. She and Miss Bradford had just taken their leave from Lord and Lady Hilliard and were heading toward the main hall. If he could shake loose of Nigel, he could catch them before their coach was brought 'round.
"I believe that I win the wager," Nigel said with a gleam in his blue eyes. "Think you owe me five hundred pounds, my dear fellow."
"Five hundred! I don't remember an amount being named."
Nigel coughed. "Thing is, dear fellow, we didn't, but five hundred is a nice round number, don't you think?" When Patrick stared at him, Nigel smiled sweetly, and murmured, "Of course, if it is too steep for you..."
"Damn you!" Patrick said with a laugh. "You shall have your five hundred by morning. And now if you will excuse me?"
Thea was feeling satisfied with herself when her carriage eventually deposited her and Modesty at their town house. She had slipped right out from under the nose of Mr. Patrick Blackburne and in a very few minutes she was going to discover for herself what was going on inside the Curzon Street house. With that in mind, she requested the coach wait for her.
Modesty raised her brow at this command, but said nothing until they were inside the house. When asked about the waiting coach, Thea smiled, and Modesty had to content herself with asking about the tall, dark gentleman who had stuck so tenaciously to Thea's side during the latter part of the ball. As they ascended the staircase and entered Thea's bedroom, Thea brought her up to date, including Edwina's presence at the ball.
Modesty was not the least interested in Edwina. "So that is Patrick Blackburne, hmm?" she murmured. Sending Thea a birdlike look, she added, "My glimpse over the banister last night informed me that he was handsome, but until I saw him this evening, I didn't realize how really very handsome he is."
"As if that has anything to do with Alfred's murder!" Thea said crossly, ringing for Maggie. While she waited for Maggie's appearance, she yanked off her dainty satin slippers, and said, "I intend to go back to that house tonight and see Alfred's body for myself." Her lips thinned. "Or not."
"Good Gad! Are you mad? If you are seen and recognized, it would be disastrous."
"I intend to be disguised. No one will know it is me," Thea said quickly. "Please, do not worry. I have a plan."
Modesty looked skeptical, but before she could say more, Maggie appeared.
Maggie Brown had changed little in the decade since that night when Thea had so blithely slipped out to meet Lord Randall. The brown eyes were more cautious, shrewder, the sturdy form taller, but just as sturdy, and her hair, neither brown nor blond, no longer swung wildly about her shoulders but was neatly caught in a bun at the back of her head.
Maggie had hardly entered the room before Thea said, "Didn't you tell me that when the attics at Garrett Manor were being cleaned this spring an old trunk of Tom's clothing was found?"
Not liking the sparkle in her mistress's dark eyes or the shimmer of excitement that radiated from her, Maggie said grudgingly, "Yes, there was." Speaking with the familiarity of a servant who knows her worth, she added, "If you will recall, I told you about it then—you refused to let your uncle dispose of the contents and insisted that nothing would do but that he send the trunk to you in London."
Thea smiled. "Am I such a trial to you, Maggie?"
Maggie's face softened. "Now, Miss, you know the answer to that." Her eyes narrowed. "There are times, however, when you get a maggot in your brain and turn us all on our heads. I hope this is not to be one of those times." When Thea only laughed, Maggie cried, alarmed, "Miss! What sort of mischief are you up to now?"
Thea made a face. "Nothing for you to worry about. Now tell me: Where is the trunk at this very minute?"
Knowing there was no swaying Thea when she was in one of her moods Maggie shrugged, and said, "Upstairs, in th
e attic—you refused to look at it, once it arrived. Shall I have one of the footmen get it for you?"
Thea nodded.
A few minutes later, the women were standing in front of a leather-bound trunk. Thea's light mood had disappeared, and Modesty had to glance away from the expression on Thea's face as she stared down at the trunk.
Thea seemed frozen, and several minutes passed before Modesty said gently, "Perhaps you have changed your mind?"
As if waking from a nightmare, Thea started and shook her head. "No," she said. "I haven't any choice. I must know for myself what is happening in that house." Taking a deep breath, she knelt before the trunk and carefully undid the straps that held it closed.
She thought she was prepared for what was inside, but at the sight of a spotted waistcoat and wide-brimmed hat she remembered Tom proudly wearing only a week before his death, her eyes grew misty. She bit her lip to hold back the sob rising in her throat.
Blinking furiously at the tears that threatened to fall, she gently, almost reverently began to search through the trunk for the items she needed. It was a painful process, each piece of clothing bringing back memories of her brother, but as the minutes passed, an odd calm came over her. She couldn't explain it, but it was as if Tom stood by her side, almost as if she could hear his voice in her ears, telling her softly that it was all right, that she should remember the things of his life, not the manner of his death. There was, she realized, no need to cling to these physical reminders of his life—her memory of him, of their childhood and the simple delights and sibling battles they had shared, was as bright and precious as if it had only been yesterday.
It was difficult nonetheless to paw through Tom's belongings, the sight of each garment and the memories those odd pieces of clothing aroused bittersweet. Eventually, though, she found what she wanted and, taking those items out, gently shut the lid, her fingers lingering for a moment on the top of the chest.
Staring at the chest, she asked, "What should I do with it?"
Maggie said quietly, "My brother's youngest son would be most grateful to own such fine garments—despite their age. He is handy with his needle and hopes to become either a valet or a tailor. He would like them very much."
Thea nodded. "See that they are delivered to him."
When Maggie and the chest, hefted onto the shoulder of a brawny footman, had departed, Thea began to exchange her ball gown for the masculine attire. Modesty helped, though her lips were pursed in disapproval.
"This is madness, you know," Modesty said, as she tied a creased black stock around Thea's neck.
The clothes smelled faintly musty, the scent of the lavender in which they had been packed floated on the air. Although they had been neatly folded and put away carefully, there was no hiding the various creases and folds that marred the fabric, but since Thea did not intend to be closely examined by anyone, it didn't matter.
When she finally looked at herself in the cheval glass she was not displeased. The clothing was a decade out-of-date, but it would suffice. Tom had been leanly built, and the leather riding breeches fit Thea's feminine legs very nicely, especially her firm derriere. His white-linen shirt was large for Thea's slimmer build, but the waistcoat Modesty had quickly nipped in at the back hid that fact. The less-than-perfect fit of the jacket could not be disguised, but since the jacket was one Tom had worn as a stripling, it fit better than it might have. Footwear had presented a problem, but she had solved that by putting on a pair of her own riding boots.
Observing herself in the glass, Thea saw a tallish, slim youth garbed acceptably, if not in the first stare of fashion. Her ringlets had been dispensed with, and her hair had been ruthlessly pulled back into a respectable queue. After removing the unfashionable buckle on the low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat that had been on top of the clothing in the trunk and placing it on her head, she was satisfied with the picture she presented.
Turning to look at Modesty, she cocked a brow. "Well?"
Modesty snorted. "You'll do—provided no one takes a closer look."
"I don't intend for anyone to take a closer look. I intend to get into that house and out as quickly as possible."
There was one last item she planned to take with her. With Modesty on her heels, she went downstairs to the library. Walking over to the mahogany desk, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out an old dueling pistol—it had been her father's and then her brother's.
Modesty's eyes widened; she gasped at the sight of the pistol and the cool efficiency with which Thea examined the pistol and calmly loaded it. "Thea!" she exclaimed. "What are you thinking? If your task is so dangerous that you need to be armed, I absolutely refuse to have anything to do with this madcap plan of yours!"
Thea grinned at her, the dark eyes dancing. "It is not precisely dangerous—I am merely following one of Tom's precepts: play or pay." Her face hardened. "And someone will pay if they attempt to trifle with me tonight."
Eyeing the pistol with misgiving, Modesty asked, "How well do you know how to use it?"
"Tom taught me years ago—we used to have shooting matches when we were bored," Thea said. "It has been a while, but I think that if I had to use the pistol that my aim would not cover me with shame."
The pistol safely stowed in the big inside pocket of her jacket, Thea squared her shoulders and prepared to leave the house.
Clearly unhappy with the situation, but unable to stop her headstrong young cousin from carrying out her plan, Modesty made one last attempt to dissuade her. Dogging Thea's heels, she followed her out into the main hallway and muttered, "Don't tell me that you are walking alone to Curzon Street at this time of night!"
Thea laughed. "Dear Modesty, I would never affront your sensibilities by trying anything so outrageous. I had the coach wait, remember?"
"I'd rather you did walk alone tonight than for you to do what you plan," Modesty said testily.
Kissing her cousin on the cheek, Thea said, "Stop fretting, my dear. I shall be home before you even realize that I am gone."
Only when the coach pulled to a stop several houses down from her destination did Thea question the wisdom of what she was about to do. If she were caught alone, abroad and garbed in men's clothing at this time of night, no amount of family pressure would be able to save her from complete ruin. The gossip and speculation would be horrendous. Her uncles, aunts, and any number of cousins had worked very hard to bring her a measure of redemption, and she, most desperately, did not want all their efforts to have been for naught. Creating a new scandal seemed a shabby way to repay their past kindness.
Yet she had to know what was inside that house. Was Hirst's body still lying there? Or had it been moved? If it had been moved, who had done it, when, and most importantly, why?
She had been, she admitted, too happy, and perhaps gullible, simply to take Patrick Blackburne's word for what had transpired that night. She needed to see for herself the actual state of things—and the longer she waited, the more doubts would fill her mind.
Not giving herself a chance to think further, she leaped down from the coach. Telling the driver to wait, she quickly walked the short distance to her destination.
No flickering light brightened the doorway this evening, and as she stood there, her hand prepared to grasp the door latch, it occurred to her that the door could very well be locked. Muttering to herself for not having thought farther ahead, she grasped the latch and pushed.
The door swung open. In the dim flickering light shed by the few streetlamps that lined the street, the entrance yawned like a black cavern. Uncertain whether to be pleased or frightened by the ease with which she had opened the door, Thea stood there hesitating. She did not want to enter that uninviting blackness.
The choice was taken from her when, out of the darkness, a powerful hand suddenly closed around the front of her jacket and yanked her inside. A hand was clasped over her mouth, and she was held tightly against a big muscular body.
The door was slammed shut with a
careless shrug of her captor's shoulder, and Thea found herself in a darkened, deserted house, held captive by a stranger. Her heart banging in her chest, fright coursing through her, she feared that she was going to disgrace herself by fainting dead away.
A warm chuckle in her ear made her stiffen, and as he took his hand away from her mouth, Patrick murmured, "I didn't mean to frighten you, sweet, but I had to get you inside—the longer you dawdled about the more likely it was that someone might notice you."
"Dawdled!" Thea hissed, and brought her heel down sharply on his foot. Ignoring his yelp, she went on, "I was not dawdling!" Straightening the front of her jacket, she muttered, "I was merely assessing the situation."
"Forgive me," Patrick said, the thread of laughter in his voice making Thea bristle. "I thoroughly misunderstood the situation."
"I'm pleased that you find the situation so amusing," she said coldly, aware that her heart was still beating swiftly but that its rapid beat was not caused by fear. Quite the contrary: she was excited by Patrick's presence and vastly annoyed with herself for being so. The interior of the house was pitch-black, and the darkness, the knowledge that they were all alone, created a sense of intimacy that Thea found pleasurably disturbing—which bothered her all the more.
Stiffly she asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you would still be at the ball."
"I'm sure you did," he answered, putting a hand in the small of her back and urging her through the blackness. "After I extricated myself from Nigel, I took my leave of our hosts and got here as fast as I could." The hint of laughter was back in his voice. "You didn't think I would let you have all the fun, did you?"
Ignoring him and the jumble of emotion his touch gave her, Thea said crossly, "Can't we light a candle? I cannot see my hand in front of my face."
"Certainly, if you wish to announce our presence... and since I doubt that is your intention, we will simply have to feel our way toward the back of the house."
His words made sense. Grumbling, with Patrick at her back, Thea fumbled her way to the room where she had first met with Hirst. The thought of tripping over Hirst's body in the dark made her stomach lurch, and she was inordinately grateful when they made it safely inside the room and Patrick had shut the door behind them.
Swear by Moonlight Page 12
