Deliciously Wicked (10 page)

She pursed her lips. “Did I mention, I also suspect him of causing my poor father's accident? Removing my father from this office for a few months would certainly give him the freedom to do his debauchery.”

“Debauchery?” He smiled, and she caught herself staring at his mouth. “You do have quite the imagination. I hate to present the obvious, but you've criticized Munden for making accusations about me without proof. Now you're doing the same with him. You need evidence for your suspicions,” he said.

He was right, but it was different somehow. Different because she liked Gareth. More than she had any
right to. But despite that, she knew they needed proof about Munden regardless of how she already knew and believed him to be guilty.

“We've already thought of that too and have the perfect plan,” she said.

He steepled his fingers under his chin. “I'm intrigued.”

“I will sneak into Munden's residence and look around. Find paperwork or something from the purchase of the racing horse or perhaps confirmation of him stealing those boxes. Once we have that verification, we can confront him and your name will be cleared.”

“You can't be serious,” he said. When she didn't deny it, he came to his feet. “No, it's too risky, not to mention illegal.” He shook his head. “It's too dangerous, Meg.”

“But if it will clear your name, isn't it worth it?”

A deep frown creased his brow. “Not if you get caught or hurt in the process,” he said. “I can't allow that.”

Oh, so he was concerned with her safety, and that meant he cared for her. Her insides warmed. At least a fraction.

“I will wear a disguise to protect myself.”

He stood and walked the short length of the carpet. “You don't know how to break and enter,” he argued, then he hesitated, his expression changed as if he was almost afraid to say more. “Do you?”

“No, I don't know how, but how difficult could it possibly be?”

He stopped pacing and looked at her. “You really are serious about this,” he said. He rubbed his forehead.

“Indeed.”

“I'm going with you,” he said firmly.

Her heart—not to mention her pulse—leaped at his words. To hide her sudden anticipation, she insisted, “I will be safe. I don't need you coming along to act as a nursemaid.” Although she was secretly hoping he would come with her.

“You can't argue with me about this. If you're insistent on this, I'm going with you. You're not getting yourself killed on my account. I don't have time to feel guilty about that.”

She felt her excitement wane a little. Here she had just accepted that he was concerned for her well-being. Began to believe he actually cared about her, if only a tiny bit. But his concern wasn't built on warm feelings toward her, but rather a desire to not feel guilty. He didn't want to feel responsible should anything happen to her while she flitted around the city on his behalf.

He released a puff of air. “What about Munden?”

“Already taken care of.” She gave him a sweet smile.

“Proud of yourself?” he asked.

“Quite.”

“Very well, explain how you will get him out of the house.”

“Edmond will send an invitation for another game. Munden apparently enjoys a good game and shouldn't be able to resist a personal invitation. Especially from the son of a viscount.”

She thought she detected a slight flinch, but it was gone before she could be certain.

“It is settled then,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. Her stomach was rolling with excitement. This must be how Amelia felt as she and Colin
chased after the man who had stolen her father's prized antiquity. Nervous and scared, but exhilarated all at the same time.

She didn't want to consider how her excitement had increased now that Gareth was going to accompany her.

“Do you know where he lives?” he asked.

She picked up the file from the top of her father's desk. “I looked it up. He's not too far from here, but we'll have to go into the city. I'll send you a message when I have everything set,” she added.

“No, it might be intercepted, and that's too risky. Come and retrieve me,” he said. “You have better access to carriages, and then we'll ride into London and get this over with.”

A tremor of excitement shot down her spine. This was going to be a real adventure. But she couldn't help noticing that Gareth seemed to have an uncanny insight into how to proceed with their plan.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?” she asked.

He met her gaze and nodded. “Once before.”

She felt her eyes widen. “To steal something?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

He chuckled. “No, I got caught.”

Brilliant
.

 

Meg eyed Charlotte as she dug in the trunk. “Sorry, I do believe everything will be dreadfully wrinkled. Dear Anthony is growing so quickly that his clothes are often tossed in trunks and stored. Stored for what? I haven't any idea. It is not as if my parents will have any addi
tional children.” She stood abruptly and turned to face Meg. “How very odd that would be. Considering I am old enough to have my own children now.” She went back to digging. “I've found a shirt. I'm looking for some trousers now,” she said. Her voice echoed a bit from being so close to the inside of the large trunk.

Meg smiled. “I appreciate this.”

“Well, this whole scheme was my idea. I must say, I'm thrilled that Mr. Mandeville is going with you. I feel much safer knowing he will be at your side. Here we are,” she said, then stood and turned, clothes in hand. “I believe these should fit nicely.” She shook them out before handing them over.

“Should I try them on, to make certain, in case we need to look for alternatives?” Meg asked.

“Good idea.” Charlotte watched her a moment, then added. “Go on then. Try them on.”

“In here?”

Charlotte looked around. “No one is in here. And Mama and Frannie are off this afternoon having tea with one of Frannie's friends.”

“Give me a hand, then.” She presented her back to Charlotte so that her friend might assist her with the buttons on her dress. Quite a different situation from the night that Gareth unbuttoned her. An occasion she'd replayed in her mind several times since that night. She could close her eyes now and remember the thrill of excitement that had trailed through her body as he'd unbuttoned her dress. Good heavens, if she wasn't careful with her thoughts, Charlotte would wonder where all the blushing came from.

“How is Mr. Mandeville?” Charlotte asked as if she could hear Meg's thoughts.

“Doing well, I suppose. We finished the boxes. I think they came out rather nice. Considering neither of us had ever done that sort of work before.”

“There we go.” Charlotte helped Meg pull the dress over her head. “Now then, I do believe you'll have to take your shift off, as that won't work with the trousers. Oh, and your petticoat, obviously.”

Meg removed the petticoat and then slipped out of her drawers. Now she stood there in nothing more than her shift. There wasn't a good way she could bunch this up beneath the trousers, so she tossed it on the floor as well. Quickly she pulled the trousers on, then the shirt. After fastening everything, she faced Charlotte.

“Well? How do I look?” she asked.

“That will never work. You can see your breasts through the shirt. We should bind them.” Charlotte went back over to the trunk and pulled out an old nightshirt and ripped a piece of fabric from the bottom hem. “This should do it. Wrap this around you.”

“Are you quite serious?” Meg asked.

“Of course I am. You don't want anyone walking about to notice that you have breasts while you're wearing that getup, do you?”

“My breasts are not large enough to notice.”

“Trust me, I can see them clearly. It will be worse that night because of the chilly night air.”

Meg felt herself blush. “Honestly, Charlotte.” Meg snatched the fabric from her friend and wrapped it around her chest, then tucked the end under her arm.

“What? It happens to all women, I imagine,” she said with a smile.

“You're terrible. Completely incorrigible.” She held her arms open. “Better?”

Charlotte tried to hide a smile, but ended up roaring with laughter.

“What? Is it that bad?” Meg looked down to see as much of herself as she could manage without a mirror.

“It's not the clothes. It's the hair. You need to put your hair somewhere.”

“Amelia suggested a hat,” Meg said.

Charlotte poked around a bit in the room and came up with a tweed cap. “Try this.”

Meg wound her hair up and held it to the top of her head while she maneuvered the cap with the other hand. Eventually she was able to get it secured on her head and then went about poking stray hairs into the sides. “How's this? It's not perfect, but I'll secure it with pins when we go that night. But for now?”

“For now it creates a clear picture.”

“Do I look like a boy?”

Charlotte tilted her head a few times. “If it were dark and I didn't know any better, I probably would assume you were a boy. Oh, we forgot one thing.”

“What?”

“Shoes.”

“That would have been interesting. I can see it now. Me hiding in the London's dark alleyways with my trousers, hat, and pink satin slippers.” She giggled.

Charlotte held up a pair of shoes. “These will probably be too big, but you can always stuff them with some paper or something.”

Meg took them. “I guess I'm all set then.”

“Are you nervous?”

“A little. But I'm more excited than anything. I thought Amelia would be the only one of us that would ever do some authentic investigation. I wish you could go with me,” Meg said.

“I don't believe I would ever pass for a boy. I am far too tall.”

“Yes, you would be quite the strapping lad,” Meg said in a falsely deep voice.

“Good luck and be safe.”

“I shall. Gareth will make sure we're safe. I'll report everything at the next meeting.” Meg quickly removed the masculine clothing and slipped back into her dress. She backed up to Charlotte to give her access to her buttons. “Thank you for the clothes.” She turned to go, then stopped. “Charlotte, about the other day at my house, I—”

Charlotte held up a hand to stop her. “Don't say another word. There is nothing to concern yourself with.”

Meg squeezed her friend, then went on her way. She needed to take care she didn't relive Gareth undressing her while she was with him. Charlotte might ignore any blush she'd seen, but Gareth would inquire as to her thoughts. He'd want to know what daring thought entered her mind to create such a stain. In the future, she would endeavor to not remember what it was like to have the dashing man see her practically naked.

I
t hadn't taken them long to set things in motion with Mr. Munden, and the night they would break into his living quarters finally arrived. All was arranged; her disguise, the hackney, and Gareth would be waiting for her.

Meg stood in front of the mirror eyeing herself. She'd never before seen herself in a pair of breeches, and while they were strange, they were somewhat comfortable as well. She'd certainly be able to do more in them than she ever could within the confines of a skirt.

Perhaps after tonight she'd have several pairs made and wear them around the house, or even at the factory. They might come in handy were she to help with certain aspects of the factory work. Or riding a bicycle, for that matter. No wonder men were so fond of them.

She wound her hair up and secured it with several pins, and then stuffed it inside the tweed cap to hide it.
It was time. Time to go and retrieve Gareth. And join the ranks of the other thieves in this town. She should probably feel guilty about this evening's activities, but she didn't. Excited and nervous, but not an ounce of guilt. They were doing this for a good purpose, and that mattered above all else.

She peered into the hall, and all was dark. She hoped everyone slept and no one would notice her sneaking out of the house dressed as a boy. As it was, she'd already had to hire a hackney so that she didn't have to explain anything to their own drivers. She crept out of the house and down the hill where she met the carriage. She couldn't very well have them drive up to the front steps—that would have alerted everyone.

She instructed the driver to stop at the boarding rooms as she climbed in. Tonight they would not only clear Gareth's name, but she was doing a service for the factory and her father. What better way to prove to her father she was ready for more responsibility at the factory than to catch a thief?

It didn't take the brougham long to pull up to the boardinghouse where Gareth rented his rooms. He was waiting outside, and when she opened the door, he slid in across from her.

Even in the dark carriage, she could see Gareth eyeing her from head to toe. “So this is your disguise?” he asked as the carriage lurched forward.

“Perfect, don't you agree?”

“You still look like a woman to me.”

“Yes, but you know that I'm a woman.” More than anyone, he knew. He'd touched her body and held her against his own. Something she was even more aware
of than usual in the quiet intimacy of the carriage. “But a stranger will not notice.”

“You can put on a boy's clothes, but it doesn't erase your curves or the delicate features of your face. You're too soft to be a man.”

She watched him form every word. Slowly, as if each was specifically chosen. What else had he noticed about her? She had to clear her throat before speaking. “I'm supposed to pass for a boy, not a man.”

“Where did you find the clothes?”

“From Charlotte's younger brother.” She had to remind herself to breathe. Hoping to distract herself from temptation, she wiggled around the seat. “I find them rather comfortable. I could certainly wear these on a regular basis.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I doubt many would even notice.”

“Trust me, they'd notice,” he said.

She let her eyes settle on him and viewed his yet again stubbled chin and cheeks. What was so unbecoming on other men made him look positively dashing. But it was not his unshaven face that made him appear dangerous. No, that honor went to his eyes. Eyes that dared her to look. Dared her to touch. Dared her to want things she knew she had no right even thinking about.

“How did you get out of the house dressed that way?” he asked.

She shrugged sheepishly. “I snuck out.”

“So your father doesn't allow you complete freedom?”

“Of course not. He's indulgent, I'll admit that, but he is certainly not flippant about my welfare.” Unlike
some men who probably didn't care at all. “He would be sorely disappointed in my behavior tonight,” she admitted.

“Well, that stands to reason.”

“But I'm doing this for him as much as for you. I want to prove to him that I'm responsible.”

“By breaking the law?” It was a statement more than a question.

She did have to wonder if the end justified the means. Only time would tell, and she hoped that if her father ever learned of this outing, he would not be too disappointed by her lack of judgment. “Of course not,” she said. “By catching a thief.”

He gave her a wry smile, but dropped the subject. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

His husky voice slid across her skin like a caress. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Munden lives not too far into London.”

“I take it from the expression on your face that it is not the most savory part of town.”

“Indeed,” she said.

“Are you frightened?”

She frowned. “Of what?”

“Meg, do you not know what happens to ladies in those unsavory parts of town?”

“You'll protect me. I'm not concerned.” That wasn't entirely accurate. Her hands were shaking fiercely, but no need for him to believe her to be a ninny. Since this escapade was, after all, her idea.

“I see.”

“You would prevent anyone from hurting me. Would you not?”

He looked away from her. “I'm not the gentleman you believe me to be,” he said, his jaw clenching.

“I never accused you of being a gentleman. I simply don't believe you're a beast.” Still amazed to have each leg encased in tight fabric, she wiped her hands across her pants leg. “Are you going to try to convince me that you're a rotten man and that I should be afraid of you?”

“No. I know you'd never be afraid of me. I've seen the way you look at me.”

Her heart felt as if it had fallen into her shoes. He'd seen the way she looked at him. That meant he'd seen her fascination, her attraction, her longing. She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands.

“Precisely how do I look at you?” she asked, unable to resist knowing how he would describe it.

“With no fear or repugnance. You look me in the eyes.”

How could she not look in his eyes? It was improper for her to be so bold, but she could not resist them. Could not resist staring into their brown and green depths and almost forgetting her own name. “Why would I look at you any other way?”

“I am an employee, Meg. Surely that has not escaped your attention.”

“Our station difference?” She waved a hand in front of her. “Simply because I was born into a wealthy family and you were not. That matters not. My father always taught me that people are the same no matter where they sleep. You and I—we are no different.”

She met his gaze, and it became all too clear how untrue that statement was. They were very different. He'd be hard and sinewy where she was soft and round.
Dark where she was light. She took a deep breath. Perhaps tonight had been a bad idea.

“We are plenty different,” he said. But something told her his reasons would be far from the ones she thought of.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

“We must be here,” he said. They both leaned forward to climb out of the carriage, but he stopped. “I want you to listen carefully to everything I say and keep next to me.”

She was so close now, she could feel his breath on her cheek. Gracious, how was she going to make it through this night with her virtue intact? Were it up to her, she'd give it to him right now, right here in this very carriage. His reputation and her heart be damned.

She put her hand over her mouth. What was the matter with her? Perhaps she wasn't as concerned with her reputation as Willow was, but there was no reason to be completely flagrant with herself. Staying close did not mean anything more than staying near him while they were doing this specific task so that she might remain unharmed.

It was protection, not desire. Protection, not desire. She repeated that three more times in her head. The inky night closed in around her as they stepped down from the carriage. There was no lighting in the alleyway. A shiver ran up her spine.

“It should be this one, right over there.” She pointed straight ahead of them.

“Let's walk around the back of it and see if there is a back door,” he suggested.

She nodded and followed him forward, treading on his heels in the process.

Gareth stopped, looked down at her feet, and then back up at her. “Those ridiculous shoes,” he muttered. “When I said stay close, I did not mean walk on top of me. You can step back some. I only meant, don't go anywhere without me. I want to keep an eye on you.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Sorry.”

He turned and started walking again.

She touched his shoulder. “Gareth?”

“Yes?”

“I am a bit nervous now.”

His features softened, then he nodded. She felt his fingers touch hers as he reached down and grabbed her hand. “You're safe.”

So there they were walking, fingers entwined, around the back of a dimly lit building. In any other situation, this might have felt as a courtship would, but the rat scurrying past her right foot ruined the romantic image. Shallow water splashed as they stepped through a puddle. Thank goodness she had on these thick-soled shoes rather than her delicate slippers.

He stopped abruptly and pulled her against the brick wall. Meg could feel the cold mortar through her shirt. Two men walked by, talking loudly and laughing. They disappeared down another alleyway, and Meg released the breath she'd been holding.

“Goodness, I thought for certain they'd seen us,” Meg said.

Gareth eyed her, then stepped away from her to put a small amount of distance between their bodies. “They were too deep into their cups and would not have noticed that you were a woman.”

The rhythmic thump of her heart still pounded in her ears. It was going to be a long night. They needed
to get in there quickly and out just the same.

They stepped around the corner into the alley with the back doors leading into the flats. It took no more than a gentle shove on Gareth's part to open the correct door. And then they stood in a dark hallway. They walked forward, shuffling quietly through the darkness. Thankfully some light from the moon filtered into the front of the room, making it bright enough for them to maneuver without having to light their candle. There were two rooms off to their right.

Moving along the shadows, they made their way to a room that housed a desk and one tattered chair.

“This is a good place to start,” Meg said into Gareth's ear.

“Do you have the candle?” Gareth whispered.

“Yes.” Meg fiddled in her bag and retrieved some matches and lit the candle. It presented enough light for them to see as long as they stayed close by each other, but not so bright that too much light would shine through the window and give suspicion.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Gareth nodded to the beat-up desk against the wall. “We'll start there. Look through the drawers; I'll sort through the papers on the top.”

They moved over to the desk, and Meg set the candle on the desktop. She opened the first drawer and rifled through the contents. It was mostly odds and ends: a pencil, ink container, papers, and a few coins.

“What precisely are we looking for?” she asked as she opened another drawer. It seemed her nerves had robbed her of the agenda for the night.

“Any sort of paperwork that would prove he stole the chocolate boxes,” Gareth said.

“Of course.” She nodded, then went back to the current drawer.

“Meg?” he whispered.

His whisper of her name caressed her as if it had been his hand.

“Hmm?”

He held her stare for a moment. “We're going to be all right.”

She nodded. And in that moment, she knew they would be. He'd made a promise to her. Not in so many words, but she knew he would not allow any harm to come to her. He would protect her. In most situations, she would not enjoy needing support or protection, but it was evident in this scenario she would be a fool if she said she could manage it on her own. He'd been so wise to come with her tonight. Although part of her didn't think she would have even gotten out of the carriage had she come here alone. Some sleuth she was.

Gareth must think her an utter fool. This was her brilliant scheme, and she'd done such a poor job holding her nerves together. She wasn't even certain what she was so afraid of.

She read paper after paper, searching for a receipt or anything that would connect Munden to the theft. Toward the back of one drawer, something caught, preventing her from opening it all the way. She reached in and maneuvered it out. A stack of folded parchment. She unfolded it and scanned the first sheet and then the second. Her heart slammed against her chest.

“Gareth?”

“Yes.”

“What do you make of these?” she asked as she handed him the stack.

Gareth examined the sheets a moment before he looked up and met her gaze. “It looks like some sort of accounting. Sheets from a ledger.”

“My father's accounting. That's a sheet from my father's ledger,” she said. “Seven sheets in total. They must have been cut from my father's ledger book. Why would Munden take these pages?”

Gareth inspected the parchment's edges. “It's as if he slid a knife right into the book and sliced the pages out.” He looked up at her. “He's taking the money that goes with them. That has to be the only reason why he would take them,” Gareth said. “Munden is pilfering funds and hiding his tracks by removing the ledger sheets. Who records in this book?”

“My father and his director are the only people I know that have that sort of access to the book.” She wracked her head trying to think if she'd ever heard her father mention Munden or anyone else doing any of the accounting.

“Does Munden have access to it?”