When Marrying a Scoundrel (19 page)

Perhaps because despite her hopes, she knew what she had seen in the bottom of Jack’s cup. And she hadn’t seen herself in any of it.

Jack was sitting at his favorite table at the Barrington, drinking a cup of strong coffee and reading business correspondence when a shadow fell across him. He glanced up, expecting to see a waiter offering more coffee, and was surprised to see Lady Gosling standing there instead.

He was instantly on guard, as a man should be when a woman dressed to impress sneaks up on him in the middle of the afternoon and smiles down at him like a shark bearing down upon wounded prey.

“What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, forcing a smile. Odd, but just a few days ago he would have welcomed her company with twitching prick and open arms. Now he found himself decidedly uncomfortable.

She arched a finely plucked brow. “Pleasurable enough to ask me to sit, perhaps?”

No, this wasn’t going to be good at all. “Of course.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Please sit.”

She was very graceful, of course, but that canary-eating smile continued to hover about her carmine painted lips. It made him uneasy. Made him want to do something to wipe it right off her face. He didn’t like feeling as though he was about to be attacked, or bullied. Since losing the comforts of his grandfather’s world, it was a feeling he’d experienced more than he cared to admit, though he’d weathered every incident and generally came out the victor.

“Did we have an appointment?” he inquired, wanting her to get to the point and leave as quickly as possible. He’d be buggered six ways from Sunday if someone mentioned seeing him with her to Sadie.

The lady’s smug smile deepened. “Aren’t you going to offer me some kind of refreshment?”

He actually opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn’t, no. But then the waiter appeared and asked if she would like anything and the damnable baggage asked for a cup of coffee as well.

“I do so enjoy coffee,” she remarked brightly when the young man left. “It’s such a rich, masculine drink. Don’t you agree?”

Jack tilted his head. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

Lady Gosling tittered—a nerve-grating sound. “No, of course you haven’t. You men always have so many things on your mind whilst we females are left to amuse ourselves.”

He stared at her, forcing his eyes to stay still rather
than roll as they wanted. “A woman such as you must be terribly adept at amusing yourself.”

Her gaze locked with his, and he saw not a trace of genuine warmth in it. “Indeed. I’ve been told I’m quite adept at amusement. Why, you wouldn’t believe some of the things I do to keep myself amused.”

“Do you often share these amusements?” In other words, speak your mind or shag off.

“Of course. It would be selfish of me to keep them all to myself, wouldn’t it?”

“Generous as well. You’re nigh on a saint aren’t you?”

She shook her head. She wore a miniature top hat perched on her hair. One of Sadie’s hats would eat such a poor excuse for headgear. “Oh no, Mr. Friday. Never that.”

The waiter brought her coffee, keeping Jack from immediately responding. Usually he found matching wits and trading veiled conversation with a woman exciting. But after last night, and Sadie’s more frank (and arousing) manner of speaking, he found himself bored.

He watched, jaw clenched as she stirred sugar and then cream into her cup. It was a drawn-out production, worthy of any actress at King’s Theater. Then, she lifted the cup to her lips with both hands and took a ridiculously tiny sip. There was a slight reddish smear on the rim where her mouth had touched.

“Umm. Delicious.”

“Would you like a top-up?” he asked, bone dry. “You practically drained it.”

Another titter—this one more forced than the last. “Oh, Mr. Friday! How very droll you are.”

This had gone on long enough. He was a busy man and he had a lot of work to get down before he could meet Sadie again that evening. He wasn’t about to allow Lady Gosling and whatever game she played keep him from his wife.

“Actually, I’m very busy. I assume you came here for a reason other than the chef’s excellent coffee?”

Dark green eyes narrowed, like a cat sizing up a mouse. “Rude as well.”

“Rude is showing up without an appointment and expecting an audience. What I am, Lady Gosling, is out of fucking patience.” Normally he wouldn’t speak so to a lady, but who was he trying to kid? Lady Gosling wasn’t a
lady
by any imagining. “Why don’t you tell me what you want so I can say no?”

“You’re not going to tell me no,” she replied, an edge to her deceptively light tone.

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He was going to tell her no even if she gave him a goose that laid golden eggs.

“Oh, I am, Mr. Friday.” She leaned her folded forearms on the table and leaned closer, that sharklike smile curving her lips once more. “Or should I say, Mr. Farrington?”

F
or a split second Jack’s entire body seemed to shut down. He was careful not to let his shock show on his face. He was particularly careful not to reach across the table and grab the woman by the throat.

“I’m not familiar with that name,” he replied smoothly. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

Lady Gosling took another miniscule sip from her cup. “Jack Farrington was something of a confidence artist who lived on Russell Street with his wife
Sadie
who read tea leaves and conducted séances.” Fluttering her lashes she flashed a patently false smile. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

“No, but it sounds like the stuff of novels. Go on.”

From the tightening of her lips he guessed she was unimpressed by his glib tone. What had she expected? That she would toss this little bit of information at him and he’d immediately launch himself at her mercy? It was a little early for that, and he needed to find out just how much she knew. She knew his name, but did she know who he was?

“It seems there was a bit of trouble with someone claiming fraud over a reading Mrs. Farrington did, and shortly after that Jack disappeared leaving the poor little lady to fend for herself. Then she disappeared for a while as well. A few years later Sadie Moon arrived in London and set herself up as a tea-leaf reader. She’s got a rather higher class of clientele, many of whom I doubt have ever heard of Jack and Sadie Farrington, but would no doubt find the story fascinating.”

Jack rested his elbow on the table, tilting his head as he rested his temple against one finger. He smiled without amusement. “You know what I find interesting?”

“What?”

“That a
lady
such as yourself could make herself so familiar with the goings on of…Russell Street? That’s near Covent Garden, isn’t it?” It was something of a bluff, but it paid off when he saw her jerk the tiniest bit. “You didn’t go down there yourself, did you?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He could tell from the look on her face that was exactly what she had done, and now he knew something about her—that she wasn’t all she pretended to be either.

“You come here accusing me of what, exactly? It seems the worst Madame Moon has done is change her name, if she truly is this Farrington woman.” When Lady Gosling didn’t reply, he continued, “Unless there’s more to this sordid tale, my lady, I hope you’ll excuse me. I have work to do.”

She looked as though she’d like to strangle him. How could he ever have found her attractive? She was as cold
and hard as a Hudson Bay winter—which he’d experienced firsthand. But there was a glimpse of desperation in her gaze that surprised him. “A woman matching Sadie Farrington’s description was seen in Russell Street Sunday morning, near a house she and her husband once rented a flat in.”

Jack shrugged. Again, he was careful to keep his features perfectly blank. “So?”

“I was very interested to learn that you own the building, Mr. Friday. And I believe you were there yesterday as well. Were you not?”

He was getting tired of this game. “Make your point, Lady Gosling, before I have you tossed out into the street.”

For a moment, real alarm flashed across her face. “And risk having the whole of London learn your true identity?”

Jack leaned forward, feeling the balance of power tip a tiny bit in his direction. There were worse things that could happen than his identity becoming public knowledge, though he was surprised to realize that.

“What proof do you have of these allegations other than gossip and hearsay?” When she didn’t respond, his smugness grew. “Just what I thought.” He lifted one of the letters from his pile and turned his attention to it.

“I don’t need to prove it,” she snarled, leaning over the table. “All I have to do is whisper in the right ears that Sadie Moon was once investigated for fraud and the sweet little reputation she’s made for herself turns to dust.”

That was indeed worse than his identity becoming
public knowledge. Never in his life had Jack wanted to do violence to a woman like he did at that moment. Correction, he’d never wanted to do violence to
anyone
like he did at that moment. “What do you want?”

Lady Gosling smiled. “Ah-ha! Did the two of you reconcile the night of the charity auction? Is there a happy ending in store for our estranged lovers? That’s when I knew there was something between the two of you, you know—when you paid a thousand pounds just for an hour of her time.”

Seemed he had truly tipped his hand by that lapse in sense, but even now he couldn’t bring himself to regret it because it had brought him and Sadie together again. “Name your price, woman or this meeting ends.
Now
.”

She pouted. “Rest easy, Mr. Friday. I’m not interested in ruining either you or Madame Moon. Personally, I believe she’s the genuine article. All I want is your help.”

“What sort of help?”

“One hundred thousand pounds and passage to New York City for two.”

Jack’s brows shot up. “You don’t want much, do you?”

“I’ve looked into your finances. You can afford it.”

He had no doubt she’d done just that, crafty bitch. “But do I want to pay it?”

“A small price to protect your secrets—and Sadie’s.”

She had him there. “What’s to keep me from going to your husband and telling him what you’re up to? From what I hear, he’s the kind of man who might react negatively.”

It wasn’t his imagination; she paled. Thankfully the
dining area was relatively empty. If anyone was paying attention to their exchange they’d be mad with curiosity over the details.

“You’re an honorable man,” she replied, a faint strangled quality to her voice. “You wouldn’t do that.”

He almost laughed at that—at her audacity to say it and her naiveté to believe it. “You have no idea what I’d do.”

“You’d protect someone you care about.”

He scratched his chin. “You’re not on that list.”

“But Sadie Moon is.” She leaned closer. He really could grab her by the throat if he wanted. “Give me what I want and I go away. No one ever learns your secret, or hers.”

She had him by the balls and she knew it. She could say whatever she wanted about him and he’d weather it, but Sadie…He would rather face the old man than be the cause of her losing all she’d worked so hard to achieve. Never mind his own feelings on tea leaves and such, he would hate to see her lose her shop over such a stupid scandal. She loved her job and he refused to play any part in it being taken away from her.

He could go to the authorities, but that would bring unwanted attention as well. He hated being in this position, but it was his own fault he was there.

“I’ll need a few days to get the money,” he muttered, glancing down in disgust.

“Of course.” She sounded giddy. “Shall we meet again on Thursday?”

Jack nodded. “Fine.”

And then she did the damnedest thing. She reached
across the table and placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Thank you.”

He trapped that hand with his own, preventing her from making the escape she’d obviously intended to make. She had begun to stand and had to sit again. Fear widened her eyes as he pinned her with a cold gaze. “I want you on a boat within the next day or you’ll explain this not only to your husband, but Scotland Yard as well.”

She swallowed hard, but didn’t look away. “Agreed.”

“Good, now get the hell out of my hotel.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. The moment he released her she was on her feet and heading toward the exit. Jack turned back to his letters, just in case anyone was watching.

Three days to get one hundred thousand pounds. That wouldn’t be a problem. It was more than enough time to get the money. What he hoped was that it would be enough time to find out why Lady Gosling was so very desperate to get out of London. And perhaps resort to a little coercion of his own.

“Only you could wear that color combination and make it fabulous.”

Sadie turned at the sound of Vienne’s voice. She’d had just walked through the door of Saint’s Row. “Why, thank you, madame. You look lovely this evening.”

Vienne was indeed a vision in a cream colored gown shot with gold threads that made her pale skin look as smooth and lustrous as pearl. Sadie, in sharp contrast to her friend’s quiet elegance, wore a bruise-violet velvet
gown with a tangerine underskirt. The dark purple worked well for her, however, and brought out the green in her eyes.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” Vienne remarked. “There’s nothing special going on, just some dancing. Although Ryeton and his duchess are here, so that’s good for business. And there’s a rumor that Lillie Langtry plans to make an appearance, but I’ll believe that when I see it.”

The discordant mash of music and conversation drifted out of the grand ballroom as a guest slipped through the door. Sadie raised an impressed brow. “Sounds like a crush.”

The Frenchwoman shrugged her slender shoulders. “It’s late into Parliament’s sitting and the people are bored. Many have already left town. Not so many balls and fetes to attend so they come here instead. Soon business will dwindle, but I don’t mind. I will have other things to occupy my time.”

She referred to her plans for a universal provider, of course. Sadie found the whole endeavor terribly exciting. She knew Jack was involved through his partner Trystan Kane, but she hadn’t asked how much of an investor he was. Lord, she didn’t even know how many businesses he was involved in or how many he owned himself. If they were truly going to reconcile, wasn’t that something she should ask? Of course it was, and she would ask. Right around the same time he began to believe in her talent with tea leaves. Until then there didn’t seem to be a point.

Perhaps that was unduly harsh and cold of her, but
it was the truth. She wanted Jack, was beginning to quite like the man he’d become, and was still infuriatingly in love with the boy he had been, but how could she ever have a future with a man who didn’t believe in her—correction—in her abilities? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She turned her mind away from such dismal thoughts and turned her head toward Vienne, only to find her friend watching her closely.

“I was going to ask what did bring you here this evening,” the redhead remarked disapprovingly, “but I believe the answer to that just walked in.”

Sadie followed the cool blue gaze to a sight that set her heart pounding.
Jack
. He was just about to enter the ballroom in the company of Archer Kane, and while Sadie knew there were women in London who preferred Lord Archer’s dark hair and piercing blue eyes, her own eyes were only for her tanned, golden Jack. His shoulders looked so broad in his black jacket. The rich crimson of his waistcoat called attention to his strong chest and narrow waist, especially when he flipped his jacket open and set a fist to his hip as he explained something to his companion.

“For God’s sake,” came Vienne’s exasperated voice, “put your eyes and tongue back in your head, woman. You look like a pug in need of water.”

Sadie jerked, whirling indignantly on her friend. “I do not!”

Vienne simply shook her head and gave her a disgusted look. “He is glancing this way. Perhaps you should
acknowledge him before he turns puggish himself.”

Jack was indeed looking at her, Sadie discovered with a delighted flush. Remembering that they were supposed to begin their “courtship” tonight, she inclined her head at him. He bent in a small bow with a lopsided smile. That smile was enough to make her heart stutter against her ribs. But there was something not right—a tightness around his eyes, a stiffness to his jaw that raised concern.

“Mon Dieu,”
came Vienne’s exasperated whisper. “I cannot believe you!”

Jack and Archer stepped into the ballroom and Sadie turned once more to her friend. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Vienne looked at her as though she were mad. Taking Sadie by the arm, she pulled her closer to the far wall, where there was presumably less chance of them being overheard. “Me? It is you who is the madwoman. Have you not learned your lesson where that man is concerned? Has he not hurt you enough?”

Strangely untouched by her friend’s vehemence, she shrugged. “You could ask him the same question about me.”

“No.” Vienne shoved a finger at her. “Not quite, I do not think.”

Sadie’s head tilted over her right shoulder, not at all offended by Vienne’s attitude. Her friend cared about her, that’s all this anger meant. Reaching out, she took Vienne’s long, cool hands in her own. “Has there never been that one man you’d risk having your heart torn to pieces for?
Who you’d give almost anything just to have a second chance with him?”

Vienne blinked, her face impassive. “No,” she whispered. “Never.”

Sadie shook her head and released her. She’d seen the truth in her eyes. “Liar.”

Pale shoulders straightened, as though pulled by invisible strings. “Do not think I will help you pick up the pieces when he breaks your heart.” Her voice held the tiniest tremor, a sign of weakness the Frenchwoman had never revealed before.

“Yes you will,” Sadie replied with a warm, confident smile. “Because you’re my friend and you always will be, no matter what happens. Just as I will be for you.”

Vienne sniffed and looked away, but not before Sadie saw the shimmer of vulnerability in her eyes. “Go,” she commanded. “Run to your ruin, and for God’s sake, prove me wrong.”

Sadie knew when she’d been dismissed, and wasn’t the least bit offended. Vienne was not the kind of woman who liked to show emotion, especially not those she couldn’t control. So, she left her friend and went in search of the beautiful man waiting for her inside the ballroom. Was he watching the door waiting for her to finally step inside? She’d wager he was.

Would he tell her what was the matter? A small part of her grew anxious. What if he’d found out she’d contacted his grandfather? Perhaps Indara was right. She should tell him, if for no other reason than she wouldn’t have it hanging over her head for the rest of her days. Surely he’d
forgive once he found out the old man had financed her shop. He knew what a bastard the earl could be—he’d understand that in her bitterness she’d betrayed him to achieve her own goal.