The Casanova Code (5 page)

“Those poor women,” Claire said. “They’ll have no means of escape.”

Edwina hesitated. In spite of all the stories of his womanizing ways, Trewelyn just didn’t seem as evil as the others insisted. She’d need additional proof.

“Edwina, buying you a pot of tea doesn’t make him less of a rogue,” Faith said, sensing her indecision. “He could have been trying to ferret his way into your good graces so as to seduce you into becoming one of his women.”

The word “seduce” tingled through her rib cage. She supposed it was wrong of her to wonder . . . but what would it be like to be seduced by the likes of Casanova? A delicious warmth stirred deep in her belly, unlike anything she’d ever experienced in Walter’s company.

“If only we had a way to know what these Guardians intend,” Claire mused. “Maybe we should watch Trewelyn’s residence in advance of the meeting.”

“Why?” Edwina asked.

“I’m not certain,” Claire admitted. “We’d at least learn the identities of the Guardians.”

Edwina wasn’t convinced.

“We simply can’t remain silent and do nothing,” Faith argued. “We are the only chance for those poor frightened women.”

Though reluctant to connect Trewelyn with evil intent, the existence of the coded message proved problematic. Why have a coded message if not to meet in secret? And why meet in secret unless for wicked intentions? Perhaps she needed to see Trewelyn’s evil exploits for herself. Then perhaps she could embrace the others’ opinion of his dire intentions. Maybe she would even be able to appreciate Walter’s protective tendencies rather than lapse into annoyance. “I’ll go,” Edwina said quietly.

“What?” Faith’s head turned toward her. “Where will you go?”

“To Trewelyn’s address,” Edwina said with conviction. “They’re meeting tomorrow night. I’ll go and see if women are being lured for a feast of debauchery.”

“Walter would take you?” Faith’s lips formed a small moue of surprise.

“No.” Edwina almost laughed at the thought of Walter escorting her to a gathering of ill repute. “I’ll go alone. I’ll watch the entrance from the confines of a hansom cab and if I see an innocent, I’ll do my best to warn her so she can flee.”

“Your father will not let you go out alone at night without an escort,” Faith warned.

“My father won’t even know I’m gone.” Edwina smiled. “When they lived at home, my brothers routinely left the house without anyone knowing.”

“How?” Claire asked.

“They climbed the rigging of the
Black Spot
.” Edwina’s lips turned with the nostalgic memories. “The boys read the story
Treasure Island
to me when I was still in the nursery. We used to pretend the old oak in the back garden was a pirate ship, the
Black Spot
.”

“I thought the black spot was a pirate’s note of impending punishment,” Claire said.

“It was, in the book,” Edwina explained. “Richard thought the name would inspire an amount of fear and trepidation among our imaginary enemies.”

“And how does an oak tree in the garden assist you in escaping your room in the house?” Faith asked.

“We referred to the tree branches as the rigging. We could climb to the crow’s nest near the top of the tree, and back down rather easily. One of the branches reaches close to the boys’ room.” She didn’t mention that obtaining that branch would require a jump from her window ledge. She was too small when her brothers were at home to attempt such a feat, a fact the boys had routinely taken advantage of. They would race away for adventure while she remained behind, watching them disappear into the night. Little did she realize that was to be their pattern as they grew. She was always to be the one left behind to translate the stories of their adventures.

“And you’ve climbed this rigging before?”

“Not recently,” Edwina replied. She could have said “never” and been just as truthful. By the time she’d obtained the sufficient length to make the jump, the boys had moved away to school, leaving her home alone without the proper incentive to do so.

Faith shook her head. “You’ll break your neck.”

“Perhaps,” Edwina said, but she doubted that would be the case, though she wouldn’t rule out a torn dress or even a broken arm. A sort of excitement began to build. An excitement that she hadn’t recognized since she waved good-bye to her brothers so many years ago.

“It might be a little dangerous,” she said, glancing up at her friend. “I’m not a coward. Besides, it’s an adventure.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Faith said, shaking her head. “I’m coming with you. Make some excuse for your absence. There shouldn’t be complaint from your parents. Nothing bad could possibly happen if we’re all together.”

A
NTICIPATION
THICKENED
THE
AIR
,
MAKING
IT
DIF
ficult to breathe. The driver had positioned the brougham so that they had an unobstructed view of the Trewelyn town house without being directly across from the front entrance. Even so, they left the carriage lamp unlit to avoid detection. All three of them speculated early in the evening about which depraved individuals would constitute the Guardians. Edwina and Faith kept their noses pressed to the windows, waiting to confirm their suspicions.

They waited . . . and waited. Claire broke the silence by lecturing about the latest political scandals revealed in the
Pall Mall Gazette
, a subject Edwina found tiresome at best. Only an occasional hansom passed their position, and none of those slowed to allow passengers to disembark. Soon Edwina’s initial excitement mellowed to something akin to boredom.

“What if the girls are already inside?” Claire asked. “If they are, we won’t be able to prevent them from succumbing to Casanova’s web.”

While Edwina couldn’t actually see her clearly, she could sense Claire’s disappointment. How odd to be disappointed that acts of depravity were not taking place, but then that sort of news wouldn’t appear in the political papers. “The ad said that the meeting of the Guardians doesn’t begin till eight o’clock,” Edwina reminded them. “I would guess it’s barely seven now. We shouldn’t have arrived so early.”

“Suspicions would have arisen otherwise,” Claire insisted. “Think of it, Edwina. If the purpose of the Guardians is to use a woman in some deviant conception of pleasure, wouldn’t Trewelyn be certain of a woman’s availability before advertising the party? If so, wouldn’t he already have one or more women confined in the house?”

Faith gasped and lowered her voice. “They could be drugged and not able to refuse.”

“Drugged?” Edwina couldn’t imagine Ashton Trewelyn would need to drug any female to gain her cooperation. All he would have to do was look at her with those eyes, speak with that voice, smile with those lips . . .

“Opium, Edwina. That’s what they do. They force an opium pipe on an innocent so she can’t object. She won’t even know what has happened until it’s too late.”

Edwina’s head swam with talk of political scandal, opium, and innocents, all of which was phrased in context with Trewelyn. While her mind accepted the possibility of her friends being correct, especially given Casanova’s reputation and the existence of the coded message, something still felt at odds with their perceptions. She opened the carriage door.

“What are you doing?” Faith asked, grasping her arm.

“I’ve been sitting too long,” Edwina replied. “I thought I could walk a little to clear my head.” And escape the close confines of the carriage, she thought, but kept to herself. The windows made the cramped interior of the brougham tolerable, yet she was still uncomfortable. She had never been at ease in confinement. Not since her brothers had locked her in a chest when she’d tried to follow them in her early years. She breathed easier with the carriage door open.

“If you walk on the pavement, the Guardians might see you. They could sweep you up into their web of decadence,” Faith admonished.

Edwina smiled to herself, believing such an occurrence unlikely. Something about time spent waiting in a dark conveyance must heighten the imagination. She glanced down the solid row of fashionable London town houses. “We don’t even know if any women are inside.” She turned back to Faith. “No one has arrived for the festivities. I’ll just take a peek around back.” Faith began to protest, but Edwina was insistent. If she stayed in that carriage another minute, she’d scream.

Faith rose as if to follow into the night. “You stay here,” Edwina insisted. “It could be that the girls just haven’t arrived as yet. If you stay here, you might be able to intercept them.”

“But what if the Guardians catch you? What if you don’t come back?”

“If I’m not back in an hour, then you can find a policeman to make inquiries,” Edwina said. “Not any sooner, though. I don’t want to be arrested in the mews as a potential thief.” She smiled and pulled the hood of her cape over her hair. “Most likely I shall return in plenty of time.”

Faith handed her parasol to Edwina. “Take this. It makes an effective weapon if necessary.” Then she settled back into the cushions. “You be careful, Edwina.”

• • •

T
HE
G
UARDIANS
HAD
PICKED
A
MOONLESS
NIGHT
FOR
their meeting. A few well-lit lower rooms cast a soft light to the pavement. Edwina silently rounded the row of well-heeled dwellings to access the collection of carriage houses behind them. She counted her way down the lane to discover the back entrance to the Trewelyn residence.

A well-attired footman stood just outside the door, smoking a cigarette. He would be impossible to pass. Just as she had concocted what she hoped was a plausible reason to be admitted inside, the door flew open and a woman servant called out.

“Henry, come quick! They’re having at it again!”

The footman tossed the remains of his smoke into the kitchen garden and hurried inside.

A fight . . . That would absorb the attention of the servants. If ever there was an opportunity to sneak undetected into a residence, this would be that time. She dashed forward and quietly entered, taking care to go upstairs toward the more intimate areas of the household and away from the popular—and from the sound of it—painful diversion belowstairs.

She managed her way to the first floor without discovery. Now what? If indeed there were women being held captive in the house for the amusement of others, where would they most likely be confined? She hadn’t time to fully consider this question when she heard footsteps advancing from the opposite direction. Edwina slipped into the first open room and cowered in a corner, waiting for the footsteps to pass.

The familiar fragrance of old leather and musty paper teased her nose, pulling a smile. A library! Her fingers slipped along the binding of shelved volumes to her side and back. Did a rake stock a library with tales of adventure and piracy on the high seas? Would she find Robinson Crusoe and his marvelous tree house here, or Ivanhoe, or perhaps Shakespeare’s sonnets? This was not the time to consider such things, she scolded, pressing her back to the shelves and holding her breath. The footsteps hurried past, affording her a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, a spark flashed with a sizzle of sulfur. She gasped, turning her head to the source of the light. She felt her life’s blood fleeing her face.
Casanova!

“I wondered who crept into the room.” He lit a gas jet on the wall, flooding the library with a yellowish light. “So you’re a thief, Miss Grimwood, as well as a liar and some poor fool’s fiancée.”

His insults, though not unjustified, stung. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

His brow lifted. “This is my home. I ask the questions.” He walked toward her, his stick leading the advance. “I hadn’t anticipated such an attractive thief would steal into my house this night.” A wicked gleam sparked his eyes. “Searching your person for missing candlesticks will be a delight I hadn’t anticipated.”

Her heart pounded with a ferocity to rattle the books on the shelves. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. “I’m not a thief,” she protested. “That’s not why I’ve come.” He stepped around a large table situated in the center of the room. With each step toward her, she felt her confidence erode. “I’m . . . I’m searching for someone.”

He drew up short and cocked his head. His eyes narrowed in accusation. “You followed me the day I picked up the responses from the
Mayfair Messenger
.”

The man continually surprised her. “You knew?”

“I thought you looked familiar when we met earlier but I hadn’t put it together until just this moment.” He pushed the hood of her cape back, then slid a strand of her hair through his fingertips. “Your hair gives you away, Miss Grimwood. It’s the color of sunlight. I thought it unusual to see this particular shade on so many women about London that day, but it was you all along. Only you.”

She tried to shrink back from him, but there was little room for retreat in the corner.

His voice turned gruff. “Why were you following me?”

“It was your personal advertisement,” she admitted. “We thought—”

“We?”

“There are others, yes.” She looked up into his eyes. A mistake. She instantly felt her confidence draining, so she quickly glanced away. “We thought it unlikely that a man of your reputation would need to advertise for companionship, unless it was for . . .” She paused.

“For what, Miss Grimwood?”

She winced. “Please don’t call me that. It’s not my name. The real Miss Grimwood left the Crescent before you arrived.”

He hesitated. She heard a swift intake of breath. Apparently she had the ability to surprise him as well. That knowledge restored some of her confidence. “Then what should I call you?” he asked.

She thought she heard a smile in his voice, but she could have been mistaken. More likely it was a sneer, not a smile. The tips of his fingers gently guided her face back toward his. She couldn’t avoid his eyes now.

“Who are you?”

The time for fabrication had passed. “Edwina Hargrove,” she replied. He stood so close. His body trapped hers in place, keeping her close enough that she noted the scent of sandalwood soap on his skin, close enough that he most likely could hear her heart racing.

“Then, Miss Hargrove,” he said, his voice low, tantalizing, and seductive, “please explain for what purpose you believed I would advertise for companionship?”

She shrugged and averted her gaze, not wishing to admit their suspicions.

“Do you believe that a man such as myself does not deserve companionship?”

A slight catch in his voice, a slight shift in his speech pattern, alerted her to a possible vulnerability, but she had no time to consider that now.

“No, not at all,” she replied quickly. “We thought that a man such as yourself had ample opportunity to secure companionship through the more traditional methods.”

Demand was in his eyes as he gazed down a straight nose, past expressive lips and the dark shadow that covered his chin and defined his cheeks and, inexplicably, incited in her a desire to touch. The moisture in her mouth evaporated, making speech difficult. She grasped Faith’s parasol more firmly. “You . . . you don’t need to advertise.”

His lips—lips that were rumored to be quite experienced in all sorts of decadent acts—pulled into a half smile that resonated in places it really shouldn’t. “I suppose I should be flattered,” he said. “But I fail to grasp how that would lead to your need to spy upon me.”

“We thought that Casanova—”

“Casanova?” He drew back, faintly amused. “Do they still whisper that name?” She nodded slowly. He shook his head. “I thought that had died years ago.”

His demeanor lightened, and she took a welcome breath. Glancing down the unbroken row of books in something akin to nostalgic revelry, he chuckled softly then returned his focus to her. “I don’t recall seeing you at any house parties, Miss Hargrove. I would have remembered you. How would you know of Casanova?”

“The social column of the
Messenger
—”

“Ah, yes,” he interrupted with a smile. “That ridiculous column about who is wearing what. As if the matter of jewelry flashed at one’s tête-à-tête would make the slightest difference in the outcome of world affairs.” His smile faded, but his eyes continued to search her face, his black pupils large in the dim light. “But go on . . . you thought Casanova would have no need . . .”

“No need to advertise unless . . . unless . . .” It was difficult to admit the Rake Patrol’s suppositions to his face, especially as they now seemed frivolous and unsupported. But she drew herself up tall. “Unless he was planning to lure an innocent woman for unconscionable purposes.”

He pulled back. “Unconscionable purposes?” He stared at her a moment and then chortled. “I suspect you have me confused with my father.”

Such an odd response, her nose crinkled in annoyance. “No. I don’t believe—”

“The ad was placed to benefit another, Miss Hargrove,” he said without listening to her protest. “Someone who is truly worthy of the love of a good woman, as it appears in your estimation I am not.”

Confused, she fumbled mentally for a moment. “I did not mean to imply . . .” He stood close, too close to discuss his worthiness for anything other than the sort of delicious unease he caused within her. She slipped past him, freeing her back from the uncomfortable press of the shelves. “Still,” she insisted, “you lied in your advertisement. Those women thought you were the person with interest.”

“The ad did not identify me,” he protested. “I would have explained my purpose had I received the opportunity to actually speak to the respondents.” A wicked smile spread across his face. “I had no idea there existed an entire corps of women determined to thwart my purposes.”