The Casanova Code (13 page)

“Because I’m finding it difficult to trust your sincerity in the midst of such stories.” She glanced up from her pages, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Those tales are from years ago.”

“Last night was last night,” she countered. She quickly looked right and left and lowered her voice. “Why did you do that?”

“I couldn’t help myself,” he replied. In that moment he knew it was the truth. While he recognized that kissing her was not the wisest course of action, it was a most pleasant one. “You looked lovely wrapped in cherry blossoms, standing in the moonlight.”

She harrumphed and returned to her deciphering task.

Suddenly, her aloofness made sense. Between her departure last evening and now, someone had filled her head with stories from long ago. Hadn’t he already explained that his time in the King’s Rifles had changed his ways? “Is that the reason for the company of your friends? Are they protecting you from my alleged dubious grasp?”

She didn’t respond immediately, but her pen had stopped its forward progress. “Are you going to just sit there and watch me?” she hissed.

“If there is some other matter in which I can be of assistance . . .”

She glanced up. “No. In fact, I believe you’ve done enough. The work is quite tedious and is probably best if done with a certain element of privacy. Let us meet in two weeks and I’ll report my progress.”

“Two weeks? I had thought you’d be able to unravel the mystery before then.”
Two weeks!
He’d have to live in his father’s residence not knowing if he lived among traitors and spies for two long weeks?

“You must not grasp the difficulty.” She placed her pen down and appraised him without humor. “Some codes are never broken. I did mention last night that it could take months.”

He looked out a window, gnawing at his lip. “I thought you meant that as an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “How could you interpret such a statement as an invitation?”

Now who felt the dullard? “I thought . . .” He tried to think of a way to explain without sounding like a presumptuous fool, and came up empty. He had no choice but to admit his error and hope for mercy. “I thought you were encouraging me to meet with you on a frequent basis.” His lips raised at the corners. “And you’ll recall that I agreed most urgently.”

She stared at him with disbelief for a moment, then her eyes crinkled with humor. Her shoulders relaxed, which, in turn, lightened his mood.

“Perhaps it would help if we knew from whom or from where the letter originated,” Edwina said. “What became of the brown paper that wrapped the pillow”—color heightened in her cheeks—“the purchase?”

He had to think for a moment. “It may still be in the chamber. I haven’t returned since that night.” Something akin to panic flashed in her eyes. His focus narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she answered quickly and studied her journal, but she was hiding something. A silent warning sounded in his head. He thought he’d finally found someone he could trust, only to discover this. Strange that his mention of returning to the chamber spooked her.

“Your father’s freight business would have delivered the package,” she continued. “Would there be a record? Some sort of journal that would indicate the individual who sent the package? Their origin or route?”

Not only was she hiding a secret of hers, but she thought nothing of asking the impossible of him. “You wish me to speak to my father about the coded message? What if he is the recipient?”

“You don’t have to mention the message,” she explained quietly. “Just the package. Perhaps if you’d expressed an interest in the process . . .”

Gloom shaded his thoughts. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m not certain what you mean,” she said, obviously innocent of the relationship between himself and his father. A relationship not enhanced by his father’s choice of bride.

“My father wishes that I join him in the drayage business. If I were to approach him—”

“Is that such a bad thing? Working alongside your father?”

Now that was unexpected. Most of the women he had met would shrink from the idea of his working anywhere. His father’s allowance allowed him to live sufficiently, so in their minds, there was no need for him to actually earn a wage. Truth be told, though, he wasn’t comfortable living on his father’s coin. He’d much prefer to have his own means . . . but without any discernable skills, that possibility led nowhere. If he were to join his father in drayage . . . ? “I’m not certain my interests follow that pursuit,” he quickly replied.

“If your interests include discovering who sent that letter, I would think learning its route would provide the proper start,” she challenged.

“How could studying the backside of a Clydesdale possibly assist our discovery of the initiator of that note?” He couldn’t keep his irritation from his voice.

“Think. You would be privy to the inner workings of the business,” she explained. “If books of record exist notating the senders of packages, you would know where they were kept. Perhaps you’d even know if similar packages were sent to your father’s business associates, or to your father? You’d learn the delivery routes taken in the event that the note was inserted in the pillow . . . purchase . . . while en route. As you don’t wish to approach your father with questions, you’d be able to find the answers yourself.”

Damn the woman! Need she be so determined? While he could appreciate her logic, he wasn’t certain he appreciated her conclusion. “You wish me to drive a freight cart?”

She tilted her head just a fraction and just looked at him. It was answer enough.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll be driving a cart,” she said. “Your father’s respect for you—”

“Respect.” He snorted. “Therein lies the difficulty. He considers me a dandy whose only apparent skill was in the selection of his future wife.” He’d even failed at that if one considered the tension that simmered at home.

“Perhaps this would give your father an opportunity to appreciate your other talents,” she counseled.

That was unlikely. His father had ignored him for most of his life. Why would he take an interest now? Still, should his father insist he drive a cart, he’d escape Constance’s attempts to reinsert him into a social structure for which he had little use. He’d escape the powder keg of his father’s household. He’d have time to think about the future. And while it would be unlikely that he’d earn the respect of his father, the set of Edwina’s chin suggested it might earn hers.

“I suppose if it will help in deciphering the purpose of the message, it is necessary,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Most likely I won’t be in London to hear of your deciphering progress.” He glanced at her face, but even that pronouncement did not earn him sympathy. Then it occurred to him that traveling the length and breadth of England must seem a reward and not a punishment to one whose soft blue eyes lit inexplicably at the mention of adventure.

This certainly wasn’t the conclusion he’d anticipated when he arrived at the Crescent in such high spirits. Which reminded him . . . “I’ve brought something for you.”

He removed the cylinder wrapped in brown paper from his pocket. Her eyes widened, but not with appreciation. “Do not assume I’m one of your conquests, Mr. Trewelyn.” She regarded the package as if it were a poisonous viper. Her journal closed with an audible thud and she hastily retied the ribbon. “I didn’t fail to notice the number of fluttering Japanese fans last evening.” She stood, gathering her belongings. “Keep your fan for your next paramour.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your next Mistress of Cherry Blossoms.”

“Edwina, wait!’ But she didn’t. She hurried to the table where her friends lingered. Then after a shared glare in his direction, the three turned as one and headed for the door.

He looked at the small spyglass wrapped in brown paper. Fan? Why did she believe the package contained a fan? In light of their discussion of the constellations, he had thought she’d enjoy the spyglass. It had been at least six years since he’d given a woman a fan, and that was for . . . Damnation! His jaw set. He’d forgotten that a Japanese fan had once been considered his unique personal gift to women with whom he’d enjoyed a special relationship. He hadn’t paid attention to the women’s adornments last evening, but clearly Edwina had. Obviously, the path to Edwina’s respect was not to be paved in gifts. He supposed he should be grateful for that.
No.
She demanded a higher price that required humiliation and self-sacrifice.

• • •

C
LAIRE
GLARED
AT
E
DWINA
ONCE
THEY
HAD
LEFT
THE
Crescent. “You still intend to work with that man after what Mr. Thomas told you about his sister?”

“I don’t think Mr. Trewelyn was responsible for that,” Edwina replied.

“He’s a rake, Edwina, and he’s leading you down the garden path.” Claire shook her head in disgust. “How can we protect innocents from a rake’s grasp if we can’t even protect our own?”

“Enough, Claire,” Faith quietly scolded. “You’ve always championed women’s rights, now champion Edwina’s right to choose her own course of action.”

Edwina smiled her gratitude.

“You do know what you’re about?” Faith asked quietly. “You’ve given consideration to Mr. Thomas’s wishes in this matter?”

“I’m assisting in decoding a note,” Edwina insisted. “Nothing more.” Though she wondered if that were true. The lure of testing her abilities against the letter was strong enough that she was determined to honor the agreed-upon rendezvous this afternoon, but not without the support of the Rake Patrol. The presence of so many Japanese fans last night, which she suspected was connected to Casanova, combined with Walter’s suggestion that Trewelyn was attached to his sister’s untimely death, had kept sleep at bay half the night . . . or perhaps it was that kiss that caused her to resist sleep. She sighed at the memory.

“Did you say something?” Faith asked.

Edwina shook her head. “Just tired from the late evening, I suppose. I was just reminding myself not to be swayed by Casanova’s abundant charms.”

Faith nodded. “Good advice.”

• • •

A
SHTON
ASSUMED
HIS
FATHER
WOULD
BE
IN
HIS
STUDY
. Ever since Ashton had returned to his father’s residence, he’d noted it was the one room his father rarely left. A knock on the doorframe caused his father to pause in rolling an inked stamp of Falcon Freight’s trademark—a falcon head enclosed in a circle—across an envelope. “It’s our
mon
,” his father had explained when he was a boy. “An emblem the Japanese use to distinguish a family or organization. Falcons are fierce fighters that fly at high speeds, like us,” he had said, patting his chest. Strange that even as a young boy, he hadn’t asked why his father had adopted a Japanese symbol for his business. At the time Ashton seemed to recall many Japanese influences in the home. More so than now.

Two Japanese swords with elaborately tooled hilts hung on his father’s study wall: a
katana
and its shorter companion sword, a
wakizashi
. Both were suspended by four fiercely decorated netsukes. He’d have to show these to Edwina so she could see that not all the netsukes were as . . . stimulating as those in the gallery.

His father flitted his gaze briefly over Ashton before he intently returned to applying the
mon
to papers scattered across his desk. “What is it now?” he asked.

Ashton’s lips twisted. Nothing had changed. He was as ignored now as he had been in earlier years.

“Is the night watch at our door searching for another missing female?” his father groused. “Have the servants not procured enough wine and spirits to meet your entertainments?” He glanced up, annoyance in his expression. “I’m a busy man, Ashton. I haven’t much time to invest in your exploits, or those of your stepmother.”

“Yes. I know your time is precious.” Too well, Ashton was tempted to add, but refrained. “I realize I’ve had a working relationship with most of the vices known to man, but you may have noticed that those days are behind me.” Ashton straightened, planting his walking stick securely by his side. “While in the King’s Royal Rifles, I became known not only for my shooting abilities but also as a man of courage and honor.”

“And a talented figure with the ladies, I’ve no doubt,” his father sneered.

Ashton lowered himself to a chair opposite his father’s desk. “I suppose you’re as much to blame for that. I’m told the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He used the tip of his stick to tap the pillow book on the corner of the desk.

His father chortled, the first sign of humor Ashton had seen in far too long. “I was young once myself, you know.” His father lifted the pillow book and placed it out of sight in his desk drawer. “Shouldn’t leave that out for the servants to find.”

Ashton noted that he hadn’t mentioned a concern that Constance discover the book. Then again, he imagined the book held no surprises for Constance. Edwina, on the other hand . . .

“I appreciate your assistance in hiding the book earlier. Questions about it would have been awkward.” There was something about the set of his father’s lips that suggested the awkwardness had not been totally avoided. “You didn’t happen to notice a note or letter that might have come with the package?”

“A note?” Ashton drew his brows together. “What sort of note?”

“Nothing to be concerned about,” his father said, turning his attention back to his papers. “There often is a letter that comes with these acquisitions, that’s all. Business details. Nothing to concern you.”

Business details would not likely be set in code. His father’s anticipation confirmed he, and not some other member of the household, or member of the Guardians, was the targeted recipient. Ashton quickly scanned the room, looking for something that might serve as the key for the coded text, but saw nothing beyond the paintings of frigates on the wall and papers scattered about the desk. Remembering Lord Rothwell’s cautionary advice, Ashton was even more conflicted about placing himself in the employ of someone possibly disloyal to the Crown.