The Bridal Quest (18 page)

"I am sorry, my lady," Miss Tyning said softly, curtseying before Teresa, her eyes turned down to the ground. "I— I thought he was playing in his room, and I—"

"He was merely in the garden," Irene put in, feeling sorry for the woman in the face of Teresa's anger. "He came to no harm."

Teresa turned her glare on Irene. "And you, an unmarried woman, know so much about children," she said with withering disdain.

Irene was not so easily intimidated as the governess, however, and she gazed back at Teresa with cool assurance. "I did not mean to discount the great worry that a concerned mother such as yourself must feel. Indeed, I am quite surprised that I have not seen Timothy before, for I am sure you must spend a great deal of time with him."

Teresa bridled at the ironic undertone of Irene's words, but Irene went on before she could speak. "However, though I may not know much about children, I have a great deal of faith in the fact that there is little harm that could come to Lord Radbourne's brother on the grounds of Radbourne Park. Timothy may have been out of sight of the house, but he was definitely not out of hearing, and I dare swear there are gardeners working about the grounds who could help him. Why, in the short time he was out there, both Lord Radbourne and I chanced past where he was. So I think you may rest easy that he was in no danger."

Teresa's glare remained unchanged. Without looking at either her son or his governess, she snapped, "Miss Tyning, take Timothy inside
now.
I will be up to deal with both of you later."

"Yes, my lady." Again the governess bobbed her obeisance to Teresa, then headed for the terrace, dragging Timothy with her.

The boy turned to look back at Gideon and Irene, and gave them an insouciant wave. Irene hid a smile at the gesture, but Gideon did not bother to hide his response and waved back.

"Stay away from my son!" Teresa ordered, turning to Gideon.

"I beg your pardon?" Gideon turned his gaze on her, flat and black, unyielding.

"You heard me," Teresa went on. "There is no reason for you to be around him."

"He is my brother," Gideon reminded her.

"He is none of your concern!" Teresa shot back.

Gideon raised his eyebrows a little at the force of her reaction, but he said nothing.

Teresa, however, was not finished. "You encourage him to misbehave. He did not escape from Miss Tyning nearly as often before you came to the Park."

"He knows that I frequently take a walk about this time in the afternoon," Gideon admitted. "I think perhaps he hopes to run into me here. If we were to set up a schedule, a time every day when he and I would go for a stroll, then he might not be tempted to 'escape', and you would not have to worry that he might be in danger. It would be good for him."

"I am the one who will say what is good for Timothy," Teresa told him.

It seemed to Irene that Teresa looked even angrier than before at what seemed to her a very reasonable and even generous offer on Gideon's part. There were not many men who would suggest taking on the company of a lively five-year-old boy even for a few minutes each day. Irene started to give Teresa her opinion, then realized that would probably only annoy the woman even more and certainly wouldn't help Gideon and Timothy's case.

Teresa went on, her voice rising into a screech. "Do you think I want my son to spend more time with you? Do you think I want him to speak like a shopkeeper or have the manners of a street urchin?"

Irene drew in a sharp breath at the insult and glanced quickly at Gideon. His face was stony. He looked at Teresa for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together.

Then he said, "I am afraid that you are quite overset, my lady. No doubt your worry for your son impels you to say things that you will later regret. I suggest we both forget this conversation." He bowed slightly toward her. "No doubt you wish to get back to the nursery to look after your son."

He turned to Irene, offering her his arm. "Lady Irene? Shall we continue our walk?"

"Yes, of course." She put her hand on his arm, and they stepped away from Teresa.

Gideon's arm was like iron beneath her hand, and Irene cast a quick glance upward at his face. His expression was still like granite.

"You must not pay any attention to what Lady Radbourne said," Irene told him. "She is a fool."

"There is no denying that," he agreed.

"I am sorry."

"For what? You did nothing."

"I know. But still, I am sorry that she was ... unkind."

"I have dealt with far worse than Teresa, believe me." He shrugged. "Anyway, she is merely the only one rude enough—or stupid enough—to say to my face what all my relatives feel."

"No. I am sure they do not," Irene protested. "Anyway, you don't speak like a shopkeeper. And your manners—well, perhaps you are not so polished as some gentlemen, but I have met a good number of gentlemen who are quite ill-mannered, I assure you."

He smiled, his face relaxing, as he flashed a look at her. "Are you trying to make me feel better, my lady?"

She lifted her chin. "I am simply telling the truth."

"Well, the truth is that I
was
a street urchin," he said.

"Yes, but obviously you became something much more than that," she pointed out. "As I understand it, even before the Duke of Rochford tracked you down, you had done well for yourself."

He looked at her. "I made a good deal of money, that is true."

"Well, that is admirable in itself, is it not?" she persisted.

"That you got out of the situation you were in, that you got away from that man you told me about—"

"Jack Sparks."

"And you stopped being a thief." She paused, then added, with a touch of concern, "Didn't you?"

Gideon laughed. "Yes. You need not worry that the Runners are going to track me down and toss me into gaol. All my business concerns are now legitimate. They were not always so, but I managed to become legal a good many years ago. I had no desire to end my days hanging from a gibbet."

They continued in silence for a moment, then Irene asked, "How did you do it?"

"Get out of the business of thievery, you mean?" he asked, looked surprised. "Do you really want to know?"

"Why, yes, why wouldn't I? It must be a most unusual story, I should think."

"It is not one that my family has been interested in hearing. Their main concern is to keep me from talking about my past, not encourage it."

Irene shrugged. "Well, I am interested in it. It would seem to me that it must have taken wits and courage."

"I think it was more bloody self-interest than anything like wit or courage," he responded. "I started thinking, why am I doing all the work, then giving this fellow all my money? Why do I have to settle for crumbs from him? So I started hiding some of the money I took from people, not giving it all to Sparks. I managed to get a bit of thread and a needle, and sewed a secret pocket inside my pants, and I'd take a bit out of each purse and hide it there. I had to take a caning a few times because he thought I hadn't brought back enough cash, but I considered it worth it to keep something for myself. Later I got big enough that when he tried to beat me, I was able to stop him."

He paused, and for a moment Irene thought that he had decided not to tell her any more. But then he said, "And after a while I went into business on my own."

"As a thief?"

"I was not perhaps always entirely honest, but no, my skills were not best suited to thievery. I grew too large to do well climbing into windows or slipping unnoticed through a crowd. I was bigger than most, and stronger. I knew how to fight. So I hired myself out to protect people."

"Protect people? Who?"

"There are always men whose lives are lived on the edge, who have enemies and no recourse to the authorities. They need someone they can count on to keep others from stealing from them or hurting them, and if you can do that well, they are willing to pay you a good deal of money. That was when I was still a lad, before I learned things. Before I figured out easier and better ways to make money."

"How did you do that?"

"I made it a point to learn from the men I worked for. I saw how they made money, and how others made money from them. I saw how the chain ran, and how those at the top used their brains instead of their muscles. And how those who made the most money made it legally. More importantly, they didn't wind up in gaol or dangling at the end of the hangman's noose."

"So how did you make the move from illegal to legal business?"

He shrugged. "Gradually, I suppose. I had my store of money, and I saved most of whatever I was paid. I wasn't going to be like the other lads I knew, spending every ha'penny they earned on gin and women. I lived lean. The last man I worked for owned taverns and gambling dens, along with some less savory businesses. I spent a good deal of time at them, too, and at one of them I got to know a chap who worked there. In fact, I saved him from having his throat slit by a dissatisfied customer."

"Really?" Irene turned wide eyes on him. "That sounds like more than dissatisfaction."

"Well, he was a rum 'un. One of your 'gentlemen.'"

"He doesn't sound like any sort of gentleman I would claim," Irene retorted.

"He resented losing all his money to Piers."

"Piers? The man you invited to the party?"

"Yes. He was the one who had won the money. Ask him—he'll be happy to show you the scar. An inch long, right here." He pointed to one side of his neck. "The fellow had a sword tip hidden in his cane. He waited outside until Piers left the place, then twisted the cane, and this thing popped out of the end. Piers was quick enough to bring up his hand and knock the thing aside, but he slipped and went down on the wet cobblestones. It would probably have been the end of him, but I happened to walk out right then, and I saw what was happening. So I took the cane away from the customer and sent him on his way."

"You make it sound so easy."

"He had little experience fighting. I did. The sword-cane did not improve his odds much. After that, Piers and I became friends. And eventually we went into business together. With a loan from my employer and the money I'd saved up, I bought a little place and turned it into a gambling den. Piers ran the place. Another friend of mine worked there, as well. And it was a success."

"Was it then that you met my father?" Irene asked.

He nodded, casting a sideways glance at her. "Yes. Lord Wyngate was a frequent customer ... at least at first."

"Until you tossed him out."

"Yes."

"It seems that throwing him out must have been something of a risk," Irene commented. "He and his cronies would have been valuable customers."

"It was more important to establish control of my business. I had no intention of allowing anyone to dictate how I ran it. Nor did I have any interest in letting noblemen, or anyone else, abuse my workers." He shrugged. "In any case, it did me no harm. I might have lost a few customers, but my policy attracted others who appreciated knowing that the house was free of the rowdiness and low behavior with which many of the gambling dens were riddled. And those customers, it turned out, were generally more plump in the pocket than Wyngate and Haughston and their group."

"Then you knew Lady Francesca's husband, as well?"

He nodded. "Enough to know that she is better off being a widow."

"I imagine you're right," Irene agreed.

They continued to walk. Irene was very aware of the quiet around them and of Gideon's presence beside her.

"Odd, isn't it?" Gideon mused. "She did not manage for herself what she is apparently well-known for doing for others."

"'Tis easier, I suppose, to see clearly when one is not personally involved," Irene surmised.

"Or perhaps she learned from her own mistake." Gideon glanced at her. "It seems that ladies often do not take their opportunity to ensure financial success for themselves when they marry."

"It is looks and honeyed words that all too often sway them. It was so with my mother. Perhaps it was so with Francesca, as well. Lord Haughston was a handsome man. Desire can blind one to one's own best interests."

She cast a sideways glance up at Gideon, thinking of the way her own desire kept leading her astray with him, beckoning her into making the mistake she had always sworn not to. He caught her look, and a smile touched his lips.

Then he stopped and turned to face her, taking her hands in his. "Desire," he told her softly, "does not have to be a mistake. One can make the wisest decision and still take the path that passion leads one to."

"I am not sure that one's vision can be clear in that regard," Irene retorted. "Emotions and uh ..." She cleared her throat, turning her gaze away from his eyes, for she found it difficult to speak looking up into their dark depths. "Sensations can make it difficult to think. To see one's way."

Gideon raised her hand and gently pressed his lips against the back of it. "Irene ... I think in this instance that your 'sensations' give you a very clear picture of what this marriage could be. You have only to let yourself believe it."