Her Mad Baron (11 page)

“No.” He winced when she jumped at his sharp tone. “I beg your pardon, I don’t mean to bark. But under no circumstances will we reveal your presence in that room. I came to find you, Miss Cadero, because of a multitude of reasons.” He wouldn’t admit them all to himself so he certainly wasn’t going to list them for her. He contented himself with, “I would think myself a cad if I didn’t try to find you. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

That was the wrong thing to say. It seemed to cause her to stiffen. “You don’t owe me anything, my lord. I was caught by mistake, and I wanted to escape as much as you did.”

Of course, he shouldn’t be surprised that she’d say such a thing. She was a straightforward person. He drummed his fingers on the table, then realized he was at it again. Nervous gestures. Twitchy from the addiction. He commanded his hands to lie silent. “Are you angry that I’ve intruded into your life?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. Thank you. I am sounding surly, aren’t I? But I have had some difficulties...” She sighed and stared at a display of cakes. He knew she avoided his gaze, and he also knew he was watching her too avidly.

She briefly looked into his eyes. He remembered those dark eyes so serious and lovely. “The truth is I’ve had difficulties adjusting to life since my father’s death. That incident with you. Well…”

“When you say incident, do you mean the whole of the night, or only episodes?” he asked carefully.

She cleared her throat. “Some of that night I can’t bring myself to regret. The conversations with you. And so forth.”

That was encouraging. He’d find out the meaning of the “so forth” eventually but didn’t want to frighten her off. “You’d be willing to help me?” he asked.

“What could I possibly do?”

“Help me quietly discover who was responsible for my imprisonment.”
Help me find my way back
, he wanted to say, but wasn’t so far gone to speak such inanities.

The footman and maid waited near the door, trying to stay in view without blocking anyone’s path.
He nodded to them and indicated a table in the corner. No reason for them to wait outside, and he had no idea what else they should do.

The one proper young lady he’d courted came equipped with her own chaperone who sat with them. He merely had to smile and buy her teacakes and ices. That was ages ago. Back when he made some attempts to follow a standard, prescribed path hoping to please his mother and win her to his side in the endless battle with Bessette. He’d abandoned that as a useless effort years ago. His mother was incapable of turning against her brother.

Miss Cadero picked up her fork and took a small bite of the cake. “I will help you in any way I can, but I think that other people would be better at tracking that horrible Grub. Any sign of him?”

“He has apparently vanished from the face of the earth.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Even so, what more could I discover?”

He wasn’t sure himself. “We can discuss this later. I would like to take you to a play perhaps?”

“I hardly keep the sort of hours that allow me to stay out late nights.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we just agreed you’d be in my employment.”

“What?”

“I’d like to hire you. When I saw you at Willsbourne, I remembered something you said.” He lowered his voice. “You’d planned to open your own shop. I’m almost certain I recall that detail. But you appear to be working for someone else, and an unpleasant old rotter at that.”

“Mr. Kepler is not my true employer. In fact he’s soon going to retire.”

A spasm of irritation hit him. She’d rather work in that shop than for him. “Never mind him. Just think. If you undertake my commission, I will pay you. And you can open your own shop.”

She put down the fork and studied him, her brow puckered. “I am not unhappy where I am,” she said at last. “I don’t see that a change would benefit me.”

Perhaps she didn’t trust his intentions. She’d be right not to, he suspected. He ignored the thought and went on. “More money would certainly benefit you. I’m paying several men a good deal of money to track down Grub. I’d pay even more to know who was behind the whole thing.” This didn’t seem to erase her dark frown, so he went on. “You understand that this isn’t some sort of attempt to pay off my sense of debt to you. It’s a real offer of employment.”

“I do miss climbing.”

His instincts were off because it took several seconds of staring at the half smile on her face before he realized she was teasing him. “Good, then. You can put on your strange outfit and climb all over London,” he said. “However I only wish that you might ah, spend time with me and meet some of the people I suspect.”

“Lord Felston. My father was a gentleman.” She picked up her tea and cradled it with both hands. “But we lived very quietly in the country. My mother died when I was young. I had a governess, so I’m not entirely ignorant. However, we had little practice in the social niceties. I was never in town until after my father’s death. Meeting the people with whom you mingle isn’t the sort of job for which I’m qualified.”

But it was the sort of job that meant he could spend time in her company. He said, “You’ve met Mr. Runcle.”

“The one who found me? The man with the side-whiskers, the mustache and the bright satin vest?”

“He’s the most polished of the men I’ve hired. He works with his sons who are younger, more brash versions of him. I can scarcely invite him to any gatherings.”

“But surely you have friends who can help you.”

“I’m only willing to discuss the matter with my closest friends, and they feel I should leave it up to the authorities.”

“What do the authorities think?”

“They say it’s Grub. And my friends agree and furthermore believe I’m self-indulgent to look further.”
Obsession
, Peter had said. He hadn’t known that Nathaniel’s search was primarily for Florrie.

“Well, perhaps they want you to recover from the incident, and they feel it’s unhealthy for you to dwell on it.”

Her answer sounded exactly like something Johnston would say. He clenched his jaw tight and counted to twenty before responding. No need to drive her off with a sarcastic tone. He tried another tactic. “I wonder, have you heard of my uncle? Lord Bessette?” He tried not grimace as he said the old bounder’s name.

“Um. Yes, I have.” She sounded wary.

“We’re not terribly close. Usually I don’t bother with him, but now, I might have to.”

She tilted her head. A tendril of hair slid from behind her ear. “Do you mean you suspect he might be involved? Why would he do anything to harm you?”

They shared secrets, he’d add one more—not the suspicion that his uncle had designs on Nathaniel’s fortune. Something less murky and more personal. “Have you ever heard of the
Bricolage Quarterly
?”

She frowned. “I think so.”

He suddenly felt unsure and wished he hadn’t brought it up. “The name isn’t very appropriate. ‘Put together from bits and pieces’ seemed funny at the time, I suppose. It’s more of a scholarly thing.”

“Yes, of course. Now I remember.” She smiled at last and sipped more of the horrible tea. “My brother bought one once because it had an article about the benefits of females partaking in vigorous sporting activity. He thought there might be illustrations. There weren’t, but there was a piece about education that was interesting.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, you write for that? Lord Bessette would not like that at all.”

“I do worse than write for it. I publish it. And my uncle knows.”

“You?” She sounded faint. “It’s not...you?”

He liked the fact that he surprised her. “Yes, but it’s not common knowledge it’s mine. My friend, Johnston, is listed as both editor and publisher.”

“Why not reveal the truth? Identify yourself?”

“It’s not important to me. I don’t want people to buy it because of my family’s fame.” Or infamy.

“Lady Margaret might not want it known,” she guessed.

He shrugged. “It is more that I don’t have a strong need for recognition.” Perhaps keeping Lady Margaret from fretting was part of the reason, but he rarely lived his life according to his mother’s likes or dislikes.

Interesting that Miss Cadero knew about his family. Had she known before they had been locked up together? He hoped she’d sought out information about him as he’d done about her.

“You are a rebel,” she said.

“No, not at all.”

“But there is a tiny smile on your face. The kind one gets when scoring a secret victory.”

“You are a bright one.” He didn’t tell her that the tiny victory had nothing to do with his family and everything to do with her—and the fact that she might have tried to find out about him.

“The quarterly journal,” she said thoughtfully. “The man who publishes that can certainly get to the bottom of why he’d been held prisoner and who’d done it.”

That hadn’t been the reason he’d mentioned his uncle or the journal, but at least it provided an explanation for his interest in getting to the bottom of his imprisonment at Willsbourne. It would do for now.

“I hope to. And you’ll help.”

The moonfaced woman drifted to the table, presented him with a bill and loomed over them in a marked manner. They left the teashop to continue the walk, more at ease together, or so he thought. He didn’t want to push the matter yet, so he talked about other matters—the theatre, the new bookstore around the corner from her own place of employment.

She walked next to him, glancing over her shoulder nervously at the servants. He wanted to offer her his arm, but any time their steps brought them close enough to touch, she veered away at once. This was not the brave Miss Cadero he recalled. She seemed so skittish, she might break into a trot to get away from him if he made that polite gesture of a proper escort.

He stopped in front of the address he knew was her home, a rather shabby building that was a boarding house perhaps with bed-sitters.

He pulled out a card. She took it gingerly, as if it might burn her, and tucked it into her small bag.

“Look here, Miss Cadero, I had some trouble tracking you down—”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“True enough. Will you at least agree to contact me with your decision?”

She held out her hand—once again behaving in a forward manner for a young, unmarried lady—and they shook with a firm, gentleman’s grip. No kissing the back of her glove. He didn’t let go of her hand, which lay in his own now. The urge came over him like a command. Strip off the glove, taste her fingers, unbutton the long sleeve and lick all of her flesh. His lips parted, and his breath came fast. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the same confused, addled expression mirrored there.

No. He’d coaxed the female into meeting him again because she’d proved discreet and would aid him in his search and...He stifled a howl at the vain attempt to fool himself.

The woman was even more delectable than the fellow-captive Florrie his faulty memory had conjured.

His memory was not the only part of him that had been affected. Once upon a time, he’d be able to separate his appetites from his behavior, and he could hide desire.

Perhaps before his imprisonment he might have experienced such a stab of lust, but no one would have ever guessed that he could feel such hot need. Now it was all he could do to keep from grabbing her again.

The drugs. They had loosened his control, and he could not seem to find it again. He had to back away fast. A curt nod, and he let go of her hand.

She tilted her head and gave him a startled look. “Good bye, Lord Felston. No need to wait for me.”

She ran up the steps, fumbling in her pockets, no doubt for a key.

He walked a few steps away to oblige her, but stopped and looked back as the door opened. A slightly plump, soberly dressed young man with glasses stepped out and glanced after him. The brother. He certainly looked the part of clergyman. But now Nathaniel recalled that the innocent round-faced chap was the one who’d come up with the plans for stealing knives and had sent his sister climbing up walls.

Quite a change from his own family, at any rate.

*

Duncan closed the door and followed Florrie into their small sitting-room. “I wondered why you were late,” he said. “Who was that?”

“A gentleman who has offered me employment. No, not that sort of employment, so don’t get so puckered up and stern. Didn’t you notice we had a maid with us? Very proper.” Except that every time she’d met his gaze, she’d recalled their night together and her whole body had clenched.

Duncan made a rude noise with his lips. “What sort of employment?”

She thought for a moment. “Something like a secretary. An assistant.”

“A female secretary for a gentleman? Private of course.” He leered in an obvious manner. “What is his name?”

He’d find out eventually. She tried to make her face as bored as possible. “As a matter of fact, it’s Lord Felston.”

“Now that’s a coincidence.”

She didn’t bother to answer.

“What did he really want from you? As if I need ask.”