Beware of Virtuous Women (15 page)

When Jack walked into his study at two that same afternoon, rubbing at his temples where a drink-induced headache still lingered, it was to see Eleanor sitting behind his desk and quite obviously waiting for him.

And looking at him steadily, too, without a hint of nervousness or shame.. .and definitely not with longing or desire, damn her. Her coolness exasperated him, the way she seemed able to function at so many different levels without any of them somehow melding together. Colliding, to explode in the sort of confusion he'd been feeling for days.

"Wife," he said tightly, heading for the drinks table, then thinking better of the idea. It was bad enough he drank deep when at cards with the Unholy Trio, then again when he finally returned home to sit in his bedchamber and stare at the door leading to Eleanor's rooms.

"You didn't take my advice," Eleanor said without preamble, doing her best to ignore how weary Jack looked, how vulnerable in those first unguarded moments before he'd realized she was in his study.

"And what advice would that be, Eleanor?" he asked, sprawling on the leather couch on the opposite side of the large room that was, in fact, really rather small now that the two of them—and all their secrets— occupied it.

"Locking away your journal," Eleanor said, opening the drawer and pulling the offending thing out, carefully placing it on the desktop. "I believe we must now assume that the earl knows at least something of what we're about, which changes our plans considerably."

All right, so maybe a single small hair of the dog that had bit him last night
was
in order. Jack levered himself to his feet and slowly walked to the drinks table, keeping his gaze on Eleanor as he poured himself a glass of wine. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Eleanor folded her hands on top of the journal, keeping her eyes downcast as she related all that had happened earlier in Hyde Park, then went on to tell him what she'd learned about Beatrice's conversations with the footman, Gerald.

"I won't plague you with what I asked her and how she answered, but will summarize thusly. Gerald inquired about you, inquired about me, asked about how long we've been married. He was remarkably inquisitive about my origins, which is disconcerting at the least, and I'm thankful Beatrice is not privy to that information. Gerald also wondered quite openly about your comings and goings, to which Beatrice answered that you seem to come and go at all hours of the day and night without rhyme or reason, and are often absent for full weeks at a time."

Jack put down the wineglass, untouched. "Christ. Is that all, or did he ask to count the silver?"

"Oh, I'm not done," Eleanor informed him, finally looking up and meeting his narrowed eyes. "Beatrice is a very
talkative
young woman. When I pushed a bit—I think she at last had begun to realize what she'd done—she told me that this Gerald person now knows that your valet is constantly lamenting the damage done to your fine clothing and the fact that in just the past six months two pair of your boots have been lost to what he's convinced is damage from seawater. Oh, and Cluny seems to have been the topic of conversation more than once, although Beatrice knows no more than I do myself, which is that sometimes he's here, sometimes he's not, and nobody's allowed into his rooms to clean them so they must be a fright."

Jack was slouching on the couch again, his long legs outstretched in front of him as he looked toward the open door to the hallway, glad that this was one of those times when the always pessimistic Cluny was gone, if only for the day. "I think I'd rather she'd handed him the silver and the blunt for a coach ride to Dover. I obviously slipped up, Eleanor, tipped Chelfham somehow. But I'll be damned if I know how."

Eleanor felt sorry for him, longed to tell him everything would be all right, that this was all some strange coincidence. But neither of them believed that.

"Perhaps, if we believe the earl to be a part of the Red Men, he is simply very cautious when someone new is introduced into his company?"

"So he sends his man—that was no mere footman, Eleanor—to find a way into my house? I can swallow the first part, but not the second. I think Beatrice was more of an opportunity than a plan. This Gerald was watching the house early in the morning, Beatrice saw him and his plan to gain entry to the house was made up on the spot."

"Does that matter?" Eleanor asked, although she did agree his version of events sounded plausible, that they were merely being watched until opportunity arose in the appearance of Beatrice. "And the earl could just as easily have been curious as to why anyone would so doggedly pursue and befriend his brother-in-law, who anyone can see he believes to be a total waste. We've moved too fast, that's the whole of it, and now the earl knows something."

"Something, yes. But what? He could assume many things, couldn't he? That I dabble in free trading. That I know he does, too. That I want to join him. That I'm thinking of blackmailing him. On and on." Jack swung his gaze back to Eleanor. "That's it then. You're going home."

Eleanor had been expecting this reaction, and had prepared for it. "We can't do that. We can't do anything that will make the earl think we know that... well, that we know he suspects something. I have, in fact, just accepted an invitation from Lady Chelfham to attend a ball planned for the end of the week. The countess's note was very kind, profusely apologizing for her ill humor the other night as well as the lateness of her invitation, and blaming both on her delicate condition."

"She actually apologized? Sounds as if Chelfham does know how to put his foot down, doesn't it? I wouldn't have believed his countess does anything she doesn't want to do."

"I don't believe she does," Eleanor told him, looking at him intently. "In fact, I'm beginning to question everything about our strange evening. The countess all but ordering us from the drawing room so that she could be alone, to do Lord only knows what. Miranda Phelps becoming so conveniently intoxicated and whispering nasty secrets to me about her sister-in-law. At first I congratulated myself, but I think I may have been the one who was maneuvered, which is rather disconcerting. You never told me what happened when you all played cards, although from the furious look on the earl's face as he hustled everyone out, I'm assuming you lightened his pockets considerably?"

Jack nodded, still thinking over what Eleanor had said, her conclusion that they were all, men and women both, involved with the Red Men Gang. It seemed a plausible conclusion; the Becket women weren't exactly quiet bystanders in the Black Ghost Gang ventures, were they? "Not considerably, no. But certainly enough to disconcert him when Phelps began to taunt him, pointing out that
he
had clipped my wings without any problems and now he was watching Chelfham lose hand after hand while he still won."

"How did you manage that?"

"It was no great feat, believe me. Phelps switches his cards from hand to hand when they're inferior, as if this will help improve them, and holds on tight when he's been dealt a better hand. I'd raise the bidding whenever Phelps held on tight, and soon Chelfham was matching me bid for bid, so that he lost both to Phelps and to me. I'm still playing much the same game these past few nights, and I thought—no longer think—that Chelfham keeps coming back for more because he believes he can best me."

"I thought the plan was to
lose?"

"It was originally, until I became fatigued with that idea. Now I'm winning, and talking about how I am looking for somewhere to invest my winnings. After all, it doesn't matter how I get myself in, as long as I get the invitation."

Eleanor shook her head. "I won't pretend to understand all of that. But what of Sir Gilbert?"

"Oh, he doesn't gamble. Eccles is one of those persons who just
is,
but doesn't really
do
anything."

"A cipher. Yes, I thought so myself." Eleanor quickly moved on, feeling the subject of her possibly being sent back to Becket Hall should be left behind them as quickly as possible so they could concentrate on what was more important—what they would do next. "We can ignore him if you are certain, but I don't believe we can similarly discount the countess and Mrs. Phelps. It embarrasses me to think how I disregarded the one and thought it easy to dupe the other. But unless we want them to know we suspect them of knowing what we're about, you need to continue on as you were, and I will have to continue my role as the quiet little cripple."

"And that makes you very angry, doesn't it?" Jack asked, wishing he didn't see the logic of the thing.

"I'm not best pleased, but I'll manage," Eleanor said, then noticed that her knuckles had turned white. She deliberately unclasped her hands and got to her feet. "But everything else has changed now."

"I know. Besides becoming doubly confusing."

"I agree. We have to assume that this Gerald person saw your journal and that the earl now knows you're involved in free trading. Which leaves the next move to him, doesn't it? Either he'll invite you to join him, pool your resources as it were, or he'll consider you dangerous to him and try to.. .to eliminate you. I'll assume that your man Cluny is watching your back."

Jack goggled at her—knew he was goggling—and then threw back his head and laughed out loud. "God. For a moment there I guess I'd forgotten whose daughter you are. Yes, Eleanor, I, too, have come to the same conclusions. And yes, Cluny has my back."

"Good," Eleanor said, praying Jack's confidence in the Irishman was well placed. "What shall we do about Beatrice?"

"If we're to continue to behave as if we don't know we suspect them, I imagine we do nothing."

"No, that can't work. She's bound to tell this Gerald person how I questioned her this morning. We can't let them meet, nor can we do anything to the man without alerting Chelfham."

"I could push her down the stairs hoping she breaks a leg," Jack said, surprisingly amused to be planning strategy with the gloriously attractive mix of genteel lady and hardheaded general that was Eleanor Becket.

Then Eleanor smiled at him, more than willing to help him break the tension for a few moments. "I've already thought of and dismissed that idea, for she could just as easily break her neck, and then what on earth would we do with her?"

Jack was hard-pressed not to jump up from his seat and kiss her senseless. "That could be inconvenient, couldn't it? Especially for Beatrice. We'll simply have to forbid her to see this Gerald again, much as that seems to put me in the role of stern father, which I can't care for. F m still wondering how Chelfham knew, what made him suspect me."

"And me," Eleanor pointed out, sitting down beside him.

"Only through me," Jack said absently. "I'm the one who made a misstep somewhere. But again, the only thing he can't know is why I'm interested in him— whether I want to join him or if I think I can destroy him, take him out of the game as I take over his enterprise."

Eleanor's mood, that had been caught between her fears for Jack and worry for the success of the entire mission—and concentrating more on Jack than any thoughts of the Red Men or Chelfham or even her family—brightened considerably at these words.