Chapter Twelve

Ellie's cousin Edward suggested a walk in Hyde Park when she called on him the following morning, and she readily agreed. The weather was cold and crisp, but the sky was blue—typical of December—and she laughed at the way her breath made dragon puffs of "smoke" when she exhaled.

Unfortunately, Edward had no useful information to tell her about Lord Willingham, other than the fact that they were both members of the same gentlemen's club, and that Willingham and his wife, Cassandra, were known to have been vocal supporters of Bonaparte before his defeat.

They were just walking beside the northern section of the carriage drive, discussing William Garrow's sponsoring of a parliamentary bill to prevent animal cruelty by proposing increased penalties for riding horses until their severe injury or death, when a familiar figure appeared from a side-path.

Ellie's stomach did a foolish little somersault, even as she let out a sigh of resignation as Harry sauntered toward them, the silver top of his sword cane glinting in the sun.

She reluctantly made the introductions.

"Edward, have you met Henri Bonheur? He's recently arrived in London after some years on the Continent. Monsieur Bonheur, this is my cousin, Edward Hussey."

The two men shook hands, and Edward sent her an intrigued glance. The two of them had practically grown up together—his mother being her aunt—and they'd always been more like siblings.

"And how are you two acquainted?" Edward asked Harry. "Ellie's never mentioned you before."

Harry sent her a smile. "Oh, we met on a professional basis. I recently found myself in need of King and Company's services. Your cousin has been a wonderful source of assistance."

Edward was too polite to inquire further into what he surmised were unfortunate circumstances, but Ellie was sure his sharp gaze was assessing Harry's expensive clothing and drawing his own—incorrect—conclusions; namely, that a man as wealthy as Harry had probably been the victim of a crime, instead of the likely perpetrator.

Appearances could truly be deceptive.

She was reluctantly admiring Harry's dove-gray coat and wondering how many of the things the blasted man owned, when an incongruous detail caught her eye. A lone leaf dangled from the shoulder of his otherwise immaculate sleeve, and she reached out and brushed it off without conscious thought.

Harry looked down at her in obvious surprise, and she felt her cheeks heat at the impulsive, intimate gesture.

"You had a leaf," she said quickly. "It must have fallen from a tree."

All three of them glanced up at the leafless branches above them, and Harry let out an amused laugh.

"It would appear not. It's far more likely I picked it up when I was rolling around on the ground with Lord Willingham a few moments ago."

Ellie gaped at him, and his dimples deepened in delight at her obvious shock.

"What do you mean?" Edward demanded with an astonished laugh.

"I'm afraid I made the poor man's acquaintance in the most unfortunate manner. It was my fault. I bumped into him, quite literally, just over there by the duck pond."

Harry gave a vague wave in the general direction of the Serpentine, and sent Edward a self-deprecating shrug. "I was so busy thinking that I really must commission a waistcoat the exact green of the feathers on a mallard's head, that I failed to look where I was going, and barreled into poor Willingham. We both took a tumble."

Ellie sent him a narrow-eyed look of suspicion, which he returned with an innocent smile that fooled her not one bit. He'd clearly engineered the encounter with Willingham to effect an introduction.

Or worse.

"I thought I'd managed to restore my usual sartorial elegance, but apparently not." He made a great show of smoothing his cravat and checking the tails of his coat for additional debris.

Ellie shook her head. "Edward, I hope you don't mind, but I have some news for Mr. Bonheur about his case. Mr. Bonheur, if your carriage isn't far, you may give me a lift back to Lincoln's Inn Fields."

Edward nodded in easy agreement, while Harry said, "I'd be delighted."

Ellie took his arm and the two of them started along the path, but as soon as Edward was out of earshot she turned to Harry with a glare.

"All right, out with it. What did you do to Willingham? Steal his wallet? Pilfer his house keys?"

His chuckle was hardly reassuring. "Nothing of the sort. I merely took the chance to see if he had our missing book concealed on his person. He did not, by the way."

"That was a very risky thing to do," she scolded.

"Not if you're as skilled as I am. Willingham didn't suspect a thing. He accepted my profuse apologies, of course, and I'm pleased to say that in the ensuing conversation we discovered a shared interest in vingt-et-un."

"Of course you did." Ellie rolled her eyes.

"Not only that, but he kindly extended an invitation to a festive little gathering he's hosting tomorrow evening. Deep play guaranteed."

Ellie let out a frustrated growl. "I don't know whether to scold you for interfering, or commend you for getting the invitation. How on earth did you know that Willingham would be here in the park at this hour? Was it just a lucky guess?"

Her hand was still nestled in the crook of his arm, and he patted the back of it with teasing condescension.

"Of course not. You know how I feel about luck; it's far better when it's helped along. I spent last evening enjoying a few pints with His Lordship's stablemaster and footman, Albert and George."

"As Henri Bonheur?"

He shook his head and affected an entirely different accent, one that made him sound as if he'd lived his entire life without ever leaving the bounds of London.

"Gawd no, love. As plain 'Arry Smith, rat-catcher and knife-grinder from Covent Garden."

"In far less expensive clothes, I assume," she sniffed.

"Too right," he said, still with his accent. "The scratchiest shirt and worst-fitting jacket you ever saw in yer life. We won't even mention the boots. Still, old 'Arry bought a round or two of drinks and it didn't take long to learn that old Willingham takes a morning constitutional at ten o'clock every Thursday to avoid his wife's sisters when they visit."

"Good sleuthing," Ellie said begrudgingly. "As long as you made yourself unrecognizable."

"Oh, me own mother wouldn't 'ave known me," he chuckled. "I didn't shave, and I even added a gold tooth"—he tapped one of his straight white incisors with his finger—"right 'ere."

"You must have looked like a pirate," she scoffed, even as the unbidden and annoyingly alluring image of him as a roguish buccaneer swam in her brain. The cold was clearly affecting her ability to think rationally.

She tried to tug her hand from his arm, but he tightened his grip, and she resigned herself to the not-unpleasant warming effect his proximity had on her body.

It was a relief to see the crested panels of his carriage waiting just beyond the park railings.

"Willingham said I was welcome to bring a female guest," Harry said, reverting to his usual voice as he handed her into the conveyance.

"I can't attend as myself," Ellie said. "Not with you. Perhaps Daisy and I can dress as servants and—"

He shook his head, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Oh, I didn't introduce myself to Willingham as Henri Bonheur. I told him my name was Enrico Castellini."

"You pretended you were Italian?" Ellie said, aghast. "For Heaven's sake! Why?"

"Why not?" he chuckled. "Variety is the spice of life. And I haven't been the Visconti di Modrone for a long time."

"You're mad."

"Maybe. But there's method in my madness. Enrico Castellini is a slightly eccentric, clearly rich and bored nobleman on his first visit to London. Willingham's arrogant enough to think him a plump pigeon ready to be plucked; hence the invitation to play cards for ‘proper stakes.'"

"Well, I still can't go with ‘Enrico' either. Not unless Tess comes with us as a chaperone."

"Eleanor Law isn't invited," he said, and Ellie tried to hide the sudden wretched swoop of disappointment that pitched her stomach.

"I told him I'd bring my paramour."

She forced a polite smile. "Oh. And who is that?"

Harry was so handsome that she shouldn't be surprised that he had a lover. Would it be one of the beautiful actresses or opera singers who trod the boards at Drury Lane? Or some lucky society widow or wife?

"Her name's Carlotta. She's also Italian, from Venice, and she barely speaks a word of English."

A wicked flash of envy stabbed her heart. "Oh."

"I've already arranged a dress for you."

Ellie frowned. "What?"

His raised his brows. "To wear when you're Carlotta. I can't imagine you've anything remotely suitable in your own wardrobe. Carlotta wouldn't be seen dead in cotton. She barely deigns to wear silk."

For a moment Ellie was too stunned to utter a word. "You've bought me a dress suitable for an Italian courtesan ?" she said finally. "How? From where? It can't possibly be the right size."

"Of course it can. I told Madame Lef è vre to get your measurements from Miss Macdonald. You're going to look delicious."

"I can't possibly—"

"You can," he said firmly. "It's a necessary prop for the role you need to play. Unless you trust me enough to go and search Willingham's house alone…"

Ellie sent him a narrow-eyed glare. He knew exactly how to hook her. There was absolutely no chance she'd allow him free rein without her there to supervise. Heaven knew what mischief he'd get into.

"A provocative dress isn't going to be enough of a disguise if I see someone I know."

"Which is why you'll also make use of the wig I'm having sent over. You said you've disguised yourself for past investigations. This is no different."

"As a maid," she said hotly. "Or a washerwoman. As people who blend in. Not as someone who makes a spectacle of themselves."

"I have every faith in you," he said bracingly. "I'm sure your friends can help you with makeup and such forth." His eyes twinkled as he sensed her silent, if unwilling, capitulation. "I'll have it delivered to King and Company tomorrow. Be ready for ten tomorrow night. I'll come to collect you."