Tempting Her Reluctant Viscount (Entangled Scandalous)

by Catherine Hemmerling

  Hope wasn’t able to read through them all thoroughly, but what she had seen was more than enough to convince her of the man’s guilt; his and that of the Hon. Andrew Cochrane-Johnstone. Looking up to tell Michael of her find, she was startled to see him jump into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “Michael! Wha—”

  “Shhh,” Michael hushed adamantly. “Someone is here—we must go! Did you find anything?”

  “Yes, this here,” Hope replied softly, gesturing to the large expanse of paper in front of her.

  “Oh, dear Lord…we can’t take all of this with us. It will be too noticeable.”

  Hope saw his point immediately, so she grabbed a couple of letters, the crude graph drawing, the first few pages of a ledger, and the list of names. Everything else she shoved back into the folders and into the drawer as neatly as she could. Within seconds the drawer was locked and the key replaced. She could only hope the information on the papers she chose would be enough for the committee…and her own selfish interests.

  Tucking the selected evidence into her jacket pocket, Hope turned to Michael and said, “Now what?”

  …

  Michael grabbed her hand and began to pull her toward the bedroom. “Now we hope that there is another way out of here, because whoever has arrived is heading straight for the front door.”

  “Is it Mr. Butt?” Hope inquired as she followed Michael through the bedroom door.

  “No. More likely it is his valet,” Michael explained as he opened the window sash and looked out.

  Luckily, Mr. Butt resided on the first floor, and the drop to the ground appeared to be no more than ten or so feet. Unfortunately, there were no trees or shrubs to block their escape from view, but there was nothing for it. They would have to jump.

  Turning back to Hope, Michael said, “Come now, I will drop down first and then you can jump to me.”

  “I’m sorry…did you say ‘jump’? Jump where, exactly?” Hope asked.

  “Just here,” Michael replied, pointing out the window. “It is not far. Just a few feet. And I will already be there to catch you.”

  Hope took a peek out the window and immediately drew back, as pale as Michael had ever seen her.

  “I cannot do that,” she whispered.

  Hope gave Michael a look of such terror that he could not fathom for even a second that she was not serious in her fear.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” Michael asked gently.

  Nodding, Hope looked again out the window and tears welled up in her eyes. “I am sorry,” she whimpered. “I never thought that this would be our only course for escape and I…cannot do it.”

  Michael quickly ran through alternative plans. Perhaps the man he saw was not Butt’s valet. Perhaps he was another visitor who would leave once he realized no one was home. Or better yet, there may be a back door off of the kitchens.

  Deciding that he may have enough time to check, Michael started to tell Hope to wait for him while he went to explore these options, but just then he heard a door shut from the front of the apartment and Michael knew they had no more time to waste. Fear of heights or no, they were going to have to go out that window.

  “Hope, my dear, we have no choice. We must use this window as our escape.”

  “Oh Michael…I cannot!”

  “Yes, my brave wonderful girl, you can. I will help you.”

  Michael pulled Hope over to him and the window. “I am going to lower you down instead of having you jump.”

  “What?” Hope exclaimed. “That is your way of ‘helping’?”

  “It is the best I can do at the moment,” Michael replied through clenched teeth. This phobia of hers was about as inconvenient as it could be, at the moment.

  Taking her into his arms, Michael settled her on the windowsill. Hope clutched him as if she were a child and it was all he could do to unwrap her arms from around him and turn her around so that she was facing out the window.

  Crying in earnest now, Hope was unable to make truly sensible noises, but Michael was given to understand that she was very frightened, she hated him, and if he let her go, she would never forgive him.

  Worried that what he was doing would irreparably destroy their newfound friendship, Michael took hold of Hope’s wrists and lifted her over the sill and down as far as he could lean without falling through the window himself.

  When she was what looked like only one or two feet from the ground, he let go. She landed easily, but immediately crumpled to the ground where she continued to shake with sobs. Michael took no time easing himself out the window, kneeling precariously on the outside edge of the sill so that he could close the window behind him, and jumping down to the ground below.

  Looking around quickly, he was gratified to see there was no one about to have witnessed their less than finessed exit.

  Gathering the still nonsensical Hope in his arms, Michael made his way around to their carriage as swiftly as he was able and, once safely inside, got them on their way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A person who tries to move a cat without its permission learns an important lesson about the tenacity of others.

  ~The Duke of Lancaster

  Hope sat, held tightly by Michael, in the carriage. She had stopped crying, but she couldn’t still her shaking body. Handing her his handkerchief, Michael pulled away slightly to look at her.

  “Are you all right?”

  Hope gave him an accusing look. “You dropped me out a window, Michael. No, I am not all right.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Michael said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Surely you see that.”

  “What I see or don’t see right now is irrelevant. I can only hope what we took from Mr. Butt is enough to end this farce of an investigation once and for all.” Frankly, Hope was seriously beginning to doubt what she ever saw in Michael Ashmore. What kind of man dropped a person out a window? Granted, he didn’t have much choice, but she wasn’t ready to concede that at the moment. Her fear was too raw. She needed to think of something else.

  Taking a deep, albeit shaky breath, she pulled the papers from her pocket. She had grabbed the sheets so quickly from Mr. Butt’s study, she wasn’t honestly sure what she really had by way of evidence.

  Showing the pages to Michael, Hope said, “Would you like to look at these with me?”

  “If that would be acceptable to you, yes.”

  Hope searched his features for any sign of mockery, but could find none. Shrugging, she motioned to the seat next to her, indicating that Michael could resume his spot. Michael acceded her wishes immediately.

  Annoyed at herself for immediately feeling safer with him by her side, Hope held up the line graph for Michael to review. “I believe this is a graphical depiction of the stock prices fluctuating over time in relation to the rumors of Napoleon’s death. I would have to check my records to be sure, however…”

  “Your records?”

  Hope looked at Michael. “Yes, I keep a small book of important events in the region and across the world, trades I am following, odd occurrences with stocks, and so on…it allows me to more accurately advise my father on what to buy or sell.”

  “You advise your father? I thought that was Butt’s job.”

  “Well, yes, it is Mr. Butt’s job. My father is, of course, the only one of the two of us that may converse with the stock broker. He is a man, after all. However, he always checks with me before he does anything Mr. Butt suggests.”

  Looking at the graph, Michael said, “This definitely shows the thought behind the scam, all right. What else do we have?”

  Hope showed him the letters from Cochrane-Johnstone next. Together they both read how Cochrane-Johnstone had pushed the weaker man into enlisting the help of De Berenger (the fake Du Bourg). How he was a greedy, arrogant man who believed himself above the law. He even boasted of outsmarting the government. There was also some reference to someone backing out at the last minute, but there was no specific men
tion of whom. Hope couldn’t help but pray that man was her father.

  After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, Michael said rather unnecessarily, “Well, Cochrane-Johnstone was definitely involved, as well as that De Berenger fellow.”

  “Yes, that much we already knew, though. I was hoping this list”—which Hope produced with a flourish—“would give us something more definitive.”

  Taking the page from her hand, Michael exclaimed, “This is it! This is the list of perpetrators.”

  “That is what I thought, as well. Clearly the leaders of the illicit act wanted to enlist some more members. Do you suppose the names that have been crossed off were approached but declined to participate? And if so, why did they not turn the men in themselves after the news broke of the crime?”

  “Well, I suspect the details of the plan were not actually given. Rather a general ‘feeling out’ was performed and these men were found lacking in their desire to defraud anyone in any way.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose.” Hope hesitated slightly, before adding, “Do you see my father’s name on the list?”

  “Yes, he is there at the bottom, my dear.”

  Hope nodded. She had, of course, seen it there herself, but she still had to ask, “Do you think that perhaps my father is the man that Cochrane-Johnstone said tried to quit the scam? The line under his name does go slightly through the bottom of the letters. Perhaps someone tried to line it out, but just missed?”

  “Certainly it is possible and we will work under that assumption. But Hope, you must begin to prepare yourself if it turns out that that is not the case.”

  Hope recognized the wisdom of Michael’s words, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “I think it is time I spoke with my father.”

  At Michael’s worried look, she assured him, “I won’t mention anything specific—certainly not about you, the committee, or Lady Lancaster—but I have to know what he knows; what he has been doing; why he finds himself embroiled in this intrigue.”

  “I will drop you off at home, then, and I will go report in with the committee and Lady Lancaster, myself.” Removing the pages from her hands, he asked, “May I take these with me?”

  “Ahh,” Hope hesitated, “do we have to give them the list at this time? Shouldn’t we do some research into the gentleman that backed out before we hand the list over? We wouldn’t want to convict a man prematurely. Surely, the committee will arrest first and ask questions later.”

  Hope was sure Michael saw her ruse for what it was, but still he said, “I suppose the list can wait, but if we determine that every man on that list is indeed involved, we will have to give it to the committee. And remember, if the committee goes through the records as we did, they will come up with the same names as are listed here, regardless.”

  Nodding, Hope gratefully folded the paper and slipped it back into her pocket. She had bought her father another day or two at most. If he was innocent, he had better start helping her clear his name.

  Standing in front of her house, where Michael had let her off moments before, Hope realized that she was still dressed in her gentleman’s garb. Concern at being seen thusly spurred her into action. Dashing to the back of her stately home, Hope snuck into the kitchens through the servants’ entrance and darted up the back stairs to her room. She quickly changed her clothing into something more appropriate for her gender. After loosening the bun atop her head and allowing a few loose curls to frame her face, she appeared almost immediately as a girl of her station should.

  With a deep breath, she left her room and went in search of her father. It was close to nine in the evening by this point—the afternoon’s events taking only a few hours and yet felt a lifetime—and Hope was worried that he may have left for the club already.

  Luck was with her, however, when she found him in his study nursing a glass of brandy and looking decidedly contemplative.

  “Father, there you are.”

  Looking up from his drink, Mr. Stuckeley replied with a smile, “Here I am, indeed. I did not realize I was lost, my dear girl.”

  Forcing a smile, Hope responded lightly, “No, of course you weren’t. I have just not seen you much, as of late.” Settling into the chair opposite him, Hope took in her father’s countenance carefully. He looked tired and stressed, though it was apparent he was trying to cover his concerns with a smile and good humor.

  “What may I do for you, my gel?”

  “Well,” Hope started slowly, “I was wondering if you had heard anything about the stock market scam that was perpetrated just the other day?”

  A look of panic brightened her father’s eyes for just an instant and then it was gone, but it was enough to send a pit of dread directly to Hope’s stomach.

  “Stock market scam?” Mr. Stuckeley echoed. “Yes, yes, I do believe I read something about it in the papers, did I not?”

  Hope fervently hoped that was the only way her father knew of the crime. “It was covered in the paper a little, yes. But I have been doing my own investigation and…”

  “What! You have been doing what?” Mr. Stuckeley leaned forward ardently. “You mustn’t get yourself involved, Hope. I know you have an interest and an aptitude for the market, but you are just a girl. This is no business for you.”

  “But Father, I was suspicious of the stock fluctuations before anything even happened. How could I not pursue the cause after such a flagrant abuse of the people, of the government? Criminals disguised as French soldiers, hiring hacks, printing up flyers…an imposter posing as an officer of the armed forces. It’s shameful.”

  Obviously struck by the boldness of his daughter’s words—so forceful, so adamant, so unlike her—Mr. Stuckeley grabbed Hope by the shoulders and shook her. “What has gotten into you? You must stop this. These are dangerous men you are dealing with. They would not hesitate to—”

  Pale and more than a little frightened, Hope whispered hoarsely, “Hesitate to what, Father? Who are these men and how do you know they are dangerous?”

  Releasing Hope gently, Mr. Stuckeley sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. Hope could see that he was shaking. Her fears of his being guilty were mounting by the second.

  “Hope, my dear,” her father began wearily, “it is only logical to assume these men are dangerous. This act—this crime—is not something that gentle, ah, kind-hearted men do. I do not need to, er, know the men in question to believe this to be true.”

  Searching her father’s face for any sign of guilt or deception, Hope only saw resignation and exhaustion. Perhaps it was as he said, just a logical assumption. She desperately wanted to believe that, but she had to be sure.

  “So you know nothing else of this misdeed, Father, than what you read in the papers and what you have inferred of the type of men involved?”

  “Nothing else, daughter. Nothing else at all.”

  “Very well, then. I will leave you to your drink.”

  As Hope stood to leave, not feeling particularly reassured by their conversation, her father reached out to grab her hand. She turned back to look at him.

  Holding her hand gently in his, Mr. Stuckeley said, “Please promise me that you will stop all this nonsense, Hope. I need to know that you are safe and sound. When I am, er, not here, I need to know I can count on you to be prudent and cautious…and out of harm’s way.”

  “Not here? Wherever would you be if not here?”

  “Here! Of course, I will always be here,” Mr. Stuckeley hastily amended, “but I am away for business often or out at the club or what have you, and I do not want to have to worry about you constantly while I am away—ah—out of the house.”

  “I see,” Hope replied, hugely afraid that she did, indeed, see. “Well then, Father, I promise. I promise I will stop any further ‘nonsense’.”

  The relief Mr. Stuckeley felt at her words was evident on his face and in his posture. “Excellent, excellent. There is my good and sensible girl.” Her father patted her hand one last time before
dismissing her and returning to his brandy.

  Hope walked slowly out of the study and up the stairs to her room. Never in her life had she lied so directly to her father. She had omitted details in the past, about her visiting the Stock Exchange and the true nature of the Garden Society, but blatant falsehoods? She was sick that it had come to this.

  Sitting at her desk, she took out a sheet of paper and a quill. Dipping the nib into the pot of ink, she set out to write a missive to Michael. She needed to acknowledge his foresight in furthering their ruse. However pained she felt about the fake engagement, it did fill a purpose.

  She was truly afraid she was falling for him. She was equally afraid that he didn’t feel the same way.

  They would meet tomorrow at Lady Lancaster’s and they would continue their investigation. She would recommend pursuing De Berenger/Du Bourg. He was bound to have much to say, and plenty of incentive to say it, if she and Michael brought a couple of Bow Street Runners with them.

  “Nonsense, father?” Hope muttered to herself as she wrote. “Yes, I will stop all my nonsense and instead focus on that which makes the most sense. Finding out, once and for all, who did this thing and why. And I will no longer give you the nonsensical benefit of the doubt in the face of incriminating evidence. If I find out that you were involved, your ‘good and sensible girl’ will behave as such. That is, indeed, a promise.”

  Folding the note and sealing it with wax, Hope set off to find a servant boy to deliver it to Michael.

  The time for being timid was over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I often wish that common sense was more common.

  ~The Duke of Lancaster

  The next morning, Hope dressed in her disguise once again to avoid the need for a ladies’ maid and snuck out of her house. Walking briskly, she arrived at Lady Lancaster’s within five minutes. She was operating on the assumption that Michael had not only received her letter, but had acted upon it. Therefore, she was pleased to greet both Michael and Lady Lancaster in the Rose Room that morning.