Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (2 page)

E
dwina felt as if her confession had sucked the very air from the room so that she was finding it hard to breathe. Realizing that her hands were shaking, she curled them into fists so Mr. Devane wouldn’t notice. Her heart was hammering, her cheeks in constant flame and her belly twisted with anxiety. Facing the man in the flesh was much different than she’d imagined.

She hadn’t realized that he would be so…volatile. And so
affecting.
He had a vigor that seemed to charge the air with energy, like during a lightning storm, making her nerves quiver with awareness of his every move.

Each time his blazing emerald eyes met hers, an unsettling spark flashed in her belly. When he spoke in that low rumbling burr, her skin prickled as if caressed. Despite his underpinning of annoyance, she hadn’t ex
pected him to sound so…well, cultured. When she’d considered conversing with him, she’d assumed that his voice would be coarse and colored with the roughness of his humble beginnings. However, his diction was perfect, his low voice a rich melodious reverberation that stirred the very hairs on her flesh.

With each whiff of his musk cologne, she couldn’t help thinking
male,
as if his scent was some sort of animal mark. And when he moved, she truly appreciated why so many women sought out his company. He had a lithe vigor that reminded her of a male lion in his prime: languid, powerful, and dangerous. The picture was completed by his golden-hued skin and chocolaty copper mane.

And just like the king of beasts defending his territory, he was proud, prickly and protective.

This is a man to be reckoned with,
she thought. Which was why she knew deep in her heart that he was exactly the man she needed.

She also knew that she’d better keep talking before he recovered and really did toss her out the door. Unlike most of the men she knew, Prescott Devane was a man of action. Part of her secretly wondered what it would feel like to be hauled into his arms….

She shook off the strangely titillating thought, and continued, “I’m being blackmailed, Mr. Devane, by a terrible man whom I cannot seem to identify, but I’m certain with your help I can do so, recover the materials he’s holding against me and stop the knave.”

Scratching his chin, Prescott nodded, pretending to consider her plight. He had no doubt this woman had escaped from Bedlam and he would do well to treat her with kid gloves until she was out of his hair.
Placate
was
the word that his mentor, Headmaster Dunn, had always used when dealing with people of a delicate mind.

“From the look on your face I can see that you don’t believe me, Mr. Devane. That you think I’ve gone ’round the bend. But I assure you my mental capacities are fully in order and I am perfectly sane. Moreover, I am most serious in my declarations and fully committed to stopping this blackmailer. I need an escort who will forestall distractions and guard my back while I work to identify the villain.”

A trickle of doubt seeped into Prescott’s brain. She sounded sensible. She sounded sincere. Moreover, she seemed well, damned confident. She wasn’t weeping woefully or bemoaning her plight. It was very simply a situation she needed to overcome. Despite himself, he was intrigued.

What could a blackmailer have on such a contained, bright woman? Was there more to her than met the eye? Despite her dowdy appearance, his eyes weren’t so displeased. Let down the ebony hair, loosen up that tightly knit brow and give those luscious lips something to latch on to and this woman could be a wildcat just waiting for a tussle.

“Why me?” he found himself asking.

“I came to you, Mr. Devane, because of Headmaster Dunn.”

Prescott started, as the pain of his loss speared through him with renewed anguish. “What the blazes are you talking about?”

“Headmaster Dunn never turned out anyone in need. I need you.”

Not mad. Not appealing. She was simply a manipulative bitch.

“Ballocks.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “Headmaster Dunn never approved of what you’re asking.” Grief and shame surged through him. Prescott had always wanted Dunn to be as proud of him as he’d been of some of the other charges, like Nick Redford or Cat. It tormented Prescott to know that Dunn had died still disappointed in him and how he lived his life. That he hadn’t had the chance to prove to Dunn that he was worthy of the efforts Dunn and Andersen Hall had invested in him.

Prescott turned away. “Don’t dare try to use Headmaster Dunn’s memory for your ends.”

“The Headmaster Dunn that I knew believed that one did what was necessary to ensure justice. It was one of his most cherished values.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

She moved to stand beside him and he caught a whiff of lily of the valley, an unusually delicate scent for such a mulish woman. “This blackguard hides behind a mask of darkness, cloaking himself in anonymity to do his dirty deeds.” Her voice was impassioned, persuasive. “With your help, we can identify him, and stop him. Take away his power.”

His eyes lifted to meet hers. Zeal burned within that onyx gaze. Prescott knew that look well, as he’d seen it countless times before but contained within familiar azure eyes. Headmaster Dunn had always driven his charges to pursue justice with fervor. But zealots tended to plow down as many innocents as they saved.

“You’re trying to stop this man alone?” He raised a brow.

“I have friends. You…”

Thinking of Nick Redford, he shook his head. “Why
not simply hire a Bow Street Runner to unearth the man?” He couldn’t quite believe that he was debating with this woman and could only attribute it to her enthusiasm for the scheme. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks a lovely shade of cherry and her chest heaved in a wholly chaste yet affecting way.

She waved a dismissive hand. “I certainly can’t move about in Society followed by a hulking brute with a tipstaff. I’m sorry to say it, but every Bow Street Runner I’ve ever met was about as subtle as a herd of cattle nearing water.”

She moved closer, her voice low and persuasive. “You move about in Society with an ease that I can’t help but admire. This matter calls for a delicate hand. We need to blend in with the very Society we are investigating.”

“You said that you didn’t know his identity.”

“Yes, but the first two exchanges with the blackmailer took place at a musicale and then at a picnic. Only the
haut ton
was invited to each, giving me the sense that this man is no stranger to High Society.”

“You paid him?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was trying to catch the bastard—” She suddenly pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I ah, I didn’t mean to offend, ah…”

Prescott gritted his teeth, knowing that she was a creature of Society and couldn’t quite help herself. Even though her comment rankled, he remarked, “I live in an orphanage; I can hardly waste my time taking umbrage at such a customary slur.”

She pressed her hand to her chest. “Thank you for being so understanding. I get very angry when I think about that terrible blackmailer and try very hard not to
blaspheme, but this wasn’t much better, I’m afraid. I am truly sorry.”

She really did talk like a schoolmarm, and again he wondered what a blackmailer could possibly hold over her so threateningly. He forced a smile. “Think nothing of it.”

“Yes, well, the blackmailer is wily. Despite my trying to be on the matter as keenly as a foxhound, he’s managed to do the exchanges and make away with my catching barely a glimpse of him.”

He could just imagine her peeking out from a draped alcove. “You saw him?”

“Only his back as he raced away and I’m quite certain he was wearing a wig.” She motioned to her hair. “You know, the old-fashioned powdered kind? But what was most telling were his shoes.”

“His shoes.”

“Yes, they were quite unique.” Lifting her leg, she pointed to the bottom of her shoe. “On the sole was a remarkable red shape. Like a club in a deck of cards. I’ve never seen such a thing before. Have you?”

“Hmm.” He had, but only once. The shoes were quite rare, indeed, having been made in Paris by François Millicent, and might actually be a decent way of identifying someone.
If
he was to become involved, which he was not.

Grimacing, she sighed. “So now I’m in search of a man with a special red mark on the bottom of his shoes. And it wouldn’t be such a daunting task except my efforts are being stymied.”

He couldn’t quite help himself from asking, “Stymied?”

Squaring her shoulders, she exhaled as if pained.
“You see, my father has told every available gentleman from here to kingdom come that I am moneyed and intent on remarrying.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “You must be receiving quite a bit of attention.”

“Decidedly unwanted attention. I have no desire to remarry.”

Again, she spoke plainly, without emotional charge, as if this was something quite customary.

She shot him a tight smile. “But with you by my side, I can discourage unwanted attentions and focus on identifying this blackmailer.”

“Pardon my obtuseness, but nary a gentleman would see me as enough of a threat to dissuade him from pursuing you.” Prescott stalked over to the window, staring out at the army of trees surrounding the guesthouse. “I cannot see how my being your escort helps you in any tangible way. This whole scheme sounds like madness.”

“You would be enough of a damper on unwanted attention if you were…” She coughed into her hand. “More than simply my escort.”

His mouth dropped open. “You are not proposing…?”

“I am going to pretend to be head over heels in love with you. And, as such, have accepted your offer of marriage.”

Prescott blinked, then shook his head. Was it his imagination or with every new revelation about this little scheme did the web seem even more tangled? It didn’t matter, though; he wasn’t about to get snarled in her madness. Still, he was curious. “Why me?”

“Because of Headmaster Dunn, as I said before. His influence regarding justice. Matters of honor…” Her
moon-pale cheeks reddened. “And, your background certainly helps…”

“Ah…there’s the rub.” He nodded. “You want me because I am
not
a gentleman. I can get my hands dirty.”

Opening her palms wide, she shrugged a shoulder, looking away. “There are certain advantages to your situation…”

“You mean, other than being willing to dirty my hands…”

Her gaze met his, unapologetic. “You’re tougher than many of the gentlemen of my acquaintance. You’ve faced hardship and know how to deal with adversity. You’re quick on your feet and can handle difficulty.”

“You want someone willing to steal, lie…essentially not be bound by any code of honor.”

“That’s not true. You are honorable in the ways that count. Everything I’ve learned about you indicates that you do not turn on those who need you. That you honor your word like law, once given. That you protect those incapable of protecting themselves.”

Unable to believe what he was hearing he crossed his arms. “Everything you’ve learned about me?”

Her cheeks bloomed to full cherry. “I’ve studied you. To know everything I could about your character.” Her dark eyes skated away to stare at the corner of the small parlor. “You are the perfect man for the job. I know it in my heart.”

“There’s where you’re patently mistaken in your studies. Had you been complete in your research, you would have easily ascertained that I don’t put my neck on the line for others. It goes against the very code that you claim binds me.”

“What about little Evie?”

Silence charged the room and he turned away to stare blindly out the window. He could not deny that seeing the little girl with her gown blazing on fire had brought out something in him. He hadn’t given one whit for his own safety as he’d stamped out the flames with his hands. If there was a way to remove the pain she’d suffered then and suffered still, he would give his right arm, possibly more. The incident had made him aware of a side of himself that he hadn’t known existed. But that didn’t mean he would allow himself to be wheedled into assisting this crazy woman’s plan.

“Evie is no stranger to me,” he bit out. “You are.” Slowly he shook his head, amazed that he’d even considered listening to her proposal. “I’m not getting involved with you or this insanity. Nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

Edwina turned and paced to the far corner of the salon as her mind scrambled for another line of reasoning. Coming up empty-handed, she spun on her heel and studied him once more, hoping for a flash of insight.

The man certainly had a flare for color. He wore an amethyst coat over a decidedly bright waistcoat with narrow willow green, purple and white stripes. He wore white breeches snug to the skin, as was the fashion, but never before had she noticed the harmony of curves, slopes and muscles that made up a man’s leg. His thighs bulged in the most stimulating manner and tapered down into black Hessians that managed to give a hint of the muscled calves inside. With her cheeks flaming, she veered her gaze from that unsettling view. The man’s clothes were…bold. Evocative. Daring.

“It will be exciting,” she ventured, grasping for straws.

He raised a brow in derisive enquiry.

Self-consciously, she raised a hand to the high neck of her dowdy brown dress. She’d chosen it with care, trying to project a serious image. But her drab clothing countered the very message she was trying to convey.

Attempting to ignore the pit of disappointment deep in her belly, she argued, “What I am talking about is the challenge of stopping a coldhearted fiend. The excitement of unmasking a—”

“You can stop right now.” He exhaled noisily. “Sorry, you have the wrong man.” The lout didn’t sound regretful in the least.

“But—”

“I’ve heard enough of your tales. I have given you my answer, now please leave.”

“But I haven’t even—”

A knock tapped at the door. The wooden entry swung slowly open and a shiny bald spotted head ringed with brown hair poked inside. “Ah, there you are, Prescott. I’m here to check on your hands—”

Dr. Michael Winner’s eyes lighted upon the young lady and his thin lips that usually slipped easily into a smile dipped into a disapproving frown. His brown brows furrowed. “If I may be so bold, what the blazes are you doing here, alone in Mr. Devane’s quarters, Lady Ross?”