And third, even if he was interested in her money, well, she certainly had enough for them both. If he loved her, she might well be able to forgive whatever brought them together in the first place, although the very idea of someone wanting her only for her fortune did make her stomach turn. Perhaps she should simply give all her money to charity? She grinned. And wouldn’t that serve him right if indeed he wanted her for her money?
But did he love her? It struck her as a rather important question given that she had realized in recent days that she did indeed love him. It did not seem like a particularly good idea, but then there it was and there was nothing she could do about it. The very idea of a life without him tore at her heart. She would have thought she’d be shocked by the revelation—she had never expected love—but it seemed so natural, so right. As if it was meant to be. Fate and all that.
Odd, that she had started her quest because she was no longer going to marry the man she had been expected to wed and was nearing the end with the one man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Pity that love simply wasn’t enough.
She had long ago decided she couldn’t love a man she didn’t trust, but it appeared her heart was not as stalwart and sensible as her head. Still, one did have to have a certain amount of faith. And what was love, after all, but faith? She was confident that Cameron was a good and, for the most part, honest man.
Now all she had to do was get the blasted creature to prove it.
Cam paced the floor in the Millworth Manor parlor where he’d been left to wait by the butler. Clement hadn’t so much as twitched an eyebrow when Cam had arrived, bag in hand, and announced he would be staying for a few days. But then the man was exceptionally well trained. And it wasn’t as if Cam and Lucy would be residing in the manor alone. It was not only filled with servants but the lovely and terrifying Lady Dunwell was here as well, and Clement had pointedly mentioned Lord Dunwell was expected later this evening.
Cam had never thought of Beryl Dunwell as being anything other than fascinating before now. A few years ago, both she and her husband, while publicly discreet, made no great secret of their numerous affairs and escapades either. Cam was fairly certain at least one of his older brothers had had some sort of liaison with her, although it might have been nothing more than a flirtation and could well have been with her twin sister. Cam couldn’t remember the details if indeed he ever knew them, and it wasn’t something he could ask. Especially as, according to gossip, Lord and Lady Dunwell had apparently given up their days of indiscretion for the more respectable, if exceedingly rare, life of connubial bliss. Still, there was nothing more sanctimonious than a drunkard who had sworn off drink and Cam was grateful he had not yet run into her.
No, he needed all his courage and his wits to finally confess to Lucy. He would make a clean breast of it. Tell her everything. He was a writer, by God. Surely the words were there somewhere, even if he hadn’t been able to quite find them yet.
Cam could start with his name. That was fairly simple. Then casually mention his love of writing. And his longtime friendship with Phineas. And why he’d been following her originally . . . He rubbed his hand over his forehead and resisted the urge to groan.
“What are you doing here?”
Lucy did not sound happy to see him. It was not an auspicious beginning. He braced himself, turned, and tried not to stare.
“You needn’t look so shocked, Mr. Fairchild.” Lucy pulled off her gloves. “It isn’t the first time you’ve seen me in men’s clothing.”
“No, but . . . this is . . .” This was a far cry from the loose-fitting attire she’d worn to play server. These trousers clung and caressed her legs, her long and shapely legs, before disappearing into battered men’s boots that reached nearly to her knees. She wore a close-fitting jumper underneath a too large men’s coat, a woolen scarf wrapped around her neck. Her hair was disheveled, her blue eyes sparkled, and her face was flushed from the cold. The overall effect was one of bundled temptation, and longing swept through him. It struck him that he had exactly the same reaction very nearly every time he saw her in something completely inappropriate. Or rather every time he saw her at all. “Suffice it to say that is rather more revealing than your costume at Prichard’s.”
“Do you really think so?” She pulled off her scarf and glanced down at her clothes. “I thought it was all quite fetching in a lovely bohemian sort of way. My mother would be appalled, which makes it all the better. Lady Dunwell loaned these clothes to me. Apparently, she used to wear them on occasion.”
“That explains it then,” he murmured.
She glanced at him sharply. “You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
“Well, I thought you might need me and . . .” This was ridiculous. He drew a deep breath. “I missed you, damn it.”
“Did you? Isn’t that interesting.” Her tone softened. “I expected you two days ago.”
“I had matters to attend to.” Perhaps she wasn’t as annoyed with him as he had feared.
“I see.” She trailed her fingers over the back of the sofa. “Matters involving your . . . work?”
“One could say that.” He paused. This was Lucy after all. Kind, generous, sensible Lucy. Surely she would understand. Best to get this over with. “And there are matters that we should . . .”
She moved toward him, a challenge in her eyes. “Matters we should what?”
“Discuss. Talk about . . .” But what if she didn’t understand? What if she hated him? Perhaps this wasn’t the best time after all. “Um . . . consider.”
“Oh?” Her brow arched upward. “What kind of matters?”
“Well, you know, matters . . .” Had his tie suddenly grown tighter?
“Matters?” Her eyes widened, her voice rose, and she stepped closer.
“Matters?”
“Well, yes.” He swallowed hard. “Matters . . .”
“Good Lord.” Impatience rang in her voice. She stared up at him. “Why don’t you just say whatever it is you have to say?”
“It’s nothing, really,” he said weakly, and shook his head. No, if there was any chance at all of a future with her, if he didn’t want to lose her, this had to be handled correctly. The time had to be right and the words had to be right.
“You drive me mad,
Mr. Fairchild
.” She glared at him.
“I—”
“I was told we had a guest.” Lady Dunwell’s distinctive voice sounded from the door.
“Apparently.” Lucy cast him a disgusted look, then stepped away. “Beryl, allow me to introduce
Mr. Fairchild
. Mr. Fairchild, this is Lady Dunwell.”
“Ah yes,
Mr. Fairchild
.” Lady Dunwell moved toward him, the pleasant note in her voice belying the wicked look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She held out her hand. “You’re the investigator charged with keeping an eye on our dear little Lucy.”
Was it possible she didn’t recognize him? Certainly she was closer in age to his brothers, and socially she and Lord Dunwell moved in more political circles, but she and Cam had met on any number of occasions. Admittedly he might well have been beneath her notice, and while there was a chance she didn’t remember him, it did seem unlikely. He doubted he could be that lucky. Still, he would be an idiot to point out that they had met, which would lead directly to the revelation of his name. No, far better to keep his mouth shut.
Cam took her hand. “Good day, Lady Dunwell.”
“I assume I’ll be getting an invoice from you at some point.” Her gaze bored into his.
“An invoice?” he said cautiously.
“For your services.” She withdrew her hand and her eyes narrowed.
“I realize discretion is part and parcel of what you do,” Lucy said with an exasperated sigh. “But you could have told me you weren’t hired by Mr. Channing but were working for Lady Dunwell.”
“I was not at liberty to disclose the name of my employer,” he said without thinking. But it seemed the right thing to say as he had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.
“I do wish Mr. Chapman had told me he had found someone to accept the job I had offered him.”
“Oh, yes, well . . .” Cam’s mind raced. Of course. Lady Dunwell had been the unnamed client who had wanted to hire Phineas to keep an eye on Lucy. He adopted a puzzled tone. “My apologies, Lady Dunwell. I thought he had.”
“Not to my knowledge, but I’ve been a bit scattered of late. I’m certain it’s nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. In my experience Mr. Chapman has never been particularly good with the more practical points of dealing with his clients.” Lady Dunwell’s gaze pinned him firmly and he resisted the ridiculous urge to squirm. “Don’t you agree?”
Cam nodded. “That has always been something of a problem for him.”
“Lucy.” Lady Dunwell addressed Lucy but kept her gaze firmly fixed on Cam. “Your maid is drawing a bath for you. I told her I would have a bite sent up as supper won’t be for hours.”
“That will be lovely.” Lucy blew a relieved breath. “It was a wonderful ride but I am more than ready to bathe and get ready for this evening. And I am famished.”
This evening? What was happening this evening?
“You wouldn’t want to keep the gentlemen waiting.” Lady Dunwell chuckled. “They get quite impatient when they’re ready to play.”
Ready to play what?
Lady Dunwell turned to Cam. “I assume you’ll be joining us, Mr. Fairchild?”
“Joining you for what?” he said carefully.
“Lady Dunwell has invited a neighbor and his friends for cards and a late dinner tonight.” Lucy grinned. “I’m told the stakes can get quite high on occasion.”
Beat men at their own game. Preferably for very high stakes.
“Of course.” He nodded.
“Lord Fairborough and several of his cronies have a rousing evening of cards every month. They’ve done so for years. My father plays with them when he is in residence. I invited them to play their games here tonight and permit Miss Merryweather and I to play as well. Lord Fairborough was quite taken with the idea as he and his friends are fond of poker and they do enjoy playing with Americans. Admittedly, he did balk at the idea of playing with a woman. However, when I pointed out she was a guest in our country, had a great deal of money she was willing to lose, and was young and pretty, his lordship agreed it was his patriotic duty and he was not one to shirk his responsibilities to the Crown.” She chuckled. “Lady Fairborough was pleased as well. I don’t think she’s especially fond of hosting her husband’s monthly venture into gaming. Nonetheless, one thing did lead to another and . . . well . . .” She shrugged.
“I had no idea Miss Merryweather knew how to play poker,” Cam said.
“I suspect there are all sorts of things I know that you have no idea about,” Lucy said coolly.
Lady Dunwell smirked.
Cam’s gaze shifted from one woman to the other. There was something here that he was missing.
“Is that all then, Mr. Fairchild?” Lucy’s challenging gaze locked with his.
“Well yes, I think so.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing more you wish to say?”
“Not at the moment,” he said weakly. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but apparently he was. Even so, he was not about to confess everything in the forbidding presence of Lady Dunwell. Apparently there was a thin line between caution and cowardice.
“Very well then.” Lucy huffed. “I look forward to playing with you,
Mr. Fairchild
.” She turned and strode from the room.
Lady Dunwell stared at him for a long, considering moment and it was all he could do not to shift from foot to foot. “What are you up to, Cameron Effington?”
So much for the hope that she had not remembered him.
“I have no idea what you mean, Lady Dunwell.” He forced an innocent note to his voice.
“You may have fooled Miss Merryweather but you can’t fool me.”
“I am not trying to fool anyone.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.” She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. “I think there is far more to all this, to your actions, than appears at first glance. Miss Merryweather seems to think you are nobly pursuing a vocation in an effort to make your own way in the world, stand on your own two feet as it were. She thinks you’re ambitious and determined and all those things Americans find so admirable.” Lady Dunwell’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”
Bloody hell, how much did Lucy know? “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“She further thinks your family is not pleased, which is why you’re not using your real name—”
“She knows that?”
“Of course she knows.” Lady Dunwell scoffed. “Good Lord, Effington. You cannot appear in a ballroom with hundreds of people, most of whom know you or know of you or your family, dance with a woman and expect that someone will not say something.”
He grimaced. “That was a mistake.”
“I’m so glad you realize it. And private investigation? Really, Effington.” She shook her head in a disbelieving manner. “Surely you could have come up with better than that. Phineas Chapman was no doubt destined to ferret out mysteries from birth. From what I’ve heard, even as a child he was a bit unusual. But you? You can’t even keep your identity secret.”
“This was not exactly planned.”
“I should hope not. One would hope an actual plan would be better thought out, although even a bad plan is better than no plan at all. Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet.”
“Why am I not surprised?” She studied him closely. “Do you care for her?”
“Yes.” He squared his shoulders. “Very much so.”
“I was afraid of that, although it certainly does answer a lot of questions. However, if you hope for anything to come of your affection—and I am hoping your intentions toward her are honorable . . .”
He nodded.
“I can’t say I trust you, which might not be fair as I don’t really know you at all. I do, however, know your brothers and I do know your reputation—”