Portia Da Costa (28 page)

Adela imagined Devine’s face. He’d probably love to be at the ball to see his victim’s discomfiture. She could imagine him as just the nasty kind of bully who’d enjoy seeing his prey squirm.

Businesslike, Wilson went on. “Good. We need to know where he is at a very specific time. I could arrange to have him followed, but if he were to be seen at the ball, by many, his location would be fixed for certain.”

“Why do we need to know where he is, Wilson?” Adela asked after Sybil had departed with her instructions. She had half an inkling that she knew what her husband was up to, but she’d quizzed him, anyway.

“Because if I know where he isn’t,
I
can be there...retrieving those letters.”

23

A Nefarious Scheme

“You mean you’re going to steal the letters back from him?”

Adela stared at her husband, nonplussed despite her suspicions. This was exactly the sort of bold, nefarious scheme she’d expected of him.

“Precisely, my dear.” He beamed. “Well, perhaps not steal them. Depending on the amount of time I have, I may burn them in situ, along with any other incriminating letters I find, from other impetuous young men or women. I might as well relieve the anxieties of as many correspondents as I possibly can, because I suspect Sybil is far from Devine’s only victim. This kind of parasite gets a taste for such ruses rather quickly.”

“But how will you gain access? And where?”

Wilson tipped his head to one side and shrugged. “I would deduce that he doesn’t keep such items at his place of work or this accommodation address of his either. They’re precious to him. A prime source of income... He’ll keep them close, probably in a strongbox at his home. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, he has a villa in Upper Norwood. A rather nice one, but larger than one might expect for such a young man, alone. He invited us all to tea once....” She shuddered, remembering an uncomfortable experience. “It was dismal. He did nothing but keep steering the conversation around to his own accomplishments. Of course, Mama lapped it all up like cream.”

“Did you see much of the house? Could you describe the general layout? The disposition of the rooms?” Wilson’s eyes were sharp. She could almost see the cogs of his rational mind whirling, calculating.

“Not really. We saw only the parlor and the entrance hall.” She racked her brain, trying to recall tedious details that she’d dismissed from her mind. “I believe he might have an office or a small library on the ground floor, at the side of the house, facing the garden. He went to fetch a photograph album to show us, and was out of the room for barely a moment.”

Wilson’s eyes were almost triumphantly bright now. “An office on the ground floor, eh? That would make things so much easier....”

“In what way?”

“If his office is on the ground floor, it should be a relatively simple matter to...well, break into it and crack his safe.”

“A simple matter?” The man was astounding. He never ceased to amaze her, and yet she had to admire his stunning boldness. “Breaking open a strongbox is a good deal more of an enterprise than simply picking a door lock, Wilson.”

“Have faith, woman!” he said with a laugh, catching her by the arm and planting a kiss on her cheek. “I’ve made a most detailed study of safes and strongboxes. I can’t tell you the precise circumstances, but I was called by a manufacturer to consult when they were creating a new safe for, shall we say, our premier London bank.” He leaned forward and whispered the name, and Adela gasped. “Given what I know, I could probably break in there, too, if I wanted to.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t want to! I—I’ve rather got used to your company now and I don’t want you to be thrown into prison.” The idea of being parted from him made her shudder. It would probably have to happen eventually, but she prayed for just a little while longer. Long enough for their European trip, perhaps, and maybe also to conceive a child. “But what if you get caught at Devine’s house? You’ll be prosecuted just as surely for that, won’t you?”

Wilson’s expression was almost serene, and his fingers were gentle as thistledown as he cradled her cheek. “Ah, but I have one sovereign advantage on that score, my darling.” He kissed her again, just as gently. “Remember the work I’m doing for the government? The critically important work?” She nodded, dazzled by the glint in his eyes. “Well, it means that I have friends in high places...perhaps the highest places one can aspire to. It doesn’t mean I’m completely above the law, but I might be able to get away with bending it a little bit.” He quirked his dark brows playfully.

Despite her concern for Sybil, despite her concern for Wilson himself, Adela almost gasped. He was dazzling in his magnificent, bright self-confidence. He shone like a god. She longed to kiss him in return. Really kiss him. And drag him to her bed.

He looked at her searchingly, his fingers against her face. “I know, I feel the same, but there’s much to do. I have to go out now, first to pay a call on Devine at his chambers in that guise of a concerned family member, anxious to discuss Sybil’s difficulties. And then perhaps I’ll pay some other calls and see some people who can help and advise me on certain points.” He nodded in sudden satisfaction. “Norwood, you say? That’s opportune...a friend I need to consult lives there. Now, there’s not much time. The ball is almost upon us. We’ve only a few days.”

“Can I come with you?” Suddenly, she didn’t want to be parted from him. “At least to see Devine.”

Wilson pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, then pushed away. “No, my sweet, I suspect that a conversation with him might be better man to man, and any discussions I have afterward with my consulting friend will be too frank for refined ears. And after that I may have to visit some other, far less salubrious venues to find out what I need to know. Probably places I’d hesitate to take a lady...even a strong-charactered Athena like you.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “But I’ll report all when I come back. The plan is ours, and I’ll need your opinion.”

Her heart soared, making her bold. “But when you go and...break in, I want to come with you. I can help.”

“But, Della, it might be dangerous. Even if all my planning is perfect, there’s always some random event that can occur and tip it all up.” His words were doubtful, but something in his eyes told her she might win.

“I’ll exercise every caution. I’ll follow your lead. You know I can be stealthy.”

Wilson grinned. “Indeed I do...indeed I do.” He pursed his lips, effecting profound thought, but she could see she’d got him. Almost. “And I might need someone to hand me my tools, and to hold the dark lantern.”

Adela gazed at her husband, willing him with all the force at her disposal to yield. She knew he had the power to persuade and compel like this, almost by mystical means...so why couldn’t she do it, too?

“Very well, then. Depending on what I discover today, I’ll consider it. But you
must
obey every instruction, and if I tell you to retreat, you do so, and run like the wind back to safety, do you hear me?”

She nodded, trying to suppress her smile and ignore the huge pounding of her heart that she was almost sure Wilson would be able to hear. The nod was a lie. Whatever happened, she’d stand with her husband to the end.

“And you’ll have to wear masculine dress, you know. Even your rational attire will be useless if we have to wriggle under fences or climb over walls and maybe shin up drainpipes if his strongbox turns out to be in an upper room. Can you shin up a drainpipe?”

The smile broke out. “Well, I can certainly climb trees, and it must be similar. I’ll practice.”

Wilson reached out and very gently touched her nose. “Beware of trees, my sweet. I wouldn’t want another one to hurt you.”

Adela smiled to herself as he leaned in and dusted a fleeting kiss where his fingers had rested. To her astonishment, she realized she’d forgotten about her flaws, her perceived blemishes. They were nothing to her now, and she never thought of them. And even when she did, they no longer had power over her. Living with Wilson, and flourishing in his manifest desire for her, had made her invulnerable to those old fears. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” she said.

“Very well, then. I’ll survey the lay of the land, and if it seems reasonably accessible, I’ll consider taking you on as an accomplice.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed that, too.

How am I going to follow his lead and break into a house if I’ve come to a state where even his lightest touch makes me want to swoon?

It was a conundrum, but she could overcome it. Wilson was prepared to trust her to be his partner in crime, and that seemed to be a critical new step along their path as a couple.

“Now, I must change and be off. Maybe you can practice climbing while I’m out?” He laughed softly, but then his face changed, grew more serious. “I do trust you, Della, believe me. There’s nobody I’d rather have by my side in a tight spot. Now, can you remember the name of the road where this blackguard lives?”

Adela reeled off the address, then Wilson squeezed her hand, kissed it again and strode to the door. He seemed to have already begun his mission, and put her behind him. But when he reached the door, he turned to wink at her roguishly, before pounding off along the passage and up the stairs.

Adela stared at the empty space where he’d been, and then moved into it.

I love you, Wilson, but if you don’t love me, it doesn’t matter. If you trust me, that’s enough. I can live on that.

* * *

H
E
WAS
GONE
for hours. But Adela had expected that. When he was working, he was often sequestered for hours, too, absorbed and oblivious to the passage of time.

Determined not to fret and worry and generally act the powerless little woman waiting at home, she entered Wilson’s dressing room and reviewed his clothing, searching for a suitable attire for breaking and entering. Picking the odd lock at a country house party was a world away from entering a residence under false pretenses, and as Wilson had pointed out, she had to have the right clothes for the job.

For all his bohemian pretentions, Wilson’s clothes were kept in perfect order by Teale, who was his valet as well as his butler. All hung neatly on their hangers, and though the wardrobes all smelled of camphor to protect cloth from moths, the provocative odor of Wilson’s own spicy shaving lotion still seemed to haunt each garment. Grinning, she tried on a few of his dressing gowns, aware that she was deviating from her objective, but she couldn’t resist whirling about in them, imagining she was he, the great eccentric genius.

She pressed her face against his shirts, breathing in his scent, suddenly longing for him in the most visceral way. Her body heated, hungering for him, and she considered touching herself, right here in his room, surrounded by the scent of him, and clothing that had touched his body. But she resisted. Wilson was out and about, possibly getting into danger for the sake of her sister and her mother. The least she could do was act constructively toward their shared goal.

Though most of Wilson’s clothes were “town,” she discovered a few items at one end of a wardrobe that seemed more fitted to country wear, and a couple suits of clothes seemed most promising. Both comprised an Argyll jacket and knee breeches, and each was made from a handsome but fairly dark tweed. One had a grayish-blue hue and the other was more brownish, but either would be perfect for creeping around in the shadows and undergrowth.

Adela selected the brown suit, purely for the fact that her hair was brown, and the blue-gray suit would go better with Wilson’s beautiful eyes. She giggled at the silliness of her reasoning.

But what to wear on one’s head with such an ensemble? Wilson rarely wore hats, but he seemed to have one or two, and she picked out a flat cap in a similar tweed to her chosen suit. She would have to wear the simplest of coiffures to the ball if she were to get her hair into the cap’s confines, but it looked as if it might be possible. Gathering up her spoils, she made her way to her bedroom. Who knew what valet’s task Teale might choose to engage in at any moment? And it wouldn’t do for him to find the mistress of the house dressed only in her underpinnings.

Wearing Rational dress style made changing clothes to try on her disguise an easy task. It wasn’t only carnal play that simple clothing facilitated. Stripped to her drawers and her lightly supporting bust bodice, Adela began to wiggle into the breeches. They were a bit of a squeeze, from a combination of the fullness of her drawers and her womanly hips. But at least here was one advantage to being on the scrawny side: it allowed her to get into the breeches at all. And there was some generosity in the seams. She could let them out a little to accommodate her slight curves, and wear a pair of the newer, more slimly cut drawers she’d purchased from Mme Mirielle beneath.

Excellent. Unpinning her hair from its loose knot, Adela gathered it up in hanks and stuffed it beneath the cap as she crammed it on her head. It was a struggle, because her hair was so thick, but with a bit of pushing and poking it all went in.

What a strange boy.

Her reflection looked terribly odd to her, but somehow also attractive. What would Wilson think of her in this ensemble? Would he still desire her? Wicked thoughts of seducing him while she was dressed in his country suit flitted through her mind. Perhaps presenting herself to him as a youth, baring her buttocks not for spanking, but for...for other activities. Lady Southern at the Sewing Circle, for one, had described in the most hair-raising terms how one of her lovers always preferred to plow her that way. And how deliciously and perversely pleasurable it was....

Adela shuddered, trying to imagine it. Would she enjoy it? When Wilson stroked her between the buttocks while they were playing or fucking, it always excited her. But the full act was a very different kettle of fish. She’d never sampled that particular activity during her frolics with Sofia’s boys, although Clarence had once asked her if she wanted to try it, she and Wilson had not yet ventured that way.

What would it be like?

Still in her suit and cap, she laid herself facedown on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Closing her eyes, she pictured Wilson coming up behind her, his face fierce with lust, his eyes burning.

“Show me your arse, lad,” she imagined him commanding roughly. “Let’s have a look at it.”

She would obey, unbuttoning trousers and drawers and pushing them down. She could almost feel his hands manipulating the cheeks of her rear, pushing, pulling. Pulling more, exposing the pouting little vent. Such a little vent...for such a large cock as her husband’s to enter.

Would he pleasure her? Of course he would. This might be a little dramatic performance she was fantasizing about, but it would still be Wilson. Her husband who was even more scrupulous about her pleasure than any gigolo had ever been. While he admired her bare rear and fancied himself sheathed in it, he’d have his hand under her belly, his fingers plying her clitoris in the clever way only he could.