by Diana Quincy
He swiped a hand down his ashen face. “When I think of what could have happened—”
A chill ran down Emilia’s spine. “But where did it come from?” The basket had been prepared at home by trusted staff. The thought that someone within the household intended them harm was deeply unsettling.
“That is what I intend to find out.” Papa pushed heavily to his feet. “Come then, let us return home.”
With their genial afternoon now ruined, they made quick work of cleaning up the picnic and piling into the carriage. As they settled in for the ride home, a tense silence settled over them. Papa clenched his jaw and stared out the window. Emilia’s attention moved to Sophie, and she gave the girl a long, considering look. The maid raised her brows in response, asking a silent question with an impudence most servants would never dare. But then again, today’s events had revealed that Sophie was no ordinary servant.
“You certainly are a very unusual lady’s maid,” Emilia said. “I doubt most young women in service would know the first thing about gunpowder or explosive devices.”
Sophie smiled a secret little smile and said nothing as the carriage rattled on toward home.
—
“What do you make of it?” St. George asked Sparrow. The older man had sent for him almost immediately after returning home from the park.
“It was clearly a murder attempt.” Sparrow struggled to contain his fury. The device could have easily exploded in Emilia’s face. The thought of how close she’d come to disaster made him ill inside.
“I agree.” St. George’s hand trembled as he brought his glass to his mouth to swallow a large gulp of brandy.
Sparrow paced along the study’s carpeted hardwood floors. “The question is: Who was the intended victim?”
The older man’s eyes rounded. “I naturally assumed it was another attempt on my daughter.”
“Perhaps, but maybe not. The basket was, after all, prepared well ahead of time.” Sparrow had learned as much after questioning the staff. The food had been readied several hours earlier and left in the kitchens once the picnic with Aunt Agatha had been postponed. Staff, delivery boys, practically anyone who had access to the house could have placed the explosive device in the basket. “And Emilia was never planning to accompany you?”
“To Agatha’s? No.”
“So the two of you decided, on the spur of the moment, to take the already-packed basket of food to Hyde Park for an impromptu picnic.”
“You think I was the intended target.” It wasn’t a question. “And perhaps Mrs. St. George as well.”
“With both of you out of the way, Emilia inherits the entire fortune.” Sparrow scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Alternatively, it might have been another attempt on Emilia. The device could have been placed in the basket at the last moment by someone who knew the two of you were going on a picnic.”
“There’s no way to know for certain.”
Sparrow’s thoughts went to Dominick Ware. If Emilia and her parents were no longer a factor, the man would immediately come into a massive inheritance. Then there was Emilia’s betrothed. If his bride’s father perished before the nuptials, Worsely would come into a much vaster fortune on his wedding day than the 25 percent of the St. George wealth that was due him after taking Emilia to wife.
“What do you propose we do now?” St. George asked.
“Hire more security. Don’t follow your usual patterns. This might not be just about Emilia any longer. Your entire family must have a care until we find out who is behind this.” He turned to go. “And it might be best not to mention these attempts to anyone, including Ware and Worsely.”
“Why ever not?”
“I’d like to observe them to study their behavior.” To see if either man would say or do anything about the attacks, thus giving himself away.
St. George appeared skeptical. “What are the chances the real culprit will reveal himself?”
“I don’t intend to wait until this blackguard makes himself known. I’m going to hunt the bastard down before he strikes again.”
—
“Who, pray tell, is Mrs. Gaston and why are we going to her rout?” Sparrow asked a couple of evenings later while walking alongside the Duke of Sunderford.
Sunny tapped his walking stick along their path. “She is known for throwing the most amusing parties.”
“Amusing? I take it that means there will be plenty of strumpets on display.” They paused at Wilton Street, allowing the carriages and carts to pass along the muddied thoroughfare before they ventured across.
“It’s not so vulgar as all that,” Sunny said amiably, “but naturally Mrs. Gaston is an amenable hostess who sees to her guests’ comforts.”
“Naturally.” Sparrow’s interest in these sorts of entertainments had waned considerably, especially in recent weeks, but Sunny mentioned seeing Dominick Ware at one of Mrs. Gaston’s previous gatherings and Sparrow didn’t want to miss the opportunity to run the elusive man to ground.
Their hostess’s townhome was a neat, middle-class affair in Kensington, but any semblance of staid respectability vanished the moment they entered the dwelling. Scantily clad women roamed the smoky, dimly lit interior. Some guests gathered in groups chatting, others were leading the women of their choosing to more private locations, while boisterous male laughter emanated from one room where card games were apparently under way.
A woman of middle age in a low-cut crimson gown greeted Sunny with gracious enthusiasm. “Your Grace, how good of you to visit my humble home.”
“My dear Mrs. Gaston, you are radiant as ever,” Sunny said. “Allow me to introduce my good friend Viscount Vale.”
She turned to Sparrow. “Welcome, my lord.” She’d been blessed with pleasing features and, despite a few faint lines around her eyes and mouth, retained much of the great beauty that must have attracted many admirers in her youth. “My lords, I think I have just the thing to welcome you properly. If you will excuse me.”
As she melted away, Sparrow surveyed the room. “Do you see Ware?”
“Not as of yet,” Sunny said. “Ah, this must be Mrs. Gaston’s idea of a welcome.”
Two fair-haired young women, of the same height and with identical slender forms, crossed over to them. Once they neared, Sparrow realized they were twins.
“I’m seeing double.” Sunny wrapped an arm around the trim waist of one of the girls and tucked her to his side. “Delightfully so.” He gestured toward the other twin, who smiled expectantly at Sparrow. “Mrs. Gaston has been kind enough to send one for each of us.”
Sparrow hadn’t come to frolic with whores. “Actually, I think I will find the card tables.”
Surprise flitted across Sunny’s patrician features, but he merely smiled and drew the other twin to him with his free arm. “Double the pleasure for me. I am to be envied.”
Leaving Sunny to the twins, Sparrow headed for the card room in search of Ware. Pausing on the threshold, he scanned the chamber but didn’t spot anyone who matched the description of Emilia’s mysterious cousin. However, another familiar face did catch his attention.
Edmund Worsely sat at one of the tables. And he was not alone. From the looks of things, Emilia’s betrothed had availed himself of the charms offered at Mrs. Gaston’s. A woman sat on his lap as he organized the cards in his hands. When he played a successful card, she rewarded him with a full, openmouthed kiss. Sparrow couldn’t see the woman’s face because her back was to him, but something about the lithe, dark-haired figure seemed familiar.
He remained where he was, far across the room, and watched, his chest burning every time Worsely kissed the woman or dipped his hand into her low-cut bodice to caress her breast. The man was betrothed to Emilia, a lovely, vibrant woman, yet here he was making a public spectacle of himself with a strumpet. Disgusted, Sparrow turned to go but halted when he crossed paths with a familiar-looking dark-skinned woman with almond eyes.
She smiled, slow and sensuous. “Not interested in c
ards or the twins?”
“Sylvie, isn’t it?” He remembered her from the debauched gathering in Sunny’s gallery.
“The twins Mrs. Gaston sent you are considered very skilled and yet you turned them down,” she said in a smoky voice. “Just as you turned me down.”
“The twins are very appealing, but you are more to my taste.” He spoke the truth. She was lovely and long limbed, with a proud, elegant bearing. “But at the moment I have no interest in such things.”
Her dark eyes glimmered. “And yet you are here at Mrs. Gaston’s.”
“I am looking for someone.” A thought came to him. He didn’t know exactly what Ware looked like and Sunny would likely be occupied for the better part of the evening. “Perhaps you could be of assistance.”
“It is possible. Who do you seek?”
“A man named Dominick Ware.” He withdrew a few shillings and pressed them into her palm. “Do you know him?”
She pocketed the coin. “He is not here this evening, but he has visited before.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“He met with a man when he came, a Mr. Onslow. Money exchanged hands. That is all I know.”
“When was this?”
“Perhaps a sennight past.”
“What do you know of the man he met with?”
“Nothing. He is not a regular visitor. He did not appear to be one of you.”
“One of us?”
“He weren’t no nob.”
“He’s not a peer.”
“He was more middle class. It seemed to me he and Mr. Ware used Mrs. Gaston’s as a meeting place.”
It could have no significance. But the home of a procuress wasn’t the place one normally conducted legitimate dealings. “If you see either man again, will you send for me?” He withdrew his calling card and handed it to her. “I will pay handsomely.”
She pocketed his information. “You are not like them either.”
He was just about to ask her what she meant when Mrs. Gaston joined them. “My lord Vale, I fear Sylvie’s company is spoken for, but I would be pleased to arrange for her to join you later.”
He acknowledged her with a dip of his chin. “Sylvie is lovely, but I was just about to make my way home.”
“As you wish,” she said with a gracious smile, before turning to Sylvie. “Chamber number three in five minutes.”
When Mrs. Gaston left them, Sylvie said, “You are in love.”
His head went back. “I beg your pardon?”
“Is it because you are in love that you do not make use of the comfort offered here?”
He laughed. “No. I am not a man who believes in love.”
Her dark brows rose, her skepticism clearly communicated. “As you say.” She turned to go.
“Wait, Sylvie. What did you mean before…when you said I don’t seem like them?”
She ran an appraising look over him. “You are not like other men of quality.”
Perhaps because four short months ago, he hadn’t been one of them. “How so?”
“You appear to have a conscience.”
She turned and glided away. He watched after her for a few moments before continuing on to the front hall. With its alcoves and assorted small chambers along the way, Mrs. Gaston’s was made for intimate interludes. He passed one couple entwined against the wall. It took him a moment to realize he’d encountered Worsely and his doxy again. He tried to pass unnoticed, but Worsely recognized him.
“Vale.” He pulled away from the woman.
“Worsely.”
The cad’s companion turned to face him, delight lighting her face. “Who is your friend, Edmund?”
Sparrow’s breath strangled in his throat as the familiar, husky French lilt curled through him. He clenched his fists. She knew damn well who he was. The last time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d threatened to kill her with his bare hands if she ever crossed his path again.
“My dear,” Worsely said, “you remember Viscount Vale.”
“Viscount?” Her huge chocolate eyes asked Sparrow a question as much as her words did.
“Excuse me,” he said, and walked quickly away, his pulse racing.
Sunny, who’d apparently finished his business with the beautiful twins, met up with him and they exited together.
“Where is the fire?” he asked as they trotted down Mrs. Gaston’s front steps.
A thousand thoughts collided in his head. What was Marie Dubois doing in London? What was her angle? He realized Sunny had asked him a question. “What?”
“Your face is white. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have, in a way,” he said grimly. “Do you know Marie Dubois?”
“The woman with Worsely? Not really. Why? Who is she?”
“Nobody you want to know, I assure you.”
“She’s convinced Worsely is going to marry her.”
Sparrow halted and faced his friend. “Where did you hear that?”
“My artful twins enjoy gossip as much as the next person.”
“And they told you Marie Dubois thinks she’s going to marry Worsely?”
“Indeed.”
“He’s bamming her. He’s marrying Emilia St. George in three weeks’ time and all of London knows it.”
Sunny’s carriage pulled up. “Some men will say any manner of things to get under a woman’s skirts.” A footman jumped down to open the door and set out the stool. “Can I offer you a lift?”
“My thanks, but no.” He had too much restless energy coursing through him to sit still in a confined space. “I think I’ll walk.”
“I’ll bid you good evening, then.” Sunny paused. “I begin to see these types of gatherings are no longer to your taste.” When Sparrow didn’t bother to deny it, he added, “But I do hope you’ll attend the ball. It will be a very respectable affair. Boring even, which might better suit this current mood of yours.”
Sparrow huffed a small laugh in response. “I will most certainly be there.”
Sunny smiled his satisfaction and leapt into his carriage. Sparrow watched the conveyance pull away before continuing along on his own.
He walked home in a foul mood. What in Hades was Marie doing in London entangling herself with Worsely? Perhaps she hoped to coax Crown secrets from an embassy official. God knows she excelled in such matters. Less than an hour after he arrived home, his butler appeared in his study.
“A female to see you, my lord. I tried to turn her away, but she assured me you would welcome the visit.”
That hadn’t taken long. He knew immediately who it was and not only because no lady of quality would come to him alone at night. “Very well. Send her in.” To fortify himself, he poured a generous glass of arrack.
A few moments later, Marie Dubois swept into his study.
Chapter 10
“My darling.”
“I am not your darling.” He swallowed a large quantity of straight arrack; the dry, complex taste suited his mood. “What do you want?”
She wore a red velvet cape that completely covered her from chin to toes, setting off her raven hair and pale skin to luminous advantage. “You have done very well for yourself.” Her liquid dark eyes surveyed the well-appointed study with unabashed appreciation. “Hamilton Sparrow, a viscount. Imagine that. It is quite a step up from being an agent of the Crown.”
Of course she would think so. “I asked you what you want.”
Her intent dark eyes fastened on him. His heart slammed against his ribs. He’d always been aspic in her hands when she’d looked at him like that. “The same thing I have always wanted.” She licked her dainty lower lip. She had very small lips but, oh, what they could do. “You.”
He turned away. “That’s very amusing.” He splashed more arrack into his glass. “As if I’d give you another chance to gut me in my sleep.”
She floated closer, near enough for her perfume—an exotic, sultry blend that had once driven him to distraction—to fill his nostri
ls. “You told me you wanted us to marry.”
He faced her. “Do you imagine I’ve forgotten what you did?” Barely restrained rage coursed hard and heavy through his veins. The information she’d obtained from him had led to the gruesome deaths of his men. He wasn’t sure whom he found more contemptible, her or himself. “Do you delude yourself into believing I could stand to touch you after your betrayal?”
Wariness clouded her eyes. “Surely you cannot still blame me for that?” Whatever reception she’d expected, this apparently wasn’t it. “I didn’t know what would happen. I passed on a little information. It seemed harmless enough.”
“Playing the informant can have perilous consequences. Are you still at it, by the way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why you’ve taken up with Worsely? Perhaps you hope to extract Crown secrets from him as well.”
“No, he is a distraction, but a woman must look after herself. I’ve been a widow for too long.” She flung off her sumptuous crimson cape, the blood red waves of fabric billowing to the floor, providing a vibrant backdrop for the miles of pale, feminine skin suddenly bared to him.
She wore nothing underneath; her only ornament was a gold-and-jade necklace, a gift he’d bought for her in Russia. The deep green gem fell between her two high breasts, as pert and inviting as he remembered. The skin all over her body was flawlessly smooth, her limbs long and shapely; the thatch of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs recalled the hours of mindless pleasure he’d found there, with those long legs wrapped around his hips as he pumped wildly into her.
Her sultry gaze never left his face. “I want to marry again. I want you as my husband, and I’ll settle for nothing less.”
A cold sweat broke out all over his body. He’d once been powerless against this vixen’s considerable charms. And her form and face were just as alluring as the last time he’d bedded her. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.” He managed to make the words sound calm and unaffected. “Why would I want to wed a deceitful whore?”
“It is true, I have had to depend upon admirers recently, since my late husband’s money ran out.” She reached for one of his hands and placed it against her breast. “But now you could save me from that life.”
