A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) (8 page)

C
ate swept up and down the room. She had unleashed the Spanish fire inside. A rarity—and she wondered how much of it had to do with this man. “
She
accuses
me
of being a whore?
¡Ella es la puta! ¡Ella es la puta!
”

Finn leaned back against the study door and pressed it shut. “Glad to know you don’t use coarse language.” His gaze never left her. After a lengthy silence between them he cleared his throat. “I dare not think how you might appraise Muriel.”

Cate whirled around. “Why do you ask? She’s not . . . here?”

“I sent her away in a hansom with Evelyn.”

She stared for a moment, then snorted a laugh. “My word, as busy as a brothel in Brugge. Is it always like this?”

He approached her slowly and leaned close. “It is
never
like this.” She felt his breath on her cheek.

He straightened. “As it turns out, Miss Hebert—a delightful person most of the time—can be a little . . .” He tapped a finger on the side of his head.
“Loco.”

Cate studied him. Hot blood still thrummed through every passage of her body. “She is your French whore?”

He paused long enough to be considering a lie. “On Tuesday afternoons.”

Her gaze faltered, slightly. “This is Friday.”

“She heard the morning gossip about you and me. It seems Miss Hebert has grown an attachment these past few months.”

She huffed a quiet snort. “Do not flatter yourself. She wants something.” Cate approached him slowly. “I know of these high-priced French
putas.
They are greedy and dishonest. I do not like her for you.” She enjoyed taunting him with a cynical grin. “You must trust me on this.”

He stared as if he could not quite believe—her advice or her interest? She wasn’t sure herself. Slowly, his liquid brown eyes narrowed. “And this counsel of yours is based on . . .?”

She shrugged. “As you know, I did my dance study in Paris—one of the petite rats of the ballet school. I learned more than a
fouetté jeté
while I was there.” She turned away and meandered through a study piled with books and odd scientific devices. The private retreat of an intellectually curious man. She noted the exotic-looking sidearms. He was also an adventurer. The stacks of technical tomes and apparatus just made him all the more attractive. “It is no surprise your French whore feels threatened. Most everyone comprehends women in theater—dancers in particular—want for nothing more than a rich protector.”

Finn shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

She turned back to him. “Why not?”

“Because I know you.” He smiled with such sincerity her gaze faltered slightly.

She stepped away. “Shall we . . . Might we return . . .”

He motioned her to a chair and watched her take a
seat. “Before the interruption, you mentioned jewels scattered about London.”

“I came here to ask if you could help me find them. I would gladly pay you a share of their worth.” She retrieved a folded note from her reticule. “I found this amongst Uncle’s papers.”

Finn opened the letter and perused the list. “One diamond bracelet consisting of four strands of half-carat diamonds set in gold; two hundred and thirteen diamonds in toto fastened by a gold filigree heart-shaped clasp.” He looked up. “These descriptions are quite complete.”

“Uncle suffered from dementia in his last years. At first I thought he misplaced the jewelry. Then, at the gala opening night, I was introduced to a woman wearing a bracelet of rubies set in the shape of flowers.” Her gaze swept to the list in his hand. “Number eleven.”

“Could he have sold them?”

“And not keep a record of the sale? Uncle was a chronic list maker. To help himself remember, he wrote everything down—often several times. It has taken me weeks to sift through a mountain of reminders he left to himself.”

She edged forward on her seat. “I believe the jewels were taken from the safe before he died.”

Phineas folded the list. “You don’t think someone might have—”

“Murdered him?” She tucked her lower lip under her teeth and scraped. “He was a dying man, with few servants. The most heartless thief would not have seen the need for it.”

The mantel clock struck the half hour.

“I have afternoon class and rehearsal. I must go.” She looped her reticule over a wrist. “Twenty percent of whatever we recover. Are you interested?”

A lopsided grin tugged at a corner of his mouth. “I rarely ask more than five percent for an appraisal. But then, this is so much more than a consult.” He lifted a skeptical brow. “In fact, your quest falls somewhere between a heist, a treasure hunt, and a crime investigation, wouldn’t you say?”

She found his scrutiny unsettling. “I’d rather not involve Scotland Yard.”

“Then . . .” His eyes narrowed. “I shall require thirty percent.”

“Seventy-five, twenty-five.” She tugged on her gloves. “Do we have an understanding?”

  *  *  *  

FINN READ THE list again. He recognized several of the pieces, had even appraised one or two of the items. He returned to item number eight. “Rare blue diamond cravat pin, twelve and a quarter carats set in gold filigree.”

He removed a hinged jewel box from his desk drawer and opened the case. Empty. He turned the container upside down hoping the pin would drop onto the desktop. Not a bloody thing. There was a chance he had misplaced the item. But no, that was impossible. Perhaps it had fallen out of the box and was lost—under the desk, hidden in the carpet? Finn pushed back his chair and checked a few likely spots.

He grimaced. Stolen. Right from under his nose.

And if the missing stickpin wasn’t disturbing enough, he reread item fourteen. Even though the description was scrawled across the bottom of the page, it was quite the list topper. How could one forget the five strands of pearls and diamonds dripping from the throat of Lady Lennox? The infamous necklace of last evening certainly gave new meaning to the word
choker
.

Finn picked up the note and sniffed lampblack and shellac. He placed the paper under his magnifier and adjusted focus. The darker-colored script suggested the ink was fresh. No doubt a forgery and done recently. The cursive was really quite good. The words
teardrop diamond
had been crossed out and replaced with
star sapphire
. A deliberate obfuscation fashioned to look like an error.

Someone had muddled with the description of the necklace, but why? Interesting, Cate made no mention of it. Finn studied the edge of the notepaper. A fuzz of cotton fiber indicated a fresh tear. Abruptly, he rose from his desk chair and found Bootes in the foyer.

“You haven’t seen my brother, by any chance?”

The butler gave a good shake to an umbrella and placed it in the hall stand. His eyes rolled upward. “Two hot baths upstairs—one of them is growing cold.”

Taking two steps at a time, Phineas strode directly into his dressing room, located his evening coat, and removed five strands of pearls and diamonds from the pocket.

His pulse rate slowed considerably as he examined the broken clasp. Fisting the jewels, he exited his bedchamber and turned down the hallway. He tapped once and opened the door. “Sorry about the brawl earlier.”

Hardy languished in a steaming tub, a wet cloth covering his eyes. “Good to know that nervous disorder of yours hasn’t affected your cock. I say, impressive, Finn.”

He settled himself against the highboy. “Do you happen to know anything about this necklace, the one Lady Gwendolyn wore last night? The slightest detail could be helpful.” Five strands of shimmer and sparkle dangled from his index finger.

“The old man is always lavishing trinkets upon her. I never ask about any of it.” Hardy lifted the towel and
squinted at the necklace. “Ghastly thing.” He sat up in the tub. “I received a wire from Gwen. All’s well. Rufus left town for the estate in Shropshire—to cool off.”

He stared at his younger brother. “About last night—my mistake. I dragged you into that escapade on the dance floor.”

Hardy snorted a laugh. “People believe I’m the roguey one, but it’s your schemes that always get us in trouble.”

Finn cocked an elbow. “Yes, but I’m not the one fucking an earl’s wife.”

“Might I take you back more than a few years and remind you of your scheme to sneak into father’s study and unlock the cabinet with the French nudes for the stereoscopic? It was my youthful backside that took the brunt of that caper.” Hardy scrubbed a washcloth over his toes. “I would have danced with Gwen one way or the other. Old Ruffy was soaked—cupping all night with those smarmy investors of his.”

Finn scratched the stubble along his jaw. “We’ll give it a few days. Lord Lennox will stand down.” He opened the bedroom door. “Do not skip off and do something you’ll regret. I mean it, Hardy.”

“I’m back on duty. Four straight days. No leave.”

“Excellent.” He paused to smile at his brother. “In fact, better than excellent.”

Back in his dressing room, Finn stripped off his clothes and stuck a toe in his bath. Warm enough. He sank into the water and submerged himself. Underwater, he contemplated several scenarios as to how the diamond cravat pin came to be stolen.

A number of people had seen him yank the necklace off the gorgeous but gasping Lady Lennox. Between last evening and this morning, someone—the thief presumably—
had gone rummaging in his desk and run across the stickpin. He recalled Zeno’s words at the music hall.
“The burglar appears to be rather selective. Takes one piece and leaves piles of other valuables behind.”
He imagined a gloved hand plucking the rare item out of its case and dropping it between fleshy, feminine mounds.

Finn blew a spout of air as he surfaced in his bathwater. He lathered up his hair and rinsed. The sting of soap in his eyes didn’t do much to hinder a grin.

  *  *  *  

CATE STOOD AT the ballet barre and extended her leg to the side. She executed four
tendus
front from a closed fifth position. A slow flush of heat crept from her neck to her cheeks. Phineas Gunn had witnessed a rare display of temper she was hard-pressed to explain, even to herself.

“Dégagez à terre avec la pointe tendue.”
Monsieur Didelot tapped his baton in his palm and walked the stage between rows of ballet girls at the barre. The music hall was empty but for their pianist and a cleaning crew. She was to have an additional hour of practice today with Mérante, the male lead.

“And reverse,
mes chers
.” At the end of their
tendus,
the dancers pivoted in unison. Cate checked her posture. Clearly, it was none of her business if Phineas kept a mistress.

She slid her toe out to a point, then drew her foot in.
Tendu
front.
Tendu
side.
Tendu
back. Another flush of humiliation washed over her. She had blurted out a string of profanity and curse words that would make a Portuguese sailor blush.

She bit her lip and began the
pliés
. What was it about
Phineas Gunn that encouraged the raving wanton in her? She recalled a night in Barcelona—though it had not been evening, exactly. A warm breeze had parted the curtains. Afternoon light had slanted across the hotel room and lingered on her nude body.

His tongue circled a pointed nipple.

Her knees wobbled as the memory swept through her body. “Open to me,” he had whispered. His fingers moved lower—pushed deeper. She obeyed him then, and now. Cate gripped the ballet barre and widened her stance. Sweeping her arm up to third position, and lifting her chin, she tried not to think about how he had moved a finger inside her—gentle, exploring, stretching. He had paused for a moment and pulled away. “Am I the only man who has touched you here?”

She had reached out and drawn his face to hers, rubbing her flushed cheek against the stubble of his chin. “A few men have tried,” she murmured.

He had studied her for a moment—evaluating, considering. She had pulled his mouth to hers and explained with her tongue how much she wanted this experience with him.

He added another finger to his exploration and his thumb also found a place to stroke. “Do you like it when I touch you here?” He discontinued the taunting, circling pleasure of his thumb. “Tell me, Catriona.”

Her sex was swollen, petulant—wanting more. “Yes,” she moaned. Strong arms, pulsing with life, drew her up against his hard body. With one hand, he clasped her wrists behind her—arching her, drawing her closer. He slid one finger, then two, farther, causing more shuddering and trembling.

He had boldly taken control, but he did not threaten her in any way. In fact, she felt safe with him. Perhaps more so than with any man she had ever known.

He had dipped his head and teased up a nipple. Pleasure rippled through her body. His hard organ pressed against her belly and she wondered if he would be forceful and plunge into her. Part of her wanted it—badly. He had looked up from his suckling. “I will make you very wet. It will be more comfortable until you adjust to me.”