Claire said nothing. Lord Huntington had already revealed the nature of his aid.
“He gave me the name of an investigator,” she admitted, after a moment.
Alexandra looked at Claire curiously. “Will you seek him out?”
“I already tried. I went all the way to High Street, but he wasn’t there.”
Alexandra twisted her lips. “I believe that must explain those dirty rags you are wearing,” she said, gesturing at Claire’s dreary dress. “Humph! I cannot believe Papa would send you to such a place.”
Claire refrained from telling Lexie about her encounter with her two-time savior. She couldn’t bear recounting the odious smirk or his horrible accusations.
Nor did she care to explain that she’d spent the prior weeks pawning her family’s cherished heirlooms, the better part of the morning trying to forget that her best friend’s father had propositioned her, and the rest of the day battling demon dogs and avoiding three-foot cutpurses and mad curricles.
No, Alexandra must be spared these dirty details.
It was a wonder they were friends at all, so disparate were they in nature. Alexandra was a true social butterfly, always attempting to drag Claire into her sparkling world, whilst Claire was content to remain at home. In truth, Claire half suspected Ben was the primary reason Lexie always sought to include her. The two of them were so much alike, always craving attention.
Claire swiped the tears from her eyes with a thumb and sat. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Tea time,” Alexandra answered brightly. “In fact, I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of asking Jasper to serve us.”
Claire shrugged. She really didn’t have a taste for tea, or anything else, for that matter, but Alexandra was welcome to anything she had remaining.
“You shouldn’t lock yourself away like this,” Alexandra scolded. “And that gown! I hope no one we know saw you dressed that way, Claire. Whatever would they say?” Her brows drew together into a frown. “You’re still in mourning, after all!”
Claire snatched the pillow and dragged herself backward. Leaning against the headboard, hugging her pillow.
“The first thing you must do is to remove that horrid dress,” Alexandra proclaimed, and stood at once, going to Claire’s wardrobe, returning with a clean black gown, as though a simple change of clothing were the answer to all Claire’s troubles. Alexandra tossed the dress upon the bed and demanded, “Get up!”
Claire obeyed; she didn’t have the strength to argue. She turned about so Alexandra could unfasten her gown.
“How ghastly!” Alexandra complained.
Claire couldn’t suppress a tiny smile. She couldn’t imagine Lexie resorting to wearing such an offensive garment, not even to save her own life. Although Claire couldn’t see Lexie’s face, she was quite certain her friend was crinkling her nose and cursing the fabric as it offended her fingers.
“Whatever were you thinking?” Alexandra asked as she pulled the dress off and tossed it aside, making a noise of disgust as she released it.
Claire grimaced at the nondescript brown pile on the floor.
“Now those shoes!” Lexie snapped, gesturing for Claire to remove them at once.
Claire did so, tossing the poor shoes beside the downtrodden dress. She put on the clean gown, allowed Alexandra to fasten her, then resumed her position on the bed, again hugging her pillow.
“Much better,” Alexandra declared, and joined Claire on the bed. She bounced gently on the edge. “Did you hear the latest on dit?” she asked suddenly, affecting a bored tone. Claire did not respond, but Alexandra’s enthusiasm for her bit of gossip seemed unaffected by Claire’s lack of interest. “It seems His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Meridian, has deigned to return to London at long last.” Lexie rolled her eyes, as though she didn’t care one whit, but Claire knew better.
“So I read,” Claire confessed.
“Really?” Alexandra asked, cocking her head. “Since when do you read the society page?”
Claire shrugged. “I was bored.”
Alexandra giggled, then rushed back into her story. “At any rate, it seems the gala is to be held after all. Only this time, he shall positively make an offer to someone in attendance. Imagine that! Some sweet girl shall be forced to endure that horrible bore for the rest of her days.”
“At least it won’t be you,” Claire consoled, although it rankled her that Alexandra could bother to discuss such nonsense when Ben’s very life was at stake.
“True,” Alexandra said. “I could never stomach his rudeness, although I certainly wouldn’t mind being the recipient of those jewels.”
Claire’s brows lifted, her interest suddenly piqued. “What jewels?”
Alexandra plucked at a loose thread on her bedcover. “I heard it was the only way the Duchess of Kent could be convinced of the prince’s sincerity—and you know how much Silly Billy values her counsel. Everyone seeks her approval. She insisted they be presented tomorrow night.”
Although Claire didn’t much like the duchess, no one could deny that she had great influence. Fortunately, Claire had never caught the woman’s eye, so her despotic ways rarely affected her. But there was no doubt in Claire’s mind that the duchess knew her by name. The woman knew everyone’s name, and it was quite obvious that her ambition was to sustain her daughter Drina’s position of power as heir to the throne. Drina, on the other hand, seemed a good-natured child. Claire had only met her twice, as the Duchess kept her locked away, but she seemed not to have a single ambitious bone in her body.
“So the jewels will be on display tonight?” Claire asked.
“Yes. And I believe you should attend,” Alexandra said. “After all, this is the first time Meridian’s crown jewels have been on exhibit, and you’re not serving Ben’s cause by remaining holed up in this house.”
Claire failed to see how mingling at some ball would be to her brother’s benefit. And close on the heels of that thought came another. She couldn’t help but wonder how well protected the jewels would be. Would they remain encased the entire night? Would there be guards posted?
Not that she would ever have the nerve. But Meridian’s royal family would scarcely miss a single gem, so wealthy was that country.
Meridian was hailed as a hidden paradise of golden beaches at the edge of the Mediterranean. Bordered by impenetrable mountains on the interior, it was inaccessible, except by sea. It had long been the haven of seafaring kings and queens who showered the well-guarded country with riches simply for the privilege of spending a night behind its walls. For centuries, Meridian had been a meeting point for Eastern and Western traders alike. It had made it a policy to shelter every man, whether king, shah, or lowly tradesman—for a price. The country covered no more than two square miles, but was one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in all of Europe.
“Hmm. Perhaps I will, after all,” Claire relented, only considering the jewels. A single diamond from that collection would likely solve all her problems. But she needed a few smaller ones. If she should happen to touch them, and if one gem should happen to come loose, and if it should happen to come loose into her hand… perhaps she might not return it.
“Really?”
Claire shrugged. “As you said, what better things have I to do? Sit and wait for Ben to reappear?”
“Oh, yes!” Alexandra exclaimed and she clapped her hands. She bounced up from the bed and began to pace, her face growing flushed. “It will be so much fun! You won’t regret it, Claire. I am certain it will take your mind off all your troubles. Oh, and Papa will be so pleased!”
Claire grimaced over the thought of bearing Lord Huntington’s company. But, God willing, the ball would be precisely the opportunity she needed to ensure her brother’s safe return.
Chapter 9
Returning from Cameron’s office, Ian hesitated at the door to his father’s house, considering his options.
After encountering Merrick in Scotland, he’d bee
n so hell bent upon unveiling the truth that he hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions; he’d simply reacted. And then, caught up in the ruse, he’d had little choice but to carry it through. Now, he needed time.
What if Cameron had somehow discovered the truth? What if Ryo changed his mind and exposed him?
What was the worst they could do to him?
They could arrest him and toss him into gaol, but that wasn’t very probable. There was no doubt in Ian’s mind that Merrick’s father was Ian’s flesh and blood. Ian was betting the man wouldn’t risk the scandal.
At any rate, he had come too far to simply walk away.
He’d never been afraid of any challenge laid before him. He’d faced angry men across the barrel of a pistol, and had, without a single moment of reluctance, robbed them of every coin and trinket in their possession. All he wanted now was what was rightfully his. And not even that, so much, as a chance for his kinsmen to have a better life.
He also wanted to know the truth.
So why was his gut churning? And why did he feel so apprehensive about opening the door?
Bloody hell. He could stand on the doorstep for the rest of his days, but what would that accomplish?
Resolved, he shoved open the door, prepared to steal into his father’s office. There was bound to evidence—papers that could shed some light on the truth. Besides, he wanted to know what was hidden in that infernal drawer. His father had had his head down, penning something with great concentration—perhaps another letter?
He half expected to encounter guards on his way to his destination, but getting into the office proved a far easier proposition than he had anticipated.
As he stepped into the house, instead of a fat, burly constable with a looking glass shoved into his eye socket, a lovely servant girl with soft-blond curls and cherry-stained lips accosted him. Her face was radiant as she revealed that, in his absence, a package had been delivered for him.
“It appears to be very important, Your Highness,” she said, and batted long, pale lashes at him.
“Really?” Ian asked, though naturally the unseen package wasn’t intended for him.
The servant girl cast him a sultry smile and waved him forward, then hurried in that direction, obviously expecting Ian to follow. He did so, grateful for the distraction of another pretty face, so that he could eradicate a certain pair of defiant green eyes from his memory. Who Claire was and what she was after were not his concern.
Nor did it behoove him to dwell on the anguish she’d hidden none-too-well behind her mask of anger, though never in his life had he witnessed such a look of despair.
As the servant made her way through the maze of halls, she cast flirtatious glances backward at Ian.
He smiled back, though he hadn’t the least interest in dallying with her. Neither did he care to recall the saucy sway of Claire’s hips as she’d marched away from him, her ugly dress caressing her perfectly round bottom.
His immediate arousal had nothing at all to do with the servant girl’s cute form bouncing before him. She ducked into his father’s office and went straight to the desk, lifting up a small package and spinning about to face him.
Ian had half expected to find his father seated behind the desk, but the room was empty.
“I hope you don’t mind. It’s from me,” she said breathlessly, her tone seemingly more intimate now that they were in private. Ian looked at the neatly wrapped gift and felt ill at ease. Apparently, Merrick knew this girl on a personal level. She was cute, he was forced to confess, but he hadn’t the least bit of interest in his brother’s leftovers.
Her expression turned to one of concern. “Have I somehow displeased you? Do you not remember me?”
“I am not the least displeased,” Ian assured her and came forward to accept her gift. “Of course… I—” Don’t, he interjected silently “—remember you.”
Her smile returned. “I’m so pleased you returned to London.”
Ian stared at her gift, acutely aware that the girl moved away from him to close the door. She returned to his side, watching as he fumbled with the bindings.
“I knew you wouldn’t like it if I visited you on your first night back, so I didn’t. And then you left, and everyone was worried—especially me.”
“I had some business to tend to,” Ian said as he continued to struggle with the wrappings. Evidently, she’d put quite some effort into the adornment of the package, because it was bound by more strings than a poppet. He tore away the last of the ribbons and opened the box to reveal a modest wooden heart.
“I carved it myself,” she said throatily. “Do you like it?”
Ian lifted the heart out of the box. “Yes,” he said, examining it. It was hand-painted—a little too lovingly for his comfort.
The girl moved around him and sat on the desk, casting him a naughty glance. Then, she lifted her skirt ever so slightly, revealing silky white calves. “Do you remember this?” she asked.
Most men would greedily accept her invitation.
Ian tried to determine how best to deny her.
When he didn’t at once take advantage of her offer, her smile faded. “I know. You don’t have to say it.” She jumped down from the desk, her face staining with color as she straightened her skirts. “I realize you’ve come to London to choose a bride. I only thought… perhaps… only once more… it wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“That’s quite all right,” Ian said, realizing she must feel mortified. He put out his arms to offer her a hug and wondered what the devil was wrong with him that he was turning down a beautiful woman’s invitation, when he’d never before been inclined to. He loved women—all of them. And girls of her station knew, without explanation, that a dalliance was bound to be simply that—a dalliance. This sweet lass was quite the tasty little morsel, besides, with bright blue eyes that watered as she withdrew from his embrace.
“Well, I should be going,” she said. “I only wished to give you a gift to remember me by.”
“I can assure you, I shall never forget you,” Ian swore, bending to kiss her temple. And he wished to blazes that he at least knew her name.
She nodded, her lips quivering, if only slightly. “I’ll leave you to work. I know you have much to do before tomorrow evening.”
Ian winced, wishing he could say something to soothe her tender feelings. He simply wasn’t willing to make her body feel better; nor did he relish the reminder that tomorrow he would bind his brother to a perfect stranger. Despite his earlier resolve, he felt a wee bit of guilt over it.
He moved about the desk, placing a barrier between himself and the girl, and then sat and watched as she shuffled toward the door. There, she hesitated in the doorway, and gave him a brief, sad smile.
He smiled wanly, aware that his arousal had vanished entirely, and waved her away.
What the devil ailed him?
That girl was perfectly lovely—there was no question as to why Merrick had been drawn to her. And she evidently harbored no illusions; she wanted nothing more than a moment of affection. Still, he’d let her go.
She closed the door behind her, leaving him to contemplate the irony of the situation. One woman glares at him, looking as though she’d like to pluck out his eyes, and he finds himself cocked and ready to fire. Another woman throws herself on a proverbial platter and serves herself up ripe and willing, and he finds himself limp as a wet rag.
Ah, well, at least she had led him to the place he most wanted to be. And, better yet, he was alone.
Wasting little time, he rifled through the drawers, looking for any financial or legal records that might be traced to Glen Abbey Manor. But, after all, it proved to be a wasted effort. He found nothing at all, save a small vial of laudanum and a wrinkled portrait at the bottom of a stack of papers in the bottom drawer.
At least he thought he’d found nothing, until he looked more closely at the stained, yellowed portrait. A scratch, as though from broken glass, marred the left eye, and i
nk bled through the forehead, but he recognized the face, nonetheless. It was the image of his mother, though she was far younger.
Flipping over the portrait, he tried to make out the writing that bled through the thinning paper: It read:
“The sound of a kiss is not so loud as a cannon, but its echo lasts so much longer. I suffer a ringing in my ears that will not cease to torment me.
With all my love, Fiona.”
Ian recalled the phrase from the letter Merrick had in his pocket. He returned the portrait to its place in the bottom drawer, contemplating its meaning.
Why would two people who obviously longed for each other choose to live apart?
Unless they hadn’t done so by choice?
Chapter 10
The following evening, Claire dragged her two finest black evening dresses out from the wardrobe. She was still in mourning, and it wouldn’t serve to appear in public dressed in vivid plumage. However, even with her choices narrowed to these two, she couldn’t decide which gown to wear. One was entirely black, made of silk crepe. She’d purchased the garment from Courtauld’s before she’d realized the family’s pockets were to let. The other was made of velvet—quite scandalous, indeed—with hints of black lace peeking out beneath the hem and sleeves. It was slightly shocking, she knew, but her father would have been amused by the choice.
She laid both gowns upon the bed and wished Alexandra would arrive to help her decide, but she already knew Lexie would choose the silk crepe. It was the more proper of the two, and, if the truth be known, on some level, Claire wished to heaven she were more proper. She simply couldn’t bring herself to care overmuch what people thought about the fabric of her gown.
At any rate, why should it matter what she wore?
She wasn’t the least bit interested in gaining the prince’s favor. And she wasn’t in the mood to be proper. It was enough that the dress was black, she decided, choosing the velvet and lace, and proceeded to dress almost entirely without help before making her way below stairs to ask Mrs. Tandy to help her make the final adjustments.
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 27
