Deliciously Wicked (3 page)

“Do you ever forget anything?” Meg asked. “I briefly mentioned him weeks ago and I don't believe I said anything other than he was handsome.”

“Devilishly handsome, your words, Meg, not mine,” Charlotte said with a smile.

“Oh, Meg,” Willow said. She steepled her fingers, then placed her hands in her lap. “I know I do not need to tell you how irresponsible that was. Now you'll be ruined.”

“I realize the implications, but it's not as if I intended to become locked in with him. It just happened,” Meg said.

“She's not necessarily ruined,” Amelia offered. “Does anyone know you were there?”

Meg shook her head. “I don't believe so.”

“There you are, Willow, her secret is safe,” Amelia said brightly.

“Ah.” Charlotte held up one finger. “But is your virtue still intact?”

Willow frowned. “You don't have to look quite so
thrilled at the prospect, Charlotte. This is quite serious.”

Meg glared at Charlotte, who was enjoying this far too much. She shouldn't tell them, but she really wanted to. A woman could die from the weight of such a secret. Irresponsible or not, it was a memorable kiss, and to not be able to share it was more than she could bear. Willow would be horrified, but the others would understand. But to be on the safe side, she'd leave out the part about her having to remove her dress.

“The majority of my virtue is well intact,” Meg said.

“The majority? What, precisely, does that mean?” Charlotte asked.

“It means that I most certainly was not compromised.” Perhaps that would provide her with a cushion. “But he did steal a kiss.” She suppressed a giggle.

Charlotte came and sat next to her. “Honestly? I was only jesting with my question.”

Meg nodded. She might have vowed to stay out of trouble in the future, but she could enjoy bits of it from the past.

“And?” Charlotte said, her tone rather impatient.

“And!” Willow shrieked. “He kissed you! Meg, this is dreadful.”

“No, actually it was rather pleasant.” Meg frowned. “Yet it was short, and he seemed rather annoyed afterward.” She heard Amelia sigh. “Although he was bothered the entire time we were trapped. So I don't believe it was the kiss that had him in his foul mood. It was more than pleasant. It was sinful.”

Charlotte fanned herself with her hand.

“His foul mood has absolutely nothing to do with the current crisis,” Willow said. “What of your reputation?”

“If no one saw the two of them together and we are the only ones who know of the kiss, then Meg should be safe. With her reputation intact,” Amelia said.

“What if he boasts of his conquest to his friends?” Willow asked.

“He doesn't have any friends,” Meg said.

“He must have friends,” Charlotte said.

“Not necessarily,” Amelia said. “Colin only recently acquired friends.”

“No, Colin had friends, he simply chose to ignore them,” Charlotte argued.

“Well, that is true,” Amelia acknowledged. “He and James Sterling have had a few visits lately. James is attempting to convince Colin to return to Scotland Yard.”

“Must we speak of Detective Sterling?” Willow asked.

“You aren't still writing him letters, are you?” Meg asked. Willow had been sending anonymous letters to Detective Sterling for months. She saw great deficits in his methods of pursuing criminals and proceeded to notify him of those deficits at every opportunity.

“I have restrained myself from pointing out his incompetence for the past three weeks, I'll have you know.” Willow pursed her lips. “But it has not been easy.”

“Poor detective,” Charlotte cooed.

Willow huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “A bodger is what he is.”

“If you met him, Willow, perhaps you would think better of him,” Meg suggested. “Amelia should be able to arrange such an encounter.”

“I'm not so certain about that,” Amelia said. “He is much as she believes him to be. Arrogant and prefers to be in charge. That being said, he's a delightful man. Kind and thoughtful in his own way. And he's quite dashing.”

“I care not a whit how dashing the detective is.” But Willow's protests sounded a little too firm. As a blush tinged her cheeks, she hastily turned the direction of the conversation. “Let us get back to Meg's predicament with Mr. Mandeville,” she said. She turned in Meg's direction. “Will you at least admit that he is the wrong sort of fellow with whom to associate?”

Society would agree with Willow. He was poor and she was wealthy, but to Meg that was inconsequential. Meg thought on that a moment before answering. “You're probably right, he is rather suspicious. Why, for instance, is he so annoyed? It is perplexing, and I admit, somewhat of an intrigue.”

“You are hopeless,” Willow said.

“Ah, but you still love me,” Meg offered.

“That is debatable today.” Willow turned her head, but Meg detected a slight hint of a smile creeping up.

“Perhaps he is unhappy,” Amelia said.

“I beg your pardon?” Meg asked.

“Your fellow of intrigue,” Amelia said. “Perhaps he is unhappy and that is why he is in a perpetual state of annoyance.”

“Or perhaps you”—Charlotte poked her in the side—“are a dreadful kisser,” she offered with a smile.

“No, that can't be it,” Amelia shook her head. “He was annoyed before that, isn't that what you said, Meg?”

Meg nudged Charlotte in return. “Yes, that is what I said. I think he's hiding something. A dark secret.”

“You read too many of those novels,” Charlotte said.

Meg shrugged. “They're entertaining.”

“Yes, but now you believe everyone to have a dark secret,” Willow said.

“And many do. You cannot argue with that.” Meg tucked a curl behind her ear.

Charlotte chuckled and Amelia nodded.

“What are you going to do about him taking liberties with you?” Willow asked.

If he were the sort to take liberties, he would have done so while her dress was off. The kiss had been a mistake, and likely not one Gareth was eager to repeat. Meg frowned. “I don't believe there is anything I can do now. Perhaps I should have boxed his ears, but I admit that did not occur to me at the time. It is not as if under normal circumstances I'm alone with men, giving them opportunity to steal kisses. In any case, it is unlikely that it will happen again.”

“Take care that you aren't,” her well-meaning friend advised. “He obviously cannot be trusted.”

“Willow's right,” Amelia said. “He sounds unpredictable. Unpredictable men can be trouble.”

“I shall heed your warning.” She wanted to move the meeting along, for all this advice and attention was getting tiresome. Her father still needed her to retrieve that ledger. There was a distinct possibility she would see Mr. Mandeville while she was there.

Would he say anything about their kiss or seeing her in her undergarments? Would he apologize? Probably not, on all accounts.

“Shall we move on to something that pertains a bit more to our meeting?” Amelia suggested.

Meg smiled in gratitude.

“The Jack of Hearts?” Charlotte asked.

The jewel thief was quickly becoming notorious. The Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society had been following the articles in the newspapers about his escapades. Most recently, he walked directly into a Society event and blatantly stole from the guests, then disappeared before anyone could call for the authorities. His clever name was due to the jack of hearts playing card he left at every scene of the crime. They had investigated some shops that sold playing cards, but learned that most did not keep records of who made purchases. Meg had seen the latest mention of him in the
Times
, but had not yet read it.

“You saw the article as well?” Willow asked.

“Indeed,” Amelia said. “His boldness never ceases to amaze me. Weren't you attending that soiree, Charlotte?”

Charlotte released a great breath. “Yes. But I saw nothing. Nothing.” She tossed her arms up. “This is really trying my patience. What are the odds that I would be tending to some personal matters at the precise moment he snuck into the parlor and robbed every woman there? It's grossly unfair.”

“I suppose you wish you were robbed as well,” Willow asked, her voice shrill.

“Not robbed, necessarily, but I should have welcomed
the opportunity to catch a glimpse of him.” Charlotte pouted.

“So we still have nothing new on him?” Meg asked.

“Only that Society is as enamored of him as Charlotte seems to be,” Willow said, her voice laced with disdain. “Victims have even gone so far as to claim he's charming.”

Charlotte huffed. “This is the fourth time he and I have crossed paths.” She made an unpleasant face. “Or rather not crossed paths when we well should have.”

“Some would argue you have rather good luck,” Amelia said.

Charlotte snorted. “It is not as though I want to be robbed of my personal belongings; I merely want to meet him. I shall keep trying, but it is increasingly frustrating that I keep missing him. And to make matters worse, all of my recent activity in Society has given every clod the perfect opportunity to attempt to woo me.”

“Marriage would be good for you,” Willow said.

“Why is that?” Charlotte asked.

“Look how it has eased Amelia. She is far less reckless than she used to be. She is careful with her actions.”

“That is because she nearly got killed,” Charlotte said. “Twice.” She held up two fingers to emphasize. “I have not had the slightest brush with danger.” She signed dramatically. “Besides, I'm not ready to marry.”

“There is nothing wrong with not wanting to marry,” Meg said. “Many women feel that way, but sadly not all of us have the freedom to choose.” She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I don't want to marry either.”

“I still think you'll change your mind. All of you,” Amelia said. “If you remember correctly, there was a time I didn't want to marry.”

“No, you always wanted to marry,” Charlotte corrected. “You simply didn't believe you'd have any offers. And see, we were right.”

“I do not have time for love,” Meg said. “I want to pour all my energies into proving to my father that I can manage everything,” Meg announced.

“He will see it,” Amelia said. “Give him a little time.”

Meg nodded. “So I will leave marriage to the rest of you. Charlotte obviously needs more help than I do.”

Charlotte swatted Meg's arm. “Not funny.”

Willow smiled. “It is, actually.”

“Laugh all you like,” Charlotte said. “Someday I shall not have to put up with pesky men.”

“Are you are going to begin carrying a pistol?” Meg asked.

“Now that is a brilliant idea,” Charlotte said with a smile. “No, I only meant that once I find him, the rest of the men will cease pestering me.”

By “him” she meant her great love. Everyone knew Charlotte was waiting for a passionate love affair that would sweep her away.

Meg, on the other hand, was not looking for her great love. She'd seen firsthand the damage that could be brought about by something that powerful. So she was content to remain single and avoid loving at all costs.

Charlotte glanced at the mantel clock. “I'm afraid I must be leaving. I'm supposed to go shopping with Frannie this afternoon.”

“I should be off as well,” Meg said. A few hugs and
reminders to keep her distance from Mr. Mandeville, and she was on her way to the confectionery. Piddington's was only four miles outside town. During the short ride to the factory, Meg tried to think about the Jack of Hearts and how they might gather more clues to his identity, but in truth her heart wasn't in it.

Her attention was back at Piddington's. And try as she might, she could not guide her errant thoughts to ledgers, finances, or factory improvements. No, her mind kept creeping back to one surly, disreputable Irishman.

By the time Meg saw the red brick building rising in the distance, she was thoroughly fed up with herself. Obviously she would have to avoid Gareth at all costs. And he'd called her a distraction.

G
areth closed his eyes and bit down a curse.

“I asked you a question. Where are the boxes?” Gareth leveled his eyes with the foreman's. “And I answered. I don't know,” he said through his teeth.

Mr. Munden, the foreman in the grinding room, walked around him as if they stood in a boxing ring rather than a factory office. In the weeks since Mr. Piddington's accident, Munden had grown increasingly demanding. He now prowled around the office, with his ever-present cigar and his gravelly voice barking orders, as if he were the factory manager, not merely a foreman. “They were here last night, and this morning they are gone. And I know that you was here last night.” His eyes narrowed. “Someone saw you. You just took it upon yourself that while you were in the factory alone, you'd just borrow something that don't belong to you.”

Gareth shrugged, keeping his expression carefully
blank. Munden made no mention of Piddington's daughter being here with him, so perhaps he didn't know. That was a relief, because Gareth couldn't figure out how he was going to talk his way out of that. He hoped that whoever saw him last night had seen him on his way back from Piddington Hall and had not seen Miss Piddington walking next to him with her dress open in the back. No one would believe their story if they had to share all the details.

“This is a very serious matter. Lady Glenworthy is a shrew. If we have to go to her and tell her that her special chocolate boxes are missing, she'll have a fit. That will make me look bad. I can't allow that to happen.”

“I don't know anything about the lady's boxes,” Gareth said evenly. Not precisely the truth; he'd seen them last night. But in Gareth's experience, the less you pretended to know, the better off you'd be.

“I say you're lying,” Munden snarled.

Gareth rolled his eyes. How did men such as this become foremen? He'd worked for a lot of half-wits in the years he'd been struggling to support himself. Munden was as bad as they came. Unscrupulous as well as incompetent. Gareth could do his job ten times over.

The situation was made only worse by the fact that they both knew Gareth could do Munden's job. And someday, if things went as planned, he'd be Munden's supervisor instead of the other way around.
If
this nonsense with the chocolate boxes was ever cleared up. And if he could avoid further encounters with Meg Piddington, especially those with passionate kisses.

“I say you know exactly where those boxes are.” Munden glared at him through squinty eyes.

“I don't know what happened to them.” He turned to leave. “Who do you want to see next?”

“What?” the man asked.

“The other workers. Who do you want to question next?”

The manager laughed. “There won't be no more questioning. I know you took them. You was the only one here last night. I'll find out. I'll find out what you did with them. And when that happens, I'll have you tossed in prison.”

“Go to the devil,” Gareth said and turned on his heels, nearly running straight into Miss Piddington. The day got better and better.

“Mr. Munden, what is going on in here?” she asked.

Munden's beady eyes rounded as much as possible. For a moment he seemed to flounder as he fumbled for a response. Then he puffed his chest out. “Mr. Mandeville here has stolen some property, and I was asking him questions about it.” The foreman's voice dripped with disdain.

Gareth couldn't help but wonder if the fool knew who she was. Surely he wouldn't be so ignorant to be disrespectful to the owner's daughter.

She turned her gaze to Gareth. “Is this true?”

“The theft happened last night,” he said evenly.

It took her a second before recognition lit her eyes. “Oh,” she said brightly.

Bloody hell, but she was pretty. The blue confection she wore today magnified the contrast between her deep red hair and her fair skin. And the freckles splattered across her face formed the most intriguing patterns. Blast it, what was the matter with him? Now was not the
time to notice her freckles. There was never a time to notice something so trivial.

“Did you ask Mr. Mandeville where he was last night?” she asked.

If possible, Munden's chest expanded even more. “I know he was here late last night. Someone saw him and reported it to me.”

Meg's gaze darted to his in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “Well, then. I'm sure you must have inquired what he was doing at the factory so late.” When Munden didn't answer immediately, she pressed him. “Surely you thought to ask such an important question.”

The foreman shook his head and swallowed visibly. “No, Miss Piddington, I did not.”

“Perhaps you should do so before you accuse him of stealing,” she said, just a hint of smugness in her voice. Her eyes merely flickered in his direction.

Gareth listened to the exchange with building dread. As much as he enjoyed seeing Munden put in his place, especially by the impassioned Miss Piddington, Gareth could see where this was going. She fully intended to clear his name by providing him an alibi. She was going to compromise them.

Not in this lifetime, lass. Providing him with an alibi for last night would all but mandate that Gareth marry her. A fact she was obviously missing. Marrying her, or anyone else, was not an option because he was not the marrying sort.

“Very well,” Munden said grudgingly. “Mr. Mandeville, what were you doing at the factory so late?” he said tightly.

Gareth looked straight at Meg and said, “I worked late, then after I retrieved my belongings from here, I went back to the boarding rooms. Alone.” There was no reason to tell Munden that he'd worked late for Jamie. Having Munden on one person's back at a time was sufficient.

She opened her mouth to disagree, but he grabbed her arm. “I'm done with this discussion,” Gareth said, then led Meg out of the office with him.

“Why did you lie to him?” she asked once they were out of earshot.

He glared at her. “Are you dense?”

She shook her head. “I don't believe so.”

She was so literal. That was odd for women, who generally spoke in circles around their intentions. “Had I announced that we were locked alone together in a storeroom, it would have compromised your reputation.”

Meg blinked in surprise. As if she hadn't expected someone like him to consider such a thing. “Well, I hardly think—”

“I am not looking for a wife, especially one obtained in such a manner. So I request you kindly keep last night to yourself.” He turned to walk away from her.

She caught up with him. “I hadn't considered that,” she admitted.

“Evidently.” Proof that she was exactly the kind of trouble he thought she was. She was the kind of woman who acted and then considered later. Impetuous. Dangerous.

He kept walking, hoping Meg would let it go. However, she continued along beside him and he couldn't ignore the looks they garnered from the other workers.
Thankfully the grinding machines were noisy enough to mask their conversation.

“But what shall you do now? What was stolen?”

“Lady Glenworthy's chocolate boxes. And I shall do nothing save get back to work.”

She grabbed his arm. Her brow crinkled. “Those boxes were still there when we left.”

“I know that.”

“But Mr. Munden believes you to be a thief.”

“People have believed far worse of me. It is not my concern how people view me. I'm here to do my work, not make friends.” Why did it annoy him that she seemed to believe the very best of him? He turned to walk away again, but stopped to tell her one more thing. “Miss Piddington, do not concern yourself with me or this situation.”

“But I could have relieved you of this, had you allowed me to help.”

“Well, we've discussed why that won't work.”

“Because you do not wish to marry me.” She puffed out her chest and tilted her chin. “Well, might I say that I have no desire to marry you either?”

Were he not already in a piss-poor mood, he would have smiled. “Duly noted. Now, if you don't have any further objections, I have not yet been dismissed from my position today, and I'd prefer to keep it that way.”

Her sparkling green eyes narrowed. “You don't speak the same as the other factory workers.”

He found her tiring, yet he could not dismiss her as easily as he dismissed other people. There was something about her, something he'd rather not spend the time discovering. His eyes fell to her mouth. Her lips
were not overly round or full, but they arched perfectly. And he knew their softness. Knew their sweetness.

Tempting as they were, he certainly could not lean in to taste them again. Not here in front of everyone.

Oh, but he wanted to.

“You sound more cultured,” she continued. “Educated,” she added with a whisper.

His frustration with the situation, with wanting what he couldn't have, reached a boiling point. “Even poor people read books,” he snarled with far more force than he intended.

She looked affronted. “I realize that. It's only that the majority of my father's employees do not speak with as much refinement as you.”

Which was precisely why he needed to cease speaking to her before she suspected more of him than he was willing to reveal. Gareth shrugged, then added. “Good day to you, Miss Piddington.”

“Good day,” she said, defeat clearly lining her voice.

Her disappointment pricked at him, but he couldn't help it. The last thing he needed was for the rest of the workers here to think he received special treatment because of his relationship with the boss's daughter. He shook his head. He had no relationship with her, and he needed to ensure it stayed that way.

Gareth made his way to his machine and put on his apron. He'd just gotten everything started when she appeared at his side.

“I do apologize for interrupting you again, but I had one last question.”

He nodded in response.

“What shall you do about that tiny accusation?” she whispered nodding toward the office.

“Not a damn thing. He has no proof, and it matters not to me whether he believes me.”

“But he could dismiss you,” she said.

“He hasn't yet.”

She eyed him for a moment, suspiciously, then turned on her heel, leaving him to watch her pretty ruffled bustle walk away.

She had a nice backside.

Thoughts like that would be the death of him.

 

As he watched Meg Piddington leave the factory office trailing after that Irish riffraff, resentment boiled in his stomach. Things were not going as planned, and he hated that. He prided himself on meticulous and rather clever plans. But one idiot, and things had really gotten shaken up.

He took a deep breath. No need to panic just yet. There had to be another way. And sooner or later he would find it.

 

“What are you doing here, Mandeville?”

Gareth turned his head to find Mr. Munden standing behind him. Apparently a night's sleep hadn't cooled the foreman's temper.

“What the bloody hell does it look like I'm doing? Working.” Gareth turned back to the machine. “Idiot,” he murmured.

“I heard you. Don't think I didn't hear you.”

Gareth ignored him and continued to work.

“Mandeville,” Munden roared. “I'm talking to you.”

He turned his machine off. “What?”

“We can't be having no thief work here. Mr. Piddington don't like people who steal from him.”

“I worked yesterday, and you didn't say anything.”

“That's because pretty Miss Piddington was here to save you. She ain't here today.”

Perfect
.

All he needed was to lose this job. Then what would he do? He supposed he could get another job, but Piddington's was the best factory to work for. Everyone wanted to work here. And aside from Munden's swollen head from his “more responsibilities” since Piddington's accident, it was the best place Gareth had ever worked.

But he would not beg this man. With Munden's half-chewed cigar hanging from his mouth, and sweat dripping between his eyes, he looked more the part of a dealer at a gaming hell than a foreman at a cocoa factory.

By this time the rest of the machines around him had been turned off and all eyes watched.

“What are you waiting for? An escort? Get your stuff and get out.”

“You don't have the authority to dismiss me. I'm not leaving until Piddington himself asks me to do so,” Gareth said.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Munden. I thought we settled this little conflict with Mr. Mandeville yesterday.”

At the sound of Meg's voice, it was all he could do not to squeeze his eyes closed in exasperation. However, under Munden's scrutiny, Gareth kept his expression carefully blank.

“Has something new arisen?” she asked.

Munden cranked his beefy body around to face the lovely Meg Piddington. Gareth gave in to the
temptation to do the same. He couldn't ignore the green and pink striped dress. It hugged her body in all the right places; the bonnet atop her red curls and the matching umbrella swinging from her wrist gave her an innocent look.

“Miss Piddington?” Munden stammered. “We still have not found those boxes, so I was ridding your father's factory of a thief. I know he wouldn't take kindly to a man who steals from him.”

Her delicate eyebrows arched. “Indeed. Nor would he take kindly to you dismissing someone without appropriate proof.”

At that, snickers scattered around the factory floor.

She glanced around, then took a deep breath. “Might I have a word with you, sir? In my father's office,” she added tartly. With that she turned on her heel and walked off, clearly expecting the manager to follow her.

Which he did. Rather quickly.

The spectacle did not end at that moment, however, as Edward Piddington's office overlooked the factory floor with a wall of windows. The old man enjoyed keeping an eye on things and ensuring he maintained a presence within his company.