This was the moment to make a move. She rushed by him, a whirl of tears and emotions. As she fled down the stairs, she sent up a prayer that Lucas had found a good hiding spot in Perry’s bedroom. Since she didn’t sense the brute behind her, she figured he was checking there next. She heard music and laughter as she neared the ballroom, and she stopped running. Once she got to the edge of the crowd she slipped in between a marquis and a viscount and lost herself in the press of bodies.
Her heart was in her throat. What if Lucas was discovered? The guard could be carrying a pistol. Dire thoughts chased each other in her head, so when a hand reached out and grabbed her bare arm, she almost shrieked. She managed to suppress it to an unladylike squeak, which caused a few of those closest to her to glance her way.
“Brava, my dear. That was quite an act,” Lucas growled in her ear. She was so relieved that he was all right that she sagged back against his chest for a moment. His solidness soothed her nerves. “We need to leave, immediately.”
“Indeed,” she said. “I believe we have had quite enough excitement for this evening.” And she slipped into the shadows with him.
Chapter Six
“There he is!” Gemma leaned forward to peep out the window of the carriage. Lucas smiled at her excitement and dipped his head to catch a view of Perry leaving the bookshop. It was on a busy thoroughfare. Multiple groups of ladies milled about on the pavements in their daywear. Lucas double-tapped on the ceiling of the carriage, a prearranged signal to his coachman to pull into the stream of conveyances. They should be able to keep pace with Perry, as the streets were clogged enough to slow them down to walking speed.
Lucas could see the tall man, just ahead, dressed in black with a bundle of books under one arm. He had a jaunty step, and he maneuvered through the crowds with ease.
“We still may not discover anything from this, my dear,” he cautioned. She had settled back against the velvet cushions, but enthusiasm still lit her face.
“I know, but he will slip up eventually,” she said. “We just have to wait for him to make a mistake.”
“Or for us to,” Lucas said. She had far too little regard for her own skin, in his opinion. When she’d walked out into the hallway the night before, his heart had frozen in his chest. He’d listened, helpless, as she confronted the armed guard by herself. He hadn’t enjoyed the sensation, and he certainly had no desire to repeat it.
“You’re such a ray of light, my lord,” she teased him. Then her face fell. “Oh, bother.”
He leaned forward to find the cause of her consternation, and caught sight of Perry headed into a distinguished-looking townhouse.
“His club,” he muttered. “We’ll be here a while, I’m sure.”
“Hmph,” she said, crossing her arms like a petulant child. He was amused by her show of impatience. “Well, we might as well make use of it.”
His mind immediately jumped to their kiss in her study. He hardened as he thought of her soft lips under his, the touch of their tongues, her body pressed against him. He cleared his throat and shifted, trying to retain control. It was not like him to lose his head to passion in the middle of the day.
“To discuss the case,” she said when he remained silent.
“Yes, of course,” he somehow croaked out.
“My lord, may I ask a question?”
“You may, if you start calling me Lucas,” he answered, pleased with the blush that painted her cheeks.
“How many payments have you made to our villain?” she asked, sidestepping his remark.
“Two,” he said shortly, annoyed that he’d had to concede even that much.
“May I make an observation?” she asked, and he arched his brow. She obviously had something to say and had asked for his permission only to humor him. “Right, yes, well. You don’t seem the type to give in to blackmail. What I mean to say is, I am surprised you paid anything at all.”
“You think less of me because of it?” He had battled long against his nature before conceding it was the only choice. Beatrice’s future was at stake. He could not let pride stand in the way.
“No. Just curious is all. And if I were picking blackmail victims, you would not be first on the list. Or even on my list. I would immediately assume you would not play the game,” she said, and he saw where she was going with her line of thought.
“So, why me?” he summed up.
“Precisely,” she said, looking contemplative. “You would think there’d be easier prey in society.”
“I believe part of it is that the blackmailer focused on Beatrice,” he said. “If I were the actual target I would not pay anything. But if her secret gets out, she will be completely ostracized. The only marriage that she’d be able to make—if it were possible at all—would be to a fortune hunter I could buy off.”
“Yes, she would be ruined in the eyes of society,” she agreed. “You would go to lengths for her that you would never consider going to for yourself. And it’s not about the family’s honor as it would be for some. You truly care about her happiness. That is a rare quality amongst the gentlemen of the ton.”
Lucas remained quiet while he watched her turn something over in her head. He liked the way her quick mind worked, the way she challenged and dissected the information she received.
“You are known to be stubborn and arrogant,” she remarked with a matter-of-fact wave of her hand. He smirked. “But everyone knows you are protective of your sister. I suppose it would not be too much of a gamble to assume you would go out of your way to make sure her reputation remained unblemished.”
She paused for a moment, and he knew she was parsing her next thought. “However. Everyone also knows you to be quite intelligent and in possession of considerable power. It would be like poking a sleeping lion.”
“Perhaps the villain is not as adept as you are at gauging situations, my dear,” he said. She might be onto something, though.
Why would the blackmailer target his family? It could have been a crime of opportunity, a random peep into a young lady’s bedroom. But the chances that a villain would happen to find incriminating evidence by luck seemed unlikely. And that meant he must have known in advance that there would be something to find. Yet, even so, there was no reason to go after Beatrice.
“My God, Gemma,” he muttered, floored not only by the realization, but that he hadn’t thought of it earlier. “He’s after me.”
…
Beatrice had not needed the little bottle of perfume. Or the ivory-bone fan. Or the four bonnets she had sent back to the carriage with her long-suffering groom. She had not needed any of it, she thought as she strolled down Bond Street, her maid a discreet distance behind. She would not want to see Lucas’s face when he received the bills for such frivolous expenses.
After Lucas had left to collect Gemma so they could follow Perry, Beatrice had lapsed into a sulky, bad-tempered mood. When she snapped at one of the maids—a sweet, shy girl new to the household—for dropping a teacup on the drawing room floor, she’d known she had to get out of the house. She had no business taking her frustrations out on innocents.
So she had gone shopping and tried to feel better about herself, but while usually each purchase would have lifted her spirits, instead it was like rubbing salt in the wound. She wished she could help with the investigation. It was all her fault, and she had been left waiting around.
Lucas kept her apprised of recent developments, but when she asked to be included, he had essentially patted her on the head and told her not to worry. He had offered for her to work with Mr. Harrington as a consolation prize, but she had so far heard nothing from that corner. Perhaps Mr. Harrington also thought it was too dangerous for a silly girl like her. It did not seem too dangerous for Miss Lancaster, however, Beatrice thought caustically. Then she chastised herself. Even she did not want to be around herself at the moment.
She wished she’d never laid eyes on Ralph Stockwood, Viscount Wallace. If she had not been introduced to him du
ring her fateful coming-out ball, she would never have needed Lucas to fix her mistakes for her. Ralph, with his strawberry blond locks, which he wore fashionably curled, and his sparkling, bright green eyes. He’d always smiled at her as though they shared a secret. Even when they first met. She did not know why she’d taken complete leave of her senses when he smiled at her so, but she had. And now everyone around her was paying for it.
She was so lost in her dark thoughts that she almost did not see the gentleman stepping out of the shop directly in front of her. She stopped abruptly to avoid a collision and shot him a haughty glare before brightening when she recognized him.
“Mr. Harrington!” she exclaimed with a bit more enthusiasm than the encounter strictly merited. The gentleman in question, who had been walking away without a thought as to whom he may have trampled, turned back at his name. His clothes were the color of dirt on a road after a long spell without rain. He was only slightly taller than she, though he seemed solidly built. His hair was brown without a lick of blond or red to make it interesting. His eyes, though… His eyes were in fact remarkable, she noticed as she came closer. They were a very light hazel brown, flecked with yellow and green. They were inscrutable. She could not tell if he was happy or upset to see her there.
But, of course, he was a gentleman to his toes, so he bowed and greeted her.
She glanced at the door he’d emerged from and clasped her hands to her bosom. It was a pocket watch shop. “Oh, you are working on the case,” she said excitedly, then glanced around to ensure the passersby had not heard her. His lips tipped up in the slightest of smiles.
“Yes,” he confirmed. A man of few words. That was fine with her, as she was a woman of many.
“You are trying to compile a list of those in society who are known collectors of antique pocket watches?” she guessed, starting down the street again. He fell into step beside her before casting an approving glance her way.
“Yes, that is exactly it. Clever of you to realize,” he said, and she warmed. So few gentlemen ever took the time to appreciate anything other than her looks.
“It is the smart path to take,” she said. “It would require an enthusiast to recognize the value of an antique piece in the heat of the moment, and be compelled to take it even if it might jeopardize his anonymity.”
“In my experience, collectors tend to be ruthless and single-minded in pursuit of their obsession,” he agreed.
“Were you successful in your inquiries?” she asked with a nod back to the shop behind them.
If she had not been watching his face closely, she would have missed the imperceptible tightening around his mouth and eyes.
“I was not,” he told her, confirming her theory. “I have built a small list but need more information. The owner was unable to help in the slightest.”
“You will persevere,” she said. She was confident in that. She had never before met someone who radiated the level of competence Mr. Harrington did. She had no doubt he would discover what he was searching for. She had a moment of unease. The man was intelligent, determined, and perceptive. It would not take him long to work out that they were pursuing more than just Nigel Thorne’s murderer. And then he would find out. The appreciation in his eyes would turn to disgust when he discovered her secret.
“Are you off to another shop?” she asked.
“I am, yes.” He glanced at her, his hazel eyes narrowing incredulously. “But surely you cannot wish to join me on such a dull undertaking. It is too fine a day for a young lady such as yourself to wander in and out of watchmakers’ shops.”
“Nonsense! I insist,” Beatrice said, with a sunny smile few men could resist. He shook his head at her, but he did not attempt to dissuade her further. He probably assumed it was merely a girlish whim, she thought.
They continued on in silence, but her sulky mood, which had refused to budge with her extravagant purchases, had dramatically improved in the past five minutes.
…
“It does seem like a possibility that he particularly targeted you,” Gemma spoke as gently as she could. She couldn’t blame him for being shocked. The idea had been fermenting in her mind for a few days, so she’d had time to get accustomed to it. Impulsively, she slid over to his side of the carriage. She laid a comforting hand on his leg and patted it, feeling awkward. “It will be all right. We shall figure it out.”
He glanced down at her fingers on his dark breeches and smiled. He seemed amused by her soothing gestures.
Embarrassed, she made to move her hand, but he covered it with his own, trapping hers against his thigh. Ignoring the warmth of his leg through his breeches, she tried to press on with her questioning. “Do you have any enemies?”
“Plenty, I am sure. I will have to think on this.” his voice was dismissive, as if he suddenly didn’t want to talk about it. Her suspicions were confirmed when he turned hooded eyes on her at the same time the pad of his thumb found and then stroked the sensitive dip in her palm. He wanted to distract her.
And it’s working.
She tried to tug her hand away in a manner that wouldn’t be obvious. When that didn’t work, she shifted so that she wouldn’t be tempted to lean into the cloying warmth of his solid body. His smile told her she wasn’t being as subtle as she hoped.
“How many enemies do you have, my dear?” he asked, his voice silken, his thumb continuing that maddening pattern against her hand. There was something underneath the question, something persuasive that traced shivers along her spine.
“None,” she whispered. Her voice had deserted her along with her common sense. She cleared her throat hoping to regain both. “Of course.”
“Of course,” he murmured, bringing her palm to his lips. The gentle touch was all it took to set her nerves aflame. This time when she pulled her hand back, he let her go. Amusement glinted in his eyes. “No broken hearts along the way?”
“Oh, a few dozen here or there,” she replied, though her voice was still breathy. Not quite the carefree flirt she’d wanted to portray. Back to the case. That was safe territory.
“So as to the people who could be after you…” she prompted.
“I’m far more interested in the beaux you have left mournful in your wake.” His fingers trapped one of the loose curls that bounced around her face, sliding the strands between the pads.
Maybe he needed time. Time to think and time to digest. She could relate to that. She was stubborn, but she wouldn’t press him. That’s what partners did, she thought happily. They distracted or listened or prodded or helped. And when necessary, they backed off.
It was a nice feeling, that. Being needed. As a partner. She decided she wouldn’t overthink it for now.
He wants banter? We’ll banter.
“They were legion. But they were all honorable gentlemen—unlike yourself, I may add.”
He gasped his faux outrage. “Are you saying my behavior is anything less than exemplary?”
She slid her gaze to the fingers that were still toying with her hair.
His free hand flew to his heart. She stifled a wholly unladylike giggle at his shocked and offended expression. “I demand satisfaction for this insult. Pistols at dawn,” he roared into the swaying carriage.
She wrinkled her brow. “I believe, as the challenged party, I get to choose the weapon.”
“A thousand apologies, my lady.” He cut a small bow in her direction. “Would you rather it be slow and tortuous?”
“I am not cruel,” she said loftily. “I can take mercy on you if you so humble yourself before me.”
“What if I like it slow and tortuous?” he murmured.
Heat burned in her cheeks and in her belly. She may be an innocent, but she knew he was no longer talking about their fake duel. She wished she could be audacious and meet his gaze, and smile and flirt, but she couldn’t quite muster up the courage. She faltered instead, and he rumbled with a low chuckle. “Is it just a glance then? You could fell a man with your eyes alone, my de
ar.”
He wasn’t letting her escape the tension that had fluttered to life between them. She felt it, like a palpable thing, almost as if she could reach out and touch the fire that burned in the spaces they didn’t fill.
“Oh posh,” she laughed, trying to douse it. It was getting harder to get air into her lungs; her breath kept catching in her throat. She’d wanted to distract him, but she hadn’t quite pictured it going this far. It was the middle of the day for heaven’s sake.
“Or your…mouth. Is that your weapon of choice?” His gaze dropped to her mouth as she wet her suddenly parched lips.
“I have been told it can be quite savage,” she quipped, though with more bravado than arrogance. There was something dangerous in his answering smile.
“Shall we put it to the test?”
Before she could answer, he pulled her into his lap. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t think to resist. All she could think about was their kiss in the library. She wanted that again. Wanted his lips on hers, that slick rush of heat when his tongue pushed into her mouth. If that made her a wanton, well, she was finding it harder and harder to care. It wasn’t as if she were planning to find a husband when this was over.
He tipped her chin up so that his gaze locked on hers, and the black of his pupils all but swallowed up the color in his eyes.
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
The thought was gone almost as soon as it flitted across her mind. It was preposterous. She hadn’t been waiting for anything. Not for the way she felt when pressed against him. Not for the heat that pooled at her center. Certainly not for the way his finger traced along her cheekbone, making her feel precious and vulnerable in his arms.
She sucked in air as his lips finally lowered to hers, and she willed all the chatter from her head. She just wanted to feel.
The brush of his mouth against hers. The pressure of his tongue. The bump of teeth.
His hands cradled her hips as she shifted and settled, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh there. Her own fingers found the nape of his neck before burying themselves in his thick mass of hair.
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