Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel (38 page)

“Blackmail.” Ashworth whistled low through his teeth. “And you think someone’s recognized you?”

Julian nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

“But I don’t follow,” Ashworth said. “It was just a horse race, and years ago now. Why would they kill to protect that secret?”

“It wasn’t just a horse race,” the duke said. “Fortunes were gambled and lost. Men were ruined. If the plot were ever known, the conspirators would be permanently barred from not only the Jockey Club, but most of polite society.”

“So they’d commission a murder just to save face?” Ashworth shrugged. “I suppose men have killed for less.”

“It could be something else,” Julian said. “This coffeehouse where I learned of this race-fixing scheme … gentlemen came there every day to discuss their secrets. Political secrets, business secrets,
affaires
of the heart. If someone has recognized me, who knows what else he thinks I
might
have overheard. That’s why it’s impossible for me to identify my attacker. I need Stone and Macleod.”

“That’s assuming Stone and Macleod are actually the men who killed Leo. Shouldn’t we at least have Faraday identify them first?”

Julian leveled his pistol toward the riverbank, checking the sight. “We leave Faraday out of this. I’m not sure he can be trusted.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“Today,” Claudia vowed, “victory will be mine.”

“Perhaps.” Her opponent did not look up from arranging the backgammon board. “Your play has seen moderate improvement.”

“
Moderate
improvement? I nearly won yesterday.”

He nudged the last group of black markers into a precise line. “Do you know the difference between ‘nearly winning’ and defeat, my dear?”

She shook her head.

“There isn’t one.”

Claudia pretended to pout. “The dice, if you will.”

Feigned petulance aside, Claudia liked Peter Faraday. She liked him a great deal. He’d been a most welcome addition to the household. Amelia and Spencer were always busy with their obligations, or each other. Now she had a fellow invalid, a captive companion. Like her, Mr. Faraday was confined to the sitting room and scarcely able to move without a servant’s assistance. They spent most of the day together, and typically part of the evening too. They played backgammon and cards. When they tired of games, he read aloud from the newspaper whilst she worked on a baby quilt or simply rested her eyes. Claudia didn’t care much about the content of the newspaper articles, but she enjoyed listening to his witty commentary.

She enjoyed listening to him, in general. He had a very pleasant voice, Mr. Faraday did, with a rich, soothing timbre and an accent that bespoke education and good breeding. He was very handsome, in a way that recalled Mr. Bellamy, but with less flash and more refinement. A true gentleman, Claudia thought. Quick to jest, but never belittling.

He asked her questions, about everything from her childhood to her pregnancy. Not that Claudia was unused to being questioned, but it was a rare pleasure to have someone truly
listen
to her answers. She’d told him all about Amelia and Spencer, and what she could remember of her late parents. She’d even talked honestly of her foolish tryst with that horrid tutor in York, and Mr. Faraday hadn’t been the least bit judgmental or cross. Just interested. She could talk to him of anything.

They got on well, indeed.

She rolled the dice and moved her tokens accordingly. “Would you like to marry me?”

Poor man. He’d spent a week at Morland House, and this was the first time Claudia had seen him stunned speechless.

“I beg your pardon?” he finally said.

“Did you not understand me? I thought I made myself rather clear. I’m asking if you’d like to marry me.”

She sensed him mulling over a response, and she sipped at her glass of tepid lemonade, giving him time.

When he still didn’t reply, she tried to put his mind at ease. “Don’t be concerned, Mr. Faraday. I’m not so foolish as to imagine I’m in love with you. But we get on well, don’t we?” She patted the squirming mass in her belly. If this babe’s behavior in the womb was any indication, Claudia was in for trouble years down the line. Still, she loved the bothersome, soon-to-be-squalling lump. “Any day now, I shall give birth. And I want to keep my baby.”

“Then keep it you shall.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me the duke is insisting you either marry or give the child away?”

“No, no. Spencer and Amelia say they’ll support me, whatever I decide. But there’s no denying our lives will go easier if I do wed. And I thought perhaps you might like to be a father. You seem well-suited to fatherhood, and this could be your chance to have a child without … you know, the nuisance of impregnating a wife.”

“The nuisance,” he repeated, incredulous. “The
nuisance
of impregnating a wife? Just how miserable a lover was this music master, anyway?”

“Bad indeed. But that’s not my point.” With a glance to the corridor for servants, she leaned toward him as much as her pregnant belly would allow and whispered, “You
are
a molly, aren’t you?”

He was very careful not to react. Instead, he unstoppered the decanter of lemonade and freshened her glass.

“It’s all right,” she assured him quickly. “I’m very good at keeping secrets. And no one else has noticed, I’m sure. You know how it is, being homebound. I don’t have anything else to do with myself, but sit and notice things.”

“But how …?”

She smiled. “Easy. Your eyes follow the footmen, not the maids. And you fancy the tall one with the square jaw, don’t you? So do I. He has perfectly lovely calves. And that arse …” She propped her chin on her hand and released a languid sigh. “Sad for us both, my lady’s maid says he’s devoted to his sweetheart. She’s a seamstress, I hear. Still, that’s no reason we can’t look. We must contrive to drop a great many objects when he’s about, so he will have to pick them up.”

“Why, Lady Claudia.” He sat back in his chair and studied her. A bewildered smile slowly crooked his lips. “You are a truly remarkable young woman.”

Claudia allowed herself a small moment of satisfaction. It was high time someone noticed that. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

“No, my dear,” he said gently. “I can’t marry you. But I think I would very much like to be your friend.”

“A friend can’t give my baby a name.”

“No. There, you will be on your own. But you will do splendidly.”

She slumped back in her chair. “I don’t know how I’m going to care for a child. I can’t even keep myself out of trouble, most days.”

“Claudia, listen to me. I’ve spent the past week learning all about you. Would you like to know what I’ve learned?”

She shrugged.

“You are intelligent, forthright, curious. Extraordinarily perceptive. Unafraid to take risks. You will not be bound by nonsensical rules. These qualities may have made you an awkward girl, but mark my words—they will one day make you an exceptional woman. And a good mother. Of that, I am sure.”

A welling tear made her vision wavy, and Claudia dabbed at it with impatience. “You’re the only one who’s kind to me.”

“That’s not true. Your cousin and his wife are very good to you, indeed. They love you, even if they don’t always understand you. And someday, you will meet the man who both loves
and
understands you. If there’s any justice in the world, he will also possess a square jaw and well-turned calves. Don’t settle for less.”

“Settling is the best I can expect. An unwed mother of a natural child? I won’t have the opportunity to be choosy. I can’t even have a season.”

His eyes were kind. “Oh, I think you will. Years from now, you will return to London as a strong, independent, beautiful, and deliciously scandalous lady. Believe me, the men will be powerless to resist.” Collecting the dice, he said, “I shall make it a point to attend your first ball, just to gloat over my accurate prediction.”

“Truly?” She cast a glance at his hobbled leg, thinking it rather brave of him to contemplate attending balls. “Then you must be my partner for the first dance.”

“It’s a bargain.”

They shook hands over the backgammon board. A mild cramp seized her abdomen, and Claudia winced.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“Yes, yes.” She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “I have these twinges most every day now. False labor, the doctor called it.” She rubbed her domed belly in small circles until the tightness eased. This was nothing, compared to those frightening episodes in her early pregnancy. The pain and blood …

“What about you, Mr. Faraday?” she asked, trying to distract herself with a change of subject. “Have you been in love?”

His gaze cut away. “Yes.”

“But it didn’t end well.”

“No, it didn’t.” He rolled the dice, then stared at them. “It ended very badly indeed.”

There was a deep, unsettling sadness in his mien. It made Claudia want to comfort him, but she didn’t know how. She took a long sip of lemonade instead. “But you’re certain it’s worth waiting for?” she asked, wiping her mouth. “Love?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “It’s worth waiting for, Claudia. It’s worth living and dying and killing for. It’s everything.”

“Ah!”

Pain, sudden and excruciating, clamped down on her womb like a vise. It robbed her of breath for a moment. Just when she thought it would ebb, it returned with even greater force, wrenching a scream from her throat. The room looked washed in orange and red, the color of alarm. This wasn’t false labor; this was something very
wrong
. She instantly rued every instance in which she’d disregarded the doctor’s orders or ignored Amelia’s advice. Perhaps she shouldn’t have climbed the stairs that morning. Perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten that rich pudding last night …

Please
, she silently prayed.
Please let the bothersome lump be unharmed
.

“Mr. Faraday,” she panted, “I …” Another surge of pain. She gritted her teeth. “Something’s wrong. I need help.”

But Mr. Faraday—injured, hobbled Mr. Faraday—was already out of his chair …

And striding quickly from the room.

“Give it here, if you will.” Lily took the paper from Amelia’s grasp and scanned it quickly. A half-hour’s cajoling and several dozen nutmeats had resulted in a full page of avian ramblings. “It’s all the usual,” she noted with disappointment.

Oh, Julian. Guilty, guilty. Thank you, that will be all
.

Endless permutations of the above, interspersed with whistles and squawks.

Then, toward the bottom of the page, she noted something new.

“‘Mr. James Bell,’” she read aloud. “Now that’s amusing. I wonder how he picked that up.”

“An acquaintance of yours?” Meredith asked.

“In a way.”

Lily was momentarily transported back to that darkened theater pit, seated on a cushioned bench aside her bookish, bespectacled beau. She’d been so amazed at his ability to transform his appearance and seem an entirely different man. Now, after these weeks of marriage, it amazed her that no one else saw him as she did. Society recognized Julian Bellamy as a collection of wild hair and wilder clothes and loud, brash behavior, never taking note of the man beneath. A quietly handsome man, with sincere blue eyes and a passion for fairness. Keen intelligence, and a thoughtful, tender way.

That
man was her husband.

The plain truth of it is, I have always been unworthy of you. You don’t know the half of what I’ve done
.

“I think,” Lily said slowly, “Mr. James Bell may be more than a mere acquaintance.”

Amelia jumped on her chair. “Oh. He just said something new. Just now.” She beckoned for the paper, and Lily gave it quickly.

Craning her neck, she watched over Amelia’s shoulder as her friend inscribed a single word.

“Jericho,” Lily read aloud. “Well, that’s not terribly helpful. Is it?”

“Could mean anything,” Meredith agreed. “Perhaps one of his previous owners was fond of scripture. It could be a servant’s name, or even the bird’s name.”

“Or a ship,” Amelia said. “That was Michael’s first assignment in the Navy. I’ll never forget it, having written him so many letters that year. He sailed from Plymouth on the HMS
Jericho
. The vessel’s been retired now. I remember he pointed it out to me once when we traveled to—” She grabbed Lily’s arm, and her eyes went wide. “To Greenwich. The
Jericho
is now moored in the Thames, near Woolwich. It’s a prison hulk.”

“A prison hulk?” Lily’s heart jumped into her throat.

“Now wait. That’s a very big leap,” Meredith warned. “And we could be making it in the wrong direction entirely.”

“I know. I know you’re right,” Lily replied, the gears of her mind clicking at a furious whir. “But it’s the only direction we have.” How many miles was it to Woolwich? Ten? Fifteen? How fast could the carriage take her there? “We must leave immediately. There’s not a moment to waste.”

But before she could even rise from her chair, Swift entered the room. The aging butler extended a salver, on which lay a haphazardly folded note.