A Dash of Scandal (8 page)

As Lady Lynette sipped her tea, Millicent looked at her and realized that the young lady was a wealth of Society information. Millicent could almost write a gossip column just by listening to Lady Lynette. And that was good to know.

***

Chandler shook rain from his coat, then strode with purpose into the dark tavern located near Bow Street. The evening crowds hadn't arrived, so even in the dim light it was easy for him to spot the man he was to meet.

The short, slim-built Thief Taker rose from his chair at the table when Chandler approached. “Lord Dunraven, I didn't count on you wanting to see me again so soon.”

“Doulton. I expect you shall see me every day until I hear from you the thief has been caught and the raven has been recovered.”

Chandler picked up the bottle of port from the table and poured a splash into the glass that Doulton had pushed over to him.

“Tell me, what can I do for you today?” the man said.

Chandler's eyes narrowed. “Why don't we start with you telling me what your men discovered yesterday.”

Doulton clasped his hands together and laid them on the table in front of him. He blinked slowly. “Well.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, causing a loud squeak. “I told you yesterday I have two of my best men interviewing guests who were in attendance at all three of the parties where there have been thefts. Someone was bound to have seen something or someone suspicious, but there are hundreds of people to talk to. That takes time, Lord Dunraven.”

“Then maybe you should have more than two Runners doing the questioning.”

“Perhaps I could spare more. I'll look in to it.”

“Today?”

“Yes, today.” He shifted in his chair again. “You know that more and more people are considering the notion that it is a ghost committing the robberies.”

“A ghost?” Chandler gave him a curious stare. “Where did this come from?”

He blinked faster. “I'm not sure where it started, but it is queer that no one has seen anyone walking out with the missing items. And no one has reported seeing a stranger in any of the homes.”

“Don't tell me you think there's any possibility there's a ghost doing this.”

“No, no, not me.”

“Good, because I can assure you it wasn't a ghost who stole the raven. Damnation! One of the scandal sheets probably started this outlandish rumor, as they did with calling him the Mad Ton Thief.”

“Yes, now that you mention it,” Doulton said nervously. “I believe that is where it started.”

“Thank you for reassuring me you, at least, are sane. The jewelry could have easily fit in a man's coat pockets, and the raven could have been held under a man's waistcoat. Ghost indeed. Pickpockets can take your coin purse right out from under your nose without you realizing it. Does that make them a ghost?”

“No sir. But you must admit that the whole affair with this thief is rather strange.”

“No, Doulton. It is not strange to have a thief on the loose among the ton. The strange thing is that he hasn't been caught and neither you nor the authorities have a suspect yet.”

Doulton sniffed uncomfortably and moved in his chair again. “I only meant that no one has seen anyone who looks like a thief.”

“Right, because a beggar would be easy to spot at a dinner party. It means they are damn good at what they do, so you have to be better.”

“Yes, quite right, and so we are.” Doulton rose from his chair. “The only problem is that we haven't had enough time. You must give us more time. We have to interview everyone. Even the smallest clue might help us identify the thief.”

“There are other things that need to be done. I suggest you station a couple of Runners at each party to watch for suspicious-looking characters.”

“But that would cost a lot of money, sir. I'm not sure we have the authorization to do that.”

“I'm quite friendly with the lord mayor. If you need more money or men to help you accomplish this, tell me now, and I will speak to him. He will know how to go about seeing to it that you have more men on this case. And you need to have someone checking with all the known traders to see if anyone has shown the missing items.”

“That's a very good suggestion. No reason for you to bother the lord mayor or anyone else. I'll speak to him and see what can be done. And give me a few more days to look over all the information that my men have obtained so far. I'm sure we'll come up with a suspect.”

Chandler didn't know how many days he had. Even now someone could be melting the raven into a lump of gold. The only thing he knew for sure was that it wasn't a ghost who had stolen the raven.

“Things without all remedy should be without regard, what's done is done”—just ask Miss Donaldson. It's reported that her father will soon make an announcement about her upcoming engagement. Miss Pennington danced with Lord Dugdale twice last night. Hmm. Are there bets the earl will be the fourth gentleman to offer for her hand this Season? And what is being done to find the Mad Ton Thief, or should he now be called the Mad Ghost Thief?

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

She was easy to identify in the flowing white gown and crown of small white flowers in her hair. The modest, round neckline of her evening dress was held on the shoulders by small capped sleeves and gold satin bands. Gold-colored bullion fell from the shoulders down her back like a shawl. A small band of gold satin fit snugly underneath her breasts. Chandler watched as she calmly made her way through the crowded room before being stopped by two older ladies of the ton.

He wanted to get closer to Millicent Blair, talk to her again, ask her to dance. But that wasn't all he desired. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her tempting lips as he had this afternoon in Lady Beatrice's garden.

He was quite proud of himself for not getting caught by that meddlesome dog. It was close, but thankfully he made it through the hedge, but not without wounds on his hands and a scratch on the side of his neck that he was able to hide with his neckcloth. Though, he admitted to himself with a smile, all the wounds were worth the kiss.

But, he must remain at a distance tonight. He had overplayed his hand last night in telling her he planned to discover the way to her heart. And perhaps he should have waited a few more days before trying to see her, but he hadn't been able to stay away. He had needed to see her.

What had happened to the man who used to be so aloof?

What a sentimentalist he must have sounded like last night. He might as well be wearing his heart on his sleeve, but she intrigued him. That was all. She had been deliberately evasive to his questions just so he would want to seek her out again and again to know more about her.

And he had fallen for it. Hard.

Chandler shook his head. He didn't know if he had ever been so charmed by a young lady who seemed to have no interest in him whatsoever.

He walked closer to her as he greeted friends and acquaintances in the crowded room. She was nodding, listening intently to the lady who was speaking to her. She looked sweet and pure, as if only thoughtful and congenial things would come out of her mouth, but he knew without a doubt that she could be direct or difficult, whichever suited her purpose.

Over the years, many young ladies and his mistresses, too, had excited him, but there was something different about Miss Millicent Blair.

Never had he met a lady so enchanting and so clever in avoiding his questions. Was she playing him in hopes of getting him to ask for her hand or was she truly not interested in him? Could it be that his reputation was so marred by his youthful indiscretions that now that he was interested in a proper young lady she feared he would only trifle with her affections?

She had been surprised to see him in the garden today, but she hadn't been angry. He liked that about her. And she was very slow in rebuffing his attentions, allowing him two kisses before she retreated. Obviously she was not afraid of him.

He wondered why she was so secretive about her family. That certainly put credence to what Andrew had said about her being from a poor family and only being interested in making a wealthy match. It wasn't unusual for a lovely country girl to come to Town hoping some young buck would become besotted with her before he probed too deeply into her family's background. If that was the case, it was no wonder she wasn't interested in him. Anyone in Society could tell her that he had never given serious consideration to marrying any young lady.

Chandler's intuition was usually sharp, and he had a gut feeling that there was more to Miss Blair than simply looking for a suitable match. But what?

A gentleman Chandler had never seen before caught his attention, and he let his gaze stay where the fellow lounged near the front door. Suddenly Chandler's senses went on alert.

The man was properly dressed in evening attire like every other gentleman at the party but something about the man made him appear uncomfortable and out of place. This was just the sort of fellow he suspected the Mad Ton Thief to be, a man who obviously knew how to dress like a gentleman but didn't look at ease being one.

Chandler decided to walk over and present himself to the man and find out who he was. He turned back for a quick glance at Miss Blair.

He liked the way she remained serene and gave her complete attention to the ladies. Her eyes didn't search the room looking for a distraction or a reason to move on to someone else. That was an admirable quality. He had decided a couple of nights ago there were too many things to like about that intriguing young lady without adding more to the list.

“Good evening, sir,” Chandler said as he approached the gentleman. “I don't believe we've met before. I'm Chandler Prestwick, the earl of Dunraven.”

The tall, sturdily built man bowed graciously, then said, “I'm pleased to meet you, Lord Dunraven. I'm William Hogarth, in the employ of Mr. Percy Doulton. We're here watching for suspicious-looking characters.”

Chandler smiled to himself. Hogarth
was
the suspicious-looking character.

“Good. I'm glad to see Doulton acted promptly in securing men to be available at the parties.”

“Yes, sir. He went right to work on that. There are two of us at several of the homes where there are more than fifty guests attending this evening.”

Chandler was impressed at how quickly Doulton had acted and that there were so many new men added on such short notice.

“Have you seen anyone or anything out of the ordinary?” Chandler asked.

“My partner and I have everything under control. He's watching the rooms where the guests are, and I'm looking over everyone who leaves by this door. If a gentleman tries to walk out with anything bulging from his pocket or his coat, I have orders to politely stop him and search him.”

“Thank you, Hogarth. It seems like you are handling everything adequately.”

Chandler nodded to the man and started to take his leave.

A feather brushed across the back of his neck and, before he could turn around, he caught sight of a woman from the corner of his eye as Lady Lambsbeth stood before him. A chill of warning flashed down his back.

Chandler folded his arms across his chest and said, “Lady MacBeth—” he cleared his throat and irreverently added, “That is to say, Lady Lambsbeth.”

She smiled cunningly at him and slowly batted her long lashes. She was beautiful, with large, expressive blue eyes that seemed always to be beckoning. Curls of shiny blond hair framed her round face.

“My, but you are so delightful when you're cruel. You used to call me Olivia, Chandler. Why so formal?”

“I want it that way.”

“I'll have to change your mind. I've missed your charm.”

“I doubt that.”

She stepped closer to him. “What a devil you are. You wound me with your words.”

“Has your husband died again this Season, or perhaps Paris is too hot for you this time of year?”

“Nothing could be as hot as your arms, dearest Chandler.” She smiled seductively. “And, yes, it just so happens I am a widow—this time. Truly.”

Chandler looked around to see if anyone could see him talking to her. Thankfully there was no one else near the front door but the Runner he had just left.

“My condolences,” he said with no concern in his voice.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but it's true. My husband was killed in a carriage accident shortly after we returned to Paris last year. I'm surprised you haven't heard.”

“That is of no concern to me. If you've come back to create more mischief, you'll have to find some other willing soul. This one is not available.”

She breathed deeply, lifting her ample breasts, which showed from the low-cut gown she wore. “Tsk, tsk. You're still angry with me for lying to you.”

“I don't care enough to be angry.”

“My but you've grown a hard edge, Chandler.” She reached up and pretended to straighten his neckcloth. “I like it. It could prove interesting in bed.”

Chandler stepped away from her and said, “Excuse me, I'm meeting someone.”

He started to pass her, but she grabbed his arm and stopped him. She gave him a beguiling smile, showing beautiful white teeth. Chandler was reminded of why he once wanted to possess her. Her skin was soft, her body beautiful, and she adored being touched and worshipped by a man. She was a skilled lover… and a practiced liar.

Chandler forced his gaze to slide past her face, down her slender neck, over her full breasts to the long feminine fingers that gripped his arm like a vise. Animosity caused his muscles to work involuntarily beneath her hand. He stared down at her firm grip and then up to her lascivious expression.

His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened.

Slowly she relented and let go of him. “How distasteful of you to hold a grudge, Chandler. We'll kiss and make up.” She lifted her face toward his.

He never had been downright rude to a lady, but tonight he was tempted to tread those uncharted waters, for surely no other woman deserved it more. It was on his mind to tell Lady Lambsbeth what he thought of her, but the last thing he wanted was to be seen talking to her.

“You are beautiful, Lady Lambsbeth, but your mind and your heart are deceitful. I no longer have an interest in you.”

Her eyes narrowed. An attractive pout formed on her full lips, puckering the corners. She should have been furious about his nasty remark, but she didn't even blink an eye. She was a coldhearted woman.

“I know you think I'm the one who let it slip to the gossip sheets about our love affair, but I swear it wasn't me. I don't know who found out about us. I was going to tell you the truth before my husband came to Town. It was not my desire for him to catch us in bed. Henry would have killed us both had you not escaped in time.”

He didn't even like to hear the word love come out of her mouth. “So whoever told him wanted to see only me dead? That's comforting. I don't care if it was your personal maid who betrayed you. What's done is done. My affair with you is over.”

“If that must be so, I will accept it, but dance with me and let's show everyone there are no hard feelings between us.”

“Oh, but there are. You no longer captivate me, Lady Lambsbeth. Find someone else to believe you are a lonely widow. I'm not a taker this time. Accept it, I've had my fill of you and I'm no longer interested.” He turned and walked away.

Chandler realized that he felt damn good as he eased back into the crowd gathered in the front parlor. He picked up a glass of champagne from a tray and took a sip as he kept walking. He had wanted to tell Lady Lambsbeth what he thought of her since he found out she had lied to him about being a widow.

He was no saint. He'd done his share of slipping into gardens, parlors, and bedrooms, but he'd never knowingly taken a married woman to his bed. He had his own code of honor and he didn't knowingly step over it. There were too many available ladies eager for his attentions. He had no desire to pursue another man's wife.

He stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. He was glad he no longer desired her. There was only one set of lips he desired beneath his, and they were on the lovely face of Miss Blair. He had every intention of finding her again before this evening ended.

Minutes passed as he wandered from room to room. He brushed elbows with a duke, smiled at Miss Pennington, nodded to a duke and duchess, and greeted friends as he searched the crowd for Miss Blair. He knew she had to be at the party because Lord Heathecoute and his lady were still in attendance. Miss Bardwell caught up with him again, but he was clever enough to avoid asking her to dance. He ducked into a packed room to avoid being seen by Fines.

Chandler continued walking and eventually found himself in what appeared to be a deserted section of the house. He stood at the beginning of a long, narrow corridor that had several doors opening from each side. Oil lamps on the wall lit the passageway, and at the end of the hall stood a tall clock with a large white face.

“Time changes a lot of things,” he said softly as his thoughts drifted to the past.

Just after the Season ended last year he began his torrid affair with Lady Lambsbeth. He'd met her at the last big ball of the Season. She had told him she was a widow who was back in Town after several years in Paris. She invited him to call on her and he did so the very next day.

He'd had his chef prepare apricot tarts, thinking to enjoy them with a cup of tea and a smile from the beautiful Lady Lambsbeth. He had no idea that he would spend the entire afternoon in her bed with not a sip of tea or a bite of food. And her bed is where he'd spent every afternoon for the better part of three weeks.

Until rumor of their liaison ended up in the “Society's Daily Column.” He'd like to personally strangle Lord Truefitt, and would if he ever discovered the true identity of the gossip writer.

Chandler had been in the columns for years and he didn't let the rumors keep him from visiting Lady Lambsbeth, but it was hardly a week later that her husband unexpectedly and miraculously returned from the dead while Chandler was in her bed.

He had to jump from her second story bedroom with his clothes in his hand. An evening or two later, he was in White's when her husband stormed in with his sword drawn. Chandler would be missing an arm, if not his head, had not some of Lord Lambsbeth's friends held him down and relieved him of his weapon.

Chandler was forced to do the only thing a decent gentleman would do. He denied ever being in Lady Lambsbeth's bedroom, and his friends, who had gathered round him, offered their support of his lie. He'd never seen her again until just a few moments ago. He was glad to know he had no desire to see her again.