“There are still eight drawers to go,” said Max as he began to lever the next one open. “Perhaps you could look through the shelves in one of the glass-fronted bookcases by the fireplace.”
Charlie lit a branch of candles on the mantelpiece and set to work, carefully checking the spine of every volume upon each shelf. But no palm-sized notebooks covered in crimson leather leapt out at her. With each passing moment, her anxiety kicked up a notch.
And then she heard Max release a low whistle. Charlie spun around, hope flaring inside her chest. “Have you found it?”
“I’m sorry, no,” said Max, his tone grave. “But I’ve discovered something else of interest.” His gaze was riveted to the piece of parchment he was in the process of unrolling. A document, perhaps.
Curiosity pricking, Charlie approached the desk. “What is it?”
“It’s a deed.” A muscle twitched in Max’s lean jaw. “To a townhouse not far from here. In Bloomsbury Square.”
Charlie frowned. That didn’t sound terribly interesting, but Max’s reaction to his find certainly was. She’d never seen such a grim expression upon his face. She propped her hip upon one corner of the desk and folded her arms. “I suspect there’s some sort of story associated with this property, then?”
“Yes.” The light in Max’s eyes was hard and unflinching as his gaze met hers across the desk. “It belonged to a young woman—and I hope you’ll forgive me for being indelicate—who was once a paramour of our mutual friend, Hamish.”
“Euphemia Harrington,” murmured Charlie. Olivia, Hamish’s new wife, had told Charlie a little about her last year. “She’s the mother of Hamish’s former ward, Tilda, isn’t she? And I believe she's now employed at one of your country homes?”
“Yes. As a housekeeper at Lynton Grange in north Devon. But what you might not know is that the reason Mia Harrington felt compelled to give up Tilda was that a man had threatened to harm her young daughter if she didn’t sign her townhouse over to him, and indeed everything else she owned. The poor woman was so terrified of this man, she would not divulge his identity to Hamish or myself. But little Tilda had informed your friend Olivia that her mama referred to this blackguard as ‘the baron’.”
“Oh my God,” breathed Charlie as horror lanced through her. “So, do you believe this despicable baron character is Lord Rochfort?”
“Based on the fact he has the deed to Mia’s townhouse in his possession, it would seem so.”
“Oh.” Olivia felt the blood drain from her face, and her knees were suddenly as insubstantial as water. “Oh. That’s… Oh, he’s vile. I wish I’d known all this last month when—”
Max’s gaze sharpened. “When what? What did Rochfort do to you, Charlie?”
Charlie swallowed. “Nothing I haven’t already told you.”
“Are you sure?”
Heat scalded her cheeks. “Yes,” she lied.
Max gave a humph. “Now, why don’t I believe you? I think you’d best tell me the unvarnished truth, Lady Charlotte Hastings.”
Charlie sighed. “I don’t think we have time for the unabridged version. If we could just find my notebook, this will all go away.”
Max crossed his arms over his chest. “The abridged version will do. I want to know exactly what I’m dealing with here. As your brother’s friend—and yours—I deserve nothing less.”
Ugh. Why did he have to keep reminding her that they were nothing more than friends? Charlie shot him a mulish look. “Very well. Before my aunt Tabitha departed for Bath, she persuaded me to attend a Saint Valentine’s masque at the Earl and Countess of Penrith’s residence. She was convinced it would be good for my spirits—and it was true they had been flagging a little, given Olivia and Arabella were far away, and Sophie had just entered confinement.”
Max frowned. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I had no idea you’d been so lonely.”
She waved his comment away, determined to put on a brave face. The last thing she wanted was Max’s pity. “Really, it’s neither here nor there. In any case, I attended the masque with my aunt, and the evening was progressing rather swimmingly.” Another lie, but Max wasn’t to know that. It was too humiliating to admit that for most of the evening, she’d been a wallflower. And even though she’d worn a domino mask, anyone who was anyone in the ton recognized the disreputable Lady Charlotte Hastings and kept well away from her. Unless they wanted to have a sly little dig at her. Or proposition her. Which was nothing out of the ordinary.
“However, at one particular point, I realized I was quite tired. Too much dancing, I suppose.” She feigned a little laugh. “In any case, I repaired to my hosts’ library, and as I rested my feet”—another lie; her feet hadn’t been sore at all—“I decided to take the opportunity to record some of my thoughts in my brand new notebook. Aunt Tabitha had actually presented it to me in the carriage on the way to Penrith House, and I was just itching to use it.” This part wasn’t a lie, at least. “But then I discovered I wasn’t alone.”
“Go on,” said Max. His tone was gentle, even if the light in his eyes was hard.
“Lord Rochfort had been sitting in a shadowy corner of the library drinking Lord Penrith’s cognac. I only became aware he was there when he went to refill his glass. Of course, I was startled at first, but then we struck up a conversation”—she omitted the part where she’d boldly asked for a glass of cognac too—“and then…” Willing herself not to blush, she met Max’s gaze. “Rochfort was exceedingly charming. I knew who he was, and of course I’d heard he was quite the rakehell. Perhaps even a little dangerous. And I suppose that’s why I stayed in the library with him. Because…” She lifted her chin. “You may condemn me for being a reckless fool and worse, but it was Saint Valentine’s Day, and I wanted an adventure. I…I’m twenty-two years old, all my friends are married, and I too wanted to feel what it’s like to be admired, perhaps even desired. And even though it was imprudent, I let him kiss me. I wanted to be kissed. Only,” she let out a derisive huff, “it seemed Lord Rochfort had another agenda.”
“Clearly.” Max’s expression was unreadable.
“It wasn’t until he’d quit the library that I realized my notebook was missing. At first I thought it had slipped behind one of the cushions on the settee we’d shared. Or that it had fallen on the floor. I searched high and low for my notebook, but of course to no avail because he’d taken it. It wasn’t until the following day when he sent a note to Hastings House that I discovered what he was really about. And you know the rest…”
“Yes.” To Charlie’s surprise, Max reached out across the desk and took one of her hands in his. “Charlie, I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you, and I would never ‘condemn’ you, as you put it. Unrepentant rake that I am, I would be a hypocrite to do so. But that doesn’t mean I can’t condemn Rochfort for all he has done. To you and others like Mia Harrington.”
There was something about Max’s manner, his grim tone, that sparked alarm inside Charlie. “Max, I really hope that condemning Lord Rochfort doesn’t involve you taking some sort of rash action to exact vengeance, like calling him out. Because that would invite all kinds of unwanted attention and speculation. As I keep saying, if we can just find my notebook, all this nonsense will end. Avoiding another scandal is of paramount importance.”
Max’s expression grew colder than a frosty winter’s day; his blue eyes glittered with a strange hard light. “Are you suggesting that Rochfort shouldn’t be held to account for all he has done to you? By God, when I think of that depraved excuse for a man being anywhere near you, let alone touching you—” Max pounded his fist on the edge of the desk so hard, it shook. There was a soft metallic snicking sound—like the rasp of a latch coming undone—and Max’s gaze dropped to the open drawer in front of him. “Well, well, well,” he murmured, shifting the papers aside. “What do we have here? A secret compartment, perhaps?”
Charlie rushed to his side. Excitement leapt about inside her like sparking fireworks. “I
s there anything there?” she asked as she watched Max lift a small slat of wood on the bottom of the desk and reach into the compartment below.
“Yes,” he said with a triumphant grin. “A small red notebook with a gold filigree border.”
“Oh, my Lord. Oh, sweet heaven.” As soon as Max brandished the book in the air, Charlie snatched it up and hugged it to her chest. Joy and undiluted gratitude—more potent than any French brandy—washed through her veins, making her dizzy. “I’m so relieved, I could faint.”
Max replaced the wood slat and pushed the drawer shut. “I’m rather hoping that you don’t because carrying you out of here might prove to be a bit tricky. Now that you have your notebook, we’d best be on our way.”
“Yes, you’re quite right,” agreed Charlie. Although, the thought of Max sweeping her up into his arms made her feel like swooning all over again.
As Max set the rest of the desk to rights—putting away the deed to Mia Harrington’s old townhouse, along with papers, books, and other miscellaneous items—Charlie took the opportunity to quickly flip through the opening pages of her notebook. Everything appeared to be the same—all the pages were intact. Her single entry that she’d made with a pencil during the Saint Valentine’s Day masque hadn’t been altered or erased.
When she looked up, she discovered Max was studying her, a speculative light in his eye. No doubt he was wondering what she’d written that was so damning, but he was too much of a gentleman to ask. “I trust everything is all right?” he said, then licked his fingertips and snuffed out the candles on the desk one by one. There was a faint sizzle, and wisps of smoke drifted in the air between her and Max.
“Yes. Perfectly fine,” she said, offering Max a genuine smile for once. When she retired for the night, she would sleep soundly like a wee untroubled babe. It would be the first time in weeks.
“Very good, then.” Max closed the last desk drawer. “I suggest we leave by the front door if it’s still unmanned. Hopefully a key has been left in the lock. I’d like to be well away from here before—”
“Before I return home, Your Grace?”
Charlie’s gaze shot to the library doorway, and her heart all but stopped. Lord Rochfort lounged on the threshold, one wide shoulder propped against the doorframe. With his jet-black hair, hooded eyes, and saturnine good looks, he reminded Charlie of a savage beast feigning nonchalance right before it went on the attack.
“Lady Charlotte.” His deep, cultured voice, a voice that Charlie had once found appealing but now she loathed, had a mocking edge as he straightened then sketched a bow in her direction. “I’d ask you to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, but that would be rather disingenuous of me now, wouldn’t it? I trust you found what you were looking for?”
“Yes, and as you heard, we were just leaving.” Max’s voice was as hard as forged steel. “So, I’d suggest you move aside and let us be on our way.”
Rochfort affected a sigh. “I suppose I should concede defeat graciously. It seems the game is well and truly over, Lady Charlotte, and you’ve won.” He shrugged a shoulder and his obsidian eyes glittered, but he didn’t step away from the doorway as Max had requested.
Despite the unease prickling along her nape because Lord Rochfort still barred their exit, fierce anger flared inside Charlie. The baron thought this was all a game? How…how dare he?
Stiffening her spine, she skewered him with her gaze. “Actually, before we go, I have a question for you, Lord Rochfort. Where is the diamond and pearl brooch I gave you? Or should I say, you extorted from me? Do you still have it? Because if you do, I’d like it back.”
The baron’s mouth twitched with amusement. “As a matter of fact, I do still have it in my possession, my lady.”
He took a step forward, but Max held up a hand. To Charlie’s surprise, the baron halted immediately, his eyes widening momentarily before narrowing into a dark fulminating glare.
“Wait there, Rochfort,” drawled Max, rounding the desk. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you.” That’s when Charlie noticed that Max had a rather deadly looking flintlock pistol trained on the baron.
Good Lord. Charlie had had no idea that Max had been armed this whole time. But right at this moment, she was rather glad that he’d had the foresight to bring a weapon. The currents of enmity rippling around Lord Rochfort and across the room were forbidding indeed.
Thine eyes shoot daggers... Had an expression ever been so apt? Charlie was only just beginning to fathom how dangerous Lord Rochfort really was, and that Max was far more ruthless and fearless than she’d ever imagined.
“Now, now, Your Grace. There’s no need to behave in an uncivilized manner,” said Lord Rochfort in a silky, menacing tone that set shivers racing across Charlie’s skin. “There’s a lady present, after all.”
Max’s blue eyes flashed, but his manner was smooth and unhurried, perhaps even a little bored as he said, “Stop equivocating. Just tell Lady Charlotte where her brooch is, Rochfort. That’s all you need to do.”
The baron gave a dramatic sigh. “Very well.” His unsettling gaze moved to Charlie. “It’s in a silver casket inside the lacquered cabinet behind the desk, my dear. Top shelf. Neither are locked.”
Charlie bristled. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not your dear,” she bit out before retrieving her mother’s en tremblant brooch. Her heart swelling with relief and gratitude, she ran her fingertips over the delicate floral spray wrought in silver, and the diamond and pearl inlaid blooms trembled for a moment before she slid the treasured keepsake into the pocket of her cloak.
Turning back to Max, she caught his eye. “I have it,” she said. “We can go. I gather the front door is unlocked…” This remark she directed at Lord Rochfort.
“Actually, I have the key right here.” The baron began to reach for the inner breast pocket of his evening jacket.
Again, Max bade him stop. “I don’t know what you have concealed in there, Rochfort. If you’d be so kind as to remove your coat slowly, then toss it onto the floor near Lady Charlotte. She can check it.”
Rochfort shook off his coat of black superfine with a violent shrug, and once Charlie had retrieved the key, Max jerked his chin in the baron’s direction. “Move into that far corner, Rochfort,” he directed, his pistol hand as steady as the tick of the mantel clock marking the last ten minutes to midnight.
Rochfort rolled his eyes but nevertheless complied. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, it is.” Max’s tone was so cold, clipped, and positively ducal, it was evident that he was accustomed to being obeyed without question. “Lady Charlotte, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out into the entry hall, the baron here is about to part ways with the rest of his evening attire.” He smirked. “Again.”
“Ha! So, it was you who stole my clothes last night,” growled Rochfort. “You prick.”
“You mean, ‘you prick, Your Grace,’” Max amended, droll amusement lacing his voice. “But needs must when the devil drives, as they say. Charlie…” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d suggest you leave this very minute so you don’t see rather more of Lord Rochfort’s person than you’d like. Perhaps you can make sure that the key does indeed work. I’ll be with you shortly.” To Rochfort he said, “Strip.”
The baron began to tug at his cravat with rough movements. His dark eyes blazed with fury. “I’m not going to give chase,” he spat. “I’ve already conceded defeat.”
“And as I said before, I don’t trust you.”
With the key and her notebook in hand, Charlie beat a swift retreat to the entry hall and unlocked the grand double doors that led out to Bedford Square. “The key works,” she called out to Max.
“Excellent,” he called back. Another minute passed in which Charlie could hear Lord Rochfort muttering all kinds of foul imprecations, then Max emerged with a bundle of clothes under one arm. He gave the library door a decisive kick shut, then hastened over to Charlie.
She couldn’t help but laugh as he dump
ed the baron’s clothes on the front doorstep. “Oh, Max. You are too wick—”
At that moment, a female shriek and a loud bellow erupted from the depths of Rochfort House. Max pulled the front door closed, then caught Charlie’s elbow. “I suspect poor Nancy and Ruth have come upon their master en déshabillé,” he remarked as they hurriedly descended the short flight of stairs to the square below. Max’s carriage waited on the other side of the private park.
“Oh, dear.” Charlie had to rush to keep up with Max’s long strides. “At least they got to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate beforehand.”
“I, for one, am going to enjoy a celebratory tipple of brandy.” Max pulled a pewter flask from his coat as soon as they were settled in the carriage and on their way. He raised an eyebrow, smiling in invitation. “Would you like a sip or two, my lady?”
Charlie laughed again as she took the flask. “Heavens. What else have you got stashed away in that coat of yours? You think of everything.”
“I like to be prepared,” he said with a grin. “I always have a contingency plan to increase my chances of success. A strategy for making a safe exit up my sleeve. One can never be too careful.”
“Well, I appreciate your attention to detail and dedication to the cause.” Charlie uncorked the flask and raised it in the air. “To you, Maximilian Devereux,” she said with a heartfelt smile. “I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me tonight. And last night. You’ve removed a terrible millstone from around my neck, and for that, I shall be forever in your debt.” She took a delicate sip, then handed the flask back to Max.
She felt as weightless as a cloud, and for once, she didn’t wish to blunt her emotions with spirits. She no longer teetered on the dizzying edge of ruin. The torturous, ever-present worry that Lord Rochfort might expose her, subjecting her to ridicule and miring her in shame, was gone.
How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes Page 6
