Texas Viscount (26 page)

      
The tailor shook his head. “No, but I know the likes of Frankie Bentham and Lorry Killian wouldn't bother with small change. It must be a lot. He was real scared, was Mr. Whistledown. I could see that much.”

      
“Well, I have given my last penny to my cousin, thinking he was paying you while he was obviously using it for nefarious purposes. I cannot pay any more of his debts, but I do ask that you refrain from going to Lord Hambleton. Eddy's correct in assuming he'll be dismissed if you do, and then neither you nor I will ever recover what's owed us.”

      
Loring looked at the determined gleam in her eyes. “What can you do, Miss Edgewater?”

      
“I shall start by paying a call on my cousin and getting the truth out of him,” she said tartly. “Then we shall attempt to make some arrangements for him to repay you—and me!”

* * * *

      
Josh was worried. He had followed Edmund Whistledown from his uncle's house early Monday morning after seeing him leave the earl's office. The young clerk met again with Nikolai Zarenko, and another exchange was made. There was no doubt that Sabrina's beloved young cousin was involved in a treasonous plot. But was the earl, as well? Had he dispatched the boy with the information, or had Whistledown stolen it?

      
How in hell did his uncle come by the sort of highly secret information the Russians were interested in? Something was beginning to smell like he was standing downwind from an outhouse on a hot day. Upon returning from Sussex Sunday evening, he had been briefed by Michael Jamison about some false information given to Whistledown. A ship rigged out to look as if it contained the Japanese minister would carry British agents lying in wait. He'd almost asked if his uncle was privy to this scheme, but something had held him back.

      
What if Uncle Ab was involved? Josh simply couldn't believe the honorable old gentleman he was growing so fond of could be a traitor. Unfortunately, he harbored no such doubts about Edmund’s guilt. It would break Sabrina's heart. So would learning that Josh was working to place the boy in jail. How could he ever explain it to her?

      
He parked his Mercedes six blocks from Whistledown’s modest lodgings, not wanting the automobile to alert the clerk to his presence. As he walked, Josh pondered his relationship with Sabrina. Everything had changed Saturday night on that beach, even if she refused to acknowledge it the following morning. She had spent the time closeted with Drucilla, and then made certain that the earl was present the whole time they rode back to London, giving him no time alone with her to talk about their feelings.

      
As he walked past street vendors and drays loaded with ale, Josh realized he could not have said for certain that he knew what his feelings were, much less what she might have told him in return. Did he love her? If so, did that mean...? He shuddered at the very idea that he should ask her to marry him. The only thoughts Josh Cantrell had ever given to marriage were those involved in avoiding it. After all, he was only twenty-nine. If he wanted to raise up a passel of children to inherit his wealth one day, there was always plenty of time for it after he'd sown more wild oats, fields of them!

      
But he was used to doing his “sowing” with women who knew how he felt and expected nothing more from him than a good time. Sabrina was different. He'd taken no precautions, which in itself was most unlike him. Normally he always used a condom. What if she was with child? With any other woman, that thought would have made him break out in a worse sweat than the prospect of a six-week ocean voyage. Somehow with Sabrina, the idea only brought a faint smile and a warm feeling crowding his heart.

      
Was he going plumb loco?

* * * *

      
Sabrina stood frozen in the dense shade cast by an overgrown boxwood hedge at the corner of the block. What on earth was Josh doing skulking about across the street from her cousin's lodgings? This was scarcely the sort of neighborhood frequented by the peerage. It was, in fact, somewhat dangerous for her to be here alone, but she had originally planned to have the hansom driver stop directly in front of Edmund's boardinghouse and let her out—until she saw Josh.

      
He was standing at the intersection of an alley across the way, deep in conversation with another man, also bearing the unmistakable stamp of aristocracy. Not wishing him to see her until she knew what was going on, Sabrina had ordered the driver to let her off around the corner. Then she'd walked back to observe the Texan and his mysterious companion. After a few moments, the fellow departed and Josh remained, as if he were spelling his companion. But for what purpose? Did it concern Edmund?

      
An icy surge of fear rippled down her spine. She had just learned a horrifying secret about her cousin, who had lied to her and taken money from her—money she could ill afford—under false pretenses. Edmund worked for Josh's uncle. What if his gambling debts had frightened the foolish boy into petty thievery? Nonsense. If so, the earl would simply have had the police arrest him. Perhaps this had nothing at all to do with Edmund.

      
Sabrina determined to wait and see. As she stood in the noonday heat, her thoughts skittered around the past weekend. Saturday night had changed her whole life. She was in love, desperately in love, with her Texan. No, not hers, she corrected herself firmly. And not simply a Texan either. He was Viscount Wesley, and would eventually marry a woman of significant rank, when he found her.

      
An ironic smile passed fleetingly across her lips as she thought of Lady Eunice. No, Eunice would certainly not be his choice, no matter what the earl said, if that was any comfort to her. It was not. There would be many more eligible candidates waiting to ensnare Josh. A spinster teacher was merely a pleasant dalliance for a man used to charming women. His very skill as a lover attested to that fact. He had caught her at a very vulnerable time. The debacle aboard ship that day, his kindness and empathy for poor Drucilla, his perception about her own feelings—everything had conspired to make that one moonlit night pure magic.

      
Magic that could never happen again.

      
Oh, she knew well enough that he wanted to continue their liaison. If she'd ever harbored any doubts about her ability to attract a man—and she certainly had after Dex—he'd laid those fears to rest. She could thank him for that. The irony was, now that she was certain she could have a normal relationship, she wanted no man but the one who was unattainable. Was it better never to have known paradise than to pine for it after it was lost? Sabrina thought about it. In spite of her heartbreak, that one glorious night had been worth the price of every lonely day for the rest of her life.

      
Besides, she would have other matters to fill her time after the earl provided her with the funds to start her school. But before she could reorder her life and begin implementing her dream of helping indigent girls, she would have to complete her assignment with Hambleton's charming heir. How ever would she get through it without succumbing to temptation again...and again?

      
That troubling thought was interrupted when she saw Josh slip out of the alley and start walking down the street. From her vantage point at the corner, she could not see the boardinghouse; but it quickly became apparent that Josh was following her cousin, who was climbing into a hackney he'd hailed. Before her amazed eyes, Joshua Cantrell, seventh Viscount Wesley, leaped nimbly onto the boot of the lumbering conveyance and pulled the canvas cover over himself.

      
Sabrina stood in flummoxed amazement until a fat woman carrying a market basket overflowing with leeks and carrots bumped her, nearly knocking her into the street.

      
“Watch where yer goin’,” she snarled, waddling past.

      
What should she do? Wait for Edmund to return and confront him or go back home? It was obvious that her Texan would not be at the earl's city house for afternoon lessons. As she hailed a hackney, Sabrina reminded herself for the hundredth time not to keep referring to that rogue as
her
Texan.

* * * *

      
The trouble he took following Edmund Whistledown was not worth the bump on his skull he'd received when he leaped from the hansom as it pulled away from Epsom. Josh gingerly rubbed his head. All the stupid young fool had done was to meet with a couple of plug-ugly characters whom Josh wouldn't have trusted to clean a cuspidor. The quivering clerk paid them a wad of cash, no doubt the same wad he'd been given earlier by Zarenko.

      
It was apparent from their menacing posture that Whistledown still owed more. How could Josh keep the young idiot from digging himself deeper into this manure pile? The boy was certain to take advantage of his access to the earl's office to pilfer more information and sell it to Zarenko. He sighed. It was probably already too late. If they caught the Russians aboard the boat tomorrow attempting to assassinate the man posing as Minister Hayashi, Edmund would be dragged down with them. He prayed the boy would not be with them, but, given his desperation, Whistledown might well fall into the trap he'd unwittingly helped set.

      
How will I tell Sabrina?

      
The thought plagued him on the way home. He would just have to deal with that when the time came. There was no chance Sabrina had anything to do with her cousin's treachery. But he still wondered about his uncle's role in the intrigue. Why did the earl have access to such secret information about the Japanese mission to England in the first place? As usual, Jamison had been evasive.

      
Josh wanted to be present when the trap was sprung. Michael had tried to convince him that he could jeopardize his camaraderie with Alexi Kurznikov and the others if he was present when they arrested the assassins. But he'd been adamant about participating in this little roundup. There would be plenty of time to continue ingratiating himself with the Russians if they failed to take the bait. Josh knew that meant he had to spend tonight drinking at the White Satin, when he'd far rather be motoring through the countryside with Sabrina.

      
With luck, once this mess was untangled, he'd have lots of opportunities to ride with her...and not always in the Mercedes either. He smiled at that thought as the hansom he'd hired dropped him off where he'd left the automobile. He cranked it up and set off for the Metropole. If he knew Alexi, he would already be ensconced in the hotel's elegant lounge with a bottle of vodka.

      
What Josh found instead was Natasha, who waylaid him in the opulent lobby. She was seated on a ruby velvet settee, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, most of them young Englishmen ready to do her bidding. One was in the act of handing her a glass of champagne when she saw Josh from across the large lobby. He tried unsuccessfully to duck behind an immense potted palm, but her clear, high voice bounced off the tin ceiling, carrying around the cavernous space over the noise of murmured conversations and squeaky carts being pushed by weary bellmen.

      
“Why, if it is not my favorite Americain, the Texas Viscount,” she said, rising and tossing off the glass of bubbling wine just as she did vodka, then handing it to the swain standing by her side as if he were a bellman. Apparently, Russians were anatomically incapable of sipping.

      
La Samsonov moved with the imperial grandeur of a Yankee clipper under full sail. The sparse crowd parted for her as if she were the czarina herself. Approaching him with both arms outstretched, she seemed to invite him to take her hands and kiss them. Or did she intend to wrap them around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth? Her black eyes glittered as if she'd been partaking of hashish.

      
With a female as volatile as this one, Josh had no idea what was expected of him. He trotted out his most engagingly innocent grin as he took her hands and did a pretty good job of fancy-dan hand-kissing. “You're a sight to make a blind man see, Madame Samsonov,” he said as she continued to grip his hands tightly. He could feel her heat through violet silk gloves and see the pulse that beat rapidly at the base of her white throat, revealed by the shockingly low cut of her gown, a dramatic concoction of dark purple and pale violet satin. Voluptuous breasts spilled out in milky splendor, adorned by an elaborate amethyst necklace whose lowest stone nestled in the deep vee between the globes.

      
Seeing where his eyes trespassed, she gave him a blinding smile. “You are so very charming. Original. Not like these stuffy English. And”—she hesitated for a moment, drawing out her teasing while she pressed the backs of his hands to her bare neckline—“I have learned that you own a horseless carriage.”

      
Josh smiled ruefully. “I have a Mercedes.”

      
Her smile turned instantly into a pout. “Pah, some Spanish woman can do nothing for you. You shall take
me
for a ride and I will show you,” she purred.

      
It was a command he dared not refuse. He chuckled. “My Mercedes is an automobile, Madame, not a woman.”