A Lady's Secret Weapon (9 page)

“This way, then,” he said.

Once they entered his study, he closed the door and motioned her toward the sapphire sofa. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“No, thank you.” She perched on the edge, angling her body toward the adjacent chair. But the irritating man sat next to her and reclined in a manner that put her erect posture in direct contrast with his informal one. With his long arm stretched across the back of the sofa and his legs spread wide, he reeked of arrogance and a complete lack of regard for propriety.

He also warmed the air around her.

“Tell me, Miss Hunt,” he said. “What business do you have with Abbingale Home?”

Shock gripped her body, turning her poker-straight spine into a rod of cold steel. “Pardon?”

“The home for orphans. On White Horse Lane,” he said. “I’m curious about your interest.”

She had been wrong. About him and his reason for insisting on this private meeting. He’d lured her here, not for a warm kiss, but for a frigid slap to the face. By changing his tactic from seduction to a full-frontal attack, he no doubt hoped to throw her off-balance, shatter her nerves, and make her careless.

His ploy had worked—to a point. He’d cracked her armor but bolstered her resolve.

“I can hear your thoughts groping for the right response,” he said. “Why don’t you spare us both the time and energy of a verbal fencing match and simply answer my question?”

“How is it you know about my visits to Abbingale?”

“I happened to be in the area,” he said with a shrug, “and saw you leaving.”

“What were you doing in the area?”

“Taking in the scenery, of course.”

“Of course.” Had Lord Somerton sent one of his agents to investigate the boys’ home? She wouldn’t be surprised. Her contact with the Nexus had mentioned the possibility of a connection between Abbingale and Latymer, but he hadn’t asked her to probe into the home’s operation, only to find the baron.

Since Lord Danforth knew nothing about her underground ring of spies, he would rightly be curious about her and her interest in Abbingale.
If
she had done something to spark his curiosity. Her visit to the establishment didn’t seem enough to warrant such focused attention.

“When might that have been, my lord?” she asked. “When did you see me leave Abbingale?”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “I don’t recall the exact day.”

“Not today, then.”

“No.”

“Yesterday, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“Not likely, as I did not visit Abbingale yesterday.”

“I told you,” he said between thin lips. “I couldn’t recall the exact day.”

“Come now,” she said in a teasing tone. “Are you so busy that you cannot even recall your schedule from one day ago?”

“Since my memory is so faulty, we might have more success if you list the days you were there. Your superior recall might trigger a memory in my poor mind.”

“I heard once that exercise keeps us young in body and keen of wit. Could it be that your aristocratic indulgences have turned your mind to mush?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Entirely possible.”

“I take it that my association with Abbingale, and not the details involved with adding more servants to your staff, is the true impetus behind your wish for our tête-à-tête.”

“Is this your way of avoiding my question?”

“I am merely looking for clarification.” She eased herself back to match his indolent pose. “What does my visiting a home for orphans have to do with our discussion regarding your staff?”

His fingers brushed against the sofa near her shoulder. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Do you even need the extra staff?”

“I’ve come to realize the maid, footman, and valet would be welcome additions. So I’ll still need your agency’s services.”

“And what of a new butler?”

“No,” he said with shocking honesty. “Tanner will still be ruling this household from his deathbed, and when he does eventually kick up his toes, he’ll probably be entombed next to the silver, so that his ghostly presence can continue plaguing me for years to come.”

“And the remuneration for your present staff?”

“I should like to make sure I’m paying them an adequate wage and would like to discuss providing them with more time off. It’s my understanding that your services extend to these areas.”

“Indeed, they do. Why make all these changes now?”

“Let’s say my eyes have been recently opened to the deplorable conditions of those in service.”

“I applaud your actions.” She leveled her gaze on him. “But I’m curious about your original request for my agency’s services. Do you always take such extreme measures after seeing a stranger leave an establishment you have an interest in?”

“I do not.”

“An impulsive act, then?”

All levity disappeared from his features. “Strategy can oftentimes be confused with impulsivity, Miss Hunt.” His gaze shifted to the small vee of space between her shoulder and the sofa. “Don’t make the same mistake others have.”

She knew better than to underestimate this man. Everything he did, he did with purpose. “Strategy? A rather interesting choice of words.”

“We live in an interesting world.”

Lifting a brow, she asked, “Why the ruse? Why did you not ask your rather direct question at the agency yesterday?”

He tilted his head to the side. “I didn’t think you would answer the question, at the time.”

“What makes you think I’ll answer it now?”

“
Touché
.” He considered her for a long moment. “You presented me with a mystery. One I felt deserved a slightly more covert approach to solving, Miss Hunt, or perhaps you prefer Mrs. Henshaw.”

Her earlier shock was nothing compared to her reaction at hearing him use the name of her alternate identity. Not only had he noticed her leaving the boys’ home, he must have been close enough to overhear her conversations with Abbingale’s staff. But when? How? If he had been anywhere near the building, she would have noticed him.

Except for today. She hadn’t been aware of anything but the open doorway leading out to her carriage. Her previous visit was another matter, however. She turned her mind back to her brief tour on Wednesday. There had been a small exchange just outside the entrance door, but she could not recall the specifics.

If he hadn’t been nearby, perhaps someone within the boys’ home had contacted him about her. For what purpose? Sydney discarded the possibility. If that had been the case, his informant would have shared the reason behind her visits. No one at Abbingale had any cause to believe she was anything other than a potential benefactress.

She was not the only one harboring secrets. “Miss Hunt will do.”

They shared a long look, an unspoken challenge between two individuals used to maintaining a high level of privacy. Neither gave in to the temptation to fill the silence or bare their soul. An impasse.

He must have realized it, too. His full lips stretched into an appreciative grin. A genuine smile. The first she’d witnessed. All the others had been manufactured to elicit a specific response from her. This one, however, was pure Ethan deBeau, and it was magnificent.

“You find something amusing, my lord?”

“No, Miss Hunt. I am merely overwhelmed with my good fortune.”

The seductive timbre of his voice whispered along the rim of her ear and caressed down the ridge of her spine. And that’s when she felt the first gentle tug. Then another… and another. He was toying with her hair. The furtive act was so innocent, yet heartbreakingly intimate. Her chest grew tight and her breaths shuddered between her lips.

She could not bring herself to scold him, for she did not want him to stop. “Did this good fortune befall you while we were speaking?”

He barked out a laugh. “Indeed, it did.” He resumed his gentle manipulation of her hair. “I am going to enjoy unraveling you, Miss Hunt. I’m going to enjoy it immensely.”

Rather than ignore his masculine boast—as she would any other gentleman of her acquaintance—she took heart. Somehow she had managed to either pique his curiosity or provoke his competitive nature. Either way, when one needed to engage in covert activities, one did not want a spy hanging about, especially a handsome, charming spy.

Changing the topic seemed a good idea, so she did. “You appear to enjoy an easy relationship with your staff.”

His grin broadened, letting her know he understood her ploy. “We’ve been together a long time. The Tanners and my sister, Cora, were my one constant after my parents were murdered.”

Feigning surprise, she exclaimed, “Murdered?”

“It happened many years ago.”

“Not so many for one to easily forget, I’m sure,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Did the authorities find the man responsible?”

His jaw tautened. “Yes.”

Sydney had witnessed the uglier side of man many times over the last few years and had learned to numb herself to its presence. So the chill that etched its way down her spine after Lord Danforth’s terse response surprised her far more than his revelation about her dual identity.

“That is good news, my lord.” Her own curiosity prompted her to ask, “How does your sister fare?”

“Quite well these days.” He angled his head around to peer out the window for a long, contemplative moment. When he turned back, his affable features were back in place. “Enough about me. I’m more interested in your association with Abbingale Home.”

She was not the only one who knew how to turn a topic. “I don’t understand why you care. It makes no sense.”

“Are you working with the matron to find apprenticeships for the young men?”

Joy rushed through her like a waterfall plunging down the face of a mountain. Had he just come up with a solution to her underlying dilemma? More than once, she had wondered what she would do if she found nothing linking Abbingale to Latymer. Leaving the boys to face such cheerless odds would have been nearly impossible. As often happened when she involved herself in the affairs of others, she became emotionally attached to the situation and sought to remedy the injustice.

Sometimes the solution was as heartbreaking as the offense.

But Lord Danforth’s intrusive query might be her answer to avoiding weeks of sorrow. For that, she would give him a truth. “No, my lord. I haven’t discussed apprenticeships with Mrs. Kingston, though your suggestion has a great deal of merit.” Perhaps other establishments like Abbingale, or even the Foundling Hospital, could use her employment services.

“Care to share the true reason for your interest?” he asked. “Or shall this be one of those mysterious, unresolved topics in our relationship?”

Given the extent of his resources and background, she doubted her interest in Abbingale would stay a mystery. What bothered her more was that he now considered their staid professional arrangement as something… more.

“Nothing mysterious about my reasons for visiting Abbingale Home,” she said. “I’m simply not accustomed to sharing my business plans with strangers.”

“Business?”

She released an exaggerated sigh. “You are rather determined, aren’t you?”

He released her hair and lounged deeper into the sofa, his pose more indolent than ever. “You have discovered my secret, Miss Hunt. Now will you share yours?”

Despite his body’s relaxed pose, the intensity captured in his expressive eyes indicated her answer was of great importance.

“If you must know,” she said, tucking a lock of hair that refused to stay pinned behind her ear, “I’m considering a donation, or possibly an annual subscription.”

His face blanked, and he stared at her. After what seemed like an eternity, his slackened features firmed and his gaze glinted with a peculiar light. He sat forward, breaking the invisible barrier of what polite society would consider one’s intimate space. Those beautiful eyes of his roamed her face, hair, body with a thoroughness that made her stomach clench and her throat ache. Cold sweat coated her body. She veered back until the sofa stopped her retreat.

“What is it?” She hated hearing the small tremor in her voice. “Did I say something amiss?”

Her query cut through his razor-edged study, and his features shifted into their former affable mien. “No, Miss Hunt,” he said, settling back. “I applaud your charitable endeavor. In fact, I have an interest in Abbingale Home for a similar reason.”

“Do you?”

“Your shocked expression does not bode well. Do I appear an uncaring person?”

“My surprise has nothing to do with the fiber of your character, sir. I simply find it amazing that, of all the boys’ homes in the city, you’ve selected the one that’s caught my interest.”

“‘Selected’ might not be the most appropriate term. Abbingale is one of six I’ll be reviewing for my largesse.”

“Six?” Sydney searched his eyes, looking for the merest twitch that would disprove his statement.

He returned her inspection with a steady, unflinching gaze. “That’s correct.”

“Let us hope you find one that meets your criteria, whatever they might be.”

“Perhaps you would like to join me,” he said in a low tone. “I have yet to begin my search.”

“Thank you, no,” she said. “Scheduling time for numerous visits to Abbingale has taxed Mrs. Cartwright’s rather enviable skill of keeping me organized. Six might lead to her resignation, and that I cannot afford.”

His gaze caressed her mouth. “Then allow me to accompany you to Abbingale.”

Whatever it was he wanted from her, he wanted it badly. Although the logical part of her mind screamed for her to sever any future association with him, the inquisitive faction of her mind encouraged her to plow forward.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to manipulate me?”

He molded his expression into a respectable imitation of affront. If she hadn’t known of his work with the Nexus, his wounded display would have caused her some remorse.

“I don’t know.”

“I hope you understand that I’m here to assist with your staffing needs, nothing more.”

“Why use an assumed name?” he asked. “You’ve built a good reputation around your agency, and ladies have always been encouraged to pursue charitable endeavors. Why not be yourself?”