A Little Mischief (20 page)

“Oh,” she said, sounding a bit disappointed. “Well, it would have been better if we had found her name somewhere, and then we wouldn’t worry that there was something we missed.” She looked up at him. “I suppose you feel that it was a wasted trip?”

“Not at all.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I found his private gambling journal.”

Thirteen

Stunned, Isabella looked into Daniel’s golden brown eyes. Late afternoon sunshine beat down on her from a clear blue sky. For a moment, wrapped in her aunt’s heavy cloak, she felt as if she might really faint. The carriage rumbled and bumped along the street under the clear blue sky at an easy pace, but Isabella’s gaze didn’t waver from Daniel’s.

“His gambling journal?” she managed to say. “You took it from his desk?”

Daniel drew in a deep breath but remained calm as he said, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“He’s not going to need it again.”

“Daniel!” she exclaimed.

He shrugged off her shock and answered, “I know that was an irreverent remark about a dead man, but you just looked so astonished that I had taken the journal when this entire escapade was your idea.”

He was still the most unbelievable man she had ever met. And to think he had called her a mischief-maker. He was ten times worse than she was and he seemed almost pleased with himself.

“It was my idea to look at his appointment book, a sheet of vellum, or anything that might have Gretchen’s name on it and take that. I in no way indicated you should avail yourself of his private, ill-gotten-gains book.” She stopped and took a huffing breath before she asked, “Is your sister’s name in there?”

Daniel gave her a placating smile. “I haven’t looked, but I would hope not. She’s in enough trouble without adding a gambling debt.”

She looked at him warily. “Then what do you plan to do with the journal?”

“You mean, after I read it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll probably find a way to return it without anyone knowing I had it.”

There had to be a reason he took the book that had nothing to do with Gretchen, so she asked, “What exactly do you plan to do with the information that is in the journal?”

“I’m not sure. Taking it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. We know that Throckmorten was killed in Lord Gleningwold’s garden and later dumped in the river. Everyone else, except the killer, of course, assumes he was killed somewhere on the streets by a footpad and then thrown in the water.”

“That must be what the killer wanted everyone to believe, or why would he move the body from the garden?” Isabella said.

“Right.”

Isabella found herself warming to the idea that Daniel had taken the book. It was true after all that Mr. Throckmorten had no further use of it, and there was a good possibility it might help them solve the mystery of who killed the poor man.

“I think I see where you’re going with this. It was obviously a member of the
ton
who killed Mr. Throckmorten. There were no others at the party.” Isabella paused. “Unless, of course, a footpad made his way into Lord Gleningwold’s garden.”

“That’s unlikely given the number of people in attendance. Someone would have noticed him before he made it to the garden.”

“Or a gate was left unlocked.”

“That’s always a possibility. It’s my guess that Throckmorten was probably killed by someone at the party who owed him money and couldn’t pay up.”

“Or maybe it could be that he owed money to someone and couldn’t or wouldn’t pay the debt.”

Daniel nodded. “Yes, that’s another possibility I’ve thought about.”

“And you want to know if any of the men whose names are written in that book were also at Lord Gleningwold’s party?”

“Yes. The only thing we know for sure is that Gretchen didn’t kill him.”

“And that journal,” Isabella pointed to his pocket, “might help us determine who the likely suspects are. Let’s look at it,” she said, feeling a sudden excitement rising inside her.

“We can’t look at it here on the streets.” He motioned to the rows of town homes they were passing at an easy clip. “Someone might see us.”

“Oh, heavens, Daniel, no one will know what we are looking at.”

“I will know. Reading through this will be done in private.”

Isabella leaned against the back of the seat cushion and laughed lightly. His gaze swept up and down her face like a feather-soft caress, and the way he looked at her made her even hotter.

“What amuses you?”

“You do.”

He gave her a nonchalant grin. “Me? I’m not sure I like being the source of your entertainment. What is there about me that you find comical?”

“How you have pretended such innocence with me.”

He relaxed against the cushion back with her. “Innocent? Me? What are you talking about?”

Isabella should have known that no man would want to be associated with the word
innocent
, so she explained. “I do believe you have been reading the same books I’ve read, and you wouldn’t admit it.”

“Trust me, I haven’t read many books since leaving Oxford.”

He chuckled softly, easily, and Isabella liked seeing his face in laughter. His eyes sparkled and looked lighter and brighter. She liked the way the wind blew his hair back, showing his strong forehead, making him look younger and even more handsome. His lips were full and tempting, making her desperate to press her own against his and to once again experience the passion she’d found in his arms.

As she watched him she couldn’t help but wonder why Society said kisses were not proper when they felt so good. No doubt someone who didn’t like kisses started that rule. And Isabella believed some rules needed to be broken. Not kissing until you were married was one of them.

Isabella smiled at him. “I’m not so sure you are telling the truth about your reading habits. You’ve come up with a very good clue about finding out who the killer might be.”

“That is because I catch on quick about how your game is played.”

Isabella’s excitement ebbed, and she realized again how uncomfortably hot she was in the cloak. She wished for a chilling breeze to cool her cheeks.

Her expression turned questioning, and she said, “My game? I’m not playing a game, Daniel.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Isabella didn’t know why it bothered her that Daniel thought she was making a game out of this. She truly wanted to see that Gretchen wasn’t implicated in Throckmorten’s murder, but she couldn’t deny that there was an excitement in wanting to help find out who the killer might be.

Maybe she couldn’t blame Daniel for not trusting her. Here she was sitting beside him disguised as an old woman. She’d been the one to suggest he search Mr. Throckmorten’s desk for incriminating papers. Worst of all, she had failed in her duty to keep Gretchen away from Mr. Throckmorten, which started all this intrigue.

Isabella felt the heat not only from the sun but from her conversation with Daniel. She looked around the row of houses they were passing and didn’t see anyone walking the streets. They were clear.

She reached up and untied her aunt’s bonnet. In one fluid movement she swept the bonnet and wig off her head at the same time and let them drop to the carriage floor. Just as quickly, she plopped her own dark blue bonnet over her mussed hair and settled it on her head.

“What are you doing?” Daniel whispered as he looked around the streets to see if anyone was watching them. “You could get caught.”

“It’s so hot I couldn’t possibly wear that thing another moment,” she said as she tied the ribbons under her chin. “It seems as if it was winter yesterday and spring came to London overnight.”

“Don’t make light of your disguise, Isabella. That was a dangerous thing for you to do. Someone could have seen you.”

“I checked the streets to make sure they were empty. I think I’ve made it clear that I don’t want to get caught doing something I shouldn’t do.” She gave him a quick but winning smile. “You worry too much, Daniel.”

“Obviously one of us needs to. I’m trying to keep your reputation from being ruined.”

“I do appreciate that. I’m doing the same for Gretchen. As long as her name doesn’t appear on any of Mr. Throckmorten’s papers, we will assume she’s safe from the gossips and the authorities.”

Isabella unbuttoned the cloak and Daniel helped her to take it off. She let it fall on top of the bonnet and wig. Daniel told the driver not to make the planned detour, but to go directly to Isabella’s house.

When Daniel turned back to her, he said, “Just because I didn’t see anything that looked like an appointment book anywhere on Throckmorten’s desk, I’m not sure we can assume my sister is in the clear yet.”

“I suppose you’re right. We can assume that whoever killed the man saw her.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about him coming forward. But to be on the safe side, I will go to Bow Street and hire a runner to look into Throckmorten’s death.”

Abruptly Isabella’s heart lurched, and then started beating rapidly. She glanced away from Daniel to the tall shrubs and a couple of pedestrians they passed. If there was no intrigue to settle, there would be no reason for him to see her again. If she never saw him alone again, there wouldn’t be any more kisses. That thought caused an unexpected pain deep in her chest.

Isabella didn’t want to stop seeing him. She enjoyed their banter and being with him. She wanted to work with him on solving this crime. She had even hoped he would kiss her again. He was a challenge to be sure but a welcome challenge.

Suddenly the sunshine didn’t seem nearly so bright or feel so warm. In fact, she suddenly felt quite chilled. And once again she was having feelings for Daniel that she didn’t understand.

Why did the thought of not seeing him again squeeze all the joy out of her heart? Why did it suddenly make her feel lonely? It had to be that without him there would be no adventure or intrigue for her to help resolve.

She turned her attention back to him. Isabella didn’t want him forsaking her and going to a runner. She wanted to continue to help him on this quest, but how could she convince him of that?

“I’m not sure that a runner is a good idea. If anyone in the
ton
hears about you hiring someone to look into this matter, they might wonder why you have such an interest in Mr. Throckmorten.”

“I would make sure the runner was discreet and that my name would never be made known.”

Isabella decided just to say what was on her mind and be done with it. “But if you turn this matter over to a runner, there would be no reason for me to help you with the names in the journal.”

His expression turned serious, and he hesitated a moment before speaking. “Gambling debts and murder are not the kinds of things that a young lady like you should be involved in, Isabella. I think it’s best that only one of us knows what’s written in the book.”

That sinking feeling settled in her stomach. He was telling her he didn’t want her help? He was right. This wasn’t something most young ladies should be involved in, but she was different. She had been a part of this from the beginning, but she knew it would do no good to argue with Lord Colebrooke.

“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” she said with no conviction in her voice. “There’s no reason for both of us to know these men’s private affairs.” She took a painfully deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “And if I don’t need to help you protect Gretchen’s reputation, I don’t suppose there is any reason for us to continue to see each other.”

He hesitated for a moment before he answered, giving her a dash of hope that he might reconsider, but finally he said, “I don’t see any reason.”

He said it so flatly she had no recourse but to believe him no matter how much that reality wounded her heart and filled her with sadness. But she couldn’t let him know that.

“Good,” she said, keeping her voice as light as possible, not wanting him to know how deeply his words affected her. “It’s settled then. Should we meet at a party, we will greet each other as acquaintances with a smile and continue on our way.”

“I think that’s best, Isabella. Our times alone have been too intense.”

She knew she should let the conversation drop. They were near her home, but she couldn’t let him go so easily. Keeping her gaze on his she said, “Daniel?”

“Yes?”

“I want to thank you for kissing me.”

“Isabella. Don’t thank me for something I shouldn’t have done. I was just lecturing Gretchen for being involved in inappropriate behavior with a man and felt like the worst kind of scoundrel doing so when I’ve been just as guilty.”

“How so?” she asked innocently.

He gave a short laugh. “Have you forgotten so quickly our passionate embrace in Gleningwold’s garden or what we shared in your own home? We’ve shared a bit more than kisses.”

“But you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do,” she insisted defiantly. “And don’t forget there is a big difference between your sister and me.”

“And what is that?”

“One, I am three years older and, therefore, more worldly and wiser.”