Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ N o, no, no. Perhaps, absolutely not, perhaps, and another resounding no. Oh, but yes to Miss Periwinkle’s coming-out ball. If I cause enough of a stir, everybody will be talking about the girl for months to come.”

Stephen slid the pile of cards and invitations across the desk to where his secretary waited. He took aside a small note before he did, however. It was from his mother, doubtless informing him that she had arrived in London. Nothing he was not already expecting, but he would read it later.

The secretary bowed wordlessly. The man had little to say, but he had an excellent memory. Stephen did not doubt that polite, carefully worded replies to each one of those invitations would wing their way out of his townhouse within the hour.

The secretary scuttled away, leaving Stephen alone with the butler.

Mr. Mouse was a serious, rather thin man, with impressive jowls and a height of no less than six feet nine inches. He was, if rumors were to be believed, barely thirty, which was remarkably young for a butler. He had a fuzz of close-cropped dark hair on his head and unfortunately large ears. However, his height often overshadowed his remarkable ears.

It was a rare person that could make Stephen feel like the second-tallest man in a room.

“Nothing from Theodore, I see,” Stephen sighed. “Is the man so wrapped up in his new wife that he can’t dash off a few sentences to his oldest friend? Shocking, shocking.”

“Young love is said to be remarkably preoccupying, Your Grace,” Mouse said, with the staunchness of a man who is not sure he approves of any such thing.

“Very true, very true. What time is dinner, Mouse?”

“Half past eight, Your Grace. It could be ready sooner, by about half an hour, if you would prefer.”

Stephen glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. He had plenty of time to finish his work. There were things to do concerning the estate that could not wait. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much else to do tonight.

The Season was in full swing, and that meant parties and balls and trips to Vauxhall most nights. Stephen was invited to most of them, despite the promise he’d made to his mother a full year ago. However, respectable families did keep their debutante daughters away from him. A few widows and ladies on their second, third, and fourth Seasons glanced his way, but it was easy enough to sidestep them.

He turned down most of the invitations he received. His arrival at any party was sure to make it into a gossip column. For Miss Periwinkle, for example, his arrival at her coming-out ball would have everybody talking, terrified that he was about to seduce the sweet, innocent young girl. Gentlemen and chevaliers would rush to her defense, and she could take her pick from among them.

Miss Periwinkle was a nice enough girl, and her family had always been pleasant to Stephen. If his attendance at her coming-out ball could increase the likelihood of her securing a good match, then so be it.

Not that marriage was a good thing, naturally. At least, not for people like him, and it had brought nothing good to his mother. Stephen would rather have encouraged her to avoid it, but that was not practical for ladies, even if she would have listened to him.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Yes, there was not much to do tonight but work, eat alone, and then retire to bed.

“Eight o’clock sounds fine, Mouse.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

The butler bowed himself out, leaving Stephen alone. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece, counting out the seconds.

Abruptly, Stephen got to his feet and crossed to the window. Outside, the streets were dark and slick with rain. The weather was bad this Season, threatening the flimsy slippers and thin shawls ladies liked to wear.

He paused, squinting down as a hackney cab approached his house. Sure enough, it stopped outside his door.

Who could it be? At this time of night?

He entertained a brief hope of his mother visiting, or perhaps even Theodore and his new wife, Anna, but of course that was nonsense. None of them would require a hired cab.

A cloaked, hunched-over creature descended from the cab and rapidly disappeared from his field of vision. He stood by the window, waiting for the inevitable knock and subsequent creak of Mouse’s footsteps.

The butler stepped inside the study, looking disgruntled. “Your Grace, a lady is here.”

“A lady?” Stephen echoed. “What is her name?”

“She will not give it. She is being particularly shifty, Your Grace.”

“I can imagine. Well, I don’t have time to see a lady right now.”

“It’s just that…” Mouse paused, shifting in uncharacteristic discomfort. “It’s just that I believe she is a lady, Your Grace. A proper one. Not…” he trailed off.

Stephen chuckled. “Not like the usual ladies I spend my time with?”

“I did not say that, Your Grace.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t have time to see any ladies right now. Tell her that I’m about to sit down to dinner, or make up some suitable excuse. Give her one of my cards and tell her to make an appointment.”

Mouse bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He disappeared, leaving Stephen standing alone again.

Absently, Stephen dropped his hand to the wooden surface of the desk, drumming his fingers.

What sort of lady would call on a man—a man like him into the bargain—at such a late hour? In the dark ? During the Season, when London was full of prying eyes? She was clearly nobody important, or Mouse would have recognized her.

Curiosity fizzled inside him, and he bit back a sigh.

“Mouse!” he called, his voice carrying easily down the hallway. “I’ve changed my mind. Send her up.”

Stephen had plenty of time to settle behind his desk again, composing himself before the arrival of his mysterious guest. Mouse arrived first, his lips pressed together in disapproval. Behind him followed the cloaked figure, almost comically smaller.

She could have been no taller than five feet one or two inches. Even under the cloak, it was clear that she had a full figure, much stockier than the willowy shapes favored by Society.

Stephen rose and flashed an agreeable smile. “I am not often surprised, Madam, but you have surprised me tonight. Thank you.”

The woman tossed back her hood. “No thanks are necessary. I am not here to surprise you. I am here to talk to you, and if you aren’t going to take me seriously, I might as well leave.”

Stephen blinked, taken aback. For one thing, the girl was remarkably beautiful, far prettier than he had expected. She had glittering reddish-gold hair—a very unusual shade—and creamy, pale skin. As he had guessed, she was plump, the curve of her bosom disappointingly hidden beneath her cloak. Still, a man could imagine, could he not?

Her face was round, her lips small and red and pursed, her nose small and spattered with freckles, and she had large, clear hazel eyes peering out from behind round, wire-rimmed spectacles.

Now, he knew that spectacles were unfashionable. Unless a lady had the most dreadful squint, she would condemn herself to a blurry world and a lifetime of not quite seeing clearly, rather than ruin her face with spectacles.

This lady clearly had no such scruples.

“May I sit?” she asked coolly, breaking into his reverie.

“But of course,” he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his. “My butler will take your cloak.”

She clutched at the garment as if for support. “No, thank you.”

He bowed his head. “Very well. Mouse, bring tea.”

“I don’t want tea.”

“It is not about wanting tea,” Stephen responded gently. “Tea must simply happen at an occasion like this. I do hope you are not an anarchist, Madam.”

She flushed ever so slightly and turned her gaze to the carpet. Her feet did not quite touch the floor, Stephen noted. Perhaps he should have suggested she sit in a lower chair. Oh well, too late now.

Mouse took his dismissal from Stephen’s swift gesture, slipping out of the room on velvet feet and closing the door behind him.

Stephen did not return to his seat. He perched on the edge of his desk, where he could look down at his unexpected guest.

“I know you,” he said when it seemed that she was not going to break the silence anytime soon. “You are Miss Haversham. I recognized you when you came in.”

She blushed again. She did look pretty when she blushed, Stephen noted. He supposed it was a redhead’s curse to blush more often than they would like. His friend, Theodore, had a headful of auburn hair and a tendency to turn red as a beet at the slightest provocation.

“You are right, I am Beatrice Haversham,” she said in a rush. “I am Anna’s friend. We met at the wedding. Well, I do not believe we were actually introduced, but… oh, that hardly matters now.”

“Miss Haversham, of course,” Stephen murmured, allowing himself a small smile. He hated not knowing. “You are the daughter of the Viscount Darnley, yes?”

She nodded tightly. “Yes, that is I.”

He remembered her now, albeit vaguely. She had been one of Anna’s bridesmaids and darted here and there during the wedding breakfast, making sure everything was perfect for her friend. He could recall a hint of sourness.

I’m sure she is not distraught over the loss of her closest friend.

Which was a foolish thing to think, naturally. He was not losing Theodore. He had advised him to marry, for heaven’s sake. If the reality was not quite what he had expected… well, that was his fault.

He remembered that Miss Haversham had earned a few disdainful looks from a trio of fashionable ladies, their collarbones sticking out sharply. That had annoyed him. Bodies, after all, came in many shapes and sizes, all entirely serviceable. Those ladies were probably just envious of Miss Haversham’s bosom. She had more than all three of them put together.

He cleared his throat, focusing on the now. Miss Haversham was glancing about warily as if expecting monsters to leap at her from every corner. She kept playing with the string of her cloak—a nervous habit. The cloak was a dull gray, he noticed, with a similarly drab gray dress underneath. Clearly, she did not want to be seen. She wanted to blend in with the night.

“You have no maid, Miss Haversham,” he noted, deciding that she had had quite enough time to regain her composure. “That is not exactly proper.”

The girl bit her lip. “Yes, I know.”

“Your reputation would be in tatters if anyone knew,” he pointed out gently as if it might not have already occurred to her.

She met his eyes squarely. “Well, I don’t intend to tell anyone. Do you?”

He blinked. “You are remarkably forward, Miss Haversham, I must say.”

He hadn’t exactly meant to say that. It just… Well, it just came out.

Stephen was not sure how pleased he felt about that. He preferred to weigh every word before it left his mouth. Words could not, after all, be taken back any more than one could recall a bullet after firing it.

She lifted her gingery eyebrows, fixing that cool, hazel gaze on him. “Would you prefer if I demurred a little more? I could have an attack of shyness for about ten or fifteen minutes if you like, and you could coax me out of it. I could even have a fit of the vapors if you like. Do you have smelling salts, or shall you simply tap my hand and worry about my health? Or I could simply tell you what I came here for. What do you say?”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then let out a slow, deep chuckle.

Stephen was aware that his smile—wide, white, wolfish—and his laughter tended to be a little disconcerting. It was mainly because his smile and his laughter did not quite reach his eyes, or so people had said.

Miss Haversham looked suitably nervous, shifting in her seat.

“I always enjoy being surprised,” he said, at last. “And you, Miss Haversham, are a welcome treat from the monotony of Society. Congratulations.”

Before she could respond, the door opened and Mouse appeared, bearing a tea tray. He set down the tray on the desk and melted away without another word.

For the first time, Stephen noticed that Miss Haversham was not wearing gloves. An oversight, he thought, considering how cold it could get at night. Her fingers were white with cold, the nails blue. She inched eagerly towards the steaming teapot, then hesitated, glancing up at him.

“You may pour us each a cup if you like, Miss Haversham,” he remarked, adjusting his cuffs. Best not to let her know he was doing her a favor.

She said nothing, only pouring two cups. As she was adding the milk, Stephen glanced down and froze.

The neckline of her gown was rather low, curving far below her collarbones, and when she leaned forward, he was afforded quite a view of her generous milky breasts.

She carefully stirred the tea in both cups, never once glancing up.

“If you don’t stop looking down my dress, Your Grace, I shall throw this cup of tea in your face,” she warned, her voice even and entirely placid.

He blinked, coming back to himself. “I have no idea what you mean.”

She said nothing, only pushing one cup and saucer towards him, taking her own back with her when she leaned back in her chair.

“Well, Miss Haversham,” Stephen said, “you have talked a great deal about forthrightness and honesty, and yet I have no more idea of what you want from me than when you entered my home. Am I any closer to getting the answer?”

She flushed, looking away. “You must think terribly of me.”

“I don’t form opinions until it suits me to do so,” he responded.

“No? Well, I am considered as something of a bluestocking in Society, so I have a great many opinions.”

“Hm. Interesting. Don’t you find that opinions only narrow your view of the world?”

She frowned. “No, of course not. They expand it. We cannot possibly explore and understand the world around us without first forming our own opinions. Otherwise, we would be like… like babies, wobbling through life without understanding or even compassion.”

“Compassion?” he echoed. “Dear me, no. Such a thing only gets in the way.”

“Of course you would think that,” she muttered, taking a sip of her tea. “You might not know me, but I know you, Your Grace. I know that they call you Duke Blackheart, and for good reason.”

Abruptly, Stephen leaned forward and down, coming almost nose-to-nose with the girl. She squeaked in surprise, flinching backward. Tea spilled out of her cup, pooling in the saucer.

“You do not know me, Miss Haversham,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. “You think you might. You know my nickname and some of the things I am rumored to have done. But you do not know me, and don’t ever presume to believe that you do. And despite this awful opinion you hold of me, here you are. Do you care to explain that , my dear?”

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. He leaned back, a little shocked at how hard his heart was pumping. Blood pounded in his ears, pooling in his gut and threatening to descend to other areas.

Wretched woman. Spoiling my supper.

“I suppose I ought to get to the point,” she managed. “You see, I’m here because I heard that you deal in information, Your Grace. And I need… I need you to find out something.”