Chapter Fifteen

S affron rubbed her eyes with her gloved fists as she followed her sister into the shop. After the previous day's excitement, it had taken her hours to fall asleep, as her mind replayed every touch of Leo's hands and lips. She'd been so embarrassed that she hadn't gone down for dinner but had requested a plate be brought to her room. As a result, she had awoken lightheaded with hunger and had snapped at Lily when she'd arrived at their room with news that a carriage was waiting to take them shopping.

There was a bounce in Angelica's step as she approached the two raised, circular platforms set up in the corner, surrounded by tall mirrors. A group of young seamstresses scurried around the room, carrying heavy bolts of fabric, flat tape around their necks, pins in their mouths. The curtains were drawn, so the only light came from gaslights or the sunlight filtering in through the windows behind them.

The room seemed to spin for a moment, and Saffron took a seat on a plush chaise.

She had lost her senses. That was the only excuse for engaging in such wanton behavior with a man who had no desire to marry her. At least she could not be with child. Her romance novels had taught her that much. She would be safe from pregnancy as long as she exercised vigorously the morning after their engagements.

"Your sister is quite excited," Rosemary said, as she sat beside Saffron.

Angelica seemed in awe over the silks and satins in a dizzying array of colors, from lovely, maroon cambric to voluminous, jade silk. Saffron couldn't remember the last time they had been surrounded by such luxury. It was a marvel to see dresses that had never been taken in or let out, that didn't need to be modified to hide a stain or tear. The luxury of a modiste had been nothing special to them before Basil's disappearance. Her sister's transparent happiness wriggled into her heart like a sliver. Angelica deserved riches, jewels—anything she wanted.

We will have all of this again once I find Basil and restore our family fortune.

But Leo had been right when he'd insisted that she accept his support. The past day had proved that the guests treated her differently when she blended in. Her dowdy gowns were useful for infiltrating the servants, but they would not help her question Mrs. Morgan in the middle of a game of whist.

A particular shade of lavender called out to her, and she picked up a length and held it in her hands. It was soft on her fingers and shimmered in the flickering gaslight.

"That would be lovely on you," Rosemary said.

"It's so soft." She imagined herself in a gown made of the light material. Then she wondered what Leo would say if she walked down the stairs wearing a gown of such a beautiful fabric. She dropped the sample and clenched her hands into fists to keep from picking anything else up. The last thing she should think about was the man who had kissed her so ravenously in his study, who had branded her with the heat of his fingers and brought her pleasure she'd never imagined possible.

I cannot wait to see him again.

"Ladies. Bienvenue , welcome!" a melodious voice called. It was the modiste, dressed in a moss-colored dress. She swept into the room, a wide smile on her face. Her jet-black hair was bundled beneath a tight bonnet, and her bodice had several pockets jammed with pens and papers.

Saffron spent the next hour lifting her arms and puffing out her chest and sucking in while assistants took measurements. It was one of the few things she had not missed about their lost wealth, especially when the modiste took one look at her hands and tutted.

"Such calluses, chérie . It is not the fashion."

She bit down on the retort that flew to her lips. Telling the woman about her long hours sewing would not gain her anything. She kept silent until the woman moved on to shower Angelica with compliments.

Her sister wore the pinned-together panels of a dress. Even with the dress in a rough state, her sister was gorgeous. Saffron imagined her twirling around on the dance floor accompanied by some marquess or baron.

Or maybe Simon Mayweather.

The man was not entirely unsuitable and he had not shown any sign of cruelty. Her bigger concern was that Mr. Mayweather's intentions might not have been honorable. He might have shared Leo's disdain for marriage. At least Canterbury was transparent about his aim: a wife.

"Beggin' my pardon, miss," the dressmaker's assistant crouched in front of her said. "Did you be hearing the storm?"

No, because I had my arms wrapped around the viscount's neck.

"I did not," she said, dutifully lifting her foot so the assistant could measure her inner thigh. "Why, was there an accident?"

She had heard of such things happening. Lightning struck where it would and spread from cottage to cottage without thought for the occupants.

The assistant blanched before ducking her head. Although she had not responded, Saffron suspected she had been right.

Then Rosemary approached, holding a bolt of fabric in her arms, and the assistant stopped talking.

"Light colors do not suit you, my dear," her aunt said, spreading out the fabric in her arms. "What do you think of this?"

Saffron had to admit her aunt was right. The bright colors Angelica preferred made her look washed out. But the cerulean satin selected by her aunt highlighted her dark hair and eyes.

" Oui! " the modiste exclaimed. "You shall have a gown. And matching slippers, perhaps?"

Saffron shifted uncomfortably. How many gowns was Leo going to pay for?

"Do not look so dour," Rosemary scolded. "The viscount is a wealthy man. He can afford to outfit an entire Season of debutantes. This is but a trifling expense for a lord, I assure you."

Saffron flexed her thighs, aching from standing in one place for so long, and watched her aunt confer with the modiste. With every additional item Rosemary requested, the woman's Parisian accent thickened, until she was spouting full sentences in French.

Saffron hoped Leo wouldn't regret opening an account for them.

*

"I'm afraid it's the truth," Sinclair said, flipping through a small notebook in his hands. "I confirmed with your solicitor. He confirmed that the funds are missing."

Leo thumped his elbows down on top of the sturdy desk in his office and buried his hands in his hair. Beneath the desk, he stamped his feet on the floor in time with the lilting music filtering through the window. Most of his guests were in the garden, enjoying the break in the clouds. Instead of joining them, he was attempting to unsnarl yet another mess.

That is an excuse, and you know it.

He could have delegated someone else to search through the financial records of the estate or waited until after the auction was over. But he knew if he joined the festivities, he would come face to face with Saffron, and he didn't know how he would handle it.

You had the woman beneath you. You've all but ruined her.

It was odd because he felt guilty about his lack of guilt. He had taken her innocence. He should have done the honorable thing and offered to marry her, but the thought of marriage filled him with horror. Everyone he had ever cared about had died. He would not risk suffering the pain of loss again.

Excuses. Is that all you are good for?

He growled as he re-read a page for the third time. Hours of studying his brother's books, analyzing the sums on every page, and finally, he'd found the source of the discrepancy. Someone, his brother, maybe, or another member of the household, had systematically padded the numbers. Whoever had done the deed was an expert. The amounts were off by only a slight margin. The only reason he'd puzzled it out, instead of banging his head against his desk, was that he had found an older set of books dating from when his father had managed the accounts.

Leo didn't want to consider what it meant. For so long, he had allowed his brother to take on all responsibility for managing the finances of the estate. Once, when he'd been younger, he had allowed himself to fall into debt, and having no desire to bring shame to his family, had stepped away from the financial running of the estate. It had taken several months of working at a solicitor's office to pay his family back what he'd owed.

"Do we have any news?" he asked Sinclair, tapping his fingers on the desk.

He'd sent his butler to the bank to get an accurate sum of the household funds so he could track down the source of the errors. Instead, Sinclair had returned with worse news. According to the bank, someone had impersonated him and withdrawn a significant sum from the household account. The funds represented only a small portion of the total value of the estate, but it vexed him. If the thief could do it once, they could do it again.

"I'm afraid not," Sinclair said, with a sad shake of his head. "Your solicitor reported back that the clerk on duty insisted it was you who withdrew the money."

"Who could have done it?" he asked. "It had to be someone familiar enough with the estate to know that is the bank we use. Someone similar enough in appearance to pass as me. Percy. Simon. Who else?"

"You've left out one key suspect," Sinclair said, holding up a hand. "It was I, my lord. And now that you have caught me, I shall have to strike you down, then take off for the continent. Blast, you have foiled my plans."

Leo laughed. "If you're the one fleecing me, I have far bigger problems."

But the thought that someone close could have stolen from him made him pause.

"What about the break-in, my lord?" Sinclair asked, standing stoically by the fireplace. "Might it be related?"

Leo crossed the room and poured sherry into a glass. "I had considered it."

The coincidences were piling up in a disturbing pattern. First the break-in, then Saffron's carriage crashing.

And now this mess.

It couldn't be chance. Which meant that one person was likely at the center of it all. He sipped his drink and set his mind to the suspects. Percy was an unlikely candidate. The man was at least a head shorter than him and much skinnier. Simon, however, was a different story. They could pass for brothers, aside from the difference in hair color, which was easily disguised. On more than one occasion, he had wondered how Simon could afford the lifestyle he so obviously enjoyed. The man had a motive, that much was obvious. But if Simon needed money, Leo was certain the man would come to him and ask for it. He had done so before, and Leo had shown no reluctance in outfitting his cousin with all the funds he needed to continue his carousing. Simon reminded Leo of a younger version of himself, before Sabrina's death had turned him into a hermit.

This is ridiculous.

By spending so much time in his office, he was playing right into the hand of his adversary. He charged out of the room and strolled through the house, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. He found his cousin playing croquet in the garden. Saffron and Lady Allen were watching nearby, their table set with an afternoon tea. Olivia caught his gaze, then waggled her fingers and gave a saucy wink. She leaned over and whispered something in Saffron's ear.

Focus , Leo thought. Saffron was not his concern.

Simon made his shot, clunking the mallet against the ball and sending it flying through the holes set up in the yard. That done, he set down his mallet and strolled over, but his smile faded when he got closer. "What is it, cousin?"

"Follow me," Leo said, pulling his cousin into the house and out of the range of prying ears and eyes. Once in the hallway, he put a hand on Simon's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. "Money has gone missing from the estate accounts. Tell me you are not the one who did it."

Simon didn't even need to answer. The truth was written all over his face.

"I can explain," Simon stuttered. "I was going to return the funds immediately, but there were…" He glanced away. "Extenuating circumstances."

Leo squeezed his cousin's shoulder tighter. "I am listening."

Simon winced but made no move to flee.

"Gambling debts." He covered his face with one hand. "A thousand pounds. I was on a winning streak, and then I started losing, and I couldn't stop." His voice caught. "I swear to you, I tried to stop."

A memory flashed into Leo's mind. As a young man, he'd gotten drunk and gambled himself into a hole that he could not dig himself from. The owners of the gambling hall had beaten him to within an inch of his life and left him bleeding outside a charity hospital. His family had paid off the debt, but they had been so embarrassed, they'd refused to visit. Only Sabrina had come to see him, and the betrayal in her eyes had hurt him more than the beating. He'd vowed to her on that day that he would never gamble again.

Which made your inevitable betrayal that much more painful.

"I would have loaned you the money," Leo said softly.

Simon's shoulders slumped. "You're right. I was too stubborn. Pride goeth before the fall, as you know." He lowered his gaze. "I am sorry, cousin. Everything that has happened is my fault."

Leo struggled to keep his voice level. "Everything? Simon, what have you done?"

"I met a man at the cards table one night when my luck was down. He offered to forgive my debts in exchange for information about Briarwood Manor."

A cold chill washed over Leo. "Information?"

"He knew I had visited here often as a boy. He asked how to best enter the house without being seen."

"When was this? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Simon winced. "The night before I arrived. I know I should have said something, Leo. I feared you would cast me out. I might not have another chance to convince Miss Angelica Summersby not to marry the Duke of Canterbury."

That explained how the intruder had known exactly which window to attempt. It had to be the Ravenmore the thief had been after.

"What did this man look like?" Leo asked.

Simon shook his head. "I don't know. He wore a cloak and spoke in a low voice. He was shorter than me, though, and very thin. I did not get a good view of his face." Simon snapped his fingers. "His hands. They were clean, the nails trimmed. Those were not the hands of a laborer."

Leo searched his cousin's face for some sign that he was lying but found none. Unfortunately, the information was not as helpful as Simon seemed to think.

"We can't be sure it was the same man who broke in," Leo said. "One or both might have been hired by an unknown third party."

Simon shrunk before him. "I'm sorry, cousin. What are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"I will do nothing," Leo repeated. "Other than tell you I am disappointed. I expected more from you. But if this happens again, I will visit every gambling hall in London and tell the owners that you borrowed more than you could repay, and if you appear, to summon me at once."

A nervous laugh. "You cannot be serious."

"I can be very convincing. I have no children, Simon, so as my heir presumptive, you will become the Viscount Briarwood when I die."

Simon blanched. "B-But surely, you will marry."

It was Leo's turn to laugh. "I would not bet on that, cousin."