Tempting Miss Allender (Regency Rakes 3) (12 page)

“And I was a friend from your childhood, one you should have been able to turn to—but I was not there for you.”

“Yes, and even though those feelings were irrational, and you were burdened by grief and a young man who did not want to be seen with an unpopular debutante, you hurt me.”

“I am sorry, Patience.”

“I know you were suffering too. I saw the pain inside you and even forgave you for your behavior, but that bet…” She took a deep breath. “That was what made me realize that I could stand it no longer. I begged Mother and Father to let me go home, and they finally relented, but it was only to be a brief break, then I would return. But I became ill.”

“I am sorry, Patience, more than mere words can say. I would like to make it up to you now. Will you let me be the friend you need?”

“No.”

Patience stepped back, away from his touch, and she missed the feel of his hand on her cheek so much that she knew she was doing the right thing. She could not be distracted by this man again. She would not love him again and become blind to everything else.

“You have so many friends that there is no room for one more?”

He was smiling at her, a gentle smile that made his eyes soften, and Patience longed to hurl herself at him for just a few minutes and feel his strength. She had been the strong one for so long, with only her siblings to lean on. To have him at her side…

No! She cut that thought off before it could take hold.

“Friendship with me brings forth memories of your brother, Mathew, and those cause you pain. Also, I cannot forget what you did to me seven years ago. Surely you can see that these two things alone are enough for us to no longer be friends?”

She watched as he slid a hand to his chest and knew that she had made the right decision.

“Can you forgive me for what I did, Patience?”

He was truly a beautiful man, she thought. His hair was tousled, his cheeks colored from his recent exercise, and she felt it again: the ache in her heart.

“I forgive you, but it does not mean I will forget.”

“I cannot ask for more.”

“From now on I will be pleasant when we meet, Lord Belmont, but I can promise no more than that.”

“I respect the stand you have taken, but be warned that I will endeavor to persuade you from it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you in my life.”

“But Anthony—”

“This is about us, not my brother.”

Patience felt her heart begin to thud as he leaned toward her. “That kiss in your gallery should not have happened, my lord. Now please follow me and I shall take you to tea.”

“Call me Mathew.”

“I don’t take well to orders, my lord.” Patience dug her toes into her slippers to stop herself from taking a step backward.

“Now, there’s a surprise.” He was so close that if she inhaled she would smell him.

“‘Grown to my lip, thou sacred kiss, on which my soul’s beloved swore…’”

“Wh-what are you doing? Why are you reciting Thomas Moore to me?” Patience felt panic clench her insides. Thomas Moore was her favorite poet; surely he did not remember that from the years when they had been friends. To hear him say those words in his deep, rich voice made her skin tingle. She did not want to tingle, or feel weak at the knees. She had no time for that.

“Because friends remember things about each other, Patience. I may have treated you badly, and done many wrongs that I cannot right, but I remember that ‘The Kiss’ was your favorite poem, by your favorite poet.”

“We cannot be friends,” Patience whispered, “and I have just explained why.”

“But I don’t agree.”

He didn’t touch her, just lowered his head and placed his lips gently on hers. It was warm and soft, and when he lifted his head she wanted to reach out and pull him back.

Instead, she walked around him and out the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Looking up at the grey stone façade, Patience wondered if the man she sought inside could help her find something incriminating about her cousin. She had thought long and hard about having him uncover any information he could about Mr. Stanhope also, but realized that if Lucy found out, there was every possibility Lucy would never forgive her, so she had vowed to ask someone she knew about him. Of course that someone would more than likely have to be a Belmont or a Kelkirk, as she did not know anyone else well enough to ask them, which meant she would have to talk with them again—but if she did so at a social event, then at least she could get it over with quickly.

For two days she had heard Mathew’s words inside her head. “Because friends remember things about each other, Patience. I may have treated you badly, and done many wrongs which I can no longer right, but I remember that ‘The Kiss’ was your favorite poem, by your favorite poet.”

“Bloody infuriating man,” she muttered as she climbed the steps, the heels of her boots making small clipping noises on each one. At the top, she opened the heavy wooden door, then slipped inside.

A spectacled man sat scribbling away behind a paper-laden desk. Noticing her arrival, he laid down his quill and indicated for her to approach.

“I wish to employ the services of Mr. Whitty,” Patience said.

The young clerk peered at her over his desk. “Mr. Whitty is with another client at the present, Miss…?”

“Allender,” Patience supplied.

“If you would care to wait, Miss Allender, Mr. Whitty will see you as soon as he is able.”

Patience moved to the chair the young man had indicated and sat to wait. She had come to the realization on her return from the cowkeeper’s shop that she needed to find a way to remove the threat of their cousin permanently. She knew that he would never stop trying to kill Charlie until either he succeeded or he passed away. It was a terrifying thought, one she had continually pushed to one side, but now she knew that she must take steps to stop him. They could not stop him by conventional means—her approach to the magistrate had shown that—so she had to find another way.

Charlie would marry one day, and would hopefully provide her with nieces and nephews. Patience did not want any of them living in fear like their father had done.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the opening of the only other door in the room. Then a lady wearing a heavy veil rushed past her and out the front door. Behind her came a small, stout man with a fierce scowl on his face. Mr. Whitty, Patience presumed. He did not seem a very friendly sort, but did he have to be to offer investigative services?

“Miss Allender?”

“How do you do, sir?” Patience held out her hand as she approached the man, and after his initial surprise he shook it.

“How do you do, Miss Allender? Please come through to my office. I will have Wallace bring us some tea.”

Patience followed the little man through the narrow doorway. Closing her mouth quickly after it had fallen open in surprise, she sat in the nearest vacant chair. Good Lord, every available inch seemed to be crammed full of books and pieces of paper. How on earth did the man ever find anything?

Mr. Whitty sank onto the chair behind his large desk and peered at her over the tops of the piles. His spectacles were perched on the end of his nose and small tufts of grey hair stood up on his head, making him look like a flustered owl.

“Firstly, Miss Allender, I must insist on complete honesty from my clients, or I am afraid I can be of no use to you.”

The words were spoken gently, with no malice intended, and Patience nodded. “Of course. I understand the necessity for honesty, Mr. Whitty.”

“Excellent,” he said, rummaging around for something, which she saw was a sheet of paper and something to write with. “Now, tell me: what is the problem you wish for me to help solve?”

“My brother is eleven, and the heir to my father’s title. Since the death of my parents, my cousin, who is next in line, has attempted to kill him twice.” Mr. Whitty began to scratch on his paper as she talked, not appearing overly surprised by her disclosure. “He is now here in London, and I have reason to believe that a few days ago he tried to kill my brother once more. My siblings and I have come to the realization that my cousin will stop at nothing to achieve his goal.”

“Can you not go to the authorities, Miss Allender?”

“I have tried that, but my cousin is a popular man. All who know him, like him, and no one would believe me were I to challenge him. He would simply dismiss my words, as I do not have the popularity he does. The magistrate I approached was scathing, as he too had heard of Brantley’s reputation as a good, kind man. I had no evidence or witnesses to back up my claim, and since I am a woman, I can never hope to win. I want you to find out everything you possibly can about him, Mr. Whitty. I am hoping that that knowledge will give me the hold I need to make him stop. I want to know what he does, any debts he might have, whom he associates with, anything that I could use against him. I also want to know where he is lodging here in London. I will then approach him with any information that could give me leverage and see if we can come to some kind of understanding in order to stop him pursuing my brother and any future heirs he may have.”

Patience then recounted all she could, every detail of the attempts on Charlie’s life, starting with Brantley’s arrival on their doorstep two weeks after their father’s funeral, while Lady Allender was lying in her bed sick with grief. He had hugged his cousins, offered sympathy and support, and she had believed every word he had spoken. Then Charlie had fallen in the pond while fishing with Brantley. Lucy had arrived in time to stop him from drowning while Brantley had stood watching, saying he could not swim.

She had questioned him as to why he had not called for help. He had told her his fear had stopped him from moving, and she had believed him. Then Charlie had fallen down the stairs and had luckily only broken his arm—but he had insisted that only she or Lucy care for him, because he believed Brantley had pushed him. Finally, one night some men had broken into their house and tried to abduct Charlie, and from that moment on, Patience had vowed that their cousin would never get another chance to harm him.

“And you are sure it was your cousin?”

“Implicitly.”

“He then tried to have your brother abducted from your house?”

Patience nodded. “We were all in bed when two men my cousin hired managed to get inside, but as I am a light sleeper and had Charlie moved to the room beside mine, I heard something. I took the pistol I keep under my pillow and found them in my brother’s room.”

“You keep a pistol under your pillow?” His bushy brows rose.

“And one beside the front door, and several others scattered in places around the house. All secured away from sight, but my family and servants know where they are located should they have need of them.” Patience saw Mr. Whitty’s eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “I leave nothing to chance, sir.”

“And after the abduction, you hired the”—he looked down at his notes—“Toots family. Are you sure they can be trusted?”

“Implicitly,” Patience said once more.

Tea arrived and she cradled the cup between her hands. She needed the warmth, as recounting these facts and the dark days that her family had endured had not been easy.

“This situation must be stressful on both you and your family, Miss Allender.” Mr. Whitty lifted a hand and in the process knocked a pile of papers to the floor. Patience watched them flutter in all directions. She moved to help re-gather them, but Mr. Whitty waved her aside. “I will have Wallace pick them up later.” He went on, “I will do my best to gather any and all information I can about your cousin and will locate his address here in London, Miss Allender. I will keep you notified of any developments as they come to hand.”

Nodding, Patience regained her feet and once again clasped Mr. Whitty’s hand. “Thank you.”

She made her way back outside to where Lenny was waiting with the carriage. “We shall see what he turns up, Lenny,” she said when he gave her a questioning look.

“It’s my hope he can find something of use, Miss Allender.”

Resting her head on the back of the seat once she was inside, Patience shut her eyes as they started moving and thought about the interview, certain she had left no detail out.
Dear Lord,
she thought,
please let Mr. Whitty come up with something, anything to remove this threat
. She was tired of looking over her shoulder, as she was sure her siblings were, especially Charlie.

She had actually thought long and hard about paying someone to get rid of her cousin permanently. How it was done she would not need to know. Removing him had been tempting, but she had never quite had the courage to see to it, which was pathetic considering the threat he posed. Now she would have to rethink that idea, if Mr. Whitty could not help her.

Could she actually have someone disposed of?

“Yes,” she said out loud. To keep her brother safe, she could.

She knew she’d become overprotective, and knew that Charlie chafed at her refusal to let him have more freedom, like other sons of noblemen who were well and truly ensconced in their chosen schools by now and had formed the bonds of friendship that for some would see them through their lives.