Secrets to a Gentleman's Heart (Uncle Charlie's Angels Book 1)

by Samantha Grace

  She fascinated him. Beautiful. Tenderhearted. Vulnerable in her innocence. And yet, she was no helpless maiden. Frankly, she’d impressed the hell out of him, matching him move for move when they’d sparred. She seemed to know what he was going to do even before he did.

  Perhaps this would have made him uneasy in the past, to meet a woman who could read him so easily, but he derived a certain satisfaction from it now. She appeared to understand him. Perhaps she’d even recognized his true character in the end. Xavier was not a criminal or a reprobate. He was a desperate man grabbing for freedom.

  Dragging his fingers through his hair, he issued a low growl of disgust with himself. This wasn’t the time to have his head in the clouds. He needed to remain vigilant for signs of Farrin’s men. Although he hadn’t detected anyone lurking outside Wedmore House when he’d scouted the area earlier, he wouldn’t rest comfortably until he was far from England.

  A thick fog blanketed the neighborhood and rendered the street lamps nearly useless as he began the trek to his former residence. In the distance, the lamps’ dim glow reminded him of fireflies he and Serafine once chased in the fields around Le Bijou, the aging house he and his sister called home.

  He only had his memory of Mayfair to guide him, and with no clear landmarks, he couldn’t be sure he was headed in the right direction. Trusting his instincts, he forged on and hoped he didn’t plow into anything hidden in the fog.

  His worries about becoming lost vanished when he passed Berkeley Square. He was halfway to his former bachelor quarters. As he reached a crossroad, a lone carriage turned onto the cobblestone lane. The dull clop of horse’s hooves and a squeaky wheel hailed its approach. A prick of unease caused him to look over his shoulder. The mist formed halos around the lamps and hid the driver from view. The carriage crept down the lane as if in no hurry to reach its destination.

  Or they are searching for someone.

  Xavier’s mouth grew dry as the carriage drew closer. His muscles tensed. At the last moment, he darted behind a hedge to crouch low. The carriage rolled past, the squeaking of the wheel grating to his nerves. He remained hidden until the sound faded and eventually disappeared. When he was certain the carriage presented no danger, he rose from the ground, smacked the dirt from his hands, and strode on.

  At the corner where Hill met Waverton, he was afforded a clear view of Mrs. Zachery’s modest town house. Light peeked through a crack in the curtains. She was awake. He exhaled, only now realizing he’d been holding his breath, and hurried his step. Even if he’d had to scale the trellis in the backyard and enter through a window, he would have found his way inside. Discovering the light turned up, however, would make his task easier.

  He bounded up the stairs and banged on the door, noting that even after two years the paint was still peeling. As he lifted his fist to knock again, the door flew open.

  A diminutive man wearing a blue satin banyan stood in the doorway, squinting up at him. His wispy, blond hair had been carefully brushed to sweep across his baldhead as if creating a bridge from one ear to the other. He seemed all that was proper, which was likely the reason his blunt greeting came as a surprise. “Who the hell are you?”

  Xavier fell back a step. The town houses on the street butted against one another and looked similar, but he’d been certain he was at the correct place. “Is this the Zachery residence?” he asked. “I am seeking Mrs. Zachery.”

  “I am Mr. Zachery, her nephew.” The man’s dour expression didn’t alter. “What is it you want?”

  “If you would be so kind as to retrieve your aunt, so I might speak with her.”

  Mr. Zachery’s blank stare was less than encouraging.

  “Uh... I am a former tenant—of Mrs. Zachery,” Xavier said. “I’ve come to collect my personal belongings, if you please.”

  Her nephew’s shoulders sank and he sighed wearily. “I thought that sordid mess was finally behind me. Well, I suppose you will want to come inside and sift through everything.”

  Mr. Zachery proved to be more cooperative than his gruff manner had suggested. He moved aside and gestured for Xavier to enter. “Follow me.”

  He led Xavier down a narrow corridor past the stairwell. “Aunt Gert was up to quite a bit of mischief over the years. I only discovered her misdeeds after I inherited the house and found the crates. I shouldn’t have been surprised when gentlemen began arriving at the door to demand their belongings.” He stopped in front of a door built beneath the stairs.

  Xavier offered his condolence on Mrs. Zachery’s passing, but her nephew provided no indication he heard him. He tugged hard on the handle with both hands before the door gave way. From floor to ceiling, the small space was jammed with items.

  Mr. Zachery shrugged. “She must have been stealing from her tenants for years, although no one has been able to prove she took anything of value. I will bring you a candle for light.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Xavier rubbed away the tightness gathering at his temple. It could take all night to sift through everything in the closet. Fortunately, what Xavier came for was upstairs. Before Mr. Zachery returned, Xavier darted up the staircase and stalked toward his former rooms. The door was unlocked, so he let himself inside.

  Men’s clothing littered the floor, indicating a new tenant was letting the apartment, but he’d apparently stepped out for the evening. Xavier hurried to the loose board in the floor, kicked the current tenant’s slippers aside, and bent to pry up the board. Blindly, he reached into the niche and grabbed the purse.

  “You there,” Mr. Zachery called from the stairs. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be up here. Where are you?”

  Xavier shoved the purse into his pocket and felt around for the papers that proved his identity and worth. Everything of value was exactly where he’d left it. He’d replaced the board and was walking toward the door when Mr. Zachery appeared in the threshold with a candle.

  “I suspect you are right about my belongings being under the stairs,” Xavier said, “but I haven’t the time to search.”

  The man scrambled out of his way as Xavier swept into the corridor and headed for the stairs.

  “I told you where they would be,” Mr. Zachery said.

  “Oui, and I thank you.” When Xavier reached the ground floor, he pulled six pounds from his purse—five to clear his debt to Mrs. Zachery, and one for her nephew’s trouble. He dropped the bills on a small table by the front door and slipped outside to disappear into the fog.

  Now that he could pay for a hack, he would hire one to carry him to the wharf. It was too far to walk, and the sooner he secured a room at one of the inns, the better. His luck had held out thus far, but he’d be a fool to believe the men who’d taken him prisoner had undergone a change of heart and wouldn’t lock him away for good if they found him.

  He determined his chances of finding transportation would be greater around the gentlemen’s clubs and set off in their direction. He hadn’t gone far, however, when he spotted a hackney coach stopped at the next intersection.

  The driver might be waiting for another fare, but Xavier would offer double to carry him to the wharf if that were the case. Cutting across the road, he hailed the driver. “Carry me to the docks, and I will make it worth your time.”

  The driver touched the brim of his hat, inclining his head slightly. “Yes, sir.”

  Xavier climbed into the carriage, dropped on the bench, and froze. His heart hammered. Filtered lamplight glinted off the silver barrel of a flintlock pistol, and it was aimed at him. The click of the firearm being set to full cock reverberated in the small space.

  “Mr. Vistoire, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Xavier cursed. It was Farrin.

  The carriage lurched forward. The squeak of a wheel penetrated the interior. Xavier’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh. He’d been followed. The blackguard had been toying with him since Berkeley Square.

  “I was beginning to believe you and Be
nny had conspired against me. Perhaps you have, and I’ve intercepted you before any harm could be done.”

  Xavier forced himself to relax against the seatback. As long as he remained on alert, Farrin wouldn’t lower his guard, and Xavier would have no chance to escape. “As you can see, I am alone. I’ve no idea where Benny has gotten off to.”

  The man lowered the firearm and leaned forward. One side of his face remained in shadow. “It is odd Benny never returned,” the man said. “Perhaps my brother met with a foul end at your hands.”

  Xavier didn’t deny the charge. If Farrin believed him capable of murder, perhaps he would reconsider the wisdom in holding him against his will. “Benny never mentioned having a brother. I see that he inherited the brains and beauty,” Xavier drawled.

  The man affected a laugh, holding his belly and drawing out the pretense by wiping fake tears from his cheeks. His jaw hardened, and his piercing gaze nailed Xavier. “You are hilarious.”

  Xavier ground his teeth. The man was an arse.

  Farrin raised the pistol again, aiming at Xavier’s chest. “Give me the bloody map.”

  “I don’t have it. Maybe you should be searching for Benny.”

  “You can’t expect me to believe Benny took the map. He does everything I tell him. The idiot cannot think for himself.”

  Xavier’s spine stiffened. “He is quiet. That doesn’t make him stupid.” He’d heard his young cousin Rafe referred to as a simpleton too many times to allow the insult to pass.

  “And here I believed Benny’s love affair with you was one-sided. I think you do know where he is. You’ve been together this whole time.” Farrin’s voice dripped with derision. “Take me to the map.”

  “You must be a dreadful bore at parties with all this blathering on about dusty old maps.”

  Farrin growled low in his throat. “Take me to the map or I’ll blow a hole in you.”

  “I don’t have the map. Neither does Benny. And you are to blame.” Xavier glowered. “You failed to mention Wedmore House has a dog.”

  “It is a small dog.”

  “And he barks. You were wrong about the servants, too. I barely escaped.”

  He was taking a risk with the tale, but if Farrin was lying about Benny’s disappearance, he probably knew a woman had threatened them with gaol. Xavier wanted to keep Miss Darlington’s involvement and his extended stay a secret to protect her and her family.

  They sat in silence except for the incessant squeaking wheel and the rumble of the carriage bumping along the street.

  “I should have sent someone with more experience,” Farrin said at last. “Someone who knows how to deal with dogs and servants without becoming squeamish. Fortunately, there is still time.”

  A low roar built inside Xavier until it thundered in his ears. Miss Darlington and the women at Wedmore House would be no match for one of Farrin’s men. “You can’t send in another man.”

  “I can do whatever I please—with the dog, the occupants of Wedmore House, you.”

  “Allow me to try again.” He prayed desperation didn’t resonate in his voice. “I can retrieve the map.”

  “Garrick can retrieve it, and he won’t fail.”

  “You sent me for a reason. We have no connection to one another. If I am captured or there are witnesses, the crime cannot be traced to you. You need me.”

  Farrin lowered the gun. Perhaps posing a danger to others grew tiring after awhile. “What did you retrieve from Mr. Zachery’s house? Money? What is to keep you from going straight to the docks as soon as I allow you out of my sight?”

  There was nothing to stop him. Nothing except Miss Darlington. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to saving his own skin. But he’d had an abundance of time to reflect on his character during his captivity, and he’d found himself lacking. He’d vowed to stop living up to his father’s expectations and become an honorable gentleman.

  “I give you my word,” Xavier said.

  Farrin scoffed. “The word of a scoundrel.”

  Xavier drew himself up on the carriage bench. “The word of a gentleman. I will bring you the map, but you must allow me to find it my way. And I will need time.”

  Time would allow him to contact Lord Wedmore’s godson, Margrave. The viscount could offer the ladies protection, and once Xavier knew they were safe, he could return to his family in New Orleans.

  Farrin’s glower appeared deadly. “Will your word as a gentleman stop you from running away? I fear not. Unless...” Farrin drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Unless your sister serves as collateral.”

  Gooseflesh rose along Xavier’s arms. Farrin had no way of knowing about Serafine. Xavier had never spoken of his family, because he suspected his enemies would employ the knowledge to torture him.

  Farrin’s eyes glittered in the dim carriage, reminding Xavier of a wolf preparing to sink his teeth into his prey. “Haven’t you heard your precious sister has made her home in London? Of course you haven’t. What am I thinking? You’ve kept to yourself these past couple of years.”

  Xavier cursed Farrin for the liar he was, but the churning in the pit of his stomach suggested the blackguard was speaking the truth.

  “Serafine.” Farrin drew out the name and Xavier’s blood chilled. “Your sister came to London looking for you and instead reunited with her American beau. Even an ocean cannot keep true lovers parted. I am certain your sister and Mr. Tucker missed you at their wedding, but when you retired from Society, you neglected to leave a forwarding address.”

  “Go to the devil!”

  “I must say, it was a stroke of luck that dear Serafine found Mr. Tucker since she was already carrying his child. Bastards are a messy affair, are they not? By all reports, she birthed a healthy boy. We’ll be at their door any moment, and we can see for ourselves.”

  Xavier’s gaze narrowed on the pistol resting in Farrin’s lap. “I will take you to the grave with me before you get anywhere near my sister.”

  “Calm yourself, Mr. Vistoire. You can see yourself to the door. My presence is needed elsewhere.”

  The carriage stopped and a few moments later, the door swung open. “You have a week to retrieve the map, Mr. Vistoire. Any longer and your sister can expect a caller.”

  Xavier’s fists tightened. “I will do what you ask. Just leave Serafine alone.”

  “Splendid. We’ve reached an agreement. If you speak to Serafine, Wedmore’s family, or to anyone about your task, know you are placing lives in danger—including your own. The interested party will not stop until the map is delivered to him, and he values discretion above human lives.” Farrin raised the firearm and flicked the barrel toward the open door. “Get the hell out of here before I change my mind about shooting you.”

  “Stay away from my sister.” He’d like to cross paths with Farrin when he didn’t have his pistol to protect him. The man was a bloody coward.

  As Xavier’s feet hit the ground, he looked up at the modest town house with its lights still aglow. Could it be true? Had his sister come looking for him only to make a life for herself in England?

  God, he hoped it was true. At the back of his mind, he’d always harbored the fear some tragedy might have befallen her while he was locked away. Something he could have prevented if he’d not allowed his pride to come between them. But Serafine was here. She was well. And she had a family of her own.

  Suddenly, his throat was too tight and an ache radiated in his chest. Serafine was just as proud as he, perhaps even more. Forgiveness did not come easy to her, and no apology could erase his bad deeds.

  “Seven days, Mr. Vistoire,” Farrin called from the carriage. “You are wasting time.”

  Xavier tossed a glare over his shoulder, then took a deep breath and approached the town house door. The carriage and its squeaky wheel pulled away, leaving Xavier a few seconds to collect himself before the door swung open.

  An older woman answered the door. “May I help you, sir?”

  �
�I would like to request an audience with Serafine.”

  The housekeeper looked down her nose. “Mrs. Tucker is not in the habit of receiving callers this late, sir. Perhaps you should consider returning at a decent hour dressed in appropriate attire.”

  “Mrs. Oats, who is it?” Xavier’s breath caught at the sound of his sister’s voice. “Is everything all right?”

  She swept into the foyer, as willowy and regal as he remembered.

  “Serafine,” he murmured.

  His sister skidded to a stop, her elegant fingers catching her gasp. Her face paled.

  “Sera, was someone at the door?” a man called from the top of the curved staircase—Serafine’s husband. His accent was American without a hint of the lyrical accent of Xavier and Serafine’s people. When his sister didn’t answer, her husband came to investigate. His sensible brown slippers became visible before the rest of him. He leaned down to see halfway in his descent, his blond hair falling forward on his forehead. His gaze shot back and forth between Xavier and Serafine.

  “Do you know this man?”

  Serafine nodded. Apparently the shock of Xavier’s sudden appearance had rendered her mute.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Oats,” Serafine’s husband said as he reached the foyer and crossed to her side. “You may go.”

  The housekeeper dawdled as she went, perhaps hoping for answers to her mistress’s strange visitor. When they were alone, her husband slipped his arm around her waist as if she needed help standing and offered Xavier a hesitant smile.

  “Darling, are you all right?”

  Serafine broke free of her trance. “He is my brother. Xavier, Sweet Mary! You’re alive.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” Xavier rushed forward to meet his sister and envelop her in a hug.

  Serafine clung to him, laughing as tears rolled down her cheeks. His own eyes burned with long suppressed emotion. He didn’t think she was ever going to release him, but when she did, he realized he should have held on longer. Sparks ignited in her eyes. He was about to receive the scolding of his life.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Where have you been?”