Valiant: Gentlemen of the Order - Book 3

by Clee, Adele

  Vivienne laughed. It was the only way to banish thoughts of being ravished by Evan Sloane. To banish the vision of him stripping off his shirt to reveal bronzed skin stretched taut over pure muscle. Well, that’s how she pictured him. Carved to perfection.

  “Continue in this vein, and you can forget about playing our little game. We’re likely to spend the night in Newgate.”

  “Then I had best work quickly, for you will answer my probing questions tonight else you must pay a forfeit and do what I command.”

  Excitement shot through her like a lightning bolt. With every passing hour, she thought more about this gentleman and less about the case. “Then I suggest you stop talking and focus on the task.”

  He did. Less than a minute later he opened the door, and they entered Mr Golding’s dismal abode.

  Mr Sloane tapped his finger to his lips, cocked his ear and listened. Vivienne heard nothing. Not the creak of the upstairs boards, not the hum of conversation, not Mr Wicks’ drunken mumbling.

  “Follow me and stay close.” Mr Sloane padded lightly up the stairs.

  Vivienne peered through the wooden railings as she tiptoed behind him. The office door was open, the room a dreadful shambles. Strewn files covered the floor, along with the discarded drawers from the oak desk.

  “What if something has happened to Mr Golding?” She gripped the back of Mr Sloane’s coat when they reached the landing, fearing they might find the lawyer dead beneath a mound of paper.

  “You should wait in the carriage,” he said, his voice thick with alarm.

  “I’ll not leave you.” She stood beside him as he assessed the ransacked room from the safety of the doorway. “We should check Mr Wicks’ office and the rooms upstairs.”

  Mr Sloane dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw. “Very well. Based on the fact we visited the office together the other day, we must assume the intruder came for information about our legacy.”

  Stepping with caution, Vivienne followed Mr Sloane over the threshold. Her heartbeat settled upon finding no sign of the lawyer’s blood-soaked body. But the veneer side table with the mechanical drawers had disappeared.

  “Someone took the table.” She pointed past the overturned bookcase to the space on the far wall.

  “Perhaps Golding moved it elsewhere for safekeeping.” Mr Sloane sifted through the papers on the desk.

  “You won’t find the black book. If Mr Golding didn’t take it, the intruder did.” Vivienne tried to remain positive. Mr Golding had kept the secret notebook for years and wouldn’t fail them now. And yet he could have given them fair warning, could have sent a note to Keel Hall or to the office of the Order to inform them of his sudden departure.

  “We should leave and alert the constable.” Mr Sloane glanced at the ceiling. “Though not before ensuring the man isn’t a cold corpse in his bed.”

  “A cold corpse?” She screwed her eyes shut briefly to banish the terrifying image. “You might have phrased it differently. Now my heart is thundering faster than a Derby contender.”

  Without Mr Golding, how could they proceed with their plans? These last few days, she had grown more than accustomed to the idea of marrying Mr Sloane.

  “Does your heart not race when you’re in my company?”

  “Rarely,” she lied. Her heart thumped wildly just thinking about him, and she had done an awful lot of that lately.

  He stepped over the upturned drawers and prowled towards her. “Have you grown tired of me already, Vivienne? Was the kiss we shared so unmemorable you have forgotten how good it made you feel?”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. Lust pulsed between her thighs at the sound of his velvet voice. This man was a magician. He could turn fear into desire by uttering a simple sentence.

  “It must have been an unmemorable kiss for you, as you’ve had no desire to repeat the experience. I understand. I lack the skill required to please a man like you.”

  Indeed, his moods were unpredictable. Only last night, they’d been laughing while playing daring games until he became solemn and subdued. He’d left the room and returned as if nothing had occurred.

  “Is that what you think?” He stood so close his breath breezed over her cheek. “The kiss exceeded my expectations on every level.” He captured her chin between his long, elegant fingers. “There’s a reason I haven’t devoured your sweet mouth again, and it has nothing to do with your lack of experience.”

  The heat from her cheeks journeyed southward to pool in her sex. “Is it because I lack the usual feminine attributes?” Most men didn’t want a woman drinking their brandy or beating them at cards.

  His gaze dipped to her breasts concealed in a pelisse, though he stripped her naked with his rakish stare. “Trust me. You have everything I need and more.”

  Then, as quick as a wink, he released her chin and muttered a curse.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “While your arousal is evident in the amber flecks of your eyes, mine is evident in a more prominent place.”

  Delighted to know she had an effect on him, Vivienne couldn’t help but glance at the noticeable bulge in his breeches.

  “Avert your gaze, madam, for it feels like the teasing caress of your fingers.”

  She swallowed past her desire. “Perhaps we should return to the matter at hand.” They could continue this conversation tonight while playing the question game. Now, they had more worrying matters to deal with.

  “If you mean we should inspect the upper floor, you might have phrased it differently. I need your hand for a more important task than scouring through the discarded debris.” As if annoyed at himself for making the lewd comment, he shook his head and resumed a more business-like manner. “But you’re right. Let us make a thorough inspection before alerting the authorities.”

  They visited Mr Wicks’ office next. The room stank of liquor, sweat, and stale tobacco. The contents of the shelves lay scattered about the floor. Upstairs, they encountered the same level of carnage. Discarded clothes. Slashed pillows. Hundreds of feathers littering the bed.

  “We should be grateful Mr Golding isn’t home.” Vivienne searched the open armoire only to find more crumpled clothes and an empty valise.

  “He can’t have left town. His shaving implements are on the washstand.” Mr Sloane scanned the room and gave a curious hum. “I’ve seen enough. We will alert the constable and continue as planned.”

  Continue as planned?

  Did he speak of their wedding or the visit to the costume shop?

  “How can we continue when we need Mr Golding to act as a witness?”

  Mr Sloane gestured for her to exit the room and he followed. “The villain has us chasing our tails, running this way and that, achieving nothing in the process.” His stilted speech conveyed his frustration. “No, we’ve lingered in the background long enough. It’s time to whip up a storm.”

  The determination in his voice stole her breath. There was nothing more attractive than a man who knew when to take command of the reins.

  “What are we to do?”

  He placed a hand at her back and guided her to the stairs. “We’ll call at the Hatton Garden police office, it’s closest, and make them aware of what’s occurred here. Then we’ll call at the costume shop before returning to Keel Hall. We need the sealed note if we’re to visit Mr Howarth. Golding’s disappearance is connected to our case, and so we must assume the worst.”

  What if the poor man had suffered while protecting their legacy?

  “We have no need to visit Keel Hall.” Did he honestly think she’d leave such an important letter for the intruder to find? “I have the sealed letter on my person.”

  His curious gaze raked over her from neck to navel. “So you slipped it into your thigh belt.”

  “No. It’s not in my thigh belt.”

  “You’re hiding it in another secret place?” His low voice sounded lascivious.

  “I am.”

  “Can I ask where? Should we encounter a pr
oblem en route, I might need to retrieve the important document.”

  Vivienne suppressed a chuckle. “It’s wedged securely between my shift and stays.”

  Mr Sloane swallowed deeply and dared to glance at her bosom. “For an innocent, you’re rather skilled in the art of flirtation. I believe you gain pleasure from provoking me, madam, and won’t rest until you have me on my knees.”

  She found these flashes of vulnerability as captivating as his powerful persona. Who wouldn’t want such a masterful man at their mercy?

  “The fault lies with you, Mr Sloane, for you have read something more into an innocent statement.”

  “There’s nothing more arousing than your innocence, Miss Hart. Though I wonder how you intend to retrieve the note while sitting in a closed carriage with me.”

  “I have every faith you will do what is right.”

  “What, be a gentleman and offer my assistance?”

  “No. Close your eyes.”

  * * *

  The rich red walls and dazzling array of vibrant gowns in Mrs Mulligan’s costume shop would put anyone in mind for a party. Vivienne admired an exquisite Elizabethan dress of orange taffeta teamed with a black velvet gable hood. Swathed in such sophistication, a lady would command everyone’s attention.

  “Pick something less cumbersome,” Mr Sloane whispered from behind. “It would take an age to strip you out of that one, and I would prefer to focus my attention on more pleasurable pursuits.”

  He was teasing her again, using shameless comments to incite a reaction. Did he not know every word from his mouth stirred her senses? He could list a ship’s cargo and make it sound erotic. And the mere fact he stood so close turned her mind to mush.

  “A man with your skill surely has nimble fingers.”

  Vivienne swung around to face him, and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the tricorn hat perched rakishly on his head that made her heart thud. Nor was it the black mask covering the upper half of his face. It was the way his sinful mouth curled into a mischievous grin.

  “Keep the hat. It makes you look like a marauding pirate.” The urge to kiss away his confidence pulsed in her veins. “Discard the mask. I wish to look into my husband’s eyes when he’s focused on pleasurable pursuits.”

  The air sparked to life.

  Mr Sloane’s sharp inhalation made her giddy. He tore off the mask, pinned her to the spot with his indecent gaze. “When writhing beneath me, Vivienne, you won’t give a damn what I’m wearing.”

  Mother Mary! Heat settled low and heavy between her thighs. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t form a word.

  Mr Sloane glanced over his shoulder at Mrs Mulligan, who was busy serving the only other customer in the small shop. Then he pressed his fingertip to the top button on her pelisse.

  “Do you want to know why I’ve not tried to kiss you, Vivienne?” Slowly, he circled the button as if it were a sensitive part of her anatomy. “Because the next time you permit me to devour your mouth, we’ll not stop there. We’ll be lovers before we’re husband and wife.”

  Lovers?

  The word spoke to her adventurous spirit.

  “I thought fondling innocents was not your forte,” she said, hoping to gain ground so she didn’t look quite so besotted.

  “For you, Vivienne, I would make an exception.”

  “Good afternoon. Have you come to buy an outfit for a masquerade?” The high-pitched voice invaded the intimate moment. “I’ve a magazine filled with illustrations if you’re looking for something unique.”

  Mr Sloane whispered through his broad smile, “We shall continue this conversation tonight, Vivienne, somewhere private.” Then he gave the woman who wore kohl and rouge and a flamboyant peacock-blue robe his full attention. “I hear this is the only establishment in town selling beaked masks.”

  “Beaked? You mean the Pantalone.”

  “No, the one I want has a long, hollow beak.”

  “Ah, let me see.” The middle-aged woman reached under the glass counter and retrieved a pile of magazines. She flicked through the pages of one periodical before tapping an illustration with her pointed fingernail. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Vivienne followed Mr Sloane to the counter. Fear trickled through her veins as she glanced at the image of a hunched figure dressed in a black cloak and sporting the terrifying mask. She had glimpsed the mask last night after Mr Sloane’s surprise confession. On its own, it had appeared less startling, had not caused the clawing sense of alarm.

  “Yes, that is the costume I wish to purchase.” Mr Sloane switched the tricorn hat with his top hat and placed it on the counter. “I’ll take the tricorn, too, but I need them both today.”

  The woman’s eyes dulled with disappointment. “Today?”

  “We’ve a masquerade this evening.”

  Mrs Mulligan raised her chin. “Ah, you’re going to Lord Newberry’s costume ball.”

  “Newberry?” Vivienne mused. The name sounded familiar. Yes, the countess had taken great delight in discussing her costume, though had informed Vivienne masquerades were not for innocents. Well, after the wicked way Mr Sloane devoured her mouth, she hardly fell into that category. “Yes. Lady Hollinshead is to attend, though I’m sure she mentioned going as Cleopatra.”

  A sly smile played on Mr Sloane’s lips. “Did I not say we should have purchased our costumes weeks ago?” He bent his head and beckoned Mrs Mulligan closer. “A masquerade is a place where a lady might satisfy a fantasy. My wife needs a costume to enhance her natural beauty, to cause a stir.”

  Vivienne’s heart skipped to her throat. Excitement left her shaking. Not just because she longed to attend a masquerade, but because she liked hearing Mr Sloane call her his wife.

  Mrs Mulligan straightened her shoulders as if ready for a challenge. She eyed Vivienne’s figure. “Something delicate, ethereal. Something to boost a lady’s confidence.”

  “Money is no object.”

  Mrs Mulligan’s eyes shone like polished gems. “I’ll need a few hours.”

  “I shall wait.”

  Vivienne thought to remind him of their need to visit Mr Howarth. “But we have an urgent appointment across town.”

  “We can call on him tomorrow. Based on what we’ve discovered today, it might be best to visit under cover of darkness.”

  No doubt Mr Sloane feared someone would follow them to Mr Howarth’s premises and the man might vanish into thin air, too. Besides, attending the masquerade would allow them to cross the countess off the suspect list.

  “Is there something specific you wish your wife to wear, sir?” Mrs Mulligan asked while rifling through the magazine.

  “My wife is free to make her own decisions. She may choose whatever her heart desires.”

  Vivienne hadn’t a hope of listening to her heart when it galloped like a wild horse. Mr Sloane was as skilled at sentiment as he was tongue tangling.

  “And what of you, sir?” Mrs Mulligan said. “A wife should complement her husband. It will be difficult to match anything with a plague doctor.”

  “What about a corsair? Would that make your job easier, madam?”

  Vivienne liked the idea of him embracing his ancestry. And seeing Mr Sloane in pirate garb would surely cause his cousin discomfort, presuming Charles Sloane attended the masquerade. But then the countess had claimed it was to be the social event of the year.

  “Much easier, sir. I have the perfect coat in mind.” The woman turned her attention to Vivienne. “Shall we retire to the salon and discuss your ideas? I shall lock the shop so we’re not disturbed.”

  Mr Sloane cleared his throat. “Just one more question, Mrs Mulligan. Might you have a plague mask I can purchase?”

  The shopkeeper shook her head. “Alas, someone purchased three such masks, and I have yet to receive the replacements.”

  “Three?” Mr Sloane frowned. “That’s an excessive amount for an unusual mask.”

  The woman shrugged. “The fellow was half-cut
when he bought them, slurring and stumbling about the place. He fell into the console table and knocked over my fancy gilt clock.” She laughed. “Happen he got home and couldn’t remember how he came by them.”

  “Did he give his name?” Mr Sloane said abruptly.

  Mrs Mulligan seemed suddenly suspicious.

  “You must put my husband out of his misery,” Vivienne said. “He’s wagered fifty pounds on the fact he can purchase a plague mask before the masquerade.” She tapped Mr Sloane on the arm. “Mr Mallory is determined to win the bet and must have purchased every mask in town.”

  “The gentleman placed an order for two more masks.” Mrs Mulligan removed a leather tome from under the counter and turned to the relevant page. “Oh! No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

  “Mistaken?”

  “His name isn’t Mr Mallory. It’s Mr Wicks.”

  Chapter 11

  “I canna recall seeing the lass so excited.” Buchanan joined Evan in the hall. “Seems she wants to keep her costume a secret, though I heard Mrs McCready say she’ll catch her death in the flimsy gown.”

  Anticipation burned in Evan’s chest. The wait was killing him. For twenty minutes he’d paced back and forth at the bottom of the marble staircase, dressed in his corsair costume—grey coat with gold buttons and trim, an open-necked shirt and a brown leather belt thick enough to carry the weight of three pistols.

  “If it’s flimsy, I doubt she’s coming as an Elizabethan courtier.”

  Whatever the costume, Evan would make her come tonight. It was impossible to suppress his desire, impossible not to gather her into his arms and plunder her pretty mouth. They’d be married within a week. Why postpone the inevitable?

  Buchanan heaved a sigh. “She’s barely raised a smile since her mother died.”

  Evan wondered what was worse. Never knowing a mother’s love or feeling its loss so intensely.

  “But I thank ye for showing her life is worth living.” The Scot raised his hand. “I know ye’ll go yer separate ways when this is over, but she’s happy now, and that counts for something.”