Between the Devil and Desire (8 page)

“It's not even noon yet, Jack,” Swindler said.

“For a man who doesn't live his life by a timepiece, there is never an inappropriate time for indulging,” Jack said, pouring whiskey into a glass for himself.

“Unlike you, I do sleep,” Swindler said. “I'll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” He strode back to his desk. “You can leave us now, Duchess.”

He was halfway into his chair when she said, “As I oversee your household, I believe it imperative that I remain.”

Her words stilled him, left him hovering over the chair. Not because they stunned him, but because she looked so incredibly pleased with herself, as though she thought she'd achieved some measure of victory over him. As much as it pained him to admit it, he rather liked it when she appeared pleased—not that he had any plans to work toward keeping her in that particular state. He dropped into his chair and took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Am I to assume you chose managing my household over—”

“Yes, quite,” she responded quickly before giving her attention to Swindler. It grated that she dismissed Jack so readily, and it occurred to him she wanted to stay because Swindler interested her. He wondered how she'd feel about marrying a commoner.

“Perhaps you'd care for some tea, Inspector,” she said.

“That'd be lovely, thank you.”

She glided elegantly to the far door, and Jack realized he'd not given nearly enough time to studying her backside. She had a narrow back. He wondered how much of the flare of her hips he could attribute to petticoats. Why didn't women wear clothing that gave a truer sense of their form?

“Tea,” Jack muttered irritably, knowing Olivia ws too far away to hear. “When did you start drinking tea?”

“It's a distraction when I have to question ladies who'd rather not be questioned.”

“I wouldn't think you'd want to be distracted.”

“Not me. Them. They get comfortable serving their tea and tell me things they might not otherwise.”

His tactic made a great deal of sense. Little wonder that even with Scotland Yard's less than sterling reputation, Swindler was known for getting the job done. Jack was certain the man could make a good deal more money if he went into business for himself investigating private matters. But unlike Jack, Swindler seemed to have little interest in wealth.

“The tea will be here shortly,” the duchess said as she returned to their area of the library and sat in a nearby chair. “I shall work not to be intrusive.”

She suddenly looked like a young girl, sitting on the edge of her seat, thinking she might learn that Jack was in some sort of trouble. He had little doubt she'd like to see him dragged away in irons. He'd lived through that experience once. He'd rather die than go through it
again. He indicated a chair across from him, and Swindler sat.

Jack leaned forward. “This residence belonged to the Duke of Lovingdon. He left it to me in his will. I want to know why.”

Swindler shifted his gaze to the duchess, studied her for a long moment, and then looked back at Jack. “Does she not know?”

“She was more stunned than I. I think the solicitor, a Mr. Beckwith, may know the reason, but he claims he's not at
liberty
to tell me. I want you to go to his residence at midnight, kidnap him, take him someplace dark and dangerous, hang him up by his toes, and beat him until he decides he
is
at liberty to tell me.”

The duchess gasped and shot to her feet, righteous indignation shimmering off of her in undulating waves. “You can't be serious. That's barbaric. I won't allow you to—”

“Your Grace.” To Jack's disappointment Swindler interrupted her magnificent tirade. “Indeed he's
not
serious.”

She released a tiny screech that was abruptly cut off as though she'd only just remembered she was a lady of quality. “You are despicable, sir.”

“Come now, Olivia, where's your sense of humor?” Jack asked.

“It made a hasty departure when you entered my life.”

Jack couldn't stop himself from grinning at the shot she'd fired. Damn, but he was beginning to enjoy her. She resumed sitting. How did she manage to sit so straight and stiff for so long?

“You see what she thinks of me?” Jack asked Swindler. “When you were announced, she thought you'd arrived to arrest me for some crime.”

“Can hardly blame her for that. You do have a reputation for, well, for not always having the respect for the law that you should.” Swindler held up his hand before Jack could protest. “But I'm short on time, so let's get back to the matter at hand. Were you even acquainted with Lovingdon?”

“He came to the club on occasion.” Jack rubbed his thumb along his jaw. “But we hardly spoke.”

“When you get right down to it, what does the reason matter?” Swindler asked. “You never before cared where your fortunes came from. Why now?”

Jack slid his gaze to the duchess. Based on her stern features, she'd obviously not yet forgiven him for his earlier prank. In truth, he'd hoped to infuriate her enough that she'd leave. “Shouldn't you be seeing to the tea?”

“I have every confidence it will be delivered as soon as it's prepared.”

Damnation, he hadn't expected her to be present while he spoke with Swindler. He considered insisting she leave, but that would only increase her suspicions of him. Besides, perhaps she needed to hear this. “All right then.” He tapped the desk, hoping he didn't sound like an alarmist. “I'm to serve as guardian of his heir. I want to make sure this situation isn't similar to Luke's.”

Jack saw in Swindler's eyes that he immediately caught the connection. Luke's father had been murdered by Luke's uncle in an attempt to gain the earldom. It was Luke's uncle who had paid Jack sixpence to
lure a family—Luke's family—into an alley. He'd hired men to ambush them there. His actions had irrevocably changed all their lives.

“Have you reason to suspect—”

“The duke had no surviving brothers. However, Beckwith told me of two cousins”—Jack handed him a slip of paper—“the first is next in line, the other follows. I need you to find out everything you can about them.”

With a curt nod, Swindler tucked the paper inside his jacket.

The duchess again came to her feet. Could she not speak while sitting? “You're going to investigate my husband's family?”

“Something is amiss here, Duchess,” Jack told her honestly. “The duke said I was to protect Henry. Protect him from what? An overzealous mother? I hardly think that likely.”

She looked at him as though she thought he should take up residence at Bethlem Royal Hospital for the mentally ill. “So you think my husband's cousins would murder my son to gain the title? Is that what you're suggesting? My dear sir, that is the stuff of novels, not reality.”

“Tell that to the Earl of Claybourne.”

“I'd heard—” Blinking, she sat back down as though her knees had given out on her. “I thought it was only gossip. You know how people are. You don't truly think Henry is in danger…?”

“I don't know what else to think, Olivia.”

She was too distressed to notice the familiarity he'd used, or perhaps she no longer thought it important
enough to warrant her wrath. Swindler, damn him, did notice and rubbed the side of his nose with his forefinger, a signal he'd developed in their youth to indicate when someone was giving too much of himself away. Swindler had been one of Feagan's lads, the best at ferreting out information.

“Well,” Jack snapped, irritated that Swindler might mistakenly believe he cared more for the widow than he did. “What are you waiting for? You know what I need.”

Like all of Feagan's lads, Swindler was accustomed to Jack issuing the orders, so he took no offense. He got up, walked to Olivia, and crouched before her. “Duchess, were you aware of any threats?”

The man sounded so nauseatingly sympathetic, so irritatingly caring. He'd never been one to shy away from revealing his feelings if he thought doing so would gain him an advantage. Olivia would no doubt think he was bloody wonderful. Good. She could marry him and Jack could turn this whole mess over to Swindler. If trouble was afoot, he'd no doubt be the best at discovering what it was and properly dealing with it.

Olivia slowly shook her head as though she could hardly believe the matter had come to this. “No, I, no, not that I'm aware.”

“How did your husband die?”

“He slipped on the stairs and struck his head.”

“Was he prone to being clumsy?”

“Of course not.”

“Were there any witnesses to the mishap?”

“I saw what happened.”

“Did anyone else see him slip?”

She hesitated, and Jack could see she was running various scenarios through her mind, weighing how best to answer. She'd seen him fall, possibly the only one, so if her word were brought into question—

“Swindler, he slipped,” Jack said. “The stairs are marble, treacherous as ice. I almost lost my footing last night. I don't think you'll learn anything by pursuing that avenue.”

“Quite right.” Swindler unfolded his body. “I'll see what I can find.”

A light rap sounded on the door. The footman opened the door and a female servant carried in a tray holding a tea service.

“Oh,” Olivia said, coming to her feet somewhat unsteadily. If last night had been a shock for her, Jack could only imagine what the past few minutes had been. Yet still she remained gracious. “Your tea, Inspector.”

“Thank you, but I really must be off. Another day, perhaps.”

“I'll see you out,” Jack said, grateful Olivia seemed too unsettled to join them. He followed Swindler into the hallway and, once they were beyond the hearing of the footman, asked in a low voice, “You're not thinking she tripped him up.”

“No. She was worried about me thinking that, though. He couldn't have been very old.”

“He was quite old, actually. In his early fifties, I'd say.”

“Twenty years from now, you won't think fifty is so old. Why do you think she married him?” Swindler asked.

“I don't know. Do I need to find out?”

Swindler shrugged. “Probably not important unless we begin to suspect he was murdered.”

“I can't see her murdering anyone.”

“Know her well, do you?”

“I know her hardly at all,” Jack admitted reluctantly. “Doesn't mean my assessment doesn't have merit. There was a reason I was very skilled at determining which pockets were worth the trouble to pick.”

“And there's a reason you've asked me to investigate the matter for you.”

“You're quite right, but I also want you to look into another issue.” They walked from the hallway into the foyer, which was absent of servants. “Make some inquiries and see if you can discover if the duke engaged in any perversions.”

“Perversions?”

“With young boys, specifically.”

Swindler came to a halt, his gaze discerning. He was very clever, perhaps the cleverest of Feagan's lads. Jack knew by setting Swindler on this trail that Swindler would eventually figure out the aspects of Jack's past that he'd always wanted to remain secret, but it was a risk he was willing to take in order to discover the truth. While he suspected Lovingdon was
not
the man who'd bought and abused him, he needed confirmation to put any lingering doubts to rest.

Jack cleared his throat. “I know I was never your favorite among Feagan's lads, but do this favor for me, will you? Find out if her son is in danger.”

“I'll make some inquiries, but I won't do it for you. I'll do it because Frannie would want me to.”

“You love her, don't you?”

“Go to hell.”

Jack laughed. “You're too late with that command, mate. I've been there since I was born.”

Still chuckling, he strode back down the hallway. For a man who was suddenly saddled with unwanted responsibilities, his mood was improving. Olivia would see to the affairs of his household, leaving him free to take care of the matters that were important to him. Entering the library, he was surprised to see Olivia sitting at his desk, looking through his ledger. He snatched it from her and closed it smartly. “You're still here?”

She rose, her eyes narrowing as though she'd discovered the pages in his book were all blank. “I don't believe he was truly an inspector from Scotland Yard.”

Jack arched a brow. “You don't? Then who was he?”

“Obviously someone of your acquaintance. You gave it away by offering him some spirits. But I don't believe for one moment you'd be friends with an inspector. I think all this was just an elaborate ruse to make me think my son is in danger, to make you appear more important than you are.”

“To what purpose?”

She seemed to hesitate, then thought better of it. “I haven't determined what you wish to gain. Perhaps my leaving you in peace.”

“That would certainly be worth obtaining.”

She opened her mouth—

“No, you may not take your son to the country.”

“To my sister-in-law's then. For a couple of hours.”

“No.”

“You can't hold us prisoner.”

“Until I'm assured you're safe, I can.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Damned if I know,” he growled and walked to the window. “Take two footmen with you. They're to watch you and the boy at all times.”

He heard her sigh of annoyance.

“My world is much more civilized than yours. I assure you, we're in no danger,” she said, her voice filled with certainty.

“Then why me?” He spun around to discover she'd approached silently. She staggered back, while he fought not to. Devil take her. Who'd have thought she had the skills of a burglar? “Why me?” he repeated, not bothering to hide his anger, hoping she wouldn't realize how her proximity rattled him. Why did she have to smell so incredibly enticing? She was in mourning, for God's sake. Shouldn't she smell like death delivered? “I'm intimately familiar with the dark side of London. Why did your husband think your son needed a guardian with that knowledge? The one thing I'm good at is surviving. I've lived alone on the streets since I was five. I know danger when I sense it and I can read men with uncanny accuracy. If there is no danger, then why me?”