“Helaine’s plan has worked. Most have paid. We’ve got money now or will have soon. Then everything will be all right.”
Grant nodded and made sure to keep his voice gentle. “To pay off Demon Damon?” he asked. “Is that why you’re working for him?”
Both ladies stiffened at his words, but it was Wendy’s reaction that was the most telltale. While Irene just gasped, “What?” Wendy pulled back and looked around guiltily.
Then she opened her mouth—likely to deny it—but Grant didn’t give her the chance. “I spoke with Mr. Marris, that man who said he knew you.”
She nodded. “Is that his name? He’s sat at my table, but I don’t ask their names so they won’t ask mine.”
“Your table?” Grant pushed. “Cards or dice?”
“Cards. Vingt-et-un most of the time, but sometimes, Damon has me sit at the hazard table. Taking bets mostly, but usually just…”
“Distracting?”
She swallowed and nodded. “And making sure they keep drinking.”
That made sense. A smart girl like Wendy, especially with her body, would be a potent attraction at a gambling den.
Meanwhile, Irene was struggling with this new information. “Why would you do that, Wendy? Doesn’t the shop earn enough?”
“It earns plenty!” she shot back. “Even without the nobs paying, I have enough. It’s just…” She sighed. “Bernard.” She said the name like it was a heavy weight.
“Your brother?” Irene asked.
Grant all but groaned. That was a losing game for sure—a sister paying a brother’s debts. He made a mental note to visit this Bernard and explain that a man’s responsibility was to protect his sibling, not expose her to huge risks.
Then he turned those words to his life and flinched. After all, he’d failed to protect both his sister and younger brother. Meanwhile, Wendy was spilling a secret she’d obviously been keeping much too long.
“Bernard got in the wrong at the gambling house. They were going to kill him, and I didn’t have enough—not by far—so…”
It seemed she didn’t want to continue, so Grant picked up the tale, his guesses easy because he knew how a man like Damon thought. In truth, he’d nearly fallen afoul of the man years ago and only luck had kept him safe.
“So Damon smiled sweetly at you and offered you both a deal. You could work off your brother’s debt as a dealer.”
“Bernard works too! He mans the door and watches for trouble. He’s big, you see. Much bigger than I am, and he can throw a man across a room if need be.”
“And how much longer before you clear his debt?”
“By dealing cards alone?” the woman scoffed. “Years.”
Irene spoke up, proving that she understood the situation completely. “But if you get the money from the dress shop—everything owed—then how long will it take?”
A martial light entered Wendy’s eyes. “As soon as we’re paid, I’ll pay off the Demon.”
Grant nodded. That was good. Unless…“How sure are you that Bernard hasn’t been racking up more debt? How sure—”
“Because I told him I’d skin him alive if he did it again,” said Wendy. “No more gambling. If he so much as touches dice or cards, I’ll cut off his hands.”
She looked like she’d do it too, and Grant smiled in approval. Sadly, such threats didn’t always work on gamblers. “If you give me his address, I can have a word with him. If you like, I can make sure—”
“I’ve got Bernard under control,” she interrupted, her voice steady. “And the Demon.”
“No one controls the Demon. Don’t fool yourself.”
She sighed, crossing her arms tight to her chest. “You don’t think Mr. Marris will talk, do you? It won’t harm Helaine, will it?”
Grant was silent, his gaze catching Irene’s. Anything was possible with the ton. Any rumor could destroy or enhance a reputation. It was all in the telling and the fickle whims of the ton. And he could see the same understanding in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Irene pulled Wendy into a quick hug. “It shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll keep an ear out for news, and in the meantime, just do our jobs. After all, Helaine and the shop are already notorious. A salacious rumor about the seamstress might bring in more business.”
It could, thought Grant grimly. Or it could tip the scales and make the ton flee the shop like rats from a sinking ship. Either way, there was little they could do about it now.
“I spoke harshly with Mr. Marris. No need to worry about him for the moment. But you must end things with the Demon. Right away.”
Wendy swallowed as they finally made it to the front of the shop. “I know. I will.”
“I could go with you when—”
“Other gents make him tetchy,” she interrupted. “I can handle him myself.”
“But—”
“Thank you, sir. But no.”
He had no choice but to agree. She did not want him there, and he could not force her, though a shared look with Irene told him she was likewise worried.
“Perhaps I—” began Irene.
This time he was the one who jolted, his words snapping out before he could think how it sounded. “Absolutely not! The Demon would not hesitate to reel you in as well. One woman on his hook is enough.” Irene opened her mouth—mostly in shock at his sharp words—but he didn’t allow her to speak as he pressed his card into Wendy’s hand. “Let me come along. Let me speak to Bernard. Let me help in some way, but do not—”
“I will not be bringing in any of the other women,” Wendy said firmly. “I don’t like the way he looks at them. And the way he talks is even worse—very sweet and sly. I don’t like it.”
Well, at least she understood that much. “Contact me. I will go with you.”
She nodded slowly and under his steady gaze, she tucked his card into her glove. It wasn’t an agreement, but she was at least thinking about it. Though, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure what he could do to help. If Demon Damon wanted to cause trouble, the bastard had any number of armed brutes around to do it. And one man or one woman could do little but surrender. Still, he was willing to try. And hopefully, she was willing to let him.
Meanwhile, she opened the shop door.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to go home?” pressed Irene.
Wendy visibly shuddered. “No,” she said. “I have work to do here. There’s Penny’s brother and Tabitha upstairs. I’ll be safe.”
By implication, she meant safer here than at home. He did not like the sound of that. But she was a stubborn woman, and one glance at Irene told him she understood that as well. So together, they gave in to Wendy’s wishes. He went inside the shop first to make sure everything was as it should be. And how bizarre that he was doing the same prowl here—in a dress shop—that he’d done for nearly five years at the mill.
Everything was fine. The workroom was empty. Upstairs in the living quarters, the child—presumably Penny’s brother—was asleep, as was the girl Tabitha with a pile of half-stitched fabric on her lap. Wendy gathered up the soon-to-be dress with a grimace.
“I’ll just finish this,” she said as they all went back to the workroom.
There was nothing left to say except good-bye. And while Irene was giving her friend an earnest hug, Grant took the time to look about the workroom. He had enough experience now to read the chaos of a business in a quick assessing glance. What he saw impressed him. There were receipts and orders compiled on a desk and clear stations throughout the room. Everyone appeared to have their area and their tasks, all nicely organized, if not exactly neat. It was the sign of a thriving business, and he was inordinately pleased. Especially since he saw fabric from his own mill already in process for numerous items.
Then it was time to go. He and Irene stepped outside, and Grant started looking for a hackney. “I’m afraid there aren’t many cabs in this area of London right now.”
“No, no,” she said. “I’d rather walk anyway. Though it is rather far.�
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He held back his laugh. There was nothing that far away in fashionable London. She told him her address, and they headed toward a very expensive neighborhood.
“That’s not far at all, Mrs. Knopp,” he said. Her name sounded awkward on his tongue, especially since he’d been calling her “Irene” in his thoughts since their first dance nearly two weeks ago.
“Please, you must call me Irene. And I shall be glad of your escort, Mr. Grant.”
So she hadn’t heard his real title yet, and right then, he was faced with a decision. Did he tell her the truth? He really didn’t want to. He had no wish to expose that he was “that feckless Crowle,” and so he simply shrugged.
“Please, just call me Grant. It’s how all my friends refer to me.”
“Grant?” she asked. “But isn’t that rather rude?”
“Not if I specifically request you to.”
She gave him a curious look, but didn’t press. In the meantime, they began walking, her hand on his arm. It was a lovely night, the summer heat giving way to autumn crispness. The cooler temperatures were welcome, especially in the city, and Grant found himself feeling again the rhythms of a city he’d left five years ago.
“I’d forgotten how nice London can be in the evening.”
She smiled. “The city does have its charms. Do you get here often? Or do you spend most of your time in Yorkshire?”
“Yorkshire,” he answered firmly. “But that’s changing. I’ve just hired a new manager, and I need to let him have his head for a bit.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You own the mill?”
He smiled. “Partially. Lord Redhill and I bought it—”
“Oh my God!” she gasped. “You’re Lord Crowle! Grant Jonathan Benton, Earl of Crowle!”
He blanched, caught flat-footed. All he could manage was a strangled, “Uh—”
“Good Lord, I’m such a fool!” she continued. “I should have realized earlier, what with you coming to the party and all. And everyone stopping you.” She shook her head at her own stupidity. “And you’ve been missing for five years. Five years! You were running the mill. Of course!”
He gaped at her, impressed. How could she know all that? She must have seen his expression. She must have because she tilted back on her heels and crossed her arms.
“You didn’t think I’d do business with you without a thorough investigation, did you? I don’t just meet anyone in a London inn. And I certainly don’t buy goods without learning everything I can about the factory.”
Finally, he was able to gather his wits enough to speak. “You are an unusually perceptive woman.”
She snorted. “An unusually perceptive woman would have figured this out before meeting you in the inn.”
“I assure you. You are the only purchaser to know my real identity.” Then he took a deep breath. “I apologize for deceiving you. It’s usually easier to do business without a title muddying the waters.” Especially a title as murky as his own.
She waved that away and resumed walking. “No, no, I understand why you did it. I don’t advertise that I’m a woman. I can’t hide that as easily.”
He didn’t have an answer, and so they walked quietly for a time. Their steps were easy, the night pleasant. And before long, he began to relax again. He was unaccountably reassured that she understood his choices, and better yet, she hadn’t heard of his reputation.
In a world of setbacks, that was like a breath of clean air. Suddenly, his step was lighter, the air was sweeter, and he believed that good things waited around the corner. He felt his luck gathering again. He knew better than to trust it, but it was a sweet sensation nonetheless.
“Actually,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “There is something I need to confess as well.”
He turned, seeing the chagrin on her face. It was rather adorable, really. Her white skin flushed rosy, and her lips plumped as she bit the lower one. Her chin was down slightly, so she was forced to look up in coy embarrassment. On another woman, he would have found the expression too manipulative. But he had spent time with her now. Such games were not her usual method of operating, so for her to look so gamin now became endearing.
“You have me breathless with anticipation.”
She flashed him a rueful look and then opened her mouth to speak. But the words never came out as from somewhere behind Grant, a man’s growl roared out. It was an angry sound, harsh and guttural in the evening air.
Grant moved by instinct, shifting to face the sound, while simultaneously shoving Irene behind him. That quick reaction was the only thing that saved her life. But somewhere between the attack and the defense came something else: the hot flash of pain.
Bloody hell, he’d been cut.
Nine
It all happened so fast, but even as it was going on, Irene’s mind grappled with each and every second, repeating it over and over in her head, and all with exclamation points.
Someone had growled!
That someone had a knife!
He was attacking!
Grant and the man were fighting!
Grant was bleeding!
She didn’t know what mobilized her into action. Heaven knew she stood there in shock for long enough. Perhaps it was the sight of blood that finally pushed her out of her frozen state. Or maybe enough time passed for her to gather her wits. Either way, she would not stand idly by as the two men fought.
The first thing she did was scream—loud and long. But they weren’t in her neighborhood yet. They’d been walking along a street of shops, all of which were closed for the evening.
Meanwhile, she tried to figure out what to do. The men were grappling, rolling on the ground as they fought one another. If they would only slow down a little, she could kick their attacker. Or grab him. Something!
But they didn’t stop, and so she just waded in. She couldn’t allow Grant to risk his life while she stood by and screamed. So she stepped closer, feeling the impact on her leg as they fell against her.
It was a heavy impact. Probably because Grant had been rolling so that he would end up on top. But she’d stopped that plan, so it was up to her to fix it. She leaned down, grabbing the attacker. She saw now that he was a smallish man, grizzled and wiry. Her fingers tore through his thin clothing as she took hold.
She hauled upward, trying to lift him off Grant, but his shirt gave way. He fell out of her hands, and she saw him swipe at her legs. Her skirt caught the weapon and his hand, but not for long. While she cried out in alarm, Grant was able to maneuver into a better position.
But it was too late. Their attacker rolled to his feet and ran before she could do more than reach out her hand to stop him. With a curse, Grant was on his feet and three steps down the street after the man. But then he stopped and spun back.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She was looking down at the long tear in her skirt. Her beautiful gown made from the material he’d given her. She hadn’t been touched. No blood. No pain. And yet, she couldn’t stop staring at the gaping hole.
A breath later, Grant was at her side. His hands were gentle as he stroked her arm and ran his hands down her shoulders before efficiently checking her legs. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick. “Is there any pain?”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, feeling his hands, large and reassuring, on her body. There was nothing sexual in his touch. Just a calm that helped bolster her scattered thoughts. Then she remembered the blood. His blood!
“But you’re hurt! I saw the blood!”
He frowned then looked down. There was a dark streak across his shirt—blood—and the patch was growing. He cursed, the word explosive as he held out his torn jacket. The blade had split it neatly from mid-torso out toward the buttons. “I just bought this!”
She might have laughed if her hands weren’t already touching the wet fabric of his equally torn shirt. He hissed in pain.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “We need to get you a doctor. My
home is a few more blocks—”
He shook his head. “My rooms. An inn. Half a block that way.”
She nodded, coming to a swift decision. “Lead on,” she said as she tried to support him to stand. He couldn’t quite reach his full height, but stooped alarmingly due to his injured rib.
“But…” He winced as they started to walk. “Your reputation—”
“No one will know. I told Mama I might stay the night with Wendy. Your inn is closer, and we can send for the constable and doctor from there.” Besides, much as she loved her in-laws, Mama adored the drama of anything unusual. Irene didn’t feel strong enough to face the woman while still shaking from the encounter.
“I should see you home, but I’m afraid this burns dreadfully.” Then he shot her a rather piercing look. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. But…” Her gaze darted about the dark street as she pressed him to walk more quickly. “I want to be inside.”
He speeded up. “It’s safe,” he said, his tone bracing. “The man fled. I doubt he’ll be back.”
She guessed that he was reassuring himself as much as her. “No need to be gallant, my lord—”
“Grant,” he pushed out, his tone curt. “If you start ‘my lording’ me, I swear I shall collapse right here.”
She searched his face, momentarily alarmed. He looked at her, then flashed a rueful smile.
“A jest, Irene. I’m in no danger of losing consciousness, I swear. But when I shed blood in defense of a lady, I do like her to call me by my Christian name. Call it a foible.”
“I agree. I’m afraid I shall struggle to remember you as Lord Crowle in any case. You shall always be Mr. Grant in my mind.”
He seemed to think about that a moment, then shrugged. “A rose by any other name…” he drawled, clearly referring to the Shakespearian line.
“Well,” she teased, “I shall not say you have always smelled sweet, but yes.”
Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] Page 9
