A horse reined in beside him. “What did you say to Ebberling?”
He looked over at the black Thoroughbred. “Isn’t that the Duke of Greaves’s horse? Zeus or some such?” he asked, leaning sideways to scratch his calf—and loosen the knife in his boot.
The Marquis of Haybury nodded. “It was. Now he’s mine. What did you say to Ebberling?”
This was Portsman’s employer. Or rather, the husband of her employer, since if the rumors were to be believed Oliver Warren had signed a paper upon his marriage to Diane Warren promising never to take ownership of The Tantalus Club. The marquis was rich as Croesus in his own right, so he certainly had no need of the income from a gentlemen’s club, anyway. The more pressing question where Nate was concerned, however, was how much Haybury knew, and how much he cared to share. “Ebberling and I had a business arrangement, which we have mutually terminated. I don’t believe that to be any of your concern, however.”
“Terminated in that you let him know where to find Emily, or in that you told him to go stuff himself?”
Haybury kept his voice low, but Nate flinched anyway. “I beg your pardon, Haybury, but I was tasked with finding someone named Rachel Newbury. My friendship with Emily Portsman, if that is the Emily to whom you are referring, has nothing to do with that.”
“Hm. You’re more slippery than the French twist, aren’t you? Spies. Bugger ’em all.”
He and Portsman were going to have to have a chat about her confidence-sharing, if she meant to continue exposing him every time he turned around. Haybury had given him a bit of information, anyway. This French twist had to be the one Emily had spoken to, the one who’d identified him as a spy. And
French twist
sounded like a female. Someone else at the Tantalus? Bloody hell, that place was turning out to be quite the interesting hive of buzzing bees.
“I suppose you’re completely straightforward and aboveboard in everything you do?” he shot back.
“I do what’s necessary to protect myself and mine,” the marquis retorted.
“As do I. The
mine
you speak of merely means all of England, in my case. And I’m retired. So keep your damned mouth shut about it.”
To his surprise, Haybury grinned at that. “That’s better. You’re flesh and blood, anyway. So you told Ebberling you couldn’t find our girl?”
“I did.” Denying it to this man seemed utterly pointless.
He knew Haybury’s reputation as a gambler and a rake with a penchant for causing trouble when it amused him. Everything he saw riding beside him, from the steady gray gaze to the easy hold on a formidable-looking mount, spoke of confidence and charm and happiness. The marquis was deeply in love with his wife. And Nate liked him for it. And for his direct, straightforward manner. There was a world of difference between this marquis and the one he’d just left.
“Did he believe you?”
“He thought I was an incompetent ninny, and he said he would hire someone better at the job than I was. There is no one better at the job, but I did find her, so another man might, as well. And a new fellow might be less inclined to question his employer’s motives than I was.”
“She’s still in danger, then.”
“Yes.” And that was what troubled him more than anything. He might have turned Ebberling’s offer down, but he hadn’t saved her from the man. Far from it. In fact, he might have made things worse.
“What do you mean to do about it?” Haybury asked on the tail of his own thought. “Assuming you mean to do something and not simply walk away.”
Nate eyed him. “And what do you know of Portsman’s background and parentage?” he asked crisply.
“Nothing.”
“Then consider why she trusts me more than she trusts you. I’m not walking away.”
He kept his expression cool and blank, but Haybury nodded anyway. “Good. If you need assistance with not walking away, come see me. I’ve a certain lack of affection for any man who would harm his own wife.” With that he kicked his heels into the black’s ribs and turned toward Hyde Park.
Well, that had been interesting. Nate wondered if Portsman had any idea that she had allies. Powerful ones. More than likely, she didn’t. As a spy he generally trusted to no one’s counsel but his own. However, this wasn’t about him. And if it meant keeping one Eloise Smorkley safe, he was somewhat troubled to realize that he was willing to do anything. Even trust. Even be himself.
“Haybury,” he called, wheeling Blue after the marquis. “There is something you can do for me, actually.”
* * *
“Are you too good now to work in the dining room?”
Emily looked up as Lucille Hampton plunked herself down at the communal dinner table opposite her. “I haven’t been feeling well,” she returned, thankful she’d taken time to consider that one of her fellow Tantalus girls might not look too kindly on her altered duties. “Diane and Jenny thought it best if I remain out of the club for the time being.”
“Are you pregnant, then?”
“What? Good heavens, no.” Her cheeks heated. All she needed was for that rumor to get about. None of her friends would talk about anything else, and all her plans to remain quietly in the background would explode in her face.
Lucille stood up again. Rather than flounce away as Emily had expected, though, Miss Hampton walked around to her side of the long table and slid onto the bench directly beside her. “Then what’s truly going on?” she whispered in a much quieter voice. “With you and Lord Westfall spending so much time together I thought perhaps you were after a wedding. If you’re not carrying his babe, though, and you’re still seeing him, and you’re claiming to be too ill to work out with the gentlemen, then something is afoot.”
Evidently Lucille did have a mind; she just used it only rarely. Even so, Emily had no intention of telling her what was truly going on. “Oh, very well,” she whispered back. “You know that I came here to avoid my previous employer, yes?”
“Yes, we all know that story. You worked for some old couple and the lord of the house made advances.”
Telling herself that not all lies could be sins, when they saved people’s lives, Emily nodded. “Exactly. Someone saw my former employer in London, and I’ve been worried that he might make an appearance here. There would be a terrible scene, and … well, I just don’t want to set eyes on him again. He smelled like mold, and oh, it was just awful.” There. It was partly the truth, at least, and if Ebberling ever did discover that she was at the Tantalus, it would be worse than awful. At least for her.
Lucille patted her on the shoulder. “You know, I was mad that you stole Westfall from me, and I still am, but we’re all sisters here. I won’t mention your name to anyone. And if some moldy old lord comes here asking after you, I’ll say that I’ve never heard of you.”
“Thank you.” And even if Lucille was sincere, Emily was still thankful that no one would come here looking for Emily Portsman. Just in case.
“Since today is ladies’ day, I’ll even invite you to come have dinner with my cousin and me,” Miss Hampton continued.
“Thank you again,” Emily returned, “but I’m accustomed to spending ladies’ day upstairs here. And Jenny’s given me more accounts to do, since I’m not out on the floor working shifts.”
Wrinkling her nose, Lucille stood again. “I’d rather kiss a moldy old lord than do accounts.”
By mid-afternoon most of the Tantalus girls had left the premises or were making plans to do so. And the replacement staff—footmen and croupiers and waiters Diane hired for two days each month from Pall Mall’s most auspicious clubs—was beginning to arrive. At first the owners of White’s and Boodle’s and the Society, among others, had refused to allow a portion of their own employees the evening off to go serve the ladies who flocked to the Tantalus to dine and wager together twice a month. Once they’d realized that all the ladies’ husbands would be the ones flocking to
their
clubs in the absence of the Tantalus, however, their tunes had changed.
As the common room began to fill with young, attractive men, Emily gathered up her things and retreated to her own room. As accustomed as she’d become to the upheaval that occurred every other Wednesday, this time it unsettled her. None of the men would be Lord Ebberling, of course, and it was likely that none of them even knew the marquis, but they were strangers. And she disliked strangers.
Two hours later one of the cook’s helpers came knocking, and Emily went to unlock the door. “You’re early, aren’t you, Betty?”
“I’ve not got your dinner, Em,” the girl replied with her usual easy smile. “You’ve a caller. Miss Charity says she don’t want no men in the kitchens, ever, but he couldn’t come in the front way tonight.”
Her heart started pounding. “Did he give his name?”
“Oh, yes. Forgot. It’s Westfall.”
Thank goodness.
Her heart sped even further, but with anticipation now rather than dread. It felt like far longer than three days since she’d last seen him, and he’d said that he meant to leave Ebberling’s employ. A chill swirled down her spine. Whether Nathaniel would be able to convince Ebberling that she was far, far out of his reach she had no idea, but that was what she wanted him to tell her. Even if it was a lie.
“I’ll be right down,” she said, when she realized that Betty was eyeing her curiously.
“Don’t hurry. We don’t get men in the kitchen much, and he’s pretty.”
Emily choked back a laugh. “I shall take my time, then.”
She wouldn’t have described Nate as pretty, herself. Even with his long eyelashes and light green eyes he was every inch a man. Handsome, devilishly so, but not pretty.
Betty gave her another grin. “Thank you.”
Closing her door again, Emily dug through her wardrobe for something less demure than she’d worn to the picnic. She had daring gowns aplenty, since that was unofficially the uniform of the club, but it still took her several minutes to find just the one she wanted. Finally she settled on a low-cut gown of sky blue with silver bands at the arms and waist and the squared neckline. That should do, she decided as she took a last look at herself in the dressing mirror. And it only belatedly occurred to her that she wanted to see Nate more than she wanted to know what he’d learned from Ebberling.
It was foolish, but to herself, at least, she could admit that she was quite smitten with the former spy. Of course nothing would come of it, because nothing could come of an earl and a poacher’s daughter, but she could at least have him in her bed. And that was very nice, indeed.
As she walked down the attic hallway one of the temporary men nearly fell over himself he was so busy gaping at her, but she only nodded and continued on her way. In the past she might have stopped to flirt, or even asked him to stay after he was finished with working, but not tonight. Tonight all her dances were taken, so to speak.
When she reached the kitchen she stopped to one side of the doorway while the male staff hurried back and forth with plates and baskets and pots of hot water. Nate stood beside the largest stove, chatting with Charity Green as the head cook spooned what looked like the remains of one of her famous peach tarts into his mouth.
He looked up and met her eyes, then said something to the cook and walked up to her. “There you are, Miss Portsman.”
“Here I am, Lord Westfall,” she returned, gazing at his face as he stopped only a foot in front of her. “Did we have an engagement?”
“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” He pushed at his spectacles, his eyes dancing behind the glass lenses. “How dull of me. Are you free this evening?”
“Not any longer.” She tossed her head and sent a wink at Betty. “Don’t wait up for me, dear.”
Nathaniel led the way outside. Once she’d closed the kitchen door he turned around and backed her into the wall, lowering his mouth over hers in a kiss that left her breathless, and damp between the legs. “There,” he murmured, lifting his head a little, “that’s better.”
“For you. I feel thoroughly ruined,” she managed, chuckling.
“Not thoroughly enough. Not yet.”
And to think, a few weeks ago she’d disliked kissing.
In a sense, though, she’d been correct; almost from the moment they’d met, Nate Stokes had not been just any man, someone with whom to dispel her boredom and loneliness. She’d worried that kissing would mean she’d forged a connection, and as she looked at the man currently leading her toward his big, black closed coach, she’d been correct. Of course he was likely the worst man she could ever hope to like, not foolish, not dim-witted, and not self-concerned, but there he was.
“Where are we going?” she asked belatedly, balking at the coach’s open door. “I’m not dressed for Vauxhall, or a picnic.”
His light green gaze roved across her from head to toe and back again. “You’re dressed perfectly, as it so happens. In fact, I may change my plans and simply drive you back to my home.”
“I’d prefer that, actually,” she returned, “and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me our destination.”
Nathaniel nodded, reaching out to tuck a straying strand of her hair behind one ear. “Promise you’ll listen to the entire presentation before you flee into the night.”
That sounded dismaying. Cautiously taking a step back from the vehicle, she inclined her head. “Very well.”
“We’re going to the theater.”
Her heart stopped. “We are not going to the th—”
“Ah, ah, Portsman. The entire presentation,” he broke in. “
A Comedy of Errors
premieres tonight, and a group of my friends are all joining me in a box. You’re one of my friends, so you’re coming, as well.”
She backed away another step. For heaven’s sake, she’d never been to a proper London play. It was unfair, to tempt her with such things when he knew she couldn’t go. “I don’t know your friends, and I barely trust you, Westfall. No.”
“But you do know my friends. Better than I do, actually.” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “Lord and Lady Haybury, His Grace the Duke of Greaves and his duchess, K—”
“Sophia?” she interrupted, her heart beginning to beat again. “I didn’t even think they were back in London.”
“They arrived three days ago, along with a pair of their friends. I believe you’re also acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood.”