No Place for a Dame (35 page)

Pressed against her belly, she felt his member growing hard again.

“Oh?” she asked breathlessly. “And what might those things be?”

With a single easy movement, he flipped her beneath him. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

A
scant hour before daybreak Avery fell asleep. Giles brushed the short curls from her temple, his fingers lingering on her warm, satiny skin. He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. The room was cold and he had not stoked the fire all night, having been riveted by the far more devastating fire that burned between them.

What was he to do now? How could he take care of her when he did not know what she wanted? Twice during the long, passion-filled night he’d tried to bring up the future and how the night had changed it. Both times she’d shaken her head. Both times she’d whispered, “This night is mine. I don’t care about the others,” then wrapped her arms or legs or both around him and pulled his head down to kiss him, banishing every consideration other than the need to make love to her again.

But now the future loomed grim and uncertain. He
did
care about the other nights.
All
the other nights. Profoundly. But he did not know what to do about them.

Part of him wanted to publicly admit to the masquerade, allowing him to just as publicly claim her. But doing so would force her to abdicate her dreams, snatch triumph from her hands, and forfeit everything
she had worked so hard to achieve. He could not do that to her. He would do everything in his power to see that she found the acclaim she wanted and deserved.

Add to which, if he did expose the hoax, then what?

He had no illusions. Society
might
forgive a single infraction against its unwritten laws, either the hoax or Avery’s lack of antecedents if she agreed to marry him, but he doubted they would forgive compounding them. Was a life with him adequate compensation for being socially ostracized? And even if she were willing to take that risk, would she once she realized the stigma that would attach to their children? Would the sins of the father be visited on them?

His father had been correct in that Society would not easily, or willingly, accept someone without the proper lineage. It didn’t matter what side of the blanket one was begot on, as long as at least one of the partners lying on it had blue blood. Avery hadn’t a drop of aristocratic blood in her veins. She was as common as a lark. And as rare as a black swan, as flowers made of air, as desert rain.

His lips tightened into a grim line of determination. No, there would be no easy answers, but, by God, between them they
would
find one.

He had always thought he was attracted to women who belonged to other men because the spice of their unavailability piqued his appetite. It was safe to fall in love with someone who would never love you back. There was no danger of failing to meet her expectations.

But now he wondered if there might not have been another reason: He was already in love.

Every woman he’d considered himself capable of loving had in some respect walked outside of Society’s conventions. Cat Montrose had not attracted his attention until she had flouted what Society thought a young woman should do. Anne Wilder’s initial attraction lay in her outsider status.

But those ladies were simply copies made from a template of which Avery Quinn was the original. Even down to the red hair.

He stared down at her. The revelation did not surprise him. Why should it? At some level he’d known. In one way or the other, he had always loved her. The last few weeks had enriched that emotion with passion and ardor, humor and respect. But what now?

He raked his hair back from his face. Here and now was not the place
to try and think rationally. And he owed it to her to consider the future with his intellect as well as his heart. He must do this right; he’d already done so much wrong.

She stirred and he eased himself from the bed, afraid that she needed only to wake and hold out her arms and no matter what best served her, he would not be able to let her go. He mustn’t stay any longer. Until he knew what “right” was he could not risk having her masquerade discovered.

He pulled on his trousers and his shirt, collected his coat and boots and, unable to resist, feathered a kiss against her temple before leaving.

It was dark in the hallway outside, still early enough that the staff had yet to begin their daily duties. He made it back to his room, rumpled his bed to make it look slept in, and tossed his clothing on the chair. Then he put on fresh clothing, stirred the embers in the hearth, sat down in front of it, and waited for the day to begin.

He’d left her only moments ago and already he was anxious to see Avery again. He grabbed the poker, stabbed at the fire, then flopped back down. What if she regretted the night? No. Impossible. He was a connoisseur of physical pleasure and on that basis alone he knew she’d been satisfied. But where the heart was concerned…? He might as well admit it: He was as green as any boy.

Had he adequately shown her how much she meant to him? How blessed he felt that she’d shared the ultimate act with him? Had he told her? He couldn’t remember. He’d spoken, surely, in murmurs and sighs and whispered endearments. But words had seemed incidental when he could speak so much more eloquently with hands and lips and the rest of his body.

What if she hadn’t felt that same way?

He bolted to his feet and paced the room, his thoughts swinging from confidence to despair. He had never been so utterly involved in the act of making love.
Making love,
not fornication. She must have realized this. But how would she? Had he been negligent?

He stared out at the darkness, pressing his fist high on a pane of frosted glass. When would she wake up? When could he begin to make right everything he might have inadvertently done wrong?

He banged his fist against the glass, making it shake. He was acting like a besotted schoolboy. He grinned. He may as well be one. He
frowned. She would despise a juvenile display. He moaned and turned from the window, stalking the periphery of the room until he finally flung himself back down into his chair.

The next hour dragged. Finally he estimated it to be a reasonable hour to make an appearance and quit the room, nodding to the little maid carrying a stack of linens outside his door. He was surprised to find Burke waiting outside the dining room. The footman leapt to his feet and opened the door for Giles to pass and then followed him.

Giles took his seat, glanced at the door, and willed Avery to appear. Though he imagined she would not like their first meeting to take place under the servants’ watchful eyes. She would probably be exhausted. In all likelihood she would not appear until the afternoon. The thought was unutterably depressing.

“This came for you last night, m’lord,” Burke said, placing an envelope on the table.

Giles picked it up and flicked it open. He withdrew a piece of cheap, folded paper, opened it, and read.

Some new bit of information regarding that person wot you have been asking after has come to my attention. I will be wanting more than the usual blunt as it is worth it and will require fifty pounds to tell you what I know. Come straight off to the Fox and Whistle off Maiden Court tomorrow morning and I will be waiting.

It was unsigned.

Thoughtfully, Giles folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. Alfie Bees would not have written demanding a specific sum if he didn’t know his information was worth it. He and Bees had far too much respect, if no liking, for one another to do otherwise. If Giles left at once he could be back before Avery appeared for breakfast. Even if it proved fruitless at least it would occupy his time until then.

He had Burke fetch him the battered old greatcoat and soft hat. He didn’t bother changing the rest of his clothing. The Fox and Whistle was in a part of town that still had some pretense to respectability. Besides, those who would cut his throat for the price of his boots were nocturnal creatures.

After giving explicit instructions that under no circumstances was Mr. Quinn to be bothered, he was about to head out when he heard a knock on the front door. He frowned. It was not yet seven in the morning. Only tradespeople were abroad so early and they would have come round to the servants’ entrance. He waited, curious.

A moment later Burke appeared. “M’lord, Sir Jameson is here.” Uneasiness darkened Burke’s bright blue eyes. “He says you will want to see him.”

Surprised, Giles bid Burke to show Jameson into the library, then shed his outer garment and went to meet his unexpected guest. He had always assumed he would discover Jameson was behind the Sewards’ disappearance. Jameson must have found out he was searching for Jack and had come to warn him off.

Sir Jameson would be disappointed.

Giles had no intention of stopping until he knew what had happened to his friends. And should he discover Jameson was behind their deaths he would not rest until the old man had been brought to justice.

He did not care what politicians Jameson held in his pocket or how long it took. If he had done any harm to the pair, eventually Giles would find out and Jameson would pay.

Giles found the old man standing in front of his desk. At once, Giles was struck by the changes in him. Though he still held himself with rigid exactitude, a slight tremor shook his rail-thin frame. Where his head had once reminded Giles of Caesar’s profile struck on an ancient coin, gaunt, imperious, and disdainful, now he looked skeletal, the sharp bones pressing from underneath a thin sheath of graying flesh. And his clothing, always so perfect, was slightly disarranged and imprecise.

For all that, Jameson seemed pleased, almost exultant. This itself was noteworthy. Sir Jameson never displayed emotion. Giles had always assumed he had none. He’d once heard Sir Jameson order a man killed in the same monotone that he’d ordered a beef pie from a street vendor.

“Strand,” Sir Jameson said. “So good of you to see me. And so early. I’m pleased to find you awake, especially after such an… eventful night. Or so I have heard.”

Giles was startled. How had Jameson found out about Demsforth and Avery’s trip to Covent Garden or his own involvement? He did not ask
the question aloud, however. If Jameson thought to unnerve Giles, again, he was doomed to disappointment. Giles had a decade of his own experience to call upon, and he rather thought that in a contest of cold-bloodedness, he might match Jameson.

“What brings you here so early, Sir Jameson?”

Jameson’s eyes glittered from behind their heavy, hooded lids. “Let us not play games, Strand. I have come here for information. Information you shall give me in return for my silence.”

Giles’s thoughts raced as he struggled to mask his confusion. Jameson wanted information he thought he had. About what? And what did Jameson think he knew that would allow him to extort this unknown information? To cover his puzzlement, Giles strolled casually to the opposite side of his desk and sat down.

“Pray. Where are my manners?” He lifted the bell that would call a maid. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Have you had breakfast?”

“I don’t want any damn coffee!” The words exploded from Jameson’s lips. Calmly, Giles replaced the bell. Stranger and stranger.

“At least have a seat, Sir Jameson.”

As if realizing how oddly he was acting, Jameson collected himself. He grimaced, a parody of his former enigmatic smile, and sat down, shot his cuffs, and draped his hands atop his cane’s silver head.

“Now then, what do you want to know?” Giles asked politely.

Jameson laughed, the sound so startling that Giles’s brows flew up. “Be damned if you don’t remind me of my younger self, Strand.”

Once more, Jameson had shocked Giles, but in a far more visceral manner than before. Could it be true? Was he like Jameson, or like Jameson had once been? If so, Lord spare him.

“You’re a cool one. Ice wouldn’t melt on that brow. Nor would it on mine. But the time for games is past.” His smile died. He leaned forward, fixing Giles with a rabid glare. “I want to know where Jack Seward is.”

Somehow, Giles kept from gaping. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
It meant Jameson was not responsible for the Sewards’ disappearance
.

Just as surprising, Jameson apparently thought that Giles knew something about their fate. Giles cast about, trying to decide what to do with this information, how to best leverage it for his own gain.…
No
.

Not a second earlier Giles had asked God to spare him the fate of becoming like Jameson and here he was, already trying to figure out the various ways he might use the knowledge he’d just acquired to his advantage. He would not become Jameson. He meant to be the better man. The man Avery assumed him to be.

“I don’t know.”

Jameson stiffened. His eyes narrowed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Or rather, not afraid so much as resigned.”

“I don’t know where Jack and Anne are.” Giles folded his hands together on top of the desk.