The Genuine Article (7 page)

Reginald could see the fury leap to her eyes, followed by suspicion. He wondered if she would snarl and pull a knife from that frothy little reticule or if she would remember her place and act as she ought. She did neither.

Apparently deciding he wasn't worthy of the treatment she gave Darley, she merely turned her back on him and walked out, expecting him to follow like a hired flunky.

That irritated him more than he cared to admit. It was much too early in the game for the little witch to be getting under his skin. If he was not careful, she would be married to Darley and he would have to endure this treatment for the rest of his life or write off the only true friend he had.

As he climbed into the carriage after her, Reginald had to admit that the contest was becoming personal. It was no longer a matter of saving Darley from himself, but of self-preservation. He eyed the perfectly respectable lady's maid beside her and counted another round lost. He had thought to catch her out alone again.

Idly, as if continuing a conversation, he mentioned, "It has become common practice to copy expensive jewelry. Thieves in London are rampant, and it is much more practical to keep the real jewels in a vault."

Lady Marian merely settled her skirts around her and looked through him as if he were not there. Her maid gave him a look askance, but being a good servant, she did not question his presence aloud. Knowing the importance of staying on the good side of a lady's servants, Reginald gave her a smile and would have tipped his hat had he been wearing one. Mostly, hats annoyed him, and he had a tendency to forget them at all times. The maid still looked a little wary.

He knew better than to condescend to make explanations to servants, but he had also learned at an early age how to make his way around any obstacle. Keeping his expression pleasant, he addressed the maid rather than Lady Marian. "Your mistress is a bit peeved with me at the moment. Would you tell her I am most heartily sorry if I have offended?"

Flustered at being addressed by an elegant gentleman for the, Lily fluttered her hands, looked to Marian's stony expression, and glanced fearfully back to the gentleman. "I don't think she accepts the apology, my lord," she whispered.

"Mister. Just plain Mr. Montague. I suppose that explains the lady's reticence. She does not accept apologies from those of lesser rank."

He was rewarded by a furious glare from the lady in question. He had never seen eyes that flashed quite so delightfully. It was no wonder Darley was head over heels. If Reginald had not already seen her true colors, he might consider giving his friend a run for the money. Not that marriage would be his objective.

"Would you explain to the lady that I am quite circumspect? I do not go about boasting of my collection and I would not presume to do so in the case of another collector. The lady's secrets are quite safe with me."

The lady's shoulders seemed to relax slightly as she turned to look out the carriage window. Her maid clenched and unclenched her fingers nervously, uncertain how to address this situation. Having been relegated permanently to hired flunky, Montague resolved to put the maid at ease if he could not do so for the mistress.

"Will the ladies be attending Devonshire's ball?" he asked, as if conversing with servants was an everyday occurrence. Considering his voluble new valet, it might become so.

The maid's face brightened. "Aye, they will. They are to have gowns made by a modiste for the occasion."

Reginald raised his eyebrows. "I did not know gowns could be made by anyone else."

Marian made an inelegant snort but continued to stare out the window. The maid looked nervous at having spoken out of turn. When she remained silent a little too long, Marian glanced back into the carriage. Reginald noted her expression of resignation rather than irritation at her maid's unwise words. It threw him momentarily off-balance.

"Most of the world constructs their own gowns, Mr. Montague. A few might hire a seamstress. Only the very rich and very fortunate can afford a modiste." As if that were lesson enough for the day, she turned back to the window.

"I cannot believe you are trying to tell me you and your family are trying to take London in homemade gowns." His gaze dropped to the drab bit of brown cotton she was wearing. He could believe that was homemade. And so was the one she had worn at the inn. But he had seen her in evening wear as fine as any he had ever seen anywhere. What hoax was she up to now?

Marian shot him a scathing look and when her maid did not dare offer explanation, she replied, "I do not much care what you believe. You and your ilk no doubt go about running up enormous debts at tailors and trust in luck or families to pay them. We prefer to live honestly. Lily is a very fine seamstress. With her talents and our helping hands, we do very well, thank you."

The carriage was pulling to a halt in a less than fashionable but respectable residential side street some distance from the mansions of Mayfair.

Reginald found it hard to believe any word out of the woman's mouth, but then, he found it hard to believe that any impostor could be so brutally honest. If he were to get to the bottom of her trickery, he would have to be more in her company. He could not do that unless he smoothed the feathers he had ruffled. Unfortunately, it was much more fun to ruffle them than smooth them.

"Then let me congratulate you on your fortune in finding such a paragon. I trust you pay her accordingly. Talent should be rewarded." He climbed down from the carriage as the door opened, pulling the heavy satchel after him, leaving the lady to stare after him in open-mouthed dismay.

She was forced to take his hand to descend. When she stood before him, she glanced deliberately at the pocket containing her money. Reginald toyed with the idea of making her ask for it, but even he could not sink that low. He removed the purse and handed it to her.

"If you truly wish to keep the rest of your library, remember what I have said about the jewelry," he reminded her in low tones as her maid waited a respectable distance away.

"I fail to see your interest in my jewelry, sir. In actuality, I fail to understand anything about you. My driver will return you to your destination." Carefully clutching the purse, she turned away.

Reginald watched her go with a hint of admiration. She had the proud manner of a duchess when her temper was riled. She had just successfully dismissed him as if he were a footman rather than the son of an earl. Of course, she no doubt thought him closer to a footman than an earl. He had a suspicion Lady Marian and her family had not exactly acquired a coat of town bronze yet.

He gave the driver the address of his residence rather than returning to the shop. Wouldn't it have delighted the lady to discover that he was owner of the shop and not a patron? She would have spread it all about the
ton
and forced him into permanent retreat.

But he had dealt with much more sophisticated members of society without any of them ever having guessed that he was more than an eccentric collector of antiquities. He didn't think Lady Marian had any inkling that he wished to acquire her manuscript for resale, not for his own collection. He was quite annoyed with Jacobs for acquiring it as if he were bidding against him. It would be difficult to make a profit on fifty pounds. As much as the piece belonged in a museum, museums did not have that kind of money.

Maybe he ought to inform Darley that his beloved had an intellectual bent that included collecting rare medieval manuscripts. Darley had the funds to buy back the blasted piece and give it to her as a betrothal gift. Of course, once Darley realized the lady had real brains, he would turn into a rabbit and run. The viscount had been under his mother's thumb too long to want to spend the rest of his life with a wife of the same ilk.

Reginald toyed with various possibilities as the carriage rolled through the streets. He had already hired a man from Bow Street to investigate the lady's background, but he was beginning to believe she was the genuine article.

Even a very good actress could not produce that air of hauteur with which he had been dismissed. It was bred into the bones, he believed. An actress would overdo it, making some gesture or grimace to emphasize her displeasure. Lady Marian had merely turned her back and said everything by saying nothing.

He ventured to say that she was really a lady, but a particularly bad-tempered one. She must be practicing restraint while on the hunt for a husband. He had managed to crack that restraint a time or two today, but she had only once given vent to her real feelings. It would be amusing to see how long she lasted if provoked in front of Darley.

As Reginald stepped down from the carriage and tipped the driver, he turned his thoughts with satisfaction in that direction. Perhaps he could accomplish his goals before Bow Street accomplished theirs. He need merely be in company with the lovely Lady Marian and Darley to the extent that he ultimately wore down her patience.

How better to do it than to court the shy Miss Jessica?

Chapter 6

"O'Toole, give back the watch!" Reginald looked in the mirror as he fiddled with his cravat and yelled at his wayward valet. His new hireling was not adept with cravats, but his hands were exceedingly deft in other ways.

The valet innocently polished the gold watch with a handkerchief before handing it back to his employer. "It was just in the need of a spot of polish, my lord. A fellow needs to keep his hand in, if you know what I mean."

"I don't have a title, you needn't 'lord' me, and you had better keep those blasted hands to yourself from now on if you don't want to end up in Newgate. Thieving is a reprehensible habit for a valet."

O'Toole gallantly brushed an invisible dust mote from his employer's expensively tailored shoulders. The black swallow-tailed coat possessed not a wrinkle as it stretched over broad shoulders and narrowed to a taut waist. He was rather in sympathy with his employer on the matter of starched collars, but it was impossible to acquire the correct degree of elegance in the cravat otherwise.

Instead, Mr. Montague had to aspire to strikingly done rather than elegant. Spotless linen, a fashionably embroidered white waistcoat done in gold threads, and a hint of color in the gold watch fob added to the impression. Except for the cravat, his master was a credit to his valet.

"'Tis not thievin' if I give it back," O'Toole said insouciantly.

Reginald snorted, and picking up his walking stick and hat, started for the door. "You need not wait up. I am quite capable of undressing myself. Just leave the maids alone. I cannot keep Jasper from sacking you if you can't keep your bloody hands to yourself."

From behind a shock of thick auburn hair and a nose full of freckles, O'Toole grinned. "The lasses can't leave a fella alone. You want I should spend the evenin' readin'?"

Thoroughly exasperated with his insolent servant, Reginald slammed the door on him and started down the stairs. Why in the name of all that was sane he had taken on the petty thief, he could not fathom. If he had any wits left at all, he would throw O'Toole out on his ear in the morning.

But the man knew his trade. He had polished every boot and shoe in the closet, saw that all Reginald's linen was bleached to a pristine white, and made certain every coat he owned was pressed and in good repair. And he had done it all at a minimum of expense. A man like O'Toole could be worth his weight in gold just in tailor and laundry bills. Reginald was not making such profits that he could afford not to take expenses into account.

He was well aware of this as he climbed into the carriage that he could only recently afford. It cost a great deal of blunt to keep up one's reputation as a wealthy aristocrat, which he needed to do to keep his business profitable. He had to be accepted into the best of homes and rub shoulders with the best society so that he could direct them to his establishment at every opportunity.

Because everyone considered him a collector of excellent taste, they took his recommendations when they wished to make a purchase or a sale. It allowed him to skim the cream from the top and keep the best antiquities emporium in London. So far, no one had ever connected the younger son of the Earl of Mellon to Aristotle's Emporium, and that was the way he meant it to stay.

But the carriage and the town house and the showy string of horses at Newmarket had been hard won. His family had wished for him to marry an heiress, had even picked one out whom they considered eminently suitable, but Reginald had refused the honor.