She hesitated, overcome with a sense of wistful nostalgia. At one time she'd have accepted the invitation with alacrity. She'd adored perusing the shops, choosing lovely gowns and frivolous hats. But now, with no excess funds to spend, the prospect was nothing short of depressing. He glanced down at her, and she instantly wondered what he'd discerned in her expression, for a look that could only be described as chagrin passed over his face. Before either could speak, however, a familiar voice hailed them.
" Alberta! Lord Robert!"
They turned in unison and were greeted by the sight of Lady Gaddlestone bearing down upon them, with Tedmund, Edward, and Frederick straining at their leads. A harried-looking footman trotted behind the baroness, his arms laden with a trio of colorful fabric-covered pillows that clearly belonged to the Maltese brood.
"Guard your ankles and skirt," Lord Robert warned in an undertone. "Here comes Sir Piss-a-lot, Sir Bite-a-bit, and Sir Hump-a-leg."
Laughter gurgled in her throat, and she coughed to cover it. Good Lord, the man was outrageous!
"What a delightful surprise," the baroness exclaimed as she and the boys drew near. She pulled back on the leather leads, but the dogs forged ahead, poufy tails wagging, heading straight for Allie and Lord Robert while emitting sharp yips of unrestrained glee. "Tedmund! Edward! Frederick! Cease at once!"
The pigeon nesting on Lord Robert's hat clearly disliked the din and flew off with a loud flapping of feathers. He turned to Allie, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. The pigeon's takeoff had pushed his hat askew and it now rested on his head at a precarious angle, completing hiding one eye.
"You're not laughing at me, are you, Madam BOB?" he asked in a mock severe tone.
She widened her eyes. "I, Sir FOF? Certainly not."
One mischief-filled, dark blue eye blinked at her. "Banbury tale," he decreed.
The baroness finally managed to halt her barking brood, her plump face red with exertion. Lord Robert straightened his hat, then looked down at the boys. "Sit," he commanded. The boys instantly obeyed, looking up at him with button-eyed devotion.
"You really must show me how you do that," the baroness panted, dabbing her glistening brow with a delicate lace handkerchief. "The wicked darlings simply refuse to obey me when they're excited. Now tell me, my dears, why are you still in town? I thought you'd have traveled to Bradford Hall by now." A look of concern passed over her face. "I hope there is no problem with the duchess and the babe?"
"All is well," Lord Robert assured her. "And as far as I know, I am not yet an uncle again. Mrs. Brown needed to remain in London for several days to settle some business affairs. I shall escort her to Bradford Hall when she is finished."
The baroness looked back and forth between them, her face alive with interest. "I see. I would ask if you are enjoying your London stay, Alberta dear, but I can clearly see that you are. Why, I don't believe I've ever seen you looking quite so… animated." She leaned toward Lord Robert and whispered loudly, "Did I not tell you that she is very remarkably pretty when she smiles?"
"You did indeed."
For several seconds, Allie held her breath, waiting to see if he'd say more… if he'd agree with Lady Gaddlestone's opinion. But he said nothing further, rendering her strangely disappointed. Sanity returned, along with a strong flare of self-directed annoyance. For heaven's sake, why would she care if he thought her pretty? Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, she quickly asked, "How are you faring now that you're home, Lady Gaddlestone?"
"Very well, my dear. I've had dozens of callers and am nearly all caught up on the latest on dits." She shot an arch look at Lord Robert. "Although I've heard nothing about this apparent trend of gentlemen wearing pigeons upon their hats."
"Indeed? How shocking, for it is the very latest in manly headgear."
"Humph. You wouldn't have thought so had that feathered beast ruined your hat."
"Ah, but it would have been a small price to pay."
Allie felt his gaze shift to her, and he flexed his arm where her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, lightly squeezing her fingers. A frown tugged at her brows. Those words sounded very familiar…
Realization hit her. He'd repeated her own words about juggling the eggs for Joshua. It was a small price to pay to see him smile. His meaning was suddenly perfectly clear.
He'd brought her here and risked his clothing for one purpose. To make her smile.
She turned swiftly and discovered his gaze resting upon her. Such beautiful eyes, filled with mischief and warmth, made all the more alluring by the small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. A river of feeling cascaded through her, simultaneously warming and confusing her.
Before she could even think of a reply, he returned his attention to the baroness. "Mrs. Brown and I were just about to visit Regent Street. I thought she might enjoy a visit to the confectioner's and then tea at The Blue Iris. Would you care to join us? I'd love to hear about your travels in America."
The baroness beamed a smile at him. "My dear boy, I'd love nothing better."
*******
Comfortably ensconced in a plush, indigo velvet chair near The Blue Iris's massive brick fireplace, Lady Gaddlestone sipped her tea and chatted gaily about her adventures in America, all the while thanking her lucky stars for her most useful ability of requiring only half her attention to be engaged to carry on a conversation. Because the other half of her attention was riveted on the absolutely fascinating tableau unfolding right before her very eyes between dear Alberta and Lord Robert.
While she regaled her audience with tales of elegant soirees, her mind made avid notations. Heavens, the way he just looked at her! With that teasing, yet somehow heated expression. She fought the urge to fan herself with her linen napkin. And look at that blush creeping over Alberta s cheeks. And that delighted smile she just gave him!
Oh, there was no doubt Lord Robert was smitten. And clearly dear Alberta was far from immune to Lord Robert's undeniable charm. She'd suspected such might be the case, and allowed herself a mental pat on the back. Of course, she was rarely wrong in such matters. She paused for a sip of tea in order to hide the satisfied smile she could not suppress behind her porcelain cup.
With her facial expressions once more under control, she continued her tale. "Yes, the costume ball hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Whatley in Philadelphia was all great fun, but it could have been a complete disaster. I found out that the very next night after the ball, the Whatley mansion caught fire!"
Lord Robert's hand jarred to a halt halfway to his lips, sloshing several drops of tea over the edge of his cup. Something the baroness could not decipher flashed in his eyes. "Was anyone hurt?" he asked tightly.
"No, thank goodness," the baroness said. "Mr. and Mrs. Whatley were not at home, and the servants all managed to escape. The house, however, was completely destroyed." A shudder passed through her. "If the fire had occurred the night before, with all those guests in the house, why there's no telling how many people might have been hurt or lost their lives."
Another odd expression passed over Lord Robert's face, and his jaw appeared to tighten. It also looked as if his face paled, but surely that was just a trick of the tea room's subdued lighting? Still, he seemed somehow distressed. Her gaze shifted to Alberta, who also seemed to note Lord Robert's sudden tension. But then, in the blink of an eye, his expression cleared, leaving her to wonder if she'd imagined his momentary discomfort. She shook her head. Gracious, it was a trial to get on in years. Perhaps she needed spectacles.
Well, she may have imagined his reaction to her story, but there was no mistaking his reaction to dear Alberta. Settling herself more comfortably in her chair, she launched into another account of her travels, all the while planning the dress she would have made to wear to the undoubtedly upcoming wedding.
********
By the time Robert settled himself on the gray velvet squabs across from Mrs. Brown for the carriage ride back to the Bradford town house
, shadows of twilight were darkening the sky. After signaling the driver to depart, he smiled at his companion. To his immense satisfaction, her lips curved partially upward in return.
"Did you enjoy your afternoon?"
"Very much. Indeed, I'd be hard-pressed to choose what I liked more-the delicious confections you very generously purchased for us all-"
"Only a cad would buy just enough for himself."
"-the divine tea, or the stimulating conversation."
"The baroness is quite talkative."
"Yes. But you well knew that when you asked her to join us and regale you with stories of her travels. You knew it would please her immensely to tell you." She gave him a look he couldn't decipher, then she added softly, "And I suspect you would have sat there without complaint until midnight listening to her."
He felt an odd urge to squirm under her steady regard, as if he were a green boy and she'd caught him at a falsehood. "As I enjoy traveling myself, I like hearing about such adventures."
"As do I. However, I do believe that my favorite part of the afternoon was seeing you with all those pigeons perched upon you." Her lips twitched. "It is an image I shall never forget."
"As I shall never forget the sight of you, weak with laughter, with a pigeon on your bonnet."
Their gazes held for several seconds, and his heart performed a crazy roll. Such lovely eyes. Their deep, golden-brown depths reminded him of fine brandy: warm and intoxicating. Indeed, he could almost feel himself growing befuddled just looking at her.
"I realize," she said softly, "that the only reason you made such sport of yourself was to amuse me. It was a very kind gesture." Her gaze fell to her lap. "It felt good to laugh. Thank you."
His fingers twitched with the desire to lift her chin, but he clenched his hands, resisting. Damn it all, did she have any idea how expressive her eyes were? How they glowed when she smiled? Or how they so heartbreakingly reflected the sadness she clearly felt? Did she know that the painfully obvious fact she harbored secrets was shadowed in them?
God help him, every time their eyes had met during tea, his heart had pounded in a way that indicated he'd just run a mile, as opposed to sitting in a chair. And her lips… his gaze riveted on them and he swallowed a groan. Her lovely, full lips had curved upward in a smile four times during tea. He'd counted. And all four times his pulse had raced.
Recalling his reaction, annoyance edged through him. Ridiculous. His physical response to her absolutely bordered on the ridiculous. Perhaps that blow to the head he'd suffered had damaged him in some way. A fine theory… until faced with the fact that she'd affected him from the moment he laid eyes on her.
No, if he were to be scrupulously honest with himself, she'd affected him even before he saw her. His interest, or whatever name he chose to put to this preoccupation, had started when Elizabeth had given him the sketch of a beautiful, laughing, vibrant young woman.
Damn it all, if a mere charcoal image of her had fascinated him, he should have known that the actual woman would affect him profoundly. And perhaps, in the inner recesses of his mind, he had. But he hadn't known she would make him feel like… this. So unsettled and frustrated.
His gaze skimmed over her black mourning dress and his jaw clenched. Bloody hell, those morbid clothes irked him. She should be garbed in pastels and airy muslins. Rich silks and satins. Yet there was more to it than that. The fact that after three years she still proclaimed her devotion to a dead man through her attire disturbed him in a way he was reluctant to examine. He did not consider himself a saint by any reckoning, but he did pride himself on being a man of integrity. A man of decency. And surely a decent man of integrity would not harbor lustful urges for a grieving woman. Wouldn't long to erase the image of her dead beloved from her mind, or be so utterly, painfully attracted to her that he'd rack his brain for any excuse to touch her.
The carriage jerked to a halt, and he expelled a breath of relief when he saw they'd arrived at the town house. He helped her from the carriage, noting that she did not look at him, and pulled her hand away from his the instant her feet touched the cobblestones-facts which surely should have pleased him, not left him feeling both irritated and mildly hurt. He led the way up the walkway, chiding himself the entire distance. She doesn't feel it, you dolt. Clearly she has no trouble resisting you. But what about that moment in the billiards room this morning? She'd sure as hell felt something then. 'Twas obviously just a momentary lapse of judgment on her part. She s forgotten it. Now he needed to do the same.
Just as they climbed the steps, the double oak doors flew open. Robert's greeting to Carters died on his lips when he saw the butler's stricken face. Striding into the foyer, he grabbed the man's upper arm. "What's happened? Is it Elizabeth?"
Carters swallowed hard, then shook his head. "No, Lord Robert. No one is injured."
"But something is wrong."
"I’m afraid so. I'm sorry to tell you, but the town house has been robbed."
********
Darkness had fallen by the time Geoffrey walked with deliberate calm up the brick steps leading to his town house. The instant he set foot on the top tread, the oak-paneled front door opened inward on silent, well-oiled hinges. Willis bowed from the waist as Geoffrey entered the foyer.
"Any messages arrive for me?" he asked the butler.
"Two arrived earlier this afternoon, my lord," Willis said, accepting his hat, coat, and walking stick. "But I did not forward them to you at White's, as neither was from the gentleman you were expecting to hear from. The letters await you on your desk."
His hands clenched. "I'll be in my study. Unless another message arrives, I do not wish to be disturbed." "Yes, my lord."
Seconds later, Geoffrey entered his private study and headed directly for the decanters. The pain in his head had swelled to an unbearable, rhythmic pounding that set his teeth on edge. He tossed back a fingerful of brandy, relishing the slow burn edging down to his belly. The liquor did little to ease the thumping behind his eyes, but it helped settle his nerves, which teetered dangerously close to the edge.
Damn Redfern to hell and back! He'd give the bastard one more hour. If he had not heard from him by then, he would be forced to put his plan into action. This uncertainty had dragged on far too long. The possibility that he could be destroyed… sometimes he felt as if he were going mad.
No! Not mad. It's simply the strain. This impossible state of suspense. Wincing, he pressed his palm to his temple in a useless attempt to stem the relentless banging. He would not, could not, lose what was his.
He looked around the room, at the opulent cream silk wall coverings, the handsome furnishings, the priceless works of art, and a red haze seemed to envelop him, cloaking him in a dark rage that thundered through his veins and threatened to suffocate him. This is mine. All of it. Every bloody last bit of it. I sold my soul for it… and I'm not the only one who did so. Like father like son…
That bastard David Brown had stolen the ring and its box- had discovered the truth. Had blackmailed him. And now the ring and the proof that could cast doubt on the validity of his parents' marriage was God only knew where. If the truth were discovered…
Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he clenched his snifter, the cut glass digging into his fingers and palm. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it beating in his ears. Forcing long, deep breaths into his lungs, he strove to compose himself. Can't lose control. Must remain calm. Focused.
He wiped his damp brow with his handkerchief, then, with jerky steps, crossed the maroon-and-gold Persian rug to his desk, where his gaze fell upon the two letters resting on the polished cherry-wood surface. Picking up the top one, he broke the seal and scanned the brief contents.
Dear Lord Shelbourne,
I am in possession of a ring that belongs to your family. I would very much like to return this ring to you at your earliest convenience. Please contact me at the Bradford town house on Park Lane to set up a meeting.
Yours truly,
Mrs. Alberta Brown
Stunned, he reread the missive, then crumpled it in his fist. A maelstrom of thoughts and emotions twisted through his mind, and he fought to sort them into some semblance of order.
She did have the ring. Thank God. He no longer needed to agonize over its whereabouts. Relief smacked him like a blow, only to be immediately replaced by fury at her gall.
She wanted to return his ring? A humorless laugh erupted from his lips. Of course she did-but at what exorbitant price? No doubt more than her bloody husband had demanded.
He heaved her letter into the hearth with a vicious oath, then watched the flames consume it. Redfern had failed yet again. Damn it all, why couldn't the man manage to steal one small ring from one small woman? Surely that was not too difficult a task!
Dragging his hands through his hair, he turned, and his gaze locked on the other note on his desk. What was this, a blackmail request? Snatching up the vellum, he ripped open the seal and quickly read the few lines.
A frown pulled down his brows and he pursed his lips. With the duke and duchess still in Kent awaiting the birth of their child, clearly Robert Jamison was serving as Mrs. Brown's escort during her London stay. And Jamison wished to introduce him to an American woman named Mrs. Alberta Brown whose deceased husband David-how had he put it? He scanned the letter again. Ah, yes… Whose deceased husband was an acquaintance of yours.
Bitterness burned Geoffrey's throat. Oh, he was acquainted with David Brown, all right. He recited a silent prayer of thanks every day that the bastard was dead. His only regret was that he hadn't had the pleasure of wrapping his hands around Brown's miserable neck and squeezing the life out him himself. If not for Brown, he'd not be in this damnable mess. And what about Jamison? What did he know? Was he somehow involved as more than Mrs. Brown's escort? Damn it all, he couldn't risk anyone in the duke's family finding out-
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