Andrea Kane (39 page)

“You didn’t necessarily have to have boarded a packet ship. You could just as easily have paid your way on a smaller craft,” Damen pointed out. “Lyman will have to check every ship’s manifest. He and Meade still have their work cut out for them.”

“I’m not sure they’ll be looking at all,” Breanna inserted.

Anastasia’s head whipped around. “What do you mean?”

Her cousin frowned, rubbing her gloved palms together. “Something Father said last night really puzzled me. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.”

“What did he say?”

“While he was accusing me of knowing your whereabouts, he demanded to know if you’d truly left England. He seemed to think you might not have. I tried to convince him that it was perfectly natural for you to be going to Philadelphia since it was half your investment you’d be protecting. He sneered at me and asked, ‘What of the investment she’s leaving behind? Her
personal
financial adviser, the marquess. Her partner in business and in bed.’ I realize Father was drunk, but his words were quite lucid.” Breanna gazed anxiously at her cousin. “He wasn’t guessing, Stacie. It’s as if he
knew
you and Damen are involved. But how could he?”

A ponderous silence, punctuated only by the
clack-clack
of the carnage wheels.

Abruptly, Damen muttered an oath, his fist striking his knee with furious awareness. “He
did
know about Stacie and me,” he bit out. “How? From his informant.”

“What informant?” Breanna demanded.

“The one in my bank.”

Breanna sucked in her breath. “You’d better explain.”

Tersely, Damen told her about the letter he’d received from his Paris office, and the information it conveyed, as well as what that information signified. He leaned forward, growing more definitive as he spoke. “Think about it. For the past few weeks, you and Anastasia have switched places every time I visited Medford Manor. Your father believed it was
you
I was courting, and he was thrilled with our presumably whirlwind courtship. If he’d realized the truth … well, suffice it to say, he would have made us aware of that realization. So, up to and including my latest visit, he had no idea it was really Stacie I was with. Right?”

“Right,” Breanna concurred.

“Now let’s get to Stacie and me. It was only during the last few days that we’ve let down our guard, spent any intimate time together. And where were we? At my bank, in my office.” A muscle worked in Damen’s jaw. “Which means that our secret is out. And that it was discovered at the House of Lockewood.”

“Of course,” Anastasia breathed, her eyes wide with realization. “That explains what pushed Uncle George over the edge. Not only was he worried about losing Papa’s inheritance, he was now frantic about losing you, too. That’s what he meant when he told Bates about his plan, and added the part about how he’d be getting the perfect son-in-law from this transaction. He must have just found out we’d been deceiving him.”

“Yes. And he found out from one of my bank officers.” Damen’s voice was rough with anger and betrayal. “There’s no other explanation, Stacie. No one but my officers have keys to that door marked ‘Private.’ Only they have access to my office area, which was the only place we talked and acted in any intimate manner. Whoever this son of a bitch is, he’s someone I trust. He’s also a duplicitous cad who’s using my bank to communicate with Rouge and spy on me.”

Anastasia inclined her head, her brows drawn in mystification. “There’s a hole in that logic. If what you’re saying is true, if this informant eavesdropped on our private conversations, then he’d certainly rush off and tell Uncle George everything he’d overheard, including our suspicions of my uncle’s guilt. Well, if that’s the case, why is Uncle George still counting on your welcoming him with open arms as your father-in-law? That makes no sense.”

Damen stared broodingly at the carriage floor, analyzing Anastasia’s well-taken point, and trying to remember the last few meetings the two of them had shared. “My office door was shut,” he recalled aloud. “Maybe only snatches of what we said were audible. Or maybe George’s snitch didn’t wait around long for fear of getting caught. I don’t know. But think about it. It wouldn’t take more than thirty seconds of eavesdropping to figure out the way we feel about each other. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. He knows some part of the truth, but not all of it.” A scowl. “The question is, how much is some?”

Her mind darting from the issues to the suspects, Anastasia zeroed in on a possibility. “Damen, do you think it could be Booth? I’ve mentioned to you before how uneasy he makes me. He seems to hover around whenever you and I are together. On my last visit, he greeted me in the lobby and stayed right by my side, flattering my appearance, until you rescued me. A short while later, when Cunnings interrupted us to look for Mr. Crompton’s portfolio. Booth magically appeared in your office doorway and flourished it. I told you—there’s something about that man, the way he ogles me, rambles on and on about my beauty, and about Breanna’s.” Anastasia paused, chewed her lip. “Maybe he hasn’t been ogling me at all. Maybe he’s been spying for my uncle.”

“Mr. Booth?” Breanna interrupted in surprise. “I never thought of him as anything but harmless. You’re right about the flattery; he’s been very solicitous of me on those few occasions when I visited the bank with Father. Still, a spy for Father? That’s hard to imagine.”

“I agree,” Damen said. “And not out of a stubborn sense of loyalty, by the way. Hell, at this point, I don’t know who to trust.” He considered the notion, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Booth has a keen mind when it comes to managing money. But he’s very awkward around people—
too
awkward, I think, to serve George’s purpose.” A slight shrug. “Then again, my instincts are apparently more flawed than I realized. Maybe Booth is guilty. Maybe he’s a superb actor. I don’t know.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Gently, Anastasia wrapped her fingers around Damen’s. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know how hard this is for you. But at least what Breanna’s told us narrows down our search.” She paused, watching his expression. “Damen, this doesn’t demean your instincts. None of us is clearheaded when it comes to those we trust. And in your case, the handful of men who are now potential suspects have been valued colleagues— and friends—for years.”

“You’re right.” Damen kissed her gloved fingertips, his brooding supplanted by determination. “And not just about my instincts. About the fact that we’ve narrowed down the choices. There are only four men—five, if you count Graff—who have access to my office. I’ll do thorough checks on all of them, find out if they’ve come into any recent funds from unknown sources, if they’ve been seen coming and going from their homes at unusual hours. By tomorrow, well have our informant.”

“In the meantime, I’ll keep my eye on Father,” Breanna said thoughtfully. “Something you just said piqued my interest—the idea of comings and goings at unusual times. Now that I consider it, Father’s been guilty of that, and more so recently. I never gave it much thought, until now.”

“What unusual comings and goings?” Anastasia demanded, swooping down on her cousin’s words. “Why didn’t I notice?”

“Because you’ve only lived with us since July. You wouldn’t know Father’s habits as well as I do.” Breanna fingered the folds of her gown as she reflected. “Over the past months, he’s been making late-night jaunts, usually after drinking to excess. I assumed he was going out to clear his head. Now I wonder. Could he be meeting this informant of his?”

“How frequently does he do this, Breanna?” Damen asked. “How late at night? And how long is he gone?”

“It used to be about once a fortnight. Lately, if s been more like twice a week.” She frowned. “I’m afraid I never paid much attention to the hour or to the amount of time he was gone. I was usually in bed, reading, when I’d hear him drive off. So it had to be after midnight. As to when he’d return …” A shrug. “I was asleep. Lord only knows how late it was.” Breanna broke off, a triumphant smile curving her lips. “Let me rephrase that: the Lord isn’t the only one who knows how late it was. Wells knows, too.”

“Of course.” Anastasia’s eyes lit up. “Wells knows everything. He’ll give you any details he can.”

“I’m sure he will.” Unconsciously, Breanna smoothed a wisp of hair into place. “I’ll talk to Wells—right away, if I can. I’ll also keep an eye on Father. Maybe I can figure out how much he knows, and how much of the truth Lyman and Meade have pieced together by now. Damen, you do your checking into the suspects at the bank. Schedule another visit to Medford Manor for the day after tomorrow. That will unnerve Father, since he’s now aware of the fact that you’re not calling on me, at least not in the romantic sense.” A triumphant gleam lit her eyes. “That doesn’t mean we don’t have things to discuss—things like Stacie’s whereabouts. Which I’m sure is what Father will assume we’re discussing. The very notion will throw him into a tizzy. The more off-balance we render him, the better. Because with any luck, after we combine whatever information we’ve uncovered, we’ll have enough proof to confront him. And, if he’s drunk enough, intimidated enough, we might just get a confession. Which would be the perfect finishing touch to the evidence we’ve amassed—and the perfect end to this nightmare.”

“An excellent plan.” Damen looked sufficiently impressed. “You and Stacie are more alike than I realized.”

“At times, yes.” Breanna grinned. “Although you’ve rarely seen that side of me. I must admit I find it much easier to be myself around you now that I know you’re to be my cousin and not my husband.” She shot him an apologetic look. “At the risk of sounding too brazen— even more so than Stacie—you and I are terribly suited.”

Laughter rumbled in Damen’s chest. “True. But there’s a lucky man out there somewhere who’s going to feel very differently about the two of you. And once you meet him, you’ll agree. Unfortunately, he’ll have to win both Stacie’s and my approval before he can win your hand. Ah, the poor fellow.” Still chuckling, Damen leaned over the basket. “On that intriguing note, let’s enjoy some of Mrs. Rhodes’s delicious sandwiches.”

“Wait.” Anastasia held up her palm, halting Damen in the process of unpacking the basket.

“Why?” Damen’s head came up, and he frowned as he saw the rankled expression on Anastasia’s face, the indignant set of her jaw. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m delighted that the two of you have successfully worked out your strategies for capturing Uncle George and his colleagues,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Just how am I supposed to contribute to all this?”

The lighthearted banter of the past moments vanished in a heartbeat.

“You’re supposed to remain in hiding, unseen and undetected by the men who are trying to find you—
and
sell you,” Damen replied, his expression grim. “Or have you forgotten that unpleasant tidbit?” Warning glints flashed in his steel-gray eyes. “I’m not taunting you, Stacie. I’m dead serious. Your life is in danger. You’re going to stay put until that’s no longer the case. Is that clear?”

Silence.

“Anastasia…”

“It’s clear,” she replied, her gaze as direct as his. “For now.”

“T
HAT
’
S THE LAST UPDATE,
Medford. And still no luck.” Lyman slapped the scribbled note on his desk, dismissing the lad who’d delivered it by tossing him a shilling, then gesturing for him to go.

He waited until the office door had shut before turning back to George, who was pacing furiously near the windows overlooking the docks. “My contacts have been at it all night, ever since I got your message. They’ve checked every bloody manifest. The fact is, no Lady Anastasia Colby booked passage to the States yesterday. Not in London, anyway. I won’t know about Liverpool for a few days. But you and I both know how unlikely that is. Your driver said he brought her to the London docks. I doubt she found her way to Liverpool from there.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past Anastasia. Maybe she did that just to steer me in the wrong direction. Or maybe she boarded in London, but used another name.” George halted, slicing the air with his palm. “Damn that miserable chit! Where the hell is she?”

“I don’t know.” Lyman looked grim. “But I don’t think a false name is our answer. I had Meade and a few other men ask around at the docks. And no one matching Anastasia’s description was seen boarding a ship, or even walking along the wharf or around the warehouses. So, unless she paid a coach to take her to Liverpool, my guess is your niece didn’t leave England.”

“Dammit.
Dammit!”
For the third time in the past hour, George crossed over to the sideboard and refilled his glass, taking two healthy gulps as he resumed pacing. “I’ve got to know for sure. There are so many ways she could have managed this—stowing away, disguising herself. You don’t know Anastasia. She’s the most resourceful female I’ve ever met.”

Lyman drew a slow breath, then released it, crossing over to refill his own glass at the sideboard, then hurrying back to stand behind his desk. When Medford was in this kind of mood—drunk, irrational, angry—he was more comfortable putting some distance between them, even if it was only half a room and the comforting presence of his desk that separated them.

Because when Medford was like this, there was a dangerous quality about him, one Lyman wasn’t interested in provoking.

“I don’t doubt your niece’s resourcefulness,” he replied in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “I’ve seen her attempt to charm a roomful of men to finance that bank of hers. The question is, why would she go to so much trouble to keep you from finding her? She left you a note, told you where she was going and why. Why would she suddenly decide to become secretive?”

“Maybe because she knows something—something that could lead to something more, and then more, and then more… all of which could eventually spell my end.” George gulped down the remainder of his drink, slammed the glass down on the window ledge. “Maybe that’s why she’s sailing off—to protect herself while she assembles the pieces she’s uncovered. Or maybe that’s why she’s not leaving England at all—to assemble the pieces here and now.”