Chapter 3

3

O n the Way to St. James Square

Mayfair, London

Ari hesitated a moment and looked back at his townhouse. Only to find himself unceremoniously shoved into the carriage with barely enough time to right his descent before he landed on the floor between the seats.

“Bloody hell, Forsythe,” he said, as he managed to collapse onto the plush, forward-facing bench. “Was that really necessary?”

“None of this would be necessary if you had simply done as your mother asked and at least begun your ablutions in order to make yourself presentable to visit Lady Camilla.” The arse of a barrister settled onto the rear-facing seat, knocked on the roof of the carriage, and crossed his arms.

“You have met my mother, haven’t you? In all the years you and I have known each other, have you ever known me to do as she asked?” He ran his finger under the crisp, perfectly tied neckcloth that threatened to strangle him with his next deep breath. “And the word visit indicates a voluntary excursion. This is nothing less than a kidnapping.”

“Do stop carrying on like some maiden aunt, Barker-Finch. Be glad Lady Camilla only sent me to fetch you. Had she sent some of her other minions to bring you before her, you’d have been bundled into a sack of burlap and dumped in her drawing room like a mongrel dog.”

“Perhaps then I might have been spared the forced bath and the hysterics and ministrations of my valet.”

“You reeked like the floor of a Seven Dials tavern.” Forsythe brushed a few specks from his black superfine morning jacket. “How long has it been since you availed yourself of your valet’s services? I thought he was going to expire from excitement when I asked him to shave and dress you. Poor man nearly had a seizure.”

“Davies has a flair for the dramatic. He was a dresser in a theatre in Edinburgh when I hired him. Lost his job when some marquess accused him of buggering the marquess’s son.”

“One of your cases? How’d you manage to save him from the noose?”

“Told the marquess I’d demand his son testify in court. No peer wants his heir branded a sodomite. He dropped the charges.” Ari shifted on the tufted velvet seat and tried to loosen his neckcloth once more. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and his hands grew cold and clammy.

“Damn, man. No wonder you had such a reputation for ruthlessness. Not many men would threaten a marquess and win.” Forsythe gazed at him with open admiration.

“Yes, well I didn’t win every time, did I? You can only gamble with a man’s life so many times before your luck runs out.” He swallowed against the bitter acid of those words. “And when your luck runs out, so does your client’s.”

Having cast a sufficient pall over the conversation, Ari leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes. He’d nearly settled into a reasonably false attitude of boredom when the carriage slowed and rocked to a halt.

“Shall I have Lady Camilla’s coachman take a turn around the park, or have you wallowed in guilt long enough to find a portion of your bollocks sufficient with which to face her ladyship?”

Ari opened one eye and stared at the door held open by a footman in livery. “Forsythe, you know damned well the Duke of Devonshire’s prized bull doesn’t have bollocks enough to face Lady Camilla.” He hefted himself out of the carriage and strode to the townhouse door, held open by a tall, spare silver-haired butler. Forsythe followed close on Ari’s heels. “But the sooner we have this over with, the sooner I can return home. Good afternoon, Raines. Do you ever age?”

“Only when forced, Mr. Barker-Finch.” How such a thin man produced such a deep voice Ari would never know. “Her ladyship is waiting for you, Mr. Forsythe.” The butler nodded to acknowledge Ari’s kidnapper, silently congratulating him on a job well done, no doubt.

“Parlor or drawing room?” Ari asked.

“Blue drawing room, sir. This way.” Raines started across the marble foyer floor.

“Blue drawing room?” Ari had not been in Lady Camilla’s home in twelve years at least.

“Used to be the green drawing room,” Forsythe said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Drawing room, not parlor. Means I’m in the soup from the start.”

“You’re in something,” Forsythe agreed. “I daresay it is not something as savory as the soup.”

“Me? What have I done?” Ari and Forsythe stopped at the drawing room doors while Raines knocked.

“Nothing. That is precisely the problem.”

“Bugger you,” Ari muttered, as Raines opened the doors and led them into the drawing room.

“His wife wouldn’t like that,” a familiar voice said. “She’d relieve you of portions of your anatomy in ways not even I care to contemplate. Welcome, Barker-Finch. Good to see you.”

“Atherton.” Ari shook the man’s offered hand and studied his face. “Glad to see you returned from the wars unscathed.” He turned to the elegant, still handsome woman seated on the blue damask settee. “Lady Camilla.” He bowed over her outstretched hand and smiled before he kissed the cheek she offered. “You are in good looks as always.”

“As if you would know.” She patted the place beside her, and he sat as obediently as the two fat pugs at her feet. “You returned to London two years ago and have yet to favor me with a visit. I am terribly put out with you, young man.”

“My profound apologies, my lady. However, in my defense, I have not visited anyone since my return.” Seated in the chairs across from the settee, Forsythe and Atherton shook their heads and glanced at each other. Apparently his excuse was not a wise one.

“I am not just anyone, am I, Aristotle Barker-Finch? I should not have had to resort to dealing with your mother and sending Forsythe here to fetch you like some errant schoolboy, should I?”

“Of course not, my lady.” Ari hung his head, and a sense of genuine shame washed over him. She’d been a staunch ally and her home a place of refuge during his holidays from Eton and Cambridge. He’d been spared a great deal of his father’s wrath thanks to this St. James Square townhouse always being open to him and her nephew’s other various friends.

“You may make it up to me by doing me a favor.” Ari’s blood ran cold. Lady Camilla’s favors were never of the run-a-simple-errand sort. They were the commissions that involved gathering information at deadly dull ton events, trouncing someone who deserved said trouncing or performing deeds certain to leave seasoned soldiers shaking in their boots. He remembered that much from his years spent with her nephew, Lionel Carrington-Bowles, and the two grinning bedlamites seated across from him. Not to mention the fourth of the leaders of her pack of strays, Archer Colwyn, now a notable Bow Street Runner. He’d made good use of his training at Lady Camilla’s knee, fortunate fellow.

“I am certain my mother has made you aware I no longer practice law,” Ari said.

“At great length with enough sighs and false tears to bore even the silliest Drury Lane audience. I have not asked you to practice law. The task is nothing so odious as that. You are to serve as tutor and bodyguard to one of the Earl of Framlingwood’s mistresses. That is all.” She offered him one of her beatific smiles as if what she had said made perfect sense. He blinked and stared at her. In spite of the coffee Forsythe had poured down Ari’s throat before ordering Davies, Ari’s valet, to clean him up, Lady Camilla’s request landed on his head like a punch from Gentleman Jackson.

“Shall I explain?” Atherton asked.

“Please do,” Lady Camilla said, her voice laced with exasperation.

“I’ll use small words. Barker-Finch’s years in Edinburgh have obviously addled his wits.”

“Actually, Ath, that would be the brandy he’s been imbibing since he left Edinburgh,” Forsythe offered.

“Don’t you two have new wives to entertain with what passes for wit on your parts? Rumor has it you have both married women far more beautiful than you deserve in these past several months.”

“I thought you told me he’s been a hopeless drunkard since he returned,” Lady Camilla said, turning an accusative glare on Forsythe.

“Shall we get on with this?” Atherton asked. “He’s supposed to be delivered to Grosvenor Street before dark, and Honoria is expecting me at home well before then. In her condition she tends to be somewhat…”

“Violent?” Forsythe suggested.

“A trifle irritable, no doubt.” Lady Camilla gave Forsythe another pointed glare.

“Demanding.” Atherton sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Very demanding. And dead accurate when she throws things.”

Ari had heard enough. He raised a finger and cleared his throat. “I may be a drunkard with addled wits, but my hearing is in perfect order. I distinctly heard Earl of Framlingwood, mistresses as in more than one, and that I am to be delivered somewhere on Grosvenor Street like a haunch of pork. Would one of you like to explain this madness? Not that it matters as I fully intend to remove myself from this charming reunion forthwith, either by the front door or by the first accommodating window I find.”

Lady Camilla threw up her hands. “Explain on the way, Atherton. Forsythe, you are with me. I expect Framlingwood and the Duchess of Chelmsford at any moment. Young Dickie Jones has some information for them, and we may be in need of some legal advice. Run along, Barker-Finch.” She patted his shoulder and practically shoved him off the settee. Atherton clutched his arm and dragged him toward the drawing room doors.

“Aristotle?” Lady Camilla called to him in a quiet tone she seldom used if memory served. “You will be fine, dear boy. I feel certain you are the right person for this task if you but allow yourself to be. I’m counting on it.”

“Fuck,” Ari spat out, once the footman closed the doors behind them, and he and Atherton headed out the front door and into the waiting carriage. “I hate it when she says that. What the hell nightmare have you and Forsythe landed me in, dammit?”

“You remember Framlingwood, don’t you?” Atherton asked as the carriage rumbled into motion. “He was at school with us and—”

“Of course I do. The child earl. Carrington-Bowles watched out for him because some of the lads bullied him. He was another of Lady Camilla’s strays. Odd sort. Quiet.”

“He had good cause. His parents died when he was twelve. Left him to be raised by bloody trustees and solicitors.”

“A lonely life. I remember. What has this to do with him?”

“He isn’t lonely anymore,” Atherton said with a grin. “He managed to accumulate five mistresses and keep them in five townhouses side by side on Grosvenor Street. He thought they didn’t know about each other.”

“Five? Good God.” Ari considered the man had either prodigious carnal appetites or was attics to let, possibly both.

“Well, he is down to two at present.”

“If you and Framlingwood intend for me to help you hide a dead mistress’s body, let alone three dead mistresses, I will leap from this carriage right now, moving or not. With luck I’ll be dragged under the wheels.”

Atherton rolled his eyes. “Three of his mistresses have married.”

“Then why does one of them need a bodyguard? And I doubt there is anything I can teach a mistress that she doesn’t already know.” Ari’s head felt wrapped in cotton wool, wet cotton wool.

“Framlingwood is being blackmailed. Apparently, one of his mistresses is a murderess hiding under his protection. He has no idea which one, and he won’t ask. The blackmailer is threatening to make Framlingwood’s arrangements known to the scandal sheets, including the notion he is harboring a murderess. The blackmailer wants the murderess’s name. Framlingwood refuses and has been paying for the man’s silence. Unfortunately, the blackmailer has also been trying to discover the woman’s identity on his own, and some of the women have been attacked.”

“Hence the need for a bodyguard. Do I look like the sort of man one would hire to keep someone safe? This entire notion is ridiculous.”

“You won’t be there as a bodyguard alone. Framlingwood wants you to befriend Miss Venable and perhaps discover if she is the murderess. He intends to do all he can to protect her even if she is. You will be moving into her household in order to teach her to read.” Atherton sat back and studied Ari in a way that made him want to leap from the carriage in truth.

“Move into her household? Teach her to read? Possibly a murderess?” Ari wiped his hand across his face. He was sweating in spite of the chill of the November day. “Do you hear yourself, Atherton? This entire scheme is utter madness, though not unexpected from a man who thought he could keep five mistresses on the same street without them discovering each other and flaying him alive.”

“He doesn’t know they know each other so don’t say anything when you run into him. The ladies prefer he not know. And don’t tell the ladies about the blackmailer. Framlingwood doesn’t want them to know. Here we are.” The carriage turned onto Grosvenor Street and rolled to a stop before Number Four. A rather rough looking young man in footman’s livery opened the door and let down the steps. Atherton stepped out of the carriage and turned to Ari expectantly.

“No one will find out a damned thing from me because I’m not having anything to do with this madcap scheme. Ask the coachman to take me home. Good to see you, Atherton. We must do this again sometime. Preferably after you’ve come to your senses.”

Atherton leaned into the carriage. “Either you disembark at once or that footman and his four brothers will drag you out. Framlingwood found them and their father, the head butler here, in the employ of Captain El Goodrum. Need I say more?” Ari’s old friend’s visage and voice had suddenly become those of the cavalry officer Atherton had likely been. The officer who had led men into battle across the Peninsula and survived Waterloo.

Ari swore and jumped out of the carriage, nearly knocking Atherton over. “How the devil did Framlingwood become entangled with the Pirate Queen? Is she the one hiding the bodies?”

“Don’t ask,” Atherton muttered as the footman hurried to open the front door and led them into the townhouse.

“Mrs. Collins and Miss Venable will see you in the downstairs drawing room,” the footman said. Footman? He looked more like a Limehouse dock worker stuffed into footman’s livery.

Ari bumped Atherton’s shoulder as he leaned in to ask “Who is Mrs. Collins?”

“Framlingwood’s housekeeper. She runs these five townhouses. She knows everything about everyone in this particular situation. I suspect she is the only one who does.”

“I’m glad someone damned well does. With luck, she can explain this farce to me.”

“Perhaps, but something of an enigma is Framlingwood’s Mrs. Collins,” Atherton said as they stopped before a set of doors, and the footman scratched on the wood before he opened both panels wide,

“In these circumstances?” Ari murmured. “What a surprise.”

“Captain Atherton and Mister Barker-Finch to see you, ma’am.” The footman announced them as if he were the majordomo at a grand ball.

A strikingly handsome, dark-haired woman dressed in the serviceable kerseymere dress of a housekeeper strode from a spot before the fireplace and offered Ari and Atherton a bobbed curtsy. “Gentlemen,” she said. “I am Mrs. Collins. Allow me to make known to you Miss Lily Venable.” She indicated a figure standing at the windows on the far side of the drawing room. “Lily, dear, Captain Atherton and Mister Barker-Finch have called.”

The woman in the emerald green wool dress turned to face them and smiled. Ari had only a heartbeat to brace himself against the hammer-blow of recognition that struck him and set his ears to ringing. He knew that glorious red hair and those ethereal blue-green eyes. He especially knew that shape so lovingly drawn by the cut of her expensively fitted dress. When she glided across the room toward him, three things rang through him like the darkest bell tolls of a London night.

The lady’s name was not Lily Venable.

The girl actress he’d secretly fallen half in love with as he’d watched her perform on the Edinburgh stage was an even more alluring woman ten years after he’d last seen her.

And knowing she’d mysteriously fled Edinburgh all those years ago two steps ahead of the local constables meant he was about to play bodyguard and tutor to a very possible murderess.

Bloody buggering hell!