The Taste of Innocence

by Stephanie Laurens

  At that moment, Charlie caught Sarah’s eye and raised a brow. Deciding it was, perhaps, not the wisest of moments to become engrossed in a discussion of the orphange, Sarah turned to Anne and Penelope. “Perhaps I can introduce you to Mrs. Duncliffe, the vicar’s wife. She’s on the orphanage committee and knows even more than I about the history of our placing boys and girls in various positions.”

  Penelope’s attention was immediately deflected. “Mrs. Duncliffe—which lady is she?”

  Luckily, Mrs. Duncliffe was seated on a chaise not far from where they stood. Sarah led the sisters over and introduced them, then left the three ladies to share their experiences.

  She returned to Charlie’s side just as the strains of another waltz floated over the room.

  “Good.” He captured her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed. “I’ve missed you.”

  The murmured words were just for her. They warmed her, buoyed her, and then she was in his arms, circling down the room, and for those few moments nothing else mattered.

  Nothing else could gain any foothold in her mind, not when she was surrounded by his strength, not when she was whirling down the floor lost in his eyes.

  Eventually, he said, “One definite benefit to being married is that we can waltz whenever we wish, as many times as we wish.”

  She smiled and replied, “There’s no one I want to waltz with but you.”

  His eyes widened fractionally; she got the impression she’d surprised him in some way, yet her words were the simple truth. As he searched her eyes, clearly checking, she let that fact show. Let her smile deepen.

  He drew breath, then looked ahead and whirled her through the turn. They spoke no more until the music ended and they halted with a flourish in the middle of the floor.

  “Who now?” she murmured.

  Charlie closed his hand, tight, about hers, then forced himself to ease his grip. He had hours yet to endure before they could slip away, before he could further explore and savor that fascinating tenderness he’d glimpsed in her eyes. “This way.” He glanced at her. “I want you to meet my closest friends.”

  Sarah had met Gerrard and Dillon only briefly in the church. She hadn’t met their wives, but from the instant he introduced her to Jacqueline and Pris, it was obvious to him, Dillon, and Gerrard that their only concern henceforth would be separating the three. There seemed to be an amazing range of subjects on which their ladies needed to speak and exchange opinions.

  Some of those subjects, such as the balls and dinners each lady was considering giving during the upcoming Season, were topics their husbands felt it was best not to hear of; leaving their spouses avidly talking, the three edged to one side.

  “Thus ends your freedom,” Dillon advised Charlie, distinctly smug. “I recall, at my nuptials, you crowing about being the last man standing.” He grinned evilly. “How did it feel to fall?”

  Charlie grinned back, unrepentant. “Actually, it was rather less stressful, and distinctly more pleasurable, than I’d expected.”

  Gerrard arched a brow. “So we’ve seen. Mind you, you need to understand you’re starting from well behind. We’ve both got ourselves heirs—you’ll have to hustle if you intend catching up.”

  Charlie chuckled; he met Gerrard’s eye. “I’ll bear your advice in mind.”

  They’d lowered their voices, yet, as one, they turned to verify that their respective ladies hadn’t heard.

  All three of them stayed staring for rather longer than a glance; eventually dragging his eyes from Sarah’s animated face, Charlie noted that both Dillon’s and Gerrard’s gazes, too, were lingering on their wives’ faces.

  There was a softness in both men’s normally hard gazes that he never saw except when they looked at their wives and sons.

  He glanced again at Sarah, and finally understood, felt again the welling sensation of warmth, and yes, of curious softness, that blossomed inside him when he looked at her. That only deepened and intensified at the thought of seeing her with his child in her arms.

  Drawing breath, he turned away, a trifle unsettled by the strength of that feeling. From Gerrard’s and Dillon’s experience, it seemed it was only to be expected…

  He inwardly frowned. His situation wasn’t the same as theirs.

  Before he could pursue that disturbing thought, Barnaby wandered up. He glanced at the three ladies.

  “Don’t you think,” Gerrard murmured provocatively, “that it’s time you took the plunge and joined us?”

  Barnaby turned from his contemplation of their spouses and smiled, charmingly glib. “I think not. My fascination, I find, lies in other spheres.”

  Dillon laughed. “We all thought that—until we learned otherwise.”

  Barnaby’s easy smile remained. “I suspect my ‘otherwise’ might never eventuate. I’ll be eccentric Uncle Barnaby to all your sprigs—all children should have an eccentric uncle, don’t you think?”

  “Why think your ‘otherwise’ will never appear?” Charlie asked.

  Barnaby met his eyes, then grimaced. “Can you honestly imagine any lady of the ton understanding what I do—how I increasingly spend my time? Would any lady countenance my commitment to criminal investigations in preference to the social round?”

  The others exchanged glances, then grimaced, too.

  But Gerrard shook his head. “Be that as it may, I still wouldn’t tempt fate by thinking this won’t happen to you.”

  “Be that as it may,” Barnaby replied, his eyes going to Charlie’s, “this seems the perfect time to have our little meeting.”

  Reminded of their prearranged plan, Charlie glanced around. “Very true.” The gathering was still absorbed; the ladies would talk for hours yet and the gentlemen had topics enough to pursue. He turned to Gerrard and Dillon. “Barnaby’s in pursuit of some rather nasty criminals and there’s a chance we can help.” He dipped his head to Dillon. “You’ve heard some of it, but Barnaby and I thought today the perfect opportunity for him to explain to the whole lot of us at once. Why don’t you two head for the library”—he glanced at Barnaby—“while we round up the others?”

  Dillon’s and Gerrard’s eyes had widened; they readily nodded. With one swift glance at their ladies, confirming they were still engrossed, they strolled away across the ballroom.

  Charlie met Barnaby’s eyes. “You take that side of the room—I’ll take this.”

  Barnaby nodded and they parted, prowling, apparently unhurriedly, through the assembled guests.

  11

  When Charlie led Gabriel into the library, all the others were there.

  Devil had taken the chair before the desk, leaving the one behind it for Charlie; Vane Cynster, Devil’s cousin, was lounging against the bookshelves nearby. Vane’s brother Harry, known as Demon, along with Alasdair Cynster, Gabriel’s brother and commonly known as Lucifer, had appropriated the chaise from the other end of the room, and set it before the desk.

  Gyles, Earl of Chillingworth, close friend and honorary Cynster, had pulled up a chair across from Devil, while Simon Cynster, the youngest present and other than Barnaby the only one unmarried, leaned elegantly against the raised back of the chaise.

  Dillon, Gerrard, and Barnaby had fetched straight-backed chairs from around the room and sat interspersed between the others, while Luc and Martin stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs propped against the bookshelves, their long legs crossed at the ankles and their hands in their pockets.

  Every handsome but hard-planed masculine face bore a serious and in most cases expectant expression. Gabriel went to sit between Lucifer and Demon on the chaise. Charlie felt every eye tracking him as he moved to his chair behind the desk.

  He sat, then looked around, briefly meeting every eye. “Thank you for coming. Barnaby’s on a mission and he needs our help.”

  With that, he looked at Barnaby, who succinctly yet comprehensively explained the crux of his investigation.

  Throughout, no one moved or even shifted. Charlie felt cert
ain he would have heard a pin drop on the Aubusson rug. No one interrupted or even humphed.

  Barnaby ended his exposition with, “While the pater and the other peers overseeing the force, as well as all the senior members of the force itself, want this game stopped, given that there are so many other peers, parliamentarians, wealthy individuals, and other gentlemen of influence involved in the various railway companies and therefore potentially implicated, any investigation has to be discreet.”

  He fell silent. The others finally shifted, exchanging glances. As a group, they were powerful in many ways—wealthy, influential, titled, every one of them born to the elite.

  Gabriel mumured, “Everyone here would have some dealings, some financial exposure, to the companies that have been targeted by this…let’s call him an extortioner. So we’re potentially all victims, albeit not in a way that will personally hurt us. But this sort of activity may well result in some of those companies going bankrupt, and a consequent loss of confidence in that whole area of endeavor, which will in the short term impinge on our investments.”

  Devil shifted. He exchanged a glance with Chillingworth, then said, “There’s a wider issue here—one that reaches much further than any individual investments involved.” He glanced around. “All of us here appreciate how much the future of this country is going to depend on the successful introduction of the infrastructure of the future—specifically the railways. The introduction of the canals last century ushered in a minor boom, but the railways are vital to the next stage. If it becomes widely known that investing in a railway company carries a risk of the company being subject to such extortion, and consequently bankruptcy, the small investors essential to fund each project will take flight. They’re the ones with least stomach for danger.”

  “And least ability to withstand it,” Lucifer put in.

  Devil inclined his head. “Indeed. And yet further, if it becomes widely known that having land close to or beside the proposed route of a railway can result in becoming the target of such tactics as our extortioner has used on farmers and the like, then we can expect whole areas to rise up in arms and refuse to allow tracks to cross their counties.”

  “The fact that it’s only specific parcels of land that are being targeted won’t make any difference,” Chillingworth said. “Panic pays precious little attention to logic.”

  Barnaby’s gaze had grown distant; his face paled as he envisioned the scenario they were painting. “Great heavens.” His voice was weak. “I don’t think the pater and the others even thought of that.”

  Devil grimaced. “They probably did—they just didn’t see any reason to spell it out. They know you’ll be discreet.”

  Barnaby looked grim. “Indeed. But such prospects make it even more imperative that we identify and stop this extortioner.”

  “Are you sure it’s all the same man, or group?” Martin asked.

  Barnaby nodded. “I came to that conclusion after trying to trace the profit from some of the extortionate land sales, reasoning that the profit must eventually find its way back into the villain’s hand. What I discovered was that each property is initially bought by a unique land company, and sold by that company. But after the sale, that original company is dissolved and its profits, the money from the sale, transferred to two other land companies. In turn, those second-string companies each pay their profits to two or more other companies, and the further I tried to push, the web of companies just proliferated.

  “And that was the situation in all instances where I tried to chase the money. Every initial land company leads into a web of other companies, and while all the companies are different, the strategy is exactly the same. It’s so complex yet effective I can’t imagine that two people Independently thought of it.”

  Vane looked at Gabriel. “Is there any way we can find our way through the maze?”

  “There should be,” Gabriel replied, “but if this extortioner has been clever enough to use a network of companies in this way, then we’re likely to find ourselves running in circles. Until the government legislates for companies and their owners to be registered, tracing the legal owners, and more importantly the beneficial owners of such a web of companies—especially when that web has been intentionally created to conceal the identity of the ultimate beneficial owner—will almost certainly be an exercise in futility.”

  Gabriel glanced around the ring of faces. “My recommendation is that we reserve our efforts for some avenue more likely to succeed.”

  There were grimaces all around. For a long moment, silence reigned.

  “Very well.” Luc looked at Barnaby. “Our estates, collectively, are spread all over the country. We should at least keep our ears open for any hint of coercion going on in the areas we each know best.”

  Barnaby nodded, rather glum. “You all know your own areas—think of where railways are likely to go through, about where they’ll need to climb or descend, and if you hear of people in those areas being approached to sell, let me know. I’ve spent the last few days looking over the land between Bristol and Taunton, and a little farther west. Given the topography, it seems likely our villains will make some attempt in this region, so we’ll keep a tight watch here.”

  He sighed, then slumped back in his chair. “At present that seems to be all we can do.”

  “Actually,” Charlie said, tapping one finger on his blotter, his gaze fixing on Gabriel, “I think there’s one other avenue we’ve overlooked—and it’s just possible that our villain may have overlooked it, too.”

  Gabriel held his gaze for a moment, but then, with a ghost of a smile, shook his head. “If it’s finance, I can’t see it. What?”

  “I’m not sure, but…” Charlie glanced around, then looked again at Gabriel. “Our villain has been terribly clever about concealing where the money goes. But has he been equally clever about concealing where the money came from?”

  All the others became alert; the tension in the room abruptly heightened. Glances were exchanged as they all saw the point, then everyone again looked to Gabriel.

  He nodded slowly, his gaze locked with Charlie’s. “Excellent point.” Gabriel’s drawl had taken on a predatory edge.

  Charlie grinned, equally predatory. “Wherever the money came from, in the end, the profit must find its way back to the source—such is the nature of investing.”

  “Oh, yes,” Gabriel averred. “And while he might have thrown up a web of companies to obscure the movements of the profits back, looking in the other direction, at where the money to buy the land came from in the first place, even if he’s using a web of companies again, it’s unlikely to be as complex, and at some point funds must have entered the web.”

  “Funds from outside the web—from the source, our villain.” Devil arched a brow at Gabriel. “How hard will it be to trace the initial incoming capital for a land company?”

  Gabriel didn’t immediately answer; eventually he said, “It won’t be straightforward”—everyone present knew that by “not straightforward” he meant it would involve employing questionable means—“but we should be able to do it.”

  “We might find ourselves faced with a similar web,” Charlie said, “but if we concentrate on one land company, and look only for the original funding, even if he’s moved it through various companies, it’ll still be one lump we’re tracking. One identifiable sum. It’s unlikely he’ll have thought to pay the initial sum in smaller amounts.”

  “Regardless, the initial capital will have come from him by whatever roundabout route.” Gabriel nodded. “That’s eminently worth pursuing.” He looked at Barnaby. “We’ll need all the details you have of the land company used to buy the most expensive parcel you know of. The larger the sum the better, the easier it will be to trace. With that”—Gabriel looked at Devil—“Montague will be able to focus on the land company, learn when it was set up, and then search for the source of the seed capital through the movement of that sum through the banks. With any luck at all, he should be able
to follow the trail back, ultimately to our villain’s accounts.”

  Devil nodded. “Will you instruct him?”

  “I’d rather you did.” Gabriel looked at Barnaby, then Charlie. “I agree that this area, of all the regions in En gland, is the ripest at present for our villain. I think I’ll be more valuable here, helping to keep watch for him.”

  Their meeting broke up. They drifted back into the ballroom in twos and threes, their reappearance sufficiently staggered to conceal the fact that any meeting had occurred. In that they seemed successful; none of their mothers, sisters, or wives appeared to have noticed their collective absence from the still-considerable crowd.

  Relieved not to be called to account, each returned to his spouse or, in Simon’s case, to his perennial irritation with Portia Ashford. Charlie found Sarah chatting with that young lady about the orphanage. He nodded to Portia, took Sarah’s arm, and waited beside her.

  On reentering the ballroom, he’d signaled to the musicians that the airs and sonatas he’d instructed them to play before he’d slipped away to the library were no longer required and could be replaced by the waltzes they’d been hired to provide.

  Throughout the day he’d suppressed the inevitable effect of the previous night, tamped down his impatience to test his hypothesis and assure himself that his addiction to Sarah would inevitably wane once she was legally his. He’d performed as required of a nobleman of the ton on his wedding day, but he’d—they’d—now done all that was needed; his impatience, temporarily deflected by the meeting in the library, had returned in full force.

  Two minutes later, the strains of a waltz filled the room. He whispered in Sarah’s ear, then glibly excused them both to a grinning Portia and led Sarah onto the floor.

  “Where were you?” Sarah asked, once they were pleasantly revolving.

  Charlie looked down at her, then looked over her head as he steered her on. “I was talking to a few of the others about some business dealings—we went out where it was quieter.”