Chapter 9

“This is good,” David said, looking up from Lori’s article. “But it’s also a serious assertion. If we’re going to accuse Sir Vincent of illegally profiting from his seat on a parliamentary committee, then we must have proof that he is the silent partner in the syndicate that bought the property.”

His lofty words were especially ironic given how little he cared about such proof when it came to any story about Stand Fast Severn.

Wordlessly, Lori handed him the pages of an agreement demonstrating clearly that Sir Vincent was a primary shareholder in the company in question.

David looked at the crinkled, stained parchment and then back at Lori, his eyes widening. “This is a contract for the sale of the property in question. How in the name of God did you get this, Lori?”

The expression of terror on his face was amusing and she was tempted to tease him, but men like David never seemed to have a sense of humor unless they were the ones making the jest.

“Did you break into Lord Vincent’s house?” he demanded when she didn’t answer quickly enough.

She laughed. “Of course not! I found it—and several more copies of the same—in his clerk’s rubbish.”

David’s jaw sagged. “You—you went through Lord Vincent’s rubbish?”

“Yes. Every day for weeks.”

“That’s—” he broke off, blinking rapidly. “That’s excellent work, my dear. Most ingenious, in fact. Bloody brilliant,” he muttered under his breath, adding in a much louder voice as he turned back to the story in his hands, “We can run this on the first page.”

Lori perked up. “That pays better, does it not?”

“Indeed, it does; twice your usual rate.” He unlocked the drawer holding his strong box and she heard the clink of coins.

Her usual rate was what David paid her for the Miss Emily columns. Although the tidbits of gossip did not pay a great deal, it was at least a constant source of income. Freddie charged her so little rent that she was able to put aside more than half of her earnings. Of course, the ballgown she was buying would cut into that, but—

“By the way,” David said, glancing up and pausing his counting, “how is your story on Severn coming? Or should I say stories ?”

“I have nothing new on either investigation.” Indeed, she’d been hoping he’d forget the foolish story about Severn’s brother’s suicide completely. Evidently, she was not to be so lucky.

He glowered. “Because you haven’t been working on either of them?”

Lori decided to address the mutineer issue, first. “I’m sorry, David, but I fail to see where I’m supposed to find information for an alleged incident that took place halfway around the globe, and which the individual in question denies ever happened.”

“Did you talk to anyone down at the docks where his ship is berthed?”

“The Vixen isn’t due back for several weeks, so there isn’t anyone to talk to.” An image of Mr. Gregg, Mr. Barker, and the other men she’d met at the brothel flitted through her mind. “Not that I think any of his crew will be eager to gossip about the man who controls their livelihood. I believe they are quite loyal to him.”

“There is always somebody who will have an axe to grind and want to complain.”

“But is that sort of person really a reliable source?”

“A ship’s crew is in constant flux, Lori. There will be somebody willing to talk about Severn,” David went on, ignoring her question, or perhaps not hearing it at all. Sometimes she wondered if he simply closed his ears to her. “Sailors like to drink and when they do, their tongues loosen.” He gave her a hard look. “Or perhaps that is something you do not feel capable of doing?”

“What? Going to sailor’s haunts? It is nothing I haven’t done before,” she said, not entirely truthfully. She’d gone into two pubs in her life, one in the small village where her brother lived. The second one had been not far from Viscount Severn’s country home, Grandon Castle. That was the pub where three of the local men had—not very subtly—warned her against prying into the Marquess of Grandon’s family.

“There are dozens of such establishments, David. Surely it is more prudent to pursue this line of questioning once the Vixen is—”

“I’m tired of your constant excuses!” David snapped. “You need to start asking questions now . You need to get out there and prod and poke now . This”—he held up the contract she’d found in the rubbish—“is excellent work. I want you to show the same initiative when it comes to Severn.”

“I hardly think I’ll find a murder confession in Lord Severn’s rubbish—or a document admitting that he ferried mutineers around on his ship.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, my dear,” he said in a dangerously silky voice. “More to the point, I don’t care to hear that tone from one of my subordinates.”

“I apologize,” she muttered.

He grunted and resumed his counting.

Lori went to stare out the window. What was taking him so long? You’d think the man was parting with his personal fortune rather than few quid.

“You mentioned the last time you were here that Lord Severn’s grandfather was coming to London?”

She turned around at the sound of his voice. “I did.”

“Find out why the old man is coming to town. Is he angry at his grandson? Perhaps he is coming to banish him again.” He gave an abrupt laugh. “See, that’s the sort of information that you’re uniquely positioned to find at all these balls you attend. You must have more invitations than you accept?”

“Sometimes,” she said, unhappy with where his question might be leading.

“You should accept everything that comes your way. That is the way to gather more information.” He grinned insincerely. “That is how one pleases one’s employer, Lori.”

“I’m hardly equipped to accept every invitation,” she said, unable to keep a hint of irritation from her tone.

“Not equipped? Do you mean mentally?”

Lori snorted. “Very droll.”

David grinned. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I assume you mean clothing?”

The question surprised her. Was he considering defraying her expenses? “That is exactly what I mean.”

He waved one hand. “ Pfft! You’re so lovely you could wear sack cloth and ashes and be admitted anywhere you wished.”

Lori’s face heated; she was a fool for believing he might cover some of her expenses. “Clothing matters to these people, David. And my gowns set me apart. They are hardly likely to confide in me when they view me as an interloper.”

As usual, David ignored anything he didn’t want to hear. He closed the cashbox and held out her money. When Lori reached for it, he pulled his hand back. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” she said, forcing the word through gritted teeth.

“I want proof of progress on both the Severn stories, Lori and I’m tired of waiting.”

“The Vixen is supposed to return to London in a few weeks and—”

“Two weeks, then.”

“David! That is hardly—”

“Three weeks, and that’s final. No more excuses. In three weeks you will have answers for me or you can find somebody else to work for. Understood?” His unblinking stare required an answer.

“Understood,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

“Good.” He tossed the coins at her, catching her by surprise. Lori scrambled to catch them, but one fell to the floor. “Oh dear,” he said, cutting her a smarmy, challenging look. “How clumsy of me.”

Lori considered strangling him. It would almost be worth transportation. Only the fear of being hanged stopped her.

Don’t let him taunt you into rash behavior.

The thought served to stiffen her resolve and she dropped to her haunches, picked up the coin, and stood before dropping it into her reticule.

David did not look at her. Instead, he pretended to be engrossed by one of the many documents that cluttered his desk.

Lori collected her cloak, satchel, and umbrella and said, “Goodbye, David.”

He gave a dismissive wave and did not look up.

Just like she knew he would, he waited until her hand was on the door handle before saying, “One more thing, Lori.”

“Yes, David?” she asked, not bothering to turn around.

“I’ve given your manuscript to Gordon Wright at G.B. Wright and Sons.”

Joy exploded inside her like the pyrotechnic displays so popular at Vauxhall Gardens.

Lori bit her lip and hastily shoved her excitement aside, and said in an admirably cool tone, “I look forward to his assessment.”

He grunted. “Yes, yes. Run along now.”

Lori left before she could say something that would jeopardize his goodwill.

Once on the street, she hailed a hackney and gave the driver the address to a modiste’s shop where she would immediately hand over her hard-earned wages and collect the ball gown she had purchased. It was an unwanted expense, but she hoped it would please Freddie to see her in something new for a change.

Her thoughts quickly slid back to David’s last words as she stared unseeingly out the hackney window. As thrilling as it was to hear her manuscript was in the hands of one of the finest publishing houses in Britain, she couldn’t help thinking about what she had to do to pay for that privilege.

If Lord Severn had indeed abetted any mutineers, then that was a subject the public deserved to hear about and she did not feel guilty about exposing his behavior. After all, he would one day have a seat in Lords and his actions should be subject to scrutiny.

The issue of his twin brother’s death was not nearly so clear cut. Why did she feel so guilty investigating that?

Because who benefited more from Lord Perseverance’s death than his younger brother and heir?

Lori flinched away from that thought.

You don’t want to believe that because you fancy the man.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the tattered squabs. She despised herself for falling prey to a libertine like Stand Fast Severn. He’d been a shocking womanizer in his younger days and showed no sign of having changed.

Even if a person discredited the gossip about how many lovers he kept on a string, there were enough of his illegitimate offspring scattered around the countryside to give evidence to his unprincipled raking. Indeed, Lori had discovered at least five different women who’d claimed the King of the Rakes had fathered their child.

Although none of the mothers would speak to Lori directly, she had confirmed that all five of them received money from Lord Severn—even during his years at sea.

Severn’s assistance wasn’t only limited to money. The oldest children—now between eighteen and twenty—had married respectably, which would not have happened without Severn’s influence. The two boys had attended well-respected schools and he’d purchased a commission for one.

Severn might be a philandering, gambling, reckless rake, but he had never shirked his responsibilities when it came to looking after his by-blows.

Lori had seen the far-too-attractive viscount often in the two weeks since they’d danced that waltz. She had not asked him to dance again—or even spoken to him—and he had avoided her.

Indeed, he had not so much as glanced her way. Instead, he had joined the men who were baying after Miss Pascoe and her fortune like a pack of slavering hounds.

Lori scowled at the unpleasant pang in her belly. Why was she so disappointed that Severn wanted to marry the lovely young heiress? There was hardly an unmarried man—and a great many married ones—who didn’t lust after either Miss Pascoe’s person or money or both.

Honestly, Lori couldn’t even blame the men. Demelza Pascoehad become fast friends with Freddie’s twins, so Lori had spent quite a bit of time around the girl in recent weeks. Demelza wasn’t just beautiful, she was also sweet tempered and intelligent.

Unfortunately, she was also shockingly innocent.

It disgusted her that Severn—a man who lived in a brothel—would go after such a child. The thought of him slaking his lust on Miss Pascoe’s nubile body made her positively ill.

Liar. You’re not positively ill . You’re positively green with envy that he’s not running after you.

“That’s bosh,” Lori muttered, glaring out the window.

Your feelings for the man are the same reason you don’t want to look into his brother’s death. Because you are afraid of what you might find.

She did like Severn—despite his deplorably rakish behavior—but just as a person, not as a potential lover.

Liar , the voice accused yet again. You desire him .

It was true she felt a certain attraction for him, but not desire!

You are infatuated with the man .

“That’s hardly unusual given that he is a rake with twenty years of experience under his belt, is it? Indeed, it would have been unusual if I didn’t find him attractive,” Lori retorted, uncaring that she was arguing with herself aloud in a hackney.

He will likely marry Miss Pascoe before the Season is even over .

That was entirely possible. All of London knew that all Mr. Bryok Pascoe cared about was getting the most prestigious title for his daughter.

It was easy to understand Pascoe’s motives—he wanted to buy into the aristocracy at the highest level possible—but Severn’s were less clear. His grandfather was one of the wealthiest peers in Britain, so why was Severn chasing after an heiress with a vulgar father and less than illustrious pedigree? The current marquess was an infamous snob. Lori couldn’t imagine that he would agree with his grandson’s choice of wife.

The woman is female perfection; what other reason does a man need ?

Yet another undeniable truth. Demelza Pascoewas gorgeous, sweet, and obscenely wealthy. Why would Lord Severn want any other woman?

You mean why would he ever want you ?

Lori ignored the pang she felt at the taunting thought and stared out the window, the rain on the glass blurring her vision.