Three Times the Scandal (20 page)

Her nipples stiffened against her stays, but she didn’t touch them, just remained focused on how his teasing strokes had changed into a concentrated squeeze. He would come quite quickly she supposed.

Her gaze wandered back to his face. There were blue flecks nestled among the pale grey of his eyes.

“
I’ll warrant this isn’t what you expected to be doing when you climbed down that ladder with Giles.”

“
No.” But was any of what had passed? She’d never had any clear expectations, beyond a lunatic coach ride and rough seduction upon the seats, clothing pushed aside and a hasty coupling. Part of her had longed for that. She’d wanted to feel something, to know that she was desired. All manner of emotions bruised her now. Free love. It did not feel terribly free to her, more an abandonment of love in favour of lewdity. She was as caged in this house as she’d been in her family home. What she wanted was real freedom.

Neddy rested a hand against her thigh. It would be easy to throw her leg across his hips and slide onto him, ride him hard. He’d fill her up, make her feel, bring her to that pinnacle of bliss, but she knew that something would be missing. It was the same vital something that sent ripples of excitement racing down her throat and gripped at her heart whenever Giles kissed her.

“
Will he allow himself to love me?” she asked Neddy.

Ned drew his hand from his cock as if he’d been scalded. “Jeezus! Is this really the moment?”

Determined to hide the emotional strain she felt, Fortuna nibbled her lower lip. She glanced at his cock, still hard against his stomach. “I’m sorry. I meant you no disrespect.” How cruel she’d been, thinking of another when he was spread before her like a banquet.

“
Hey!” Neddy pulled her into his arms, and she sobbed into his chest, her face pushed deep into his clothing so that his scent surrounded her. “It’s all right,” he soothed.

“
No. It’s not. I’m stuck here, out of my depth. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I should do anymore. I’ve given myself to two men and I’ve flirted with a third. How am I supposed to raise my head and face people, knowing that? I don’t want them to know that. I don’t want to face my family, but I miss them. I hate Sir Hector. Why won’t he forget about me? Why can’t Giles simply elope with me?”

Neddy eased her away from his body and brushed the tear streaks from her face. “You wouldn’t have wanted that two days ago. Put the idea of him marrying him out of your head. He’ll do much for you, Fortuna. He’ll love you. But don’t fool yourself into thinking he’ll do that.”

* * * * *

“
Simcock!”

“
Pimcock,” Giles hissed in a feeble attempt to get Archie Gibbons to lower his voice. The old whisky barrel, as he’d been affectionately dubbed by some of the bloods, was ensconced in his typical chair at Brooks’s—the same chair he’d occupied almost from the club’s instigation—nursing a large tumbler of Scotland’s finest, recently poured from the bottle Giles had provided.

“
Aye, I remember him. Member of the Royal Society. Always polishing up bits of rock.”

“
Yes, that’s him,” Giles agreed, though he wasn’t sure Gibbons actually heard him. The gamblers in the adjoining room were being atrociously loud.

“
He went out to India not so long ago.” Gibbons continued, his eyes somewhat glazed. “After the death of his wife, it was. Said he’d failed her. That he’d made a promise which he hadn’t kept, but he was going to correct that.”

“
He was looking for something?” Giles hunched by Gibbon’s silk encased knee, glanced up at Darleston seeking approval. This was awkward. Damn awkward. He’d have preferred to speak to Gibbon’s in private, but the old man was an immovable object when it came to
his
chair. It wasn’t unusual for him to pass days at a time in its cracked leather embrace. Still at least the noise was drowning out the conversation to idle listeners. He didn’t want anyone connecting him to Fortuna, regardless of how tenuously.

“
You’ll have to speak up, boy.” Gibbons bellowed.

Darleston rolled his eyes. He turned his back on the pair and stood across the entrance to the alcove in which they sat, shielding it from view.

“
You said he was searching for something,” continued Giles.

“
Yes, that’s right. Pimcock. He was obsessed with the Star of Fortune. It’s a hulking great ruby his family owned. Mrs. Pimcock used to wear it so it nestled between her tits. That was a sight, I can tell you.” He winked at Giles. “She used to bolster them up so they stuck out like a yardarm and then balance the centrepiece of that necklace of hers on top. I spent many a fine evening admiring those jewels.”

Confused, Giles frowned at the whiskery old man. “But it was a fake?”

Gibbons heaved his considerable bulk forward in the chair. “Aye. Didn’t I just tell you that? He didn’t go off to find the real thing until she’d clocked it. Said his father had exchanged the original for a night with some princess.”

“
I think that’s hardly likely,” shouted Giles, but Gibbons merely shrugged. At least his story matched Fortuna’s—that James Pimcock had gone to India looking for the Star of Fortune, but there was still nothing to suggest he’d actually found the damn thing. The gift awaiting Fortuna was likely enough the fake his wife had once flaunted.

“
Didn’t look right on her in that casket,” Gibbons piped up, his tone nostalgic and his eyes rheumy. “It kept sliding so that she looked as if she had a great gash in her throat. Red doesn’t look so well on a corpse.”

Giles stood abruptly. “He buried her in it!”

“
Have you wax in your lugs?” said Gibbons. He peered up at Giles with a deep frown wrinkling his webbed brow.

The remark drew a chuckle from Darleston, which told Giles his friend had heard enough of the conversation to save him the effort of relating it afterwards.

“
Wasn’t it passed on to anyone?”

Archie Gibbons's milky eyes focused intently upon him for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I just said he buried her in it. There were no children, and it was paste. Everybody knew it.”

Giles shook the old man’s hand. “Thank you. You’ve been an enormous help.” He turned away and gave Darleston a shove to coax him out of the alcove. “Did you catch all of that?”

“
Enough to know that that ruby should be six feet under, not sitting in a solicitor’s office. Macleane must suspect it’s not a fake, but what about her family?”

They worked their way through the subscription room, Darleston leading. The raucous noise was coming from a high-staked game of hazard. Judging by the somewhat noxious scent and dishevelled appearances of the players, many of whom had been there since the previous night. Darleston suddenly raised his hand to bring Giles to a halt. “Speaking of family,” he hissed.

Expecting to see Darleston’s father, the Earl of Onnerley, Giles was momentarily confused by the absence of that oft pastel-clad gentleman. Instead another gentleman staggered across their path, supported by a younger golden-haired youth, Fortuna’s father and brother. Guilt surged through Giles like a hot blast of air. Suddenly warm about the collar, he bowed his head and tweaked his starched cravat, pretending not to notice the pair. Although he was not formally acquainted with Mr. Allenthorpe, he’d been introduced to Gabriel at Pennerley’s phantasmagoria. He had no wish to cut the young man, but conversation was going to be dashed awkward. Luckily, Darleston had no such qualms.

“
Mr. Allenthorpe and Mr. Gabriel Allenthorpe.” Darleston inclined his head and shook hands with them both. “Were you on your way out?”

“
No.” Mr. Allenthorpe swayed drunkenly against his son. “Just need to use the pisspot, milord.”

“
Ah,” Darleston smiled amiably, but Gabriel’s youthful features were distorted by a scowl.

“
Sir,” he implored of his father. “This insistence isn’t aiding us. It would be better if we returned home to dinner with the girls now. Mama is expecting us.” His grip tightened around the older man’s upper arm, but even in his cups Mr. Allenthorpe was more than a match for his son, his bulk a solid wall of resilience against the younger man’s untried brawn. Gabriel’s gaze hove towards the ring of men around the Hazard table and the angular visage of the exiled Vicomte de Maresi. “Vicomte,” he implored. “Will you not aid me?”

The Frenchman’s hooded eyes lowered and flicked open again, while he swiped a spot of lint from his exquisitely tailored breeches. “It is not my place to interfere, Gabriel.” The look that passed between them suggested the Vicomte’s help could be bought, but not at a price Gabriel was prepared to pay. Giles suddenly found himself stepping forward, and hooking an arm beneath Mr. Allenthorpe’s shoulder.

“
Darleston, go and flag down a coachman. I believe these gentlemen require our assistance.” Embarrassment and guilt momentarily pushed aside, Giles shared a flash of mirth with Gabriel at the look of profound incredulity on Darleston’s face. His lordship was used to directing servants to perform such menial tasks. That and he customarily travelled around in his private carriage; public coaches were not within his field of provenance, nor did that change once they were on St James’s Street. Instead he instructed his own coachman to take the misters Allenthorpe home, leaving himself and Giles to return to Fortuna on foot.

“
Was that a drink or a gambling problem I spied?” Darleston asked as they waved them on their way.

Giles raked his teeth across his upper lip. “I’m not sure, but the more pieces that come together, the less I like this particular puzzle. I’ve a horrid feeling that Fortuna doesn’t know the half of what she’s being coerced into. And an equally horrid feeling that there’s no easy solution.”

“
One moment,” said Darleston, and he ducked back inside the door of Brooks’s. “I just want to check something.”

A second later, Giles also headed back inside. He found his friend consulting the book of wagers that always stood open for members to add to and peruse.

Darleston ran one of his long elegant fingers under an entry from the previous June. “Do you think the fool realized?” he asked.

Giles felt the warmth drain from his face as he read the text. He slapped his cheeks, hoping to raise enough colour so that he didn’t look bloodless. “I sincerely hope to God not, but I suspect he knows its true value now, which is why he’s hiding in his cups.”

* * * * *

“
Are you sure this is the right place?” Alicia glanced around nervously at the square of houses. Having descended from the family carriage, she and Mae now stood facing the steps up to Dovecote’s front door. It was black, with a bronze knocker shaped into the head of a bird with a sharp beak and vicious-looking claws.

“
I’m sure.” Mae took her hand and led her up the steep steps. “I’ve been here before with Mama when we came to call on his sister before she married Morton, and there’s no forgetting that knocker. I’ve not seen another like it.”

“
It’s hideous,” remarked Alicia.

Mae reached for the bronze sentinel. “Now remember—” a nervous giggle escaped her lips as she tapped upon the door “—we’re here collecting for a charity that supports impoverished young women and war orphans.”

“
I know.”

“
Sh, quiet! I hear someone.”

The door opened with a slight squeak. “Yes?” asked Dovecote’s man. His brows rose, and then pulled down low as if to compensate for his initial surprise at finding two ladies upon his master’s doorstep.

Mae beamed at him, and handed him her muff. “We wondered if we might speak with Mr. Dovecote about our charitable endeavours. I’m Miss Mae Allenthorpe, and this is my sister.”

“
Indeed. I’m afraid the master isn’t home at present. Perhaps if you left a card he could arrange an appropriate time to discuss your
charity
work
?”

Cards? They each made a show of searching through reticules, but of course neither of them had one with the charities’ details printed upon it, in the end Alicia handed over one of her calling cards and requested that a message be added. She was just dictating the message when footsteps came up behind them.

“
What’s all this? It seems you have guests, Giles.”

Alicia turned in time to see Lord Darleston swinging himself around the iron railing bordering the street, whereupon he jogged up the steps towards them, his red hair flying loose around his shoulders. He strolled passed Alicia and Mae and into the house.

Mr. Dovecote followed him up the steps. “Why haven’t you shown the ladies in, Leach?” He guided them all past his man and over the threshold. “This is a rare pleasure, ladies. We’ll take tea in the drawing room.”

His servant grunted in acknowledgement, and Alicia watched Dovecote exchange a troubled glance with Lord Darleston before they tried to usher them into the drawing room. “Wait!” She stopped abruptly at the base of the stairs. They were hiding something and she wasn’t going to be fobbed off with tea. “Fortuna! Where is my sister?”

Mae gasped. The two men guardedly crossed their arms.

“
Fortuna!” she called again. Restraint flown and a sudden certainty spurring her forwards, Alicia charged for the stairs. Fingers brushed her pelisse as Lord Darleston reached out to stop her, but she jerked out of reach.

“
Alicia!”

She was aware of movement behind her, and the echo of numerous footsteps.