An Affair Without End (31 page)

He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself back to a more businesslike mood. “What exactly do we hope to do here?”

Vivian glanced around thoughtfully. “I wanted to see what it was like. Whether it was the sort of place frequented by thieves.”

“No more than normal, I would say. It seems respectable enough. Still, the patronage is not restricted, by any means.”

“No. Easy enough for someone to pick Sir Rufus’s pocket—especially if he was in the state he was the other evening.” Vivian paused, thinking. “It would be nice if we could talk to someone who was here that night, who might have played cards with him.”

“I would say that chap making his way toward us”—Oliver lifted his chin toward a slender, well-groomed man winding through the players and tables—“is in all likelihood the owner or manager of this establishment, so perhaps we should ask him.”

“My Lord Stewkesbury,” the man said, making a courteous bow as he reached them. His voice was cultured, his tone hitting just the right note of deference. His gaze went assessingly to Vivian, and he added, “Madam. I am honored that you have chosen to visit us tonight. My name is O’Neal. If there is any way that I can serve you . . .”

“Pleasant little place,” Oliver commented, adopting his most aristocratic attitude as he glanced around the room. “Someone told me about it, so I thought I’d give it a look. No sharps here, then?” He ended on a faintly inquisitive note.

“No, indeed!” The man looked shocked. “I run an honest place, my lord. I trust you have not heard anything to the contrary.”

“No.” Oliver turned his gaze back to the man. “But then, one can never be too certain, can one?”

“Of course not. Is there any game you would particularly like to try tonight? Faro? Whist?”

“Actually,” Oliver went on, “we are here on a matter concerning Sir Rufus Dunwoody.”

O’Neal’s eyebrows rose. His dark brown eyes were shrewd as he studied Oliver. “Sir Rufus? I fear that I am not at liberty to discuss the patrons of this establishment. You understand, I’m sure. Discretion is one of the benefits we offer the discerning player.”

“We are not asking you to break any confidences, sir.” Vivian leaned forward, turning the full wattage of her eyes on the man. “Sir Rufus confided in us that he was in your establishment when he lost a certain piece of jewelry.”

“Lost?” The man glanced from her to Oliver, his face growing even more guarded. “I am not sure what you are saying.”

“The truth is that Sir Rufus had indulged a bit that evening, and he cannot remember what happened to the brooch,” Oliver told O’Neal. “He was here, but he is unsure whether he might have lost it at play or dropped it or perhaps . . . even had it stolen from him.”

Now O’Neal look truly alarmed, and Vivian noticed that a tinge of an Irish accent crept into his voice as he said, “I assure you, my lord, that nothing was stolen from Sir Rufus or anyone else that night. This is a very respectable club; you can ask anyone here. There is no thievery, no fuzzed cards, no uphill or downhill dice.”

Vivian reached out to place a hand on the man’s sleeve. “Mr. O’Neal, Lord Stewkesbury does not mean to imply that you or your establishment had anything to do with Sir Rufus losing the brooch. ’Tis likely, you see, that he lost it in a game of cards, and if we could find the people with whom
he was playing that night . . . You see, we are trying to locate that bit of jewelry. Sir Rufus won it earlier that evening, and it has great sentimental attachment to a very dear friend. She would like to have a chance to buy back the jewel.”

Oliver added, “I was hoping that we could sit and play a bit of faro while you asked around the club—discreetly, of course—to see if anyone remembered seeing Sir Rufus here one night, carrying a diamond brooch of particular beauty.”

It took some doing, but between the two of them, they managed to soothe O’Neal’s ruffled feathers and convince him to do a bit of discreet investigation for them.

“What do you think?” Vivian asked Oliver in a low voice after O’Neal left. “Is he as honest as he claims?”

Oliver bent his head to hers to answer, “Doubtful. Few gambling establishments are as pure as they would have you think.” This close to her, the scent of Vivian’s perfume teased at his nostrils, reminding him forcefully of the smell of it on her skin the other night as he had kissed his way down her body. He straightened, gritting his teeth and willing the surge of heat to dissipate. “But we didn’t accuse him of any wrongdoing, and he has to weigh the advantages of doing an earl a favor against the possible affront to his patrons. I imagine he will make some attempt to help us.”

True to his promise to the club’s owner to cast some business his way, Oliver sat down at one of the faro tables. Vivian declined the offer of joining in the game.

“I shall just sit here and bring you luck,” she told him, hovering at his shoulder.

He cast her a dry look. “Then I hope it’s better than the luck you brought me at dice.”

A middle-aged man on the other side of Vivian gave her a roguish look and said, “You can bring me luck anytime you wish, miss.”

Oliver kept his lips firmly together so that he would
not tell the man to address her ladyship with more respect. Such a display would scarcely aid Vivian’s disguise. He did, however, allow himself a long, cool warning glance at the man, who immediately subsided.

It was several minutes before O’Neal made his way back to them, but fortunately Oliver found the card game more engaging than tossing dice, as well as something he was more apt to win, at least now and then, so he did not mind the wait. He would not have admitted for the world that much of what made the wait pleasant was that Vivian was standing close beside him, bending down now and then to peruse his cards or whisper advice in his ear. Of course, whenever she whispered in his ear, all thought flew immediately out of his head, so that he usually lost that hand—but Oliver could not bring himself to regret it.

Finally, however, O’Neal returned, with another man in tow. “My lord, this is Jackson,” he told Oliver in a quiet tone, indicating the young man behind him. “He was working here a few weeks ago, the last night anyone remembers Sir Rufus coming in. But I fear he does not remember anything particular about him that night.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Jackson, too, bowed. “I fear it was a night much like any other. Sir Rufus was as
he
usually is. I don’t remember anything about a brooch.”

“He did not offer it as payment or collateral?” Oliver asked.

“No, my lord. He had money that night. Said he’d been lucky that week.”

“Not so lucky here, I’ll warrant.”

“No, sir.”

“Well, thank you.” Oliver nodded to the man and handed him a coin for his troubles. As Oliver turned back toward Vivian, he saw the man on the other side of her watching him, eyes bright.

“Sir Rufus?” the man asked. “You talking about Dunwoody?”

“Why, yes. Do you know him?” Vivian turned and smiled encouragingly at the man.

“Course I do. Know that brooch, too. Leastways, I guess it’s the same one.”

“Really? You saw him with it?” Vivian’s smile widened.

“Sure. Well, I saw him flashing around a brooch one night. Might not have been the same. A pretty thing, diamond in the middle, looked like a heart. Big as a baby’s fist, it was.”

Oliver glanced at Vivian, and she nodded. “That’s it.”

“Did he wager it?” Oliver asked the man.

“No, he was full of the ready that night. I remember. Kept talking about how much he’d won. Taking that jewelry out and flashing it around.” The man shook his head in disgust. “In his cups, that was the problem. Hadn’t a bit of sense, had he?” He looked shrewdly at Oliver. “Why are you so interested in that brooch?”

“It belongs to a friend,” Oliver said smoothly. “Lost it to Sir Rufus, and he can’t sell it back to her because he cannot remember what happened to the thing.”

The man let out snort. “He wouldn’t. He lost plenty of money that night, right enough. But I never saw him wager the brooch. My guess—the way he was flashing it around, I’d say somebody slipped it out of his pocket.”

“Not in here!” the owner of the club protested indignantly. “We run a clean place, I assure you, gentlemen. My employees and I keep an eye on everything that is going on. No one is going about nabbing things from the players.”

“I am certain that no one holds you or your club to blame,” Oliver said soothingly. He did not add that if the employees were as watchful as O’Neal claimed, then Jackson would surely have seen the diamond brooch that Dunwoody had apparently been showing off to everyone. “But someone
might have seen it and followed him out. It’d be easy enough to pick the pocket of an inebriated man.”

The man beside Vivian snorted again. “Hell, the state Dunwoody was in, he was probably lucky no one knocked him over the head to take the thing.” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Course, could be someone did and Dunwoody can’t remember it. Not to speak ill of the man, but when he’s in his cups . . .”

Oliver felt Vivian sag a little in disappointment against his arm, an impression that was verified a few minutes later when they left the club and climbed into the hired carriage.

“Well!” Vivian exclaimed, sinking back into the seat and turning to Oliver, her expression downcast. “I fear poor Kitty is doomed to be disappointed. I did so want to find that brooch for her, but I am sure that man is right and Sir Rufus had it picked right out of his pocket.”

Oliver nodded. “Yes, or he dropped it on his way home.”

“Or was held up at gunpoint, for all he can remember,” Vivian added in disgust. With a sigh, she leaned back her head against the seat. She was silent for a moment, then said, “Another person robbed of jewels.”

“What?” Oliver looked at her. “Yes, but what—oh. You think Sir Rufus was a target of the same man who stole Lady Holland’s necklace?”

“You said there had been others. So did Mr. Brookman.”

Oliver nodded. “At least two that I have heard of. Lord Denmore and—” He straightened slowly. “Lord Denmore was robbed after he left a gambling club one night.”

“Do you think it’s someone in the gambling world? One of the workers at a club, say, like that Jackson who saw nothing despite what the customer said Sir Rufus was doing?”

“Yes, like Jackson. Or Mr. O’Neal.”

Vivian nodded. “He was terribly eager to deny that
anything untoward ever happened in his club. The sign of a guilty person?”

Oliver shrugged. “Or of a business owner who does not wish to have any taint attached to his enterprise. A not unreasonable way for even an honest man to act.”

“Mm.” Vivian fell into a thoughtful silence.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Vivian . . . what are you thinking?”

Vivian glanced at him. “Why, whatever do you mean? Why should I be thinking anything in particular?”

“Because you have that look about you. The one that says you are contemplating mischief.”

Vivian laughed lightly. “Really . . . ah, here we are.”

She glanced out the window. Oliver followed her gaze and saw that they had, indeed, almost reached Carlyle Hall. The carriage pulled to a stop, and Oliver got out to hand Vivian down from the carriage. He sent the carriage on its way and turned to escort Vivian into her house.

“Are you not keeping the carriage?” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Why, Oliver, one might almost think you were planning to stay here.”

He glanced at her, startled. “What? No! Blast it, Vivian, you know I have no intention of . . . of . . .”

She smiled up at him, moving closer. Her perfume teased at his nostrils. He could not pull his gaze away from her mouth, full and luscious, sensually beckoning below the stark black of her mask.

“Of what?” she murmured. “Spending the night with me?”

“Yes. I mean, no.”

She let out a low, throaty laugh that shivered all through him. “You don’t have to stay
all
night, you know.” She turned and ran lightly up the steps to the door.

Oliver followed her.

Vivian stepped inside and nodded to the footman who had opened the door. “Thank you, Thomas. That will be all for tonight.”

The footman bowed, not betraying his curiosity by so much as a glance at Oliver, and walked away. Oliver grimaced as he swept off his hat and tossed it onto the hall table.