To Catch a Rake (11 page)

“I’ve never misused a lady.”

She tried to frown or give him a witty set-down, but she could not hold a serious expression—even if she tried. The worst part of it was that he
knew
she couldn’t keep a straight face.

Appearing absolutely roguish, he winked.

She expected further teasing or outrageous flirting, so she resolved to get his interview over with. “Now that you have one new investor—”

He picked up her gloved hand and held it in his large palm. “Thank you. Now is this new investor someone I know?”

Her heartbeat galloped.
Would it appear rude if she pulled her hand away?
Since she still considered him a relative stranger, she decided to keep her participation in regard to the tunnel a secret. “Let’s just say the investor wishes to remain anonymous. The identity of this person is irrelevant. What
is
relevant is that you stop evading the subject and agree to call upon James.”

“How do I know the funds are real and you are telling the truth?”

“What!”

“Perhaps this
investor
does not exist. You expect me to make a fool of myself in front of this Codlington fellow. Then you claim your new investor decided against a contribution at the last minute. All in the name of revenge upon me for your sister’s difficulties.” His fingers beat upon his thigh in rippled waves. “Sounds plausible.”

“Really, sir, I must object.”

He scooted several inches toward her, until his thigh and arm touched hers. Then he whispered in her ear, “Confess.”

Now her heartbeat careened out of control. She leaned back to put distance between them. “Confession implies something is a crime or wrongdoing. I have done neither, so I have nothing to confess.”

He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Calm yourself. You misunderstand me. The word ‘confess’ can mean you are merely reluctant to admit to something. Embarrassment perhaps, from telling a tall tale.”

“Sir, once again I must object.” Her cheeks burned. “I have never told—”

“Right, my talent of understanding females has not failed me. You really are in the field guide under Rabbit.”

She experienced a sudden urge to push him off the pile of tiles. “Yes, watch me hop away.” She stood. “I’m sorry I ever—”

“I cannot think of anything that would give me more pleasure than to witness you hop. Do you have a fluffy tail?” He swiftly peered in the direction of her backside.

She whipped around to stare at him, knowing full well she should be affronted. Thirty seconds later, they exchanged smiles and burst out in whoops of laughter.

He stood too and held out his hand. “After bestowing upon me that delightful sight, I will repay your efforts by joining you to speak to this Clod—Codlington. No promises, understand? He is a gentleman and there is a line that all gentlemen will not cross in discussing personal affairs. So no promises and no—”

Shouts and screams were heard from the crowd just around the corner. A mighty whistle cut through the air, drowning out every other noise.

Mr. Drexel grabbed her hand and almost pulled it off as he led her to the viewing area.

Down in the pit, most of the men gathered around the great shield, while a bucket brigade had formed leading up the staircase, hurriedly passing buckets of water hand to hand.

“Mr. Broadsham,” Mr. Drexel yelled down to the pit. “Up here this instant.”

Meta watched Fitzy turn and comprehend Mr. Drexel’s orders. He glanced wistfully at the bucket brigade and then climbed up the steps.

When Fitzy reached them, Meta rushed forward to embrace him. “Never go down there again. Please, I’m frightened. The risk is too great.”

Fitzy pulled himself free. “Naw.” He straightened and approached Mr. Drexel like he was the man’s adjutant. “Don’t worry, sir, it’s a small leak. The straw will stop it. I’m sure I can be of use on the brigade. May I join them?” He glanced back at the commotion in the pit, eagerly waiting for permission to descend.

“You are needed up here, Broadsham, to take care of your sister. This accident has upset her to such an extent, she is hopping around like a rabbit. You must see she gets home safely. Understand?”

Fitzy sighed and with a final glance at the pit, walked toward the family’s carriage.

“Mrs. Russell,” George said, “my attentions are needed elsewhere, but first let me escort you back to your carriage.” He held out his arm.

She placed her hand on his arm and they started back to her carriage.

They walked in silence for a minute and then turned the corner onto an isolated side street.

He stopped and glanced around him. “I must also thank you for finding us a new investor.” He then swooped down to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

Caught by surprise, she embarrassed herself and muddled the situation by placing her gloved palm briefly on his cheek the same moment his firm lips touched hers.

He stilled.

Her hand still remained on his cheek and their lips remained an inch apart.

Sharing an awkward pause, the seconds ticked by.

A whistle blew in the distance.

She gathered what remained of her wits. Their glances met, causing her to inhale sharply and pull away.

Why did her heartbeat race so?

He winked again.

She glanced at her half boots.
Heavens.
Her blood raced through her veins faster than the winning horse at Ascot.

He took a step closer, almost touching her with his broad torso, his glance one of masculine intimacy. “Madam, this is an emergency. This leak could cost us thousands. Please do not paw me now.”

“I’m not—”

“Good day, madam.” Sporting his wicked grin, he spun and ran toward the staircase. “The Thames must be stopped.”

Six

Damn the woman.

At their arranged meeting a week later, George turned the corner and saw that infernal Russell woman standing on the steps of a London town house grand enough to take up half of the north side of a prominent square.

Mrs. Russell, a rather fetching, petite woman, smiled and waved as he approached.

He readily admired her steadfast willingness to “help.” Even when he responded with the full bear treatment, she retained her wit and courage—irresistible traits in a female. Irresistible enough that it led to the moment when he impulsively kissed her cheek. She had surprised him by not pulling away or feigning offense. No, clearly the widow enjoyed being kissed. Today, however, the meddlesome female deserved the bear treatment for hauling a gentleman out of his study, away from important work, just to testify before some Romeo who got cold feet at the thought of his upcoming leg shackle.

“Good day, Mr. Drexel.”

“Humph.”

“I am delighted that you appear to be your normal self today.” She held out her hand.

Feeling guilty about his grumpiness, but not enough to apologize, he took her hand and gave the smallest of bows. “Likewise.”

She paused and examined his countenance, most likely trying to determine if she should apologize too. “The normal bear and rabbit. All is in proper order in the animal kingdom.” She gave him a coy smile instead.

“Humph, if it were in proper order, the bear would’ve eaten the rabbit by now.”

“Oh no, rabbits run much faster than bears,” she beamed.

Upon her smile, George realized she was quite the stunner. Her walking dress appeared to be of expensive, shiny bronze fabric, and her bonnet was all the crack, covered in ribbons and fruit thingamabobs. All of these attractions were nothing more than a fine setting for the most intense blue eyes he had ever seen, their intensity no doubt highlighted by the contrast to her dark hair. Her expression too bespoke of her personal desire to attend to his welfare. This resulted in an urge to lure her to his cave and pleasure her until she begged for more—a thought that caused his body to stir, an inappropriate event for an afternoon call. So he hibernated the bear for the time being and sighed. “Yes, I am delighted to see you too, Mrs. Russell. You are looking togged out to the nines this morning.”

Ready compliments must have been rare for her, because this one left her quite unsettled. “Thank you…ah…and…thank you for agreeing to clear up this confusion about the field guide with James. This interview should not take long. Once you explain the simple misunderstanding, he will admit his mistake—”

“Ha.”

“Then you can plead—”

“Ha.”

She stiffened her spine. “Plead for him to resume his addresses to Lily.”

George admitted to himself that he found her more attractive than most women. This morning she really did resemble an innocent rabbit: bright blue eyes and a spencer trimmed in soft fur. But the woman must have gone stark raving mad. She belonged in Bedlam. “May I ask you a private question?” He gave her a brief pause to respond.

She batted her eyelids in confusion.

He softened his tone. “How many years were you married?”

She stepped backward, almost a hop. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, I know. That is my point.”

She shook her head. “I married at eighteen years of age and lost my husband sixteen months later. While we had only a short time together, I can assure you that we were as close as any husband and wife.”

He bowed his condolences. “I was right then. You have little experience with men.”

She huffed.

“You just mentioned,” he said, eager to correct her error, “this James Codlington would admit to his mistake. A gentleman—
admit
—a mistake. Gentlemen rarely admit mistakes. I never do. And lastly, you are under the false impression that I am going to
plead
with another gentleman concerning his choice of a wife. The fact that you believe gentlemen admit mistakes and plead with other men about their lovers leaves me convinced that you know very little about men.”

“Don’t tell me that instead of clearing up this meddle of your making, you are going to stand fixed, like the proverbial suit of armor—no—the proverbial stuffed
bear
, and not say a word?”

“Of course not. I am grateful for your effort to discover new investors for the tunnel. Therefore, I will do my best to clarify the situation. I will explain…
explain
that Miss Broadsham’s name is not in the field guide, that I never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Broadsham, and that he must take my word as a gentleman. This simple explanation should be enough for any man.” He nodded once and pulled the doorbell.

She glared at him.

He chuckled, knowing full well that if she were a rabbit, her little pink nose would be moving up and down rapidly. He laughed aloud at her pursed-lipped reticence and decided that of all the rabbits he knew, Mrs. Russell was his new favorite. When younger, he would’ve set the fetching widow within his sights, her seduction guaranteed. But today the thrill of the chase seemed boring and dissolute in comparison to the excitement of building England’s iron future. He had even failed to visit his longtime mistress for several months now. He wondered if dear Lydia would be offended by his time away from her bed, or if she would even welcome him for an evening visit. “Madam, you will do me the courtesy of letting me speak.”

Mrs. Russell finally smiled and shook her head. “You are
unbearable
.”

He laughed. “No, I am just a very busy gentleman.” Of course, he really should thank her for the opportunity to right the misunderstanding created by his field guide. After all, if the Codlington match failed, the rumors of his involvement could expand, become out of control, and stain his reputation even more. But he’d save his gratitude for a later date, if at all. Right now he needed to save his breath for this wayward Romeo, since there was only so much talking a man could do in one day. “Let’s get this interview over with. Then you and your sister can return to your reason for living—planning a wedding—while this James can purchase leg shackles and resume fawning over your sister.”

She marched up beside him. “Indeed.”

Minutes later, they were shown into the library.

One glance around the room, and he became fixed on the jovilabe orrery in the center of a large mahogany table. Made of gleaming brass, except for the precious stones of Jupiter and its moons, the small gears for each moon grabbed his complete attention. He first examined the moon closest to Jupiter, the one with the shortest orbit, in hopes of detecting the gear movement. A minute later, he thought he might have seen the gear turn forward, if only slightly.

He glanced up to find her standing directly across from him, wearing that ravishing smile that changed his thoughts away from the orrery to something more intimate. “Do you admire machinery, Mrs. Russell?”

“Oh yes, not only for its beauty, of which this orrery is an excellent example, but for the skill and knowledge acquired to construct such a machine.”

Her enthusiasm created a desire to give her an all-encompassing hug, leading to something much more. He struggled to suppress these annoying wayward thoughts. “I see we have something in common—the appreciation of machines. I’m impressed.”

She gave him a slight nod.

Mr. James Codlington walked into the library and welcomed his guests.

Codlington impressed him as a drumble sort of fellow, a man suited to waste away his life as a civil servant or in government. “I say, Codlington, this orrery is magnificent. Can you tell me about the gears? Are they accurate, so that each moon rotates at the right speed in relation to the other moons?”

His host appeared pleased by the compliment. “You must have experience with these machines, I see, Mr. Drexel. Unfortunately, the answer is no. The outer moons rotate too fast, but it takes a trained eye to observe the flaw.”

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing all varieties of gears and clock mechanisms before the conversation naturally turned to the tunnel.

Mrs. Russell returned to her seat, and for the first time in his experience, remained perfectly quiet.

Exceptionally wise woman.

By the time tea arrived, he and Codlington had a passing respect for the each other’s knowledge in relation to engineering. Codlington was not the dull sort of cove he initially thought, but the sort of man who does not show well the first time in the ring. He gulped half a cup of the strong heather-scented brew to fortify himself. Best to get this over with.