by Gaelen Foley
Derek…
And all the way home with her chatty godmother, Lily had very little to say.
For reasons unknown to himself—reasons he did not care to question—Derek dropped the ravishing Mrs. Coates at her fashionable townhouse after the soiree and declined her silken invitation to her bed. He knew his refusal had shocked her. Truth be told, he had shocked himself, but bloody hell, he did not particularly feel like servicing anyone tonight. Was that so wrong?
He refused to acknowledge that his sudden distaste for the prospect of a night of debauchery with Fanny Coates could have anything to do with Lily Balfour.
Instead, he stubbornly turned his attention to practical matters. He had things to do. His mood was restless and still decidedly dark, but all that he would admit to in his own mind was the handy rationale that it was the perfect time to press on with his investigation.
The dead of night was an ideal hour for covert snooping, a perfect chance to survey the various committee members’ houses. Under cover of darkness, he could spy on them freely with little danger of being seen.
With that, he went back to the Althorpe, changed into all black clothes, and saddled his horse. Before long, he was riding out to the northwest fringe of London, where the committee’s top-ranked East India Company magnate resided in a fine villa.
Along the way, his magnificent Tattersall’s beast sweeping through the darkness at a fluid canter, Derek mused on the events of the evening. It had been a fruitful night, even apart from the new developments between him and Lily.
He had run across Lord Sinclair at the concert and furthered the chairman’s skewed but useful misapprehension of his character by the simple presence of the hot-blooded beauty on his arm. At first, Derek had been insulted by the earl’s impression of him as a typical swaggering cavalry man, but he had since shrugged it off.
Hell, it never hurt to let the enemy underestimate you. Showing up at Society events with the Mrs. Coatses of the world nibbling on one’s earlobe maintained a useful illusion. If Sinclair judged him some sort of dull-witted savage, awash in sensuality and therefore easily manipulated, then he might let his guard down long enough for Derek to get to the truth about what had happened to that 300,000 pounds sterling.
So far, both the money and answers proved elusive. But while Lord Sinclair might not be the actual embezzler, given that any shortage in the fund was ultimately his responsibility as chairman, Derek still did not trust the old fellow.
Meanwhile all week, Lundy had been keeping him abreast of what was happening in the committee behind closed doors. According to Lundy, Sinclair was still determined to keep the whole thing quiet and solve the matter internally without involving the Home Office, which would no doubt demand a formal investigation—a slow and tedious process.
There wasn’t time for that nonsense. The men needed their resources now.
In any case, Lundy said they’d had another private meeting. Once more, Sinclair had called the committee members together and expressed his disgust, demanding that whoever was responsible come forward and replace the “borrowed” money at once, no questions asked.
At the moment, they were waiting to give the as-yet-unknown embezzler one week to gather the stolen sum and return it to the fund. Then the army’s treasure trove could be released in total, avoiding the disgrace of any shortage being found out.
Sinclair’s directive might bring swift results, but Derek had begun preparing in case it did not. If no one came forward, then his task would be to investigate the financial picture of each committee member.
How exactly he was going to do that, he had no idea. He was used to much more forthright conflicts, the kind you could solve with a sword. This called for a subtler set of talents.
All the men on the committee appeared wealthy, but appearances could be deceiving. Somehow, he would have to find a way to see through the mask of wealth and find out which of the men might recently have been in enough financial trouble to be desperate enough to embezzle government funds placed in their trust.
As best he could figure, the first step would be to take a cursory look at each of the men’s houses and holdings, the number of servants they employed, recent large purchases, debts held, investments, and so forth—any major expenses.
Meanwhile, Lundy was working on putting together a list for him of the names of those who helped the committee members handle their own financial affairs: solicitors, secretaries, land agents, bankers. Derek intended to question these employees if necessary. Getting them to talk would not be easy, but if he impressed upon them the seriousness of this matter and their own culpability in a possible hanging offense, they could likely prove excellent sources of information.
Oh, yes, he intended to study each man on the committee, check them out one by one until he could clear those who were probably not involved and narrow down his list of likely culprits through a logical process of elimination.
He still wasn’t sure where to place Ed Lundy on that list. Whether he could really trust his supposed ally was another whole question unto itself. The man was being helpful, but, obviously, that could be a ruse meant to throw him off the trail.
For Lily Balfour’s sake, Derek prayed to God that Lundy was not involved. He did not want her anywhere near that kind of danger.
Meeting their host Lord Fallow earlier tonight, though briefly, had been somewhat reassuring. Recently retired from a long career in public life, the slim, gray-haired earl was renowned for his integrity, and if a man like Fallow gave Ed Lundy his seal of approval, then that counted for something, as did Lundy’s military service.
Perhaps his sympathy for a fellow soldier was a blind bias on Derek’s part, but he sure as hell didn’t trust the rest of them, and he had to start somewhere. He had to trust someone, at least a little bit.
If life in the army had taught him one thing, it was that you weren’t going to get very far all by yourself. It was common sense. Only by working together could anyone hope to accomplish such ominous tasks.
Cautiously, therefore, he had placed Lundy down at the bottom of his list.
Perhaps tonight would yield another suspect he could blame.
He hoped so, for Lily’s sake.
After all, he could not let her marry an embezzler bound for the gallows. Her good name would never survive the scandal of being associated with—let alone marrying—a ruined thief. Her reputation would be destroyed, and then who would marry her and help her save her family?
Derek could not possibly let such a calamity happen to her. Hell, no. He’d be watching out for her every step of the way, whether she knew it or not.
And if Lundy turned out to be guilty, well, then, Derek mused, he might just have to take his big brother’s advice and wed the lovely little gold digger himself.
With that, Derek spotted the villa in the distance. Maneuvering his horse into a grove of trees, he sprang down from the saddle and stationed his animal in a safe place.
Relishing the chance to have some proper action after so long away from the front, he touched the various weapons he had girded himself with out of habit, and then stole through the darkness toward the committee man’s sprawling residence.
All was quiet.
Moments later, he scaled the walls around the manor with a stealth gained in countless raids with his men in the cool of the black Deccan night. But although he worked alone tonight, the isolation that had plagued him of late seemed to have gone into retreat.
For it was not terror haunting him this time, but the memory of a wary smile, and shining eyes the soft lavender shade of English bluebells…
CHAPTER
NINE
Derek Knight was becoming a problem.
The instant Lily awoke the next morning, the image of his wry smile flooded into her mind. She let out a small sigh and merely stared at the ceiling.
This would not do.
She refused to want what she could not have. She thought of Edward, took a deep breath, and arose,
refusing to waver in her decision.
As soon as she was dressed, she went downstairs to take breakfast with her doting chaperone. All of a sudden, over eggs and toast, Lily surprised them both by abruptly proposing a shopping excursion.
Indeed, browsing through the luxurious shops on Bond Street later that day helped her keep things in perspective. One day the great Balfour clan would be restored to wealth and dignity, thanks to her sacrifice; her conscience would finally be cleared, the record of her blame expunged, and when she married Edward, all these fancy trifles that loaded the shops’ shelves would be in easy reach instead of unattainable, and then surely Mother would think well of her again.
Lily made a point of idling at length in the busy shops of London’s top modistes who specialized in designing bridal gowns for Society’s loftiest weddings.
What was Edward waiting for? she wondered, recalling with a twinge of uneasiness Derek’s impertinent question last night about why her suitor had not yet seen fit to propose. Fingering a bolt of glorious ivory silk, Lily shrugged off her doubts and went to sit at the low table in the center of the luxurious shop, where she indulged herself in perusing the dressmaker’s sketchbook showing off her beautiful designs.
No doubt Edward would soon come up to scratch, she assured herself. In the meantime, she always liked to have a plan, and what young lady did not enjoy a bit of daydreaming about her wedding day?
There were veils and jeweled hair ornaments to be considered, the perfect satin slippers to be found, beautiful white silk stockings, lace garters and satin stays, and fluffy petticoats to give the skirts just the right shape.
It was so much easier to consider these details than to ponder the dreary bulk of her married years ahead.
As she slowly turned the pages of the modiste’s sketchbook, the words of Derek’s latest fashionable widow kept echoing through her mind. When he had tendered that irreverent marriage proposal to Mrs. Coates last night at the concert, teasing her to sign over her fortune to him, she had answered, “Darling, you have no idea what I went through to get it.”
Lily didn’t want to think about what Mrs. Coates might have had to go through in order to inherit her late husband’s wealth.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Clearwell had charmed the modiste into inviting the two of them to have a peek at some of the gowns in progress, which the woman told them could take weeks to create, what with all their exquisite beading and row upon scalloped row of intricate rosettes, airy layers of fine net, and ribbon trim.
Yet somehow the haughty modiste’s finest samples left Lily uninspired. Disastrously, it was not Edward’s face her heart conjured when she gazed at one of the lavish bridal gowns, imagined herself in it, and then saw in her mind’s eye the man standing by her at the altar.
Oh, for heaven’s sake!
She didn’t bloody deserve to wear white, anyway.
“All this is a bit too ostentatious for my taste,” she mur-mured to her godmother when the modiste had hurried off to tend to other ladies. Mrs. Clearwell was ogling a sumptuous rose-colored gown that the seamstresses were making for some highborn mother of a bride. “I need more choices,” Lily said restlessly.
Her chaperone gave her an arch look. “Indeed, you do.”
“Why don’t we go over to the bookstore? The ladies’ magazines they have might give me more ideas.”
“Capital notion, dear. Onward.”
They thanked the women and left the shop. Lily took her godmother’s arm, helping to steer the older lady along as they crossed the busy street.
Marry Derek Knight! she thought, mentally scoffing at the purely devilish notion that had popped into her head back in the bridal shop.
What an excellent way to ruin her life!
No doubt he could make it worth her while in their marriage bed, but that would be the only compensation.
Besides, he was already married—to the army. The wild major showed not the slightest interest in becoming domesticated, despite his cheeky proposal to the rich Mrs. Coates.
If he could be lured into captivity, and if Lily were mad enough to marry such a barbarian, it would not only mean that she’d have to stay poor and fail her family, but worse, she’d have to follow the blackguard to that horrible land of monsoons and man-eating tigers—make a home for them in the midst of an army camp, and patch him up after every bloody battle!
Good Lord, what if she went with him and he was killed in the war? She’d be stranded in India without another soul she knew.
It was the worst idea in the world. Indeed, if she ever showed the slightest willingness to do all that, they should lock her up at once in a lunatic asylum.
She was a lady, and ladies did not live in tents.
Ahead, the door of the bookshop stood invitingly open beneath a dark-green façade with gilt lettering. A knot of idlers crowded around the bay window, laughing at the newest satirical cartoons, which the bookseller posted daily to help lure customers inside.
Mrs. Clearwell and she walked into the bustling establishment and set out to find the ladies’ magazines, along with any new pattern books with more gowns to consider or other publications featuring the latest bridal fashions.
But as they began to meander through the dim, cozy aisles, squeezing around people here and there, Lily gnawed her lip, struck by yet another reason why the mere notion of marrying Derek Knight was entirely preposterous.
The whole point of marrying a rich but stupid man was to gain access to a husband’s fortune without having to explain her lack of virginity. Since Derek Knight, the cunning warrior, was no more stupid than he was rich, she knew he would require a detailed explanation if he was her husband, and there was no way on earth she could ever confess her stupidity to him.
She shuddered at the thought of the whole sordid matter being broken open and dragged out into the light again after all this time. The prospect nearly made her nauseous.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering in one corner of her mind how he would react to the story of her deception at the hands of a handsome but conscienceless roué. It was all too easy to imagine how a wild man like the major would respond. To be sure, he would probably hunt Lord Owen Masters down without any further questions and proceed to tear him limb from limb.
Ah, well. Though there was a certain satisfaction in contemplating it, Lily knew this was nothing but a dark, fleeting fantasy. She was a Christian woman and had heard enough sermons to mind the warning that vengeance belonged to the Lord.
Besides, she thought with grim stoicism, she had survived. She had learned her lesson and was never trusting anyone again.
Not really.
“Ah, here is what you’re looking for.” Mrs. Clearwell halted, plucked a slim booklet off the shelf, and handed Lily a copy of La Belle Assemblée. “Their ‘Mirror of Fashion’ column might have something for you. Here’s another.” Mrs. Clearwell also discovered a stack of the newest Lady’s Monthly Museum. “Are you at all hungry, dear? I’m a bit peckish. There was a little coffeehouse on the corner we passed—”
All of a sudden, her words were cut off and she nearly fell forward as a little boy knocked into her, having just come barreling around the corner in the blink of an eye and running down the narrow aisle between the bookshelves.
“Oh!” Mrs. Clearwell exclaimed as Lily quickly steadied her.
The boy, barely waist-high, darted past them, but they could already hear his minder coming.
“Matthew! Come back here! Excuse me, ladies. I’m so sorry. My nephew’s a little rambunctious.”
Still holding onto Mrs. Clearwell, Lily turned to give the offending party an indignant look, but her eyes widened.
“Miss Balfour! M-Mrs. Clearwell,” Derek Knight stammered in surprise. He hesitated. “One moment, please—I have to catch my nephew. If he runs off, my sister will have my head. Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back.”
“Do you need any help with him?” Lily offered, but Derek was already gone.
Mrs. Clearwe
ll and she exchanged a startled and rather uncertain smile.
“His sister’s child?” Lily whispered.
“That little hellion’s a future marquess?” her chaperone answered.
They laughed and followed in the direction the seemingly overwhelmed Uncle Derek had gone, but soon found the pair again. This time, the major had the five-year-old firmly by the hand.
He presented Matthew Prescott, Lord Aylesworth, to the ladies. “Matthew,” he added sternly, “apologize to the nice ladies for running into them like a ruffian.”
Matthew turned his great, brown eyes imploringly at his uncle; Derek gave him a no-nonsense stare.
Lily fought not to smile as Matthew heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Lily gave him a sage nod of forgiveness, but Mrs. Clearwell couldn’t help smiling.
“No harm done, my young sir, but do have a care if you intend to run amok. A boy could fall and break his head.”
Lily and Derek exchanged a private smile, their gazes mingling perhaps longer than they should have.
Her heart was racing. She couldn’t believe how delighted she was to see him. She feared she was blushing.
Meanwhile, her chaperone befriended Matthew. “You must be a very clever boy if you had your uncle bring you here to buy you books.”
“We were looking for, er, quieter pursuits,” Derek interjected. “My sister wasn’t feeling very well, so I said I’d take him out so she could rest. Otherwise, he’d never leave her side.”
Lily gazed at him, warmed by his attentiveness to his family.
“Did you find anything to read, Matthew?” Mrs. Clearwell asked the boy.
Matthew turned to her matter-of-factly. “I can climb all the way to the top of these shelves!” he announced, not quite in answer to the question, but no matter. He pointed upward with an air of great urgency.
