The Bride Wore Pearls (19 page)

Napier hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, this cannot be coincidence,” he said grimly. “The fact that one of the most powerful men in the Home Office—a man high above
me
—is now going to be a pawn of the St. James Society? It is beyond mortal comprehension, madam. It is unconscionable.”

Anisha looked him straight in the eyes. “Well, I am admittedly new to London,” she said. “But I had somehow understood this de Vendenheim fellow to be a singularly independent and hard-nosed man. The very personification of good triumphing over evil, et cetera. So the notion of him being anyone’s pawn is . . . well, vastly enlightening.”

Napier realized then what he’d just said. He fell utterly silent, his face coloring.

Pulling open his top desk drawer with a ferocious yank, he dropped the Peveril file into it and slammed it shut with a
bang
! Clearly, he wished her to go.

Anisha did not go.

“Mr. Napier,” she said, gentling her tone. “Admittedly I am not the most fashionable of society’s hostesses, but I am inviting you into our home with all goodwill. Moreover, I am offering you an incredible social opportunity.”

“Ah, looking high again, am I?” He turned to stare out the window now, refusing to hold her gaze. “You think I’ll jump at the chance to hobnob with the
ton
? Well, you may think again, my lady.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, who gives a fig for the
ton
?” she said sharply. “No, I am offering you the chance to befriend de Vendenheim’s daughter and future son-in-law—a man whom, by your own admission, you are already inclined to like. Indeed, no one else from the Home Office has been invited. Not even the Home Secretary himself.”

He cut her an odd, sidelong glance. “Just me, eh?”

“Just you,” she said. “And you are coming as a friend of the hostess.”

“I don’t give a fig for politics, either,” he grumbled.

“I never thought you did,” she said. “But I daresay you give a very great fig with regard to de Vendenheim’s favor. Indeed, to account him something of an acquaintance—well, that, I should think might come in handy during your investigations.”

“
Hmph,
” said Napier. But he was clearly mulling over her argument. “I know de Vendenheim slightly, and his reputation very well. I spoke rashly when I used the word
pawn
. He is more like a battering ram. He is no one’s fool.”

“Nor, I think, are you,” said Anisha quietly.

“
You
tricked me,” he said.

“I did not,” she returned. “You said an evening—not
a night
—at the time of my choosing, with no preconditions.”

“I meant . . . well, something rather more private than a dinner party,” he said.

“Alas, you did not stipulate,” said Anisha lightly. “So, will you come?”

His eyes narrowed again, and Anisha realized she might have underestimated him.

After a long moment passed, he spoke. “You came here meaning to persuade me to attend this dinner party, didn’t you?” he said, his voice low and accusing. “You were very confident of yourself, too. You needed another gentleman, and you thought I’d leap at the chance.”

“You seem intent on making this into something nefarious,” she said, forcing a calm she did not quite feel, “when I’m merely inviting you to dinner.”

“But you’ve left it rather late,” he pointed out. “Too late, really, to graciously invite anyone else should I refuse.”

“It would make no sense for you to refuse,” Anisha said.

“It would make a great deal of sense if I wished to make a point.”

“And that point would be?”

“That I am not a toy to be played with, madam, as it suits you,” he said, planting both hands on his desktop and leaning over it almost predatorily. “No, I think that we shall re-strike our bargain in a way that better suits
me
.”

Anisha did not falter. “Very well. I am amenable to compromise.”

“Then I shall come to your dinner party,” he said tightly. “I will put on my finest suit of clothes, do my best to keep my elbows off Lord Ruthveyn’s dinner table, and try not to trip over my tongue—”

“Oh, what nonsense!” Anisha interjected. “You are quite as polished as any gentleman, Mr. Napier. Pray get on with it.”

“All in good time,” he returned. “I’m thinking.”

“No, you are scheming,” she returned.

“Well, you ought to know it when you see it,” he grumbled. “You, Lady Anisha, are very unassuming. You purposely put people off their guard. Like a pretty jewel, you are dainty and vivid, thus one does not at first notice all those sharp facets.”

“If you mean I’m not some sort of doormat, you are quite right,” she answered. “I was once; I cannot recommend it. Now, you want something of me. What?”

“I want you to go to the theater with me,” he said. “I have the loan of a box.”

Anisha lifted both eyebrows in surprise. “The theater?” she murmured. “Why, how very kind.”

But it was not entirely kind. He simply meant, like most men, to have his way. Anisha, however, was not stupid. If it came to it, she had Frankie Fitzwater on the hook to make up her dinner numbers. Still, for reasons she could not quite explain, she very much wanted Napier at that party.

Keep your friends close,
Rance had said,
and your enemies closer.

But which was Royden Napier?

She did not know. And since she did not know, there was only one thing, really, to be done.

“If we may go as friends,” she finally said, “and if I may bring my brother, Lord Lucan Forsythe—”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he interjected.

“Then yes, I should love to. What will we be seeing?”

“
Les Huguenots.
”

“
Les Huguenots
?” Anisha felt her eyes widen. “I thought it was gone!”

“It is reopening at Covent Garden.” His gaze suddenly warmed. “You are a serious fan of the opera?”

Anisha blushed. “Well, we did not see a vast deal of it in Calcutta,” she said on a laugh. “But yes, I have become very fond of it indeed. In fact, I just saw Donizetti’s
L’Elisir d’Amore
with—ah, but never mind that.”

“Yes, I saw you there,” he interjected. “With Lazonby and Lord Bessett’s mother, Lady Madeleine MacLachlan.”

He had seen her there?

A sudden chill seemed to fall over the room. Was this really about Napier’s interest in her?

Less certain now, Anisha soldiered on. “So you saw us,” she said lightly, wondering if he’d been there by chance or for some other purpose. “Then doubtless you noticed, too, that Lazonby slept through it.”

“As I’ve said before,” Napier murmured, “the man is a Philistine, amongst other, less savory things.”

Anisha grew very quiet. “I am very much afraid, Mr. Napier,” she finally said, “that you and I shall soon part company if you insist upon insulting a gentleman I account my friend—however unenlightened his tastes may be.”

Napier made a curt bow. “I see I must bide my time,” he said stiffly, “and permit Lazonby to prove what he is—which, inevitably, he will do.”

“Oh, I already know precisely what Lazonby is,” she said, her hand already on the doorknob. “And my feelings for him—whatever they are—will not change. Now, do you still wish to dine with me? Do you still wish to go to the theater? As friends? Feel free to say yes or no.”

For a long moment he was perfectly silent. “Yes to both, then,” he finally answered, but he did not look happy. “And now I’d best say good day to you, ma’am. I shall see you at dinner tomorrow. And at the theater the week after that.”

A few moments later, Anisha found herself emerging from the haze of sweat and overcooked vegetables to step out into the still-crisp air of a spring day, drawing her paisley shawl snug about her shoulders as she went. On the distant side of Whitehall Street, she could see the carriage, and Brogden, their burly coachman, lingering almost guardedly on the pavement near the Admiralty.

She hastened up the street, but just as she neared the corner, a figure practically leapt into her path. Anisha jerked her gaze up, straight into the frigid blue-green eyes of Jack Coldwater.

He threw out a hand as if to block her path. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you cannot help him, you know, by coming here. You cannot change the truth.”

Anisha drew herself up to her full height. “I beg your pardon, sir, but we have not been intro—”

“I should hope, ma’am,” he interjected, eyes ablaze, “that something so dire as an innocent man’s murder would obviate the need for petty formalities.”

“Then you would think wrongly.” Anisha lifted her skirts to brush past him. “I shan’t bandy words in the street with a stranger. Kindly step from my path.”

But Coldwater blocked her, snaring her arm near the elbow and almost dragging her back. On the other side of Whitehall Place, two men froze uncertainly. From the corner of her eye, she could see Brogden hastening across the street.

Anger rising, she jerked against Coldwater’s grasp. “Unhand me, sir.”

But he did not. “I do not know what manner of game you play, Lady Anisha,” he growled, tightening his grip, “but I know this: Lazonby is a cold-blooded killer.”

“You are stark mad,” she said sharply. “How dare you!”

“
But you saw him
!” Coldwater’s words were choked with rage. “By God, you
saw
him attack me in the library that day.
He
was the madman! Not m—”

His words were cut off when Brogden seized his coat collar, flinging Coldwater aside as if he’d been weightless. The young man sailed with a crash onto the railing alongside Number Four, his hat tumbling off to reveal his shock of bright red hair.

The coachman brandished a beefy fist. “Get up, yer little blighter!” he roared. “Get up and I’ll give yer a taste o’ this to go wiv it.”

Coldwater responded with a curse, staggering to his feet. Across the way, the two men had been joined by two more, these in uniform.

“Thank you, Brogden.” A little shaken, Anisha leaned across and laid her hand on his arm. “Come, leave him. Let us go.”

Turning, Brogden’s countenance softened. “Aye, then,” he snarled over his shoulder, “and good riddance.”

Coldwater, however, was not done. “Yes, go, Lady Anisha!” he shouted, snatching up his hat. “Go back to that devil’s coven of your brother’s! Do you think I don’t know what you people are? You ought to be burned as witches, the lot of you.”

“Pay ’im no heed, m’lady,” Brogden grimly advised, urging her up the street.

But the young man continued to shout after her. “You’ve done naught but fall in with Lazonby’s lies,” he cried. “He’s a murderer! And all of you know it!”

On the edge of Whitehall Street Anisha froze, trembling with sudden rage. “Wait here,” she commanded, extracting her hand from Brogden’s arm.

Then she turned and marched back down the street to face Coldwater, who looked incongruous with his wool jacket twisted awkwardly about him. But he had shut his mouth, and his eyes had widened at her return.

“You are a newspaperman, Mr. Coldwater, I believe,” she said tartly.

“So?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“My point being, sir, that you cannot be an utter fool,” she went on, “but merely a misguided lunatic. For surely a reporter knows the laws of defamation? The economic risk, if you will, of standing in a public thoroughfare and calling innocent people witches and murderers?”

“Mind your own business,” said Coldwater.

Anisha stabbed a finger in his face. “You made this my business,” she retorted, “when you seized my arm and bruised it. And when you slandered me in front of that growing crowd. Shall I go back inside Number Four and show the porter these marks upon my arm? Shall I tell him you have just maligned a peer of the realm in the middle of Whitehall?”

“I did no such thing,” Coldwater gritted, but he was inching away from her now.

Anisha turned on the street to face the four gentlemen—who now numbered five—and spoke in a calm, carrying voice. “I am Lady Anisha Stafford, widow of Captain John Stafford, late of the Bengal Horse,” she said. “This madman has just assaulted and slandered me in front of you. Who amongst you is gentleman enough to go inside and give the porter your name as a witness?”

Scarcely a heartbeat passed before a whiskered man in the red and black of the 11th Hussars jerked off his shako and stepped across the street. “My brother was at Sobraon and Ferozeshah with the Ninth Foot,” he said. “I’ll gladly go. But first, ma’am, if we might just dispatch this rascal for you—”

Coldwater, however, had already snatched up his folio and was striding down the street in the direction of the river. And in the back of her mind, Anisha was already wondering what on earth she was to tell Rance.

The answer came to her at once.
Nothing
.