“Follow me,” Lucy’s coconspirator said, and led them down a corridor bustling with servers, allegedly men, but he wouldn’t wager on it. Not tonight.
They passed by a door leading into the kitchen and Cam caught a glimpse of Lady Theodosia Winslow. He ducked his head to escape her attention, but it appeared she was busy with other matters. He had managed to avoid her at the tearoom—he certainly didn’t want to run into her now. She was obviously in on this masquerade, but the last thing he wanted was to have his own charade revealed by a lady his family had known for years.
No one said more than a word or two of direction until they had safely exited the building. Both ladies had long cloaks that served to hide their improper attire, something to be grateful for. He hailed a cab, fairly shoved Miss West into it, then gave instructions to the driver.
“We’ll follow in the next cab,” he told her in a hard tone. “I should like to have a few words with Mr. Merryweather.”
Miss West huffed. “I don’t think—”
“Apparently not!” He slammed the door and signaled to the driver.
A minute later he hustled Lucy into a second cab, then took the seat facing her. Long minutes ticked by. He wasn’t sure when, if ever, he’d been so furious with a woman and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He really should have expected something of this nature. In truth, this was very much the sort of stunt his sister would have pulled, especially if she were encouraged by the regrets of a dead relative. Grace would have done it without so much as a by-your-leave and considered it a grand adventure. He shuddered at the thought of Grace and Lucy ever combining forces.
“Good evening, Mr. Fairchild,” Lucy finally said in an overly pleasant manner.
“Good evening?” Pity it was too dark in the cab for her to see him glaring at her. “Good evening?”
“I believe we’ve established that.” She paused. “Lovely weather we’re having, don’t you think?”
“It’s late January in London. It’s cold, it’s damp, it’s foggy, and snow is in the air. So, no, Miss Merryweather, I do not think it’s the least bit lovely.”
“Lucy,” she said firmly.
“What?”
“We agreed to call each other by our given names. If you intend to chastise me, I much prefer Lucy as it is so much more cordial than Miss Merryweather.”
“I have no intention of being cordial.”
“I was afraid of that.” She sighed. “Miss Merryweather it is then.”
A few minutes of stony silence later they arrived at Channing House. He helped her from the cab and she started toward the door.
“Might I suggest that you remove that . . . that piece of fur from your upper lip before we go in.”
“You don’t like it.” She patted the mustache. “I thought it was quite fetching.”
“I assume that is Miss West’s doing.”
“Clever, isn’t it?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Given your experience with her skin dye, are you certain it will come off ?”
“You are skeptical tonight, Mr. Fairchild.” Her tone was a shade less pleasant than it had been in the cab. She peeled off the mustache and in the light cast by the street lamp he could see her wince. “There. Is that better?”
“Much.”
“Have you ever kissed a woman with a mustache, Mr. Fairchild?” She fluttered her lashes at him.
“Not that I can recall. And certainly never deliberately.”
“What a shame that you missed your opportunity then.” She smirked and turned toward the door.
“I do hate to miss an opportunity.” He grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and stared down at her. “Miss Merryweather.” Before she could protest he pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she hesitated, then kissed him back, hard and with a great deal of fervor. At last she pulled away and gazed up at him.
“If that is how you intend to chastise me in the future, Mr. Fairchild”—her voice was breathless and she made no move to leave his embrace—“I cannot promise to restrain from activities you find objectionable.”
“You are driving me mad, Miss Merryweather.”
“Then I have accomplished more than I expected this evening.” She pulled away from him and moved to the door. It opened at once and she swept inside as if she were wearing the grandest of ball gowns instead of men’s attire. She nodded at the butler and continued into the house.
He followed, handed his hat and coat to Clement, and called after her. “In the parlor if you please.”
“That’s where I was going,” she tossed back over her shoulder.
“Has Miss West arrived?” he asked.
“A few minutes ago, sir. She’s in the parlor.” The butler paused. “Might I ask if there was a problem, sir? This is rather early to be returning from a masquerade. We didn’t expect the ladies for quite some time yet.”
“It’s later than you think, Clement.” Cam nodded and headed after Lucy. “Much, much later.”
He reached the parlor doors just as Miss West was leaving. She cast him a scathing look, then took her leave. Why on earth should she be annoyed with him? He had done nothing. At least not yet.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Well?”
“Well?” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and he couldn’t help but notice how becoming the man’s apparel was on her. The black trousers and coat certainly never looked that enticing on a man. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Me?” He stared. “What do I have to say for myself? I have nothing that needs explaining. You are the one who lied to me about your plans for this evening.”
“I did nothing of the sort.” She scoffed. “When I told you we had no plans to leave the house, it was entirely accurate. It was only later that we decided to, well . . . seize the opportunity presented to us. Surely you can understand that as you do so hate to miss an opportunity.”
“Not nearly as much as I hate having my words thrown back at me.”
“Then perhaps you should choose your words more carefully in the future.”
She was baiting him, no doubt to defuse his justifiable anger at her rash behavior. An intelligent man would ignore it.
“We need to talk, Miss Merryweather, about your behavior.” Apparently, he was not as intelligent as he thought. “In your desire to accomplish the items on your great-aunt’s list of regrets, you put yourself, Miss West, and Lady Theodosia in an untenable situation.”
“Only if we were discovered.” She pulled off her wig and shook out her hair, combing her fingers through it. Blond waves fell to below her shoulders. He had never seen her hair down before, and combined with her attire, the overall effect was, well, tantalizing. “We weren’t.”
He ruthlessly shoved aside the image of all that fair hair fanned out over a pillow. This was not the time. “I discovered you.”
“But you know me. You do not count. I, however, believe this evening’s activities were well worth the risk.”
“Only because you were not discovered!”
She smiled.
“We really need to discuss your actions past and future!”
“No, Mr. Fairchild.” Her voice hardened. “We need to discuss yours.”
“Mine?” He stared. “What have I done?”
“Overstepped, Mr. Fairchild. You have overstepped.”
“Overstepped?” He stared, then winced. “You’re right, of course. My apologies. I should not have taken such liberties.”
“Liberties?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, then her expression cleared. “Oh, the kiss you mean? You needn’t apologize for that. If I had objected, you can be certain I would have said so at the time.”
“And you did kiss me back.” He smirked.
A becoming blush colored her cheeks. “That is not the topic under discussion and not what I was referring to.”
“Then I don’t understand.” He drew his brows together. “How have I overstepped?”
“You have gone ent
irely too far.” She stepped closer and met his gaze firmly. “You, Mr. Fairchild, are the employee of my former almost fiancé, who through some misplaced sense of responsibility or perhaps guilt, has taken it upon himself to hire you to make certain I come to no harm. As admirable as his intentions were, my actions are really no longer any of his concern. Which brings me to you.”
“Oh?”
“I thought it was best if we dispensed with subterfuge and allowed you to accompany us. For convenience, safety, and the fact that it is extremely cold out. My opinion on that has not changed. However”—her eyes narrowed—“you are not my father, my brother, my husband, or my fiancé. You have neither the right nor the privilege of chastising me. Nor do you have any right whatsoever to tell me how I may or may not behave.”
“I did think we had become friends,” he said staunchly.
“As did I, but the fact remains that you are being paid to keep me from harm, to protect me, if you will.”
“Part and parcel of that is keeping you from doing anything that is fraught with the potential for scandal or, in some cases, even danger. I cannot assure your safety if you do not keep me informed as to your plans.”
“That, Mr. Fairchild, is no concern of mine.” She shrugged. “Perhaps if your charge is to watch my activities, you should do a better job of it. Why, one would think you had never done this sort of work before.”
His mouth dropped open.
“You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“Not very good . . .” He glared. “I have never had a complaint before.”
“I thought we had established not hearing a complaint does not necessarily mean you know what you’re doing. And I would think a good private investigator, when charged with the well-being of a . . . oh, a subject I suppose, for lack of a better word, would certainly do more than make a brief appearance once a day.”
And even that had been difficult given his duties at the Messenger, although admittedly, Mr. Cadwallender was so pleased with the response to Daring Exploits thus far he had given Cam far more freedom to follow his own course than he’d had up to now. “I trusted you!”
“A good private investigator would not have trusted so easily.”
“You struck me as very trustworthy.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I am an excellent judge of character.”
“Really?” She sniffed. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I’m very good at what I do!”
“Again, I hadn’t noticed. Although I suppose it’s neither here nor there at the moment.”
His jaw tightened. “Now that we have dispensed with your critique of my job performance, perhaps we can return to the subject at hand. Your behavior tonight, regardless of whether or not your deception was discovered, was dangerous, scandalous, and somewhat childish.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“In point of fact, most of the remaining items on your great-aunt’s list are dangerous, scandalous, and childish.”
“Are they?” she said in a deceptively calm manner. He ignored it.
“They are indeed. These escapades of yours are bound to end badly.” He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, although he certainly meant them. “Therefore, as a representative of my employer and because you are without the sensible influence of a father, brother, husband, or fiancé . . .” A voice in the back of his head screamed for him to shut up but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I must take it upon myself to insist you cease this ludicrous quest of yours at once.”
“And you are speaking for the gentlemen in my life, are you?”
“I’m certain if they were here—”
“But they are not here, Mr. Fairchild. And simply because one has hired you does not mean you may speak in his stead.”
“Perhaps not, but as we have become friends—”
She snorted.
“—I feel it’s my duty, my responsibility if you will, to stop you from this course you have so blithely set for yourself before it’s too late. Before you have become mired in scandal and indiscretion and who knows what else.”
“Your responsibility is to save me from myself?”
“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes, that’s not entirely inaccurate. I don’t want to see you make a mistake that will affect the rest of your life!”
“And you are the judge of such things?”
“Yes! Bloody hell, Lucy, whether you like it or not, I, and every other man, are indeed the judge of such things!”
She chose her words with care. “I do appreciate you not wanting me to make a mistake but unfortunately I have already made at least one.”
He scoffed. “Just one?”
“When I suggested you accompany us rather than slink from doorway to doorway in a futile effort to avoid my notice . . .” She smiled pleasantly. “I see now that was a mistake. One I intend to rectify immediately.” Her tone hardened. “I suggest you leave, Mr. Fairchild, and do not bother returning. You may consider our agreement terminated. We no longer require your accompaniment. Miss West and I will be fine on our own.”
He stared. Surely she wasn’t throwing him out? “But—”
“Now.” Her smile didn’t slip for so much as a moment, but her blues eyes flared with anger.
“But—” But what? “It’s cold outside.”
“Then you should dress warmly as you lurk in the streets wondering what escapade I shall embark upon next. Where we are going. What I intend to do. Even”—a smug smile curved her lips—“which door we are using to leave the house.”
“Very well,” he snapped. “But don’t for a minute think I will shirk my responsibilities simply because you are making me uncomfortable.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Fairchild. You have now made it all much more of a challenge. It’s going to be a great deal of fun outwitting you, although I can’t imagine it will be all that difficult.”
He was too angry to think of a coherent response. “Good evening, Miss Merryweather.”
“Good evening, Mr. Fairchild. Do try not to lose any necessary body parts to the freezing cold.”
“Miss Merryweather!” Good Lord. What kind of woman said such a thing?
“I should have known the first time you sputtered that you had a tendency to be stuffy.”
“I most certainly do not,” he said in a haughty manner that rivaled any tone his father might have taken. Damnation, the blasted woman was turning him into his father. “I shall try my best to survive the elements, Miss Merryweather. Thank you for your concern.” He nodded and took his leave.
The instant the sharp cold night hit him he realized he had indeed overstepped. He should have been smarter. He should have kept his mouth shut. He never should have let his own sense of responsibility turn him into the protector she had assumed him to be. He never should have let these feelings of, well, affection overcome his own goals. But damn it all, she believed his job was to keep her safe and keep her safe he would. Whether she liked it or not.
And realized as well it was indeed damnably cold outside.
“What happened?” Clara said the moment she stepped into the parlor and closed the doors behind her.
“Weren’t you listening at the door?”
“That was my original intention, but that blasted butler didn’t take his eyes off me, so I was forced to simply pace in the corridor.” Clara huffed in exasperation. “Well?”
“I threw him out.” Lucy shrugged.
Clara’s eyes widened. “Permanently?”
“That very much depends on him.”
“You threw him out because . . . ?”
“Because he was acting like my father or one of my brothers or Jackson.” Lucy clenched her jaw. “And he has no right to do so.”
“I see.” Clara paused. “And if he did have that right?”
“Clara.” Lucy met the other woman’s gaze firmly. “I have spent my entire life behaving exactly as I was expected to behave. Which includes bowing to the wishes and guidance of th
e men in my life. These last few weeks have been, well, liberating I suppose. I am an adult with financial security and my own mind. I see no reason to bow to the wishes of any gentleman ever again.”
“How very . . . progressive of you.”
“It doesn’t feel especially progressive. But it does feel right.”
Clara nodded. “And where does that leave you and Mr. Fairchild?”
“I’m afraid there is no me and Mr. Fairchild.”
“But you would like there to be.”
It would be silly to lie. Clara wouldn’t believe her anyway. Lucy sighed. “Perhaps.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I do. Very much.” Lucy was still shocked by just how much. “And I’m fairly certain he likes me. But . . .”
“But?”
“But I don’t know that I can care for a man I don’t completely trust. And while I do feel that he is quite trustworthy, as I am a far better judge of character than he, there is still the matter of whatever it is he’s hiding.” Resolve hardened her voice. “And why.”
“I see.”
“Furthermore, I am not at all pleased to be accused of lying by a man who is so obviously not revealing the complete truth himself. A question that becomes more and more interesting all the time. One does have to wonder why a man who has to work for a living is present at an exclusive gentlemen’s club looking very much like a guest or a member.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Clara murmured. “So what happens now that you have divested us of Mr. Fairchild’s company?”
“Now we continue on with our plans and wait for Mr. Fairchild to apologize.”
“You think he will?”
“I know he will. We have already established he is not who or what he appears. But the man is definitely a gentleman, Clara. And, as he conducted his initial surveillance so poorly that I noticed him almost at once, we can surmise as well he is fairly new to the world of private inquiry. As such he would hate to fail on what is so obviously one of his first assignments. Besides, I have a strong suspicion that he is an honorable man. He has taken payment to provide a service and he will feel honor bound to provide that service. Beyond that . . .” She smiled. “Mr. Fairchild does not like the cold.”
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress Page 14
