A Scandalous Proposal (7 page)

“It's not as if I couldn't do it, you know.”

“I don't doubt that for a moment. Just...
don't
.”

She twisted about on the seat to watch as he walked behind the curricle, already tossing a coin to a young lad who had appeared out of nowhere to offer to “mind the ponies” for him.

“Perhaps you should have rethought the tiger,” she said as she allowed him to assist her to the uneven flagway. It wasn't quite the same as being swooped up into his arms, but the touch of his hands at her waist while she rested hers on his shoulders for that brief moment wasn't exactly a distant second in how it affected her heartbeat.

If only Mari would climb out of her latest pit of despair; Dany really did have a few important questions for her.

“Tigers are for show, unless one employs an aging pugilist, and they don't look all that well in livery. Harry and his livery wouldn't last a moment in this neighborhood. You failed to tell me, Miss Foster. Do you possess any other talents save pickpocketing?”

She brought herself back from her new, unexpected curiosity concerning All Things Cooper. “That's not fair. The chapbook was mine. I was only retrieving it. What sort of talents?”

“Playacting. I've every hope you'll have no problem with a bit of fibbing.”

Dany tipped up her chin. “I may have found the need in the past, yes. A fib is often more kind than the truth. Especially when one's mother asks unfortunate questions.”

“Very good. Steadfast and upright honesty would do us no good at the moment.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we remove ourselves from the sight of passersby?”

Oh, we most certainly shall
, Dany thought, quickly understanding that she should not be where she was, certainly not with him. They were in the process of being clandestine. What a lovely word—
clandestine
. How could she have, even for a moment, thought the baron was a sobersides?
What fun!

“This chapel is no longer in use except for occasional weddings, but the frescoes are said to be in remarkably good repair. Aunt Mildred said we should not fail to see them before leaving London.”

Aunt Mildred? Ah, so the fibbing had begun.

“Then how bad of you, for not telling me to bring my sketching pad. You always were a bit of a loose screw, Cousin Mortimer. Just for that, I believe I'll insist in inspecting every single fresco in some detail, and you'll be stuck chaperoning me for at least another hour before you can cry off and go chasing down your highly unsuitable friends.”

Bless the baron's heroic heart. He winked at her! She'd get him to understand she would be more of a help than a hindrance.

They mounted the six steps to a pair of heavily carved wooden doors, pausing only as Cooper handed over a penny to the old man sitting on a wooden stool, curiously not showing any hint of curiosity upon seeing customers so late in the day.

“You always were a bit of a pill, Cousin Gertrude,” he responded in just the correct tone of cousinly disgust as the old man creaked to his feet to push open one of the doors. “Next you'll say you want me to bring you back again tomorrow, and I won't. Not if you beg.”

The old man cleared his throat. “There be sheets of paper and charcoal sticks inside, miss, for those who wish to take rubbings from some of the tombstones out back. Some lovely old stones we've got, we do. Only a penny for five.”

Dany turned her most winning smile on the caretaker. “Why, thank you, good sir. Cousin, don't just stand there like the fool you are. Give the man a penny.”

“Going to use them to stuff more bonnets?” Cooper asked, reaching into his small purse. “Here you go, sir, a six-pence. We'd rather not be disturbed.”

“None of them never does,” the old man grumbled, shaking his head as he returned to his stool as Cooper grabbed her hand and pulled her inside before she could ask the old man what he meant.

The door had barely closed before Dany turned on him, laughing. “Did you hear that? This place is used for assignations, isn't it? The man as nearly said that. Do you take advantage of this chapel often?”

Still clasping her hand, for there were only a few candles burning and the stained-glass windows didn't let in much light, he led her to a bench placed against one wall. “I thought I was being original, as a matter of fact. Here, sit down. You lie too easily for my comfort, Gertrude.”

“Gertie. I much prefer Gertie. So you don't think the caretaker believed either of us?”

“Do you?”

Dany thought about that for a moment. “I'm not certain. I wouldn't want to be thought of as a loose woman. Or as someone as silly as my sister, who probably would have thought trysting with her unknown admirer in an ancient chapel the epitome of romantic expression. Of course, in either case, you're the rotter of the piece. Shame on you.”

The baron sat down beside her. “You don't have a single nerve in your body, do you?”

“I don't think so, no,” she said as every last nerve in said body commenced to tingle at his closeness. Not that he'd ever know that. “Papa vows I was a cuckoo hatchling. You do know about cuckoo birds, don't you? They lay their eggs in other bird's nests? If my great-aunt Isobel on my father's side hadn't had my same outrageous hair color, I believe Mama would have had considerable explaining to do. And don't look at me like that. Yes, that's how I know so much about...usurping. My brother explained it all to me. So, now can we get down to business? What time do you want me to meet you at the tradesman's entrance? Timmerly locks all the doors at midnight, but I managed to find an extra key for the side door that leads to the kitchens. It will be a simple matter of Emmaline letting you in, and sneaking you up the servant stairs.”

“I will not sneak into your bedchamber.”

“Oh, but I've already explained this to you. And we've already agreed that time is of the essence. Nobody will be any the wiser, and Emmaline can be discreet. There's no other way.”

“Unfortunately, there is. Now listen carefully, Miss Foster, as we are limited for time.”

“So formal? We're conspirators now. Please, address me as Dany. It's so much easier.”

“And yet the clock continues ticking, Miss Foster,” the baron said tightly, the look in his green eyes one of frustration bordering on contemplated mayhem, if Dany was any judge, and she was, having been the recipient of that particular look from members of her family time and again in her growing-up years (and at least twice today).

“Ticktock, ticktock. Yes, I understand, even as I wonder if you do. Go on.”

“I'll ignore that. Here are the rules. One—there can be no clandestine surveillance nests set up in your bedchamber. Not by me, not by you, not by any combination that includes you, me or any number of other persons, none of which would be considered a chaperone by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Not even the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Dany couldn't resist. He was so handsome in his frustration. If he were her brother, he could box her ears or some such thing. But he wasn't, and he was forced by Society to treat her as a young lady of quality. Pity she didn't know how to behave like a young lady of quality.

Or perhaps she did; she'd certainly had years of lessons behind her. She simply didn't see the point, when misbehaving was so much more fun.

“We'll leave that question for the moment,” he said tersely. “Two. I did not ask for this assignment, I did not seek it out, I don't want it—but you and your crackbrained scheming has put me in this position. That said, and in words with the least syllables,
I
am in sole charge of what we do to aid the countess.”

All right. Now he was ruffling
her
feathers. She clasped her hands and pressed them to her bosom, and then fluttered her eyelashes for good measure as she goaded: “My hero. I do fear I might swoon.”

At last, he smiled. If he was a sobersides, at least she seemed to have found a way through to his appreciation of the ridiculous. “Please don't let me stop you. I'm certain there's some water in that vase of wilting posies over there. Dumping its contents on your paper-stuffed head would count as my only pleasure since I woke up this morning.”

Hmm. Perhaps he wasn't as amused as she'd thought, but was only delighting in contemplating a bit of revenge on her for all she'd put him through. Which was probably a lot, all things considered.

“Clearly entirely on the wrong side of the bed.” Dany knew to retreat when she'd gone too far—she'd certainly traveled to that point often enough. “Very well, I'm sorry. No more interrupting. You're doing Mari and me a huge favor and I've given you nothing but grief in return. But,” she added, because with Dany there was always a
but
somewhere, “you really needn't be so mean. I'm only trying to help.”

The baron stood up, walked a few paces away from the bench and then turned to look at her. “I know, and that's what makes what I have to say even more difficult. You think you're helpful. Let me correct myself. You're
positive
you'd be helpful. Tell me, how much the worse would it be for me if I didn't include you in my plans?”

She got to her feet, applauding softly. “I knew you'd be brilliant, my lord. Never before has anyone asked that question.”

“Although they certainly did get an answer?” he asked her, another smile actually beginning to evidence itself at the corners of his mouth.

That was a rough patch gotten over neatly.

“Indeed, yes, they did. I'm afraid I'm not a thing like Mari, or my mother, or most women for that matter. I cannot fathom dutifully tending to my embroidery when something important is afoot. It's against my nature. Sitting and waiting, perhaps sending up prayers in some chapel such as this one, with nothing to say about the outcome, would drive me mad.”

“I'm after a petty blackmailer, Miss Foster, not marching off to the Crusades with your colors tied to my sleeve.”

Oh, but if it were and if you did, I'd follow you without an instant's hesitation
. With that thought came a blush that was the bane of her red-haired existence. Perhaps she was more like Mari than she'd considered. “Don't be facetious, my lord. But now that we've gotten that settled, what are
we
going to do next? And please don't say we'll be adding the viscount to our hunting party. I don't believe he would approach the problem with as much gravitas as I would like.”

“He said you'd say that. But I'm afraid we may not have much choice. You might want to sit down again, Miss Foster.”

“I'll stand, thank you.”

“Very well, I suppose I can allow you to be stubborn when it makes no difference to me. We still do this with the understanding that I am in charge of anything over and above whether you choose to sit down or stand up. Agreed?”

“If I have no choice. Go on.”

“That said, being in charge, it naturally follows that you'll be taking orders from me. You are not to circumvent those orders, you are not to improvise, you are most definitely not to question those orders. You are not to think up anything you believe to be a better solution than mine and go off on your own, leaving me to chase after you and pick up the pieces.”

Yes, he already knew her very well. How had that happened? Did she have a warning sign pasted to her forehead, that only he could see?

“I hesitate to point this out, but you're sounding more like a tyrant than a hero.
That said
, I suppose I still agree, since it's clear you're leaving me no other choice if you're ever going to get on with this. That ticking clock, remember?”

“How you inspire my confidence, Miss Foster. Unfortunately, it has been pointed out to me, rather strongly, that I also have no choice where you're concerned. You see, Miss Foster, your sister is not the only person being blackmailed. I, too, am a victim of your sister's secret admirer.”

Dany sat down. She sat down so quickly she nearly missed the bench entirely, but grabbed on to the front of it with both hands. “I... I beg your—
What did you say?
”

The baron raised his eyes toward the chipped, painted ceiling of the chapel, as if running his own words through his head for a second time. “Our mutual blackmailer is extorting money from the countess for her innocent indiscretion, and from me via threats that need not concern you. That's clear enough.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don't think it is. Are you less than a hero?”

“I'm not a hero at all, having only done what seemed sensible at the time. If not for those damnable chapbooks, I would be on my new estate now, learning how to grow turnips, Quatre Bras far behind me and forgotten.” He ran his fingers through his hair, probably in disgust, but Dany thought the gesture charming. “I'm sorry. There's no need for you to know why I'm being blackmailed, other than to say I'm certain the same person is harassing your sister, and probably many more than the two of us.”

“Why would you think that?”

The baron sat down beside her once more and explained his theory, and that of the viscount, putting forward the idea that the blackmailer had cultivated an entire list of victims, and not without some help from those he may have recruited to ferret out secrets.

“Servants, barmaids, shopkeepers. His most probable allies would be establishments in Bond Street, businesses frequented by the ton.”

“Shopkeepers? In Bond Street?” Dany whispered, and shivered. “No, she was entirely helpful. Or was that
too
helpful? But she did hang about on the other side of the curtain, and send Mari's maid away. And to be so handy with an answer? Oh, how could I have been so stupid!”

“Are you enjoying this conversation you're having with yourself? Apparently not, would be my guess. I gather you're considering a shopkeeper in particular?”