Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4) (5 page)

Nobody would call him a bastard
or
a peasant again after he had married her.

With renewed vigor, Bill walked to the door, only to draw back as a statuesque figure strolled in, confidently shutting the door behind her. She stared at him and pouted, running her hands down the bright red flare of her dress cut narrowly across her hips, straining the flimsiness of material of her bodice against her lush curves.

“Mr. Standish,” she said huskily. “I was hoping you might still be here.”

Bill swallowed and took a step back into the room.

“A friend recommended you to me.”
Did she actually purr that?
Like a tiger, the lady picked her way through the room and circled round behind Bill. He backed away, crashing against a small table.

“Goodness me, how clumsy!” the lady tittered. “Although I suppose because of your
considerable
size you do need to be careful.”

Bill flushed. This woman was as unlike Victoria as could be. The air sizzled with innuendo. “Might I know whom I’m addressing?” he said hoarsely.

The lady pouted. “I’m disappointed, I thought everyone knew who I was. I am Celine.”

“Celine?”

Celine nodded vigorously, her curves tantalizingly appearing and disappearing. Against Bill’s better judgement, he continued to look. Celine laughed huskily.

“Hmm, yes.”

“Just… Celine?” How on earth did she stay in that dress?

“You mean you don’t know who I am? You might have seen me more recently with Edward Fiske.”

God.
That
Celine. Rumored courtesan and paramour to both Edward Fiske, the wealthy businessman and before that, Henry. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere else but looking at her. He swung round and presented her with his back.

She laughed again. “I have come to request a few hours of your time, Mr. Standish. You have been highly recommended to me.”

The muscles along the top of his shoulders tensed. She was approaching him? But she could choose anybody for what she wanted—

“What about Edward?” he said hoarsely.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Celine moved close to his back and ran her fingers lightly across his waist. “I promise I will make it worth your while,” she whispered.

Bill shivered. “When do you want to start?”

“How about now?”

“I… I can’t. I need to meet a friend.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Standish. You would have left already if you needed to do so.”

Bill sighed resignedly and Celine giggled. “Where would you like me?”

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa.” Bill’s waistcoat had begun to feel like a strait jacket. Unbuttoning it, he turned. Celine had already draped herself languidly across the end of the low chair, her dress revealing a tantalizing glimpse of finely turned ankle. Forcing a smile to his face, he crossed to sit next to her. He took her hand in his and looked into her face.

***

“I enjoyed that.” Celine rose from the sofa, adjusting her bodice. “I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Standish, or may I call you Bill?”

“Mr. Standish is fine.” Bill pulled on his waistcoat, fumbling with the buttons. The fire had burnt low in the grate, and the sounds of the ball had receded. It sounded as if many guests had already left.

“I didn’t mean to mention Edward’s name—”

Bill glanced round his room, searching for his coat. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes caught on the low table by the door where he had left it when he had entered the room with Victoria. Crossing to the table, he shrugged the coat on and left the buttons undone. Waistcoats were one thing, coats never fitted properly.

Bill pushed open the door, but before he could leave, Celine gave a tinkling laugh and caught hold of his arm.

“I thought you meant to leave me behind, Mr. Standish,” she said gaily. “That would have been most ungallant of you. Oh, hello, Lady Colchester.”

Bill froze, his mouth open to reply, but no words would form themselves. Victoria stood primly in the hall next to her brother Henry, their golden hair and patrician features marking them out as brother and sister. Both stared down their noses at him.

“Celine,” Victoria said, in a voice that could ice water. “Will I be seeing you at Lady Anglethorpe’s salon next week?”

“Of course. There is nothing I look forward to more. Would you please excuse me?” Celine nodded at Lord Anglethorpe. “Henry, a pleasure.”

Lord Henry Anglethorpe nodded, but his gaze was fixed unwaveringly on Bill.

“Darling Mr. Standish, thank you ever so much. I look forward to our next meeting.” Celine patted him on the arm.

“As do I,” Bill murmured, not taking his eyes off Victoria. She looked back at him, as inscrutably as ever. He didn’t want to meet Henry’s glare, even though his actions were none of the man’s business, apart from when it came to Pedro Moreno.

“I heard you were asking for me?” Henry said pointedly as Celine left down the hallway with a wriggle of her hips.

“Yes. I asked your sister but she professed not to know where you were.”

Henry glanced down at his sister. “If I might recall, Victoria, I told you that I would be here this evening, but not until later on.”

Bill watched curiously as Victoria brushed a golden curl from her face, and yet her expression did not change. “If I might recall, dear brother,” Victoria said, her voice as deadpan as ever, “Mr. Standish asked me where you were earlier in the evening, at which point in time I did not know where you were.”

“Although you knew I would be here later.”

Victoria shrugged, obviously unrepentant. “I do believe it is time to leave. Most of the guests have left already. I do hate being the last person at the ball. Not good ton.”

Bill balled a fist behind his back. Did she never let herself go?

“Why don’t you come home with me, Bill? Where are you staying tonight? Freddie’s?” Henry said with a frown.

Bill nodded. Freddie, Lord Lassiter had included Bill in his circle of guests ever since James, his brother, had given Bill the Brambridge estate. Or more precisely, Lady Stanton, James’ wife had given Bill the estate. Bill closed his eyes. Harriet had had a lot to answer for.

“Good, then you can have a nightcap with me, and my carriage will take you home. Victoria, I assume your outrageous vehicle is waiting outside?”

Victoria nodded. “I will leave you two to it.”

Both men watched as she swept away, her petite figure casting large shadows on the hall wall.

“It’s a dangerous game you are playing with my sister,” Henry murmured as he and Bill climbed in a carriage. “If it all goes wrong you will have me to answer to.”

“I’m not quite sure what you are talking about.” Bill sat on the hard leather seat of the cab, grabbing hold of the side as the carriage started to move.

“We’ve all noticed your interest in her. Dammit man, when we were down in Brambridge you spent every day with her. Gods, she came back with a lilt in her step and a song in her voice. And then there were the weeks when you kept turning up at my door every day waiting for an audience with her. We had to start giving away the flowers you brought because there weren’t enough vases in the house.”

“She refused to see me.”

“Oh.” Bill had never seen the renowned spymaster so disconcerted.

“Yes, and in fact she informed me not an hour ago that she would not accept my advances because I was a bastard.”

Henry remained silent in the dark recesses of the carriage. He coughed as the carriage came to a stop outside his house in Mount Street. As Bill made to get out, he shot out a hand and, with surprising strength, captured his wrist.

“She wasn’t always like this, Bill.”

“You mean parading around with an iron pole for a spine and a lemon in her mouth?” A bitter taste filled Bill’s mouth. He knew that it wasn’t so. In Brambridge in those brief halcyon weeks of wooing, Victoria had started to open to him, her usually indolent expression showing occasional flashes of keen perception. He knew he had pushed it too quickly. He hadn’t planned to kiss her so soon, but strangely he hadn’t been able to stop himself. It didn’t matter now. She had fled like a hare sensing a hound.

“No. It started with her marriage to Colchester. Before then she was more open-minded. When I took Agatha Beauregard on as a ward after the death of her grandfather and at the request of her brother, Victoria did not bat an eyelid.”

“Agatha was not a bastard.” She was instead a very novel lady whose interest in science had caused Henry a few grey hairs and lost eyebrows. Especially since they had been married.

Henry drew in a breath. “No-oo. Not as such. But she was a flighty madam wearing what seemed to be a harlot’s outfit and had no seemly grief towards her grandfather’s death. Victoria took her at face value.”

“And you say then she met Lord Colchester.”

“Yes. Agatha fled to Brambridge leaving Victoria alone with me. I am afraid that I wasn’t quite as attentive as I had been. She lost her best friend and her brother’s companionship in one fell swoop. I believe Lord Colchester took advantage of that.”

“How can a seventy year old man take advantage of an eighteen year old girl?”

Lord Anglethorpe chewed at his lip. “I think only she can tell you that.” He swung out of the carriage and looked back at Bill. “After marrying him she changed. She wouldn’t see me. We didn’t attend the same dinner parties. Although from everything I heard, she had the most wonderful marriage and was thoroughly enraptured with her husband.”

“A seventy year old?” Bill repeated.

Lord Anglethorpe’s embarrassment was palpable. Without answering, he strode through the open front door of his house and straight into his study. He gestured to a chair opposite the desk. Bill looked it over carefully. It was of solid design and large enough to accommodate him. He sank into it thankfully.

“I’m not proud of the way I behaved when Agatha left. I took my sister’s marriage at face value. Even now I’m not sure that anything was
really
wrong.”

“But you suspect—”

“Yes. She changes the subject when I refer to Colchester. But she’s hung their marriage portrait in the hallway where everyone can see it. I’ve caught her looking at it. I think I’ve even caught her
talking
to it”

“Has she had any other…” Bill coughed. “Interests since?”

Lord Anglethorpe frowned. “Not that I know of. Not that she would admit to. She seems obsessed with maintaining her reputation. God knows why. She does nothing all day. It’s a waste.”

Bill nodded. It certainly was a waste.

“Anyway Bill, why did you want to see me? It can’t be about my sister if she is refusing to see you. And she definitely won’t want to see you after your little display with Celine. I mean, good god, man, don’t you ever have a break from the ladies?”

Involuntarily, the muscles along Bill’s shoulders tensed, threatening to break the fine cotton that encased them. “I wanted to ask you about how you would go about catching a spy,” he said baldly. It was enough to distract Henry.

“Go about catching a spy?”

“Yes. I am looking to hone my skills and thought I could do with a bit of advice.” Bill swallowed. “You know, as in continuous learning and all that.”

“I am flattered,” Henry said with obvious surprise. “And as it is you, I will share some of my secrets. You see, I don’t
really
know where everyone is all of the time, contrary to what you have heard.”

Bill caught Henry’s twinkling gaze. He laughed awkwardly. “Of course not!” He didn’t believe him, however. Henry was uncanny in his ability to find anyone and anything.

“No! What you need is a very good network of other people who will do your hard work for you.”

“You mean as in keep watch and spy for you?”

Henry nodded. “Yes of course. That way your prey is constantly surprised when you turn up, as you do not reveal yourself until the end.”

It made sense. Henry was a notorious spymaster, running many professional spies into Europe. Why wouldn’t he have an army of other less obvious confidantes all reporting back to him as well?

Bill’s lips were dry. “How do you go about choosing your spies?”

“Oh, something always comes up,” Henry said airily. “You generally use what you have.”

Oh dear.

CHAPTER 5

Victoria sighed as the gentleman sat opposite her droned on. She understood that what Mr. Robertson was saying was entirely worth listening to. After all, she and her clients were the main benefactors to Mr. Robertson’s very worthy cause—his Pauper establishment in Hoxton—however, who said that worthy meant
boring
?

“With your money we have been able to give each of the two hundred and eighty one paupers, from each of the forty different parishes, a bar of soap each and new shoes.” Mr. Robertson smiled and looked up from the piece of paper that he clutched in his hand. He had obviously prepared well for the meeting with Lady Colchester. Victoria felt at times that perhaps he had even been reading from the paper as if it were a prepared speech.

“Very good.” She nodded.

Mr. Robertson beamed, his corpulent figure perched precariously on one of the sparse chairs that were put out for visitors. He obviously thought that providing little comfort to those who came to inspect where their funds were going would indicate that he was ploughing all the money he received into his own business of looking after paupers for other parishes, rather than worldly trappings. His round and well fed frame, however, belied that fact.

Victoria had already investigated Mr. Robertson and many of his ilk. His offences of gluttony were minor compared to some of the abuses of funds she had found at other establishments. It was the only reason she tolerated the man.

“I am sure you told me last month that there were two hundred and eighty-four paupers here?” Victoria bit into the dry biscuit that had accompanied her watery tea and chewed valiantly through its sawdust-like texture. It helped, just, to take away from the pungent smell of cabbage that pervaded the room. She raised her eyebrows delicately at Mr. Robertson and took a small sip of her tea. His smile faded slightly and he glanced down at his paper as if looking for support. “In fact, I thought you said to me that the forty parishes were clamoring to send you more paupers, and that you never turned a ‘poor soul’ away?”