Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 2

As the carriage slowly wended its way through the crowded streets toward Mayfair, Robert observed his companion, wondering at her demeanor. She sat ramrod straight, her gloved hands clenched in her lap, and although her eyes were trained on the passing shops, it seemed as if she looked through them. He noticed a muscle jumping in her cheek, indicating she was clenching her jaw. It struck him that she was more than merely sad. She appeared genuinely distressed.

He recalled Lady Gaddlestone's comment about Mrs. Brown being her companion during the voyage. Was Mrs. Brown suffering financial problems that would necessitate hiring herself out? His gaze roamed over her mourning gown. The garment was well made and of good material, but showed subtle signs of wear. He had no way of telling if it was fashionable, as he knew nothing about American styles. Still, based on English fashion, he judged the garment to be several years old.

Curiosity pulled at him, but he firmly tamped it down. Her financial status was none of his business, and he sensed she would not welcome any inquiries. Nor would he under similar circumstances. His duty was merely to look after her and make her feel welcome until he delivered her to Elizabeth at Bradford Hall. And the sooner he accomplished that, the sooner he could resume his search for a wife. Certainly he could make good use of this unexpected time in London. A visit to his solicitor to go over the latest accounting for the payment of reparation monies…

Determined to play the perfect host to his reticent companion, he cleared his throat and forced a smile. "Other than today's mishap, did you enjoy your ocean voyage?" he asked.

She continued gazing out the window. "Yes."

"Did you encounter any bad weather?"

"Some."

"Were you frightened?"

"No."

His lips twitched. "Do you think if I keep trying I'll hit upon a question that you'll answer with more than one syllable?"

Finally she turned and looked at him. "Perhaps."

"Ah, see there? I've already succeeded." He smiled at her, but she merely looked at him, studied him actually, and he wondered if she were again thinking that he reminded her of her husband. "Is there anything besides your business that you'd like to do while you're in London?" he asked. "Attend the opera? Visit the shops?"

He'd hoped that the mention of the shops might spark interest in her eyes, but she merely murmured, "No, thank you," then returned her attention to looking outside.

Pity hit him again, lodging a lump in his throat. Within months of each other, he'd lost his beloved father, and then Nate-a man who'd been more than a longtime family servant. He'd been a dear friend. Yes, he knew the horrible, aching loss that death brought. But how wrenching it must be to lose the one person you love above all others. What had she been like before her husband's death?

He tried to force his gaze away from her, but in truth, he found her appearance unexpectedly… compelling. Something about those huge, dark-lashed, brandy-colored eyes, with their golden depths reflecting such haunted melancholy-it was almost painful to look at her, yet impossible to look away.

His gaze drifted down to her mouth, and he watched in fascination as she worried her full bottom lip between straight, white teeth. Bloody hell, the rest of her might look like a grieving widow, but that incredible mouth looked stolen from a courtesan. He instantly recalled brushing his lips over hers, and that punched-in-the-gut sensation he'd experienced.

An aberration, he told himself firmly. Any man with eyes would agree her lips were lovely. Besides, he always felt that way when he kissed a beautiful woman. No, you don't. You've never felt anything like that before.

A frown creased his brow, and he forced his gaze away from her to stare at the passing scenery. Damn it all, this was turning into one bloody long ride. And he suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that this day or two in London with Mrs. Brown was going to feel more like a decade or two.

When they arrived at the elegant Bradford town house, Allie breathed a sigh of relief. Normally she did not mind silence, but somehow the lack of conversation with Lord Robert had become uncomfortable. The blame, of course, rested squarely on her shoulders, and she made a mental vow to be more polite once she'd taken care of her business and could concentrate on something else. Of course the "something else" would certainly not be Lord Robert, but she would at least find it easier to make conversation once her mind was free.

After alighting from the coach, he escorted her through an elaborate wrought-iron gate, then into the stately brick town house. Standing in the black-and-white marble-tiled foyer, Allie tried not to gape at the luxury and elegance surrounding her, but she was not the least bit successful. Hundreds of glittering prisms reflected from where the sunlight touched the largest chandelier she'd ever seen, casting the cream, silk-covered walls with tiny starbursts of sunshine. Corridors fanned off to the left and right, and a wide staircase curved gracefully upward. It was incredible to think that her hoydenish childhood friend now lived amidst such luxury.

An image of the lovely house she'd shared with David flashed in Allie's mind. The high ceilings, freshly painted walls, the unexpected nooks tucked into cozy corners. Nothing as grand as this, but she'd loved every inch of it… until she'd learned it was bought with lies and deceit.

The sound of Lord Robert's voice yanked her attention back to the present. "Mrs. Brown will be a guest for several days, Carters," he was saying to the butler who stood at stiff-shouldered attention. "I'll send off a note to the family informing them of the change in plans."

"Yes, Lord Robert. I shall have Mrs. Brown's belongings placed in the green guest chamber. Shall I arrange for tea?"

"Yes. In the drawing room, please. And please see to it that water is heated for a bath for Mrs. Brown."

Carters bowed, then turned smartly on his heel and departed.

"This way." Lord Robert inclined his head toward the right, then led her down the corridor. Her head bobbed back and forth, trying to take in the exquisite porcelains set on cherry-wood tables and the collection of paintings lining the walls.

"This is a beautiful home."

He grinned. "It keeps the rain off Austin's and Elizabeth's heads." He halted at a wide oak door, turned the knob, then indicated she should enter.

Allie stepped over the threshold and a pleasure-filled sigh escaped her. Sunshine poured into the room from the tall windows on the far wall, highlighting the warm, golden hue of the entire room. Her gaze skipped around, absorbing everything at once. Pale yellow walls. A brocade settee and a pair of gilded wing chairs arranged around a marble fireplace. Gleaming oak parquet floor dotted with two spacious Persian rugs. An ivory-and-gold escritoire. A pianoforte nestled in the corner.

"Lovely," she murmured, her shoes tapping against the polished floor, then sinking into the carpet as she crossed the room. Her gaze riveted on the gilt-framed painting hanging above the fireplace, and a lump lodged in her throat. It was Elizabeth, wearing a simple ivory gown, sitting in the midst of a lilac-strewn meadow, with several kittens and a puppy prancing around her. An auburn tendril drifted across her cheek, as if blown by a spring breeze, and her face expressed sheer happiness along with an unmistakable whiff of mischief.

"That is exactly how I remember her," Allie said softly. "Happy. Playful. And surrounded by animals. Was this painted recently?"

"Last year. Elizabeth had it done as a birthday gift for Austin. And surrounded by animals she is. Each of those devilish kittens has gone on to either father or produce several litters, and that puppy could now easily be declared the Largest Dog in the Kingdom. His name is Pirate, however I call him B.H."

She dragged her gaze away from the portrait and looked at him. "B.H.?"

"Short for Barking Horse. You'll understand the moment you meet the beast, I assure you." He flashed her a grin, then glanced at the mantel clock. "If you don't mind, I'm going to leave you for a while. I need to stop by my rooms, and I must send off that note to Austin and Elizabeth. Then, if you'd like, I could return and we could dine together."

Allie hesitated, studying his handsome face. What manner of deceit lurked behind the warmth radiating from his dark blue eyes? What secrets did his friendly smile mask? She did not know, but experience had taught her to suspect that some sort of deception or insincerity must lie beneath his charming manner. Still, she could hardly refuse him to dine in his brother's home.

"Dinner together would be fine, Lord Robert."

"Excellent. In the meantime, if you require anything, simply tell Carters, although he is so frighteningly efficient, he'll no doubt know what you want and need before you realize it yourself. And don't let his manner intimidate you." He leaned forward, as if to confide a secret, and Allie inhaled the refreshing fragrance of newly laundered clothing, mixed with another woodsy, fresh scent she could not name, but that was undeniably pleasing.

"In case it escaped your notice," Lord Robert imparted in a conspiratorial tone, "Carters is excruciatingly serious. Austin swears he's witnessed the man laughing with Elizabeth, to which I can only respond that Austin must be daft, because in my entire life I've never seen the man so much as crack a grin. And believe me, it is not for lack of trying on my part. Getting Carters to smile has become something of a quest, yet I am so far unsuccessful. I therefore dubbed him Sir BUB." At her questioning look, he clarified, "Sir Bunched-up-Brows." He flashed her a grin she imagined few women were immune to, then bowed. "Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Brown. I shall look forward to dinner this evening." He quit the room, closing the door behind him.

Allie pressed her hands to her midsection and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness he was gone. The man somehow managed to make her feel crowded even when several yards separated them. And she refused to be amused by the outrageous sobriquet he'd assigned Carters. Or Elizabeth 's dog.

She could not decide which was worse-his gentle teasing, which had filled her with unexpected, unwanted warmth, or his sympathetic compassion, which had riddled her with guilt. She glanced down at her black dress. Like everyone else, Lord Robert had assumed that her widow's weeds meant she still mourned David. As with everyone else she met, she had not disabused him of that notion.

How could she possibly share the humiliating fact that she still wore mourning clothes because she could afford no others? That she could afford no others because her husband had turned out to be a common criminal, and all her funds were exhausted by her determination to repay the people he'd cheated?

Of course, wearing the mourning gowns provided another advantage in addition to saving her money. They repelled any possible suitors. Another man was the absolute last thing she wanted.

Still, she hated dishonesty, and remorse filled her at her deception. But she firmly shoved the guilt aside. There was no doubt that Lord Robert Jamison was nothing more than spun glass-lovely to look at, able to hold one's attention for a short period, but without the slightest bit of substance behind his shiny exterior. The hint of secrets shadowed his eyes, and according to Lady Gaddlestone, some misconduct clouded his past. Yes, she knew his sort, and she was an expert at dealing with men like him.

But she needed to banish him from her thoughts. First on the agenda was a bath to rinse away the remnants of seawater.

Then she needed to hire a hack.

In his town house in Grosvenor Square, Geoffrey Hadmore, earl of Shelbourne, sat behind the mahogany desk in his private study. He slowly alternated his gaze between the tarnished silver ring resting upon the highly polished wood and the man who had just given it to him, all the while fighting to tame the tempest brewing inside him. He prided himself on always presenting a calm exterior, unlike many of his peers who were given to vulgar outbursts of emotion.

Still, it cost him not to reach out and wrap his hands around Redfern's scrawny neck. His scrawny, stupid neck. Picking up the ring, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, then pinned Redfern with his iciest glare. "What is this, Redfern?"

Redfern had the temerity to look at him as if he were the village idiot. " 'Tis the ring you bid me to steal from Mrs. Brown."

"Tell me, Redfern," Geoffrey said in a deadly calm voice, "does this in any way resemble a coat-of-arms ring?"

Redfern scratched his sparse gray hair. "Not a bit. But this were the only ring the lady had. I searched her cabin real careful-like."

"Was this ring in a box?"

"No, my lord."

"Well, this is not the correct ring," Geoffrey said in frigid voice. "You have failed miserably at a very simple assignment: get the ring and its matching box, then get rid of the woman. Did you get the ring and its box?"

Ruddy color suffused Redfern's cheeks. " 'Parently not."

"And did you get rid of the woman?"

"No, but not fer lack o' tryin'. The bloody woman was always with that infernal baroness biddy and her yappin' mutts. But don't you worry, my lord. I'll off Mrs. Brown before tomorrow's done."

Damn it, he supposed he should be thankful Redfern's attempts to kill Mrs. Brown had proved unsuccessful. He needed her alive until he had the ring-and its box. But the question that plagued him daily rushed into his mind. What if she did not have it?

If she did not have the ring… he squeezed his eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the barrage of hideous possibilities. What if she'd lost it? Or sold it? What if it was sitting in some dusty pawnshop in America, just waiting for someone to purchase it and discover the secret that could ruin his life?

A sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes, and he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate on the immediate problem at hand. He needed to ascertain if she had the ring, and if so, get it back. And if she did not have it, he still needed to know if she was aware of his secret.

"You will not kill Mrs. Brown. Not until I have my ring. Where is she now?"

"I followed her to a right fancy town house. In Mayfair, on Park Lane. Number six."

A frown pulled down Geoffrey's brows. "That is the duke of Bradford 's residence."

Recognition lit in Redfern's eyes. "That's the name of the bloke I heard Mrs. Brown and the old biddy talkin' 'bout on the ship. 'Parently Mrs. Brown is great friends with the duchess. Grew up together or some such. Believe she even mentioned they're distant cousins."

Geoffrey rose, pacing across the maroon-and-gold Persian carpet to the crystal decanters near the window. He poured himself a brandy, then stared into the liquor's amber depths, his stomach cramping at Redfern's news. Rotten piece of luck that Mrs. Brown had a connection to the Bradford family. If the duke were ever to get wind of any of this-

He sliced the thought off, discarding the possibility. If Mrs. Brown planned to extort funds from him, she wouldn't be likely to share that information with Bradford -or anyone else. Everyone knew the duke and duchess were at their country estate awaiting the birth of their child. If Mrs. Brown had come to England to visit the duchess, then why hadn't she gone on to Bradford Hall? Had she remained in London to see him'? To blackmail him? If so, she certainly must have the ring. If so, you won't have it much longer, Mrs. Brown. And once the ring is in my possession, your usefulness will be finished. And so will you.

He tossed back his brandy, savoring the slow burn down his throat, then turned to Redfern. "I hired you, Redfern, because I thought you both discreet and capable."

Unmistakable anger flared in Redfern's eyes. "I'm both, my lord. Don't you doubt it. Just had a bit of bad luck and circumstances. That'll change."

"See to it that it does. I believe Mrs. Brown has the ring. Search her belongings again. Thoroughly. It should pose no problem, as the duke and duchess are not in residence. Get Mrs. Brown away from the house. Then find that ring." He pinned Redfern with a stare. "And if you do, I want her gone."

"Yes, my lord."

"And Redfern? Do it tonight."

Allie stepped from the hack and looked up at the painted sign hanging above the door of the Bond Street establishment. Fitzmoreland Antiques.

"Fitzmoreland's the best antiques man in London," the hackney said from his driver's perch, jerking his head toward the sign. "Shall I wait fer ye?"

"Yes, please. I'll only be a few minutes." She entered the shop, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dimly lit interior. Neat rows of books, vases, and porcelains lined floor to ceiling shelves, while tables and larger pieces of furniture were tastefully scattered about, lending the shop the appearance of an elegant sitting room. An impeccably dressed, middle-aged gentleman with graying hair approached her.

"May I assist you, madam?"

His gaze swept over her black gown, and although he was very discreet, he was clearly taking her measure. No doubt he was accustomed to dealing with wealthy clientele, and she was thankful she'd taken extra time after her bath to arrange her hair and dress in her best gown. Raising her chin, she said, "I am looking for Mr. Fitzmoreland."

He bowed his head. "Then look no further, madam, for I am he. How may I help you?"

No other customers were in the shop, and Allie relaxed a bit. Opening her reticule, she withdrew a piece of vellum and handed it to him. "I need to identify the coat of arms depicted here. I was informed you are an expert at such matters."

His brows lifted. "Your accent indicates you are American. May I ask who recommended me?"

His question was spoken in a perfectly polite tone, but Allie easily heard the tinge of underlying scorn. No doubt he thought her some destitute foreign widow, desperate to sell him some cheap baubles. If only I had some cheap baubles to sell…

She lifted her brows exactly as he had. "The duchess of Bradford -"

"The duchess recommended me?" His demeanor instantly transformed, and he seemed to grow two inches taller. " 'Twas very kind of her."

Allie suppressed the urge to inform him that it was actually the duchess's butler who had recommended him, and that if he'd allowed her to finish her sentence, he would know that. Instead, she pushed aside her guilt for allowing him his incorrect assumption and asked, "Do you think you can help me?"

Mr. Fitzmoreland studied the drawing for several seconds, then nodded slowly. "I'm certain I can. It may take several days, however."

"I'm more concerned with discretion than speed."

"Of course."

His keen eyes seemed to bore through her to see all her secrets, but she forced herself not to avert her gaze. "My name is Mrs. Brown and I'm staying at the Bradford town house here in London."

He inclined his head. "I shall report my findings to you as soon as I know anything."

Thanking him, she exited the shop, breathing a sigh of relief at having chipped away another small piece of the burden she carried.

With any luck, she'd soon learn to whom the ring belonged. She would return it, and then, for the first time in three years, she'd be free.