The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (14 page)

She cast him a weak smile under the most absurd mustache he had ever seen, then turned and briskly moved away. Oh no, this was not going to be that easy for her. He downed his drink and handed the empty glass to Thad by his side.

“Take this for me.” He thrust the glass at his brother, his gaze fixed on Lucy’s retreating figure. “I have to go.”

Thad’s brow rose. “Go where?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s important.”

Thad glanced at Father, Simon, and Spencer a few feet away. “Father won’t be happy. He’s quite fond of this place, especially since Grandfather was one of the club’s founders.”

“He shall have to add it to the list of all else that he is not happy about in regards to his youngest son.” Cam slanted his brother a quick glance. “Surely you can come up with something clever to cover my absence.”

“I’m sure I could.” Thad sipped his drink. “Tell me why I should.”

“Because . . .” Cam really didn’t have time for this. “Because I’m working on a story.”

“Oh, well, in that case.” Thad grinned. “Do tell me it’s another installment of
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress
.”

Cam’s attention snapped to his brother. “Those are written by Mr. Aldrich.”

“Who just happens to write in your style with your voice?” Thad scoffed. “Not to mention the fact that I. F. Aldrich is an anagram for Fairchild and you have always been fond of anagrams.”

Cam sighed in resignation. “Does anyone else in the family know?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why?” Thad studied him closely. “What are you hiding?”

“I don’t want my, well, my source to know I’m the writer.”

“Your . . .” Thad’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You mean to tell me there’s a real runaway heiress? I thought she was fictional.”

“She is for the most part. But there is someone I am basing the character on. Inspiration as it were.” Cam chose his words with care. “And I much prefer no one know that. Especially her.”

“I can see why.” Thad chuckled.

“So will you help me?”

“On one condition.”

“What?” Cam snapped.

Thad smiled in a wicked manner. “I want to meet her.”

Not bloody likely!
“I can’t promise you that, but possibly.”

“I’ll accept that.” Thad nodded. “One more thing.”

“What is it now?” Cam said impatiently.

“I’m just wondering.” Thad sipped his drink. “How many names do you intend to have anyway?”

“As many as it takes.” Cam nodded and hurried after Lucy.

She was mere steps away from a door disguised among the paneling as to be nearly unnoticeable when he caught up with her.

He grabbed her elbow and bent to speak low into her ear. “Escaping, are we?”

“I have no idea what you mean, my lord,” she said in a deep voice so ridiculous he would have laughed under other circumstances.

He guided her toward the door. Without warning it opened and he came face-to-face with another man. Taller than Lucy, with a mustache every bit as ridiculous as Lucy’s, this one’s blue eyes widened at the sight of him.

Cam groaned. “I should have known.” He steered Lucy through the open door and growled at Miss West. “How do we get out of here?”

“Follow me,” Lucy’s coconspirator said, and led them down a corridor bustling with servers, allegedly men, but he wouldn’t wager on it. Not tonight.

They passed by a door leading into the kitchen and Cam caught a glimpse of Lady Theodosia Winslow. He ducked his head to escape her attention, but it appeared she was busy with other matters. He had managed to avoid her at the tearoom—he certainly didn’t want to run into her now. She was obviously in on this masquerade, but the last thing he wanted was to have his own charade revealed by a lady his family had known for years.

No one said more than a word or two of direction until they had safely exited the building. Both ladies had long cloaks that served to hide their improper attire, something to be grateful for. He hailed a cab, fairly shoved Miss West into it, then gave instructions to the driver.

“We’ll follow in the next cab,” he told her in a hard tone. “I should like to have a few words with Mr. Merryweather.”

Miss West huffed. “I don’t think—”

“Apparently not!” He slammed the door and signaled to the driver.

A minute later he hustled Lucy into a second cab, then took the seat facing her. Long minutes ticked by. He wasn’t sure when, if ever, he’d been so furious with a woman and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He really should have expected something of this nature. In truth, this was very much the sort of stunt his sister would have pulled, especially if she were encouraged by the regrets of a dead relative. Grace would have done it without so much as a by-your-leave and considered it a grand adventure. He shuddered at the thought of Grace and Lucy ever combining forces.

“Good evening, Mr. Fairchild,” Lucy finally said in an overly pleasant manner.

“Good evening?” Pity it was too dark in the cab for her to see him glaring at her.
“Good evening?”

“I believe we’ve established that.” She paused. “Lovely weather we’re having, don’t you think?”

“It’s late January in London. It’s cold, it’s damp, it’s foggy, and snow is in the air. So, no, Miss Merryweather, I do not think it’s the least bit lovely.”

“Lucy,” she said firmly.

“What?”

“We agreed to call each other by our given names. If you intend to chastise me, I much prefer Lucy as it is so much more cordial than Miss Merryweather.”

“I have no intention of being cordial.”

“I was afraid of that.” She sighed. “Miss Merryweather it is then.”

A few minutes of stony silence later they arrived at Channing House. He helped her from the cab and she started toward the door.

“Might I suggest that you remove that . . . that piece of fur from your upper lip before we go in.”

“You don’t like it.” She patted the mustache. “I thought it was quite fetching.”

“I assume that is Miss West’s doing.”

“Clever, isn’t it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Given your experience with her skin dye, are you certain it will come off ?”

“You are skeptical tonight, Mr. Fairchild.” Her tone was a shade less pleasant than it had been in the cab. She peeled off the mustache and in the light cast by the street lamp he could see her wince. “There. Is that better?”

“Much.”

“Have you ever kissed a woman with a mustache, Mr. Fairchild?” She fluttered her lashes at him.

“Not that I can recall. And certainly never deliberately.”

“What a shame that you missed your opportunity then.” She smirked and turned toward the door.

“I do hate to miss an opportunity.” He grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and stared down at her.
“Miss Merryweather.”
Before she could protest he pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she hesitated, then kissed him back, hard and with a great deal of fervor. At last she pulled away and gazed up at him.

“If that is how you intend to chastise me in the future, Mr. Fairchild”—her voice was breathless and she made no move to leave his embrace—“I cannot promise to restrain from activities you find objectionable.”

“You are driving me mad, Miss Merryweather.”

“Then I have accomplished more than I expected this evening.” She pulled away from him and moved to the door. It opened at once and she swept inside as if she were wearing the grandest of ball gowns instead of men’s attire. She nodded at the butler and continued into the house.

He followed, handed his hat and coat to Clement, and called after her. “In the parlor if you please.”

“That’s where I was going,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

“Has Miss West arrived?” he asked.

“A few minutes ago, sir. She’s in the parlor.” The butler paused. “Might I ask if there was a problem, sir? This is rather early to be returning from a masquerade. We didn’t expect the ladies for quite some time yet.”

“It’s later than you think, Clement.” Cam nodded and headed after Lucy. “Much, much later.”

He reached the parlor doors just as Miss West was leaving. She cast him a scathing look, then took her leave. Why on earth should
she
be annoyed with
him
? He had done nothing. At least not yet.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Well?”

“Well?” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and he couldn’t help but notice how becoming the man’s apparel was on her. The black trousers and coat certainly never looked that enticing on a man. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“Me?” He stared. “What do I have to say for myself? I have nothing that needs explaining. You are the one who lied to me about your plans for this evening.”

“I did nothing of the sort.” She scoffed. “When I told you we had no plans to leave the house, it was entirely accurate. It was only later that we decided to, well . . . seize the opportunity presented to us. Surely you can understand that as you do so hate to miss an opportunity.”

“Not nearly as much as I hate having my words thrown back at me.”

“Then perhaps you should choose your words more carefully in the future.”

She was baiting him, no doubt to defuse his justifiable anger at her rash behavior. An intelligent man would ignore it.

“We need to talk, Miss Merryweather, about your behavior.” Apparently, he was not as intelligent as he thought. “In your desire to accomplish the items on your great-aunt’s list of regrets, you put yourself, Miss West, and Lady Theodosia in an untenable situation.”

“Only if we were discovered.” She pulled off her wig and shook out her hair, combing her fingers through it. Blond waves fell to below her shoulders. He had never seen her hair down before, and combined with her attire, the overall effect was, well, tantalizing. “We weren’t.”

He ruthlessly shoved aside the image of all that fair hair fanned out over a pillow. This was not the time. “I discovered you.”

“But you know me. You do not count. I, however, believe this evening’s activities were well worth the risk.”

“Only because you were not discovered!”

She smiled.

“We really need to discuss your actions past and future!”

“No, Mr. Fairchild.” Her voice hardened. “We need to discuss yours.”

“Mine?” He stared. “What have I done?”

“Overstepped, Mr. Fairchild. You have overstepped.”

“Overstepped?” He stared, then winced. “You’re right, of course. My apologies. I should not have taken such liberties.”

“Liberties?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, then her expression cleared. “Oh, the kiss you mean? You needn’t apologize for that. If I had objected, you can be certain I would have said so at the time.”

“And you did kiss me back.” He smirked.

A becoming blush colored her cheeks. “That is not the topic under discussion and not what I was referring to.”

“Then I don’t understand.” He drew his brows together. “How have I overstepped?”

“You have gone entirely too far.” She stepped closer and met his gaze firmly. “You,
Mr. Fairchild
, are the employee of my former almost fiancé, who through some misplaced sense of responsibility or perhaps guilt, has taken it upon himself to hire you to make certain I come to no harm. As admirable as his intentions were, my actions are really no longer any of his concern. Which brings me to you.”

“Oh?”

“I thought it was best if we dispensed with subterfuge and allowed you to accompany us. For convenience, safety, and the fact that it is extremely cold out. My opinion on that has not changed. However”—her eyes narrowed—“you are not my father, my brother, my husband, or my fiancé. You have neither the right nor the privilege of chastising me. Nor do you have any right whatsoever to tell me how I may or may not behave.”

“I did think we had become friends,” he said staunchly.

“As did I, but the fact remains that you are being paid to keep me from harm, to protect me, if you will.”

“Part and parcel of that is keeping you from doing anything that is fraught with the potential for scandal or, in some cases, even danger. I cannot assure your safety if you do not keep me informed as to your plans.”

“That, Mr. Fairchild, is no concern of mine.” She shrugged. “Perhaps if your charge is to watch my activities, you should do a better job of it. Why, one would think you had never done this sort of work before.”

His mouth dropped open.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Not very good . . .” He glared. “I have never had a complaint before.”

“I thought we had established not hearing a complaint does not necessarily mean you know what you’re doing. And I would think a good private investigator, when charged with the well-being of a . . . oh, a subject I suppose, for lack of a better word, would certainly do more than make a brief appearance once a day.”

And even that had been difficult given his duties at the
Messenger,
although admittedly, Mr. Cadwallender was so pleased with the response to
Daring Exploits
thus far he had given Cam far more freedom to follow his own course than he’d had up to now. “I trusted you!”

“A good private investigator would not have trusted so easily.”

“You struck me as very trustworthy.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I am an excellent judge of character.”

“Really?” She sniffed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m very good at what I do!”

“Again, I hadn’t noticed. Although I suppose it’s neither here nor there at the moment.”

His jaw tightened. “Now that we have dispensed with your critique of my job performance, perhaps we can return to the subject at hand. Your behavior tonight, regardless of whether or not your deception was discovered, was dangerous, scandalous, and somewhat childish.”