“Fun?” He swallowed hard, trying to get some of the items regarding
romantic interludes
or
taking a lover
or
being painted sans clothing
out of his head. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Do you think it’s silly? My wanting to accomplish these things my great-aunt never managed?”
“It’s not for me to say but, no. I don’t. Some of these items might be rather foolish, but it seems to me this endeavor of yours is in the manner of repayment of a debt. Quite honorable really.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fairchild.”
He cleared his throat, but the idea of a luscious Miss Merryweather posing nude for a portrait refused to be vanquished. “Might I inquire as to what your family thinks of your quest?”
“They don’t actually know.” She shrugged in an offhand manner, as if the question was of no importance, but he would wager it was. Perhaps she was a runaway heiress after all. “It seemed best. My parents and my brothers would not share your opinion as to the honorable nature of my endeavor.”
“I see.” He handed the paper back to her. “What do the notations beside each item signify?”
“Miss West and I have marked them as to their degree of difficulty, and at least one, traveling the world, will have to wait for the future. But several can be combined and accomplished all at once. Why, just today I saw the house where Lucinda’s mother was born and discovered the cause of the estrangement with her family, which solved a mystery as well.”
He nodded.
“Others we shall be able to cross off the list with very little effort. As you can see, I have already acquired a dog. This is Albert, by the way.”
Albert raised his head from her lap at the mention of his name and cast her an adoring look.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Albert,” Cam said politely.
Albert gave Cam what could only be called a look of disgust and again uttered a low growl.
“Don’t mind Albert.” She patted the dog fondly. “He’s surprisingly protective given that we’ve only known each other a few days.”
“Perhaps you don’t need my assistance after all.”
“I truly wish I didn’t.” She paused. “But today was . . . well, it was frightening and I would prefer not to experience that again.”
“You don’t strike me as a woman who would be frightened of anything.”
“I don’t?” Surprise widened her eyes. “Not even a little?”
“Only a fool would fail to be scared by what happened today.” He shrugged. “Aside from that, no, not even a little.”
“What a lovely thing to say, Mr. Fairchild. I would imagine all that charm of yours comes in handy in your profession.”
He smiled. “It has.”
“It must be quite exciting. Being an investigator, that is. I daresay you’ve been in frightening situations any number of times.”
“On occasion,” he said cautiously.
“Come now.” She scoffed. “I can’t believe you haven’t been involved in incidents far more exhilarating than following two women around London.”
He adopted a professional tone. “Surveillance is a large part of what we do.”
“Then you must have witnessed any number of fascinating and scandalous things. Tell me, Mr. Fairchild.” She leaned toward him, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is the most interesting thing you have observed?”
“I really couldn’t—”
“Oh, I’m not asking for names. Surely you can tell me something amusing?”
Cam racked his brains. Phineas had told him about his previous cases but specifics eluded him at the moment. “Often, my client wants to know if his or her spouse is being unfaithful. Which involves the discreet observation of that spouse. But my surveillance usually ends at a door.”
“That’s rather dull.”
“To say anything more would be highly inappropriate,” he said in a lofty manner.
“Good Lord, Mr. Fairchild.” She laughed. “I simply adore highly inappropriate.”
“Very well then.” If he couldn’t remember anything from Phineas’s stories, he could certainly make something up. “I do recall one occasion where I happened to be watching the wife of a prominent gentleman. Her ‘friend’ had gained entry to what I assumed was her bedchamber by way of a ladder placed against the outside wall. Unfortunately for him, her husband returned home unexpectedly.”
Her eyes widened. “And then?”
“Then . . .” He drew the word out in the manner of a master storyteller, for effect and to give him time to think. “Then shots rang out, Miss Merryweather.”
“Shots?” She stared. “The prominent gentleman shot the friend?”
“No, he missed, actually.” Cam shook his head. “The gentleman in question was not a very good shot plus he was quite outraged, which does tend to affect one’s ability to aim.”
“I would think so.” She nodded. “What happened next?”
“Needless to say, the friend was eager to take his leave.” With every word the story grew in his head.
“Naturally.”
“So he . . . he scrambled out the window.”
“Did he?”
“He did indeed. And unfortunately kicked the ladder away in the process.” Oh, that was good. “Which left him dangling by his fingertips from the window.”
“My goodness, he wasn’t having any luck at all, was he?”
“It gets worse,” Cam said solemnly. There was nothing better than when a story started coming to mind as if it had a life of its own. He must remember to write this one down.
“Oh . . .” She grinned. “Good. How much worse?”
“Well, you see, the ‘friend’ was clad”—he lowered his voice in a confidential manner—“in nothing more than his shirt and abject terror.”
She gasped.
“So there he was, dangling from the window, exposed for all the world to see. His white flesh glowing in the moonlight—”
“In the moonlight?” Her brow rose. “Then this was at night? You didn’t mention that.”
“My apologies. Yes, indeed, it was night.” He nodded. “A very dark, very stormy night.”
She frowned. “But the moon was shining.”
“Between the clouds,” he said quickly. “The clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight illuminated, well, parts that a gentleman would prefer not to expose and illuminate.”
“Oh my.” She studied him for a moment. “And what happened next?”
“He fell into the shrubbery and then scrambled off.” Cam shrugged. “Never to be seen again.”
“Never?”
“Well, I never saw him again.” He grinned. “Nor did I wish to as I had seen entirely too much already.”
She laughed. “That was delightful, Mr. Fairchild. You are an excellent storyteller.”
“Yes, well . . .” He tried and failed to act modest.
“I can’t wait to hear more about your exploits as an investigator.”
“More?” he said weakly.
“Oh my, yes. That was most entertaining. And we are going to be spending a great deal of time together. You and I and Miss West, that is.” She rose to her feet. “However, as Miss West and I have no plans to leave the house for the rest of the day, you may take your leave. Unless, of course, you don’t trust me.”
He stood. “You confided your plans to me, Miss Merryweather, which indicates trust in me on your part. I can do no less but to trust you as well.”
“We will get on very well then.” She smiled. “However, as much as I would like to trust you, and as I said I have little choice, when you return tomorrow, I would like references. While I’m certain Mr. Channing would not have hired you if you did not come highly recommended, I would like something to assure me, as well as Miss West, as she is most protective—”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“That you are who you say you are.”
Phineas would certainly write him a reference as would any of his brothers. And they would do so on extremely impressive stationery emblazoned with the Roxborough crest. He nodded. “Extremely prudent of you.”
“Well, even if you did recover my purse, you are a complete stranger. . . .” Her eyes widened.
“Miss Merryweather,” he said cautiously.
She stared at him. “We’ve never met before.”
“No, we have not.”
“One should never waste an opportunity when it presents itself, Mr. Fairchild.” She squared her shoulders. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I suppose.” He wasn’t at all sure he liked the look in her eyes.
“There’s nothing to be done about it, I suppose.” She stepped close to him, grabbed the lapels of his coat, raised herself up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his in a firm and shocking kiss.
Her lips were warm and soft and the most intoxicating scent of something undefined but reminiscent of summer nonetheless wafted around him and settled somewhere deep inside. Without warning she pulled away.
“There.” Her voice had a charming breathless quality to it. Her eyes were bright and a becoming blush washed up her cheeks. She stepped back. “I may check that off the list.”
“I . . .” He laughed. “Yes, I suppose you may.”
The corners of her mouth curved upward and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. “Do you find this amusing, Mr. Fairchild?”
“On the contrary, Miss Merryweather. I found that”—he grinned—“absolutely delightful.”
“Did you?” Her brow rose. “Oh my, this is awkward.”
“Awkward?”
“Well, I thought it was cursory at best. As kisses go, I really don’t think it was exceptional.”
“You don’t.” He drew his brows together. “I must say, Miss Merryweather, I have never had a complaint before.”
“No, I don’t imagine you would have.” She winced. “Ladies are generally polite about this sort of thing.”
“But not you?”
“I was being honest, Mr. Fairchild.” She shrugged. “It’s not as if your affections were engaged, after all. As if this kiss meant anything. Although, admittedly”—she sighed—“I have not had a great deal of experience. But I do think I have been kissed enough to recognize an unremarkable kiss. In fact, I would say I am well acquainted with unremarkable kisses.”
“That’s a very great pity, Miss Merryweather.”
“I have always thought so,” she murmured. “But I would think when one experiences an exceptional kiss, one is well aware of it.”
“And this kiss was not exceptional?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Rather a shame, really. One would hope that kissing a stranger would be extremely exciting rather than merely . . . nice enough.”
“Nice enough?” He stared in indignation, then laughed. “I’m afraid I have to agree, Miss Merryweather. It was adequate, no more than that. I can assure you, were I not taken by surprise, the kiss would have been far more than adequate.”
“Then you need warning?”
“Not warning but, as I had no idea you were about to kiss me, I was unprepared.”
“I see.” She studied him curiously. “And if I had warned you, would the kiss then have become more than adequate?”
“I don’t—” He frowned. “See here, Miss Merryweather, this is not the kind of conversation I am used to having with a lady.”
She laughed. “Nor is it the kind of conversation I have ever had with a gentleman.” She paused. “Still, I should probably apologize to you.”
“For your criticism of my kiss?”
“Not at all. As I said, I was simply being honest. But it does seem to me, the fault for the unexceptional nature of the kiss was probably mine. I merely seized the opportunity presented.” Her brows drew together thoughtfully. “I suspect this was not at all what Lucinda had in mind when she wanted to kiss a stranger. After all, kissing a stranger in a moonlit garden or on a dark terrace outside a ballroom would be far more exciting than a kiss in a parlor in an effort to cross an item off a list. Don’t you agree?”
“I would think so, yes.”
“Although, this was far safer,” she said thoughtfully.
“Safe and unexceptional are exactly the comments a man wishes to hear after a kiss,” he said wryly.
“Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t offended you.”
“Not at all,” he said gallantly, but it was past time to change the topic of conversation. “Might I inquire as to your plans for tomorrow?”
She hesitated. “They are as yet uncertain, but I can’t imagine we will do anything before late morning.”
“Then I will return tomorrow, Miss Merryweather.” He nodded and started toward the door.
“And, Mr. Fairchild?”
“Yes?”
“I will expect you to come to the door and not hide behind carriages on the street tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “I assure you, I will present myself at your front door.”
“You know, Mr. Fairchild.” She tilted her head and smiled at him. “You were something of a hero today.”
“I simply recovered your purse.”
“And modest as well. Most becoming in a hero.”
He grinned. “I am at your service, Miss Merryweather.”
“Excellent, Mr. Fairchild.” She beamed. “This will be an adventure.”
“I have no doubt of that.” He smiled, nodded again, and took his leave, managing to make it out the front door and onto the street without encountering Miss West.
That went far better than he had expected. Although he hadn’t expected Miss Merryweather to be aware of his surveillance. And he certainly never expected to have to rescue her purse. Nor had he expected the lovely Miss Merryweather to be lovely. All in all he hadn’t expected anything about her. But she was going to make a great story.
He ignored the twinge of conscience at the thought. After all, he wasn’t going to use her name. This was going to be fiction. She was simply his inspiration, his muse as it were. The story was already beginning to take shape in his head. Tonight, he would start writing.
Still, there were facts about all this he had yet to discover. Her relationship with the American, Channing, for one thing. Why she didn’t want her family to know what she was doing, for another. And even more interesting: just how far was Miss Merryweather willing to go in her efforts to atone for her relative’s regrets?