The Sins of Lord Easterbrook (6 page)

Of course not. Winterside checked the tip of his pen. He would write to his contact among those important men and explain that Miss Montgomery had engaged in no activities to cause the slightest interest—

“Except that day she went to Mincing Lane.”

“Mincing Lane, you say?”

“Actually to the crossroad. She bade me walk the horses and return in a half hour. But as I moved on I looked back and she was walking down Mincing Lane.”

“You are very sure it was Mincing Lane?”

“I've been a coachman in London for twenty-two years, sir. I think I know the City streets well enough, thank you.”

Winterside sat back in his chair and contemplated this last tidbit. The coachman looked longingly at the ten-pound note.

“Take it, Mr. Hubson. We are done and you have been most forthcoming.”

Hubson swiped up the note and took his leave. Winterside moved his ink within reach. He had been too optimistic in hoping he could end this matter today.

There was only one reason for Miss Montgomery to go to Mincing Lane.

“It is good to see you preparing to go out,” Isabella said. “You have been so quiet the last few days that I feared you were ill.”

Leona bent her head while Isabella stroked the brush down her scalp and back. “I have not been ill. I have been thinking.”

“Good things, I hope.”

Not entirely.

The reunion with Edmun—
Easterbrook
—demanded a reassessment of many matters. She had been reexamining her past with him. She had been mourning for her innocent memories, preserved carefully over the years even while maturity taught her more skepticism.

Her heart cringed as she saw it all with newly opened eyes. She had thought they had shared a special intimacy of souls and minds, and an unfulfilled passion of bodies and hearts. In the years since, she had even convinced herself that she had been a fool not to grab the excitement he offered instead of being so good. She had come to curse her girlish fears, and cherish her nostalgia for the young man who had thrilled her blood.

Now her mind saw every slow smile and every dark gaze, every stolen kiss and every private confidence, from a different perspective. She had merely been a convenient plaything to amuse the marquess when he was not busy addressing other, more important matters.

Those other matters occupied her mind now. This morning she had put the past behind her and turned her attention to the present and the immediate future. She had begun considering how this shocking discovery might affect her plans in England.

Easterbrook had been suspicious about her reasons for coming to London. Despite her insistence that she intended only to aid her brother, he had not believed her. Even at the end he referred to her missions. Plural.

That implied that he knew what other reasons might draw her here. Which in turn probably meant that her suspicions about him were correct.

Had he done it? Stolen her father's papers? Fled Macao with all that evidence that her father had accumulated while he investigated the attacks on his business?

The timing of the notebook's disappearance had always made her wonder, even if her heart had argued against her mind most forcefully. After all, what use would their guest have for those notes and letters? They had no value to a naturalist and adventurer.

Her father had not been distressed by the notebook's loss, but then his sharp mind could recall its contents with little effort. She, however, had almost no information at all after he died. She wanted that notebook and the evidence it contained.

Easterbrook knew that. She was almost sure that he did. He guessed that she had hoped to find him so she could ask for the papers. Now she dared not even let him know that she suspected he had them.

His identity changed so much. Everything. For the Marquess of Easterbrook, that theft could have been the reason he was in Macao to begin with. He might have learned that her father had traced the source of his oppression back to England, and believed that some members of the House of Lords were behind it.

Easterbrook probably arrived in Macao seeking a way to protect his wealthy friends, his family, or even himself. He had lied about his identity so he could learn what her father knew and interfere with her father's attempts to expose them all.

Isabella finished dressing her hair. Leona felt the topknot and dangling curls. “Where is Tong Wei?”

“He is in the library studying his English reading.”

“Let us go to him. I want to tell you both something.”

They found him there, bent over a child's book. As a boy, Tong Wei had traded language lessons with an English clerk in Macao. It was illegal to teach foreigners Chinese, but Tong Wei had risked it. In turn he had learned English far purer than the fractured dialect spoken by the official interpreters, and he had perfected it in her father's service. However, he had never learned to read English.

“I saw Edmund,” Leona announced once she had Tong Wei's attention. “The day I went to the Royal Exchange.”

“So that is why you have been so quiet and thoughtful,” Isabella said. “Is he much the same?”

“He is not at all the same. He is not even Edmund. That is not his name. That traveler who accepted my father's hospitality was actually one of the highest-ranking noblemen here, the Marquess of Easterbrook. He lied to all of us.”

“It is good news, is it not? That he is this marquess?” Isabella asked. “He had much affection for you. If he still does—” She raised her eyebrows at the possibilities.

Isabella's allusion revived the memory of Easterbrook's recent kiss. And his touch. And his confidence in his advantage. Leona's heart trembled softly, an echo of her reactions in the green bedchamber.

“Affection is not the correct word for his interest back then,” she said.

“He is a powerful man merely by his birth,” Tong
Wei said. “I hope that you did nothing to anger or insult him when you learned of his old deception.”

“I do not think that I did, but I was unable to hide my shock. He agreed to aid me.”

“That will be very useful.”

It would be. If she could trust herself, she might even try to obtain more of Easterbrook's aid. Not to her private plans, but to the ones that touched on her brother.

His parting words, however, indicated that she dare not have too much congress with the marquess.
I will have you.

Leona was not above using a man's interest to her own purposes, but she knew better than to play with fire—especially when the flames were in herself as well as him. He had already proven that they were. Even her suspicions about his betrayal did not change that, to her dismay.

“You will require a better wardrobe if you will consort with such a man,” Isabella said. “We will have to sell some of the jade.”

“I will not be consorting. He will provide one introduction, nothing more. I thought that you should both know his true identity, however.” Leona sat at the writing table and thumbed through the letters of introduction stored there. “Do not sell the jade yet. We may need it later, and for more important things than my wardrobe. We may be here longer than I anticipated.”

She hoped not. Coming to England had meant leaving her brother for over a year. She had taken pains to prepare him and the business for her absence, but she could not stay away indefinitely. Gaspar might be the
titular head of their company now, but he was still very inexperienced.

She found the letter written by another Country Trader to provide an introduction to his sister in London. She would call on this woman today. Although she did not expect the visit to yield any direct benefit, one never knew who knew whom. She would be grateful for the most tenuous connection to the people she needed to see.

With the recent setback to her plans, even a small step forward would be helpful.

Leona entered her house, contemplating her meeting with Mrs. Fines. It had been more useful than she had anticipated.

Mrs. Fines might be a trader's sister, but she had married above her family. Her husband was a barrister, and related through his mother to a baron. By the time the visit ended, Mrs. Fines was insisting on obtaining good invitations and introductions for her new dear friend.

While Leona untied her bonnet, Isabella hurried into the reception hall.

“He is here,” she said with excitement.

“Who is here?”

“Edmund. You are correct. He is much changed. I did not recognize him at first.”

“I saw no coach. No horse. And his name is not Edmund.”

“Maybe he flew. He is above, in the library with Tong Wei.”

Leona struggled to maintain a bland countenance, but this surprise had her heart racing. She had not expected Easterbrook to come
here.

“He asked to be told when you returned— Easterbrook did. I think that he came to see you, not Tong Wei,” Isabella said.

“I am not sure that I want to see
him,
however.”

“I do not see how you can avoid it, unless you want to insult him. That would not be wise.”

No, it wouldn't be. A little annoyed and more excited than she wanted, Leona went up to the library.

No sounds greeted her when she opened the door. The chamber held a stillness that she recognized.

Tong Wei sat on the floor, his legs crossed before him and his back so straight that his queue dangled. Easterbrook lounged in a chair. Like Tong Wei his eyes were closed. Nothing about him moved, not even an eyelash.

Leona did not move either, but she sensed the disruption that her mere presence caused. She became a tiny pebble dropped into a serene lake. Little eddies wobbled across the surface.

They emerged from their reveries together. Easterbrook's lids rose and he gazed at her with eyes not yet entirely in the world again. Tong Wei rose with a fluid movement that reflected both strength and agility.

Tong Wei bowed to Easterbrook, then walked over to her. “He never stopped. All this time he has continued.”

“He does not do it the same as you, though. He does not sit as you do and as you taught him.”

Easterbrook had emerged completely and risen from his chair, but he allowed the conversation to continue and remained out of hearing.

“Nor does he believe. He uses the truth, but does not accept it as truth. All the same—” Tong Wei bowed to their guest again, and retreated from the library.

Leona faced Easterbrook alone. “He says that you have mastered the methods, but do not accept the truths.”

“It is not my faith. Do I insult him by showing the methods do not depend on believing?”

“You disconcert him, not insult him. He is also pleased, I believe, to see that you continued your efforts and that you find peace in the results. He is flattered that you visited today.”

“I would have sought him out in any case if I knew he was in London. However, I did not visit today just to see him.”

No, he had not. God help her. She sought some calm by focusing on the many ways that his appearance had altered from their last meeting.

No one would mistake him for a servant now. He appeared the lord he was. His frock coat avoided the exaggerated nipped waist that was fashionable, but still revealed his form. His waistcoat was quite conservative. His hair looked shorter by a hand's breadth, and it more neatly framed his handsome face.

“I did not acquit myself well when last we met, Leona. I should have accounted for your shock at seeing me again. The manner in which I had you brought to me—I apologize. I should have found a better way.”

She doubted Easterbrook apologized often, to
anyone. She allowed him to dwell in the vague discomfort this little speech appeared to cause him.

“Perhaps I did not acquit myself well either, due to the shock.”

“I would say that you handled me splendidly. But then you always did.”

Not always. Not completely. It was kind of him to pretend she had never been a fool, though.

He meandered through the library, taking in its cases and appointments. “Have you let this house for long?”

“Three months.”

“How long have you been in London?”

“One month tomorrow.”

“I assume that you brought letters of introduction.”

“Quite a few.”

“Yet you only recently made it into my aunt's company, and she is more approachable than most, and not too strict in whom she receives. It is going slower than you expected.”

“Regrettably, yes.”

His path had brought him close to her. “I have taken steps for you that you did not request. I trust you will not mind.”

“What kind of steps?”

“I have told my aunt that it would please me if you were invited to more assemblies. Those of good society. She will open a few doors. I have also told the family solicitor that it would please me if you received invitations to parties of less elevated society. Traders, financiers, and such.”

“That is good of you. However, I have learned a
thing or two in the last few weeks. You are well known, of course, and the object of some gossip. It is said that you do not partake of social events yourself. A recluse, you are called. Why do you think your stated pleasure will produce invitations for me?”

“Because I am Easterbrook.”

His answer did not even sound arrogant. He merely stated a reality that explained everything.

An insight came to her, one that she suspected was important. He announced his identity not only with calm confidence, but also with utter acceptance.

Being Easterbrook would not only be about influence and wealth. It would not only mean that people bowed to you, and sought to please you. There would be bad along with the good, and obligations along with the prestige.

This was how he had changed, she realized. His appearance was the least of it. The young man in Macao had exuded dark chaos. The darkness still existed, but it did not rule anymore, and the chaos had been tamed. She wondered whether the calm way he said
I am Easterbrook
was the reason for this essential change, or the result of it.

He checked his pocket watch. “My carriage should return soon. You will accompany me to the park.”

“That is kind of you, but I have had a full day already.”