Lord Ashford's Wager (18 page)

She smiled brightly at them and complimented Lady Cathcart on her gown while Tony gritted his teeth in annoyance beside her. He had planned to dance with a few women who would enjoy the thrill of being partnered by someone on the edge, and then leave. He had not intended to seek Joanna out nor dance with her, but here she was, giving him no choice. He could hardly cut her, even for her own sake, so he smiled and chatted and wished he could wring her neck for exposing herself to scandal.

And exposing herself would seem to be the appropriate word, he thought, as he reluctantly admired her appearance. Her gown was not cut as low as Lady Cathcart’s, but he had never seen quite so much of Joanna’s bosom before, and he had to admit he liked seeing the way the line of freckles ended and the pale white skin of her breasts began. He hadn’t realized her skin was so translucent. He heard Joanna speak to him, but couldn’t really focus on what she was saying. His distraction surprised him. He had known Joanna for years. Why on earth was he noticing now how her slip clung to her figure under the pale green froth of her gown? He nodded his head and politely agreed to whatever she was saying when he suddenly realized she had been holding out her dance card and lamenting her lack of a partner for the next waltz. Apparently he had just agreed to save her from holding up the wall.

“You tricked me into that, Joanna,” he growled into her ear as they moved onto the floor.

“I suspect it was the only way I could get you to dance with me,” she replied.

“You are damned right, you foolish woman. I didn’t want you to risk your reputation for me still again.”

“You were just going to dance with a few upper-class whores like Lady Cathcart and then go home, is that it?”

Tony had to laugh. “You are incorrigible, Jo. You haven’t changed a bit from the hoyden who attacked my shins. But I am glad you are still my friend,” he concluded, relaxing for the first time that night and giving himself over to enjoying the waltz.

Usually he held Joanna very lightly and usually they chatted away together during a waltz. Tonight they both seemed to be mesmerized by the music and the practiced ease of their movements together. Tony was much more conscious of the slimness of Joanna’s waist than he had ever been, and he found himself holding her a little closer and a little tighter than usual.

Tony’s hand felt as if it were burning into Joanna’s flesh as they whirled around, connected in a way they had never been before. She wished the dance would never end, but of course it did, all too soon. But as Tony escorted her off the dance floor and over to a group of her friends, he let his hand linger against her back a few minutes longer. It was very hard for her to smile naturally as he bowed his thank-you and moved away. She could feel the warmth of his hand against the small of her back for the rest of the evening.

Tony himself was surprised at how hard it was to make himself seek out Lady Cathcart for a second dance. He had wanted to stay with Joanna, gossip be damned. He had wanted to keep his arm around her waist and draw her close to him. It was the dress, he protested to himself. He just wasn’t used to noticing Jo’s curves. In fact, he hadn’t realized until tonight that she had them.

* * * *

Initially, Tony had given in to the Barrands’ arguments because of friendship and his feeling of indebtedness to Joanna. He had intended no more than that private dinner and the theater, but then had been persuaded to attend the ball. He had promised himself that that would be enough. He would show his face, act as innocent as he indeed was, and then, having done his duty to friendship and the honor of his name, return to Ashford. If Bow Street wanted him for anything further, they could damn well come down to Kent.

But somehow he couldn’t leave after the Howard ball. He told himself it was because he had made some progress against the gossip, and to leave London now would only make him look guilty or cowardly. He told himself a few more nights would do it. He told himself that Naylor might very well come up with the missing Jim in a few days and he wanted to be there when it happened. And all that he told himself was true. But he suspected that an additional reason was the memory of his waltz with Joanna. Somehow he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Well, they were close friends, after all, he would tell himself. It was nothing more than that. But it was strange that for all the years he had known her he had never thought of her as an attractive woman before. He had only seen her as Jo, his boyish childhood companion, a friend who was like a sister to him. But surely he would not have wanted to hold a sister that close! He felt a combination of desire and shame, and he put it down to the effects of these last few weeks. He was vulnerable; he had lost Claudia, been arrested for murder, spent time in prison. That was the reason for these unfamiliar feelings. And Joanna
was
an attractive woman, although he hadn’t paid much attention to the fact before. His response was a natural one. At any rate, he didn’t want to do anything that would threaten their friendship. But he would stay a little longer in London, because surely that was the wisest thing to do.

* * * *

Joanna had felt the change in Tony and couldn’t help herself from hoping that something had shifted between them. They had shared so much over the years. Surely Tony’s response meant that he was finally recognizing her as a woman. She went home and dreamed of him all night and moved through the next day in a fog. Surely he would dance with her again, hold her close again. But although he did ask her to dance the next night, it was only for a country dance and a cotillion. And he did not seek out any opportunity to be private with her. He was the same old Tony. Almost. And that small difference Joanna could put down to the vulnerability of his situation.

When he showed up a third night at a supper dance and only partnered her once, Joanna began to think she had only imagined the moments of attraction between them. Or perhaps he just didn’t need her anymore, she thought, with a cynicism quite foreign to her nature. Although he was receiving only half the invitations he normally would have and had been cut regularly, although not universally, his regular appearances were beginning to impress those who had had some doubts all along. Surely a man who was guilty of murder would not have the nerve to face continual set-downs? No mothers would let their young daughters near him, but several respectable widows and matrons accepted his invitations to dance, and more than a few of his acquaintances, who had ignored him rather than cut him directly, were letting themselves be drawn back into his company.

All in all, he was quite the social success for an accused murderer, thought Joanna rather bitterly. She knew she was being unfair to Tony. He was acting no differently than he ever had to her. It was just that there had been that one night when something wonderful flowed between them. She supposed she had only imagined it.

While Tony Varden was making his way back into society, Gideon was still tramping the streets. None of his usually reliable informants had seen anyone resembling Jim, and he wondered if concentrating on this one area, although it was the easiest place in London for someone to hide, was wasting time.

Usually he would have had some breakthrough in a case by now: either a piece of information or an inspiration. He usually solved his cases, as his actor friends had said, by a combination of painstaking investigation and a flash of intuition. The thorough inquiries seemed to keep his mind occupied so it didn’t interfere with his seemingly irrational ability to suddenly see the way to a solution in a case.

The only stirring of intuition in the Fairhaven murder, however, had occurred when he had visited the present earl. Something was not quite right there, he was sure. Fairhaven’s explanation for placing Jim in his cousin’s household was too pat. And although Fairhaven was rich, some people could never have enough money. Despite a bequest to Ashford, Fairhaven would benefit greatly from Lady Fairhaven’s demise. And so Gideon desperately needed to find this elusive Jim.

After another two days in the rookeries and doss houses and two nights of falling into bed exhausted and alone, he decided it was high time for some female company. He never employed any of the whores around Covent Garden, for that was too close to his job and his home. Instead, he had discovered a small, well-run brothel where he had two special “friends.” If Grace was busy then Annie was usually available for him. Once, in fact, when Grace was slowly and exquisitely bringing him to a climax, Annie had slipped into the room and he had spent the rest of the evening enjoying both of them. He smiled at the memory. But that had been a few years ago, when he was younger and not so leg-weary.

He was surprised when his knock was answered by one of the neighborhood urchins tricked out in footman’s livery, but assumed it was a new ploy to compete with other houses in the area by looking more respectable. It wasn’t until he had spent several delightful hours with Annie, who was as adept at back and foot rubs as she was with stroking other parts of his anatomy, that he thought to comment on it.

“Hit does look a bit ridiculous, doesn’t hit?” she said laughingly as Gideon stroked her hair and cuddled her to him.

“Why a footman? Surely Mrs. Doyle isn’t losing business with girls like you and Grace in her house.”

“Not really, but she ‘card about Mrs. Spencer’s ‘iring one. They’ve known one another for years—started in the same ‘ouse together, or so I’ve ‘card—and ‘ave always been friendly competitors.”

“So Mrs. Spencer hired a budding young criminal first, eh?”

“No, I ain’t seen ‘im but I’ve ‘eard he’s a proper footman, all right. Mrs. Doyle is furious, because she couldn’t find anyone like ‘im, who’d really been in service.”

Gideon was so relaxed that it almost went right by him. He was not thinking about his case, but about how delightfully rounded Annie’s bottom was, and how it fit so well against him, and how her roundness was making his desire stir again, when what she was saying finally penetrated.

“You say he’s actually been in service? A proper footman?”

“ ‘E’s very himpressive, I’ve been told, Gideon,” said Annie, rubbing her bottom against him.

“When did she hire him? Is he a young man?”

“I don’t know ‘ow old ‘e is. But she only got ‘im a few days ago.”

“Where did you say Mrs. Spencer’s was?”

“On Buckwall Street. You aren’t leaving already, Gideon? You aren’t going to desert Grace and me for Mrs. Spencer’s just because she’s ‘ired some posh footman are you?” asked Annie plaintively. She would hate to lose Gideon as a customer. So would Grace. He was one of the few who actually seemed to see them as women, not just whores. He would hold them and talk to them, not just rush off after she or Grace had done them.

Gideon patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Now how could I desert you and Grace, Annie? You give such expert…back rubs!” They both laughed. “No, this is business. You may have given me some information that will save me a few days’ walking.”

Gideon left an extra coin on the nightstand and let himself out, leaving Annie to look wistfully after him. Aside from the nights she spent with Grace, cuddling up to Gideon helped keep her feeling human.

* * * *

It was late, but Gideon was used to these streets at night and feeling rested, so he decided to walk. Sometimes, when the illusion of having an affectionate sex partner that Grace and Annie gave him faded, he wished he really had a woman in his life, not just two whores who pretended to care about him. Well, maybe not pretended. He thought he could safely say they liked him. He certainly felt some affection for them. And they were clean, at least he knew that about them. No, he was lucky to have Grace and Annie and foolish to want more. After all, what decent woman would spend her life with a Bow Street Runner?

He reached Buckwall Street sooner than he thought he would. Mrs. Spencer’s was a bigger house than Mrs. Doyle’s, and from the outside at least, appeared more prosperous. As he started toward the door, it opened and he saw a young man in footman’s livery helping a departing customer with his coat. It was hard to tell from the street, but he seemed to fit the general description of Jim. Gideon stepped back to let the departing man by, and then walked up to the door.

“Is this Mrs. Spencer’s?”

The footman’s demeanor and response were as formal as if he were admitting a duke to a Mayfair townhouse rather than a customer into a brothel.

“Yes, sir. Who may I say is calling?”

Gideon grinned. Mrs. Spencer was certainly after a higher class of customers for her girls than the usual small bawdy house.

“Tell her Gideon Naylor.”

The young man motioned him into the parlor and went to get his mistress. As Gideon waited, he looked around with his usual curiosity, a combination of professional habit and a natural interest in people.

The room was tastefully decorated with Turkey carpets and attractive prints hanging on the walls. He was looking at one of these when the door opened behind him.

“Mr. Naylor?”

Gideon turned and saw a tall woman enter. She was dressed in a burgundy-red silk gown cut low over her bosom. Her black hair—a little too black to be natural, thought Gideon—was caught up into a Psyche knot and her face was carefully and tastefully made up. Her nose was rather aquiline and her brown eyes hard, but her mouth was full and soft and at odds with the rest of her features. Gideon guessed they were close in age, and realized as she stepped forward that they were about equal in height.

“You are Mrs. Spencer?”

“Blisse Spencer,” she said with a practiced smile, holding out her hand.

Gideon took it and held it for a moment.

“How may I help you, Mr. Naylor?”

“I have just come from Mrs. Doyle’s.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but her smile didn’t change. “A very satisfactory house, Mr. Naylor. I know Mrs. Doyle. But I pride myself in thinking that mine is even more comfortable.”

“It would certainly appear so, Mrs. Spencer. Your footman is certainly far superior,” said Gideon with a smile.