Читать книгу Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Louise Allen - Страница 22
ОглавлениеCOOP BELIEVED HE had never so enjoyed an evening at the theater, and he had yet to more than occasionally glance toward the stage. There could be dancing elephants in pink tulle skirts twirling on the boards for all he knew, or cared.
Watching Dany’s reactions to all that was transpiring around them was so much more entertaining. She was by turn amused, dismayed, curious, as excited as any child, and just the once, had waggled her fingers (the hand with the emerald riding atop the glove) at a rude dowager across the way who had aimed her lorgnette at their box, until the woman looked away in shame.
Not that most every eye hadn’t been directed at them at one time or another once they’d entered the box and taken up the chairs in the front row. There was nothing like the ton to speed news across all of Mayfair with the velocity of a volley of loosed arrows.
At the moment, Dany was leaning slightly forward, her toes tapping, as the corps de ballet—Coop believed they were meant to be angels—performed on the stage. After all, there were wings involved, although most Covent Garden dancers were, as a group, farther from innocent angels than most any group Coop could think of. Darby, it was rumored, had bedded all of them.
Darby had probably launched that rumor.
In any event, this evening Dany and he were the guests of the Duke and Duchess of Cranbrook, who insisted on the more informal Uncle Basil and Aunt Vivien, which was what Coop, Darby, Rigby and of course Gabe had called them in their youth, when they were frequent guests at Cranbrook Chase and Basil was still thrice removed from the dukedom, intent only on staying as distant from responsibility as a generous allowance permitted.
But one by one, Basil’s older brothers, each just on the eve of their sixtieth birthdays, had, or so it was told to Coop by Gabe, unexpectedly opened their eyes wide, said something on the order of “Erp?” and mere seconds thereafter shuffled off this mortal coil for “a better place.”
Eventually, the trio of erps left Basil the dukedom and, as he was approaching his sixtieth birthday in November, the notion that he was next. He had fallen into a sad decline, refusing to leave his rooms at the ducal estate. Boosting the man from his doldrums had fallen to Gabe, which meant Coop, Darby and Rigby were immediately called upon for their assistance.
Them, and the parrots.
Basil had gone from a man hiding from his own fate to a happy fellow who, if he was going to have to die, would make the most of his remaining time. He now spent that time doing what he pleased, when it pleased him, and chasing a giggling Vivien around the bedroom. He did a lot of the latter, and not always in the bedroom.
Not that there was anyone, Gabe included, who was about to point out that, since Clarice was living under their roof; they just might be setting a bad example for Miss Goodfellow and her ardent Rigby when it came to public displays of affection.
As if Clary and her Jerry gave a fig for conventions. Clarice was Rigby’s first love, and love had fairly slammed him in the face like the broad end of a shovel, convention be damned. Their wedding, slated for Christmas at Cranbrook, couldn’t come too soon.
Just as Gabe’s marriage to his Thea, especially as he was heir to the dukedom, had only been put off until after the duke’s birthday celebration—or funeral, whichever way a gambling man might wager in the clubs.
Lovebirds. Coop knew he was surrounded by lovebirds. Thank God for Darby, the happily dedicated bachelor who had— Wait a moment. Hadn’t Darby been in on the plan to have his good friend compromise Dany into a betrothal?
Why would he have done that? Why had there been such a twinkle in his eye as he’d convinced Coop it was a necessary strategy if they were to catch out the blackmailer?
And then he remembered. They’d been at Oliver’s residence that first day—and how long ago it seemed now. Darby had said that he was an observer, and Dany had asked him what he was observing at the moment. That’s when he’d looked at Coop for a long moment in that way he had and said, “No, not today. I think I’ll wait. It might be safer.” And then he’d made an excuse to leave Coop and Dany alone.
No, that’s impossible. The viscount Nailbourne in the role of matchmaker? He couldn’t have seen something neither of us saw. Still don’t see.
Do we?
Do I?
Coop looked over at Dany, who was still tapping her foot, even sighing in pleasure, as the angels continued their hopping, skipping dance about the stage. There was so much joy encased in that small body, so much energy and love of life. Clearly, she wanted to stand up and dance.
Suddenly he wanted to dance with her, right here, at this very moment, and the world be damned. He, Cooper Townsend, good friend, granted, but occasionally accused of being a bit of a sobersides, voluntarily making a cake of himself?
Had Dany caused this change in him?
Was there another answer?
No, none that he could think of at any rate.
It was as if she’d been fashioned especially for him, to shake him awake, make him realize all he’d been missing by being so rigid and commonsensible. Why should the duke be the only one to see life as something to be enjoyed to the hilt?
But now what? This was a temporary betrothal; he’d promised Dany as much. Damn Darby for a troublemaking soothsayer; now what should he do?
“Look at the third one from the left, dearies. Her plump bakery shop bouncing and jiggling like blancmange. She could do with a wide strip of linen tied around her bosoms, to my way of thinking. Many more years of flapping those things about and they’ll be at her knees.”
Thunk. Welcome back to reality, old sport. Unexpectedly tumbling into love isn’t your only problem.
How had he forgotten that his mother was seated in the row directly behind them, and what were the chances he’d be killed instantly and painlessly if he stood up and threw himself out of the box and down into the pit below?
“Minerva, please, you can’t say things like that around...” he said, but then closed his mouth as he realized Dany was laughing. Her slim shoulders shaking, her gloved hands concealing a wide grin. Why, there were tears gathering in her eyes from attempting to hold back her amusement.
“Ah, sterling. Just testing,” Minerva said in some satisfaction, sitting back on her chair once more, tossing one end of her just-short-of-garish purple pashmina stole around her neck as if pleased with a mission successfully accomplished. “She’ll do nicely, Cooper, just as Darby said. You may keep her. Although you may want to tell Ames to remove some of the starch from your collars.”
His mother would never change, and he loved her. Dany was not his mother, but she clearly delighted in nonsense. Maybe that combination wasn’t as bad as it might have seemed a day earlier. Actually, the two of them, together, could be fun, if fun was the correct word. Still, he had to say something, admonish his mother in some way. “Mother—”
Applause rose around them at that moment, and for an instant Coop wildly thought both Minerva and Dany would stand up and curtsy to the audience. But it was only Intermission, and an unforeseen rescue as he grabbed Dany’s hand and all but mowed down Rigby and Clarice as he dragged her past a canoodling duke and duchess in the shadows, and out of the box.
“Where are we going?” she asked him as he raced her along ahead of any other patrons also intent on escaping their boxes for a bit of air and refreshment. “And can we get there before anyone can follow us?”
Coop turned to grin at her, because once again she had peeked into his mind and seen his intentions. “Had enough of our jolly friends for a while, have you? The royal box is empty and curtained, and only five boxes down this way. It’s our best option.”
Carefully looking in all directions to be certain they weren’t observed, he then pushed back the velvet curtains and entered the royal box. Because the front of the box was also draped shut, the move cast the two of them into near-total darkness.
“Won’t we be arrested and clapped in chains if anyone discovers us in...”
He didn’t allow her to finish. He was too intent on turning her about, pulling her into his arms and taking possession of her incredibly enticing full mouth.
To silence her, of course.
Bloody hell that was the reason!
Perhaps she’d sneaked a few lessons from Rigby and Clarice’s performance earlier in the coach, because this time there was nothing wooden or missish about her response to his kiss. Instead, she rather melted against him, even as her arms slid up his chest and she wrapped her hands around his neck.
His reaction to this unexpected capitulation was anything but that of a seasoned seducer.
His throat seemed to swell, his heart rate doubled and damn if there wasn’t a small show of fireworks going on behind his eyelids.
Other parts of his body reacted in a purely masculine way.
She seemed to notice that, as well. And not shy away.
Coop deepened the kiss, sliding the tip of his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness, marveling when she returned ardor for ardor. His thigh somehow found its way between hers and he moved his hand down to cup her firm round bottom, move himself against her.
He broke the kiss but not their embrace, moving his mouth along the side of her throat, pressing kisses against the exposed skin above the neckline of her modest gown, lightly squeezing her breast as she threw back her head in the age-old signal of acceptance.
Coop, with the last shreds of sanity he retained, knew he had to stop. This was not the time, and most definitely not the place.
And who knew she’d be so willing? God, she was willing.
It was that thought that truly stopped him.
He had to know. Curse him for a fool, he had to know.
He put his hands on her shoulders and put a careful six inches between them, attempting to make out her expression in the darkness.
“Are you in any way serious, or is this just another adventure?”
The sound of her palm hitting his cheek could not be considered one heard ’round the world, or even outside the royal box, but it was one totally deserved, and Coop knew it.
“Oh, God, Dany, I’m...”
“Not another word, my friend. You’ve more than dug this particular hole deep enough. Although I was going to stop you, anyway, for the sake of my own delicate sensibilities.”
Coop and Dany turned as one, to see the dark outline of one Darby Travers standing just to the left of the railing overlooking the theater.
“How did you...?”
“Where else were you going to go?” Darby interrupted, stepping toward them to bow over Dany’s hand. “I knew you couldn’t remain in the duke’s box throughout the entire evening, not without running stark, staring mad into the streets, and this was so wonderfully convenient. Or am I wrong, and Minerva is behaving herself?”
“She was behaving exactly like Minerva,” Coop said, putting a protective arm around Dany’s shoulders—why, he didn’t know, since he could be considered the enemy at the moment. “But Dany has passed muster by allowing herself to be amused.”
Dany shook off his light embrace and wrapped her silk shawl more closely around her. “If I may be allowed to speak?”
“I don’t know,” Darby said. “Coop, do we dare?”
“I’d ask you to go away,” Dany said in some heat, “but that would only amuse you, my lord. Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be following Mrs. Yothers?”
“Ah, dear lady, but I am. Or at least I was. I followed her directly here from her shop. She purchased a ticket, stepped inside, ignored the staircase to the highest balconies and made her way to a box situated directly across from this one, as coincidence would have it. Conveniently, at least for us, she extracted a folded paper from her reticule before stepping inside the box. She tarried inside but a moment, and is now on her way back to same said shop, I’d imagine, having delivered her missive to her—I suppose I should say employer?”
“Tipping him to the carefully fed gossip about you.” Coop took a step toward his friend. All right, they were making progress. “Good, at least something is going as planned. Who occupies the box?”
“Yes, that’s where it gets a bit sticky. I suppose now I have to reveal that I was using the royal box as a vantage point, to see who occupies that box, and that you shocked me all hollow when the two of you stepped in here and began— Well, that’s enough of that.”
“I knew you weren’t that perceptive,” Dany said with readily apparent satisfaction. “But you are lucky, I will admit to that.”
Darby touched his fingertips to his patch. “That’s me, Miss Foster. I’ve been basking in good fortune all my life.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry...”
“Don’t fall for that one, Dany,” Coop warned her. “If the ball had been an inch lower we’d be putting posies in front of his headstone once a year.”
“But that’s not lucky, it’s only less unlucky,” Dany pointed out in what Coop had come to understand to be typical Daniella Foster logic. “Again, I’m sorry, my lord. But if I may admit to a concern I’ve had ever since my trip to Mrs. Yothers’s shop this morning? What if Clarice and I weren’t as convincing as we supposed, and all Mrs. Yothers wrote in her note this evening is that we’re onto her?”
“Does it matter, Miss Foster?”
“No, I suppose not, unless you’ve set your heart on being blackmailed, but it would be disheartening to believe we were that unconvincing. Now, tell us who is sitting in the box.”
“Doesn’t cling to things until they become maudlin, does she?” Darby joked, and then suggested they vacate the royal box before someone else got the bright idea for a quick assignation at the king’s expense.
They exited carefully, Coop and Dany both, and were followed a few moments later by the viscount, who promptly propped himself against the wall, so that Dany and Coop had no option but to become his audience.
“Prepare to be amazed, my friend, although I suggest you don’t so forget yourself as to exclaim, ‘Aha! Now it all makes sense!’ Which, by the way, it does, even as, considering the objects of his blackmail, I suppose my secret is safe with him. In case you still were worried, Miss Foster.”
“Could you just please get on with it,” Coop said, shaking his head. “I’ve realized you’re only amusing when you’re teasing someone other than me.”
“I never tease. I build anticipation. But very well. The box itself, to the best of my recollection, belongs to the ancient and revered Lanisford family, with Ferdinand Lanisford serving as the current marquis. You remember Ferdie, don’t you, and a certain event?”
It didn’t take long for Coop to jog his memory. Ferdie had been at school with them for three terms, and a more repulsive specimen would be difficult to imagine. He whined, he bullied, he snitched on his mates. He screwed his badly dyed hair into a near corkscrew at the top of his head; he dressed rather like a circus clown, brayed like a donkey when he laughed and often smelled like one, as well.
“Oliver was with me that night, and a few others,” Coop said, nodding. “Yes, Darby. Aha.”
Dany looked from one to the other, clearly frustrated. “Is anyone going to explain any of this to me? Why are we suddenly talking about Mari’s husband?”
“Later, Dany, please. For now, who else was in the box?”
“Ferdie, of course, his lovely fiancée, Sally Bruxton—you once thought her a pretty little thing, I believe. That was before the frown lines, I’m sure. Knowing her father’s gambling debts, I imagine this is not a love match.”
“Just the names, Darby,” Coop said as Dany looked ready to open her mouth yet again.
“Now you’re forcing me to admit I don’t know the name of the other person present. However, after observing the box through a slight gap in the draperies, I believe the gentleman seated behind the happy pair could be Miss Bruxton’s brother. I seem to remember him only as being vastly unmemorable. The sole other occupant is a maid, sitting in the shadows at the rear of the box. And now, just to prove that our dear Miss Foster is not the only one who can flit from subject to subject—do you happen to remember who else was with you and Oliver that night? We may want to have small chats with them tomorrow.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about,” Dany said, tugging on Coop’s jacket sleeve, “but I want to chat, as well. Now. My lord, you are excused.”
“I beg your...”
“I don’t think begging would work,” Coop said, laughing. “But don’t depart in complete haste, if you please—at least not before stopping by the duke’s box and informing Minerva that Miss Foster has developed the headache and I’m escorting her home.”
“I don’t have my reticule. Besides, she won’t believe that obviously trumped-up story,” Dany pointed out.
“No, but she won’t kick up a fuss, either,” the viscount countered. “None of them will, or haven’t you already noticed that adhering to convention isn’t of paramount importance to any of them.”
“Well, I like them, my lord,” Dany replied staunchly. “I like them all.”
“As do we all, Miss Foster,” Darby said, bowing in her direction. “Sometimes, however, not all in one bunch, at least when not armed with a large bucket of cold water. And yet, friend to the end, I’ll now take myself off to do as I’m bid. Coop? Until later?”
Coop felt Dany’s gaze on him and turned to smile at her. “What can I say? He’s my friend.”
“And a good friend,” Dany answered, slipping her arm through his as they made their way through the throng of theatergoers on their way back to their boxes as Intermission was signaled to a close. “But he does see a lot for a man with only one eye, doesn’t he? At the very least, he could have said hello, or at least cleared his throat or something when we entered the royal box.”
“Until I spoke, I imagine he didn’t know the identity of his fellow occupants,” Coop pointed out as they made their way down the first long flight of stairs to the street. “It was nearly dark as pitch in there.”
“He heard what you said. He heard the sound of my slap.”
“What I said was inexcusable. Your response was quite in keeping with the gravity of my indiscretion.”
“Oh, piffle. I only slapped you because otherwise I would have had to answer you, and I didn’t have an answer. Not that you should have asked. You might want to stop doing that, asking decidedly personal questions I can’t answer, at least until I can think up another way to divert you.”
“I can think of several, just off the top of my head.”
How strange. His friends hadn’t been able to corrupt him, as it were, in all their years together, yet Dany had managed to strip away whatever starch Minerva had always complained about in less time that it took for a cat to lick its ear.
She looked up at him, clearly measuring, digesting his words. He prepared himself for another well-deserved slap.
“I think that was naughty. It was naughty, wasn’t it? Is that your coach?”
Coop looked to his left, where she had pointed. The coaches had begun circling the theater, as many patrons departed at Intermission, to move off to another engagement scheduled for the evening. “It is. Like Darby, it would appear our luck is in. And as my coachie has recognized us, he’s already stopping.”
The steps were let down by the tiger-cum-groom, and Coop handed Dany inside.
“Portman Square, my lord?”
“Not yet, Harry. Please tell Simmons to drive through the park until I signal for a return to Miss Foster’s residence.”
“Yes, sir! And he’s to go right slow, too, sir.” And then the lad winked.
Coop looked at the boy curiously. “Aren’t you too young to— Never mind. I forgot you’ve been escorting my mother about town, as well. Carry on.”
He settled himself beside Dany, waiting until the coach had moved away from the front of the theater before leaning forward to lift the shades three-quarters of the way and secure them, preserving their anonymity but giving them enough light to at least see past their noses.
She didn’t say a word. Which, of course, spoke volumes.
“You’ll want me to start at the beginning, I suppose.”
“If that means you’ll start with Oliver, yes, I think so. You’ve figured out something, haven’t you?”
“Darby did first, I’d have to say, but yes, I believe we now have some answers.”
“I had only one question. Who is the blackmailer? Is it this Ferdie person?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and then kept hold of it as he lowered their hands between them. “I want you to think about something, Dany. Have you wondered why the blackmailer singled out your sister for his attentions? After all, there was considerable effort involved on his part. Searching out the premises, finding that knothole. All those letters to write as he cultivated her to the point where she wrote something...well, shall we just say embarrassing about her husband the earl.”
“He was using her? To get to Oliver? Is that what you’re saying? But...but what about the five hundred pounds?”
Coop shook his head, knowing he’d been guilty of the same incorrect assumption. “Ferdie’s family is what many would term odiously wealthy. Money never had anything to do with it. Or with me, for that matter. This is a matter of revenge. Inflicting suffering, offering false hope, turning the screw again and again and then applying the coup de grâce, destroying the person. Persons. There was never a way out, not from the beginning.”
“Revenge? On you? On Oliver? Why?”
But Coop was still thinking, considering. “It had seemed such a coincidence that two victims of the same blackmailer would learn about each other. And it was, really, except that without mention of Oliver’s name, I may have walked away. No, that’s not true. Walking away was never an option. A broken heel, a pair of indigo eyes. Fate, intervening. He couldn’t have foreseen that, simply proving that no crime can ever be perfect.”
Dany squeezed his hand, and not gently. “Could you possibly stop talking to yourself and tell me what you mean? Especially that business about indigo eyes.”
He smiled at her in the darkness. “Don’t tell me you weren’t using them to their best effect when we stumbled on to each other.”
“I would never— You’re grinning at me, aren’t you? Never mind. Go on. You have a mutual enemy, you and Oliver. And perhaps there are others, since the viscount asked if you remembered the names. Am I guessing correctly so far?”
“Because you’re brilliant, yes. Again, I’ll begin at the beginning.”
“With Ferdie the marquis. Because he’s the enemy.”
He ran a fingertip down the side of her cheek, and then gave her chin a gentle flick. “Are you telling this story or am I?”
“Sorry. Carry on,” she said. She divested herself of her shawl and then snuggled against his side just as if they’d been romantically involved for years and such an action was only natural.
It certainly felt natural, just as raising his arm so that she could move in closer before he draped said arm around her shoulder felt natural.
Before I beat Ferdie into flinders, I really should thank him...
“Once upon a time,” he began, earning himself a playful elbow jab in the ribs, “there was an exemplary student on the subject of military tactics as first presented by the legendary Sun Tzu in his writings, most commonly called The Art of War. At the request of several of his fellow students, he agreed to an evening of drinks and conversation.”
“You were that student, of course,” Dany interrupted, a hint of pride in her voice.
“Your high opinion of me is truly humbling, and I’d like to say I was, but that’s not true. I was one of those hoping to learn something that might keep me alive if I ended up facing Bonaparte, which most of us were convinced we would. My friend Gabriel Sinclair was our informal instructor. In any event, we met in a local tavern, and then returned to our rooms as a group, except Gabe, who had caught the eye of one of the barmaids—but that isn’t important save for the fact that he wasn’t with us.”
“But Oliver didn’t catch the eye of one of the barmaids. Nor did you. Good.”
“I’m relieved that I have your blessing on that, but we weren’t feeling all that fortunate at the time,” he told her, daring to drop a kiss on her hair.
He could say anything to her. They...they could be two halves of the same person. A person he barely knew, even as he was sure he knew her more than anyone else ever would, and she him.
“Who was with you? The viscount? Rigby?”
“Neither of them, no. I don’t remember where they’d gone off to, but I’m certain it had nothing to do with ancient teachings. All right, I have it now. The others were Oliver, Johnnie Werkel, Thad Wallace, Geoff Quinton, Edward Givens and— No, that has to be wrong.”
He turned on the seat and took Dany’s hands in his own. “There was someone else. David Fallon. He was the youngest of all of us.”
“Yes? But what has to be wrong? I can tell you’re upset.”
Davy’s dead, that’s what’s wrong. He was found hanged in his mother’s attic. Rigby was the only one who could travel to the services, but Davy’s mother showed him the note he’d left behind: I can’t let it happen, this is the only way. Forgive me.
“I’m sorry. Davy suffered a fatal accident, not quite six months ago. He’d made it through the war without so much as nicking himself shaving. You’re right. It still upsets me.”
She put up her hand to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry, too. What about the others?”
Coop lightly rubbed at the skin she’d touched, mentally taking roll. “Johnnie died on the Peninsula. Thad emigrated, to Jamaica I think it was, to take charge of his uncle’s holdings there. We weren’t that close. I believe Geoff is in town, and I know where Ned is. The ton turned its back on him when he was exposed as a card cheat, his creditors immediately called in all his accounts and he now resides in the Fleet for debt.”
He held up his hand. “Yes, and before you say anything, that suddenly sounds suspicious.”
“We really must visit him. I’ve never been to a debtor’s prison. I’ve read they lower baskets from between the window bars, begging for food and farthings.”
“Your family must keep an interesting library. And no, you’re not going to visit the Fleet. Besides, you haven’t heard the rest of the story.”
“Well, that’s true enough. You may continue, I suppose.”
“Thank you.” Coop smiled. “I was heading back to my room, along with the aforementioned others, when we heard a slight whimpering, some low moaning, coming from Ferdie’s quarters. Curious, I knocked, only to be told to take myself off if I knew what was good for me. That’s nearly an exact quote.”
“You didn’t, of course. Know what was good for you, I mean. Did you knock again, or simply kick down the door?”
“A little of both,” he admitted. “Remember, I’d just come from a tavern, so I wasn’t entirely sober, and felt rather opposed to being told what to do, especially by a bas—a person I didn’t care for in the first place. Once inside, we discovered someone sprawled on the floor, and not in a pretty state.”
“A woman? You said pretty. You mean a woman, don’t you? Perhaps a female of negotiable affections?”
“You’re rather enamored of that phrase, I believe. Yes, a prostitute. Ferdie had taken his riding crop to her. So—” he was having some trouble being so frank, but Dany really did make it easier for him “—so I wrestled the crop from him and returned the favor. Someone, probably Geoff, shouted, ‘All or none!’ or something similarly ridiculous. In the end, everyone had taken turns with the crop before dumping a now-unconscious Ferdie in front of the dean’s door, a note pinned to his shirt, confessing to his crime. I’m not proud of any of that, but we were young, we were all three-parts drunk...and it happened.”
“You were young,” Dany repeated, nodding her head. “Was he expelled?”
“The woman died the next day, and suddenly Ferdie was gone. The marquis made a sizable donation to the school’s chapel, and Ferdie was banished to a distant cousin somewhere in the wilds of north Ireland, not to leave unless he wished to be disowned. I seem to remember that the cousin was some sort of fire and brimstone holy man who had eschewed money, wine, women and most probably indoor privies. And yes, before you ask, we all found great pleasure in hearing that via Ferdie’s suddenly unemployed valet. When his father died last winter, Ferdie came into the title. I really don’t know more than that.”
“Yes, you do. Or you think you do. We’re almost there, aren’t we?”
He took both her hands in his, lightly rubbing his thumbs over her soft skin. “I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve spoken to Ned and Geoff. But yes, I think we’ve found our man in Ferdie, although he wasn’t the person who brushed past us in the jewelry shop. As to where we are, you and I, I have no answer for you.”
Dany sighed. “I know. Neither do I. We don’t even know each other, do we?”
He leaned in, to whisper his next words in her ear. “How long do you think it takes until two people can be said to know each other?”
Her sigh was rather shaky, and lit a small fire inside him. “Surely longer than two days, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps—” he paused, pressed a light kiss against her ear “—perhaps it takes a lifetime to really know someone else. Or you can know them in an instant, and spend the rest of your life delighting in the knowing.”
She moved slightly away from him, although she didn’t withdraw her hands. “That sounded lovely, if a bit romantical. My parents are...comfortable. Do you think all people who know each other for a lifetime are comfortable with each other?”
He pulled her closer, knowing he should consider her question carefully. “I’m comfortable with you now.”
“Really? That’s nice, I suppose.”
Nice? Well, wasn’t that encouraging?
“You’d rather I were uncomfortable?”
“I suppose I’m thinking about Mari and Oliver, and how she worries that he’s...he’s not as interested as he had been when they married. I don’t think I wish ever to be thought of as a pair of comfortable old slippers.”
He smiled. “I’d say you may rest assured that would never happen.”
“You say that now. But perhaps we’re simply friends. People can strike up friendships quite easily, especially in times of crisis. I already feel as if Clarice is a friend.”
Was Dany sounding just a tad desperate? Attempting to find rhyme or reason in feelings she’d not expected and didn’t know how to interpret?
Should I tell her I’m struggling with the same attempt?
He changed the subject, if only to give them both a chance to relax.
“This sham betrothal was a mistake, for too many reasons to mention, one of them being we seem to have solved the question of who is the blackmailer with almost stunning ease. In fact, all we’ve succeeded in doing is warning Ferdie that we know both your sister and I are being blackmailed. Worse, that Yothers woman showing up with gossip about Darby—my good friend Darby, no less—could very well have tipped him off that we’d planted that gossip, and that the woman had done just what we’d hoped, leading us straight to him. At this point, he may go underground.”
“Retire from the game, you mean? I don’t know the man, of course, but he seems to have gone to a prodigious amount of trouble to seek his revenge. I doubt he’ll turn away at the first fence.”
Bless her, she was always ready to jump from subject to subject, and put her very good mind to very good use. More discussion of their impromptu proposal would wait for another day.
Coop had a sudden memory of Ferdie’s bloody face, where one of the blows from the crop had sliced him to the bone. No, with the scar that wound must have left behind, greeting him in the shaving mirror every morning, it was doubtful he’d give up now.
“Damn.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hear me out. Ferdie has had a long time to build on his hate, plot his revenge on us. We fairly well destroyed his life for the past half dozen years or more, maybe forever, in his mind. That’s not something easily forgotten. But first he had to figure out how to target his victims, or his oppressors, as that’s probably how he sees the thing. Two of them were out of reach—Johnny and Thad—but he’s already gotten to two others.”
“Two? You said Ned Givens was exposed as a card cheat. Who’s the other?”
“Davy. It had to be. I said he’d suffered an accident, but that’s not true. He killed himself.”
Dany’s body went taut with excitement; clearly she loved a mystery, but not as much as solving that mystery. “Because Ferdie was going to expose him? Is that what you’re saying? What did he do wrong?”
“Nothing that I know of, but there had to be something.”
He loved a man, that’s what he did wrong, at least according to the world. What else could he have meant with that note? Somehow, Ferdie had found out, and threatened him with exposure. Lord knew he had enough money in his pockets to buy most any information he wanted.
Including information on me? Yes, of course.
“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his forearm. “This is difficult for you, isn’t it?”
“If by difficult you mean it’s taking everything in me not to rush you back to Portman Square before hunting the man down to wring his neck, then yes, it’s difficult. I have to get to Ned tomorrow. I’m already certain he’s in the Fleet because of Ferdie, but I want to hear it from him.”
“He did cheat at cards, didn’t he?”
“He did in school, but after we skinned him to his unmentionables and ran him up the flagpole by his ankles, he promised never to do it again. Which he didn’t, as far as I know, even if it was because no one would sit down with him again. He was really quite good at fuzzing the cards, I’ll hand him that, so he may have tried it again, just to keep in practice. What we need to know is if Ferdie had a hand in exposing him.”
Dany nodded. “Once we know for certain what we’re already convinced we know, what do we do? Mari needs those letters, Coop, and you need to stop this horrible Ferdie person from publishing another chapbook. Only then can you wring his neck, which I wouldn’t suggest doing because people get hanged for that sort of thing and I’d rather miss you.”
“How gratifying. No, I learned my lesson that night at school. Giving in to violence is no answer to anything.”
“Wait a moment. Is that why you’re a sobersides—although I certainly don’t think you are, not at all.”
“No, that would be my friends, and my own mother,” Coop said, hoping she could hear the smile in his voice.
She squeezed his hands. “The others weren’t with you, or perhaps they’d feel the same. Your life changed that night, didn’t it?”
Her conclusion was something he’d considered. He’d learned that with enough money and position, a person could be bought out of being charged for murder, and that some lives apparently meant less than others. All he could say for certain was that, although they were all of the same age, he’d felt older than his friends after Ferdie than he had before Ferdie.
“At least I didn’t swear off strong spirits, or my own mother wouldn’t speak to me,” he quipped, drawing a smile from her before they could both sink into solemn silence.
“You can’t turn him over to the courts,” she pointed out, her mind leaping ahead. “Not without exposing Mari, or yourself. So how will you stop him? Really, it’s a shame he has no secrets you can reveal, turnabout being fair play and all of that.”
“What did you say? No, wait, I heard you. Turnabout is fair play. Dany, you’re a genius!”
“I am? Oh, good, at last someone has recognized what I’ve always believed.” She leaned toward him. “How am I a genius?”
“I’m not quite sure yet, but we’ll think of something.”
“Before I’m too delighted, I’d like you to clarify something for me. When you say we, do you mean you and the viscount and Rigby? Or do you mean we, as in the way I’d prefer you say it? As in you and the viscount and Rigby and the genius?”
“I wouldn’t take a step without you. I don’t think I’d dare.”
“Wonderful, because I’d hate having to run to catch up. Still, and even as friends, I think perhaps we should shake on it. You know, to seal the bond, as you men do?”
He saw an opening and, crass as he could consider himself, he took it.
“I’d rather seal the bond the way men and women do.”
Or perhaps it was the opening she had sought. With Dany, he knew he would never be sure which one of them, as it were, was driving the coach.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, Coop, it’s about time. I was about to begin wondering if I’d become repulsive to you now that we’re supposedly betrothed.”
He relaxed...but he certainly wasn’t comfortable. “Or that I’d become too comfortable?”
“Yes, that, as well, I suppose. I fear I may share some of my sister’s romantical failings, and would really like it very much if you were to kiss me.”
Apparently both of them had a hand on the reins, and seemed to be heading in the same direction.
He closed the gap between them to little more than scant inches. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been of the same mind all evening.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, I think I did notice.”
“But it’s wrong. I mean, for both of us. As a gentleman, shaky as that term is at the moment when applied to me, I still feel I need to point that out.”
“I believe most of the world would say so.”
He released her hands, to rest his on her shoulders. “Which begs the question—do we care what the world says?”
Now she looked at him, her indigo eyes looking black as the deepest part of the sea. “I should say we do, that I do. Would you mind if I didn’t?”
“No,” he breathed, just before finally closing the gap between them. “I don’t mind at all.”
