by Never A Lady
Colin cocked a brow upward. “Is she yours?”
The giant’s eyes narrowed to slits. “All ye need to know is she ain’t yers.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Now get out. Before I forget my fancy manners and kick yer fancy arse out the door.”
“Very well.” He walked to door and opened it. Before stepping over the threshold, however, he turned and met the giant’s gaze. “Since my money was no good here, I concluded my pocket watch wouldn’t be either, so I retrieved it from you. I must commend you, Mr. Wallace. For a man with such large hands, your technique is quite good.”
Surprise flashed in Wallace’s eyes, and his hand flew to his apron pocket. Without another word, Colin exited the pub, heading swiftly in the direction of Mayfair. He’d only taken half a dozen strides when Nathan fell into step beside him. “Did you find out what you wished to know?” his brother asked.
“No.”
“I was relieved the barkeep didn’t decide to make an hors d’oeuvre of you. Even with both of us, I’m not certain we could have taken him.”
“You were supposed to wait across the street.”
“No, I was supposed be a lookout. Can I help it if during the course of performing my duty I happened to see the giant barkeep?”
Before he could reply, Nathan continued, “And speaking of what we’re supposed to do, you’re supposed to tell me what the devil is going on.”
“And I shall. Tomorrow.” He winced and rubbed his hand over the pull in his thigh as he walked. He turned to look at Nathan, noting his brother’s tight jaw as he stared at Colin’s massaging fingers. He immediately stopped rubbing, cursing his carelessness. “It’s fine. Just a bit stiff.”
Nathan’s gaze met his and he easily read the guilt and regret in his brother’s eyes. “I’m fine, Nathan. And if you apologize—again—for something that wasn’t your fault, I swear I’ll toss you into the Thames.”
“As your being shot was entirely my fault, I’ll apologize for it as many times as I damn well please.”
“As it was entirely my fault, I refuse to listen to any further unnecessary apologies.”
“I suppose we shall simply have to agree to disagree. And as for tossing me into the Thames, you’d have one hell of a time doing so, considering I can easily outrun you.”
A bark of relieved laughter rose in his throat, and he coughed to cover it, grateful that the awkward moment had passed. “You may be faster, but I’m smarter.”
“Debatable, but even if you were a bloody genius, I’m certainly not stupid enough to end up in the Thames.”
“You’ll look very silly repeating those words with river water dripping from you. But I’ve no time to debate the point any longer, as I have an appointment for which I’m already late. It is my hope that this appointment will result in me having even more to tell you tomorrow.”
“I see. Well, then, I believe I’ll depart your company at the corner as I have affairs of my own to see to. I’ll see you at dinner? Eight o’clock?”
“Yes.”
When they reached the corner, Colin continued straight, toward home, while Nathan turned right. Out of his brother’s sight, he rubbed his sore leg, cursing the worsening pain that prevented him from moving as quickly as he would have liked.
Madame Larchmont awaited him, which was good since the questions just kept piling up. What had she given Wallace? Why hadn’t the man accepted the bribe? What was it about her that inspired such loyalty? He’d have his answers. And by damn after he did, he intended to find out if the kiss they’d shared was as magnificent the second time around.
Nine
The instant Lord Sutton’s butler closed the door to his elegant drawing room, leaving Alex alone, she swiftly crossed to the desk near the window. She wasn’t certain how much time she had before Lord Sutton—or, as she now preferred to think of him, the green-eyed rich bloke—joined her for their appointment, and she intended to make the most of every minute.
With an effort, she swallowed the anger bubbling so close to the surface and quickly sifted through the pile of correspondence neatly stacked on a silver salver resting on the corner of the polished mahogany surface. A half dozen party invitations, a note from his brother, another from Lord Wexhall, several more invitations, the last one a single line which read Looking forward to seeing you again soon. It was signed with only the letter “M” and…she drew the vellum to her nose…scented with rosewater.
An unpleasant sensation she refused to examine too closely lest she be forced to admit its resemblance to jealousy rippled through her. Then she frowned in utter irritation. Damnation, what did she care if he had assignations with this “M” woman, or a dozen women? She didn’t.
Still, the thought of him touching another woman, kissing another woman…she squeezed her eyes shut to banish the heated memory of him touching her, kissing her, but the effort failed completely. Which was ridiculous. And utterly vexatious. She was angry with him. Furious. Why, if he attempted to kiss her again, she’d blacken both his eyes.
If she’d known what he’d done, how he’d invaded her home, her privacy, before their kiss, she certainly wouldn’t have allowed him such liberties.
Would she?
Dear God, she wanted, needed to believe she wouldn’t have. But the fact that she didn’t know frightened her—nearly as much as her wanton reaction to him and the fire he’d ignited in her body. Opening her eyes, she pressed her lips together and embraced her anger, an emotion much safer than the other unsettling feelings he provoked. And one she intended to cling to when she confronted him with his deception.
Forcing her attention back to the task at hand, she replaced the correspondence, then slid open the top drawer. She instantly saw the leather pouch from which he’d paid her yesterday. She lifted the bag, bouncing its weight in her palm, listening to the jangle of coins.
Judging by the weight of the bundle, she held a small fortune, and her fingers prickled with temptation. Not so very long ago she would have slipped the pouch into her pocket. Given what he’d done to her, it was certainly no less than he deserved. But she wasn’t that person any longer. And didn’t ever want to be that person again. After one last squeeze, she replaced the pouch, then quickly searched the remainder of the drawers, none of which yielded anything of interest.
Until she reached the bottom drawer, which was locked. Without hesitation she dropped to her knees, yanked off her gloves, then pulled a hairpin from her chignon and set to work. The ticking of the mantel clock was the only sound as she concentrated on her task. It took less than a minute before she felt the lock begin to give way, and a smile of satisfaction curved her lips. Just one more little jiggle—
“This might perhaps help you,” came a deep voice from directly behind her.
She gasped and turned. Lord Sutton leaned against the wall, ankles casually crossed, looking down at her with his usual unreadable expression. A silver key, suspended from a black ribbon, dangled from his outstretched hand.
Damnation. How had he managed to sneak up on her like that? He must move like smoke. And good Lord, he certainly managed to look extremely good while doing so. His midnight blue jacket, silver waistcoat, and cream breeches, which were tucked into black boots polished to a mirrorlike shine, fit his masculine form to perfection.
Her gaze traveled over him, pausing on the fascinating fit of his snug breeches. Her kneeling position left her on eye level with his groin—a riveting view that captured her interest in a way that certainly should have appalled her. And surely would, the instant she could tear her gaze away.
A wave of heat engulfed her, and her hand involuntarily drifted to her hip, to rest on the exact spot where his hard flesh had pressed against her last night.
“You’re staring, Madame. In a most distracting way.”
Another wave of heat, this one born of acute mortification, swamped her, and her gaze snapped upward. His green gaze seemed to burn into her, jolting her from her humiliating stupor.
She jumped to her feet, planted her hands on her hips, and glared at him. “You startled me half to death. Are you normally in the habit of sneaking up on people, my lord?”
One dark brow inched upward. “Well, I certainly must give you marks for audacity. I think the more pertinent question, Madame, is: Are you normally in the habit of picking the locks on other people’s drawers?”
“You could provide lessons on audacity, my lord. My presence before your desk is no less than you deserve, considering that you picked the lock to enter my rooms.”
She’d expected him to deny it, but instead he merely inclined his head. “Clearly my lock picking proved more successful than yours.” He jiggled the dangling key. “Since your skills are so severely lacking, please allow me to offer you this.”
Lacking? Lacking? Of all the arrogance! Never had her skills been questioned—yet she couldn’t deny the utterly chafing and humbling fact that this was the second time he’d caught her in the act, leaving her to question whether she was more irritated at herself or him.
Without sparing his offering a glance, she said in her best disdainful tone, “If only you’d been delayed another minute or two, I’d now bloody well know what you’re up to. I don’t suppose you’d consider toddling on off to one of your clubs for a while?”
“I don’t suppose I would. And such language, Madame.” He made a tsking sound. “I must say, you’re not being very ladylike about this matter.”
“Make no mistake, my lord. I never claimed to be a lady. You, on the other hand, are a gentleman. One can only wonder where and why a gentleman would acquire lock-picking skills.”
“Obviously from a superior teacher than whoever taught you. What precisely were you looking for? Money? If so, I’d have preferred if you’d simply asked.” His voice and expression turned cold. “Or did you already help yourself to the coins you know from yesterday’s visit are in the top drawer?”
Humiliation scorched her. “I didn’t take your money. I’m not a thief.” Anymore.
He looked far from convinced. “Then what were you looking for?”
“What were you looking for when you broke into my rooms?”
Horrible man, he didn’t even have the grace to appear the least bit abashed. “Information.”
“Regarding?”
“You.”
“Why did you not simply ask me?”
“I didn’t believe you would be forthcoming in your answers.”
She raised her brows. “A possibility—if you asked about topics which are none of your business.”
“Annoying, but understandable. Which is why I took matters into my own hands to find out what I wanted to know. Would you like to hear what I discovered?”
“I know what you discovered.” An image of Robbie’s face, his bottom lip trembling, flashed in her mind, fueling her anger. She stepped closer to him and fisted her hands at her side. “Do you know how badly you frightened that child? A child who spends every day living with fear? A child whose only safe haven you invaded?”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I didn’t mean to frighten him.”
“Yet you did. Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve caused?” Her anger boiled over, and suddenly she couldn’t stand still. She paced in front of him with jerky steps. “Robbie has nowhere else that’s safe. None of them do. If he fears coming to my rooms…” She halted in front of him, unable to stop the words. “His father makes him steal. To earn his keep. If he doesn’t bring home enough, he’s beaten. That child spends his days struggling to survive and praying for the nights when his father drinks enough to pass out. Those are the nights he comes to me. To rest. To eat. To heal. To feel safe. And it’s the only time he does feel safe. Seeing a strange man in my rooms, someone he thinks might harm him or me—it could keep him from coming. If he tells any of the others, it might keep them from coming as well.”
“Others? How many are there?”
She drew a shaky breath. “More than I can hope to help. I’m all they have. Emma and I, my friend who lives with me. What little bit of trust they possess, they give to us. And none of them deserve more fear in their lives. Or to have their one safe place violated. You had no right—”
He reached out and laid his fingers over her lips, cutting off her words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. If I had—”
“You would have done the exact same thing,” she said in an accusatory tone, jerking away from his hand.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to know more about you.”
“Again, I must ask, why?”
He studied her for several long seconds, then asked, “Are you casting about for compliments?”
A humorless sound of disbelief escaped her. “Compliments? How you would arrive at such a far-fetched conclusion is a mystery to me. But to answer your question, no. Now I ask you to answer mine. Why would you be interested in finding out more about me?”
“What if I told you it’s because I find you…fascinating?”
“I’d say there clearly must be another reason.”
His gaze roamed her face with an intensity that curled her toes inside her shoes. “I wonder…are you that modest, or are you truly so bereft of vanity?”
“I’ve nothing to be vain about, my lord, as anyone with eyes can easily discern; therefore, I demand you cease this nonsense at once and tell me the truth.”
“Very well.” He indicated the sitting area in front of the fireplace. “Let us sit.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“As you please.” Colin settled his shoulders against the wall and loosely crossed his arms over his chest, his deliberately nonchalant posture at complete odds with the tension gripping him. “I wanted to know more about you for a number of reasons, one of which was my burning curiosity regarding your unique method of leaving Lord Malloran’s house.”
He caught the barest flicker in her eyes, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been watching her so closely, and reluctant admiration filled him. No doubt about it, she was very good. In fact, she would have made a hell of a spy.
“I’m not certain I understand your meaning,” she said.
“I mean your departure through his lordship’s study window—a rather unusual way out, especially considering the drop to the ground. I’m sure you can understand that my curiosity only increased when I learned that it was the room where Malloran and his footman were found dead only several hours after your exit.”
Silence, thick and tense, swelled between them. Finally, she said, “Surely you do not believe I had anything to do with their deaths.”
“Why wouldn’t I think that? Your actions are, at best, highly suspect.”
“If you believed me guilty of murder, you’d have reported me to the authorities.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
There…an unmistakable flicker of something in her eyes. But it wasn’t guilt. No, it looked like fear—understandable given how she’d spent her time at Vauxhall. London jails were notoriously unpleasant. She hiked up her chin a notch. “No one has questioned me.”
“Then it has clearly escaped your notice that that is precisely what I am doing.”
She appeared completely nonplussed. Then a sound of disbelief passed her lips. “You have no authority to do so.”
“No. But I did see you leaving through that window. Very interesting, especially as Malloran and his footman were found poisoned soon after.”
Her eyes widened with shock too genuine to be feigned. “B…but I thought they’d been bludgeoned. All the gossips said—”
“Yes, they were coshed. But after they were poisoned. Apparently to make the murders look like a robbery. It’s also interesting that the poison used is believed to be prussic acid.”
She frowned, appearing genuinely confused. “What is prussic acid?”
“An odd question coming from the wife of a ratcatcher, as prussic acid is commonly used by men in your husband’s profession to kill th
e vermin.”
She went perfectly still, then as the color slowly seeped from her face, he said softly, “A rather damning coincidence, made more so by the fact that you lied to me about where you lived. But when I searched your rooms, I not only found no evidence of poison. I also found no evidence of a husband.”
In a flash he pushed from the wall and stepped toward her. She gasped and moved back, her retreat halted after a single step when her hips hit the desk. Less than an arm’s length separated them. He could see the cinnamon flecks in her eyes, the gilded freckles marching across her nose. And the flicker of apprehension in her eyes.
“So why don’t you tell me, Madame Larchmont, why I shouldn’t believe that you poisoned Lord Malloran and his footman? Give me a reason why I shouldn’t immediately report my suspicions to the magistrate.”
She licked her lips. “Why haven’t you already?”
Because in spite of what I saw, in spite of what I know about you, my gut tells me there’s another explanation. “I wanted to hear your explanation first. I learned the hard way that things aren’t always as they appear.”
Her gaze shifted downward, riveting on his hand, and he realized with a jolt of annoyance that he was unconsciously kneading his sore thigh. He immediately stopped, and her gaze rose to again meet his. Ignoring the questions lurking in those chocolate brown depths, he said, “I’m listening, Madame. I suggest you begin talking.”
Alex looked into his eyes, at his implacable expression, and knew there was no point in not telling him the truth about what she’d overheard, although it wasn’t necessary to tell him it was his unexpected presence that had precipitated her untimely escape from the drawing room, which had ended with her seeking sanctuary in Lord Malloran’s study.
After drawing a deep breath, she began, “I was fatigued after so many readings and went in search of a quiet haven in the hopes of finding a moment of sanctuary.” She then calmly related how she’d come to the study, the conversation she’d overheard, then the note she’d left for Lord Malloran, concluding with, “As I feared discovery should I be found in the corridor, I decided the window was my safer exit option. Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware you were lurking in the bushes.”
