A Dash of Scandal (13 page)

“Excuse me, Lord Dunraven.”

Chandler looked up to see his valet standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed. With thick gray hair smoothed away from his face, Peter Winston, a short broad-shouldered man, had been with Chandler since shortly after finishing his education.

Chandler had been immediately impressed with the older man when he'd interviewed for the job. Winston hadn't cowered or become flustered from Chandler's tough questioning. He'd remained confident and certain that he was the best man to serve Chandler, and Winston had never let him down.

“What is it, Winston?” he asked, turning back to his desk and the pretense of looking at the books before him. Fines was right, he'd done far too much woolgathering recently, and he hadn't spent enough time thinking of ways to capture the Mad Ton Thief.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, my lord, but there's a Mr. Percy Doulton here to see you. I inquired whether he had an appointment. He admitted he didn't but hoped you might be available to see him.”

“Maybe at last the man has some news. Show him in.”

“Certainly. Should I bring in tea or will you be offering something stronger?”

“No need for either, Winston. I'm sure he won't be long. Ask him to come in.”

Chandler stood and started closing books scattered on top of his desk. Within moments, the man walked in.

“How do you do, Doulton. Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you for seeing me, Lord Dunraven. I have some information that I wanted to share with you right away.”

“Good news, I hope.”

“No, not at all.” He took the winged chair in front of Chandler's desk. “It appears that, despite all our efforts, there was another theft last night.”

Chandler sat down. “Damnation! Where?”

“At Lord Dovershaft's.”

The name sent a cold chill up Chandler's back. Last night, when he saw Millicent at Almack's, she said she had just come from Lord Dovershaft's. She said they were late because they got a late start. Was that the real reason? Had he exonerated her too quickly?

“It was a small painting, not large at all from what I understand, but apparently priceless. The earl is in a temper, while the countess is having friends in to see the place on the wall where the painting used to hang.”

“Damn, this is disturbing news.”

“Not according to the countess. She's quite certain Lord Pinkwater's ghost now has the painting.”

Chandler was resolute. “She's wrong. A thief has it. Was a Runner there?”

“Yes. He insists he was at his post all evening and no one could have gotten past him with a painting.”

“He would certainly insist that. Can he be trusted?”

“He's been with me for two years. I've never had a problem with him, sir.”

“Until now. Get rid of him and find another to take his place.”

Doulton cleared his throat. “There is hope, Lord Dunraven. The dinner party was a small gathering. Less than one-hundred people. The earl and countess are certain of their guest list. Neither of them saw anyone they didn't know, and together they believe they saw everyone who attended.”

“Did anyone offer any clues?”

“No, sir. As I stated before, my man swears he was at the front door the entire evening and no one left carrying anything the size of a lady's small parasol.”

“A parasol?”

“The Countess insists the painting was the size of a young girl's parasol when it is open.”

“That's impossible.”

Doulton remained quiet.

“If your man didn't leave his post, we can assume the thief left by a window.”

“My thoughts exactly. Servants would have seen anyone leaving by the rear door. I don't have enough men to guard every room at every party.”

“No. I'm not suggesting that, but something more needs to be done. There's been a robbery a week since the Season began, and we're no closer to finding him.”

“We're trying to establish a pattern, but so far there hasn't been one. He's taken jewelry, your raven, and now a painting.”

“Keep working on it. He'll make a mistake sooner or later and we'll catch him.”

“I'll be in touch when I have more to report.”

Doulton rose from his chair and laid a newspaper on Chandler's, desk open to the Society page. “I don't know if you've had a chance to see this. Good day.”

Chandler looked down at the newsprint as Doulton walked out. Chandler's name jumped out at him and the name beside his.

Millicent.

He picked up the paper and scanned it. How could anyone have seen him blowing her a kiss? They were alone in that darkened hallway, he was sure of it. No one knew about it other than Miss Millicent Blair herself.

Something stirred in the back of his mind. He picked up the article and read it again, slower. Could it be?

“Damnation,” he whispered to himself.

“Tempt not a desperate man,” Shakespeare wrote in
Romeo and Juliet
, and the Society papers are writing it, too, as all of London is buzzing about the news that the Mad Ton Thief has struck again and those on Bow Street have no suspects.

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

“Lord Dunraven,” Millicent greeted as she walked into the front parlor, her modest afternoon dress swishing across the tops of her satin slippers. Glenda followed her into the sunny room but stayed near the entranceway.

“Miss Blair,” he said and strode toward her. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Millicent knew immediately that something was wrong. The earl was his usual handsome self, she thought, but something made him appear different. His hair had been ruffled just enough by the wind to make it attractive, but that wasn't it. His collar was straight and his neckcloth simply but superbly tied. His lips, those full, masculine lips, were the same as yesterday when he kissed her, so what was wrong?

Ah, yes, she found the problem. The only thing that seemed out of place on the dashing gentleman was the wrinkle of frustration that settled between his beautiful blue eyes.

A hint of worry knocked in Millicent's chest, but she managed to brush it aside, lift her chin and her shoulders a tiny bit higher.

“I've just had another visitor leave, so I'm afraid I don't have much time.”

“Yes, I saw Lady Lynette leaving as I arrived.”

Oh, dear.
“Did she see you?”

“No.”

Thank goodness. Lady Lynette would question her unmercifully if she got wind of Lord Dunraven's visit. Remembering Lady Lynette, Millicent looked at the earl's empty hands and realized that he had not brought her apricot tarts. If what Lady Lynette had said about Lord Dunraven always bringing apricot tarts was true, and everything she had told Millicent so far had been, she couldn't help but wonder why there were no tarts for her. And should she see that as a good sign or a bad one?

Millicent relaxed a little and turned to her maid and said, “Glenda, would you mind asking Mrs. Brown to speak to the cook about a fresh pot of tea for us and perhaps some of her delicious
fig
tarts?”

“Yes, miss.”

As soon as Glenda was out of sight, Millicent advanced on Lord Dunraven with purpose. She clasped her hands together in front of her plain day dress and said, “I find it most disconcerting that you have gone against my wishes and called on me after I have repeatedly asked that you not do so. I must ask you to leave at once.”

His expression remained sober, and he didn't appear the least bit cowed by her firm accusation. If anything, his shoulders seemed to lift a little higher, too. “Something important made me decide to ignore your wishes and come. I'm not leaving right away.”

Determined to keep her aggressive attitude, Millicent said, “What could be that important, sir?”

“This.” He took a piece of newsprint out of his pocket and held it in front of her.

Millicent remained unflinched, she hoped. She couldn't let Lord Dunraven know she didn't have to read the piece of paper to know what it said. She had put the finishing touches on it not more than a few hours ago.

Knowing that it was crucial that she remain calm and collected she said, “An old piece of newsprint? What about it?”

“It's Lord Truefitt's column from
The Daily Reader.
You've heard of it?”

Keep your answers short and do not offer anything he doesn't ask for.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what this particular column says?”

“I'm not sure which edition you are holding.”

“It's today's. Now, do you know?”

If the stakes weren't so high, she would enjoy this question-and-answer game they were playing.

“I believe I do.”

“Do you have any idea how it came about that it was written?”

Millicent had to keep her wits about her and remain confident that he did not know she had anything to do with the writing of that column. She didn't know what she was going to do, only that she couldn't fib to him without her conscience bothering her and no doubt he would see through her attempts to blur the truth.

She worded her answer carefully, “What specifically are you referring to?”

“The fact that your name is linked with mine in the title-tattle.”

Maybe this is a good time to change the subject.

“Perhaps because we have danced together at the last two parties.”

“I dance with many young ladies at every party.”

On watery legs she walked past him and over to the window with seeming indifference. She brushed back a sheer drapery panel and looked outside to the street before turning back to him and saying, “How fortunate for you. You are quite the dashing dandy. I'm sure many ladies desire to dance with you each evening, Lord Dunraven.”

The furrow between his eyebrows deepened. Flattery was not going to work. She hadn't expected that it would, but that maybe it would buy her a little time to figure out how to handle his questions. She watched him walk across the room with confidence born of knowing exactly what he wanted and expecting to get it. He stopped beside her at the window.

“You know that's not what I meant.”

“Nevertheless, every eligible young lady and most of the widows seek your favor and attention.”

“Miss Blair, are you deliberately trying to compliment me again?”

His gaze never left her face as he challenged her, still she didn't flinch.

“Lord Dunraven, I speak the truth. If you are flattered by it, then that is your problem or pleasure, whichever the case might be.”

“No, I think you are trying, unsuccessfully, I might add, to change the subject?”

“I didn't realize the subject was changing.”

“Didn't you?”

“We were and are talking about you and dancing.”

He stepped even closer to her. Millicent wanted to retreat, but there was no place for her to go except against the wall. She remained unmoving with her gaze held fast to his.

“No, we were talking about you and I being romantically linked in this column.” He dropped the paper to the rosewood table that stood against the wall near him.

She looked up at his handsome face, still marred by the frown of anger. “I'm sorry that it displeases you to have your name so closely linked to mine.”

“That's not the problem and I think you know it. I'm not upset to have your name connected to mine.”

She made a point of taking a deep breath and a loud sigh of relief. “That is good to hear.”

“Millicent, it always displeases me when my name is stewed in scandalbroth, and recently it seems a daily occurrence. Tell me, how do you think Lord Truefitt found out that I blew you a kiss?”

“I suppose he must have seen you,” she answered with certain confidence.

“I don't think so.”

“You seem sure of yourself.”

“I am. Have you forgotten that we were alone in that darkened hallway together when I blew that kiss? Just you and I and the candlelight.”

Millicent felt her eyes grow wide. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Angels above! She had been caught, and she had done it to herself.

“How can you be sure?” she asked.

“If anyone had seen us together that night it would have made the papers the next day or no later than the day after. So why has it suddenly shown up today?”

Millicent's mind whirled. Perhaps there was still some way she could save herself and her aunt. She had to try. She couldn't just give up without an argument.

“Perhaps Lord Truefitt is a spiritualist. That would explain why he knows so much.”

“A seer? I don't think so.”

She hated to feel desperate! “It's possible. There's talk that the Mad Ton Thief is really Lord Pinkwater's ghost.”

“I don't believe that for a moment, and you are far too sensible and levelheaded to believe it.”

“Of course, I don't believe the thief is a ghost. I'm merely pointing out there is the possibility of more than one way that Lord Truefitt could have known that you blew me a kiss.”

She moved to walk past him and away from the window where they stood. Chandler quickly stretched out his arm and braced his hand against the wall, stopping her from passing.

Suddenly he was much too close to Millicent.

He spoke in a low but firm tone. “I'm not going to let you change the subject, Millicent. We are talking about the column, not dancing, not the thief, not a ghost. The column with my name and your name in it. Remember?”

“I believe I do.”

“Good.” He folded his arms across his chest in a comfortable relaxed manner. “I have a theory regarding how this came about.”

“I'm sure the authorities would welcome any conjecture you have on the thief.”

His voice remained low and calm. “Nice try, but it's not going to work. I'm talking about Lord Truefitt's column, not the thief.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to hear it?”

“No, I don't believe I would,” she answered honestly. “And I think we've said about all there is to say on the subject.”

“I think you should hear it. I insist.”

She took another deep breath. “All right.”

“I think you are a spy for Lord Truefitt and his gossip colum—”

Before he finished the last word, Millicent stepped forward and placed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. “No, Lord Dunraven, please don't say it aloud.” She glanced around to see if Glenda had returned and then quickly back to Lord Dunraven. “You mustn't breathe a word out loud about your theory.”

While her fingers rested upon his lips, their eyes met and held for far too long. She felt as if he were trying to look into her soul and see the Millicent Blair she didn't want him to know. Millicent felt his warm moist lips against her fingers, and didn't want to take her hand away.

He grasped the palm of her hand and kissed the pads of all four of her fingers before lowering her hand and letting go of her.

“I can't let you tempt me.”

Millicent was hardly breathing. Tempt him? She was the one being tempted. Didn't he know how easy it was for him to distract her and make her forget everything but his presence?

“I'm sorry,” she said, taking a step away from him and toward the window. “That was impolite. I shouldn't have touched you like that.”

“Don't apologize. I don't mind that you touched me, but I can't let it distract me.”

“But I shouldn't have—”

“It's all right, Millicent.”

She lowered her lashes. “Please don't call me that. You really shouldn't be so informal when addressing me, sir.”

“Why? After yesterday afternoon, I feel free to suggest we are intimate friends, and it's quite acceptable for me to call on you and to address you as Millicent. And furthermore, you should call me Chandler.”

Her gaze met his again. “No, I was hoping you would forget what happened yesterday afternoon.”

“That won't happen.”

“I forgot about it until you reminded me just now.”

He shook his head slowly and his eyes sparkled with perception. He said, “I don't think so.”

How could he be charming even when he was mocking her? “A true gentleman would never remind a lady of an indiscretion.”

“We've already established that sometimes I'm not a gentleman.”

“Most times, I fear, and no truer words have you spoken.”

“And returning to the main subject we have to discuss, it is also true that you are a spy for Lord Truefitt, isn't it, Millicent?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she saw in his eyes that there was no use. He knew.

She acknowledged him with a question of her own. “Were you only guessing when you first suggested it? Did I confirm it by my action?”

“Once I started adding things up, it became an easy answer to see.”

“How?” Millicent sighed, knowing how disappointed—no, devastated—her aunt would be to have lost her eyes and ears for the parties. “I have been so careful.”

“You were always making notes. I've watched how you walk around the parties and listen to people and then go off on your own to write down what you've heard. When I read what was on the back of the dance card you dropped on the floor, I assumed you were making notes so it would be easier to remember people's names and their titles, since you were new in Town.”

“You found my missing dance card.”

“Yes, I needed to know what you were doing when you walked off alone.”

What must have really happened dawned on Millicent.

“You brute, you deliberately switched my dance card with another just so you could read what I had written, didn't you? You changed cards with me and gave me the blank one?”

“Yes.”

“I should have figured that out myself. I've known from before I met you that you were a scoundrel and rake not to be trusted with anything. I knew there had to be a reason you were called one of the Terrible Threesome. You wear your title well, Lord Dunraven.”

“I'm not as bad as the tittle-tattle has led people to believe. I only switched the cards because I thought you were working for the Mad Ton Thief.”

“What? That's ridiculous.”

“Think again, Millicent. It was a plausible idea.”

“No sane person could think that. Whatever made you come up with a connection like that?”

“Logic. The first item was stolen just about the time you came to Town. At two different parties, I found you in parts of the house where as a guest you shouldn't have been—making notes on your dance card.”

She blinked. “You saw me twice?”

“The first time was the evening we met in the narrow hallway and later that week when you were in a private room in front of the fireplace.”