Shall We Dance? (15 page)

Perry gave a moment's thought to the events of the month past and knew that Jarrett Rolin, who had escaped to his rundown estates after the event, had probably had just enough time to see himself as the innocent, injured party…and Perry as the man who had socially
destroyed him. His friend Morgan and his bride were safely away, honeymooning in the Lake District of all the mundane places, which left Perry here, as the only available target for Rolin's revenge.

How fatiguing.

“And where is Rolin now, if you please?”

“Damned if I know. Sorry. Probably rented himself some dingy rooms somewhere. He had to sell his town house, I heard, and my friend Dilly bought up his team for a song just last week, at Tatt's. Would have gone for the curricle, too, but it has green wheels, you know. Dilly says he clashes with green. Completely under the hatches now that everyone's called in their notes, Rolin is, and the creditors are nipping at his heels. You and the earl really did put a crimp in the man. I met up with him in a gaming hell in Nassau Street—you know the place?”

“I do. Go on, tempted as I am to hear more about Lord Dillwood's difficulties with the color green.”

Harry shrugged. “Not much more to tell of it. We were playing whist, just the two of us—at his invitation, now that I think of it. He kept pouring the wine for me, now that I think of that, too. I was scribbling my vowels like a madman, and he ripped them up in front of me, saying he would much rather I did him a small favor.”

“You were to follow me, yes, I believe I understand. But what would be the sense of that, Townsend, if you cannot report to him about my comings and goings?”

Harry's handsome but fairly vacant young face screwed up as he applied himself to the question. “Well, blow it, I
don't know. Oh, wait. He said he'd find me. That's what he said—he'd find me. Not that I have much to tell him, except how you were catching some billing and cooing in the Park with that little brown-haired chit in service to the queen. Not quite up to your usual standards, is she, Brentwood? Not exactly a raving beauty or—”

Perry rubbed his knuckles as he looked down at young Harry, who was now sprawled on the cobbles, shaking his head to clear it.

“Sorry? Did you trip? It's those fancy red heels, I'll wager. Slippery going on these wet cobbles. And now, pay attention, please. You are to forget seeing me with the young lady in question, Townsend. Do you think you can do that?”

Harry put thumb and forefinger to either side of his jaw, which he then worked back and forth experimentally. “Oh, I'm sure I could do that, My Lord.”

“Good fellow. I thought so. Here, allow me to assist you to your feet,” Perry said, extending his arm, a fairly heavy purse of gold coins in his hand, coins that were quickly transferred to Townsend's pocket. “Are you all right? Ready to listen?”

“Think a tooth's loose, you know. Damn. I suppose so…that is, yes, yes, more than ready to listen.”

“Good. You have been following me without incident, Townsend, and doing a very fine job of it, too, although you've never been so bored to flinders in your life. The earl visits his clubs and makes the rounds of the parties, all deadly dull stuff. The worst part is that the earl dismisses his coach whenever he stops at
White's, as he does last thing every evening, and walks himself home. Alone. Can you remember all of that, Townsend, or must I repeat myself?”

“No, no, that's fine. White's, every night last thing, stroll home alone. I've got it. Setting yourself up to nab him, aren't you, My Lord?”

“There's a good fellow. Good evening to you, Townsend. Wait for Rolin to find you, then run along home, and by home, may I suggest Lincolnshire? I believe that's where your worried parents wait for you,” Perry said, and turned away, continuing on to the corner, where Clive Rambert stood, fairly dancing in place, waiting for him.

“Good thing yer came back in one piece, M'Lord, else the guv'nor would've had my head inna basket. What a night! Yer leadin' him, him followin' yer, me taggin' after the pair of yer. Coulda stuck a posie in yer hat and had us a parade.”

“Yes, thank you, Clive,” Perry said, smiling, but a smile that quickly faded. “We've got a slight problem, my friend, in the way of an enemy it appears I've recently acquired.”

“Anythin' to do with the guv'nor and the queen, sir?”

“In a roundabout way, yes, if my uncle actually approached this man to do the job I wasn't doing. Even if he hadn't, I'm afraid this fellow would by nature target Miss Fredericks as the perfect way to wound me, as he's the sort of coward who looks always for the weakest target. If he were to know about her, that is.”

“And will he, sir?” Clive asked, beginning to breathe
faster as he tried to keep up with Perry's brisk pace through the dark streets of Mayfair. “Know about Miss Fredericks, that is, sir.”

Perry stopped, looked at Clive, looked through him.

Rolin wasn't ready to show himself yet, which explained young Townsend. So, no, he wouldn't know, if Perry avoided Amelia until he could locate the bastard and deal with him. But how long would that take? A few days? A week? More? London was a large city, with many places for a man like Jarrett Rolin to hide himself when he didn't wish to be seen.

Could he avoid Amelia? Did he want to avoid her? Could he walk away?

“Clive, I have a mission for you,” he said as he began walking once more.

“I'm apposed to be workin' for the guv'nor, yer know, and just keeping an eye on yer.”

“A question, Clive. You were walking behind our friend Townsend tonight, sneaking from doorway to doorway so as not to be seen, even while keeping a sharp eye on us both. Correct?”

Clive didn't answer.

“Oh, come, come, my friend. You know what I'm going to ask.”

“No. Blast me, no, I didn't ken when yer took off and left that Townsend fella standin' there, tryin' to figure out where yer'd gone to. Yer're a sneaky one, no lie in that.”

“So, Clive, it would follow that if I wished to avoid you, I would have relatively no problem doing so?”
Perry put a hand to his ear. “Pardon me? I'm sorry, friend, I don't believe I heard that.”

“I said, damn me for a blind man, no, yer'd show me yer heels soon enough. I don't know how yer did it, M'Lord, but yer tweaked me good. One minute there, and then—poof! Yer wanna tell me just what yer did over there when Boney was runnin' about? Because yer're a slippery one, M'Lord, no gettin' around that one.”

“You flatter me, Clive, thank you. Now, down to business.”

“Not going ta tell me what yer did. Knew that, knew that when I asked,” Clive said, shaking his head. “But I'm not a slow-top all through me, no I'm not. Yer want me in the queen's house, keeping a watch on Miss Fredericks while yer go huntin' this Rolin cove. Right?”

“I'm convinced Dovey would be pleased to welcome you aboard,” Perry said as they reached his doorstep in Portman Square. “And now that you have brought me safely home, I bid you a fond good-night, Clive, unless you harbor some notion that your guardianship of me includes tucking me into bed—and, no, that was not a question. I trust you'll be installed in Hammersmith, bag and baggage, by noon tomorrow?”

Clive nodded his head and turned away, kicking a loose cobble out of his path as he went…and Perry waited a few moments before he turned in the opposite direction, heading for his uncle's residence. Time was moving toward three in the morning, but old men found their beds early; surely the man had slept long enough.

Ten minutes and a swift inspection of the drainpipe
at the rear of Sir Willard's house later, Perry was standing at his uncle's bedside, staring down at the man in mingled surprise and amusement.

“Fetching nightcap, Uncle,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “But the bed warmer fills me with amazement and, quite frankly, awe. I can see that His Majesty's rumored physical failings are not yours.”

Sir Willard's eyelids had popped open by Perry's third word, and by the last word, Sir Willard's companion, a rather buxomy creature of no more than twenty, had screeched once, then pulled the covers over her head.

“How in bloody hell did you get in here? Oh, never mind. You probably picked a lock, then murdered all my best staff. You know what a devil of a time it is, getting one's staff up to snuff.”

“
Your
staff seems to be doing well enough,” Perry said, hooking a large white work apron with his cane, and lifting it from the floor.

“Don't be snide.” Sir Willard propped himself up on his elbows. “I do have a front door, you know. And a knocker.”

Perry lowered his cane, allowing the apron to fall onto the bedcovers once more. “And what fun would that be? I tell you, Uncle, seeing you here? Why, my admiration knows no bounds. However, I think we can dispense with your…protégée.”

While still glaring at his nephew, Sir Willard yanked the covers off his companion, at which time the buxomy young maid shrieked, tried to cover herself and then slid out of the bed, her bare bottom glowing briefly in the
light of a small bedside candle before she scampered into the dressing room.

“Satisfied, Nevvie?”

“I'm sure one of us was,” Perry said, gracefully settling himself on the bed. “Now, to be serious, because I tell you, Uncle, I am about to be deadly serious. When I didn't respond to your demands to present myself here—did you think about Jarrett Rolin, or did you summon Jarrett Rolin?”

Sir Willard struggled to push himself up against the pillows. “I don't see what—why?”

“You did summon him,” Perry said, doing his best to keep his tone even, his expression unreadable. “And you showed him the same broadsheet you showed me?”

“Well, yes, I—”

Perry couldn't help himself. “Damn it, old man! Do you know what you've done?”

“Don't you take that tone with me, boy! What have I done?”

“Rolin knows what you're about, for one thing. He knows what I'm about, as well, seeing as how you told him. All that business about getting to the queen through Miss Fredericks. Seduce her if you have to—that is what you said to him, isn't it?”

Sir Willard pulled off his nightcap, tossed it onto the bed. “And what if it was? The bastard was born to seduce women. It's what he does, about the only thing he does.”

“True, Uncle,” Perry said, reining in his temper, at least for the moment. “And unless you've been living under a rock—a possibility I see more as your natural
habitat with every passing day—you know that Westham and I recently routed him for attempting just that.”

Sir Willard ignored the insult. “I heard. You publicly disgraced him, had him all but run out of Mayfair. How else did you think his name came so readily to mind? But I don't see how—wait a moment. He's still here, isn't he? And he's coming after you?”

“Ah, my felicitations. You've got a mind sharp as a tack, don't you, Uncle,” Perry said, getting to his feet once more and beginning to pace the carpet. “He'd like nothing better than some revenge against me, and against Morgan, except that he's not here. But I am, Uncle. I am here, and Rolin now has double the reason to hate me, because not only have I socially destroyed the bastard, but I've taken away his chance for a fat purse from you and your Tory friends by pushing him out of the way in this asinine exercise you've set me on. Or do you believe the man so brick stupid he hasn't already figured that out?”

He stopped pacing to glare at his uncle. “I'll have to deal with him now, you know. I was done with that part of my life.”

“Deal with…you don't mean… Good God, Perry, you're going to kill him?”

“Think, Uncle, for once in your life, of something, of someone other than your miserable Tory cause. I volunteered to play snitch for you because I knew that otherwise you'd use Rolin, and that could not be allowed. But you'd already contacted him, which I did
not
know. Now Rolin knows about Amelia, knows I've been sent
to court her. He knows what I'm supposedly doing for you. How better for him to revenge himself on me—and you, uncle—than to target her? And make me look guilty into the bargain, I'm sure. Because this time, Uncle, the man will settle for nothing less than blood.”

“Is…is that what you'd do?”

“With limited resources, no friends and a mind twisted with the need for revenge, you mean? No, Uncle, I should hope I would not, not even then. But Rolin? It would be his first thought. I'd say he could go to Brougham, warn him that you Tories were after the queen, but Brougham is no fool and already knows that. Besides, Brougham wouldn't hand over a purse for the information, and Rolin, seeing no profit for himself, could not care less about politics. It's me he wants, and Amelia would have to seem the perfect weapon. Handed to him by you.”

Sir Willard chewed on this for a few moments, then shook his head. “No, sorry, I don't see it. He'd come after you—Lord knows he's got reason enough. He wouldn't go after Miss Fredericks unless she was…hold up a moment! I don't believe it! You called her Amelia, didn't you? That's a little free and easy. You're smitten with the girl? God's eyeteeth, Nevvie, are you out of your mind? She's not for you. She's one of Caroline's little orphan tramps—no family, no background of any note. Ain't even a stunner, from what I've heard, and she has to be corrupted, chasing here and there with the queen. Birds of a feather, fouled together and all of that. I'm innocent, in any case.”

“Are you quite finished?” Perry asked, beginning to wonder why he'd bothered to come here at all, and most definitely why he still held his uncle and sole surviving relative in any affection.

Yanking back the covers, exposing his bone-white, beefy legs and one still-bandaged foot to the night air and Perry's disgusted gaze, Sir Willard slid his bulk to the floor, tugging down his nightshirt, which had exposed even more of the man's unlovely anatomy. “Perry, you have to think, boy. You've got the line to consider, your father's good name. Bed her, certainly, she's bound to have been bedded before, but don't go all arsy-varsy over the chit. That's not why I sent you there, damn it!”