The Paid Companion (12 page)

Control yourself, man. The last thing you need now is that sort of complication.

“You say you have disregarded the Runner’s conclusions,” Elenora continued after a moment. “Have you formulated some conjecture of your own regarding the identity of your great-uncle’s killer?”

“Not precisely.” He hesitated. “At least, not one that makes any sense.”

“You are a man of logic and reason, sir. If you are considering a theory, however bizarre, I suspect there is some serious foundation for it.”

“Not in this case. But I will admit that I find myself reflecting again and again upon a remark my great-uncle made when he told me about his three friends and the Society that they had formed.”

“What was it?” she asked.

“He mentioned that one of the three members of the Society, the one who called himself Mercury, never truly overcame his fascination with alchemy, although he pretended to do so. My uncle said that Mercury was the most brilliant of the trio. Indeed, there was a time when they all believed that he would someday be hailed as England’s second Newton.”

“What became of him?”

He looked at her. “Mercury was the member of the Society who was killed by the explosion in his laboratory.”

“I see. Well, that makes it rather difficult to conclude that he might be the killer, does it not?”

“It makes it damned impossible.” He sighed. “Yet I find myself returning again and again to that possibility.”

“Even if he were still alive, why would he wait all these years to murder your great-uncle and steal the lapidary and the stone?”

“I do not know,” Arthur said simply. “Perhaps it took him this long to unravel the secret of drawing the energy from the red stones.”

“But there is no secret.” She spread her hands. “Your great-uncle told you that the alchemist’s tale was no more than a fantasy.”

“Yes, but Uncle George also told me something else,” Arthur said slowly. “Something that has been weighing on my mind. He claimed that, as undeniably brilliant as Mercury was, he was also showing signs of mental instability, perhaps even of outright madness, toward the end of his life.”

“Ah.” Thoughtfully, she tapped her fan against her palm. “So this Mercury might have begun to believe in the power of the red stones.”

“Yes. But even if that were the case, it all happened a long time ago. Mercury, whoever he was, has been in his grave for a very long time.”

“Perhaps someone has stumbled upon his notes or journals and decided to pursue his research.”

Arthur experienced a flash of new respect. “That, Miss Lodge, is a very interesting theory.”

A woman’s light, teasing laughter stopped him in mid-sentence. The sound came from the other side of the tall hedge. A man’s voice murmured a response.

“Yes, I saw her with Hathersage,” the lady said. “Miss Lodge is certainly an Original, is she not? But if you ask me, there is something extremely odd about her.” She sniffed daintily. “About the entire situation, come to that.”

“What makes you say that, Constance?” the man asked. He sounded both amused and curious. “It appears to me that St. Merryn has found himself a most intriguing fiancée.”

Arthur recognized the voice. It belonged to a man named Dunmere, a member of one of his clubs.

“Bah.” Constance did more than sniff this time. She gave a small snort of disgust. “St. Merryn cannot be serious about marrying her. That much is obvious. When a man of his rank and position takes a wife, he selects a young heiress from a good family. Everyone knows that. This Miss Lodge has obviously been on the shelf for several years. No one knows anything about her family background. Furthermore, judging by her manner and what I have heard of her conversation, I would venture to say that she is no naïve innocent.”

Arthur glanced down and saw that Elenora was listening intently to the conversation on the other side of the hedge. When she met his eyes, he put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. She nodded in understanding, but he noticed that she was frowning.

With luck, he thought, the gossiping pair would wander off in another direction.

“I disagree,” Dunmere said. “St. Merryn is considered to be something of an eccentric. It would be quite in keeping for him to choose a wife who is not out of the usual mold.”

“Mark my words,” Constance retorted, “there is something very strange about his betrothal to Miss Lodge.”

Arthur could hear footfalls on the gravel and the soft rustle of skirts now. So much for avoiding Constance and Dunmere. They were making their way toward the fountain.

“Perhaps it is a love match,” Dunmere suggested. “St. Merryn is rich enough to be able to afford such an indulgence.”

“A love match?” This time Constance’s laughter was thin and brittle. “Are you mad? This is St. Merryn we are discussing. He is as cold-blooded as they come. Everyone knows that the only things that arouse his passions are his investments.”

“I will admit that he does not appear to possess any strong romantic sensibilities,” Dunmere conceded. “I was in the club that night when he was told that his fiancée had eloped. I will never forget his astonishingly casual reaction.”

“Precisely. Any man possessed of even a modicum of romantic sensibility would have given chase.”

“No offense my dear, but a fiancée who has betrayed her future husband with another man is not worth risking one’s neck for in a dawn appointment.”

“What of St. Merryn’s honor?” Constance demanded.

“It was not his honor that was at stake,” Dunmere said dryly. “Rather, it was the young lady’s. Rest assured that there is no man in the ton who would dream of questioning St. Merryn’s honor.”

“But from all accounts, St. Merryn behaved as though the entire affair was nothing more than a singularly dull bit of theatrics that was more suited to Drury Lane.”

“Perhaps that is how he considered it,” Dunmere said in a thoughtful tone.

“Rubbish. I tell you, St. Merryn is as cold as the sea. That is why he did not give chase that night. And that is why I am certain that whatever else it is, this new betrothal is no love match.”

Arthur looked down and saw that Elenora was still listening closely to the couple’s conversation. He could not, however, discern from her expression just what she was thinking. For some reason, that worried him.

“My dear Constance,” Dunmere said slyly, “it sounds as though you learned the lesson concerning St. Merryn’s cold nature the hard way. What happened? Did you attempt to make him the target of one of your charming seductions only to have him decline the offer of your very inviting bed?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Constance snapped quickly. “I have no personal interest in St. Merryn. I am merely relating what everyone knows to be the truth. Any man who would play cards at his club while his bride-to-be was carried off by her lover lacks feeling. He would, therefore, be incapable of falling in love.”

Constance and Dunmere had almost reached the end of the hedge. In another moment or two they would round the corner. Arthur wondered if there was time to get Elenora out of sight behind the far end of the hedge.

Before he could signal his intentions, she leaped to her feet. His first thought was that she was about to flee from the impending encounter with the gossiping pair.

He was stunned when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him instead.

She put one hand behind his head, urging him closer.

“Kiss me,” she commanded in a breathless whisper.

Of course, he thought. How clever of her to realize that the best way to defuse the gossip was to be seen engaged in a passionate embrace. The lady was very quick-thinking.

He pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his own.

In the next instant he forgot all about the little play they were supposed to be staging. Heat, searing and dazzling in its intensity, swept through him.

He was vaguely aware of Constance’s startled gasp and Dunmere’s amused chuckle, but he ignored both in favor of deepening the kiss.

Elenora’s fingers tightened abruptly around his shoulders. He knew his sudden, fierce reaction had startled her. He slid one hand down her back to the place where the curve of her hips began. Very deliberately he pressed her into the intimate space created between his legs, one of which was still propped on the edge of the fountain.

The position allowed him to feel the softness of her stomach against his erection. A sweet, hot ache filled his lower body.

“Well, well, well,” Dunmere murmured. “It would seem that St. Merryn is not quite as cold as you believed, my dear Constance. Nor does Miss Lodge appear to be unduly terrified at the prospect of suffering a fate worse than death at his hands.”

13

Margaret settled into the cushioned seat of the carriage and smiled at Arthur with a hopeful air. “I think that went very well, don’t you, sir?”

Arthur lounged on the other side of the cab. The yellow glow of the interior lamps etched his face in shadow and mystery.

“Yes,” he said in his low, dark tones. But he was looking at Elenora, not at Margaret. “I think we all gave excellent performances tonight.”

A small shiver of apprehension or perhaps uncertainty went through Elenora. She concentrated very hard on the sight of the crowded streets and managed to avoid Arthur’s considering gaze.

She had intended that kiss in the garden to be nothing more than a convincing bit of fiction designed to quell the gossips. But she had lost control of the situation almost immediately.

She was still unable to comprehend what had happened. One moment she had been urging Arthur to embrace her for the sake of their small audience; the next she had been shocked and stirred all the way to her toes.

The kiss had left her flushed and strangely disoriented. Indeed, she was certain that if Arthur had not been holding her so tightly when Constance and Dunmere rounded the end of the hedge, she would have lost her balance. The back of her neck still tingled with an unnerving sense of awareness.

“You have got the distraction you wanted,” Margaret went on, cheerfully oblivious to the dangerous undercurrents shifting through the shadows of the carriage. “Everyone at the ball tonight was overcome with curiosity. I vow, the tongues wagged even faster after you two came back from taking the fresh air out on the terrace.”

“Really?” Elenora made herself say very vaguely.

“Yes, indeed,” Margaret assured. “I don’t know how you did it, but Mr. Fleming and I agreed that both of you managed to affect the appearance of two people who had just concluded a very ardent bit of lovemaking out there in the gardens. It was an astonishing piece of acting, I must say.”

Elenora dared not take her eyes off the night-shrouded streets “Mmm.”

“I was rather pleased with the results of that scene in the gardens, myself,” Arthur said, sounding for all the world like a hard-to-please theater critic.

Desperate to change the subject, Elenora summoned up a bright little smile for Margaret. “Did you enjoy the evening?”

“Oh, yes, very much,” Margaret replied dreamily. “Mr. Fleming and I spent a good deal of the time discussing the latest novels. It happens that he is a great fan of Mrs. Mallory’s works.”

Elenora managed, just barely, to conceal her amusement behind her handkerchief. “Mr. Fleming is obviously a man possessed of excellent taste.”

“That was certainly my opinion,” Margaret concurred.

Arthur frowned. “I have warned Bennett time and again that his habit of reading novels is likely the reason he takes such an unrealistic, ridiculously romantic view of the world.”

***

The carriage rumbled to a halt at the front steps of the St. Merryn mansion some twenty minutes later. The door was opened by a sleepy-looking Ned.

Margaret used the back of her gloved hand to pat a dainty yawn. “Gracious, I am exhausted after such a long evening. If you two will forgive me, I believe I shall take a candle and go straight to bed.”

She swept up the staircase with what Elenora could only describe as a spring in her step. Margaret did not appear the least bit tired, she thought. In fact, there was not only a lightness in her movements that seemed new this evening, there was also a certain brightness in her eyes.

Elenora was still pondering Margaret’s subtle new glow when she realized that Arthur was holding the candle aloft, surveying the room with a considering frown.

“Does this hall look different to you?” he asked.

She glanced at the furnishings. “No, I don’t think so.”

“It does to me. The colors appear brighter. The mirror is not so dark and the statues and vases seem newer.”

Startled, she took a closer look at the nearest marble figure. Then she chuckled. “Calm yourself, sir, there is nothing strange about the fresh look. Earlier today I gave instructions that this hall was to be properly cleaned while we were out. Judging from the layer of dust on the furnishings, it evidently had been some time since that was done.”

He looked at her with a speculative expression. “I see.”

His gaze made her uneasy for some obscure reason. “Well, then, it is quite late, is it not?” she said, striving for a polished, professional sort of demeanor. “I had best be off to bed myself. I am no more accustomed to these hours than Margaret.”

“I would like to speak with you before you go upstairs,” Arthur said.

It was an order, not a request. A sense of foreboding hovered over her. Was he going to let her go because of what had happened in the gardens?

“Very well, sir.”

Arthur glanced at Ned. “Off to bed with you. Thank you for staying awake until we got home, but it was unnecessary. We are perfectly capable of letting ourselves in when we return at such a late hour. In the future, do not bother to stay up. You require your rest.”

Ned looked quite startled by his employer’s gesture of appreciation. “Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” He left quickly.

A moment later Elenora heard the door to the lower part of the house close with a muffled thud. Ned had vanished into the servants’ quarters downstairs.

The front hall suddenly seemed very close and-there was no other word for it-intimate.