Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

“Good grief, Christopher,” I said, as I let myself be pulled down the hallway towards the lift. “What on earth was that all about?”

His shoulders were shaking inside the tailored cut of his evening jacket, and I added, suspiciously, “Are you laughing?”

It was that or crying, and I didn’t see how it could be the latter. Flossie’s kidnapping was distressing, but not to that degree.

He shot me a look over his shoulder, and yes, his cheeks were pink and his eyes were dancing. “You realize they’re suspicious of us, Pippa?”

“Suspicious?” I repeated, and for a moment the word, and the concept, didn’t make any sense. Then— “Christopher!” I hurried so I could look up at him. “They suspect us? How?”

“We must sound guilty as hell,” Christopher said with another gurgle of laughter. He stabbed the button to summon the lift and turned back to me. “It makes sense if you think about it. We knew Flossie, and they have only our word for it that we were on friendly terms with her. We keep turning up with no warning, like bad pennies. Your excuse of having dinner with someone sounds extremely transparent, and so does my excuse of escorting you.”

“But it’s true!”

He smirked. “I know it is, Pippa. But then we tell them that we’re familiar with the church from the ransom note, and we advise them on the safest way to drop off the money. And we mention that Crispin—the person we told them was the last to see Flossie before she was kidnapped—is on his way back to Town.” He shook his head. “Truly, it’s difficult to blame them. What are they supposed to think?”

“Not that we have their daughter stashed in our flat,” I said, offended, as the lift arrived on our floor and Christopher pulled the grille aside. “That’s appalling. We’d never!”

“Of course we’d never.” He stepped into the lift behind me and slid the grille closed again. “But they don’t know that. They don’t know us . For all they know, we’re a pair of evil knaves who have kidnapped their daughter and are after their money, and everything we’ve done so far has been an attempt to get close to them to see whether they suspect us.”

Well, yes. But— “If I had kidnapped Flossie Schlomsky, I would never be so stupid as to draw attention to myself,” I said crossly. “Certainly not by sidling up to her parents, for God’s sake!”

“Of course not.” His lips twitched.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stuck my bottom lip out. “I wouldn’t! I’d stay far away from them and ensure that they had no idea who I was. I would never offer to help out!”

“Naturally.” He smirked.

The lift arrived on the ground floor, and Christopher got busy with the grille again. “You can see how it looks, though,” he said as he held the door open for me. “From their point of view, we look quite suspicious.”

“I’m sure we do. That’s no excuse for letting us know that they think so.” I sniffed. “How very uncouth.”

“Well, they’re American,” Christopher said, as if that explained it. “It’s the Wild West on the other side of the pond, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I rather thought it was mostly civilized these days. Apart from the jazz and the gangsters and all that.”

“Perhaps it is,” Christopher said, and put a hand on my back. “Who knows, really? There’s His Grace, ready and waiting for you.”

I looked around and spotted Wolfgang standing a few feet from the entrance to the restaurant, scanning the lobby and the area just outside the doors. He wouldn’t have expected us to come from the direction of the lift, and that gave me a moment to admire his form, tall and handsome in black tie, while he was unaware that I was staring.

“He really is fabulously good-looking,” I said, “isn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” Christopher answered with a shrug, and I lost my breath at the audacity.

“Christopher!”

He shot me an unrepentant look. “He doesn’t swing my way, Pippa. But if he did…”

“You just like a pretty face,” I told him, half accusing and half amused.

“Who doesn’t?” Christopher asked with a shrug. He nudged me forward. “Go on, then. While you’re having supper, I’m going to check in on Tom one more time, just in case he has made it back to Town by now, and then I’ll fetch Crispin and come back for you.”

“I thought we agreed that it wasn’t a certainty he’d show up,” I said.

Christopher agreed that we had, indeed, agreed on that. But— “There was never a chance that he wouldn’t be here, Pippa. Surely you knew that? As soon as you told him what’s taking place tonight, it was a sure bet that he’d come.” He inclined his head to Wolfgang. “ Graf von Natterdorff. Good evening.”

“ Herr Astley.” Wolfgang made a polite little bow from the waist before his eyes moved on to me. Like last time, they were a fabulously dark blue. “ Freulein Darling.”

He snatched my hand and hovered his lips above it for a little longer than strictly necessary. I could feel his breath moisten my skin before he deposited a kiss on the back of it and gave it back to me. His eyes smoldered. “You look beautiful.”

I simpered. “Thank you.”

“That’s a lovely dress. Very becoming.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

I put my hand upon it. “Please. I’ll see you later, Christopher.”

“I’ll be back.” He gave Wolfgang another nod, less formal this time. “Have a nice time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Wolfgang nodded solemnly, but I’m sure he had no idea what he had agreed to. Not only is Christopher not interested in girls in general, and so not inclined to misbehave around them, but he considers me to be the next thing to a sister, and wouldn’t do anything untoward in my presence whatsoever. It didn’t leave Wolfgang with very many options for flirtation.

Naturally I didn’t say so, just let him escort me into the dining room, where he deposited me tenderly in a chair. The waiter snagged the serviette from the table and flicked it open with a snap before draping it across my lap. He stood at attention while Wolfgang seated himself, and then put a leather-bound menu in front of each of us.

After we had made our selections and the waiter had withdrawn, Wolfgang gave me a soulful look across the table. “I’m happy you consented to have supper with me again.”

Why wouldn’t I? “I had a lovely time in your company last time. I’m happy to do it again.” I simpered.

“I thought perhaps your cousin…” He trailed off.

“Christopher?” Why would he think Christopher would mind my going to supper with a wealthy and titled suitor? Especially after he had delivered me straight into Wolfgang’s hands a minute ago?

“Your other cousin,” Wolfgang said, lowering his brows. “The annoying popinjay in the flashy car.”

Oh, him. “He’s not my cousin,” I said. “And while I agree that he’s annoying, he’s hardly a concern. He has no sway over what I do or don’t do.”

“He would like to have,” Wolfgang said.

“He’s just trying to prevent me from having any fun,” I answered. As if Crispin had any room to complain about what I do. With the shenanigans he gets up to, he’s in no position to lecture me on proper behavior, the cad.

“He wants you for himself,” Wolfgang said sullenly.

As if. “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t like me any better than I like him. It’s always been that way.”

Wolfgang scowled. “Then why?—?”

“He’s Christopher’s cousin, and we did grow up together.” And he had had to take me away from a gentleman who had me crowded into the corner of a Chesterfield a few months ago. “It would be surprising if there wasn’t some level of protective instinct there.”

Wolfgang stuck out his bottom lip.

“He’s not something you need worry about,” I told him. “He’s harmless, and no threat whatsoever to... I mean…”

I stopped myself before I went any further, both with the babbling and the possibly rash statements. I had no real evidence that he was interested in me romantically, after all, and probably oughtn’t to assume. Yes, he had invited me to supper twice. That’s usually a good sign of a man’s interest in a young lady. But beyond that, he hadn’t made his feelings clear in any verbal or physical way. Everything between us had been quite prim and proper.

Wolfgang smiled, a bit like the cat with the saucer of cream. But before either of us could say any more, the waiter arrived with the bottle of wine Wolfgang had chosen—German and red—and he got busy sniffing the cork and swirling the wine around the glass to let it breathe. Once he had declared it acceptable and the waiter had withdrawn after filling both our glasses, the moment had passed.

“I hope you like a robust red,” Wolfgang said, fingers around the stem of the glass. “This is a Sp?tburgunder from Baden. The best Germany has to offer.”

He sounded proud, as if he had fermented the grapes personally. I smiled politely. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

I’m fonder of cocktails than I am of wine, but I wanted to upset him less than I wanted my drink of choice, so I kept my preferences to myself and sipped on the Sp?tburgunder . As wines go, it was quite tasty, so it could have been worse.

“What have you been up to in the past two days?” I asked next, on the assumption that most men like to talk about themselves.

Wolfgang seemed to be the exception. He said something vague about business interests and meetings, and then he turned the question around. “And you?”

I thought about it. The past few days had been taken up by very little except worry about Flossie Schlomsky and attempts to find out what had happened to her. It was difficult to imagine that Wolfgang wouldn’t be interested—kidnappings and ransom demands would excite most people, I imagine—but a crime had been committed, involving someone else’s family, and it wasn’t really my place to tell total strangers about it.

So I told him about Tom’s visit to Bristol instead, and how my late aunt’s lady’s maid had been found dead in an alley with her head bashed in. Wolfgang found that interesting too. As would I, honestly, if I hadn’t had other, nearer, things to worry about.

“How appalling,” he said, but with the ghoulish interest of any normal person.

I nodded. “Tom—our detective friend—said they thought it was a robbery gone bad. Her purse had been searched, it seemed.”

Wolfgang nodded. “That makes sense. Unless she was—how would one say it in polite company…?”

One wouldn’t, but I let him finish anyway, since I assumed I already knew what he was going to say.

“ Eine Nutte? ” he articulated delicately. “ Ein Flittchen? ”

“A prostitute?” I suggested, since there is no point in not calling a spade by its proper name.

Wolfgang nodded, looking relieved. “Yes. Eine Proztituerte .”

“I hardly think so,” I said. “She was forty-five if she was a day?—”

Wolfgang opened his mouth, presumably to tell me that hookers come in all sizes and ages, but he didn’t actively interrupt me, so I went on.

“—and furthermore, I happen to know that she was flush when she left Wiltshire.” Flush with a thousand pounds of Uncle Herbert’s hush money. “I’m sure it was as they said. A robbery. Such a shame.”

Not that I had many fond feelings for Hughes. She had blackmailed Uncle Herbert, after all. Although I certainly hadn’t wanted her to die for it. I’m not that bloodthirsty.

“Indeed,” Wolfgang nodded. “And your friend, the detective…”

“Tom? He went to Eton with my cousin Robbie, and with Francis and Christopher.” And Crispin, of course, but there was no point in mentioning that.

“Francis is your elder cousin?”

I nodded. “Christopher is my younger. Robert was in-between. But he died in the war.”

“Many bad things happened in the war,” Wolfgang said, as a shadow crossed his countenance.

Yes, indeed. And it was probably best if we didn’t go too deeply into those weeds, given that Wolfgang was German, and so was I, technically speaking.

“Tom went to Cambridge after he came Home,” I said, “and then he joined Scotland Yard. He’s a photographer.”

Wolfgang nodded politely. “And the two of you…”

I shook my head. “We are not involved at all.”

I honestly didn’t know whether Tom liked men or women in the romantic sense. I did know that he didn’t like me. There’d never been anything even remotely flirtatious about our interactions. I suspected he was rather fond of Christopher, although I wasn’t sure whether that was because Tom had been Robbie’s friend, and with Robbie gone, he had taken over some of Robbie’s responsibility towards Robbie’s youngest brother, or whether it had to do with Christopher himself. He’s eminently loveable, after all.

I was fairly certain Christopher’s feelings towards Tom were anything but brotherly, though. And I suspected there might be something going on, but I had no proof of it. If they were romantically involved, they’d been quite circumspect about the whole thing.

And none of this was any of Wolfgang’s concern, so I kept it to myself. “What about you?” I asked instead, fluttering my eyelashes and dimpling. “Is there someone in Germany who’s waiting for you to come home?”

Wolfgang disavowed this idea in strong terms. But of course he would, whether it was true or not. He seemed to have designs on me, so whether there was another girl in Germany or not, he wasn’t going to mention her to me.

“For how long are you in London?” I wanted to know. It seemed like a safe question to ask.

Not that I got a straight answer. “Until my business is done,” Wolfgang told me. And then he smiled indulgently. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

I simpered back. “I’m not. I’m just wondering for how long I’ll have the pleasure of your company.”

Wolfgang drew in breath, but before he could utter whatever was on the tip of his tongue—I suspected some sort of bromide about my ability to have the pleasure of his company for as long as I wanted—the waiter appeared with the first course. Wolfgang let the breath out again as I sat back in my chair and smiled politely at the waiter.

We fell into small-talk after that. I asked him how he liked England, and he extolled the beauties of Bavaria. I had memories of growing up in Germany, but the older I got, the farther away that time seemed—which of course it was.

“You should come back for a visit,” Wolfgang said.

I smiled politely. “I’m afraid that would be rather difficult.”

“Nonsense.” He beamed as he dismissed my concerns. “You’d stay with me at Schloss Natterdorff, of course.”

Oh, of course. “That would be somewhat unconventional, surely?”

He smirked, but didn’t say anything, leaving me to wonder whether I’d be expected to stay as his mistress or his intended. Instead he said, “We’re distant cousins, you know.”

“Are we really?” A bit strange to wait until now to mention that, wasn’t it?

Where I would stay in Germany wasn’t the kind of difficulty I’d been concerned about, however. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to where I’d had a happy childhood, when my mother and father were both gone. It was one thing to live here in England and know I was an orphan. It was quite another to go back to where we’d lived together as a happy family, and confront the loss there.

Although if I still had family in Germany, that might make a difference to my feelings about visiting my homeland.

“How are we related?” I wanted to know. “Is that why you visited us on the occasion you told me about? When we were both children?”

Wolfgang nodded. “Do you still not remember?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said apologetically, since no man wants to be told he isn’t memorable, even when he was a tyke of seven or eight. “But there’s a lot I don’t remember. And I forget more every day. Germany seems like a different life.”

“But you have been happy here?”

I nodded. “My Aunt Roslyn and Uncle Herbert have treated me like their own. Christopher is like the brother I never had. So is Francis. And if St George is a bit of an acquired taste… well, there’s a black sheep in every family, I suppose.”

Wolfgang’s lips twitched, but he didn’t comment. “Can I expect to see the Viscount this evening?”

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “I’m hopeful that he’ll decide to stay in Wiltshire—or that his father will take away the key to the Hispano-Suiza and keep him there that way—although I have a feeling he’ll find a way around it even if Uncle Harold does do…”

Wolfgang kept watching me with a halfway patient, halfway amused look, and I nodded. “Yes, I think you can probably expect him to turn up. If we’re very lucky, he won’t try to take us out at the knees this time.”

“He’s very protective,” Wolfgang said, “isn’t he?”

“They all are,” I told him. “It’s as if I have three older brothers, except two of them are younger than me, and none of them is actually my brother. My Uncle Herbert is fairly protective, too.”

Crispin’s father is the only man in the family who isn’t protective of me. While Crispin normally has all the sensitivity of a cheese grater, and isn’t opposed to letting me feel the sharp edge of his personality, he’d most likely put his life on the line for mine if he had to. His father would watch me burn without a flicker of compassion.

Then again, I rather suspect Uncle Harold would watch his own son and heir burn without a flicker of compassion, either. He’d most likely step in to save him, at least if it didn’t involve the risk of harm to himself, but it wouldn’t be out of compassion for Crispin’s suffering, but merely because if Crispin died, Uncle Harold would be on the hook to make another heir, unless he wanted Uncle Herbert and Francis to carry on the line.

“Tell me about our family,” I asked Wolfgang. “How are we related? Are you an only-child, as well?”

Wolfgang said he was. The last of the Albrechts von und zu Natterdorff. “I shall have to marry soon, to secure the succession.”

He gave me a soulful look. I smiled politely, and wondered whether he was opening up negotiations for me to marry him, or whether he was simply trying to get under my skirt before he had to marry someone else—someone whose father hadn’t been a commoner—to bear the son and heir he required.

When I didn’t snap up the bait one way or the other, Wolfgang backed off a bit, and we settled into a conversation about his experiences at Heidelberg University, and mine at Oxford ditto. He had studied political science, and had received his Schmisse in a Mensur duel with a classmate named Stefan, he told me. When I feigned interest, he proceeded to describe the duel in detail. When I informed him that Mensur dueling wasn’t something undertaken in English institutions, and that a facial scar wasn’t considered a badge of honor in Britain, he sneered at me.

“The British prefer a man with a pretty face to a man with a brave heart?”

“I don’t know that one precludes the other,” I said mildly. “Surely it’s possible to be both handsome and brave?”

I accompanied the rhetorical question with a lingering glance, and he preened.

He was still in a good mood when we left the table after dessert, as we made our way back to the Savoy lobby, with its checkerboard floor and tall columns. That only lasted until he spied Christopher and Crispin lounging in one of the seating areas near the front doors.

I know I have rather gone on about how handsome Wolfgang is, but the truth is, neither Christopher nor Crispin is exactly hard on the eyes, either, especially in evening kit and in their element. Which they so clearly were: two beautiful young men-about-town at their leisure, with no worries beyond which cocktail to order with dinner. Christopher was draped over the arm of the chair with his chin propped on his hand and one leg folded elegantly over the other, while Crispin leaned back insolently, feet kicked up on the low table in front of him and hands folded across his stomach, with no concern for the Savoy’s table or the people who shot him sideways glances. But unlike Christopher, who appeared for all the world like he was half a moment from falling asleep, Crispin’s eyes were sharp under the lowered lids, and he caught sight of Wolfgang and me the moment we came through the doors from the restaurant.

Not that one could tell from his demeanor. He didn’t sit up, didn’t stiffen or show with so much as a twitch of an eyelash that he had noticed us, but his eyes nonetheless watched us come closer with all the attention of a snake eyeing an approaching fieldmouse.

“Darling,” he uttered when we got close enough that I could hear him over the other conversations taking place in the lobby.

Christopher straightened and turned towards us. Unlike Crispin, I assumed this was the first he had noticed we were there.

“St George,” I responded coolly. If he wasn’t going to grace me with an actual greeting beyond just my name, he couldn’t expect anything better himself, either. “Hello, Christopher. Have you been waiting long?”

“Just a few minutes,” Christopher said and stretched. “ Graf von Natterdorff.” He nodded politely to Wolfgang, who nodded back.

“ Herr Astley. Lord St George.” He clicked his heels and bowed in Crispin’s direction. Not too deeply, but enough to be courteous. The latter, of course, couldn’t even be bothered to sit up.

“ Graf. ” He gave the barest of nods before he turned his attention back to me, with an insolent up-and-down motion of his eyes along the length of his nose. “Is that a new frock, Darling?”

Beside me, Wolfgang growled.

I ignored it, just as I ignored what I knew was going to be some sort of snide remark about it. “As a matter of fact it is.”

Crispin nodded. And said nothing.

“What?” I demanded.

His lips twitched. “I didn’t say anything, Darling.”

I removed my hand from Wolfgang’s arm and put it on my hip, along with my other hand on the other side. “I know you didn’t. What I want to know is why.”

“Why what, Darling?”

“Why didn’t you? Don’t you have anything to say? Don’t you want to tell me that I look like a peach, or a salmon, or an apricot, or something?”

His lips twitched again. “I don’t know why you would assume that, Darling.”

“You never have anything nice to say,” I told him.

“Is that so?” This time the lips twitched into a smirk, and he took his feet off the table and unwound, sinuously, into a sitting position, without ever taking his eyes off me. “Would you like me to tell you that you look lovely, Darling?”

His voice was so smooth it was practically a caress, or would have been without the distinctly malicious undertone.

“No,” I said petulantly. “I just don’t want you to tell me that I look like a vegetable.”

His eyebrow rose. “Vegetable?”

“You know what I mean. You always tell me that I look like a fruit or vegetable. Like a… a…” I cast about for something else that was vaguely salmon-colored. “A stalk of rhubarb or something.”

The smirk widened. “If you think you look like a stalk of rhubarb, I don’t know why you’d buy the frock, Darling.”

“I don’t think I look like a stalk of rhubarb,” I growled, while my hands clenched into fists. It was only the fact that we were standing—and sitting—in the Savoy lobby that kept me from smacking the smug expression right off his face. “You always find something less than complimentary to say about what I wear.”

Or something that sounds like a compliment but is, indeed, the opposite. Like the next thing that came out of his mouth.

“Not this time, Darling. The frock is very becoming. And that color looks good on you.”

His eyes flicked from the dress up to my flaming cheeks and back.

I narrowed my eyes. “I hate you, St George.”

He nodded. “I know, Darling. The feeling is mutual, I assure you. Are you ready to go?”

“I suppose so.” I turned to Wolfgang with the best smile I could muster while I was still vibrating with anger. “Thank you for supper. It was delightful to see you again.”

“We will do it again soon.”

He snatched up my hand and bowed over it, for far longer than necessary. This time, I’m fairly certain I heard a growl from Crispin, although it might have been just a scraping of the chair legs as he got to his feet.

“I will contact you,” Wolfgang told me, after he finally took his lips off the back of my hand and could use them to speak again.

I simpered. “I’ll look forward to it.”

And because I knew it would annoy Crispin, I held the hand Wolfgang had kissed against my breast while he turned to click his heels and bow to the others. “ Herr Astley. Lord St George.”

“Good evening,” Christopher said politely, while Crispin said something I couldn’t make out, although it certainly wasn’t wishes for a good night.

Wolfgang withdrew with a smirk and a final lingering glance at me, and I dropped my hand and turned to Christopher. “No Tom?”

He shook his head. “Still not back yet, it seems. I left another note.”

“We should go, then.” I glanced around the lobby. Wolfgang was almost to the lifts by now, but I didn’t see anyone else I recognized. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the Schlomskys come through while you’ve been sitting here?”

“Not that I noticed,” Christopher said. “But it’s still early. Unlike us, I don’t think they’re planning to lie in wait.”

No, they would most likely get to St Olave’s as close to eleven as they could, drop the money, and hurry away, the sooner to see their daughter again.

“No sense in waiting,” I said, and headed for the front doors with them both picking up the rear behind me.