Love In The Library (27 page)

Stiffening, she put hands to hips. “You will do no such thing! You’ve already been threatened once.”

“I’m not afraid of a man who employs others to do his dirty deeds.”

“I don’t care what you're afraid of!" She huffed. "And I
used
to think you intelligent! Can you not understand that your life is far more important than that manuscript?”

“You are too kind.” What a wonderful woman she was to feel so favorably toward him when they’d been strangers just a fortnight ago. Of course, she could not possibly be serious. No one in her right mind would consent to a life of destitution to preserve the life of a reticent scholar. Well, a deeply moral person would. And he didn't mean to disparage Mrs. Bexley. She was undoubtedly a deeply moral person.

He fleetingly thought of their kiss and of her arms closing around him in a most affectionate manner, and his heartbeat skittered. The very memory of that exceedingly pleasant experience emboldened him. “I have no fears for my life.”

She abruptly stood, put her hands to her hips, and glared at him. “I shall confront Mr. Longford myself. I’m sure he won’t harm me.”

Melvin bolted up. “You are not to leave this house until I have secured the Chaucer!” He’d never before spoken so harshly to a member of the delicate sex. It made him feel beastly. At the same time he remembered how angry she’s made him that night she had sneaked into Lord Seacrest’s library. The woman’s head must be made of granite. “Did you not once agree
not
to embark on a trail over which I did not approve? Was that not one of the terms we agreed to when I came back to assist you?”

She directed at him that juvenile pout that reminded him so much of Lizzy. “I may have agreed to such meekness, but that was before I knew your life had been in jeopardy.”

The woman was inordinately worried about him. “Surely you don’t think I’m afraid of that diminutive toad-eater? Why, I’m more than a foot taller than him.”

Her demeanor softened. “Will you do one thing for me?”

The pity of it was, for some inexplicable reason, he would do anything for her. “Of course.”

“All I ask is that you promise me you won’t go to that odious man’s house without your brother. If Sir Elvin is with you, I shan’t worry.”

“Very well, madam. I shall not go there without my brother.”

Their eyes met, and the intensity of her gaze gave him a feeling of incredible well-being. “I know you’re an honorable man,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You really do give me your word?”

He had no choice but to get his brother to accompany him. “You have my word.”

 A somber nod was her only reply.

Chapter 21

"Suskins?" Melvin directed himself to their Green Park Road butler. "Where's my brother?"

"I couldn't say, Mr. Steffington. Perhaps Miss Ann or Miss Elizabeth knows. I believe they were last with him."

Disappointed, Melvin directed a nod at the butler, then raced up the stairs to the drawing room. His sisters enjoyed sitting about there reading and sewing and busying themselves at things that young ladies liked to do.

He threw open the drawing room door to behold the quiet domestic sight of his pretty sisters embroidering and chattering away. "Where's Elvin?" he asked.

While both of his sisters met his gaze, neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally, Lizzy cleared her throat as if she were about to pronounce something of great import. "Though Elvin did not confirm it, I believe he's taken Mrs. Pratt for a spin about Sydney Gardens."

Good God, how could Elvin allow his innocent sisters to know about a woman like the infamous Mrs. Pratt?

Eyeing her sister from beneath lowered brows, Annie gasped. "You are not to speak of such ladies!"

Beastly scandalous of his brother to flaunt his relationship with
that
sort of woman so openly. In fact, Melvin was seized by a desire to plow his fist into his brother's nose. How dare he take a woman like Mrs. Pratt to the very same place that he wanted to escort a paragon like Mrs. Bexley! And what if Elvin placed his greedy hand on Mrs. Pratt's so soon after contact with Mrs. Bexley's? It was unthinkable. No two women could be more opposite.

Anger  boiled within him. How could Elvin even think of a woman like Mrs. Pratt after being in Mrs. Bexley's company? Shameless, that's what it was.

He had a very good mind not to allow Elvin to accompany him to Longford's.

But he
had
given Mrs. Bexley his word. And Melvin had never gone back on his word in his seven and twenty years.

Mumbling under his breath, he took leave of his sisters, hurried back down the stairs, and went to the mews to get his horse. Even though the walk to Sydney Gardens wasn't all that far, the gardens themselves covered many acres. He should be able to catch up with Elvin much faster if he were on horseback.

Twenty minutes had passed by the time the groom had saddled his horse and Melvin had clopped along Pulteney Bridge which was heavily thronged with window shoppers. When he reached the gardens, he looked for his brother's phaeton, but he saw no sign of it. What if Lizzy only had the impression he was going to the park? What if Elvin were actually. . . well, Melvin was very happy Lizzy hadn't suspected her brother might be conducting so scandalous an assignation.

And it wasn't even night!

A pity Melvin had no inkling where the opera dancer lived.

Appleton! No question could ever be posed about that sort of woman which Appleton could not answer.

* * *

Fortunately Appleton was home—availing himself of catching up on his now-yellowed newspapers from the Capital—and handily directed Melvin to Mrs. Pratt's establishment.

"Never known you to fancy a bit 'o crumpet," Appleton said as Melvin was taking his leave.

"I certainly don't." Melvin went off mumbling crossly again.

As he rode to Churchill Street, Melvin was most anxious. He didn't like the idea of disturbing his brother if, indeed, Elvin were. . . ahem,
dallying
with Mrs. Pratt. What would he be able to say to the woman's servant to ensure his brother . . . forgo his crumpet?

Appleton had told him he should be able to distinguish Mrs. Pratt's home from the others on the staid street by its scarlet draperies. His gaze on those very scarlet curtains, Melvin wondered what her neighbors thought about having such a . . . colorful woman residing next to them.

As he knocked upon her door he wondered what manner of man would be employed by that manner of woman. Melvin supposed the chap who answered her door would be very large. A burly man, to be sure. The men who had answered the door at Mrs. Baddele's were always big fellows.

But none were as large as Mrs. Pratt's man. A more sinister-looking fellow Melvin had never seen. His blondish hair was streaked with gray, and one of his front teeth was missing. Added to this, he must stand six-feet, six. A real giant with a deep voice. "Yes?" Then the giant cocked his head and lowered his brows as his glance flicked to the stairs. "How can ye be in two places in once?"

The giant obviously mistook Melvin for the twin who was
dallying
upstairs. "I have reason to believe my twin brother is here."

The giant's eyes shifted. Obviously, his mistress had given orders that she and her visitor were not to be disturbed.

"I've come on an urgent matter and demand that you tell my brother I'm in grave need of his help."

It was as if the giant were a marble statue. Not even his lashes moved a hair. He just stood there glaring at Melvin.

Melvin drew in his breath and came striding into the house as if he were master here, hoping like the devil that the giant didn't knock him down. To his complete surprise, the servant stood aside and allowed Melvin to pass.

Not that Melvin had a clue what he should do now.

He, therefore, stood at the bottom of the wooden stairs and shouted at the top of his lungs. "El-l-l-l-v-i-i-n!" He repeated it several times before he heard the distinct sound of a door slamming. This was followed by a thumping sound. Like a man's footsteps coming from above.

He peered at the top of the stairs where his brother had planted his boots. Elvin looked most untidy as he glared down at his twin. "This better be good."

* * *

Catherine was in a daze after Airy left. How incredible it seemed that Mr. Longford could possibly be the mastermind behind the theft of her Chaucer—all because he fancied himself desperately in love with her. It was the most utterly foolish thing she’d ever heard of. In the past decade she had been alone with him on exactly one occasion: that day two weeks ago when she'd consented to drive with him in Sydney Gardens.

How could he be such an imbecile he'd think poverty would drive her into his arms?

Even though her first inclination had been to doubt Airy, she knew he must be right. (Wasn’t he always?) Now that she had learned the man who had beat him—the man who'd tried to keep him from searching further for the Chaucer—was in the employ of Mr. Longford, everything fell into place.

She had an overwhelming urge to spit in Mr. Longford's face. After she scratched out his eyes. That odious, disgusting, pompous, dishonest, conniving, thief!

Added to his unforgivable deeds, the man had ordered that her dear Airy be practically beaten to death! She would never forgive that kind of viciousness.

Her anger extended to Airy. The more she thought of  him withholding from her the truth about his attack, the more livid she became. How could the headstrong, authoritarian, uncommonly sweet, dear man have so endangered himself just to find for her some musty old papers that just happened to be extraordinarily valuable?  How could he not understand that she would pitch the one-of-a-kind manuscript into the ocean before she would allow him to be harmed because of it?

She quite honestly did not believe his obsession to reclaim her
Canterbury Tales
was to  earn the fifteen percent commission. As surely as she would always be able to recognize him over his brother, she knew he was risking his life for her. So she would not lose her home. So she would not have to go live with her brother. So the vibrant life now burning inside her wouldn’t be extinguished beneath the gray skies of Yorkshire.

It was impossible to keep her thoughts from the vision of him lying lifeless on that sofa after his beating. For one agonizing moment she had thought him dead.

What if the evil Mr. Longford decided he would as soon kill the Steffington twins than have it known he was the worst sort of thief? Her heartbeat thundered. Dear God, what could she do? The very idea affected her ten times more profoundly than carriage sickness.

Since Airy was the only man she had ever been able to count upon, she had no one to whom she could turn. But perhaps there was someone. . .

* * *

Melvin hadn’t meant to actually slam Mrs. Pratt’s door behind them as he and Elvin hurried from her house. “At least you’re not tarnishing the family’s good name by leaving your coach in front of such a residence,” he said, half scolding the brother who was his senior by fourteen minutes. If people saw their coat of arms on the coach door, it could do irreparable harm to Annie’s prospects.

“I will have you know that I am always conscious of comporting myself with an eye to how my behavior reflects upon our family. Especially with two sisters whom I must successfully launch.”  Elvin stopped, his gaze narrowing as he watched Melvin untether his mount and—reins in hand—continue to walk beside him. “What in the bloody hell, may I ask, is so important that you had to drive me from a fair lady’s exceedingly compliant arms?”

“Calling that woman a lady! A mere hour after you left a real lady! How can you acquit yourself? One moment you’re making a cake of yourself with a true lady, the next you’re off . . . sticking your spoon in the communal batter!”

Glaring at his brother, Elvin halted. “You have no right to admonish my behavior! How dare you stand at the bottom of Mrs. Pratt’s stairs hollering for me as if I was some wayward sheep.”

“That’s not why I came.”

“Then why in the blazes
did
you come?”

“Because I know who stole the Chaucer, and Mrs. Bexley wouldn’t allow me to claim it alone. She insisted you come with me.”

Elvin’s entire demeanor changed. Melvin would swear he was prancing about like a peacock! “I daresay the woman has the good sense to recognize my manliness,” Elvin boasted.

Melvin was seized with a sudden rage toward his twin, a rage he was powerless to control. His hands fisted as he slung back his right arm and hurled it into Elvin’s  cheekbone. The force of the blow knocked his brother down.

As he stared down at Elvin sprawled on the pavement, blood trickling from a gash where his forehead struck a hitching post. Melvin was nearly overcome with remorse. “Forgive me. I don’t know what got into me.” He offered his brother his hand, and a silent Melvin got to his feet.

“I don’t either. You haven’t tried to hit me since we were twelve.”

“I’m beastly sorry.”

“So who is the thief?”

“Longford.”

“The hell you say! It can’t be him. He’s rich enough to buy the damned thing for kindling.”

“You’re partially right. He did not want it for his own personal gratification or elucidation.”  Melvin silently handed his handkerchief to Elvin, who took it and began to blot the thread of blood sliding down his face.

Elvin cocked his brow. “Then for what?”

“I believe he’s fancied himself desperately in love with Mrs. Bexley since the time of her come-out. When old Bexley died, he knew her only thing of value was the Chaucer. . .”

“So he thought if she were destitute, she’d look favorably upon the suit of a wealthy man!”

Melvin shrugged. “I believe that is what the deranged man must have thought.”

“Do you have any evidence to corroborate your assumption?”

“I think so.” He hated to tell Elvin that he’d withheld the truth from him. That was something he had never done in their seven and twenty years. “You remember about the bloke who beat me?”