Poor Spinton was so chagrined, he flashed Beatrice an apologetic expression, and Beatrice was so discomfitted that she stared at them both with something that looked very much like horror.
And jealousy. And hurt.
“Forgive me,” she said hoarsely. “The door was open.”
“It is all right, Beatrice,” Octavia said soothingly. Why did she feel so guilty for kissing her own fiancé? Because she feared her cousin felt more than just friendship for Spinton? Good Lord, how was she going to feel after the wedding night? If her suspicions about Beatrice’s growing regard for
Spinton were true, she wouldn’t be able to look her cousin in the eye after sharing Spinton’s bed.
How perfect it would be if her foolish attempt to feel something—anything—for her betrothed had injured her cousin. It would be just one more wonderfully awful thing she had done this day. Right up there with pouncing on poor Spinton.
“I will not delay the two of you any longer.” She purposely kept her tone light. “Enjoy the afternoon. Now, if you will excuse me, I must change.”
She swept from the room dramatically. But despite all her hauteur, she had the strangest feeling of being an intruder in her own home. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow been unfaithful by kissing Spinton. But had she been unfaithful to herself, or to someone else?
It was like looking for a shadow in a bucket of tar.
Sitting at his desk, a steaming cup of coffee near his hand, North studied the list Octavia had sent to him via messenger the previous afternoon. It was a good place to start, but really wouldn’t do him much good until he had the list from the paper seller to compare it to. He had to accept the idea that there might not be any connection between the two, just as he had to prepare himself for the fact that there just might be a connection. There was a very good chance that Octavia’s admirer—what a stupid term to use for such a man—was someone who knew far more about her past—and North’s—than either of them would like.
Certainly more than Spinton would like.
Of course, what Spinton would or would not like didn’t matter to North. He didn’t care if Spinton found out about Octavia’s past. In fact, he thought it would be for the best if he did. Marriage built upon deceit might be a regular occur
rence among the
ton
, but it didn’t bode well if one wished for a happy union.
But Octavia cared whether her fiancé learned the truth, and so he cared as well. Even more than that, he cared about the fact that someone out there might mean her harm. He could allow her to marry a man she didn’t trust—didn’t love—but he would not allow anyone to hurt her. Not while he still breathed.
But he would be glad when he tracked down this letter writer of hers and put the entire business to rest. He had let his hunt for Harker lag during this new investigation. He had given Francis much responsibility that should have been his own, and the realization of it weighed heavily upon his shoulders.
It wasn’t that he was letting his duties slide because of another case. He was letting his duties slide because of Octavia. Since her reappearance in his life, everything else paled in comparison. That wasn’t right. It
shouldn’t
be right.
He wasn’t even all that concerned that many of his informants had told him that Harker was preparing for all-out war with him. Apparently, Harker wasn’t as bright as North gave him credit for. Harker had believed that killing Sally and Harris would make North back off. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Every experienced man North had in his employ was working on building evidence against Harker, hindering Harker’s business, making Harker’s life harder. They weren’t to be reckless, however. North didn’t want to have any more blood on his hands.
There was a knock on the door of his office. Mrs. Bunting stuck her head inside the room at his command.
“Pardon the intrusion, Mr. Sheffield, but the Earl Spinton is here to see you.”
Speak of the devil
. Spinton knew their plan. He knew he
wasn’t to make physical contact with North unless it was an emergency. “Send him in.”
A few moments later, Lord Spinton swept into the room, splendidly dressed and fashionably coiffed. North ran a hand over his own unshaven jaw, all too aware of his own sagging cravat and disheveled hair. He wasn’t wearing a coat either, and his sleeves were creased and bunched from being rucked and rolled during the course of the morning. He no doubt looked like a rangy mutt next to purebred Spinton.
What did that matter anyway? He didn’t need to impress Spinton with his sense of style. He didn’t need to impress Spinton at all.
No, but he wouldn’t mind feeling superior.
I screwed your betrothed, you starchy bastard. What do you say to that?
Oh yes, he felt superior now.
One look at the expression on Spinton’s sculpted face wiped away all traces of victory. “What has happened?”
“I demand to know your intentions toward Lady Octavia.”
He didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “You demand?”
“Yes.”
North kept his expression bland. “I intend to discover the identity of the man sending her letters and I intend to protect her if necessary. That is what you are paying me for.” Money that was going directly to a nearby house dedicated to the care of unmarried mothers and their children, but Spinton didn’t need to know that. Spinton didn’t need to know that he had accepted this commission for Octavia rather than money.
“I was referring to your personal intentions.”
Of course he was. Did he think North such a simpleton that he couldn’t detect the jealousy in his tone? A better man—or perhaps a better liar—would assure the earl that his intentions were nothing but noble. North couldn’t do that.
“What do you think?” Why needle the man? Why not just lie and tell him he had no intentions?
The earl stiffened. “I suspect they may be less than honorable.”
It didn’t matter if it were true; North didn’t like the other man’s tone. “Many men have been called out for attacking another’s honor.”
Spinton didn’t look as though he liked that thought very much, but North should have known better than to tease him. Spinton might not be as tough, or as street savvy, but the one thing he and North had in common was their determination to defend what each considered his.
Unfortunately, both of them had their own claim to Octavia. Was it North’s fault that he had staked his first?
“Forgive me, Mr. Sheffield, but with few exceptions, your family has not exhibited a great fondness for acting within the bounds of dignity.”
If Spinton wanted to piss him off, he’d chosen the right avenue. “You have not earned the right to speak of my family, Spinton, earl or not.”
The earl colored, but did not back down. “Even your youngest brother the war hero has drawn attention to himself upon occasion, and the exploits of you father and other brothers are public knowledge.”
Not all of them, but Spinton would never know that either. “When I agreed to this investigation, I did a little delving into your family, my lord. Would you care to know what I uncovered?”
Spinton shrugged. “Nothing nefarious, I am sure.”
North chuckled mockingly. “I discovered all manner of interesting facts—such as the story about your uncle Theodore and his desire for a certain twelve-year-old girl from Yorkshire.”
This time Spinton went positively white. North was fairly
certain Spinton didn’t know all the details about his uncle, but he had heard enough to know it was not a story that Spinton wanted all of society to hear.
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
North scowled. “Do not be an idiot. Of course not.”
Spinton did not look convinced. “Then why did you mention my uncle?”
“Because you should not be so quick to judge others based on their relations.” No wonder Octavia didn’t want him to know about her mother. Spinton would probably have a seizure if he learned his dearly departed mama-in-law was a lowly actress.
Looking somewhat relieved, the earl relaxed a bit. “Then you do not have designs on Lady Octavia?”
“I swear to you that I have not taken any liberties where she is concerned.” Luckily, it didn’t occur to Spinton to ask if Octavia had taken any liberties with
him
.
The earl’s relief was obvious, but there was something else. Was it guilt? Unease? Perhaps he didn’t believe North’s claims. Or perhaps the earl had hoped to lay a little blame at North’s feet to cover up his own indiscretions? But why? As an unmarried peer, Spinton was practically expected to dip his wick wherever he wanted. In fact, it was considered a bit of an oddity that he didn’t have a mistress. So why would he feel any remorse from acting as he was expected to act?
Unless he was developing feelings for whomever he was dipping his wick into.
Interesting.
“Do you love her?”
Spinton jerked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Octavia. Do you love her?” And what answer would North be satisfied with, yes or no?
Spinton looked as though he might suffer a fit. “That is none of your business!”
He couldn’t help but twist the knife. “How do you expect to declare it in front of God and all those witnesses if you cannot even declare it to me?”
Spinton fidgeted under his stare. “I care for and respect Octavia very much.”
North noticed Spinton had neglected to refer to Octavia by her title. “I care for and respect my housekeeper, but I have no intention of marrying her.”
“That is hardly the same!” If Spinton got any hotter under the collar, the whites of his eyes would turn pink.
North scratched his jaw. “You reckon?”
“My feelings for Octavia go far beyond your regard for your housekeeper!” Spinton was so enraged he actually spat the words.
“Ah, so you
do
love her?” Somehow, it would make losing Vie much easier knowing Spinton would give her the love she deserved.
“Love is very good, but it is not the only foundation for marriage.”
The little cretin didn’t love her at all then. “It is supposed to be.”
Spinton straightened. Defensive, was he? “Not among the
ton
.”
Shrugging, North fought to keep his temper at bay. “Most of the
ton
are money-grubbing idiots.”
“I beg your pardon!”
Another shrug. “Perhaps you esteem Octavia’s fortune. Perhaps you respect her lands or the matched grays that lead her carriage.”
“Mr. Sheffield!” The earl was positively purple with indignation.
“But let me tell you something about women, Spinton.” North spoke as though he were about to impart great wisdom to a very close friend. “Every last one of them wants to be
loved just as we do. Maybe you can fool her and maybe you can fool yourself that love is not necessary, but eventually she will resent you for it. And one thing you do not want to be on the receiving end of, my friend, is the wrath of a resentful woman.”
Spinton smirked. He actually smirked. North never would have thought him capable of it. “Speaking from experience?”
“Of course.” It was pride that made him admit it. “I have known quite a few women in my life.”
“No doubt.”
North smiled. It was hardly an insult. He had known a few women, and he had adored them all in his way. “A woman like Lady Octavia—a woman with backbone and intelligence and spirit—she deserves to be loved the way she wants to be. She deserves passion and devotion.”
“How would you know what she deserves?”
North pinned him with his gaze. “It is what every woman deserves, Spinton. Is there any creature in the world that deserves less?”
“Even criminals?”
If Spinton thought to bait or trap him, he was choosing the wrong route. “Of course. Love can change a man.”
“I never would have pegged you for a romantic.” The earl’s tone dripped with condescension.
North didn’t miss a beat. “I never would have pegged you for an idiot.”
Obviously fed up with being insulted, Spinton scowled. “If it were not for my concern for Lady Octavia, I would relieve you of your duties.”
North shrugged. “If it were not for my concern for Lady Octavia, I would let you.”
Finally understanding each other, Spinton simply nodded. “Then perhaps you will do all in your power to finish this assignment quickly?”
Now it was North’s turn to smirk. “You may be assured.” He’d take as much time as he wanted, frigging blighter.
Spinton didn’t bother to make the usual niceties as he took his leave, for which North was grateful. He was just a hair’s breadth away from telling the earl to go swive himself—something that Octavia would undoubtedly take him to task for.
And speak of the devil, she walked into the room not five minutes after Spinton walked out.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Good Christ she looked good—like a willowy bit of cinnamon dipped in sugar in her slender russet and white skirts. One taste would only lead to wanting more.
Her only reaction was a subtle lift of her coppery brows. “It is lovely to see you as well.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Did you see Spinton?”
“Yes.” She began stripping off her gloves. “I waited until I was certain he was gone to come in.”
“Did he see you?” Could she tell he was spoiling for a fight?
She slipped her gloves into the foolish little bag dangling from her wrist. “No. I took a hack.”
“Unescorted?”
“Yes.”
Obviously she couldn’t tell at all. “Into this part of town?”
She shot him a quizzical look. “Of course, I am here, am I not?”
“You are a nervy, foolish baggage. That is what you are.”
She scowled. “I am going to assume that your bowels are distressed, and that is the reason for this undeserved rudeness.”
“My bowels are just fine, thank you. In fact, your fiancé’s visit made me want to empty them.” It was crude talk—too crude for a lady, but strangely comfortable between friends.
She nodded, her posture relaxing. “Ah. It is not me you are angry at, but rather Spinton. What did he want?”
Some of the fight left him. “To make certain we are not swiving under his nose.”