A Hint of Seduction (27 page)

“I have a rule that I never make comments on what the scandal sheets write about me, Mrs. Goosetree.”

That was the perfect answer. She could see that Victoria liked his answer, too. Catherine started breathing easily again.

“There is no reference to the lady’s name. Not even an initial. That’s very smart of Lord Truefitt, don’t you think?”

Or Lady Lynette.

“I have no comment about that, either,” he said politely, still making sure his gaze didn’t leave Victoria’s face.

“Well, it’s comforting to know that we don’t have a lady ghost running around in the park stealing gentlemen’s horses,” she said with a rare hint of a genuine smile on her face and a seldom seen mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes.

John smiled, too, and Catherine realized that he had relaxed. “I will agree with you on that.”

“Now Catherine must come in and get ready for the evening. Good day, Lord Chatwin.”

With that pronouncement, John bowed to Victoria and turned to Catherine for the first time since they stepped into the house and said, “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Miss Reynolds. Perhaps I’ll see you at one of the parties this evening.”

“Thank you, Lord Chatwin. I enjoyed the afternoon, too.”

Catherine was impressed with how calm John remained
and how his eyes showed none of the turmoil she knew must be going on inside him. She had a feeling he would have plenty of questions for her later. Now, if only she could handle Victoria as easily as he had.

As soon as the door shut behind John, she took her bonnet off and laid it on the table beside her parasol. She looked up to find Victoria staring at her. Catherine took a deep breath, feeling confident.

“Lord Truefitt’s column is about us, isn’t it?” Victoria asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

Catherine didn’t want to lie to Victoria. She would have to take the consequences of her actions. She had known that when she told Lynette what happened.

“Yes, but truly everything that morning was as innocent as it seems.”

Victoria leaned against the foyer table and crossed her feet at the ankles, letting Catherine know she would stand right there and hear the entire story.

Catherine shored up her courage and told the story as near to the truth as she dared. She left out the part that she actually took the horse without John’s approval and that she delivered it back to him the next morning. Victoria didn’t need to know those things.

Her sister listened intently and didn’t once interrupt her, but when Catherine finished, Victoria asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”

“You were so adamant that I shouldn’t stop and speak to anyone that I feared you wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m your guardian protecting your reputation, your sister who cares about you, not an ogre.”

Catherine had seldom seen this softer side of Victoria, and it heartened her. “Perhaps I was overly sensitive.”

“Well, I suppose you handled things as best you could
under the circumstances. I guess Lord Chatwin could no longer endure the gossip about his horse and the ghost and decided to tell Lord Truefitt the truth—thankfully minus your name.”

Should Catherine let Victoria assume it was John who told the gossip columnist, or should she admit to doing it? She couldn’t let John take the blame for something she did.

Before she had time to speak up, Victoria said, “We won’t worry about any of that now. What is in the past is past. As long as no one but the three of us ever knows that you were the one who rode his horse that morning. Do you think we can trust him on that?”

Was Victoria actually asking for her opinion?

“Yes,” Catherine said, deciding to remain quiet about the truth of who told the story. “I am sure we can trust him.”

“Good. That’s my feeling, too.”

Catherine suddenly realized she trusted John more than she’d ever trusted anyone.

“And should anyone mention this to you, I hope you will be as clever and evasive with your answers as Lord Chatwin.”

“I will certainly do my best to measure up.”

Catherine smiled. Victoria had surprised her again. She had thought Vickie would be outraged about her early-morning encounter with John, but instead she’d been very understanding.

For the first time since moving to London, Catherine felt as if Vickie was her sister and not her guardian.

L
ATE
-
AFTERNOON SUNSHINE STREAMED
into the room and cast shadows on the walls, the books, and the antique
porcelain vase that sat on Bentley Hastings’s desk. This made John’s third trip into his uncle’s office in as many days.

John settled himself in one of the comfortable upholstered wing chairs while Bentley poured their drinks.

It was luck that he’d caught him at home. Bentley invited him to join him in a splash of brandy after he’d returned his uncle’s journal.

Now that John had agreed to help Catherine find her real father, he didn’t want to waste any time.

How the doctored truth of the lady and his horse got in the gossip column still puzzled John. He wanted to know how in the hell Lord Truefitt had found out about his first meeting with Catherine. Other than her, he and Andrew were the only ones who knew the truth.

John would trust Andrew with his life. There was no way Andrew would have told Truefitt even if Andrew knew who the man was. And surely Catherine hadn’t been in London long enough to know who the gossipmonger was and wouldn’t tell if she did.

Maybe Lord Truefitt and Lord Pinkwater were one and the same. He laughed to himself at his own silly thought. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he had always wondered where and how Lord Truefitt got his information.

His uncle handed him the brandy and then took the matching wing chair opposite John rather than sitting behind his desk.

“I don’t know why I’ve suddenly become so popular with you, John, but I’m not going to complain. I enjoy you coming over for a visit.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I guess I haven’t been to visit too many times the past few years, but as you can see, I’m changing that.”

Bentley sipped his brandy. “Yes, but why? Something tells me that you have more questions for me.”

His uncle was sharp enough to know there was more to his nephew’s visits than family ties.

John swirled the liquid in his glass. He had to be careful what he said. He didn’t want Catherine’s suspicions about her father getting out among the
ton
any more than she did. While her true parentage didn’t bother him in the least, it might give others cause for ridicule.

He looked over at his uncle. “I do need your help again, if you don’t mind?”

“What kind of trouble are you in, John?”

“I’m not,” John said honestly. “Believe me, what I’m working on doesn’t even affect me or our family. I’m doing this for someone else.”

“Who?”

“I know I recently asked you to trust me on what I needed to know about my father, and I’m going to ask the same now. I’m not at liberty to say who I’m helping. And even if you knew the name, I don’t think it would keep you from helping me.”

“Is what you’re doing going to harm anyone?”

“No, I’m sure of it. This person does not want to cause any trouble and in fact wants this kept as private as possible.”

Bentley sipped his brandy again. “All right. What is it you want to know?”

“How well do you know Mr. Robert Beechman and Mr. William Chatsworth?”

His uncle looked a bit surprised by the question. “I used to know them quite well. No one knows them anymore. They’ve all but dropped out of Society. They haven’t kept up with their friends or their clubs.”

“I know that much. I’m hoping you can tell me a little more about their past.”

“Well, let’s see. William Chatsworth was a good friend of your father’s. Not as close as you are to Andrew, but close nonetheless. I’ll tell you anything I can remember, but I need to know what exactly you are looking for. What kinds of things do you want to know? Are you interested in something like where they attended school or their family connections to the peerage? As far as I know, neither of them has any skeletons hidden in their closets, so I can’t help you with anything like that.”

John didn’t know if that was good news or bad.

“Can we go back to the year seventeen ninety-eight as we did with my father? Do you remember if either of them were married?”

“You don’t ask much, do you?” Bentley pursed his lips for a moment. “Let me think, over twenty-one years ago—I’m sure Robert Beechman would have been married. He’s much older than I am, but I’m not sure whether or not William Chatsworth had married by that year. He probably doesn’t even remember anymore. I can find out for you. He’s gotten nuttier than a chestnut tree these past few years. How important is this question to what you need to know?”

John had no idea that Mr. Beechman was much older than his uncle. He’d met the man but had never really paid any attention to his age. Could Catherine’s mother have been involved with a married man? That didn’t bode well for Catherine’s peace of mind.

It wasn’t unheard of for a young lady to be swept off her feet by an older gentleman, but John was certain that information wouldn’t make Catherine happy if it were true. No young lady would want to know her mother had been a mistress to a married man.

“It could be very important. I’m not sure yet. But you say you know for sure Mr. Beechman was married by that year.”

“Yes. He had a son who would have been in his early twenties.”

John’s hand tightened on his glass and he leaned forward. “A son in his twenties? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person? Where is his son? I’ve not heard of him.”

“I’m not surprised you haven’t. As best I remember, Mr. Beechman’s son was killed in a hunting accident. It could have happened the year you asked about. I really can’t remember.”

“Had the son married?”

“No, no, I’m thinking that he was betrothed to a young lady, but I’m not sure of that detail and I’m really not sure of the year, either. Over twenty years is a long time to remember facts about someone I wasn’t close friends with, and if it is the same year, remember that we spent half of it touring Scotland.”

“But you are sure Mr. Beechman had a son who would have been in his twenties and he was killed?”

His uncle gave him a tired look. “Yes, I’m sure of that. His son was thrown from his horse and killed instantly. Though Beechman never said it, some of us believe that’s why he never gets on a horse or rides in a carriage. It’s been so long now that most people may well have forgotten he ever had a son.”

Possibilities crowded John’s thoughts and threatened to run away. He needed to do some serious thinking about this. He wasn’t going to forget about Mr. Chatsworth but right now he would concentrate on finding out more about Mr. Beechman and his son.

“Thank you, Uncle. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I really didn’t tell you very much. Is that all you needed?”

“You’ve given me a lot to go on. I’ll do some further checking on my own.”

“Just be careful, John. Most men don’t like to have their past dug into, not even a man whose past is above reproach.”

“I know and believe me I’m going to be very careful. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

John turned up his glass and downed its contents quickly. Could Catherine’s mother have been involved with the married father, or could she have possibly been involved with the son who was killed?

Seventeen