Suzanne Robinson (13 page)

“People who can paint like that, or make music the way Mozart did, they’re the ones who deserve titles. Not folks who just got born into the right family.”

“I agree.”

She stared at him. “You do?”

“Yes. You’re surprised.” He grinned at her. “Don’t allow your prejudices to color your view of all titled gentlemen, Miss Bright.”

At last she smiled at him. “It’s a deal, my lord.”

“Let’s make another deal, Miss Bright. Shall we agree for you to call me Cheyne?”

“Ma
ma
wouldn’t approve, but I could call you Lord Cheyne.”

“As you wish.”

Having somewhat rehabilitated himself in Miss Bright’s estimation, Cheyne excused himself and left Spencer House. His spirits soared, and he attributed the feeling to his success in convincing Miss Bright not to detest him. His plan was succeeding. She was well on her way to being his friend.

As he drove home, Cheyne congratulated himself. Miss Bright could be a pleasant person when she wished. She had taste to go along with her beautiful black eyes and hair. As long as she behaved, he could work with her. But he must see to it that there was no repeat of that chase at the Lutterworth ball. That way lay danger.

Two weeks passed during which Cheyne called several times on Mrs. Bright and her daughter. Each time he found Barmy Richmond there. Barmy was beginning to aggravate him more and more. He seemed a fixture at Spencer House, and Cheyne hated the way Mrs. Bright fawned on him. Cheyne’s temper grew short, and he had to exercise great discipline not to ask Miss Bright why she wasted her time with such a git, as Mutton would have called him.

After the third week, Cheyne could wait no longer. Employing Mutton as a scout, he arranged to intercept Miss Bright as she was driving at Hyde Park.

He got up before dawn and rode for a while in St. James’s Park while waiting for Miss Bright to drive to Rotten Row. He was north of the lake when he heard the mechanical purr of a motorcar and saw his quarry speeding down the Mall toward Buckingham Palace, her driving scarf flapping behind her.
Kicking his mount, Cheyne trotted into the Mall to watch her drive by. She saw him and waved.

As she passed him, he shouted, “Is that the Panhard?”

“Yes,” she cried and whipped past him.

There was a loud explosion that made his horse shy. Cheyne’s hands convulsed on the reins. The noise was just like gunfire, and it provoked images of the bloody plains of South Africa. Miss Bright’s car swerved and stopped suddenly. He mastered his animal and trotted over to her. She pulled on a lever as he arrived.

“Dang it.” Miss Bright slid out of her vehicle and walked around the far side to inspect a tire. “A flat.”

“A flat what?”

“A flat tire. Must have run over a horseshoe nail or something.”

Dismounting, Cheyne joined her and contemplated the squashed-looking tire. “Can’t you drive it anyway?”

“Nah, I’d ruin the wheel.”

“You mean this thing is stuck here?”

“Until I can get another tire. Don’t want to ruin it.”

Cheyne smiled. “So it’s going to take a team of draft horses to move it. That’s funny.”

“No, silly. I’ll bring the tire here. I usually have one, but I took it out while I was cleaning, and I forgot to put it back in.”

“What luck,” Cheyne said. “This means I shall be able to do you a service and take you home.”

Miss Bright looked taken aback. “Oh. You don’t have to do that.”

“I should never forgive myself if I allowed you to walk all that way.”

“It’s not that far. Nothing’s far in England. It takes about two weeks just to ride out of Texas.”

Cheyne shook his head. “Please, Miss Bright. You’ll distress me if you don’t allow me to do my duty as a gentleman after my wretched conduct toward you.”

“Well …”

He offered his arm. “Shall we walk across the bridge and visit the birds before we go? It’s a shame to waste this lovely sunlit morning. Old Henry VIII built this park, and I’m sure he’d want us to enjoy it.”

Miss Bright hesitated. For some reason she blushed as she consented and placed her hand on his arm. They walked to the bridge that spanned the lake and paused in the middle of it to look at the city in the distance, its spires and domes glistening in the rising sun. Mist floated over the lake, clinging stubbornly to the cool places before the sun chased it away

Removing her driving hat and veil, Miss Bright leaned on the balustrade, her lips curled into a relaxed smile. Cheyne picked his moment.

“Miss Bright, you’re a sensitive young lady, and a lovely one.”

She turned to look at him in astonishment. “I never figured you’d be saying that.”

“Why, when it’s so obviously true?”

Miss Bright shrugged. “Lots of fellas say nice things, but you don’t seem the kind of gentleman who—I mean—you and I haven’t seen eye to eye.”

“True, but that’s in the past.” He bent down to her and grinned. “Now, you’re forbidden to hold that against me. Where’s your Christian spirit of forgiveness?”

She smiled back, still flushed. “It means a lot to you, that we get along?”

“A great deal, Miss Bright. May I tell you why?”

 
9
 

Mattie couldn’t believe that Lord Cheyne, the man who a few weeks ago was her idea of Satan’s first assistant, had contrived to meet her alone and court her. Yet here he was standing beside her on the bridge in St. James’s Park admiring the sunrise and talking about how lovely she was.

The past few weeks had brought about a sea change in her attitude toward Tennant. His generous effort to make amends had impressed her, especially since she’d been feeling so guilty about her behavior toward him. After all, he hadn’t set out to annoy her. Their dealings had been cursed with ill luck and her failure to become a more sweet and gentle person.

So she’d been feeling kindly toward him. How could she not, when he paid her the compliment of admiring her sensitivity? Accustomed to noticing her faults, Mattie had never thought of herself as sensitive. Tennant had shown her an astonishing
glimpse of herself. Who would have thought he’d admire her? After all, he’d called her a colonial and a savage.

Narcissa said he was a renegade. Her tales of his rebellion against his conforming parents had knocked little chips in the walls she’d erected against him. The fact that he refused to allow anyone to dictate the course of his life earned him Mattie’s respect. She would love to embark upon her own path free of convention and duty, but that would be incompatible with the life of a great lady. And of course Cheyne Tennant had never made a promise to a dying father.

Still, it was a relief to realize that there was at least one man in the world who combined beauty of character with physical perfection. Narcissa said he was “in trade” as an investor in the city. A nobleman who insisted upon earning his living was a rarity. So when Tennant had offered a peace pipe and Narcissa told her a little of his background, Mattie had slowly relinquished her ire. And while she reserved judgment, he’d somehow sneaked into her good graces.

So here she was, talking pleasantly with Lord Cheyne. But she’d never expected him to start behaving like a suitor. Yet he’d just told her it was important to him that they become friends, and now he was going to admit why. Land sakes, what a turn of events. Evidently while they’d been scrapping and playing tricks on each other he’d come to admire her. Otherwise he wouldn’t have suddenly made peace.

Mattie swallowed hard again. “I’m listening, my lord.”

It was hard to look him square in the eyes, knowing what he was going to say. His profile was like one of those medieval effigies of knights she’d seen in cathedrals. What if she accepted his attentions? She wondered what would happen if he touched her again, the way he had wanted to at the ball. A shiver ran through her as she realized what might happen between them.

“Miss Bright, there’s something important I haven’t told you.”

“Yes?” She’d never seen Tennant at a loss for words. He was much kinder, and at the same time much less self-possessed, than she’d realized.

“You see, I’m rather an odd bloke. Unlike most gentlemen in Society, I have an occupation. I’m a private inquiry agent, an investigator of crimes, and there’s a case I’m working on that concerns many of our mutual acquaintances. It’s sensitive, and I must ask you to promise not to speak of what I’m about to tell you.”

No request to court her. No words of affection at all. Mattie stuttered, “A—A case. Th-that’s what you wanted to talk to me about, a case?”

“Yes,” Tennant frowned. “What did you think I wanted to say?”

Wake up, Mattie Bright. Don’t let him know what a confounded fool you’ve been
.

“Oh, I thought you might …” She gripped the balustrade and pretended to gaze at the ducks and
swans on the lake. “I thought you might want to talk about motorcars some more.”

“No, this is quite a grave matter. May I have your promise to reveal none of what I’m about to say?”

“Sure.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Thinking a fine gentleman like that would be interested in plain old Mattie Bright. He’d want a great lady, which is something it appears you’re never going to be. The only fellas that want you are those that need your money. You knew that. Besides, why are you so upset? You don’t care anything about Lord Cheyne Tennant
.

Mattie struggled to master her confusion and pay attention to what Tennant was saying. When he told her about the blackmail and the deaths, she forgot her embarrassment and disappointment. By the time he’d finished, she was alarmed.

“What a helluva stinking rotten way to treat folks.”

Tennant gave her a pain-filled smile. “Indeed, Miss Bright. Most rotten, and I need your help to stop the blackmailer.”

Slowly turning to face him, Mattie stared. “Me? What can I do?”

“Help me set a trap for the criminal. I need someone to pose as a victim, someone who has enough tin to tempt the blackmailer, someone whom he’ll believe is vulnerable.”

“I’m not vulnerable,” Mattie said. “I haven’t done anything.”

“How shall I put this? I require a victim who everyone knows has a vital need for respectability.”

“You mean a young unmarried lady.”

Tennant cleared his throat. “Yes, and, well, you see, you’re perfect because not only are you wealthy, but also because it’s well-known that you wish to marry a nobleman of the highest rank. And therefore you must avoid even a hint of scandal.”

“Oh.” To hide her discomfort, Mattie began to walk across the bridge to the path beside the lake.

Tennant walked with her and watched her with concern. “I would never have mentioned so delicate a subject had it not been a matter of terrible import, Miss Bright.”

“Guess it’s not a secret,” Mattie said faintly. “Plain talk is best.”

Sighing, Tennant nodded. “That’s another reason I’m talking to you. You’re much more independent than most English debutantes, and God knows you’re not afraid of adventure or concerned with appearing unladylike.”

“You calling me unladylike?” He’d come too near her own estimation of herself, and Mattie had had enough honesty for one day.

“No, no. That is, you’ve got courage. Not that you’ll be in any danger. You need only give the appearance of being engaged in some secret and scandalous behavior. I’ll do the rest.”

“All those poor people, dead.”

“And there’ll be more if I can’t stop the bastard. Pardon my language, Miss Bright.”

Mattie nodded; her thoughts elsewhere. “It’s so cruel, to take advantage of a person’s weakness like
that and to make them suffer.” She stopped walking and said, “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Miss Bright. I knew you’d agree, and I told Superintendent Balfour you would.”

“You told him,” Mattie repeated. She narrowed her eyes. “How long have you been planning to ask me to help?” When Tennant didn’t reply, she looked at him, saw the mask of neutral pleasantry on his face and hissed, “You stinking rotten skunk. That’s why you suddenly backtracked. You didn’t care about being friends. You just wanted to get on my good side so I’d help you.”

“Now, Miss Bright. I admit—”

“Ha!” Mattie swept away, turned, and glared at him. “You’re a powerful good liar, my lord. And to think I was beginning to feel kindly toward you. I’d actually decided you weren’t an uppity, slicked-up weasel.”

“That will do, Miss Bright.” Tennant stalked over to her. “You’re right, I was deceitful in my approach, but that doesn’t lessen the gravity of the case. Are you so small as to refuse to help simply to gratify some petty desire to avenge a slight?”

Mattie looked at her hands. “Never said I wouldn’t help.”

“I’m in your debt.”

“Humph. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it to catch a polecat that’s a sight nastier than you, if that’s possible.”

“I suggest we agree to refrain from insulting each other until our task is finished.”

Shrugging, Mattie started to walk again. “I will if you will.”

“Very well. Then we must make plans. You’ve got to have a guilty secret, Miss Bright, and the most obvious one is a clandestine attachment to someone unsuitable.”