Victorian Vigilantes 01 - Saving Grace (2 page)

Anything at all.

She was dead emotionally when it came to anything except Gracie—William had seen to that many years since—so it mattered little what Mr. Morton required of her. If she could charm him into employing her then she would be secure since even William wouldn’t think to look for her at such a swanky address. She could hide from him in plain sight while plotting how best to secure her daughter’s release.

The butler subjected her to even closer scrutiny when she reached his position at the top of the steps. She lifted her chin and refused to be intimidated. Butlers could be terrifying creatures, but not to someone who had been through as much as Eva had during the past week—and for years before that at the hands of her vile husband.

“My name is Parker,” he said. “Follow me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

Eva, aware of Parker still assessing her as they made slow progress through the house, refused to show how impressed she was with the interior of number fourteen Grosvenor Square. Her heels sounded loud on the chequered floor of the entrance vestibule. She looked up past the wide sweeping staircase to the domed ceiling several stories above her head. Sunlight filtered through multi-faceted coloured panes of glass, casting light and shadow over the spot where she stood. Her glance roamed over the furniture, all of which she could see was top rate. The ornamentation was unfashionably sparse but Eva thought that made the items that were on display show to better advantage.

The house reeked of money but lacked the feminine touch. Eva’s heart plummeted. No woman, no children, she supposed, and therefore no easy way to introduce Grace into the household.

Parker cleared his throat and she returned her attention to him with an apologetic smile. He appeared to expect some comment from her and she duly obliged.

“Pray excuse me, I was just taking a moment to admire the house.”

“I’m glad it meets with your approval.”

Parker spoke with humour rather than sarcasm and she was convinced his lips twitched with the effort it took him to hold back a smile. His reaction boosted her confidence. Butlers were the hardest creatures on God’s earth to impress. If he had taken a shine to her then all was not lost.

Eva removed her cape and gloves and a footman materialised to take them from her. Even if Parker
did
approve of her, he presumably wouldn’t lower himself to deal with the outer garments of prospective employees. The footman hovered as though waiting for her to remove her bonnet as well but Eva thought of her unwashed hair and wasn’t ready to part with it. Ladies of quality didn’t usually remove their headwear when making calls. She was unsure if prospective employees were expected to do so as a general rule, but clearly in this household that was the case. Eva had quickly learned this past week that it paid to disguise herself at every turn and experienced a moment’s panic at not being able to hide beneath her bonnet’s brim. She thought of Gracie, untied the ribbons from beneath her chin and reluctantly handed her hat to the footman also.

“Wait in here,” Parker said, conducting her into what was obviously a gentleman’s study, the walls lined with books. “I shall inform Mr. Morton of your arrival.”

Left alone, Eva straightened her skirts and toyed with the idea of releasing her hair from the tight, unflattering bun she had pulled it into. She was famous for her thick riot of amber curls, difficult to conceal and an immediate give-away if anyone in this establishment had been set to look for her. That was hardly likely, but it still paid to be cautious. Besides, she was absolutely sure prospective employees did not parade themselves with their hair cascading all over the place–especially not when it had not been washed for over a week.

Without being vain, Eva was well aware her looks were pleasing to men, which was partly why she found herself in such a fix now. She was desperate enough to trade on those looks to secure this position if that proved to be necessary, but not until she was absolutely sure Mr. Torbay had no connection to her erstwhile husband. She glanced around the room, looking for clues that would tell her more about its owner. There were none. All she was able to discover was that he had a vast collection of books, many of them first editions, and an eclectic taste in literature.

***

“Damnation!”

Jacob Morton’s fencing partner moved out of range with the grace and agility of a cat, narrowly avoiding his blade. Her light weight and speed of foot made her a formidable opponent and he knew better than to give any quarter simply because she was a woman and he was considerably stronger than she was. If he did, she would win their bout. It had happened before, and Jake had no intention of underestimating her for a second time. She would know it if he did and would consider it an insult. There were many things he would like to do with Olivia Grantley. None of them required him to insult her.

They danced around one another, blades clashing, keen competitors with parallel skills. A string of muted, unladylike oaths streamed from Olivia’s mouth as a rare opportunity opened up and Jake danced forward to touch the left side of her upper body with the tip of his epée.

“You got beneath my guard,” she said in a disgusted tone. “Again.”

“You weren’t concentrating.”

They completed their final clash of blades and saluted one another. Olivia then pulled off her face mask and her hair tumbled down with it.

“And now you are patronising me.” She wrinkled her nose. “As if it weren’t mortifying enough that you used your left hand and still won.”

“I was fortunate,” Jake said diplomatically.

“Nonsense. You are too good for me, even with your left, and I am not afraid to admit it. Perhaps you ought to find a more worthy opponent.”

“You know very well no such person exists for me.” Jake lowered his voice to a persuasive purr. “You always have kept me on my toes, Olivia, and probably always will.”

Olivia’s musical laugher echoed around the cavernous ballroom. “And yet I am so very notorious. Not in the least socially acceptable.”

Jake shrugged. “Such considerations mean nothing to me.”

“So you say, but I am not sure if I believe you.”

Olivia tossed her head, sending her thick hair tumbling over her shoulders. Jake was transfixed by the sight of it shimmering down her back in a riot of unruly curls. If pressed, that was how he would describe Olivia. Unruly, unconventional, wild, untamed. Untameable.

Intriguing, desirable, and strictly out of bounds.

She was one of his most effective operatives, and Jake made it a rule never to cross that particular line.

“Stay in town,” he said, laying his sword aside. “I might have a job for you in a day or two.”

“As always, I am at your disposal.”

A half-smile playing about Olivia’s lips, almost as if she could read his mind and understood just how difficult he found it to keep his distance from her, especially when the devil got into her as it had at that moment. She kissed her own fingers, waved their damp tips at Jake and sauntered off. He watched her go, enjoying the sight of her swaying hips and slim body encased in the tight breeches she wore for their fencing practice. One of these days he really would take their perpetual flirting a stage further and part her from those breeches. The prospect of finally getting his hands on the voluptuous body beneath them became daily more difficult to resist. Olivia was a widow—make that a beautiful and notorious widow—which made her fair game. But in his extensive experience, the reality of such situations seldom lived up to his expectations.

“She’s here,” Parker said, stepping into the ballroom on the lower floor—a room that Jake used more regularly for fencing practise than for actual dancing.

“What is she like?” Jake asked.

“She’ll have your ring on her finger if you keep inviting her over here,” Parker replied. “I keep telling you she’s out to trap you.”

“Not Olivia, idiot.” Jake fastened his shirt and turned to the mirror to deal with his four-in-hand necktie. Folding it on the diagonal, he tied it so that the pointed ends formed wings and then secured the entire arrangement with a superb Ceylon sapphire pin. “She’s one of my best operatives and has no interest in matrimony.”

Parker snorted. “All women think about matrimony.”

“I was referring to Mrs. Dalton.”

“Oh, her.” He sniffed. “She’s hiding something.”

“Who is?” Isaac Arnold, Jake’s associate and friend, ambled into the room.

“Mrs. Dalton is here,” Jake replied, slapping Isaac on the back and then sliding his arms into his waistcoat, swiftly buttoning it. “Parker’s come to the astonishing conclusion that she has something to hide.”

“Sorry, Parker,” Isaac said, flashing a sympathetic smile. “But we already know that much. Our advertisement obviously did the trick and reeled her in. I have to hand it to you, Jake, you were right about that. I didn’t think it would work.”

“Wonder how many responses Mrs. Cole got?” Jake mused.

“Dozen I should think. Hopefully she chose the right one.”

“I have every confidence in her.” Even so, Jake felt uncomfortable when he thought about what he must now do. “Let’s go and see what the beautiful lady has to say for herself.”

Parker pulled a doomed face. He picked up Jake’s sack coat and brushed non-existent specks from its shoulders before holding it out so Jake could slide his arms into the sleeves. “What makes you think she’s beautiful?” he asked. “I didn’t say so.”

“Mrs. Cole knows better than to send us a dog,” Jake replied cheerfully. “Besides, I knew her before she married. Is she in the study, Parker?”

“Don’t say you haven’t been warned,” Parker replied in a doomed voice.

“He worries too much,” Isaac said, buttoning his own coat.

“That’s what butlers do, my friend, that’s what they do.”

Jake and Isaac took the stairs two at a time and entered the room next to Jake’s study. Through the spyholes conveniently situated in the adjoining wall they observed Mrs. Dalton with interest. She was seated in front of the large mahogany desk, hands folded neatly together in her lap. She looked the picture of poised serenity but Jake could just detect a nerve working beneath her left eye that told a very different story about her state of mind.

“I say, she’s beautiful all right,” Isaac said with enthusiasm. “Parker was right about that.”

Jake nodded. “And it’s definitely her. Mrs. Cole hasn’t disappointed.”

“I have never met her before. I would definitely remember if I had,” Isaac said decisively.

Jake merely nodded again, thinking it unnecessary to admit she had made quite an impression upon him when she came out and he had never completely forgotten her. Mrs. Dalton’s gaze lingered on the wall behind which the men stood, causing them both to inhale sharply when they got their first full view of her face.

“What a stunner!” Isaac enthused. “Even with that god-awful hairstyle, she’s a diamond of the first water.”

“Don’t lose sight of why we went to so much trouble to get her here, Isaac. We need her help.”

Isaac returned Jake’s warning glower. “And you have never mixed business with pleasure?”

“Not to my recollection. Besides, she
is
married.”

“Ah yes, there is that.” Isaac brightened. “Still, the marriage clearly isn’t a happy one, or she wouldn’t be here.”

“Come along,” Jake said. “Let’s make ourselves known to her.”

Their visitor started when the two men entered the room from a different door to the one she would have been shown into it through, taking her by surprise.

“Good afternoon,” Jake said, holding out his hand. “I am Jacob Morton, Earl of Torbay. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Eva.”

Eva Woodstock gasped, turning luminous green eyes upon Jake, a combination of shock, fear and expectation clouding their depths.

“You know who I am?”

William Woodstock sat behind the ornate desk in the study of his Sloane Street home. Purchased from the estate of a gentleman ruined through his inability to manage his financial affairs, the desk afforded William considerable satisfaction. It was worthy of a man of his great talent and ambition. He never tired of running his hands over the smooth green leather top, or the carved mahogany pillars that were polished daily to within an inch of their lives. The solid item of furniture soothed William and he took childish pleasure in rifling through the meticulously organised drawers and cubbyholes, keeping visitors waiting while he pretended to look for documents, the location of which had never been in question. He was confident that even the most determined intruder wouldn’t discover the sensitive papers secreted in a place no one knew existed.

Today the desk failed to give the pleasure William usually enjoyed simply from owning it. It was a gentleman’s desk and William was so close to achieving that status he could smell the elitism, the respect, he so earnestly craved. Anyone with brains and determination could make money. To be socially acceptable was something else altogether, but he was now tantalisingly close to achieving even that lofty ambition. William had worked so hard to reach this point that he would not be bested by anyone, least of all his ungrateful wife who didn’t know the meaning of the word
loyalty
.

Outwardly the epitome of clam, inwardly William’s rage was close to boiling point. He twisted his wife’s ornate wedding band around his little finger and quietly seethed, never before having felt quite so disadvantaged, especially not by a woman. The diamonds in the tails of the entwined lovebirds set in the ring winked back at him, as though mocking him for his inability to control his wilful wife.

“Found in a pawnbroker’s in Whitechapel, you say.”

He addressed this rhetorical question in a calm tone to Stoneleigh, his right hand man, who stood in front of his desk.

“It was hocked three days ago by a woman calling herself Mrs. Dalton. She was offered a fraction of its worth but took it anyway.”

“Three days?” William’s voice became even quieter. Anyone who knew him as well as Stoneleigh did couldn’t fail to detect the danger signs. Unlike most people, the angrier William became the more softly he spoke and the worse the consequences for the person unfortunate enough to have disappointed him. “Have the goodness to explain how three days can have passed without my being aware of this development.”