A Suspicious Affair (20 page)

“Somehow I knew we’d get back to that,” he said with resignation. “I did what I thought was best.”

“But it wasn’t, and you gave your word, to leave real money and all. How could you do such a thing? You listen to me, nod, then go your own way,” she complained, as women had for years. “What kind of behavior is that?”

Indefensible, of course, so he didn’t try. “I’ve a bone to pick with you, too. You said this thing between my sister and your brother was only puppy love, childish infatuation.”

“Of course it is. Foster is ill and bored and Bettina is sweet and attentive. Helping to care for him gives Bettina a sense of being needed, like a mature woman. Having her admiration restores the pride Foster lost to Arvid and even to you, who stands as his nephew’s guardian. Still, he is only twenty and army-mad. He’s not ready to take a wife. And Bettina is only seventeen and has seen nothing of the world. Don’t worry.”

“Strange, you don’t listen to me when I tell you not to worry about Nolly. Besides, if there is nothing to worry about, why is Tina suddenly claiming that a London Season is not so important anymore?”

“Perhaps because Edelia is still here, and Boynton now, too. You did tell me to send for my brother-in-law, you know. I’m sorry to have to tell you, and I hope you aren’t put out, but those two are as close as inkle-weavers. Edelia even comes to visit Foster now, in the guise of chaperoning your sister in the afternoons when Boynton is between his late breakfast and his early dressing for dinner. London is all the two of them talk about, the latest
on dits
, the newest fashions. Bettina is sensible enough to grasp the shallowness of the tonnish life in Town. It’s enough to give anyone a disgust of the place.”

“I should take her to Hyde Park at night then to see the pigeons. It would finish the job and I’d never have to go back.”

Except to deliver the second ransom demand, of course.

Chapter Twenty

This time the note demanded four hundred pounds brought to the same place, same time, that Friday, without the Runners. It was her last chance to save the little bastard, the message said, sending chills through Marisol’s heart. Anyone who could speak so vilely of Nolly could be capable of anything.

She hugged him the harder, and patted the golden curls on his head while he played with the ribbon in her hair. That there were creatures so base they could threaten such a precious little innocent made the world an uglier place. “Don’t worry, my angel, the earl won’t let anything happen to you.” Somehow, to Marisol’s surprise, she’d come to believe it was true. Pigheaded and overbearing he might be, but Lord Kimbrough could be trusted. She’d thought never to accept another man’s word for anything, never to let another male have authority over her, but the earl was different. He really wasn’t like Arvid at all.

This time he swore to leave the money and walk away, after a furious discussion over who should put up the additional pounds. Carlinn felt the blunt should come from him, since his mishandling of the first attempt had raised the ante. Marisol was adamant the duke’s estate should defend the duke, that the earl should have no more burden placed on him beyond that of messenger. Resenting the designation of errand boy, Kimbrough had protested. He stormed and he shouted, he paced and he scowled, but he took her money. Arvid would have gone his own way regardless of her objections, and would have flown into an ungovernable rage at her first sign of disagreement. He would never have conceded, or smiled at her afterward. And Arvid’s smile never reached his eyes and never warmed her heart, the way Kimbrough’s did. “Ah, Nolly,” she whispered, tickling the baby’s ear, “too bad his lordship is such a stickler for the niceties.”

*

Such a stickler was the earl that he offered to escort Miss Sherville home the very afternoon the note arrived. Her departure date had come and gone, her mother must be missing her, and she should not be subject to more shabby treatment of a missing host. If they hurried, and he rode through the night on the return, he could be in London on time.

Such sacrifice was not needed. Lord Boynton had offered to see Miss Sherville and her maid removed to Bath, at her chosen pace, which involved frequent stops, reservations in advance at the finest inns, and elegant repasts along the way. At the earl’s expense, of course.

“Think nothing of it, Boynton,” Carlinn told the older man. “You’ll be doing me a favor, saving me the trip to Bath. The least I can do is spring for the tab.”

Boynton took out an enameled snuffbox and offered it to the earl, who shook his head. When Boynton had succeeded in opening the box with one hand, taking out a judicious pinch, then sneezing into a lace handkerchief—none of which impressed the earl—he said, “Deuced good of you. And can’t say I blame you about not wanting to go to Bath. Devilish dull kind of place. Wouldn’t be caught dead there, m’self. Actually, suppose I would. Be caught dead, that is. They say it’s where old reprobates like m’self go to die. Don’t want to end m’days playing silver loo with the biddies, though. Got a better notion, if it don’t throw a rub in your plans.”

“My plans? What have my plans got to do with anything?”

“Your plans for Miss Sherville. Between gentlemen, don’t you know. Wouldn’t want to be cutting you out or anything.”

Carlinn was able to assure the other man that not only did he have the earl’s approval, he had his blessing. “Then Miss Sherville won’t feel her trip to Berkshire was a waste. That is, she does reciprocate your regard, doesn’t she?”

Boynton puffed out his chest, buckram wadding notwithstanding. “I do believe so, Kimbrough, I do believe. Haven’t wanted to put it to the touch yet, of course, not without your leave. You had first choice, what?”

“Sporting of you, I’m sure.” Carlinn coughed to cover a laugh.

Boynton didn’t seem to notice. “Now that you’re giving me a clear field, I’ll take the plunge. I mean, Arvid’s cocking up his toes like that and all, and my not getting any younger, give a chap pause, by Jupiter. Miss Sherville’s a handsome female, what? And knows how to dress. Looks good on m’arm, don’t you know. Will look better in that empty house of theirs in Grosvenor Square.”

“Ah, part of the dowry, is it? I understood there was enough to purchase any number of London houses.”

“Quite, but there’s no reason to be wasting all that brass. Need it to keep up appearances, don’t you know. Style is everything. Miss Sherville agrees. Well-bred female, thinks just as she ought. Well favored, well dowered; what more could a chap ask?”

Well endowed, Carlinn thought to himself, thinking of another female’s soft, womanly shape. Aloud, he just said, “I wish you well.”

“And you too, boy-o, happy hunting.”

“Hunting? Oh, you mean the ransom note.”

Boynton placed his finger alongside his nose. “If that’s how you want to put it. Between gentlemen, don’t you know. But it happens to the best of us, Kimbrough. Plain as the nose on your face your turn has come, even if you ain’t ready to admit it.”

Carlinn did have to admit that he knew exactly what Boynton was referring to, but that was as far as he was going. Lud, if this old court card was making book on his fate, Kimbrough’s carefully controlled facade must be slipping. It wouldn’t do. No, it wouldn’t do at all. And it was all that woman’s fault. As soon as this ransom mess was taken care of, he’d put her from his mind once and for all. Of course, he’d do his damnedest to see those bastard blackmailers brought to book, and Arvid’s murderer, too, so her peace of mind was restored and her name was cleared, so that no one, ever, would think of her as less than a lady. The most infuriatingly exciting, enticing, affectionate, courageous, and beautiful lady of his experience…but it wouldn’t do.

*

Dimm was to stay outside the park. He wore his red waistcoat and kept in plain sight, hobbling back and forth near the park entrance. The extra poundage he’d gained recently, from all those fancy teas and lavish dinners, only exacerbated the problem.

“I allus said policing was nine-tenths footwork, but this beats the Dutch. And what am I doing? Nobbut showing the bastards where I ain’t.” So he limped across the street to the earl’s carriage and climbed up next to the driver. He even opened his coat so the redbreast was more visible. “I should be in the park making an arrest,” he muttered. To which the driver commented that he’d like to see the day Dimm did anything to earn his keep. Dimm chewed on the stem of his pipe.

Lord Kimbrough was once more making his obeisance at Society’s feet. This time the park was even more crowded, the warmer weather drawing the Quality back to London like ants to a picnic. He smiled, he bowed, he refused invitations to innumerable parties and innumerable beds. Behind him he could almost hear the wheels of speculation turning. What in the world was the Elusive Earl doing in London twice in a month? He was only seen in the park, so it couldn’t be business; therefore it must be pleasure. A woman, they concluded, quizzing every female to whom he nodded.

Hope even flared that it wasn’t a particular woman who drew the earl to Town, but the search for one. A plump matron trailing simpering misses behind her like a row of ducklings even dared suggest he attend her Sylvia’s come-out, for they were sure to have much in common. He doubted that. One hard look from the earl had Sylvia—the one in cerise—quaking like a pudding. He moved on, delighted to leave the main thoroughfares behind.

He strode across the grass instead of on the verge by the bridle paths, to avoid the horseback set, nodcocks who called themselves Corinthians because they could sit a fractious beast that didn’t belong in the park in the first place, or the peahens trying to show off their seats, their trailing riding habits, and their eligibility all at once.

Bah! Thank goodness not every gentlewoman cared to put herself on display. If he wanted to see fancy equestrian acts, he’d go to Astley’s, and if he wanted a bed-warmer, he’d go to Mother Lil’s or the opera house greenroom. And if he wanted a wife, well, he wouldn’t go back to Bath, that was for sure.

Carlinn checked his watch. Right now what he wanted was to get the parcel to the designated bench. He hurried past the riverbanks where children fed the ducks and the shallows where boys sailed paper boats. At last he was in those deeper reaches of the park that stayed less congested. As he took the final turning, he was pleased to note that the statue was actually being washed down by a park attendant with mop and bucket and damp uniform, not that it would stay clean for long. He was also relieved to see most of the benches were empty. A maid and her young man were enjoying their afternoon off on one of the seats, and a dignified older gentleman read his newspaper on another. A youngish woman in a poke bonnet that hid most of her face sat on the bench opposite the third, rocking a perambulator. She wasn’t having much success getting the baby to sleep, Carlinn noted, for he could hear the infant’s wails from beyond the monument. He thought for a moment how lucky they were in Nolly. The little duke never carried on that way. Of course, he had any number of adults to cater to his every whimper, but Noel truly was a well-behaved child. Not that Carlinn considered himself any kind of expert, naturally.

He sat on the third bench and checked his watch again and waited for the church bells to mark the hour. The woman across from him was busy with the fussing baby, her head bent over the carriage. Good. At the first stroke of the chime, he removed the packet from his inner pocket. Heavier and bulkier this time, the parcel contained the additional money, plus a plea from Marisol to take the money with her blessings but leave her son alone. Kimbrough slipped the package beneath his seat at the third chime. By the fourth he was on his feet, ready to leave.

Just as the church bells struck the fifth gong, however, a different noise sounded. “Runaway!” someone shouted back along the bridle paths, and “’Ware, loose horse.” Women were screaming, men were yelling, and hooves were pounding nearer.

The young swain had hustled his sweetheart behind the bench, Carlinn quickly ascertained, and the old gent was on his feet, ready to bolt. The park attendant dropped his mop and came out from behind the statue, peering back toward the intersection. The woman with the baby was shrieking, setting the infant to howling again, on top of the other cries. Carlinn hurriedly grabbed the woman’s arm in one hand and the pram’s handle in the other and dragged them both over to his side of the path, behind the bench where he could protect them.

“He’s coming this way!” the park employee hollered just as a mighty gray stallion, sides flecked with foam and blood, thundered down the path. The uniformed man dove for his bucket of soapy water to toss in the runaway’s face, which didn’t stop the horse for a second. Then he grabbed for the reins and almost got trampled, without success. The old man waved his newspaper at the brute, and still the animal kept coming without the slightest pause. The bookish-looking beau started out from behind his bench while his companion screamed, but Carlinn ordered, “Get back, you fool!”

Making sure the mother and infant were safely behind him and the concrete bench, the earl stepped onto the tanbark, right in the stallion’s way. “No!” He shouted, “Whoa, sir,” in tones so loud, so firm, so used to being obeyed, that they finally penetrated the frenzied beast’s terrified mind. At least the animal slowed enough to think about running down the large man in his path. The gray’s hesitation was long enough for Carlinn to lunge for the trailing reins and wrap them around his fist, digging his heels in the ground as the stallion plunged and tossed his head. By this time the maintenance man was able to grab the cheek strap on the stallion’s bridle and add his weight to the earl’s to bring the panicked horse to a stop.

“Good boy, good lad,” Carlinn crooned, running his hand along the heaving side, where blood flowed from what looked like a bullet crease. “You’ll be fine now,” he told the animal. “I am sure your rider will be coming along any minute now to take you home.”

“I’ll walk him a bit, shall I, milord, to cool him off?” offered the park attendant.

“Yes, he’s too spent to get up to more trouble. Good job, Isaac.”

“And you, milord,” said the grinning boy, actually Dimm’s son from Kimbrough’s own stables.

Carlinn turned around as more people hurried down the path now that the danger was past. The young couple, Dimm’s niece Suky from the inn and her brother who was clerking for Stenross, Stenross, and Dinkerly, were helping the older gentleman, Mr. Stenross himself, pick up his newspapers. And the mother and baby carriage were—gone. So was the extortion money.

Diddled, by damn!

*

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied, Your Grace,” the earl grumbled. “They’ve got the money and all we’ve got for the effort is one scarred stallion.” No one had claimed the horse, naturally, especially when he was deposited at the police stable. So Kimbrough took the gray home. He had too hard a time finding a mount up to his weight to leave this one languishing in gaol.

“No,” Marisol told him, pouring out the tea. “We’ve got a little peace of mind and that’s worth every bit of the four hundred pounds. Maybe if they read my note, they’ll see how much Nolly means to me and leave us alone. If that woman with the baby really was the culprit, she’ll understand. I feel much better about the situation now.”

She was looking better, too, since he’d sent a note ahead informing her that the money was delivered. Marisol was wearing a blue silk gown that almost matched the color of her eyes, and it clung to her figure enough that he could see she hadn’t lost too much weight, only enough to reveal a narrow waist, well-formed legs, and a still-ample bosom.

“In truth, now I can sleep at night without waking up every hour to listen for Nolly’s breathing or Sal’s growls. I thank you for that, my lord.”

He waved aside her gratitude. “You might try calling me Kimbrough then, or Carlinn. I do think we know each other well enough by now, Duchess. You even know how to fix my tea the way I like, without asking.”