Redeeming the Rogue (7 page)

“I met Mrs. Winthrop in Switzerland and mentioned my brother’s qualities to her,” Arianne said. “However, I don’t consider that an instigation. It was more of an accident, really.”

“Yet they are now happily married.” Henderson smiled. “As am I, I might add. Lady Henderson and I are in debt to your . . . accidents.”

“This is all well and good,” Rafe interrupted. “But I must sail immediately. Just send word when the woman is due to arrive and I’ll—”

“Hold on, Rafferty. I’m not through with you yet,” Henderson warned. He turned back to Lady Arianne. “I’ll arrange passage for you and the actress on a steamer. You can use the pretense of visiting Mrs. Winthrop to justify the trip, but in reality you’ll be teaching the actress how to play her role.” He spun toward Rafferty. “And you will cross with them. You’ll need time with the actress in order to portray a convincing husband.”

Rafferty was about to protest, then decided instead to let the elegant Lady Arianne do it for him. After all, she’d made it perfectly clear that she found his company more trial than pleasure. The popular sister to a duke wouldn’t want to forfeit the parties and receptions London offered. When she declined the offer to teach an actress to act like a lady, this tenuous house of cards would collapse. Henderson would allow him to sail to America and find Toomey on his own. Yes. No need to protest and further annoy his employer. Rafferty crossed his arms and waited.

Lady Arianne bit her lip and studied her gloves for a moment. She was most likely determining the most gracious way to turn down Henderson’s suggestion. The aristocratic set probably maintained a whole list of rules about issuing a simple “no.” Rafe turned his gaze to the back of the room, just so the satisfaction of her refusal wouldn’t show on his face.

“I’ll have to bring Mrs. Summers as my chaperone,” she said cautiously. “And my maid. I couldn’t legitimately travel without Kathleen.”

What the . . . ! Rafferty jerked his gaze in disbelief back toward Lady Arianne’s stoic profile. Had he totally misread her? Was she as mad as a hatter?

“Of course.” Lord Henderson smiled. “Accommodations will be arranged for the three of you.”

“No!” Rafe protested. Within moments he stood directly in front of her chair. “There’ll be no parties, no fancy dress balls, no social”—he waved his hands in the air while he searched for the right word—“falderal.” The ribbons on her hat trembled with the currents of his tirade, yet she appeared unfazed. “This is not a pleasure cruise. You’ll miss your life here, I promise you. I’m chasing a murderer, not some titled dandy.”

“Lord Weston’s murderer.” She tilted her impassive face toward his. He searched her face for false expectations but found none. Moisture still glistened where she had dabbed at it earlier. Her voice sounded hard, cold, and dead serious. “Yes. I know.”

Tension simmered in their locked gaze until Henderson tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Reluctantly, Rafferty broke the connection and turned toward him. “Until Phineas can acquire an actress for the role, Rafe, I’d like you to spend time with Lady Arianne so she can teach you the finer points of being a British minister.”

Rafferty glared. “If this is punishment for wearing the wrong jacket, I’ll remind you it was the result of a scuffle.” Wasn’t it bad enough he’d have to endure Lady Prim-and-Proper on the long passage to America?

“There’s more to being a British minister than fashion,” Henderson scolded. “If I didn’t think you capable of this assignment, I would send someone else.” His voice softened. “Perhaps after Lady Arianne knows your character, you too will be the happy recipient of one of her ‘accidents.’ ”

Fine. Condemn him to hell. The response building in his gut would have deflated Henderson’s buoyant mood and singed the ears off Lady Arianne. His hands fisted beneath the cover of his crossed arms while his lips tightened to keep the curses inside. The sting from his split lip reminded him that just a few moments in this woman’s company last night had drawn blood. A week with her and he’d need a coffin. Never was a man in more need of a drink.

“Rafferty, will you escort Lady Arianne to her carriage? And send in Phineas while you’re about it. I’m sure he’ll know where to start on our search for your wife.”

The man laughed! Damn his eyeballs.

“You two, however, should start meeting immediately,” Henderson continued. “Under the auspices of Mrs. Summers, of course.” He smiled to Lady Arianne but wisely avoided Rafferty’s glare.

“Good day, Lady Arianne.” Henderson bowed over her hand. “Thank you for offering your services to the Crown. I’m sure you have much to do to prepare for the journey ahead.”

 

ONE GLANCE AT MR. RAFFERTY CONFIRMED ARIANNE’S suspicion that he was not pleased with her participation in this diplomatic masquerade. She turned toward the door without waiting for his sullen self to join her. Would he be surprised to know she was not entirely enthusiastic about this venture herself?

“Why?” he asked, once they had left the room. “Why did you agree?”

“Sir! I am a patriotic British citizen,” she responded. “Why wouldn’t I agree to help where needed?”

She heard his soft laughter and scowled in his direction.

“I have no doubt of your patriotism, my lady, even if you seem overanxious to leave England. I think there is more to this than meets the eye.” He accepted his hat and stick from the ancient butler.

Christopher! She had forgotten that Henderson said he was an investigator. She’d have to be more careful about masking her own secrets. In truth, leaving England offered an unanticipated carrot. No one could fault her avoidance of the Baron and his new fiancée if she were abroad. Besides, she didn’t wish to be anywhere in the British Empire when news of the Vienna incident reached her brother’s ears. She wasn’t sure what William would do, but she was fairly certain he wouldn’t cross the Atlantic to do it. He had sworn that his last trip, to claim his American wife, had rendered him so seasick, he wouldn’t consider another ocean trip under any circumstance.

She turned to face the knavish Rafferty while Henderson’s butler opened the front door for them. “Lord Weston was a dear friend. I will do everything in my power to aid the capture of the one responsible, even if that requires our continued association.”

The sanctuary of her carriage waited a short distance away. She forged ahead without waiting for assistance from Mr. Rafferty. While she was vaguely aware of him scratching his nose, then jerking his arm thumb-up over his shoulder, she didn’t see any gentlemen waiting for an audience with Lord Henderson. If it hadn’t been for the jacket incident, she would have questioned this Phineas character’s existence.

Mr. Rafferty stopped her just as she was about to step into the carriage. “Lord Henderson suggested we promptly begin meeting for instruction. Might I suggest you visit my humble abode tomorrow about two o’clock?” He hastily scribbled something on a card then held it between two fingers.

The rogue! As if she would fall prey to that rather obvious ploy. “Might I remind you, sir,” she snapped, “that I’m to be the teacher and not the one receiving an education.”

She climbed into the carriage, pulling her skirts in after her. The liveried footman closed the door with a thud. Rafferty’s wolfish grin dimmed. Strange. At times the exasperating man charmed her into believing she was desirable. Then other times he seemed determined to prove her insignificant. Lord Henderson vouched for his intelligence and competence, but she had her doubts. He was just so unpolished . . . so physical . . . and yet . . . She remembered his face when he pulled those attached handkerchiefs from his pocket—his embarrassment and his vulnerability. Her heart twisted beneath her stays. Hadn’t she recently been a public victim of those two emotions in a Vienna ballroom?

She glanced at him standing on the walk. He would need copious lessons to be a convincing British minister. Lord Henderson was right. They needed to start immediately. She leaned out the window.

“You may come to my brother’s town house tomorrow afternoon. We can begin then.”

His smile lit up his entire face and, to her dismay, had the same effect on her. Lord help her, she’d not have another man trample on her affections.

He squinted up at her. “Where would I find your brother’s town house?”

“You’re the investigator,” she replied, one brow lifted. “Figure it out.”

THE NEXT DAY, ARIANNE RAIDED THE SMALL CONSERVATORY attached to the town house for ingredients in a new fragrance recipe. Even the process of choosing fresh fragrant petals failed to divert her mind from the meeting in Lord Henderson’s office. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have baited Mr. Rafferty like that. Challenging him to find her brother’s town house might encourage him to uncover yet more information about her, information she’d prefer to keep private. Quite honestly, she wasn’t sure she had the mental resources to stay one step ahead of him. Not now. Not with all that filled her mind. She placed her basket filled with delicate violets on the worktable she used to develop her concoctions. Mrs. Summers occupied a chair near a bright, sunny window where she worked a needle and thread through a piece of linen.

Poor Kitty. Surely Lord Henderson had conveyed the news by now. How had she taken the loss of her father? Although Arianne had recently lost the man she called Father—the old Duke—the two could not compare. Lord Weston had been more a loving father than the Duke.

Would Mr. Rafferty be able to find the culprit? She reached for her mortar and pestle, wondering at the probability. He seemed more concerned with that Toomey fellow than hunting a murderer.

Would that rapscallion be able to fool anyone into thinking he was a legitimate British minister? Arianne had her doubts. Though she had to admit, his appearance in Lord Henderson’s study improved vastly over her initial impression at the reception. She almost hadn’t recognized him, he looked so elegant and . . . competent. Her lips curved at the memory. Of course, the moment she had heard Mr. Rafferty’s voice, that deep soft velvet voice that tingled along her spine like flower petals nodding in the wind, she recognized him, or rather her body did, even before she turned to face him. She couldn’t deny the tingling sensations that raced down her spine whenever he spoke. God should never have blessed such a man with such a voice . . . or perhaps it wasn’t God’s handiwork . . . The peal of the pestle striking the mortar’s side interrupted her reverie.

“Is something on your mind, Arianne? You appear to be woolgathering.” Mrs. Summers glanced up from her needlework. “Are you still upset about that strange man at Countess D’Orange’s reception?”

“No, I’m not upset . . . exactly,” Arianne replied, choosing her words carefully. “Lord Henderson explained that Mr. Rafferty is reputable and not the gate-crasher I had assumed him to be.” Though loathe to admit as much to Mrs. Summers, her impressions of Mr. Rafferty were far more complex than that. So complex that she hadn’t been able to sort them out for herself as yet.

“Then perhaps you should explain why you are grinding the life out of those poor violets. I thought distillation was a gentle process.”

“I wasn’t planning to distill these. I was going to . . .” Arianne glanced at the slimy mush staining the bottom of the mortar bowl. “Never mind.” Obviously, she hadn’t been paying attention or she would have stopped before the flowers were totally eviscerated. She set the mortar and pestle aside, then wrung her hands on a towel, watching Mrs. Summers’s calm, methodic progress on the linen.

“Mr. Rafferty may come here this afternoon,” Arianne said, then grimaced. “Lord Henderson asks that I teach him about proper demeanor in diplomatic situations, as well as that actress.” Arianne had already told Mrs. Summers about the procurement of an actress as well as the timely trip to America.

“He
may
come? You’re not certain?” Mrs. Summers pulled on her thread without an upward glance.

Arianne untied her apron, then hung it on a hook near the counter. Watching her staid teacher quietly working, she wished with envy that her own riotous thoughts and worries allowed such serenity. “Mr. Rafferty was so very free with his displeasure over the need for instruction, I believe he may possibly stay away.”

“He’d defy Lord Henderson?” Mrs. Summers asked, seemingly unaware of Arianne’s scrutiny.

“I think Mr. Rafferty is a libertine,” Arianne pronounced. “I imagine he’d defy the Queen if she intruded on his plans.” She really had no basis for her harsh declaration beyond his involvement with fisticuffs before the reception and that rebellious nature that set a part of her conventional self quivering whenever he was near. Yes, she supposed such a man would take matters in his own hands in spite of society’s rules of conduct. Her spine tingled. That dangerous prospect made her both envious and fearful, an unsettling combination that set her on edge.

She glanced at Mrs. Summers, who showed none of Arianne’s conflicting emotions. An idea began to take root. She approached Mrs. Summers’s chair and crouched down beside the older woman. “I was wondering . . . perhaps you would be better suited to be his instructor.”