7. November 9, 1826

7

NOVEMBER 9, 1826

NUMBER 5, GROSVENOR STREET

W ill had to stifle a chuckle. He’d never seen a woman who could unsettle his partner like Miss Margot Fauchette. She and John were like two fencers…thrust, parry, neither giving an inch in their verbal battle. And then there was her lady’s maid. If you asked him, she’d never done a day’s work in her life, except perhaps to flirt.

She was now eyeing him speculatively from beneath lush, golden lashes whilst sitting demurely in a cozy chintz chair in the corner of the formal drawing room with her bare feet tucked beneath her. Never in his recollection had he ever seen a lady’s maid who had the liberty to laze in a chair whilst her employer was engaged in verbal jousting with a visitor.

He returned a fake smoldering look whilst holding back laughter. He was just as sure of her sexual preference as he was of his own. She and Margot were lovers, or his name wasn’t Will Bullock. He wondered how far she’d take her little charade if he led her on.

But then he realized he’d rather go on wondering, because the days of quiet, accusing glares from John would make the cost of the joke an unbearable burden for him. He honestly could see the games Margot and Gabrielle played for what they were. He and John had struggled with the very same things when their adult relationship was still in the formative stages.

Love without trust on one side and respect on the other wasn’t really love. The two of them had learned that lesson the hard way.

Will’s easygoing ways of working with customers, both men and women, had sometimes given a false impression to all involved, including John. John’s aloof attitude and handsome exterior led many women to assume his bachelorhood was ripe for challenge.

Both of them despised the double lives that were necessary to protect their very existence, but the love they’d forged together was worth the price. John had captured Will’s very heart whilst they were still lads, and the intensity had never lessened.

They lived in separate abodes. Will kept rooms at Albany, and John had invested in a terrace house on Soho Square. However, their deepest secret was a hidden room within their warehouse in Cheapside. No one could ever know the true nature of their partnership.

Mrs. Collins had no more than introduced the two drapers who would be staying with them for weeks than Margot pushed out her chin and demanded, “Could one of you show me exactly where the decorating in this townhouse is deficient?”

The taller of the two men, who’d been introduced as John Kenton, made a deep bow and responded. “Only the finest setting should surround exquisite jewels such as yourselves.”

She nodded, impressed, and mentally ceded the opening points to him. Whirling on his partner, Will Bullock, she threw down another challenge. “Could you, sir, give me an estimate of what all these unnecessary household fripperies will cost?”

“Cost is a relative term,” he said, his dark blue eyes twinkling. “We like to think of quality and value being more meaningful ways to look at expenditures made in the pursuit of perfection.”

“You’re an Irishman, aren’t you?” she stated flatly.

Mr. Bullock exhibited mock surprise. “What gave me away?”

“Only your countrymen are capable of this level of pure blather.” And then she laughed, easing the coolness and tension in the room.

“My partner, Mr. Bullock, takes care of all the detail work. I’m the one who sells the tickets and directs the show.”

Margot licked her lips in anticipation of waging a war of words with the so-called draper bodyguards. She was sure she’d bested men of greater intelligence than John Kenton, but she was hard put to remember who or when.

“We don’t need your services.” She swept an arm around the interior of their elaborate second-floor drawing room. “How can you possibly improve on this?”

Mr. Kenton snapped his fingers, and the two assistants the men had brought along hastened out of the room and back down the elaborate main staircase. They’d been using lengthy rolls of measuring tapes to measure everything from windows to chairs and settees.

“Where are they going?” Margot turned her head, suspicious when she heard the sounds of the entryway door opening and closing…many times.

Within minutes, an entire line of young workmen raced up the stairs and in and out of the drawing room bearing bolts of luxurious fabrics and boxes overflowing with trim.

Gabrielle dropped the bored look from her face and abandoned her perch on the corner chair. She dropped to her knees in the midst of the piles of rolls of fabrics and trims and began pulling out lengths to view in the light pouring in through the ceiling-to-floor windows.

Margot poked a finger into Mr. Kenton’s chest. “How much is all of this going to cost? I expect a full accounting for the earl. We can’t possibly afford all of this extravagance to decorate an already perfectly turned out drawing room.”

She glared over at Gabrielle. “Put down those boxes of trims. We haven’t decided anything yet.” Gabrielle, of course, ignored her, instead demanding of Mr. Bullock, “Does this brocade come in an embossed gold?”

Kenton, the tall, tawny-haired draper gave Margot a wide smile. “Miss Fauchette, you’re a never-ending wonder. I’ve never known a woman given free rein to re-decorate to balk at the cost.”

Mr. Bullock walked over, a long bolt of gold-embroidered brocade balanced on one of his broad shoulders. He bent down to where Gabrielle was pawing through a box of trims like a small girl in a toy shop and deposited the fabric atop a settee for her inspection.

When she squealed in delight and gave him a sunny smile, Margot’s heart dropped. Even she was impressed with their unwanted bodyguards. The two men were nothing but charming, polite, and helpful. However, both of them radiated masculinity and sensuality, traits she feared would turn Gabrielle’s head. Hell, they damned near turned Margot on, which made her want to poke out their eyes.

She did have to admit that her beloved seemed much more interested in the fabrics they’d brought and the catalogue of furnishings they’d casually laid on a side table than the two frighteningly handsome, so-called draper bodyguards.

The younger one had the physique of a prize fighter, and even she couldn’t help but take notice of how he prowled across a room with commanding animal-like grace, his midnight-dark hair falling across one eye. Good God, what had the earl gotten them into now?

“She looks like she has a knack for color, texture and form,” Mr. Kenton said, whilst the two of them observed Gabrielle become totally absorbed in choosing fabrics for new curtains and furniture upholstery.

He waved over his partner. “Will, please make sure Miss Tamaryn has everything she needs to make decisions about color and design for the renovations.”

Will raised an eyebrow in question.

John gave him a slow wink and explained, Miss Fauchette and I will supervise the budget.” He turned back to Margot. “Would that arrangement suit your needs and concerns?”

She relaxed and nearly chuckled at how confident and comfortable the two drapers seemed to be. Each anticipated the other’s needs and questions.

A dawning knowledge clicked into place in the back of her mind. These two men were together, birds of a feather. And it appeared they’d been together for a long time. She nearly smacked her forehead. How had she not seen this sooner? What were Mrs. Collins and the earl really plotting?

Mrs. Collins discreetly cleared her throat from her perch on a settee in the middle of the room. “Is anyone ready for bracing, hot tea?”

“That would be wonderful,” Margot conceded.

When their housekeeper moved to ring for Young Rutherford, Margot intercepted her. “I’ll go find him and make sure we have something special to offer our guests with their tea.”

When Mrs. Collins gave her a puzzled look, Margot explained. “It’s been such a cold day, and what with their helpers going in and out of the house to bring in all their supplies, we could use a bit of that cherry-flavored cordial we’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

The housekeeper nodded her head, but gave Margot a look that said she knew the real reason she was seeking out Young Rutherford.

Margot meant to extract every bit of information the Rutherfords had about the unlikely draper-bodyguards. And if they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, satisfy her curiosity, she knew someone who damned well would. If she had to, she’d hunt down Captain El, Duchess of Chelmsford, in her lair and demand an explanation.