A Lady's Secret Weapon (14 page)

“Ladies, do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, my lord,” Miss Hunt said. “Miranda was mentioning how much she enjoyed your company at dinner.”

“Do not sound so surprised. I’m quite capable of pleasant conversation.”

“Perhaps my surprise comes from never having witnessed such an event.”

Miss Pratt sent her sister a sidelong glance. “You are acquainted with Lord Danforth?”

“Did he not tell you? The Hunt Agency is to locate several new servants for his lordship.”

“Is that so?”

“My butler and housekeeper are aging and could use additional help,” Ethan said. “As for the valet, I’m not convinced of the need, but your sister believes my wardrobe is in need of attention. Who am I to argue with one so fashionable?”

Eyeing his clothing, Miss Pratt said, “Sydney, did you truly criticize Lord Danforth’s attire?”

Miss Hunt’s gaze followed the same line down his body, though his reaction to her scrutiny was quite different from her younger sister’s.

The corner of Miss Hunt’s mouth curled. “His lordship was not put together quite so nicely when last we met.”

Sensing she was missing something important, Miss Pratt decided to retreat. “Jules looks to be on the verge of revolt. If you’ll excuse me, my lord?”

“Of course.”

Once Miss Pratt was no longer within earshot, he asked, “Jules?”

“My
younger
brother.” Her eyes narrowed briefly, no doubt recalling his comment about her not having any humor in her bones. “He detests such sedate gatherings, especially when there are no young men his age present.”

“Quite understandable.” He caught and held her gaze. “It’s a shame our conversation was cut short yesterday.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.”

“Indeed.” After his parting words on Friday, he knew she expected him to ask her about the warehouse incident. But he had no intention of doing so tonight, even though the delay might kill him. He preferred to leave her suspended in a state of anticipation, always wondering when he would pounce. Not very noble of him, of course. But there you have it. He changed the subject. “How are your selection efforts progressing?”

She studied him warily for a long while before answering. “They would be much further along had we not spent valuable time searching for an unnecessary butler.”

“Time you will be well compensated for, I assure you.”

“There was never any doubt in my mind.” She glanced around the room. “I don’t recall ever seeing you at one of Lady Shevington’s dinners before.”

“I’ve only attended a few others, where she needed me to fill a chair,” he said. “You were not among her guests.”

“You sound quite sure of that fact.”

He dropped his voice. “I am.”

“To answer your previous question.” All humor drained from her features. “We are on schedule. Amelia will bring the candidates on Monday for your and Tanner’s approval.”

“And where will you be Monday?”

“Working, my lord.”

He stepped closer. “Have I finally managed to scare you away, Miss Hunt?”

“My not coming to your residence has nothing to do with you. On any given day, there are dozens of tasks to accomplish at the agency. I simply cannot do them all.”

Even though her gaze remained unflinching, Ethan detected the small note of deception in her voice. “Ah, but I’m not just any client. I’m your partner.”

Her mask slipped. “Pardon?”

“Partner. We both have money to give away and tomorrow we embark on our journey to find the most appropriate recipient.”

“A single-stop journey. I have already chosen Abbingale as the beneficiary of my charitable donation. You, on the other hand, have only just begun the process. After our tour at Abbingale, I will wish you luck on the rest.”

The more she wanted to be quit of him, the more determined he was to discover everything about her. Never in his life had he worked so hard to keep a woman’s attention. Thankfully, he was not opposed to the use of blackmail. “I do hope I remember to refer to you as Mrs. Henshaw, rather than Miss Hunt, during our tour tomorrow. A slip like that would cause quite the stir, wouldn’t you say?”

Her pretty eyes narrowed; calculation sparkled in their depths.

“And if, by chance, you happen to forget to collect me tomorrow at eleven, I’m more than happy to meet you at Abbingale’s. To tour the facility with you is a rare opportunity I would not want to miss.”

A rather unfortunate and wholly dishonorable side of his character enjoyed following the play of emotions on her face—triumphant to calculating to cornered. Somehow she managed to remain lovely during each stage of her transformation.

The direction of his thoughts made him cringe. He was becoming a damned romantic like the poet William Blake, spouting lyrical nonsense about a woman who would rather shuffle paperwork than spend time in his company.

“You could save us both a good deal of trouble,” she said, “if you would state clearly what it is you want from me. I have no patience for such mental manipulation.”

Mental
manipulation?
Why was it that he could not seduce her with words in the same manner he could other women? Her resistance challenged him. Incited him to slither beneath her skin until she could no longer recall the stack of paperwork needing her attention. Until she thought of nothing but the warmth of his breath and the caress of his hand and the glide of his flesh against hers.

William Blake be damned.

“Are you ready, my lord?” Mick asked the next morning, with a broad, unfootman-like smile.

Ethan collected his hat and gloves from Tanner and then led the way to the waiting carriage. “Is one ever ready for sparring with Miss Hunt?”

Mick chuckled. “You got me there, sir. At least you figured out that bit early on.”

Once he reached the foot pavement, his gaze swept over the carriage. “What have you done with your hideously disfigured partner?”

Mick produced another large grin. “Fighting for his life, I expect.”

“Are you always this happy?”

“Nah.” Mick opened the carriage door. “Sometimes, I’m happier.”

Shaking his head at the audacious footman, Ethan bounded up into the carriage and sat in the back-facing seat, surprised to find only Miss Hunt inside. “You seem to be losing your staff today.”

“Good afternoon to you, too, my lord.” She fidgeted with the handles of a small traveling bag draped across her lap. “Mac and Amelia are working together on another task.”

He considered Mick’s comment about his brother fighting for his life and briefly wondered how Mrs. Cartwright fit into the equation. “So, it’s just the two of us.”

“And Mick.”

“Oh, yes. Let us not forget the jolly twin.”

“Pardon?”

“A bit of humor at your footman’s expense.” Ethan dropped his hat and gloves on the seat beside him. “If my sister were here, she would tell you that I often speak before I think.”

“What would you tell me?”

Ethan curled his lips into a self-deprecating smile. “She’s probably right.”

“Then I will have to learn to ignore you.”

“That might be difficult. I have a way of burrowing beneath the skin.”

Amusement lit her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Ah, he should have warned her against making such challenges. Another failing of his, for he could never walk away from a thrown gauntlet. Especially not one so achingly lovely. “What do you have there?” He nodded toward her portmanteau.

“Nothing of importance. A little something for the boys.”

Given her love of keeping secrets, she would have made an excellent agent for the Nexus. Then again, she might already be one. He wondered if Somerton had passed all his knowledge on to his replacement yet. Jealousy ripped into his stomach.

Ethan forced his mind away from the painful topic. “So, what should we talk about, I wonder?”

Instead of the wariness he’d expected, her jaw firmed. “You’ve had your fun, my lord,” she said, with uncanny insight. “Now spit out your questions and let’s be done with this farce.”

“I wouldn’t call it fun. More like a lesson. Living in a state of anticipation is not enjoyable, is it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why did you hide from me? All I wanted to do was thank the two of you.”

“And now you have. Let that be the end of it.”

“It’s not that simple now. Tell me your cloaked friend’s name.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

Her lips stretched into a thin line. “It’s not that simple.”

“You do understand how very
focused
I can be when I want something, don’t you?”

“So I’ve come to discover.” Her gaze did not waver.

A challenge. Ethan held back a smile and changed tactics. “Why don’t you share with me what you’ve learned about Abbingale Home so far?”

She scrutinized him for a moment. “It might be best for you to see the facility’s operation yourself, so you can make your own assessment.”

“Or I could save myself a great deal of trouble and rely on your keen observations.”

“You would trust my opinions, when you don’t even know me?”

“I know you well enough.”

Recollection of their kiss flickered in her eyes, and Ethan detected the same yearning in their depths that simmered in his body. But rather than reach across the carriage and take what she wanted, she sagged deeper into the cushion of her seat. Her relaxed pose did not fool him. He used the same calming device to shield his inner turmoil.

“Abbingale supports only abandoned boys, no girls or foundling infants,” she said. “The home appears to be well-staffed and properly maintained.”

When she lapsed into silence, Ethan asked, “That’s all you have to share?”

“Is that not enough?”

“No. Like you, I have reason to believe something besides caring for abandoned boys is going on within Abbingale’s walls.”

“Something other than abuse, I take it, or I assume you would have mentioned it Friday.”

Ethan paused to consider how much to tell her. “By my observations, the boys have a great deal of freedom.”

“Freedom, as in…”

“Coming and going at will.” He spread his legs wide, his knee touching hers. “Such liberty does not seem fitting with what I know of such establishments.”

“Yes, I agree.”

He cocked his head to the side, assessing the utter stillness of her body, the tightening of her delicate jaw. “What is it that you’re not telling me, Miss Hunt?”

Her attention drifted to the window, contemplating. When she turned back, her green eyes flared with conviction, but she said nothing, merely folded her hands over her reticule.

“What do you plan to do if you uncover something undesirable?” he asked.

“Set about destroying it.”

His gut cramped, and an unexpected wave of fear burned across his flesh. She answered his question with a harsh air of authority, as though she had commanded the demise of countless others. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “By alerting the authorities, I presume.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What else would I do?”

“Contact your cloaked friend?”

She simply stared at him. Somehow he had to convince her that he was worth her trust. But how? How could he persuade her? His gaze dropped to her bulging bag while he stopped to consider the situation more carefully. “What if I told you I was looking for a boy thought to be staying at Abbingale Home?”

Alarm widened her eyes the slightest bit. “I would recommend that you retrieve him, my lord.”

“It is a little more complicated than that. I don’t know what he looks like.”

“You must find a way.”

“If he’s there, you may be certain I will.”

“Where are his parents?” she asked.

“His mother is dead. I know nothing of his father.”

“Why are you searching for him?”

“A promise to his dying mother.” Ethan attempted to regain control of the discussion. “What else do you know, Miss Hunt? Given the fact we’re dealing with innocents, I think it’s imperative we trust each other in this.”

“You will doubtless not like my answer.”

“That is always a possibility.”

Eyes narrowing, she persisted. “My uneasiness about Abbingale stems more from instinct than anything I’ve observed.”

“You may find this shocking, but I have a great deal of respect for women’s intuition.”

He sensed, rather than saw or heard, her draw in an anchoring breath. “Abbingale’s matron, Mrs. Kingston, is pleasant and appears to be a steadying force. On the other hand, the nurse, Mrs. Drummond, has a sour disposition and watches me as if I’ll pilfer their last meal.”

“Anything else?” There had to be more.

“The place was awash in eerie silence. Had I not seen the boys for myself, I would doubt their existence.”

“How many boys are living there?”

“Not quite thirty.”

Before tragedy struck his family, Ethan recalled being scolded on several occasions by his tutor to be quiet or sit still or not leap over the furniture. Add his sister and Guy to the mix and a great deal of mayhem had ensued at the deBeau residence. “And you saw no signs of abuse?”

“No, but I daresay I wouldn’t, would I?”

Marks from canes and leather straps would likely be hidden beneath layers of clothing and fathoms of silence. “You have a point.”

“I did sense an element of fear while visiting the schoolroom.”

“Fear?”

“The boys had obviously been drilled on how to act when visitors were present. Other than chanting a greeting to me on command, they spoke not a word, nor looked me in the eye.”

“When dealing with so many boys, it’s sometimes necessary to keep a tight rein on them.”

“I understand the necessity of maintaining a certain amount of order. What I’m unable to come to terms with was the lack of laughter and male mischief. No elbowing, no sly glances, not even a single snicker the whole time I was there.”

“Sounds like you are well-acquainted with the nature of boys.”

“Eight years separate my brother Jules and me. He and his friends terrorized our home on more than one occasion.”

Despite the seriousness of their discussion, Ethan felt one corner of his mouth tug upward. “As the eldest, I suppose you were the mothering sort.”

“To a degree. No humor in my bones, remember?” She dropped her gaze to her fingers, where they toyed with the leather handles on her portmanteau. “Mostly I allowed them the freedom of their youth. The shackles of adulthood could wait.” She lifted her chin, caught his eye, then she quickly focused on the blur of buildings through the window.

The brief visual contact struck him in the chest like the head of a gale-force wind. Confused by the pain she had inadvertently revealed, he tried to find the cause by studying the smooth contours of her face—contours that were quickly solidifying into the porcelain planes of a Venetian mask, beautiful and cold.

He reviewed what he knew of her past. Little, he found. Her mother married her stepfather when Sydney was young, and the union produced a half sister and brother. But how had she and her mother survived during the early years? Sydney’s natural father didn’t appear to be a part of her life, especially given the fact she’s using her mother’s family name.

Had they stayed with relatives, or struggled on their own? An odd sense of urgency to learn the answer twisted his heart. “What of you, Miss Hunt? Did you enjoy a carefree childhood?”

Slowly, her gaze slid to his. “I have many joyful memories of my four and twenty years, but none stem from the first years of my youth.”

He sat back, smoothing his hand over his coat front, pressing hard against his stomach to settle the churning inside. “I am sorry to hear that. Pratt had a hand in changing the course of your happiness, I take it.”

At the mention of her stepfather, the stark edges of her features softened and a smile, full of love, transformed her face into a portrait of pure radiance. “Indeed, he did.”

The roiling mass in his stomach cramped to an unbearable level. Ethan steered the conversation back to Abbingale. “Is there anything else about Abbingale that I should know before we arrive?”

His question severed the link to her fond memories, and in an instant, her businesslike mien was back in place. “Only the schoolmaster.”

“What is your impression of him?”

“Intelligent, cultured, calm. Watchful. Perhaps too watchful.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“That makes two of us.” When he started to ask another question, she flicked her hand, as if impatient with her own lack of articulation. “At times, I got the impression that he could see right through my disguise.”

“Then I am glad you invited me to act as escort. I can observe the staff with a fresh set of eyes while searching for the missing boy.”

“Invited?” she asked, with an uplifted brow.

Ethan winked.

Her lips twitched, then firmed. “What is the boy’s name?”

Once again, he hesitated.

“Come now, Lord Danforth. I have shared a number of confidences with you this afternoon. You may trust that I will not jeopardize whatever it is you’re protecting.”

She had been refreshingly forthcoming—with only a bit of prodding on his part. What would it hurt to divulge the boy’s name? Revealing his identity couldn’t lead her, or anyone for that matter, back to the Nexus. Until a short time ago, the connection never existed and, even now, the link was too fine to contemplate. “Giles Clarke.”

“A good, strong name.” The carriage rolled to a stop. Gathering her possessions, she said, “Let us see if he’s inside, shall we?”