Damsel in Distress? (11 page)

Philip was in his office waiting very impatiently for Lord Harrison to arrive. He had sent an urgent message not long after Harriet had taken herself away, but so far he had yet to hear a word back. What was taking him so long? Surely he would appreciate the need for action at this moment in time.

Philip ruffled the letters on his desk while he cast his mind back to the moment he first saw Harriet. There was something about that night that bothered him…other than three men trying to kill her. There was something he was forgetting.

In his mind he ran across Hyde Park, the smell of roses thick in the air, the green of the grass brighter than expected in the dark. He heard the gunshot and saw the horse jerk. He watched as the man leaned over Harriet, and heard the words from his mouth.

Philip’s head jerked up so fast, his eyes swam with tears. Americans. They were Americans. But what were they doing here? And why were they after Harriet?

His thoughts were interrupted by his butler entering the room. He hadn’t heard him knock.

“Lord Harrison and Lord Bingham are here to see you, my lord.”

Send them in.” Philip rose from his seat just as his guests walked into the room. They had obviously not waited in the foyer to be announced.

“I got your note,” Neal said by way of greeting.

“Yes. Sit down. Would you like a brandy?” Philip walked to the sideboard and poured drinks before Neal or Jasper answered. It didn’t matter if they didn’t want one. He could make use of both of theirs himself.

“I won’t turn one down.” Neal held out his hand for the tumbler. “Many thanks.” He raised his glass in a salute and swallowed it down in one hit before Philip could even hand Jasper’s his.

“Bad day?” Philip chuckled. It was good to see the formidable Lord Harrison ruffled.

“You could say that,” Neal said with a sigh. “I only just got home when I was given your missive. Sorry for the delay in my getting here. I imagine there is some urgency to this meeting?”

“You saw the papers this morning?”

“I see the paper every morning.”

“Yes, well. Um, did you see the gossip section?”

“My dear wife pointed it out to me at breakfast. Although it wasn’t much of a surprise with the way your so-called visitor managed to draw attention to herself last night. Too bad about Mrs Barrett’s dress, eh?” Neal smirked at him. “I saw you two dance last night as well. If you had got any closer to each other, you might as well have been lying down, if you take my meaning.”

Philip saw red and before he could remind himself who he was dealing with, he had launched himself at Neal. He was instantly reminded who his guest was however, when he found himself slammed onto the floor with Neal’s knee on his chest and his knife at his throat.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” Neal waited until Philip had nodded before letting him up.

“You should know better than that, Philip.” Jasper said as he pulled him to his feet. “You know as well as I, Neal is not one to cross.”

“Sorry,” Philip croaked to Neal, straightening his clothing. “But you don’t have the way of it. Harriet is not like that. That dance, if you could call it that, is not within her character. Do you think it is a clue as to who she may be?”

“Not unless she is a lady of the night,” Neal murmured.

Philip took a step forward but Neal raised an eyebrow and Jasper stepped between them. Philip rethought his response and unclenched his teeth enough to grind out, “She’s not a whore.”

“All right then, who is she, because” – Neal withdrew the packet from the inside of his coat and tossed it on the desk – “it’s not in here.”

Philip looked at the bunch of papers lying on his desk and he was taken by their lack of menace. But for some reason they held the key to everything. Philip walked to the desk and shook the papers loose from the envelope and caught them in his hand.

“Harriet should see these,” he said.

“No she shouldn’t,” Neal replied.

That didn’t make any sense. “Why not, they are hers after all.”

“Are you telling me that you would allow a woman to see her own blood so thickly soaked into a pack of papers she nearly died for, that you can’t make out more than half of the words? I know I wouldn’t let Victoria anywhere near them.”

“He’s right Philip, there’s no way I’d let Grace see those. There’s just too much blood.” Jasper walked over to the desk to look at the papers he’d only heard about.

Philip looked at the papers in his hands and was torn by his conscience. They were her papers and she may remember if she saw them. She may even be able to tell him what they were about. Like Neal said, it was too difficult to make out most of the writing due to the blood. He could still smell the metallicness of it in the air. He smelt it as soon as Neal withdrew the packet. And there lay his problem: how could he allow her to look at the evidence of her struggle to survive, but how could he not when she was the only one who might know what the papers contained?

“You’re sure you can’t decipher this?” He looked at Neal.

“I’ve spent more hours than I care to admit poring over that document. The blood has stained my hands. Thank God polite society demands gloves to be worn, otherwise I would have a time explaining the odd colour of my skin. My wife fortunately is more understanding.” Neal paused for a moment as though he was considering what exactly he should say next. “The thing is, it looks like a family tree…except it’s upside down and the numbers don’t make sense. If these are dates.” He took the papers from Philip and spread them out on the desk. “The problem is that the blood dried before we could separate the pages and the writing tore away when I pulled them apart.” He pointed to the second page of the document. “But here, here’s what appears to be dates, but look at the numbers. 1984? I first thought it was a mistake, but look, over here this number is 1956 and here? 1964. It doesn’t make sense.”

Philip looked down at the papers. They stared up at him, begging him to figure out their secrets. “Wait a minute…what does that say?” He leaned closer to the blood-soaked pages for a better look.

“It can’t be,” Jasper whispered and leaned closer to the document.

“Ah yes, there is that. The writing is torn right there at the end, isn’t it? I’m sure it can’t say what I think it does. Besides, even if it did, it wouldn’t make sense.”

Right there in front of him was the evidence he was looking for and as he read the words, excitement jumped through his veins. But Neal was right, it wasn’t possible and therefore they were no closer to solving the mystery than they were before. He looked at Neal to see confusion mirrored back at him. He took small comfort that he wasn’t the only one finding this difficult to believe. “Do you think it’s true? Could he have married her?”

Neal shook his head. “No. I’ve thought it through. She wouldn’t still be chasing you if she had landed herself a Duke.”

“He’s not a Duke yet though, is he?”

“No, not yet, but he is first in line and even if he doesn’t live long enough to inherit, he still has access to more money than you will ever hope to obtain in your lifetime. And that is what she is after, after all, is it not? Veronica is obsessed with becoming financially secure.”

“I suppose you’re right. It can’t possibly say what I thought then. Besides if that is a date, then it hasn’t happened yet. You can just make out the end of the number. 817. I suppose it could be 1817, but that’s a few years from now and that would mean this document is predicting the future.” He looked up at Neal again. “And that’s not possible, is it?”

Neal didn’t say anything but carefully piled the papers back up and slid them back into the envelope. Philip didn’t notice that Jasper hadn’t said anything for a few minutes or that his face was a whole lot whiter than it should be.

“What about Rupert? Do you think he would know what the papers mean? It is his name on them after all.” Philip couldn’t keep his eyes off the hand in which Neal held the packet.

“Maybe, if I could find him,” Neal replied. “But he’s still missing from the last…uh, mission he was sent on.”

Something in Neal’s voice piqued Philip’s curiosity about their old friend, but before he could ask more questions, Harriet appeared at the door. Neal, Philip noticed, hastily stashed the packet inside his coat; Jasper stepping in front to block the movement from her.

“Harriet, do come in and let me introduce my friend Lord Harrison.” Philip waved her into the room. “You of course remember Lord Bingham from last night?”

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, just long enough for Philip to appreciate the fine baby-blue muslin gown she wore. As she came forward it clung in all the right places with each step she took into the room, and Philip felt a fierce protectiveness wash over him as she extended her hand to Harrison.

Neal bowed low over her hand. “I would love to stay and acquaint myself but I fear my wife is expecting me home.” Neal took his watch out of the small pocket in his waistcoat and gazed at it and then gave it a hardy shake and put it up to his ear. “In fact, I believe I am late. If you will excuse me, I will show myself out. Come on Jasper, you’re expected for dinner.”

Jasper quickly bowed over Harriet’s hand, bid them farewell and followed Neal from the room.

“Odd,” Philip muttered as Neal left the room with a hurried step.

“Is he always so rushed?” Harriet asked. She sank into the chair Neal had vacated, leaning all the way back into the cushions. She took on the appearance of a tiny waif hiding there.

Philip poured himself another drink before going back to his desk. He propped himself on the edge and sipped on his brandy. The liquid fire felt so good on the way down.

“No, Lord Harrison is never rushed. He completes things with a deliberate air at all times. Nor is he ever flustered, as he was just now. I wonder what has come over the old boy?” He took another sip of his drink. “How was your rest?”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms.

It didn’t sound
fine.
“Are you sure? You still look tired.”

“I said it was fine. Did Lord Harrison bring the packet?”

It was unfortunate that at that precise moment he was taking another drink. The liquid burned his nose as he snorted it out all over his clothes. “Ah,” he gasped, “what…makes you…ah…th…think H…Harrison has the packet?” His body was racked with coughs from the burning liquid.

“Really? You expect me to believe he doesn’t?” She took out her dainty handkerchief and dabbed her face. Obviously it wasn’t only himself he had sprayed the contents of his drink on.

“Of course he doesn’t have it; the drink only went down the wrong way.” Philip managed to speak without too much of a croak in his voice.

“Right. I’m sure it did.” Harriet extracted herself from the chair and circled his desk, as though she was stalking her prey. “You know, Philip, I could get it out of you.” She leaned in close to him, her breath upon his check before continuing her circle.

His eyes locked onto the sway of her hips. Blood rushed through his body when she threw a look over her shoulder and flicked her hair back. The little minx had purposely come down here to distract him. She was doing a good job of it too, he had to admit. Her eyes called to him like a seasoned courtesan. Lust rushed through his body down to his manhood. He stood and took a step towards her, but she was too quick, she had already made it around the desk again and come up to his other side. This time, as she passed she ran her hand lightly across his chest and down his abdomen. His manhood kicked to life and he grabbed her arm, but she slipped past him again.

She wouldn’t be so lucky the next time.

“Come, Philip, you know you can tell me. You know I should know.” She leaned in again, running her hands up his body and flicking his neck with her tongue. “Where’s the package, Philip?” she murmured against his neck, the vibrations of her voice shooting little electric jolts along his nerves.

He smiled down at her. She was good, almost as if she had done this before.

He drew up short. The thought was like a cold bucket of water being dumped over his head. He stepped back and untangled her hands from around his neck. He could see in her eyes she knew she’d failed. He didn’t bother saying anything to her, but turned, grabbed the decanter of brandy and walked out of the room.

He was going to lock himself away in some unused room of the house and get very, very drunk. He was afraid that it was going to take a lot of alcohol to get the thought of his Harriet seducing other men out of his mind.

***

What had possessed her to try to seduce him? She had no experience – that she knew of – in something like that. She was surprised her pounding heart hadn’t given her away when she walked into the room. The fact that there was someone else in there with him was enough to send her running back to her room, but somehow she had managed to walk in as though everything was normal. She was both relieved and stressed when Lord Harrison and Lord Bingham left so quickly. She thought for a moment that they had guessed her intention, but that was impossible. There was no way they could have known.

Harriet crept to her room hoping she wouldn’t be spotted by anyone. She tiptoed up the stairs and along the hallway, miraculously avoiding all household staff. She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she wrapped her hand around the doorknob of her room.

Her relief was premature.

“Oh there you are,” Cressandra called from the other end of the hallway. “I have been waiting for you to wake up, how wonderful I caught you before you ventured downstairs. Come, I have just rung for some tea. Cook makes the most gracious cakes and tarts, don’t you think?”

Cressandra turned back into her private parlour and Harriet had no choice but to follow her if just for the fact that Cressandra hadn’t stopped talking and it seemed rude to let her continue on by herself. So with another heavy sigh, Harriet prepared herself for an hour of Cressandra’s conversation and followed her into the parlour.

“So, my dear Harriet, you can see my dilemma, can’t you?” Cressandra implored.

Harriet was only half listening, after all she had already drunk three cups of tea and eaten her fair share of biscuits in the last half an hour. “Yes of course.”