Authors: Donna MacMeans
“Go,” Edwina said gently. “Go quickly and don’t look back.”
The woman obliged, her brisk pace swiftly putting distance between them.
Edwina barely had time to feel the pleasure of her accomplishment in saving yet another from Trewelyn’s clutches, when the door opened behind her.
“Miss? You forgot your flower,” an Irish voice called.
Edwina turned to see not only the waitress holding the rose, but Trewelyn standing behind her, his gaze focused on her.
“Allow me,” he said, carefully removing the stem from the waitress’s hand. His smile almost reduced the woman to a puddle at his feet.
Edwina remained frozen in place, half wishing to run, half wanting to stay. Her heart raced as he advanced, tapping the rose against a small cleft in his firm masculine chin.
“Were you scaring off the competition, Miss Grimwood?” An eyebrow lifted, as did one corner of his lips.
She shook her head slightly, unsure what to say.
“I hadn’t expected a woman of action, a woman of strategy when I advertised for someone quiet and refined.” Interest sparked in his eyes, while his low tantalizing voice mesmerized. “I’m not certain why you didn’t make your presence known earlier, but I do admire a woman who is unafraid to take a risk now and again.”
His gaze slid down her length in a slow appraising perusal. She should run, just as she had suggested to the others, but her feet refused to obey. She felt weightless, as if she might rise from the ground like a hot air balloon, but his voice kept her firmly tethered to his expressive lips. He had managed to upset all her patterns, wiping them clean. Which must explain why she stared like a wide-eyed child.
“Let us return inside to sit and talk.” He reached for her elbow to guide her back into the Crescent, just as she had moments earlier guided others away. “I have many questions for you, Miss Grimwood. Shall we?”
“I should warn you,” Edwina managed, annoyed that under his influence her feet obeyed his wishes and not her own. “I’m not—”
“Edwina!”
Rats!
She’d forgotten Walter normally passed this way after leaving his clerking position at her father’s law office.
“Unhand her immediately!” Walter demanded, marching toward the Crescent entrance with the stride of an angry bulldog.
Trewelyn released his hold on her elbow, but raised a brow. “Edwina?”
Her lips wouldn’t move. It seemed her entire body refused to function in a normal manner with Trewelyn’s brown eyes turned her way—brown with the most interesting flecks of green. Trewelyn turned toward Walter and calmly extended an arm. “Allow me to introduce myself, I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Walter snarled, his face an unbecoming red. “You’re a womanizing blackguard who has no business placing his hands on my fiancée.” He harshly gripped Edwina’s other elbow.
She supposed she should be flattered by Walter’s possessive posture, but her annoyance left no room for trumpetry. Walter didn’t have the right to interfere, especially when he hadn’t been presented with all the facts regarding her presence with Trewelyn.
“Fiancée?” Trewelyn’s eyes widened a moment before narrowing at her in censure. “Is this true, Miss Grimwood? If so—”
“Miss Grimwood?” Walter’s lips quirked.
Her head swam. So many misconceptions, so much manly posturing. “No, it is not,” she said, trying to pull her elbow free from Walter’s grasp. “I can explain—”
But Walter didn’t give her the opportunity. He tugged her toward the street, away from the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes upon. What must Trewelyn think of her? Embarrassed, she tried to look back while holding her hat to keep the bouncing feather intact. But Walter’s speed made it difficult enough to just stay on her feet, much less try to judge Casanova’s reaction.
• • •
A
SHTON
WATCHED
HER
GO
,
PULLED
AWAY
BY
THAT
LIP
-curling stick of a man. He’d thought to interfere, to stop the cad from using brute force to drag her away. However, if she was his fiancée, the man was right to remove her from Ashton’s presence. Lord knows he should have used whatever force was necessary to drag Constance away from his father so many years ago.
At the time, he had thought of Constance as his fiancée, though he hadn’t gotten the nerve to ask her the all-important question. Little did he realize that his very own widowed father had similar intentions. His father had announced the impending nuptials one evening, and Ashton had left the next day to join the King’s Royal Rifles. That was four years ago. Yes, he should have dragged her away the moment his father laid eyes upon her.
But that was yesterday’s news. Constance had made her decision and chose to become his stepmother, not his wife. Now they both had to deal with the consequences of her decision.
Somehow though, he wasn’t surprised that Miss Grimwood wasn’t satisfied with the man who wished to claim her as his own. She had a spark of life in those inquisitive soft blue eyes, a vitality that would most likely be smothered by that suffocating fiancé. Her bright hair would fade, the perky tilt of her nose would be at odds with downturned lips that rarely smiled. Women trapped in misaligned marriages readily displayed their woes to those who could read the signs. That Miss Grimwood would become one of those sad victims was unfortunate; she had such potential. For a moment, he thought she had seemed somehow familiar, almost as if he’d seen her before, but that would hardly be likely.
Still, she wasn’t the sort of woman he had in mind for his friend. Miss Grimwood was like an exotic parrot, while he envisioned something more of a quiet field mouse for James. He shook his head. Funny, he hadn’t thought Miss Grimwood had listed her Christian name as Edwina. He couldn’t exactly remember what Miss Grimwood had listed, but he would have remembered Edwina. It was the unusual sort of name that one wouldn’t forget. Not that it mattered now. Her fiancé would undoubtedly take steps to ensure she was properly prohibited from meeting Ashton again, and that was a pity.
He checked his pocket watch. Time to meet James at the club. He had hoped to have surprising news of an introduction, but it appeared that must wait.
• • •
E
DWINA
STRUGGLED
TO
KEEP
PACE
WITH
W
ALTER
,
BUT
then decided she’d had enough. She planted her boots firmly on the pavement and braced herself. Fortunately, Walter stopped before his fast stride pulled her to her knees.
“I am not your fiancée, Walter,” Edwina scolded. “You must stop telling people that we’re betrothed.” She pulled her arm free of his grasp. “I have a say in this matter, not just my father.”
“An inexperienced woman like yourself shouldn’t speak to men like that Trewelyn,” Walter grumbled, easily dismissing her complaint. “You have no idea of the sort of man he is.”
“Neither do you.” She tried to pin her hat more securely to her hair. “He was quite the gentleman in the Crescent.”
“I know things about him.” Walter scowled. “He has a reputation, you know. I’ve heard the men talk about his exploits at my club. I’d tell you, but it’s not suitable for innocent ears.”
Walter’s standard reply to any question she might raise on a topic of interest was that it was inappropriate for innocent ears. A respectable woman, in his opinion, must never discuss anything beyond the weather and fashion. Where was a woman with a natural curiosity to find answers if not through discussion?
Walter glowered at something in the distance. “Besides, he may have been the one.”
“The one?” She frowned up at him. “What are you speaking of?”
“Why were you there by yourself?” he asked suddenly. “Your bluestocking friends won’t be meeting until tomorrow.” Though she was surprised he knew her schedule so well, the sneer in his voice left no question about his opinion of her friends.
“I was . . . conducting research.” He wouldn’t leave her alone unless she provided some purpose for her activity.
“Research? Research for what?” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t fancy yourself a newspaper writer like that friend of yours.”
“I was researching for the suffragettes.” It was the one topic that she knew would bring an instant end to his questions.
“You know your father and I don’t approve of that group.” He averted his gaze, and hastened his pace toward her residence.
“You don’t approve of any of my interests,” she murmured. “Why is it that you attend your clubs with pride but ridicule mine?”
“Because men are expected to go out in the world. Women are expected to stay at home.” His voice softened as if he were talking to a child. “Once you have your own house and children to care for, you won’t have time for that suffragette nonsense.”
She didn’t reply, as she suspected that he was right. She’d be trapped into a life of caring for the needs of everyone else except herself. She’d be like the women who sent those coded messages to the personals. Women longing for someone else, something else that would be forever denied once they traded their freedom for the security of marriage.
Not that the alternative was much better. She didn’t want to be a spinster forever clinging to the charity of her parents and, once they were gone, becoming a burden to her brothers.
Why wouldn’t society allow her to be like her brothers? Free to travel the world and experience other cultures? Why must she always be under the protection of some man who obliged her to keep a tidy house and mannerly children? It just didn’t seem fair.
“Here you are, Edwina. Safely delivered to your doorstep.” Walter beamed as if he had single-handedly fought off an entire tribe of marauding Zulus, just to escort her down the avenue. “Be sure to tell your mother that I inquired about her health.”
Did he? She hadn’t been listening. He had that look in his eye again. The one that suggested he was debating whether to kiss her cheek.
“We’re not engaged, Walter,” she said with one hand on the doorknob.
“But we will be.” He smiled. “I’ve been saving every week. Soon I’ll have enough to lease a small house, then I shall ask permission of your father.”
The impulse to ask her permission never seemed to enter his thoughts. Edwina sighed and went inside.
• • •
T
HE
NEXT
DAY
AT
THE
C
RESCENT
, E
DWINA
REPORTED
HER
experiences—including the kindness of a hot pot of tea—to the rest of the Rake Patrol, except for Sarah, who was unable to join them that day. Edwina pointed to the table where Trewelyn had planned to interview the women he’d selected from the stack of responses, and shared how a fallen rose had led to Trewelyn’s misconception.
“Then what happened?” Faith asked, hanging on every word. “Did Casanova really believe you were one of his correspondents?”
“He did until Walter arrived. I’m . . . I’m not certain what he thinks now.” But she was afraid she did. His pattern change hadn’t gone unnoticed. When he thought she was one of his respondents, he appeared interested, perhaps even appreciative. She recalled the flutter beneath her corset when his eyes warmed as he took her measure. Then Walter referred to her as his fiancée and that very appreciation faded into derision. Yes, she could very well guess what he thought of her now, and none of it was complimentary. She gazed at the open
Mayfair Messenger
, hoping the others didn’t notice her discomfort. She ran her finger down the personals. “Now that he’s seen my face, it will be more difficult to warn others without his knowledge.”
“Do you think he’ll continue to meet women here?” Faith scanned the customers almost as if she expected a wide-eyed innocent to be clutching a rose at one of the tables. “I talked to several women who had responded to his ad. Most had not received an invitation to meet Mr. Trewelyn.” She hesitated. “I suppose I could take Edwina’s place for watching for future meetings held here. It’s an important kindness we are doing and—”
“No!” Edwina exclaimed, pointing to an ad. “Look at this!”
Claire peered sideways. “It’s just a series of numbers. What does it mean?”
Edwina scrambled in her reticule for her journal and pen. “It’s in code, but if I’m not mistaken, this portion of the series is the address for Trewelyn’s residence.” Her brothers varied the codes they used for their letters as a form of sport. To hasten the translation when they used a number code, Edwina kept a conversion table that listed the letters of the alphabet and their numeric components. She untied the ribbon on her overstuffed journal and quickly transcribed the code. “Casanova’s arranging a meeting at his residence.” She decoded another sequence of numbers.
“Why would he send a coded message to his intended victims?” Faith asked. “How would they know to transcribe the code?”
“This message isn’t for the ladies.” A sense of foreboding settled deep in Edwina’s stomach. Based on her brief encounter with Trewelyn, she doubted that the man was as dissolute as the others inferred. Else why would he have been disappointed when Walter said they were engaged? A truly dissolute man wouldn’t care about the commitments of their conquests, would he? But this . . .
She glanced at Faith. “The message is for a group called the Guardians. He’s arranging a meeting for them at his residence.”
“For what purpose?” Claire asked.
“No one uses a coded message for philanthropic purposes,” Edwina said in hushed tones. Even her brothers had initially started using code to hide their activities from their governess and parents. She bit her lip, not sure she wanted to give voice to her fears.
“Perhaps we didn’t interfere in all of his appointments,” Faith whispered. “Perhaps he already has women installed in his residence, and now he’s inviting his friends to participate in a night of debauchery.”
Edwina had to agree they could have missed warning some of the women. They had assumed Trewelyn would follow Sarah’s advice about meeting at the Crescent. But he could have arranged to meet women at other places as well. The Rake Patrol simply didn’t have the means to follow all of Trewelyn’s activities. Following him for one day had been difficult enough.