Her Mad Baron (10 page)

Even Mr. Kepler and the more unpleasant customers could not diminish her determination to stay on in the shop. For the first time she had freedom, in the form of independence. True, she didn’t receive an enormous sum for her weekly pay, but she no longer had to depend on undependable Duncan.

Choose your own path and allow no one else to push you in any direction.
It had become something of a chant since that peculiar trip to Derbyshire.

The wooden floorboard in front of the display squeaked, warning her to look up. A stout man in a red and white striped waistcoat rested his blunt hands on the glass countertop. His one affectation to fashion was the pointed waxed tips on his bushy mustache.

The man goggled at her in that familiar way that always made her feel as if she was a piece of merchandise. She straightened and assumed the proper respectful expression. “May I help you, sir?”

“That gent called you Miss Cadero?”

“Sir.” She smiled blandly and, for at least the second time that day, tried to formulate a polite answer to a male customer that wouldn’t encourage familiarity.

No need. The man suddenly turned and strode off, leaving the glass smudged with fingers marks.

Mr. Wentworth shot her a look of bemused surprise. “Funny ‘un,” he said in his usual accent. Mr. Wentworth saved his imitation of the upper-class for the store’s patrons.

She thought nothing more of the incident until two hours later when the man with the waxed mustache returned, followed by another man.

“Good afternoon again, sir,” she said to the mustachioed man who beamed at her. “May I help you?”

Her gaze shifted to the person standing just behind him. Tall, impeccably dressed, the handsome but stern-faced gentleman held a top hat he’d doffed as he’d entered the store. That man was clean-shaven with strong, regular features and a slightly cleft chin. He seemed familiar—an important customer, no doubt.

Then she met his blue-green eyes. “Oh. My lord,” she said.

At that moment, Mr. Kepler pushed past her and bowed. “Welcome, welcome, fine afternoon, isn’t it? How may I be of assistance, my lord? We have some fine—”

Nathaniel—no, she must think of him as Lord Felston—didn’t shift his gaze from Florrie, yet he managed to stop the babble with a slight lift of a gloved hand, a commanding yet polite motion. “Miss Cadero, might I have a word?”

She threaded her fingers together, squeezing them tight, and managed a smile in return. “I’m sorry, sir. My lord, I mean. I would be glad to assist you, but I can’t leave my post.”

“No, indeed.” Mr. Kepler agreed with her for perhaps the first time since she’d started work in the shop.

“And your duties end at what time?” His tone was civil and business-like—a pleasant change from the leering gentlemen who usually asked her the question.

“Seven, but I...”

He gave an abridged bow. “I’ll return then, shall I? Good day.”

With a nod at the satin-waist-coated man, Lord Felston turned and left, clapping his hat into place as he went through the door.

That? The well-groomed, elegant gentleman had been the wretched madman? The chilly, formal specimen had been the feverish lover? She had known he’d be different, but not so entirely opposite. She hadn’t been prepared for such a change. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been prepared to meet him at all, though she’d thought of it often enough.

“You know Lord Felston?” Mr. Kepler’s voice was hoarse with suppressed interest.

“We’ve met.” She turned away and made a beeline for the backroom. Ignoring Mr. Kepler’s complaints that she must attend to female customers, she murmured something about the need to straighten the back room and grabbed the broom from the closet.

She swept but didn’t see the bare wooden floor, only saw the eyes she’d stared into for what must have been hours. His gaze on hers had kept her from falling apart; she’d memorized those eyes. Chilly, now, but still blue-green and beautiful. And she perfectly recalled the thin muscular body that had worn tattered drawers and was now covered with men’s garments that were far better made than any Mr. Morris’s shop had ever sold.

Two weeks of Mr. Kepler nattering and complaining hadn’t disturbed her, but less than two minutes with his lordship had turned her into a nervous wreck. “This makes no sense. The man has no power over you,” she said aloud.

“What, miss?” Jinx, the delivery boy, had just wandered into the room, a sandwich in his hand. He wrinkled his nose.

She straightened. “I’m talking to myself.”

“You never struck me as the barmy sort,” Jinx said affably and scooted onto a wooden barrel to eat his lunch.

“You’re not very observant, Jinx. I am thoroughly barmy.” She started sweeping again until her arms ached.

Mr. Kepler must have complained so much, Mr. Wentworth pushed through the curtained door to find her. Jinx scampered away at the sight of the clerk.

He gave a little cough, the noise he made when stirred. “You all right, Miss Cadero? That lordship insult you?” He sounded uneasy.

“No, not at all,” Florrie said.

Mr. Morris, the shop-owner, peered through the doorway, his grey hair ruffled and his cheeks ruddier than usual. “Miss Cadero. Mr. Wentworth. You must return to the front before Mr. Kepler has an apoplectic fit.” He gave a small snort. “He has been insinuating the most indelicate things about you both...well, never mind. Back to work.”

“I’ll go calm the dragon.” Mr. Wentworth strolled to the swinging door. “You do something about your hair, Miss Cadero. All your energetic cleaning seems to have created havoc with its style.” He bent and picked up one of her hair pins. Handing it back to her, he added, “Thirty-two days, my dear.”

Florrie changed her apron, fixed her hair, and returned to her duties with the customers.

She worked like a machine, without seeing the people she talked to. Her mind remained focused on the man and the night they’d spent together.

At seven, precisely, Lord Felston appeared at the door of the shop accompanied by two people. Florrie, placing dustcovers over the glass cases, caught a glimpse of the uniforms of a maid and a footman.

She removed her apron and, ignoring the curious stares of her coworkers, walked out the front door, instead of using the back entrance, her usual habit.

“Good evening sir,” she managed, but couldn’t meet his eyes. She automatically lifted her hand and instead of shaking her hand, he bowed over it.

“I thought it best if we were not alone. I’m not certain how to provide an unchaperoned female with companionship, so I have a parlor maid accompanying me. I did not think a curricle ride advisable.”

“No,” she murmured, unsure what was inadvisable about curricles.

“Shall we stroll instead? It’s a pleasant evening for a change.”

She nodded.

The maid and footman dropped back. On the crowded pavement no one would suspect that they were supposed to provide some sort of respectability. Good to know that the unerring Lord Felston hadn’t thought of everything after all. She wondered where the uncharitable thought had come from—after all, it was her good name he wished to protect.

They walked in silence. He cleared his throat and said, “So, no, ah, problems.”

He was asking if she was with child, she realized with a start. “No.”

“Ah.”

“I did promise to tell you if...”

“Yes, you did. But I have thought about the matter, about what happened, a great deal.”

“I have as well,” she said, and at her words, his gait faltered. And then she understood. The stiff manner, the strange formality. He was as embarrassed and awkward as she was. Perhaps he even shared that charged awareness of their bodies. Her heart beat faster.

She risked looking at him. His lips were slightly parted, and the color had risen in his face. Had she seen him blush in their few hours together? He didn’t speak, and with a surge of dismay, she suddenly wondered if his awkwardness arose from something else.

“I expect you must be worried.” She actually managed some sort of sympathy for him. “A man. A gentleman, such as yourself, I mean. You needn’t worry that I will tell anyone. There haven’t been any rumors, have there?”

“About my imprisonment? Surprisingly, no. But that’s not my fear.”

“Yet you’re afraid of something, aren’t you?”

He shook his head slowly but as if trying to think, not to deny what she said. Still they walked in silence.

“Are you all right? My lord? Did they, er, are there some lasting effects of what they did to you?”

A small involuntary twitch of his mouth, down as if in pain. She’d hit a raw nerve. “Some.”

“How dreadful. I’m sorry,” she said.

“I pray it’s nearly over.”

She wanted to ask what “it” was, but he quickly continued. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

He paused. She waited and tried to guess what he’d say. Someone had figured out that they’d been together. Or perhaps he needed her to reveal their secrets so he could prosecute his attackers.

She felt she should reassure him. “Lord Felston, I have no desire to make you uncomfortable, but I should tell you that what happened had no repercussions in my life.” Her thoughts, her emotions, yes. But not her actual day-to-day life.

His brow was still furrowed, but he didn’t speak.

“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked at last. “I should return to my home.”

They’d paused near a teashop, and it was still open, perhaps for the people who’d soon go to the theater. He gestured at the steamed glass in the door. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you a cup of tea?”

“Um.” She was hungry, yet she wasn’t sure if she could eat near this man. He created some kind of disturbance inside her that made her stomach twist closed. “It doesn’t seem the sort of establishment you’d frequent. Not at all the place for your circle, my lord,” she said, trying for a joke, but not succeeding.

She almost apologized for her sad attempt at conversation. But truly, she had an excuse for her edginess. His sudden appearance, followed by disappointment that they’d lost that strange yet precious understanding of one another—could it only have been the effects of the drugs and she’d invented the bond? And her pure physical awareness of the man didn’t help matters. Lust, she amended. She wasn’t going to lie to herself.

Despite her discomfort she didn’t want to say goodbye after all. “Yes, please,” she said. “I’d like a cup of tea.”

*

Nathaniel had looked for her and found her and now he didn’t know how to keep her from running away. She looked almost afraid of him, worse, she looked disdainful as she’d talked about his circle.

Florrie...no, he must think of her as Miss Cadero from now on. Miss Cadero didn’t want to associate with him socially.

Very well, he’d find another way to keep her near.

Perhaps later on, once that problem was solved, he’d worry about why he wanted to keep her close.

As soon as they settled at a table, he said impulsively, “I should like to hire you, Miss Cadero. I have some suspicions. That is to say, I suspect someone but . . . Do you still climb into windows?” He broke off his babbling, suddenly aware that mention of her past destroyed any semblance of polite conversation.

But Miss Cadero was certainly not predictable. He thought she might blush and turn away in confusion. Instead she gave an astonished laugh.

All right, he’d forge ahead with this possible idea of hiring her. He dismissed the idea of using her as burglar almost as he said the words, but she was friendly again. She might be willing to help him in other ways. He leaned forward and rested an elbow on the table. “I wonder if you could help me.”

“Help you? By climbing in windows?”

“No, no. Forget I asked that.”

The waitress came over and put two lukewarm cups of tea in front of them. She pushed over a cart and waited for them to point out which of the dreadful looking cakes and sandwiches they wanted.

By the time they’d finished ordering, Nathaniel had a better plan. He stirred the tea then ignored it. “Very few people are aware of what happened to me, and you are the only outsider. I hope to use your fresh eyes. You’d get to know the possible villains then give me some sense of who you think might have done it.”

“Haven’t they found that man Grub yet?”

“No.”

“What about the other servants?”

“They seem to be innocent of wrong-doing. There were very few indoor servants before my visit, and they were all dismissed by Grub soon after I arrived there and fell ill. Dobson and the two nurses were brought in from the outside. They swear they had no idea the insanity was brought on by anything other than a faulty brain.”

“Ha. I remember that Dobson was angry you didn’t drink your wine.”

“He said that he’d been told it contained calming agents.” Nathaniel noticed his hand trembled and squeezed it into a tight fist, annoyed with the weakness. He managed to keep his tone calm, at least. “And unfortunately there’s no proof that that’s a lie. After they discovered I was missing, they apparently destroyed any evidence.”

“You want my help convincing them you’re speaking the truth.” She sounded thoughtful. “I should tell them what happened to me after I ate those peaches.”