A Scandalous Proposal (18 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C
OOP
AND
D
ANY
drove away from Portman Square beneath a reasonably warm London sun, Harry and a wicker picnic basket behind the curricle seat.

Dany considered the picnic basket a good omen. She wished Harry to John O'Groats or some other place equally distant.

She was fast becoming A Very Bad Person
.

Her fingertips itched to stroke Coop's cheek, to run through his hair.

She probably shouldn't imagine any plans beyond that. For now, she could barely look at him without her stomach twisting into knots.

He seemed perfectly in control, however. Almost as if last night hadn't happened. She could only hope he was also hiding his true feelings.

“Excuse me?”

Coop had said something, and she hadn't heard him.

Had the events of last night turned her suddenly stupid? Yes, that was entirely possible. Look at Mari, for goodness' sake.

“I said, I was surprised to have you meet me in the foyer, ready to leave. I was convinced your sister would have had a few questions for me.”

Dany brought up a mental picture of Mari as she'd last seen her, weeping over her hot chocolate while holding up a mirror to her red, splotchy face, her usually beautiful dark hair hanging in greasy strands, wet from two washings yet still clearly clinging to the chicken fat.

She couldn't resist.

“I believe she plans to confine herself to her chambers for the next several days. A slight mishap with foodstuffs.”

She felt him looking at her and hoped she appeared suitably solemn.

“Foodstuffs? I don't want to know anything more about this, do I?” he asked.

“I don't think so, no. Suffice it to say, although I'm confident she'll be fine, she told me she doesn't care where I go, what I do, nor whom I do it with, as long as I don't say, ‘I told you so,' one more time. You and I, Cooper Townsend, are free as birds.”

Coop reached over and squeezed her hand. “I don't know that I'll ever be free again. And before you fly up into the boughs, little bird, I'm deliriously happy about that.”

“Oh.” Dany took in a breath, not deep, because even shallow breaths seemed suddenly difficult with her chest feeling as tight as it did. “We rather made fools of ourselves last night, didn't we?”

She waited for an answer.

“Well? Aren't you going to say something?” she asked at last.

“Oh, you wanted some sort of validation?”

She rolled her eyes. He loved to tease her, obviously. And she apparently loved to be teased. “You could tell me I'm wrong. That might help, yes.”

He turned to her, his smile knees-melting. “Forgive me. I was fully occupied in contemplating how we might be
foolish
again today.”

Dany bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “I like a gentleman with a fine mind.”

“And I like an honest woman. But first, we do have to talk. Darby and I learned a few things earlier today.”

“You visited the Fleet?” Dany allowed herself to be diverted. After all, one couldn't think about being
foolish
all of the time. Although she'd have to delve more deeply into reasons why they shouldn't. “Was it a dreadful place?”

“Most of it, I'm sure. Ned Givens, on the other hand, apparently lives better than half of London. He explained that he was
prepared
to be clapped in the Fleet, and made appropriate arrangements. And before you ask, yes, Ferdie demanded money or else he'd expose him as a cheat.”

Dany tipped her head to one side, considering this, what
prepared
meant.

“How did he know this Ferdie person would expose him in any case?”

“He didn't know it was Ferdie. He just knew that if he met with success, the hopeful blackmailer would be back for more money until Ned's well ran dry, and probably then expose him, anyway. Ned didn't like the odds.”

“Never play at cards with the man,” Dany warned, but then she smiled. “I wish you'd taken me with you. I think I would have enjoyed your Mr. Givens.”

“I thought of that, yes. Now do you want to hear what Darby learned about Geoff Quinton?”

“I suppose. If he's also being blackmailed by Ferdie—such a silly name, Ferdie. I can't seem to stop saying it.”

“I'm happy it amuses you. I'm not feeling inclined to find anything silly about the man right now.”

“Your friend Davy.” Dany nodded. “I'm so sorry.”

“Yes, so am I. Sorry for Oliver, for Ned, and I reserve some pity for myself, if truth be known. But not for Geoff Quinton. Unless we should feel sorry for him now that he seems to have suffered a broken arm.”

“He's—he's had an accident?” she asked, although she was fairly certain she knew the true answer. “Darby visited him this morning. Was the man injured before the viscount arrived?”

“No, he wasn't. I understand he was in his dining room, shoving dripping eggs and kippers down his gullet. And before I say more, let me tell you again how wonderful it is that I can speak freely to you, without fear you won't understand, or that you'll swoon or some such thing.”

“Thank you?”

“You're welcome. And stop looking at me that way or Harry is going to receive an education he's too young for at this moment. And here we are,” he said, pulling the curricle onto a narrow lane. “I'll answer your questions soon enough.”

They rode in silence for at least a half mile before he brought the horses to a halt once they'd arrived at a wonderfully thatched and cross-barred cottage, the sun shining off dozens of mullioned windows. It was at least five times the size of any cottage she'd ever seen.

“I admit I haven't been paying attention ever since we left London behind,” Dany said as he helped her to the ground, looking about the grassy, parklike setting. “Where are we?”

“Just outside Wimbledon. This is Darby's estate, or should I say one of them. It's currently in dust covers, and with only a skeleton staff, as he didn't see the point of residing here just for the short Little Season, and prefers his mansion in town.”

“Yes, of course, I certainly can see his point,” Dany said, tongue in cheek. “Is he here?”

“Mercifully, no. But he did suggest we picnic here. Do you mind?”

Dany nearly snorted at the absurdity of that question. “No, I suppose not. We do need to...talk.”

Coop took her hand. “There's a gazebo, discreetly located behind the house, beside the stream. Harry? The basket, if you please. Tend to the horses, and then you're expected in the kitchens, where you will remain until I call for you.”

“Yes, my lord, I'll take m'self off,” the boy said, already grabbing at one of the bay's bridles and heading along the gravel path that led to the stables.

“That probably couldn't have been more obvious, could it?” Coop said, leading Dany in the complete opposite direction, toward the stream. “We've dropped many a line into this water over the years, to little success. But the conversation, and the wine, have always been good.”

“It's a lovely stream. The gazebo is lovely. I'm certain the food in that basket will be lovely. And wasn't someone very kind to have spread out that blanket for us. Can we say hello to each other now?”

He put down the basket, and took both her hands into his, stepping closer.

She'd been good. She'd been good for an entire hour. Now anticipation curled her toes in her slippers.

“Hello,” he breathed quietly, bringing his head down to hers, his mouth to within an inch of hers. His green eyes were so darkly intense. He smelled so good. He untied her bonnet and flung it somewhere; she didn't care if it was now bobbing along downstream, as long as the dratted thing was out of their way.

And then, finally, he kissed her, and her heart leaped in her chest.

Last night wasn't a fluke. It wasn't the moment. It hadn't been curiosity. It was the man. It would always be the man. This man.

She felt him scoop her up into his arms, then carefully deposit her on the blanket, coming down with her, his lips never leaving hers. They couldn't, really, for she had her arms wound tightly around his neck.

She was home again.

He drew slightly away, then kissed her again, his lips slanting against hers, smiling against hers.

He was happy. She could feel his happiness. Touch it, taste it. As he most surely could touch and taste hers.

“I'm afraid that will have to suffice for now,” he said, levering them both up and away from the blanket, so that they were sitting, facing each other. He ran his fingertips down her cheek, and then, unexpectedly, ruffled her hair.

Just as she'd longed to do to him.

“What does it look like, long?”

“Prettier, I suppose. But also heavier.”

“I like it this way. Rigby commented that you could be a pixie. Do you have magical powers? I've considered that.”

“Have I cast a spell over you, do you mean? That would be nice, but I don't think so. Are you hungry? Because I'm starving.”

She reached for the basket, hiding her blush at his compliment. At least she'd take it as a compliment.

He helped her, extracting a dark bottle of wine and uncorking it as she laid out plates and utensils, along with a container of cold chicken and a crusty loaf, a pot of butter and some thinly sliced cucumbers. She loathed cucumbers. Ah, but the grapes, fat and purple, looked perfectly scrumptious.

She broke off one and motioned for Coop to open his mouth so she could have a clear target.

“Very good,” she said when he caught it between his teeth before it disappeared into his mouth. “Now, while I deal with this chicken, tell me about the unfortunate Geoffrey Quinton and his broken arm.”

“Yes, my queen.” He retrieved a pair of wineglasses and poured a quantity into each one. Her portion was rather miserly, but that probably was sensible.

He began by explaining that Quinton was not anyone's bosom chum. He was an earl's son, yes, but a sadly disappointed second son—his older brother having already produced four male progeny with his fertile wife. He possessed no title, no prospects, little allowance and a predilection to breaking noses as often as most people broke bread. He'd avoided fighting in the late war, something that Coop apparently saw as a large black mark against the man, and was whispered to have rented out his fists. He clung to the fringes of Society, but only because of his father's title.

“But, at the heart of it, Geoff is a coward,” he told Dany as she settled in with a chicken leg, ignoring the utensils in order to grasp it in both hands. “I've never known him to confront anyone remotely larger or stronger than himself. Which brings us to the man's predicament. Steady yourself, Dany, because you won't like this.”

“He beat someone to death? He's attempted to slaughter his brother and nephews? What? Tell me.”

“He was instructed to kill me.”

Dany paused with the chicken leg halfway to her mouth. “Kill you? How?”

“Messily, as a matter of fact. With his fists. He has fists like small hams, by the way,” Coop told her, looking at her overtop the brim of his wineglass. “The demand for blackmail would go away once I was dead, while punishment for not complying would mean his own death. He was given three days to complete his ‘mission.' According to Darby, the man was in a high state of agitation, and seemed nearly overjoyed to be able to share his dilemma with him.”

Dany's mind was whirling. “So Darby broke the man's arm, to put him...what? Out of the game?”

“He told Geoff to consider it a favor, yes. And said he'd return to break the other one if we so much as sniffed one of his cohorts following me. Geoff was ordering his man to pack him up for a visit to his father the earl even as Darby was leaving. Yes, Darby had also suggested that he do so.”

“I knew the viscount could be dangerous. He's too silly not to be.” Dany put down the chicken leg, her appetite gone and her hands noticeably shaking. Sucking lightly at each faintly greasy fingertip, she spoke as she thought. “He...but would he have done it? Killed you, I mean. In the next
three days
? Oh, God, Coop. If we hadn't...if you and I had never met, if we hadn't found out about Mrs. Yothers...if we—what do you mean, three days? And who are these cohorts?”

Coop drained his glass. “I was waiting for you to pick up on that, although I admit to being distracted, watching you at the moment.”

Dany spoke around her middle finger, which she was just then lightly sucking on, using the tip of her tongue to, she hoped, discreetly coax a bit of chicken out from under her fingernail. “Why are you looking at me like that? I don't understand.”

“Good. Now, to get back to what we know. Geoff had been approached over a month ago, for blackmail, to avoid having the world know he supplements his allowance robbing coaches with his small gang of undoubtedly dangerous hired cohorts. Ferdie found out about that—how I don't know, save to say he's been planning his revenge on us for a long time. The demand to rid the world of me arrived by note just this morning, in fact, only an hour ahead of Darby. Apparently Geoff's problem didn't seem to affect his appetite.”

“This morning. Because he—Ferdie—knows we're onto him. We truly have backed him into a corner, haven't we? And ourselves, I suppose.”

“We have. Third chapbook or not, Ferdie must believe it won't be published in time to save him from me.”

“Because you would go straight at him, chapbook be damned,” Dany said, not without pride.

“Miss Foster, such language!” He poured them each more wine. “Luckily, our friend Ferdie isn't aware that we've yet to come up with a plan to best him, to get your sister's letters back, to stop the publication of the chapbook.”