Deliciously wicked

by Robyn DeHart

  Aside from her own concerns, there was Gareth’s part in the situation. She wanted to help him in some fashion, since this whole mess was her fault; this would put her in a better position to do so. It seemed wrong that a simple admission that they had been alone together would expose a great scandal when there really hadn’t been. Granted, there had been that one tiny, passionate, breath-stealing kiss, but there was no need to make that known to anyone. It was incredibly frustrating, and frankly she couldn’t abide standing by and doing nothing.

  So she’d played the actress and convinced Munden she was just as concerned as he, but that dismissing someone without proof was not a viable practice. Instead she’d offered two solutions. Now she had to convince Gareth to play along with her scheme.

  Earlier when she told him she had appointments, she’d lied to Gareth. She only had to bring her father the ledger book, then she had absolutely nothing else to do. She wasn’t in the habit of lying to others, but she’d wanted to give herself a bit more time. Not to mention make herself appear more authoritative than she felt.

  She’d gone home and tried on no fewer than seven dresses attempting to find the perfect one. For what, she was not certain. It was not as if she were going to the park with a suitor. Besides, she’d never been one to pay much attention to her clothing, but today she’d felt as if she’d needed some additional assistance. If she were to play this role, she needed the right costume. Something that spoke clearly: confident, controlled, clever.

  She looked down at her tailored brown dress. The cut was excellent for her stature. The square neckline boosted her small bosom to reveal hidden curves and a chest dusted with freckles. She’d heard once that men liked freckles. Not that it mattered one bit if Gareth liked this dress or not. She was helping him, and in turn, it seemed, she was helping herself. She smoothed the front of her dress, freely admitting she felt smart in the concoction. She especially fancied the matching boots that clicked nicely when she walked.

  She was dawdling, and she knew it. It was time now. Time to go in and face Gareth Mandeville. What was she afraid of in the first place?

  That he’d kiss her again?

  Or that he wouldn’t?

  Sitting in the carriage would not decide for her. Grabbing her reticule, she made her way into the factory. She did not stop to look for Gareth. Instead she marched herself straight up the stairs and into her father’s office. It had been quite a while since she’d been up in his private office, and he’d made some changes.

  Behind the desk sat the first chocolate-making machine he’d purchased; it wasn’t even really a machine, more of a hand-held grinder. But it was a reminder of how far the industry had come. The armoire in the corner housed his personal belongings, a box of employee files, and extra pieces of clothing in case he needed to change. Hanging up her cloak, she noticed that the bookshelf on the left looked the same as it had since the day he moved into this office, and housed mostly books from his personal library.

  She straightened the two red leather chairs that sat on the visitor side of the desk. The windows overlooking the factory floor provided the office with some light, but it wasn’t much, as the day was progressing to dusk. So she lit the desk lamp, then sat, glancing around for something to inspect. Something that would make her appear busy.

  She’d barely located a new order form when there came a knock on the door.

  She straightened in the chair, then looked down at the order form. “Come in,” she said.

  Gareth entered but did not walk toward her. Instead he stayed near the door.

  “Why don’t you sit?” she offered.

  “I’d prefer to stand.”

  Well, that would never work. She’d sit here and he’d tower over her from the doorway. It would be just as awkward for her to stand on the stairs and holler at him down at his machine.

  “Then I shall stand as well.” She set the paper down, then stood. Coming around the desk, she leaned against it for effect. On more than one occasion, she’d seen her father stand precisely this way, so perhaps it would help her appear more official.

  “What did you want to discuss with me?” he asked.

  “Yes, well, earlier when I spoke with Mr. Munden, I had to do a bit of negotiating. I felt it would be better if he believed I was as concerned with the theft as he.” Gareth’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Not to imply I’m not concerned. There is a thief at the factory and that cannot be allowed. But I also know you’re innocent. So I insisted that you retain your job until we have absolute proof…In short, I made a bargain on your behalf.”

  “On my behalf?” He swaggered forward and stood behind the chairs, placing a barrier between them. “That was rather bold of you, Miss Piddington. Precisely what did you agree to, on my behalf?”

  Meg released a little giggle that sounded supremely false. This was not going well. She shook her hands out, hoping to release the excess nerves that had settled in her body. It was most annoying.

  “It’s a tiny thing, really. Mr. Munden was quite insistent that you stole those chocolate boxes. And since you will not allow me to give you an alibi, I cannot convince him of your innocence. But proof or not, the boxes are still missing and we have an order to fill before Lady Glenworthy discovers the truth and goes elsewhere for her chocolates. So I agreed that you would put a new batch together.”

  “Put those fancy boxes together?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How the devil am I supposed to do that? I work a grinding machine. There is an entire packing block designated for this.”

  “I realize that. But we’ve received six more similar orders and so the packing department is already behind.” She hoped her father would be pleased by her administrative decisions.

  Gareth pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many boxes are we talking about?”

  “Seventeen. One for each year her lovely daughter has graced the earth,” she said in a melodious voice that perfectly mimicked Lady Glenworthy’s.

  Gareth smiled.

  “Don’t concern yourself about the boxes. I’ve already seen to it that the supplies will be brought over. And I’ll personally see to it that you’re paid for the extra time. I know they are detailed work and am told they take a while to produce, so I shall help you with that as well.”

  “No more help from you,” he argued. “I do not need help with the boxes.”

  “There is one tiny problem with that,” she said. She used her thumb and first finger to illustrate her words. It was, in fact, a tiny problem. Gareth, however, might not see it that way.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask. What would that tiny problem be?”

  “You are not to be alone in the factory. So either Mr. Munden shall supervise you, or I shall. Your choice.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She knew he would not select Munden; he detested the man.

  He came around the chair. “Miss Piddington, you seem to enjoy playing the part of the factory manager while your father is gone. You’re meddling in the business and fiddling with the paperwork.”

  He gestured to the desk behind her and the order form she’d been pretending to read when he came in. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, partly from the truth in his accusations, partly from the heat of his gaze.

  She wanted to quip a response, but her mind was blank, and she was fairly certain that her knees no longer functioned.

  “Do not think to use me as some pawn in your game with Papa’s factory. I don’t take kindly to games.”

  He now stood right in front of her. She straightened to her full height, which frankly wasn’t all that much, and was rather difficult considering how wobbly her legs felt. She didn’t even come to his chin. But that didn’t stop her from tilting her head back and meeting his eyes.

  Hazel. Luscious, rich mixture of brown and green. And they nearly stole the words right from her mouth, but she caught herself.

  “Do not be so arrogant as to think I should use you for anything, Mr. Mandeville,” sh
e said tartly. “I do not play games with my father’s factory. I am merely aiding you with a sticky situation, since I am not able to give you your alibi.” His eyes were watching her lips, and she nearly forgot what she was saying. She frowned. “Consider it a favor.”

  Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was certain he could see it thumping through the fabric in her dress. And her hands were shaking fiercely, which made it convenient that she was holding on to the desk behind her.

  He grabbed her by the waist with one arm and pulled her to him. With one swift movement, he planted his lips to hers in a quick but passionate kiss. How was he able to keep penetrating her barriers? She thought she’d done an admirable job of feigning control and disinterest. No sooner had she melted into his lips than he abruptly let her go.

  “Nor do I play games, Miss Piddington.” And with that he turned, and left her to slump against the desk with nary a thought in her head.

  Gareth slammed his head into his hands. He really had to stop kissing her in such a fashion. He really ought to stop kissing her in any fashion at all. Teaching her a lesson was only an excuse to taste her sweet lips, and he’d be a fool not to admit that.

  Touching her lips a second time had not fettered his desire. He wanted her. Her kisses were an intoxicating mixture of passion and innocence, and they left him wanting more. Which was why he needed to tighten the reins on his lust.

  He would work with Meg, because he had no other options, but he would not give in to temptation to touch her in any fashion. He could play the gentleman long enough for the winds to change and this minor accusation to blow away. He laughed. The irony of that was too much to ignore.

  Play the gentleman. He’d been playing the poor Irishman for so long, he wondered if he even remembered how. But surely the last vestiges of the gentleman he truly was lingered somewhere deep inside. Somewhere very deep.

  Wouldn’t everyone here love to know the truth about him?

  How would Meg react? Would his kisses thrill her even more if she knew he was a viscount? It mattered not. She would never know. No one would.

  Meg was quite relieved that, as circumstances would have it, today was the weekly meeting of the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society. She had no doubt at all that they would be able to help her discover the identity of the true thief.

  Given Gareth’s reaction to her plan for him to make the replacement boxes, she’d been reluctant to tell him the rest of her scheme. That she herself would uncover the identity of the true thief.

  Though, of course, like any good sleuth, she would use all the resources at her disposal. In this case, the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society.

  So she had considerable eagerness as she entered the parlor.

  “Good morning, my dear friends,” she said joyfully.

  Charlotte narrowed her gaze but smiled knowingly.

  “Good morning yourself,” Amelia said.

  “Technically it is not morning,” Willow added. “It is nearly midafternoon.”

  “Very well,” Meg said. “Good afternoon.”

  “You seem quite pleased to see us,” Charlotte said.

  “Indeed I am. I have a task for us. A task for the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society.”

  Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Do you indeed?”

  Meg nodded. “But we can certainly go along with business as usual and then proceed to my business when it is more appropriate.”

  “Oh no, I think now is most appropriate. Do you not agree, Amelia?” Charlotte asked.

  “I suppose we can break from standard protocol for an immediate case in need. What say you, Willow?”

  Willow nodded. “I must admit, I’m rather intrigued at the possibility.”

  “Very well,” Meg said. “Let us get seated and I shall fill you in on all the details.”

  It took less than five minutes for them to take their seats and help themselves to the tea and cakes offered on the occasional table.

  “Now then,” Amelia said. “Do tell us this official task you have for us. I’m most eager.”

  Meg took a quick sip of her tea and allowed the warm liquid to soothe her throat before she began. “Apparently the evening Mr. Mandeville and I were locked into that storeroom, some special-ordered chocolate boxes were stolen from the factory, and now he has been falsely accused of the crime.”

  “Somehow I knew this would involve the handsome Mr. Mandeville,” Charlotte said.

  “Let her finish,” Willow said.

  “It appears that Mr. Munden, the foreman in charge of Mr. Mandeville’s block, is quite convinced of Mr. Mandeville’s guilt. For obvious reasons, I cannot offer him an alibi without severely damaging my reputation.” She gave a courtesy nod to Willow. There was no reason to tell them she’d come very close to compromising them without a single thought of her reputation. “So I feel it is only right that I offer my skills, our skills if you’re willing, to help clear his name. I’ve done what I can to secure his position at the factory, but I feel as if I must do more. Not only Mr. Mandeville’s innocence is in question, though. More importantly, there is a thief working at my father’s factory. He must be brought to justice. Will you help me?”

  “Of course we will,” Amelia said.

  “What does your father have to say about this situation?” Willow asked.

  “I haven’t told him. He does not need to worry about this. I want his recuperation to go as smoothly and quickly as possible.” Meg popped a bite of cake into her mouth.

  “What is it that you would have us do, Meg, to help with Mr. Mandeville’s situation?” Amelia asked.

  “I suppose we can start with determining whether whoever did steal those boxes sold them anywhere,” Meg said.

  “How will we do that?” Charlotte said.

  “We should start with our servants; they often hear about these sorts of activities,” Willow said. “But Meg, you should inquire from the other workers if anyone saw anything. Then we can speak with some pawnbrokers, see if any of them have made a similar purchase.”

  “I’ll speak to Colin tonight to see if he has any ideas,” Amelia said.

  “Brilliant!” Meg said. “I knew you would help.”

  “What of Mr. Mandeville?” Amelia asked. “Does he mind us assisting you?”

  “He’s not doing any investigation on his own,” Meg said.

  “Why on earth not?” Charlotte asked.

  Meg relayed his feelings to them, about not needing to prove himself. “Perhaps once we’re making progress, he’ll be more inclined to join in.”

  “We’ve all been falsely accused of something at some point in our lives,” Willow said. “Perhaps not of the criminal nature, but nonetheless it is most disturbing, and everyone reacts quite differently in those situations.”

  “I do believe Willow is feeling sympathetic toward Mr. Mandeville,” Charlotte said playfully.

  Willow crossed her legs. “I was only trying to present an explanation for his reluctance. Give him the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.”

  “It was an excellent point to make,” Amelia said.

  “It is exciting to have an actual case to work on,” Charlotte said. “Something besides the exceedingly frustrating Jack of Hearts case, that is.”

  “Perhaps next time we meet, we will have uncovered something,” Willow said.

  “And if, in the meantime, we discover anything pertinent, we can call a special meeting by messenger,” Charlotte suggested.

  “Agreed,” Meg said.

  It was settled. Now that the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society was working on the mystery of the missing boxes, revealing the truth shouldn’t be too far off.

  Chapter 5

  Today they would start the work on the decorative boxes. Yesterday Meg had gone over to the packing department to see the boxes herself. She needed a better image of what she and Gareth were to create. Her father had told her all about them when he’d first developed the concept and she’d thought it was a brilliant idea.


  Keepsake boxes filled with fancy chocolates. Once all the delights were eaten, the velvet-lined drawers and spaces could be used to hold jewelry and other trinkets. Some were simple boxes with a hinged lid, but others were more like tiny chests with drawers and doors.

  She and Gareth were to seal in the velvet and then paste the prints on the outside, and add tiny mirrors for decoration. It would be slow and detailed work.

  It took a good thirty-minute carriage ride to get from Amelia’s house back to Piddington Hall due to the wet and muddy roads. Meg’s insides felt jostled, and she wasn’t certain if it was from the bumpy ride or her nerves. It was the right thing to do to help Gareth. Not only that, but it was giving her another look at the inner workings of the factory.

  She had to stop by and pick up Ellen, her maid, so that they might have a chaperone during their evening time at the factory. Far be it from her to be criticized for the same thing twice, so she wanted to ensure that she was prepared in case Gareth accused her again. Not to mention, Willow would be awfully proud of her attempt to protect herself.

  So with Ellen seated in the carriage next to her, she rolled down the hill to the factory. Meg had already made a decision about tonight; she would not allow Gareth to rattle her or irritate her. Simply because he had a tendency to be surly, that did not mean that she would return his foul mood with one of her own. No, she would be sweet and charming. Witty, if she could manage.

  Tonight could be considered an official task at the factory, so she took a moment to straighten her dress, taking careful consideration with the tie at the neckline. Then she opened the factory doors. As she had done before, she did not look to her left where the machinery sat and the workers toiled the hours away; no, she kept her attention straight ahead as she made her way to the stairs. If she were to prove she could manage the factory, then she should act the part. Which meant spending considerable time in her father’s office.

  Mr. Munden stepped into her path. She stopped before she ran into him.