A Good Rake is Hard to Find (4 page)

She'd learned long ago that such happy-ever-afters would never be her own lot.

“So what will it take to make you return home and for some laudanum to help you sleep?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of affection and exasperation.

She despised laudanum, which Freddy well knew. It had been one of their biggest points of contention during their engagement. He simply didn't understand why she refused to use the one thing that gave her the rest she needed. It was difficult to explain to someone like Freddy, who seemed able to simply close his eyes and drift off at the drop of a hat.

But Leonora had seen what daily doses of laudanum could do to a person. And once one began using it, it became nigh impossible to stop. She refused to become dependent on something that made her feel as if her mind were wrapped in fog as thick as a London sky in winter.

Even so, she was exhausted enough—and desperate enough—at this point to agree to his request. If she were going to concentrate on bringing down Sir Gerard Fincher, she had to get some rest.

“So long as you agree to help me prove that the Lords of Anarchy are responsible for Jonathan's death,” she told him, “I'll agree to just about anything.”

The flare of heat in his blue eyes gave her some idea of the tenor of the “anything” he imagined. But just as quickly it was gone, and Freddy was rising and offering her his hand.

“Then it's a deal,” he said, as she rose wearily from the club chair. “I will help you prove my cousin was responsible for your brother's death, and you will get some rest.”

Now that she'd secured his agreement, however, Leonora knew she would be able to sleep without drugs tonight. She felt her body relax for the first time since she'd learned of her brother's death.

She nodded, and stifled a yawn, but before she could turn to leave, Freddy stayed her with a hand on her arm. “I'm afraid I have another request that you might not be so sanguine about once you hear it.”

Leonora shrugged, her body too exhausted to cause an alarm. “You may as well try me now while I'm too sleepy to refuse.”

“You won't like it,” he said seriously. “But I think that the best way for the two of us to investigate the Lords of Anarchy will be together.”

“Well, of course,” she agreed. “I'm hardly going to let you investigate things without keeping me apprised of them. And I'll naturally wish to be included in some of the investigation.”

“That's not what I'm talking about, Nora,” he said with a sigh. “I mean that we should conduct this investigation as an
engaged
couple.”

 

Three

“Engaged?” Leonora asked, her mouth hanging open. “I … you mean … to be married? But why? What purpose will it serve?”

He'd known it would be a difficult prospect to convince her, but as soon as the notion came to him, it had been impossible to dislodge from his mind. It would be difficult for both of them, but he feared it was the only way his cousin could be thoroughly routed.

“Yes, to be married,” he explained as she frowned up at him, that errant curl by her ears tempting him, like a beckoning finger, to reach out and caress the cheek where it rested. “Not a true engagement, of course. But one that is real enough to seem valid in the eyes of the Lords of Anarchy at least.”

If he'd supposed she would leap at the chance to have her name linked with his again, he was doomed to disappointment.

“And what sort of proof will the Anarchists need for this betrothal you propose to seem valid?” she asked with a moue of distaste. “The sight of you throwing me over your shoulder and carrying me off to your lair? Or maybe I shall need to compete in a driving challenge of some sort. Though they do not allow ladies in their club, I have a feeling they hypocritically would prefer that ladies were excellent drivers.”

“Don't be glib, Leonora,” he chided, though he rather agreed with her assessment. “It doesn't suit you.”

“I will be as glib as I wish, Freddy,” she snapped, dropping back into the club chair with a flounce, as if her legs would no longer hold her up. “I came here tonight to convince you to investigate Jonny's murder, not to embark upon yet another foolish engagement with you. If I wanted to be married I'd have done so by now.”

There was a vehemence in her tone that stirred some vestige of the hurt and anger he'd felt when she broke things off with him. What, he wondered, was so objectionable to marriage? He had supposed it was marriage to himself that she found abhorrent but it seemed now that she'd developed an aversion to the institution itself.

Realizing that his plan was going to require more than a quick conversation, Freddy took the seat opposite hers. He wished he'd requested a bottle of brandy at the same time Ned had brought the tea. He wasn't sure about Leonora, but he could certainly use a bit of liquid courage for this conversation.

“It isn't meant to be an actual marriage, Nora,” he said with what he considered to be admirable calm. “It's a ruse. Unless, that is, you do not wish to be a part of this investigation. Which is all the same to me really. I generally prefer to work alone. And if I'm not concerned about you I'll be able to more fully participate in the activities of the club.” He let his words sink in for a moment so that she understood just what he meant by “activities.”

But Leonora refused to be distracted by the mention of the lascivious nature of some of the club's meetings. “But why?” she demanded. “What purpose would it serve for your cousin to believe we're betrothed? If you mean to become a member yourself it's not necessary. There is no rule that says club members need to be wed. Or even betrothed.”

“It is rumored that my cousin's wife holds just as much sway over the female companions of club members as he does over the members themselves,” he explained. “And if my own knowledge of their marriage is accurate, Lady Melisande Fincher is nearly as ruthless as Gerard.”

She was silent, thinking no doubt of the repercussions of a false betrothal. Perhaps remembering just how painful it had been when she ended their very real betrothal five years ago.

Finally, when he'd almost given up hope of a response, she said, “I suppose there is some merit to your absurd notion. If Melisande is as involved in club matters as you say, then someone will need to get close to her. To learn what she knows about my brother's death.”

Though he felt a surge of relief at her acquiescence, Freddy nodded soberly. “I think it's imperative that we put about word of our betrothal at once. I realize you are still in mourning, so we will simply say that the wedding will be a quiet family affair.”

He had a feeling he'd soon be fending off questions from his mother over the unusual circumstances of the match, but that could wait. For now all that mattered was making his cousin believe that the betrothal was a real one.

“I'll get the notice out to the papers first thing tomorrow,” he continued, noting that she'd once more lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “I suppose I should visit your father tomorrow, as well. I wonder if he'll be more inclined to shake my hand or put a bullet in me. I'm thinking hand shaking considering just how difficult you've been these years since our last betrothal. The poor man is probably desperate to get you off his hands.”

“I fear you are unduly optimistic,” she said with a shake of her head. “Papa was none too happy with the way things worked out between us before. He's likely to refuse your request out of hand.”

But he could tell from the quirk of her brow that she was likely exaggerating. He'd always been a favorite with Joseph Craven, whose lack of a title belied a superb lineage and wealth that rivaled that of the most celebrated families in England.

“We'll see,” he said with a shrug. If Mr. Craven did cut up rough, Freddy was not above explaining the gist of their plan (downplaying the risk to Leonora, of course) to persuade him. But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. “Now, shall we leave? There are quite a few things I need to do before we announce our betrothal to the world.”

“And there is the matter of worming your way into Sir Gerard Fincher's good graces,” she added, rising from her chair. “Though I suppose it shouldn't be so very difficult considering the man is your cousin.”

“You'd be surprised,” Freddy said, offering her his arm. “If you will recall, Gerry and I have never been on the best of terms.”

“Oh, I remember,” Leonora said, drawing the hood of her cloak up over her head, its deep blue color accentuating the shadows beneath her eyes. Once again, Freddy found himself wanting to bundle her up and ensure that she got the rest she needed. But it had been his hovering that he suspected led her to break off their first engagement. And he was damned if he'd let her break this false one, too.

“I thought perhaps you'd enlist your papa or one of your brothers to aid you,” she continued, allowing him to guide her to the door of the little antechamber where they'd been talking. “After all, there is nothing more convincing than a word from a well-placed relation to smooth the way. At least it has been my experience.”

It wasn't a bad idea, Freddy thought as they wended their way along the servants' passage to the back door of Brooks's, where she might escape the scrutiny of curious club members coming into the club for the night.

He had thought he'd need to drive her home in his own carriage, but as soon as they stepped out he saw one of her father's carriages was waiting in the mews behind the club.

Silently, they crossed the narrow street, and with a nod to the coachman who was giving him a quizzical look, he handed her up into the carriage. Then, to Leonora's astonishment he climbed up into the carriage after her.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, as he gave a rap on the roof to indicate to the driver that they should depart.

“I am escorting you home, Leonora,” he responded solemnly. “You might have embarked upon your harebrained scheme to infiltrate Brooks's without an escort, but I'm certainly not going to let you drive down St. James Street alone. Besides, you look so exhausted I thought you might not be able to make it to the door of your father's house.”

“How flattering, sir,” she said with mock gratitude. “I vow, next you'll be telling me you question my ability to put myself to bed and will offer to carry me in.”

Her words hung in the air, like a gauntlet thrown down before him. For a breath he considered what the scenario she painted would be like. He could picture lifting her into his arms and carrying her up the grand staircase of her house, and lowering her to the smooth counterpane (her clothing and his having magically vanished in the process).

The air between them snapped with awareness. Their gazes held for a moment before she glanced down. He was suddenly annoyed by the darkness of the carriage interior. He wanted to see what tale her eyes told about her true feelings.

But as he'd expected, she pretended as if nothing had happened.

Just as well.

When she said nothing, he said, “I feel sure your father would be less than pleased if I were to cause a disturbance in the house at this hour.”

And just like that the moment was gone.

“Doubtless you are right,” she said, a hint of relief in her tone.

Then she went on. “I am grateful for your help, Freddy,” she said solemnly. “If you'd refused I'd have found a way to get myself into the club regardless, but I will feel more confident knowing you're there, too. There is something about your cousin I cannot like. And I would much rather not place myself in his hands, if it's at all possible.”

The idea of her anywhere near his cousin sent a chill through him, but Freddy merely nodded. “Jonny was my friend. And whether you believe it or not, Trent, Mainwaring, and I were discussing ways to prove the Lords of Anarchy were somehow responsible for your brother's death before you arrived.”

She looked skeptical, but did not gainsay him. Instead she asked, “What had you decided?”

“Only that I should find a way to join the club,” Freddy admitted. “We hadn't got much farther before Ned came to tell me you'd arrived. Or talked your way inside, as the case may be.”

“So it's quite a good thing that I came when I did, isn't it?” Leonora asked with a flash of teeth. “Otherwise you might never have come up with a viable plan.”

It was rather a whitewashed vision of her arrival's impact on his plans, but Freddy was willing to concede the point. After all, her intrusion had given him a more viable plan to get into his cousin's club than just “Item One: Convince Gerry to let me in.”

By this time the carriage began to slow, and finally rolled to a stop. Freddy didn't wait for the coachman to open the door, but opened it himself and jumped down to the street.

Instead of handing Leonora down the stairs, he reached inside, took her by the waist and lifted her lightly down. It was no accident that her lithe curves brushed against the front of his body as he lowered her.

When she was on her feet, he looked down into her face, a pale oval in the moonlight. “Good night, Leonora,” he said softly. “I'll be by in the morning to speak with your father.”

“I…” She seemed to struggle with something, but then must have decided against whatever she'd been about to say. “Good night, Freddy.”

Then, before he could kiss her, as she doubtless knew he'd intended, she wrenched herself away and hurried up the steps to the door of Craven House.

Leaving Freddy to stare after her before he turned and walked the short distance to his own house in Berkeley Square.

*   *   *

The following morning, Leonora found her father in his library discussing estate business with his private secretary, Mr. Soames.

Though Joseph Craven held no title, he was a gentleman of some considerable wealth, and his estate in Hampshire was known to be one of the finest in England. It had been one of his fondest wishes to one day hand his property down to his son, but that wish had died along with Jonathan a few weeks earlier. Now when the elder Craven died, the estate would pass into the hands of a distant cousin, and if his prior visits were any indication, Leonora would not find life under Cousin Humphrey's roof to be as liberal as life with her father. And though she knew her sister would welcome her, she had no wish to become a burden.