“Then we must herald our good news so the message reaches him. Lady Faldingworth’s ball is this evening. We’ll dance several sets, whisper in corners together, and tell everyone of our betrothal. That should earn a mention in the gossip rags.”
Xavier caught her shoulder when she tried to sweep through the front door. “I’d prefer no one is under the illusion this is a love match.”
Sophia gasped and Regina experienced his words like a physical blow.
“I simply mean I don’t want Farrin knowing I actually care for you.” He squeezed her shoulder and drew her close, soothing her hurt. “If the blackguard realizes my true feelings, I’m afraid you would become another target to control me, and I won’t place you in any more danger.”
“Gigi, you never said anything about being in danger if you marry.” Sophia’s blue eyes had grown to twice their usual size.
“I’m not in danger. There is no cause for concern.” She held Xavier’s gaze, daring him to contradict her in front of Sophia.
“I agree to one dance,” he said. “Possibly two as long as the appropriate time has elapsed between sets. We may tell others of our agreement, but there will be no whispering in the corner.” A sultry smile spread across his face. “And no slipping off to the gardens together.”
A thrill swept through her at the reminder of their encounter in the Norwick’s gardens. Xavier had accused her of wanting him to bed her and vowed to win her hand. She’d thought he was arrogant and deluded at the time.
Sophia cleared her throat, causing them both to startle. “I don’t want to know what the secret smiles between you mean, but I agree with Mr. Vistoire. Placing yourself in danger is not an option.”
Regina’s smile widened. “Very well, Mr. Vistoire. I won’t try to tempt you into taking a moonlit stroll or demand your attention on the ballroom floor. But I hope you don’t expect me to congregate with the wallflowers while you pretend to barely know me. I would hate for anyone to think I am smitten with you and use the knowledge against me.”
“That might be the closest I will ever get to a profession of love from you, darling. I will take it.”
Twenty-three
As soon as the hack rolled to a stop in front of his sister’s home, Xavier spotted Farrin’s men across the street. The larger one met his gaze through the carriage window and smirked. He was an ugly fellow with pocked skin and dead eyes that exuded hatred for anything with a heartbeat. Xavier knew his type. Most men were too intimidated to challenge brutes like him, and he probably enjoyed beating the hell out of the ones that did.
Xavier climbed from the hack and stood on the walkway until it drove away. With the street clear, he stalked toward the men. The brute’s partner came forward to meet him at the edge of the street. Xavier wasn’t intimidated. He could hold his own when allowed to square off with a man. Even the giant ones posed little threat with Xavier’s speed. He stopped inches from the man’s face.
“Tell Farrin I want to speak with him.”
The ugly one sneered over his friend’s shoulder. “Do we look like servant boys? We don’t deliver messages for anyone.”
Xavier ran his gaze over the men from head to toe and shrugged. “You look more like the post coach horses’ asses, but I fail to see how your appearance is relevant. Give Farrin the message.”
“Go to the devil,” the smaller man spat.
The brute shoved his partner aside and rolled up his sleeves. “Make another demand, and I’ll rearrange your pretty smile, you fop.”
Xavier flashed his pretty smile and bit out each word to taunt him. “Give. Farrin. The. Message.”
He ducked when the man swung for his nose, weaved to his left to come up behind his opponent and drive his own fist into the man’s kidney. Xavier’s opponent arched his back, howling in pain. Xavier punched him twice more in the same spot in rapid succession. The man’s knees buckled, and he collapsed on the walkway, his body jerking with spasms.
The brute’s partner charged him. Xavier bent low to slam his shoulder into the man’s doughy middle and flipped him flat on his back on the cobblestone street. As both men gasped to catch their breath, Xavier retrieved one of his calling cards and flicked it on the ground where they lay. “If I have to ask once again, I will no longer be polite. I want to speak with Farrin.”
He didn’t want to take a chance that news of his and Regina’s betrothal wouldn’t reach Farrin. He would deliver the word himself and tell him to keep his men out of Wedmore House.
As he spun on his heel to return to his sister’s side of the street, the neighbor’s curtains fell back in place. He frowned. It appeared the town house to the left of Isaac and Serafine was no longer vacant. He’d discussed with his brother-in-law letting the town house from the owner, a widow who preferred a quiet life in the country and didn’t appear to have the funds to pay board wages to keep up the house. It had seemed a perfect solution for everyone until he could convince his sister to return to New Orleans. Moving next door would have allowed his sister and her husband privacy while Xavier remained close enough to watch over them.
If he hadn’t decided to alter his plans after his audience with Regina, he would be disappointed to have lost out to another tenant. Letting rooms at the Pulteney Hotel made more sense until after the wedding. Once he’d drawn Farrin’s men away from his sister’s home, Xavier would encourage her and Isaac to visit their American cousins in Brighton. Lisette was lying in wait with her first child and would likely welcome Serafine’s company. The women had always been close like sisters.
Apparently, Lisette had met and married an Englishman when she and her younger brother Rafe traveled to London with Serafine to search for Xavier. After Xavier settled the score with Farrin and the man financing him, he would call on his cousins too. He was Rafe’s guardian, and he should see to the boy’s welfare, even though Serafine reported Lisette’s husband loved Rafe as if he were his own child.
Xavier jogged up Serafine’s front steps and closed the door behind him. Small footsteps pounded down the corridor.
Simon screeched with joy, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. The tot’s wide smile made him forget about the confrontation on the street and the coming meeting with Farrin. Xavier scooped him into his arms and tossed him over his shoulder. Simon kicked and giggled all the way down the corridor as Xavier carried him back toward the drawing room. Serafine looked up from her knitting with an expectant smile. “Are congratulations premature?”
He shook his head. “Miss Darlington accepted my proposal.”
Serafine cried out and launched from the settee to come place a kiss on his cheek. “It is sudden and unexpected, but I couldn’t be happier for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Xavier drew back in shock. His sister had never been demonstrative or sentimental, but she was beginning to resemble a watering pot lately.
“Tears and a kiss, Serafine? Are you under the weather?”
She puckered her lips and wiped the wetness from her eyes. “I’m perfectly well and capable of showing affection. I’ve even been known to cry occasionally.”
Never in his presence. When they were children and he’d teased her, she’d turned to stone. Xavier used to call her Medusa and say she must have caught her reflection in the mirror. Even with his merciless pestering, she’d not uttered a sound or cried like he’d wanted. He had apologized a thousand times over once they were grown.
“I know you have feelings,” he said with a smile. “But you must admit it is a rare occasion when you cry.”
She beamed at him and circled her hand over her flat stomach. “Not when I am expecting.”
Xavier’s gaze darted to the discarded knitting on the settee—a tiny yellow bonnet—then back at Serafine.
Merde. He would be gray before the end of the week.
Benny drew the brocade curtains aside to peek out the leaded glass window of the abandoned house. Garrick and Wolfe were gone, but he expected his brother’s men would return. He didn’t like them
watching Mr. Vistoire or his family in the town house next door. Mr. Vistoire was the only friend Benny had ever had, and he didn’t want to lose him.
Nope, Benny didn’t like the men loitering outside one bit, but he didn’t know how to make them go away. Usually, he didn’t have to worry about what to do. Tommy gave the commands. Benny followed them.
He knew he was born without smarts. His father had reminded him every day before he was sent to live in the country. Benny was an idiot, a dolt, a fool, an embarrassment, and a disappointment. Sometimes his father referred to him as a bastard, but when he’d asked his mother what the word meant, she’d slapped him and forbidden him from ever uttering the word again. He still didn’t know what a bastard was, but he’d decided if he was one, he should never admit it.
Even his younger brother had come to realize Benny’s faults, and when their father died, he’d assumed Father’s role—including reminding Benny of the tragedies that would befall him if he ever left the farm or let anyone else know of his existence.
Mr. Vistoire was the only person who hadn’t seemed to notice Benny was a dolt. His friend had spoken to him as if he were a man, not a child or a beast to order around. He’d told him about his home in New Orleans and his travels around the globe. He’d recalled stories from his childhood and discussed men like Galileo and Aristotle. Benny rarely understood those talks about the men with unusual names, but he’d kept his mouth shut so Mr. Vistoire would keep speaking. A voice aside from his own had been a welcome addition to Benny’s silent and lonely existence.
When Mr. and Mrs. Hull were alive, life hadn’t been terrible. The farm’s caretaker and his wife had treated him with kindness, invited him to their table, and taught him how to fend for himself. Even though they hadn’t quite thought of him as family, he hadn’t minded. In Benny’s experience, family was cruel, and the Hulls were vastly better than any family he could imagine. When they were gone, he’d mourned for them—just as he would grieve for Mr. Vistoire if Tommy ordered his execution.
A tremor wracked Benny’s bulky frame, and he peered out the window to reassure himself that his brother’s men were truly gone. The street was empty, but the command to kill Mr. Vistoire could come any moment, especially after the confrontation Benny had just witnessed.
He worried he wouldn’t be able to protect his friend or the family his friend loved, but he promised to fight until he drew his last breath. And if he were allowed to become a ghost when he died—and he did hope that was possible, for he would enjoy walking through walls—he’d still fight for Mr. Vistoire.
Benny owed the man a huge debt. At first, he’d held Mr. Vistoire prisoner out of fear. Tommy’s threats to have Benny skinned alive if he lost his prisoner had terrified him. His brother was known to order equally brutal punishments for others who’d displeased him. Later, Benny had an additional reason to keep Mr. Vistoire locked away. He enjoyed the other man’s companionship. He’d given Benny a reason to wake every morning. Benny had been wrong to keep his friend from his family, but he would set everything to rights again.
He didn’t know how, for he wasn’t born with smarts, but he would muddle through the best he could. Benny drew the curtains aside to peer out again. Until he figured everything out, he’d just keep watch over his new neighbors.
Twenty-four
Regina, Evangeline, and Sophia assembled in a quiet corner of the Faldingworths’ ballroom between sets, bowing their heads together.
“What did you learn?” Regina whispered.
Evangeline grimaced and touched her gloved fingers to her temple. “Nothing so far, but I’ve only spoken with two of Uncle Charles’s associates. I was detained by Lord Reinhardt.”
Regina hissed in sympathy. The gentleman was well known for his lengthy monologues on hounds, and the blight plaguing civilization, also known as the middling sort. Being caught by Lord Reinhardt was the unfortunate consequence of dropping one’s guard. “Did you have any luck, Sophia?”
Her youngest sister shook her head. “My dance partners have been uninterested in antiquities, and even less keen on associating with anyone who is.” She pursed her lips. “I must say it has been eye-opening. Any man unwilling or incapable of discussing a topic so dear to Uncle Charles and Evangeline could never win my hand.”
Evangeline smiled and leaned her head against Sophia’s in a show of affection. “Thank you, dearest.”
Sophia’s dimple pierced her cheek. “That is simply how I feel. No need to thank me.” She gestured for Regina to deliver her own report.
“Your gentlemen don’t want to discuss antiquities, and my partners prefer no conversation at all.”
Typically, Regina declined to stand up with the scoundrels clamoring for her attention, but she had chosen to endure their tedious company for investigative purposes. She and her sisters were making a list of gentlemen who collected old maps. So far, they hadn’t gathered a single name.
Evangeline waved for them to come closer. Regina and Sophia swayed toward her. “I have been mulling over the situation all evening, and I keep coming back to the journal I found in Uncle Charles’s desk. I think his new project could be responsible for our dilemma.”
Regina’s breath caught slightly. “His study of the ancient assassins?”
“What assassins?” Sophia whispered.
Regina had forgotten Sophia was absent when Evangeline broke into their uncle’s desk and found the journal about the fabled group of warriors called the Black Death.
“Uncle Charles has ventured into a new area of study.” Regina glanced over her shoulder to ensure there were no eavesdroppers. “I promise to tell you later.”
Uncle Charles was tightlipped with anyone outside of Wedmore House about his expeditions, and he swore the family to secrecy for fear another antiquarian would find the treasure before him. Regina nibbled her bottom lip, contemplating the reason he’d hidden the Black Death even from them.
Evangeline lowered her voice even more. “I have combed through everything Uncle Charles has recovered from a site, and I could recite his study findings verbatim. There is no ancient map in his collection, and none have been catalogued.”
“It could simply mean whoever wants it is mistaken about its location,” Sophia said.
Evangeline’s blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Or it could mean Uncle Charles has acquired a map to lead him to his next dig. Perhaps he has it in his possession, and his expedition is already underway.”
A shiver snaked up Regina’s back. Surely Uncle Charles wouldn’t begin a dig without informing them. Any manner of calamity could befall him on an expedition, and they hadn’t said their special good-bye.
The first time Uncle Charles left her and her sisters in Aunt Beatrice’s care, Regina had clung to him, begging him not to leave. Another man might have brushed her aside and scolded her for such an unbecoming display of emotion, but not Uncle Charles. He’d told her a tale about how everything would be all right as long as she didn’t wish him luck. Instead, they would wished each other the most ridiculous tragic ends they could imagine to trick the gods plotting mischief in whatever region he was set to visit.
May you fall face down in your plum pudding and die of happiness, Gigi.
Uncle, may the first woman you sight strike you blind with her beauty and cause you to stumble into the Nile.
They would exchange bad wishes until she’d doubled over with laughter, and the things that had frightened her seemed as silly as their make-believe endings. She had told herself that she had outgrown the ritual, but the quiver in her stomach suggested she hadn’t.
Evangeline stood up straight, the excited light fading from her eyes. “It’s time for the next set. Lord Nayland is practically galloping across the room in his haste to claim his dance with you.”
Regina winced. She hoped her next dance partner was better behaved than her last three. The other gentlemen had been too bold by half and challenged her reflexes with their wandering hands.
“
Instead of inquiring only about an interest in maps,” Evangeline said in a hurried whisper, “question him about the Crusades.”
Regina nodded to show she’d heard as Lord Nayland stopped in front of her and sketched a bow. “Miss Darlington, I believe I have this dance.”
For show, she checked her dance card before offering a polite smile and allowing him to escort her onto the floor. She searched the crowd for Xavier, suppressing a sigh when she still didn’t spot him. With his unusual height and dark curls, he was difficult to overlook.
Turning her attention toward her main purpose, she questioned Lord Nayland about his interest in ancient treasures, and asked if he knew anyone with a passion for cartography.
One side of his mouth slid up higher than the other when he smiled. “If discussing old broken pots and crumbling parchment stirs you, I could feign interest.”
Regina gave him credit for honesty, although the way he raked his gaze over her made her wish poking one’s dance partner in the eye wasn’t frowned upon. Fortunately, the string orchestra began to play and provided her with an excuse to end their conversation.
Lord Nayland proved to be a decent dance partner. Aside from the occasional innuendo and his intense stare, his behavior remained aboveboard. By the time the quartet’s ending notes floated on the humid air, she’d learned to ignore his unwavering gaze and was enjoying the fluidity of the movements.
Lord Nayland brushed a lock of dark blond hair from his forehead and drew her hand through the crook of his elbow. “You are a skilled dancer, Miss Darlington.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She glanced around the ballroom, hoping Xavier had arrived during the dance, but he still appeared to be missing. Lord Nayland urged her closer to his side. “If you are searching for your aunt, I saw her hurry outside a moment ago. I believe she might be ill.”
Regina almost rolled her eyes at his blatant lie. Aunt Beatrice was at home under Joy’s care and likely in bed at this hour. “How do you know she is ill, my lord?”
Secrets to a Gentleman's Heart (Uncle Charlie's Angels Book 1) Page 18
