A Good Rake is Hard to Find (11 page)

When he was gone, Leonora took a moment to calm her nerves. She could hear the dance end on the floor behind her and was grateful for the diversion. She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected from Sir Gerard, but it hadn't been outright accusations against Jonny. Though he'd never come right out and said what it was he thought Jonny had done.

One thing she knew for a fact was that Gerard was more than aware that Jonathan had learned something about the club leader. Something illegal, and perhaps even immoral.

They were on the right track, she thought with relief. Now more than ever she was convinced of Gerard's guilt in the matter.

Rising, she went to seek out Freddy.

*   *   *

“He won't do anything to her while you're watching,” Lady Fincher said from where she'd slipped up beside him. “At least nothing overtly insulting. He's much more careful than that, my husband. He's a coward at heart, and would rather not die in a duel if he can help it.”

Surprised by her candor, Frederick turned to look at his hostess. “I suppose you've seen this sort of thing before?”

“More times than I can say,” she said, slipping her arm through his and leading him toward a group of guests. “He has always had a wandering eye, but I do wish he would not hunt in his own preserves. It leads to unpleasantness among the club members. Though at first they seem eager enough to please their leader. Even if it means giving over their wives and sweethearts to him. Not like you, my lord.”

“Did I seem so aloof, then?” Freddy asked, accepting a glass of brandy from a footman.

“Let us call it instead,” Lady Fincher said, lifting her own glass in a silent toast, “possessiveness. It's nothing to be ashamed of, my lord. Indeed, it's quite admirable in a newly betrothed gentleman.”

Before he could comment on her assessment, they reached the other guests. “I'm sure you all know Lord Frederick Lisle,” Lady Fincher said by way of introduction.

Lord Hastings, a hard-faced viscount whom Freddy knew a little from their school days, nodded. “My condolences, old fellow. I mean to avoid the parson's mousetrap for as long as I'm able. Though one could do worse than the lovely Miss Craven, despite her ridiculous poetry.”

“I quite like her poetry.” This was said by a blowsy lady whose cheeks seemed to indicate she'd already had quite a bit of champagne. “It's lovely and decadent. Quite the thing if you're trying to woo the ladies, Lord Hastings,” she said with a glance at the man that suggested she'd not be unamused should he try such a thing with her.

“Her brother was quite proud of it,” Lady Fincher said with a solemnity that surprised Frederick. He'd not suspected the lady of possessing any great sentimentality. “He spoke of her quite often.”

“A shame about his death,” Frederick said, hoping the others would join in the conversation. “Were any of you there that day?”

“I was,” the other gentleman in the group, Lord Payne, said. “It was a damned shame. Jonny was one of the best whips I've ever seen. Don't know how he could have made such a mistake. Not when his wits were about him, at any rate. He would never have taken that turn like that. Even if there was a—”

He broke off as Lady Fincher touched him on the arm. “I'm sure we don't need to rehash the details, Lord Payne,” she said sharply. “Especially as I believe Lord Frederick was a good friend of Mr. Craven's.”

To Frederick's surprise the other man paled at the admonition. Interesting, he thought. So Lady Fincher wielded just as much power within the group as her husband did.

The sound of clapping as the dance ended gave Freddy a reason to excuse himself and seek out Leonora. He didn't think his cousin would try anything untoward in a room full of other people, but he did not like leaving her alone with him for longer than he could help.

To his surprise, he found that either she or Gerard had ended their t
ê
te-
à
-t
ê
te a little early, and Leonora was deep in conversation with a pretty redhead near the fireplace.

“This is my betrothed, Lord Frederick Lisle,” Leonora told the other woman as she took Freddy's arm. “He was good friends with my brother and would never betray a confidence.”

An odd way to begin a conversation, Freddy thought as he greeted the matron.

“Freddy, this is Lady Payne,” Leonora told him, her eyes bright with excitement. “She was there the day that Jonny was killed.” There was much more to the story than that, Frederick knew, but she dare not speak it aloud in this room full of possible suspects.

“I'd better go back to my husband,” Lady Payne said with a tight smile. “He begins to wonder if I'm away from his side for too long. And I feel sure he'll want to dance.”

When she was gone, Leonora turned to Frederick. “I have much to tell you.”

“You've been busy,” he said with a smile. “I only spoke to a few people before I came over here and it would seem you've already gathered more intelligence than I did in half the time.”

“I saw you speaking with Lady Melisande,” Leonora said, leading him to the corner where she'd conversed with Gerard. “And those club members. I feel sure you learned quite a bit.”

“In a minute,” he said. “I am on tenterhooks to know what my cousin was so eager to tell you.”

“He has quite the wandering eye,” she said in a low voice. “I don't think there is a lady here whose bosom he hasn't ogled.”

“He always did have a taste for the ladies,” Frederick responded, grateful for the privacy afforded by the corner. It would not do to have Leonora's disparagement of their host overheard. “But did you learn anything about Jonathan?”

“He was quite sympathetic about Jonny's accident,” she replied easily, though there was something in her eyes that made him think she was keeping something about her conversation with his cousin to herself. “But I'm sure he knows something more about what happened. He seemed to blame the accident on my brother doing something untoward in order to win the race. Like cheating or sabotaging the other carriage.”

“What?” Freddy demanded with a scowl. “He called Jonathan a cheater?”

Leonora shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. It was not something he said explicitly, but I definitely got the idea that he was trying to blacken Jonny's good name to me. Perhaps in an effort to hide his own misconduct. I'm not sure precisely. But it was not a comfortable conversation.”

Quickly she told Freddy about Gerard's conduct during their talk. The accusations, the laughter, and how he'd left her so abruptly. She did not tell him about the satyrs. As much as she wished to see Sir Gerard Fincher punished for his bad manners, she did not wish for Freddy to call him out. Because she was not quite sure that Sir Gerard had any honor at all. And would do whatever it took to escape punishment for his misdeed. Even if it meant killing a blood relative.

“I am shocked he spoke so freely, though I somehow do not think that my cousin holds much faith in the intellect of the female sex,” Frederick said apologetically. “It has nothing to do with you. He simply doesn't think about women that way.”

“Somewhat surprising since his wife is quite cunning,” Leonora said, her brows raised. “But perhaps it is just women who are not Melisande whom he thinks of as imbeciles.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick noticed that on the dance floor behind them, the couples were not adhering in any way or fashion to the rules that Almack's had set forth regarding the distance between partners in the waltz.

But then, this was hardly the sort of crowd that would value the opinions of the patronesses of Almack's.

“Do you get the feeling, Freddy,” Leonora said, her eyes widening as she spied a couple kissing openly amid the other dancers, “that this party isn't quite … proper?”

Since another couple were about as close as they could be without the interference of clothing between them, Frederick agreed with her assessment. “I think it's time for us to get a bit of air,” he said, deciding that it would do her reputation better to be found with him in an empty chamber than to be seen among these dancers. “Come on.”

Taking her by the hand, he led Leonora from the room and toward the hallway.

 

Seven

Her mind awhirl with the memory of the amorous couples on the dance floor, Leonora felt her heart beat faster as she followed Freddy from the drawing room, his hand warm as it clasped hers.

This night had been a maelstrom of surprises. From the foolishness of Sir Gerard Fincher's throne, to the couples all but coupling on the dance floor, she'd seen things this evening that would be difficult to burn from her mind.

Even so, she thought as she felt Freddy slide an arm around her waist as they walked, she was surprisingly sanguine about it. As long as she was with Freddy, she wasn't afraid. And both her conversation with Sir Gerard and her words with Lady Payne had given her much they could use in the plot to prove the former had killed her brother.

Still, the thought of Gerard's coldness when he spoke about Jonny's accident gave her chills. Against her better judgment, she nestled a bit closer to Freddy as he led them farther down the hall.

Finally, he opened a door off the hall and led her inside a room that was dim but for the glow of the firelight. “Here we are,” he said, shutting the door behind them. “My cousin's study. And if he catches us here, we can simply claim that we were looking for somewhere to be alone.”

Seeing him move to the desk and begin opening and closing drawers, Leonora stepped over to the sideboard behind it and began her own investigation of its neatly stacked papers.

The first pile she looked through appeared to be bills for Lady Fincher's rather expensive purchases from Madame LaForge, the most celebrated modiste in town. And more shocking, they were all marked paid. It indicated that Sir Gerard was much wealthier than Leonora had supposed. Something that the sumptuousness of the Fincher house also indicated.

“Freddy,” she said, in a low voice. “Look at these.”

He took the bills from her and sorted through them.

“Where does he get his money? There must be a thousand pounds worth of charges for gowns alone in that stack.” It was not unheard of for ladies of the finest families to spend freely at London establishments. So long as there was some expectation of monies to come—whether from an inheritance or some other source, so long as it checked out—most shopkeepers extended credit. Indeed, it was fashionable among some to go as long as possible without paying one's bills. Brummell had been one of those people. Before he had to flee to the Continent when his debts were finally called in.

“I admit, I had no idea my cousin was doing so well for himself,” Freddy said finally, handing the notes back to her. “As you said, his father is a younger son, and as far as I know he always lived off the allowance his father gave him. Gerard has never seemed to want for things but I suppose I always assumed he'd inherited something from the other side of his family. If he's paying bills of this size, though, he's got quite a bit of cash on hand.”

“He might be involved in any number of schemes,” Leonora suggested. “Blackmail, extortion, cheating at cards.”

Freddy rubbed the furrow between his brows, thinking. “Something tells me it's got to be connected to the thing in his life he's most passionate about.”

“The club,” she said with a nod. “It has something to do with the club. Or its members. I noted quite a few members from some of the finest families in the
ton
in that drawing room tonight. All of them with fortunes ripe for the picking.”

“It's possible,” he said, handing the notes back to her. When he did so, one piece of paper slipped out and sailed to the carpeted floor.

Frowning, he crouched down and picked it up. It was a plain sheet of foolscap, folded in half. Leonora stood beside him and leaned down to watch as he opened the page.

Pay your debts or pay the forfeit.

There was no address. No signature. Nothing whatsoever to indicate it even belonged in the study of Sir Gerard Fincher. But Leonora knew with every bone in her body that it was somehow connected to her brother's death.

“What does it mean?” she asked him, frustrated at finding yet another clue that added up to precisely nothing. At least nothing that could be used as evidence to present to a magistrate.

“I think the real question,” Freddy said, standing up again and turning the page over and over, as if some heretofore invisible mark would appear, “is for whom is it intended? It was in a stack of paid bills, so it isn't as if it were being prepared to be sent out. And the fact that it's here at all, among my cousin's received mail, seems to indicate that it was sent to him.”

“So someone is threatening
him
?” Leonora asked, dumbfounded. Of all the scenarios she'd imagined involving Sir Gerard Fincher, it was not the one in which he was the victim of a crime.

“Until we find out how it got here, or who it's from,” Freddy said with a shrug, “that's the only logical—”

He broke off at the sound of voices in the hallway outside the study.

“Quickly,” he said, slipping the note into his coat and taking Leonora in his arms.

Before she knew what was happening his mouth had covered hers.

There was no preamble. There couldn't be. Not when they had to convince anyone who might enter the room that they'd been caught in the midst of something.

But it wasn't the threat of discovery that sent her heart racing. It was the ache of finally being held in Freddy's arms again. The sweetness of taking him into her mouth, the strength of his biceps as she clung helplessly to him and let him kiss her until her toes curled.

This, she thought as she stroked her tongue against his, this is what I've needed.