“He doesn’t owe you any blunt, does he?” Monty sighed.
“No, though I need to find him just the same.” Harry raked a hand through his hair.
Monty frowned as he leaned back in his chair. “What’s he done this time? I’ll try to shield the girls from it, if I can.”
Bridge did not deserve a friend as honorable as Monty, not by a long shot. “I don’t know that he’s done anything, I just need to find him.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed on Harry as though he were trying to make sense of him. “What’s going on, Casemore?”
“I just need to ask him about a girl.”
“About Miss Miranda?” Monty pushed to his feet and stepped around his desk. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you Pippa is quite concerned about your connection to that particular girl.”
Why should Pippa care one way or the other about Miranda? “I beg your pardon?”
“She has deduced that your Miss Miranda is the girl from Gioco’s.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “How the devil did she figure that out?”
Monty heaved a sigh. “I’d wager St. Austell helped her deduce that, though I’m equally sure half of London has come to the same conclusion. It wasn’t that difficult, old man. After all, you did help a girl find her way out of the hell, and then you suddenly began courting a girl who very much resembles the first. You aren’t exactly known for paying court to proper girls on a regular basis, you know?”
No, he’d never had the desire to do so before now. “I’m going to marry her,” Harry said, hoping his name would protect Miranda, though fearing it would only confirm her identity to everyone in Town.
“I figured that as well. I can’t imagine you’d let just any girl drive your phaeton.” He smiled then. “As long as she makes you happy, Casemore, don’t worry about what anyone else says. Another scandal will come along in a week or so, and the incident at Gioco’s will long be forgotten.”
“Pippa has no reason to worry on my account.”
“Georgie told her that very thing, as she’s somewhat experienced in worrying about ne’er-do-well brothers.”
And that quickly, they were back to the subject of Stalbridge. “Do you know a chit named Theresa Birkin?”
Monty tipped his head back to look at the ceiling as though trying to recall the girl in question. “I do. A mousy little thing. Ran into her several times during the Season.”
“You did?”
“Didn’t you?” Monty asked. “She always seemed to be everywhere Georgie and the others were.”
Harry shook his head. After Pippa married St. Austell, there was no reason for Harry to continue attending marriage mart functions, so he’d gone back to his usual pursuits. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s your interest in the girl now?”
“Miranda…” Harry cleared his throat “That is, Miss Miranda says she’s missing. This Miss Birkin is a friend of hers, and she’s quite concerned.”
“And that’s why your Miss Miranda entered Gioco’s?” Monty surmised aloud.
Harry nodded. “She thinks Bridge knows something about the girl’s disappearance.”
“Oh dear God.” Monty shook his head as though the idea was ludicrous. “He’s far from an angel, but he wouldn’t do something like…” The expression on Monty’s face suddenly changed to one of disbelief.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
“She was infatuated with him, if I’m thinking of the right girl. And he wasn’t exactly indifferent to her.” Monty shook his head again. “But this is Bridge, Casemore. He couldn’t be the cause of some girl’s disappearance.” He snorted. “It would take too much effort, too much planning to pull off something like that.”
The earl did have a point. Still, it would be best if Harry could just question Stalbridge and be done with the man. “I really would like to speak with him.”
“You don’t think he’s capable of this,” Monty said.
No, he didn’t. Stalbridge wasn’t the sort to make a girl disappear. But if the man knew anything, Harry had to know what it was. He’d promised Miranda he’d get the truth, after all. “Your wife owes me a favor, Monty.”
The earl’s glare turned slightly murderous at that. “For introducing her to Haworth, I know. You’re lucky you’re still breathing. Don’t tell me you ever mean to collect.”
Harry ignored the earl’s tone. “Do me this favor, Monty, and her debt to me will be wiped clean. Bring Bridge with you to St. Austell House this evening. Let’s end this business once and for all. I just need to find out what he knows, if anything.”
Monty’s expression softened slightly. Then he nodded once. “Very well, but not because of that ridiculous debt. If Bridge knows something about the girl’s whereabouts, he should tell it.”
No lady had ever been as beautiful as Miranda Bartlett. Harry nearly lost his breath every time he saw her. Walking into the Bartlett’s green parlor was no different. As soon as Hibbert announced him and Harry’s eyes landed on his exotic beauty sitting in a high-backed chair, he couldn’t help the foolish grin that was sure to be plastered across his face.
“Miranda.” His voice came out husky to his own ears.
“Harry.” A blush stained her cheeks as she met his eyes, and Harry bit back a smile.
He wasn’t certain when she’d starting calling him Harry, but he rather hoped she’d never stop. He’d wager his last farthing that he affected her just the same as she affected him. That did bode well for their future together.
From the corner of the room, a delicate cough caught Harry’s attention. He turned his head to find another olive-skinned beauty. Not one he’d met before. “You must be Miss Bartlett.”
“Calista.” Miranda rose from her seat, quickly crossing the floor to Harry. “This is Lord Harrison Casemore.” She slid her arm through Harry’s and smiled up at him, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Harry, my sister Calista.”
“Very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Bartlett,” Harry replied.
The older Bartlett girl’s clear blue eyes seemed to assess him carefully as she said, “I’ve heard so much about you, my lord.”
Had she? Harry glanced down at the girl on his arm. “Talking about me, Miranda?”
Before Miranda could mutter a word, her sister said, “Fordingham mentioned you.”
He couldn’t imagine what Fordingham could possibly have said about him, so Harry only smiled and hoped for the best. “Congratulations on your recent betrothal.”
“I look forward to saying the same thing to you, Lord Harrison.”
“And I look forward to hearing it.” With that end in mind, Harry squeezed Miranda’s hand. When she met his gaze, he was struck once again by her beauty and the adventurous soul lurking behind her hazel eyes. “Stalbridge will be at St. Austell’s this evening. I’ll have the truth from him about your Miss Birkin by the end of the night.”
Behind them, an irritated growl emanated from someone, just inside the parlor. “Don’t tell me,” Marston’s voice echoed off the walls, “you’ve roped Casemore into this nonsense, Miranda.”
Miranda tensed at hearing her brother’s words. Harry winked at her, hoping to assuage her fears, then he turned on his heel, bringing Miranda with him, to face the viscount. “Ah, Marston. It’s been an age.”
“Indeed.” The new viscount inhaled deeply. “When I first heard your name mentioned yesterday, I had hoped you’d be a steady influence on my sister.”
“Does she require one?” Harry asked. “She seems perfectly delightful to me.”
Marston rubbed his brow as though to stave off a headache. “And you always struck me as so sensible.”
Harry shrugged. “I’d like to think I’m being sensible now.”
“By hounding Stalbridge over Miranda’s unfounded suspicions?”
She sucked in an affronted breath. “He knows something, Devlin.”
Harry squeezed her hand, hoping she’d let him deal with her brother. “Montague agr
ees that we should hear what Stalbridge has to say. There’s no harm in asking the man a few questions.”
“No harm?” Marston scoffed. “I’d rather not have my sister accusing a peer of the realm of committing nefarious acts, if you don’t mind, Casemore.”
Just as Harry wouldn’t want Pippa doing something similar. At least Marston had his sister’s best interest at heart, even if he couldn’t keep her from sneaking out in one disguise after another in the dead of night. “Not to worry, I’ll be the one asking the questions. Stalbridge doesn’t need to know about Miranda at all.”
Beside him, Miranda gasped. Then she slid her hand from Harry’s arm and stepped away from him. “But Tessie’s my friend. I need to be there for her.”
“Stalbridge will probably be looser with his tongue if you’re not present, my dear.”
“But what if you don’t ask the right questions? I’m the one who’s read all of Tessie’s letters. I’m the one who—”
“It’s not up for debate,” Marston grumbled. “I’m not sure how you coerced Casemore into this madness—” he looked from Miranda and then back to Harry, his brow furrowed with concern “—and I’m fairly certain I don’t want to know, or I’ll be forced to call him out.”
“Devlin!” Calista Bartlett gasped and a hand fluttered to her chest.
The viscount didn’t seem affected at all by his sister’s censorious tone. “Just be glad he’s willing to question Stalbridge for you, Miranda. And don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Harry didn’t think he’d ever been called a gift horse before and was just about to say as much when Miranda cast her brother a mutinous expression, which struck a bit of fear into Harry’s heart. Who knew what she was capable of when pushed? Was Marston mad?
“You can trust me to get the truth, Miranda,” Harry vowed, dragging her attention from her brother back to him.
Her expression softened as she met his gaze. “But, Harry…” she breathed, making him wish they were completely alone.
“I do have a vested interest in getting to the bottom of this.” In fact, if her brother and sister weren’t in the same room with them, Harry would have pulled Miranda into his arms and kissed her, reminded her how very important the outcome was to him. After all, that had been their deal, hadn’t it? She’d consent to marry him if he got the truth from the marquess? Stalbridge would tell Harry everything he knew if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders.
A pretty pink stained Miranda’s cheeks, which only made Harry smile. After they were married, he’d have to see if he could provoke such a reaction from her on a regular basis. He would have such a delightful time thinking up new ways to make her blush.
“And just what is this vested interest?” Marston asked, breaking Harry from his reverie.
“Justice,” Miranda squeaked, placing herself in front of Harry as though to keep her brother from asking any other questions. She didn’t need to worry that he’d tell Martson of their deal or of the times he’d encountered Miranda in disguise. As far as Harry was concerned, all of that was between the two of them.
“Justice?” Calista Bartlett echoed, her face drawn up in confusion.
“Yes,” Miranda gushed, “Lord Harrison has an innate sense of justice. He wants to make certain London is a safe place for all ladies. Isn’t he wonderful?”
What a ridiculous stream of drivel. Marston must have thought so too because his brow rose in question as his gaze settled on Harry. “Innate sense of justice, hmm?”
Harry shrugged. What else could he do? “I want to make certain London is a safe place for all ladies.” He managed to echo Miranda’s words without laughing.
“Only certain ladies concern me,” Marston replied dryly. Then he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge above his nose, and said, “I assume you plan on setting up an appointment with me to discuss a certain lady.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Just as soon as I get the truth from Stalbridge. You know, making London safe and all that.”
Marston shook his head as though trying to sort Miranda out gave him a headache. “Word of advice, Casemore.”
“Yes?”
“If you start off dancing to her tune, you’ll be done for the rest of your days.”
Probably. Harry couldn’t wait. “But I do like the sound of her tune.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Following Devlin, Lousia, Calista, and Lord Fordingham into the St. Austell ballroom, Penny linked her arm with Miranda’s and whispered in her ear, “You did hear about Lady St. Austell kissing the earl right in the middle of Rotten Row for the whole world to see, didn’t you?”
A footman intoned their names as they stepped over the threshold.
Heavens! They were in the man’s home.
“They weren’t even married,” Penny continued, though not quietly enough, “And you know the sort of reputation he has.”
Devil glanced in their direction and mouthed the word, “Enough.”
Though Miranda could have done without Devlin’s notice, at least he put a stop to Penny’s blathering. Miranda didn’t need to hear one more word about Lord and Lady St. Austell’s scandalous courtship or anything else about the pair. They were going to be her in-laws rather soon, after all. Besides, no one’s courtship could be quite as scandalous as hers and Harry’s had been, and she hoped no one ever learned all of the details. Thank heavens Harry had driven her to a less populated area of Hyde Park to kiss her senseless.
Unaffected by Miranda’s annoyance, Penny grinned. “Ah, there’s your Sir Galahad, now.”
“Sir Galahad?” Miranda looked in direction Penny was staring to find Harry crossing the floor toward her. Just like the first time she saw him in that hell, her belly flipped. He truly did steal her breath, and soon he’d be hers for all time. “I’ve always thought he’s much more like Hercules, don’t you think?”
“With his lion skin and gnarled club?” Penny laughed. “Don’t know how I missed the resemblance.”
Before Miranda could give her little sister a proper set down, Harry stood before her, the picture of raw masculinity adorned in fashionable, black eveningwear. His green eyes twinkled as he smiled down at her. “My dear.”
“My lord,” she returned, sounding breathless to her own ears.
Penny promptly rolled her eyes. “Hercules, indeed,” she muttered, though everyone heard her.
“Miss Penelope, good to see you.” Harry’s brow furrowed as though he was trying to sort out why she’d said such a thing, and Miranda sent a glare in her sister’s direction. Blasted Penny and her big mouth. Then he turned his attention to Devlin and the others. “So good to see all of you. I was hoping to tempt Miss Miranda into taking a turn about the room with me. Do you mind if I steal her away?”
“Only if you promise to return her before your inquisition starts,” Devlin replied.
“Inquisition?” Fordingham frowned.
The last thing Miranda needed was her sister’s supercilious fiancé involving himself in the situation. So she slid her arm through Harry’s and quickly glanced back at her family. “I’ll be back before any detentions or tortures take place.” Then she tugged Harry away from them before Devlin or any of the others could call her back.
“Detentions or tortures?” Harry asked, his voice pitched low as they started toward the back wall.
“You know… the Inquisition.” Then she scoffed. “Devlin thought he was being clever, that’s all.”
“And what about Hercules?”
Oh, that. Miranda managed to keep from stumbling. “That was just Penny being annoying.”
“Oh, do tell,” he prodded.
If the heat stinging her cheeks was any indication of her complexion, her face must resemble the reddest poppy ever grown.
“Miranda, are you blushing?” He pulled her closer to him as they navigated the sea of people in their path. He dipped lower as though to see her better.
Blast Penny for mentioni
ng Hercules. She couldn’t possibly tell Harry she thought of him in such a way. She’d die of embarrassment.
“You must tell me now,” he urged. “My interest is more than piqued.”
Miranda cleared her throat. “Don’t you want to know what was in Tessie’s letters before you speak with Stalbridge?”
“Does it have anything to do with Hercules?”
“No,” she bit out. “But I think…”
“I think I’d much rather hear about Hercules.” He led her past dancing couples in the middle of the room, directing her around the perimeter.
“Harry,” she complained. “We haven’t much time.”
“On the contrary. Montague hasn’t yet arrived with Stalbridge. We have all the time in the world.”
“But he could arrive at any moment.” Her gaze flashed to the main entrance, where new guests had just stepped into the ballroom.
“Then you shouldn’t waste your time, Miranda. Tell me about Hercules before they arrive.”
Blast him, he was difficult. Would he be this way all of their lives? “You,” she grumbled under her breath.
“Me? What about me?”
She clamped her lips closed. She could be just as stubborn as he was. Especially as she’d really rather not tell her future husband that she thought of him as a demigod. Such a statement might make him difficult to live with in the future.
“Miranda.” He halted his steps and spun her to face him. “Why are you being so secretive?”
“I’m not,” she protested. “Who knows what Penny meant? She’s always prattling away about something.”
He chuckled. “But had that been the case, you would have said so when I first asked.” A rakish grin lit his lips. “No, you’re keeping something from me on purpose. So you can either tell me the truth of it, or I’ll ask Penelope. I wager she’ll tell me. What do you think?”
A Season To Remember Page 21
