Love Between the Lines (11 page)

Gideon
must have landed on the street. He knew that from the muddy, damp state of his clothes. Besides, he’d been walking, hadn’t he? The question that squeezed past the bloody big headache was
what the hell happened?

He
’d gone to one of his clubs for a drink or two and to celebrate his return from America. But he hadn’t overindulged. Gideon definitely recalled that.

And he
’d decided to walk home between rain showers. His residence wasn’t far. He recalled thinking he could perhaps see how his new employees had settled in, although his walk would take him past only one house. The other Americans, the men, had been settled several streets over.

Beyond that he drew a blank.
Something had walloped him on the head. A chimney pot? A tree branch? Certainly he hadn’t been attacked, because he couldn’t recall any foreboding of danger, and he had reasonable instincts. There weren’t dark alleyways or other good hiding places on that stretch of road. If he’d been attacked, he’d know.

He had a strong recollection that j
ust before the blow he’d been walking on a familiar street, approaching someone, and he’d felt a surge of emotion—but it had been anticipation. Glee.

He opened his eyes and looked into
large blue eyes. Oh God, now he remembered everything.

“
You’re all right, sir!”

He groaned at her too
loud voice. “Why did you attack me, Miss Drury?”

Her face moved away
, and her voice came quieter. “I thought you were attacking me.”

He blinked and looked around
the dimly lit room. They appeared to be in some sort of well-maintained sitting room, crowded with furniture and knickknacks, but the only other person in the room was his attacker.

He was stretched out on a sofa
, and she perched on the edge next to him. When he reached back and gingerly ran fingers over his head, he found matted hair and a lump larger than a walnut. “You’re lucky I’m not a copper.”

“
A policeman would have a different silhouette. I could see you were male and tall and you were walking toward me without speaking, your hat pulled down so your face was in shadows. I am sorry I struck you, for what it’s worth.”

At the moment
, not much. His head ached. “I’ll be fine,” he said and hoped he wasn’t lying. “Where are we?”

“
I knocked on the nearest door. This is rather a grand place.” Her voice lowered. “A butler answered. He was not very pleased, but he seemed to recognize you. He called you by name. He’s gone to tell the master of the house.”

“
Who is?”

“
His Lordship. Can you believe it?” She was laughing, the foul creature. “My first night in England and I get to meet a real member of the nobility.”

“
I’m a bloody baronet.”

“
Mr. Brinker told me it’s not the same. By the way, he also told me that bloody is a very bad word here.” She looked around the room. The candlelight on her curls gave them a slight reddish gleam. “I wish the butler had mentioned which sort of lordship he was fetching.”

He gingerly pushed himself up on an elbow
, brushing against her side. “What did you tell the butler?”

“
That you’d been attacked.” She carefully pushed a cushion under his head. “I think you should lie down. I didn’t mention I was the one who bashed you on the head. I hope you don’t mind.”

The headach
e diminished slightly. “Did he have to carry me in?”

“
Oh dear. I think you have a concussion if you can’t remember that you managed to walk. The language you used was terrible.”

The fog cleared enough for him to think of another aspect of the situation.
“Why in God’s name didn’t you just leave when it became clear the butler knows who I am? These people can take care of me.”

“
How heartless do you think me? I can’t just scamper off until I’m sure you’re not seriously injured.” Her voice was unsteady.

He shut one eye so he could see her better.
“Listen to me, Miss Drury. We know each other. You are my employee. We were out walking past eleven o’clock at night. What will people say?”

“
Oh.” Her breath came out in a long sigh. “That had not even occurred to me. I wish I had an excuse, like I’d been smashed over the head like you.” She rose to her feet. “And now I can see you’re going to be fine. I suppose I should just go. You are going to be all right, aren’t you?”

“
Fine.”

She leaned over him again, the blue eyes searching his face.
So close he could smell her light rose scent. He hadn’t noticed the small bump in her nose before, or the nearly invisible freckles on her cheeks. For a brief moment, she touched his forehead and his mouth with one finger. A moment longer and he would have kissed that finger.

“
What on earth were you doing out walking?” he began, but she must have heard something, for she put her finger to her lips to silence him. She raised her head and looked toward the door. The candlelight gilded her throat and the line of her jaw. She whispered, “I’m sorry,” and before he could answer—or trace that line of her throat—she scuttled out of the room.

She
’d left it too long. He heard footsteps, doors opening, voices in the hall. Someone saying “Miss? Ma’am?” and her response: “I must go. It’s so late. Good night. Thank you for taking care of the…umm. Of him.” And the front door closed. Gideon decided to pretend to be asleep.

He heard
more quiet footsteps and tried to keep his breath even and steady, but whoever entered the room had no intention of allowing him to sleep.

“
By God, the servants weren’t mistaken. It really is you, Langham. What sort of mess are you in now?”

Damn and blast.
He recognized the drawling voice. Lord Michael Bertram Petersly. “Good evening, Petersly. How are you?” He opened his eyes.

“
Better than you, I’d say.” Petersly struck a match and lit the gas lamp on the wall, banishing the intimate darkness.

He
picked up a chair and brought it close to the sofa where Gideon lay. He sat and grinned down at him. His dark hair was untidy, but he was fully dressed. “You
are
a wreck. Attacked, were you?”

“
I think so,” Gideon said. “I’m glad that girl managed to chase off the attackers. Or I think she must have.”

Petersly
tapped his chin and tilted his head. This was a bad sign that he was actually thinking. Gideon had been at school with Petersly—at least until Gideon had been yanked out due to lack of funds. But he remembered now that Petersly had a decent brain when he decided to use it.

Since those sc
hool days, the earl had taken up the role of useless man-about-town. Not enough to occupy his mind obviously, for after the moment of silence he said, “I just recalled something. Weren’t you just in the States? Yes. You were. And that little creature that ran out of here as if the devils were after her. She had an American accent. Is this a coincidence?”

Da
mn, blast, and hell. “Yes.”

“
Ah. I do apologize for doubting your word, but I don’t think so. No, I believe you know her.”

Petersly
wore a dark burgundy frock coat over a tan waistcoat—not evening wear. That gave Gideon an idea for an appropriate response—politely ignoring the man’s cheek.

“
Were you having a quiet evening?” Gideon asked. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

Petersly
crossed his legs, resting an ankle on his knee. “No bother at all for an old chum like you, Langy. Tell me truly. How did you end up sprawled in the street in front of my house? Shall I call a constable?”

“
No, no. The attackers are far away by now.”

Gideon hadn
’t escaped the man’s infernal ferreting. “What were you doing out with that young lady? Peace. I can see you trying to come up with another falsehood. Best to tell the truth, old man.”

“
All right, then. I was coming to visit you.” Gideon could lie as easily as the next man, although with the headache pounding through him, he was having some trouble marshaling his facts and his lies—and telling them apart.

Peter
sly pulled a watch from his pocket and looked down at it. He showed his slightly uneven but white teeth in a triumphant grin. “Again, no. I haven’t heard from you for years. And it’s far too late for a call I think. Time to come up with a better story.”

“
But I didn’t want to come during regular hours because I have a proposition.”

Peter
sly wasn’t the last man he’d want to drag into his affairs, but he was close to the last on the list. Despite his ability to talk a blue streak, Petersly was not prone to gossip, but he did like to take control of any particular situation.

On the other hand,
this could be a gift. With his rank and fortune, Petersly could go anywhere, do anything in society. Brinker might show Trudy Tildon the world of the servant. Petersly could guide her through the top branches of the trees.

The earl tucked away the watch and leaned back in his chair.
“Is your late-evening visit related to your little American friend? Is that why she had to come along with you? I must say from my brief glimpse of her, she didn’t appear nearly as charming as the young dancer from the Imperion you kept company with last year. She’s not even as dashing as Lady Edith. I say, am I wrong about Lady Edith?”

Would the man ever stop speaking
? Apparently not. And come to think of it, Petersly did like to talk about people, so there could be some danger of gossip.

“
You’re looking grim,” Petersly blithely continued. “Must be the headache. Or perhaps you didn’t like the way she abandoned you. Funny thing, the way she took off like that. Alone. Isn’t she afraid of running into the bad men who attacked you?”

Gideon fought the impulse to take a swing at Peter
sly. “Would you kindly shut up?”

“
Of course, I promise to shut up. Say on.” Petersly made the motion of locking his lips shut and waited. He immediately gave the lie to his promise by asking, “But Langham, ought we call a doctor? You’re looking pale.” For the first time, he dropped the annoying drawl and spoke in a voice with real concern.

“
No. Just listen, Petersly. And I’ll tell you want happened.” Gideon told Petersly the truth about his plans for Trudy Tildon and some of the articles he hoped she’d write.

Peter
sly hummed gently to himself, a happy smile on his thin face. “Oh, this is most delightful. What fun we shall have. I should spend more time with you, Langham. This is the first time you’ve visited me, I believe. Pity. I should have known you’d be up to larks. We must be better friends henceforth.”

He stood and paced the room.
“You are suggesting that I sneak this girl into society? As a cousin or something? She’d have to be a pretty far-flung cousin to have ended up in New York. My family is firmly entrenched here on English soil. The empire has treated us well.”

“
I don’t know if we need to come up with any such story. You could simply say you’d been introduced to her. She’ll use her real name. She doesn’t need any sort of cover.”

“
Of course she should act a part. Why did you tell me all those interesting details about how she pretended to be penniless so she could be taken into a workhouse? And how she disguised herself as a fifteen-year-old orphan so she might be adopted by a farmer family?”

“
I wanted you to understand the sort of person you’d be dealing with. And to point out she has some acting skills and won’t embarrass you. I hope.”

“
Of course she’ll do well. I imagine the girl revels in pretense, and so do I.”

Gideon groaned.
“I’ve hired a lunatic female, and now I’m trying to get a lunatic earl to introduce her into society.”

“
Bring her to me in a week,” Petersly said. “At a decent time.”

Lizzy loved working in the office. She loved the cacophony
: men shouting, typewriter machines clattering, call-bells chiming—followed by the muffled echoing of speaking tubes. Occasionally the telephone mounted on the wall of the main room would give a shrill ring and several men would jump to answer.

Her desk didn
’t lie in the main room of the daily and weekly newspapers, the place where copyboys rushed from desk to desk and editors lurked in the corners. For once her unusual circumstances had nothing to do with her sex. The big room was too crowded, so she and seven other reporters, including the other Americans, had been shuffled into an annex of sorts. They were just as crowded as the big room that contained most of the reporters’ desks, though far less noisy.

On her third morning
, she and Oyster set off for her first assignment, covering a fire in a pub not far from Fleet Street.

The pub owner
stood on the pavement outside, waiting for the firemen to shout that the fire in the smoke-choked interior of his establishment was out. Lizzy sidled through the crowd to talk to him. She managed to take notes as she commiserated over the fire, which had probably been started by a spilled oil lamp.

She found a policeman
who leered at her but still gave useful information and agreed with the public house owner’s guess at the cause of the fire. The story would fill six inches of fair copy easily. She even had time to explore the less-than-savory neighborhood, looking for possible new contacts.

As she and Oyster made their way toward the Thames, she noticed a well-dress
ed man in a somber gray suit and bowler hat walking toward them from the opposite direction.

She nudged Oyster.
“That guy looks familiar. Do you think he’s from New York?”

“
Just about everyone looks like they do in New York. Different city, clothes got less color here, but the faces? Just like in New York.” Oyster sounded disappointed.

“
Or maybe he looks like someone from the ship. Do you recognize him?”

He answered with a shrug.

The familiar-looking man strolled into a tobacconist’s shop before they passed him—so she didn’t get a close look at him, though Lizzy finally realized whom the man reminded her of. “He looked like Mr. Harrington.”

“
The banker?” Oyster shook his head. “Naw. The courts took all his money and what would he be doing here?”

Lizzy wondered if her last disturbing conversation with her mother had gone deep into her mind and rose to the surface when she saw someone who resembled the family
’s ex-friend.

“
Now that one.” Oyster pointed at a man hauling a handcart full of scrap metal. “He looks like Captain Kelly.”

Lizzy squinted and nodded.
“A bit, if the captain was twenty pounds heavier and ten years older.”

They kept up the game as they walked back to the newspaper. The only thing they agreed upon was
that the newsboy who stood on one corner shouting his wares looked just as shabby as any of the boys back home.

“
I think you’re homesick for New York,” Oyster said.

She did miss her contacts and never getting lost in her city.
“You might be right.”

Back at her desk, she quickly wrote the story of the fire then carried it to the main room rather than call for a copyboy.

“
Slow down,” one of the reporters called out to her in a terrible imitation of an American accent. “You write too much copy, it’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

“
You looked rotten long before she sailed from New York,” another reporter said.

She grinned
, glad to be part of the usual abuse—and no one had said a word about her sex. She hoped word would get back to Sir Gideon that she was settling in. Perhaps because Oyster had slouched through the rabbit warren of offices. Back in New York he wouldn’t go into the offices and now he made it clear he’d come all the way across the ocean just to help Trudy Tildon. “That means keeping her safe,” he growled at an editor who was drinking his tea at a news desk near Lizzy’s. The editor hadn’t so much as looked at Lizzy since then.

Her bottom hadn
’t been pinched once.

Upon his return, Gideon had been extremely busy which helped him quash his urge to seek out Lizzy—Miss Drury. He must be circumspect. She was an employee only, he reminded himself, and almost at once was visited by the vivid image of her standing by the ship’s rail, clutching her ridiculous straw hat to her curls, her mouth open in laughter.

The time had come to
discuss the stories he expected from her—and Petersly’s involvement. He summoned an office boy to deliver a note to her. She soon appeared in his office in a frightful yellow polonaise with far too much ruffle in the back for her small figure. She wore no hat and a pencil had been jammed behind her right ear.

She stood at attention before his desk.
“Sit down,” he ordered. “And please listen without interrupting.”

Lizzy held a notebook
, and she fished the pencil from her curls. Pencil poised over the book, she listened to his plan to use Petersly as a connection. Astoundingly enough, she didn’t interrupt, although he could see she wanted to.

“
That society thing again,” she said glumly once he’d finished. “Mr. Brinker told me you wanted something like this. I think this is a bad idea.”

“
I thought we agreed that you’d write the society series and—”

“
I thought it would be a single article.” She narrowed her eyes and a pucker appeared between her brows. “But this sounds as if you have no other plans for me. I don’t do society stories. I write about what matters. Or at the very least interesting stories.” She bounced to her feet. “You knew that when you hired me.”

He
’d have to tiptoe around this woman. Damn, he didn’t like to step so carefully with his underlings.

“
Sit down, Miss Drury.”

She put away her little notebook,
pushed the pencil back behind her ear, then sat and folded her arms. She’d listen but she wouldn’t take notes, a form of protest.

He rested his hands on his blo
tter and fixed his sternest stare on her face. “Since Brinker is apparently prone to gossip in your presence, I expect he told you about my efforts to enter the higher echelons of society?”

She nodded but didn
’t relax. “I hear you’re chasing after some lady or other.”

Oh, bloody bullocks. H
e’d completely forgotten to send around a message to Lady Edith—or rather to her father or brother since Lady Edith was a single, well-bred lady—informing them of his return. As soon as he took care of this matter, he would.

“
Yes. But I am also on the board of several charities. Do you see what I’m driving at?”

She shrugged.

“The only way to bring about real and lasting change is to have influence with the people who have the power to move things along.”

She made a r
ude sound. “The only way to make change is for someone to see the flaws and point them out to the world. Talking about Lady Scrambletoast’s soiree isn’t going to help.”

“
I want you to give your impressions of the undercurrents of the fashionable world, not what they’re wearing. Not simply what they are wearing,” he added.

“
You should hire an Englishwoman. She’ll know where the power lies in this world of yours.”

“
If I knew of a female who could get to the point as you do, I’d hire her, but you’re all I’ve got right now. And I want you to write as an outsider seeing it all with fresh eyes. These articles will meet both our needs. Sell papers, my goal, and effect change, which is yours.” And the assignment would stop her throwing herself in danger’s way at least temporarily. He’d never felt responsible for a reporter’s safety before and it was a dashed nuisance. The letter from her father, spending time with her, all sorts of conditions had combined to start him thinking of her as practically human.

“
Very well,” she said at last. “As long as you don’t object to my spending time on other projects. I’m a fast worker, I promise.”

“
Then we have a deal. Now we’d best see Petersly. He’s agreed to meet us at my house.”

He looked at the door of the office. It would not do for the two of them to be seen leaving the building at the same time.
“Meet me at the corner in ten minutes.”

She grinned at him.
“Shall I pretend not to know you in the meantime?” Drat the woman.

They took a hansom to Gideon’s house.

“
How is Mr. Brinker?” Lizzy asked as the carriage jolted and jerked through the busy streets.

Part of the sc
enery, a piece of the backdrop. Gideon realized that unless Brinker keeled over in front of him, he wouldn’t notice the man’s health. “Fine. Fine,” he answered.

“
Has he talked about our lessons on the ship?”

“
Not particularly.” He decided to spell it out. “But he wouldn’t. I don’t gossip with the servants.”

“
No. Of course not. Why in the world would you care about him?”

“
I do hope you have better acting skills than you’re showing now, Miss Drury. Your scorn is obvious.”

“
I’m not acting at the moment. What part should I play?”

“
Demure, well-bred, once we meet with Petersly. Until then, respectful and pleasant will do.”

She laughed.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” he said.

“
Then it must come effortlessly to you. You have another involuntary nervous system. Heart beats, lungs inflate, mouth forms funny words and phrases.”

Before he could answer
, she said, sounding truly contrite, “I do beg your pardon. I shall endeavor to act professionally.”

The carriage drew to a halt
, and he jumped down.

She wondered why he was so determined to pursue this story. Only a week on the job and she had other ideas. She might contrast the newsboys of New York to the uniformed boys in the London Shoe-Black Brigade.

She climbed out of the carriage allowing
Sir Gideon to take her arm. “This is your house? Did you inherit it with the title?”

“
No. My grandfather and father had sold off most of our goods and lands before I became baronet. Only the plot of land and the house in the country were entailed.”

A butler opened the door even as they mounted the stairs. Her shoes clicked on the marble floor.
“This is quite impressive,” she whispered.

“
Why are you whispering?”

She hadn
’t even noticed she was. But she had no intention of revealing any other sign she’d been intimidated. “The vaulted ceiling and the marble make me feel like I’m entering a public library back in New York.”

He led her
into a vast room, where the exquisitely dressed Lord Petersly waited.

“
You’re early,” Langham said, sounding annoyed.

“
Yes,” Lord Petersly said. “I was eager to meet your friend.”

What had these two gentlemen been discussing
? She looked at the earl sideways and got an impression of an insomniac poet, with his dark hair swept back from his broad forehead.

He bowed over her hand as if she was some sort of duchess and prattled as the butler
and footmen brought tea. No female servants were in sight.

They sat in a
sitting room or parlor or drawing room—she never could keep the names straight—with an actual frieze on the ceiling. She perched on the edge of her chair and tried not to gape at the statues in the alcoves or the ceiling with its painted angels and gilded stars.

She felt slightly out of breath—Elizabeth Drury
sitting in a London drawing room with an actual English earl. The fact that he flirted outrageously didn’t help her to relax. Luckily Sir Gideon didn’t notice her awkward silence and Lord Petersly was either too polite or self-involved to notice that she didn’t say a word. He talked about the great fun she would have entering society.

When his attention shifted to
Sir Gideon, she studied Petersly’s face and those remarkable eyes set off by the circles under them. The pale skin and dark circles gave the impression he was addicted to some unwholesome medication or he had trouble sleeping. When he excused himself and left them for a few minutes, she wondered if he had to go to the necessary or take some sort of potion to stop his fingers’ shaking.

“
You don’t look pleased, Miss Tildon,” Sir Gideon said after Lord Petersly left the room.

She decided to try again to convince him to let go of his idea.
“Have you considered the fact that it will be your paper carrying this story?”