His Dark and Dangerous Ways Page 2

  “Now, please go away,” she said. “If anyone from Lady Harwood’s house should see us I could lose my position, and I need it. Being an instructor of the dance is a departure for a female, but that is all, I repeat: all that I am. Be a good fellow now, will you? Move along.”

  “You haven’t heard my proposal,” he said mildly. “It could be greatly to your benefit, and is no risk to your virtue or morals. But if we stand here fighting someone will surely note it. I suggest you look down the street, to your right. Yes. There’s a vendor standing there in that cloud of smoke. He’s selling hot chestnuts, meat pies, and the like. Please point in that direction, as though I asked you where a fellow could get something warm to eat. Then go there yourself. Buy something. Stand there and eat it. I’ll be there too, and will manage to ask you what I must without compromising you, I promise.”

  She hesitated. He sounded like he had a great deal of experience in clandestine matters.

  “I’ve done this sort of thing before,” he said, catching her unspoken thought. “But in the past I dealt with men of other nations and loyalties. I’ve never been caught. And never fear, I am a loyal Englishman.”

  She believed it. He was a gentleman, and there was something about him that spoke of his being used to command. Besides, she couldn’t just stand there and argue, and he was obviously not going to go away. Jane sniffed, turned, and marched down to the vendor who stood amidst the clouds of steam coming up from the various puffing and hissing pots on his corner stand. She ordered a meat pasty. As he lifted the lid, another puff of smoke arose. She relaxed a little. Between the steam and the gray lowering day maybe no one would see her, after all. She took the hot little pie, and stood to the side, moving it from hand to hand, letting it cool.

  Then she noticed the gentleman again. He was standing to one side in the shifting vapors; a cloaked shadow. “I need to know,” he said in a low, velvety voice, “about Lady Harwood’s visitors.”

  “What?” she asked. “Then why bother me? Simmons knows everything.”

  “And tells everything to his employer,” the gentleman said mildly. “I think you would not, if asked not to do so.”

  “You want me to spy?”

  “Well, yes. In a light and friendly way,” he said with amusement. “No one would be hurt. Rather you might do a world of good. I need to know when and how often various people visit my lady.”

  “I’d hardly know that!” she exclaimed. “I’m only there two days a week. And with the children then, at that.”

  “But you do go to the kitchens for a cup of tea every time, and you hear everything that happened all week, do you not? Whether you want to or not,” he added.

  She nodded; it was true. Gossip was the tastiest part of the servants’ dull lives in such houses.

  “You suspect my lady of treason, or worse?” she asked, trying to sound incredulous. But who knew what the ton got up to? The war was over, but Napoleon was alive, and spies were still said to be everywhere. She bit down on the meat pasty as she waited for him to answer. She didn’t want it, couldn’t afford the luxury, but she couldn’t let it get cold.

  “You’ll be paid very well,” the gentleman said. “We’ll meet here and there, I always pay my debts. Oh. I am Simon Atwood, Lord Granger.”

  She stiffened, and stopped chewing.

  “Yes,” he said, “a colorful reputation precedes me. Most of it isn’t true. What is, is highly elaborated. But doubtless, you also know that whatever my sins, I am not said to be a cad or a wastrel.”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Then, we have a bargain?”

  She considered it. She’d tell him nothing he wouldn’t find out from any other servant in the house.

  “You wouldn’t be the only one I’d speak to,” he added. “But I must insist on your never mentioning this to anyone else. Anyone. I’d know, believe me. Besides, I’ve heard you’re a young woman with morals and discretion.”

  More morals and discretion than money, she thought. He’d offered to pay her. And after all, what harm would it do? She shrugged. “If that’s all it is, then we do.”

  “It is. And we do then have a bargain,” he said. The vendor lifted the cover off a pan of chestnuts, and between one rising gust of smoke and the next, the gentleman was gone.

  Jane finished her meat pasty, sighed, and began to move on.

  “Miss!” the vendor cried.

  She looked back. He held out a wadded packet to her. “You paid me too much, Miss. Here you go!” She frowned. “I don’t think so. Are you sure?”

  “As sin,” he said, giving her the packet and a wink.

  She took it, thanked him, and walked away. She only stopped in her tracks after she’d unfolded the packet and saw how many banknotes there were in it.

  Chapter 2

  Later that evening, in a tall town house in the best section of Town, a gentleman paused as he poured cognac into a goblet for his seated friend. “Did you really have to go to such lengths?” he asked, looking at his guest. “It sounds like you’re employing half the lady’s household.”

  Simon sighed. “Proctor, you asked me to investigate, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I asked you to investigate the comings and goings of one young man. My brother. But now you say you’ve employed many others in the lady’s household. I can see your interest in observant maids, cooks, and footmen. But a dance instructor? One that isn’t even a resident there? Did you have to go so far? Too many spies spoil the outcome. They’ll talk to each other, and it will all come to nothing.”

  “No. I’ve told them that if they talk to anyone but me, they get nothing. And they believe me.”

  His host handed Simon the goblet of cognac. “It’s costly and time-consuming,” he said ruefully. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought it would put you to such trouble.”

  Simon accepted his glass, stretched out his legs, and smiled at his host. Viscount Delancey was a tall thin gentleman who looked much older than his three and thirty years; both older and unhealthier. It had always been so, even years ago at school when they had met. The viscount wore spectacles and had begun to lose his hair early. He was pale and spindly, and when he coughed, people winced, because it seemed a premonition, and not a good one. But he’d never had a sick day Simon knew of, and he believed his friend would likely outlive him unless there was some accident. Which, in the viscount’s line of work, was not impossible.

  The men were the same age and height, but it would be difficult to find two men more unalike. The viscount was reedy and walked head thrust out, like a turtle. Simon walked tall, and his lean frame was muscular. Where the viscount was bald, Simon had thick black overlong hair that brushed his high collar. He looked elegant, but slightly dangerous. His cheekbones were high, his nose aquiline, and his mouth firm but shapely.

  No one noticed the viscount’s mouth, although on close observation it could be seen to be pale and thin-lipped. Simon had arched black brows; his smile had made many a female sigh, and his frown had frightened grown men. The viscount had no eyebrows to speak of, and no one, male or female, sighed over his smile or felt threatened by his frown. And while the viscount had faded blue eyes behind his spectacles, Simon’s were dark and alert. But neither man was known to miss much.

  They’d both been agents for England before Napoleon had been bottled up at Elba. The viscount had never been so much as suspected of intrigue, and so he still worked in and at secrecy. It was Simon who had been captured and undergone the physical privation and pain, though it was impossible to guess that at a glance or even with a longer look. He’d escaped whole in body.

  “No trouble,” Simon told his friend. “It’s not much money. And I can hardly stand like a lawn ornament on the lady’s front step and watch the comings and goings there. So I need informants. I’m curious now. The lady is charming and lovely, intelligent and rich as well. It seems she could land anyone. And you say it’s young Richard she’s after? It doesn’t make sense. She’s too clev
er to let passion rule her now, at least so far as matrimony. Not saying anything against your brother, Proctor, but he doesn’t seem the sort to inspire such mindless lust in an experienced lady. So what could it be? As for putting a stick in her wheel, well, if she is after such a youth, I don’t see the problem. I tend to side with the victim. Richard doesn’t seem to be suffering.”

  He held up his goblet to salute his host. “To tell truth, Proctor, I can’t see any red-blooded young man in her clutches as a victim. And so I wonder…I’ve been bored and at loose ends since I came home. Actually, it’s been dismal for me. You knew it. My concern is if you really have a problem, or if you’re only making work to give me something to do.”

  “You wouldn’t be concerned if your younger brother was about to be seduced into marriage by an older woman?” the viscount asked, his eyebrows rising.

  “I haven’t one,” Simon admitted. “But I don’t think I would be, if she looked and spoke like Lady Harwood.”

  “And she an experienced female, a widow known for her extravagance?” the viscount said. “Her late husband was twice her age. I don’t know if she cared for him but it’s easy to see she certainly doesn’t care for the single state. She’s been out with half the men in Town since the day her official mourning period ended. Now, she concentrates on Richard. It appears she thinks a boy would be as malleable as a doting old man. Except that the boy is my heir and I dislike the thought of all this going to her.” He waved a hand to indicate his entire town house.

  Simon silently agreed it was a pretty piece of property, but he couldn’t see much to covet. True, the viscount’s house was in an elite district and on a fashionable row. The rooms were large and airy, but just as spare and no-nonsense as their owner was. Here in his study, there was a desk, chairs, table, lamp, all that was necessary, and nothing more, except for a few aged sporting prints on the walls. Certainly nothing eye-catching or noteworthy. The viscount’s estate in the north, so far as Simon could remember from a boyhood visit, was an impressive structure with good land, but the house wasn’t memorable either.

  “I don’t see a terrible problem,” Simon mused. “The ‘boy’ is of age. He’s one and twenty. He hasn’t funds of his own, or so you said, so where’s the problem?”

  “He’s my heir,” the viscount repeated stiffly. “She’s likely looking forward to that.”

  “Even so. She’ll have to look forward for a lifetime. Unless you have some complaint I don’t know of?”

  “I do not,” the viscount said.

  “So? Where’s the difficulty? If his liaisons distress you, you’re not too old to have a child.”

  The viscount waved a thin hand. “I was married for three years and didn’t produce an heir. I don’t want to go through the whole process again. Not because of a broken heart, Simon, or a dislike of females. They’re well enough, in their place, which is not my house. Henrietta was a good woman, but I discovered I like my solitude and disliked catering to anyone. Whatever they say about a man being lord of the house, I found that if he wants peace, a man must cater to his wife. And besides, I happen to like my brother.”

  “He’s your half brother,” Simon said. “Or does that make a difference?”

  “It makes him better suited to the task of carrying on the name than I am,” the viscount said. “He usually has a good head on his shoulders. He’s athletic, and charming. I supply him with an adequate allowance so he’ll never live in penury, because he’ll make a fine master of the property and title one day. I want to leave that to him. He is feckless, true. But he’s young. I think he’s the youngest fellow his age I’ve ever seen. He’ll grow up—if he marries when he’s adult enough to understand his responsibilities and take them on, and not let his wife do that.”

  As Simon wondered just what sort of marriage his friend had experienced, the viscount added, “And you’re no one to talk, Simon. You never wed and don’t seem to be looking to do so. Though you were never a rake by any means, I hear that you’ve had little to nothing to do with females since you returned to England. Just look at you. The style is for close-cropped hair, and what do you do but let it grow long as a Gypsy might do.”

  “The surgeons cropped my hair to heal my fever,” Simon said casually. “They said it was draining my energy, when in fact they were doing that. I don’t like the idea of shearing it all off again. And you know I never gave a damn about fashion.”

  His friend sighed. “Yes, and now you’re about to set a new fashion because women seem to like the look of you even more now, if that’s possible. But you don’t do more than look at them now, do you? You used to enjoy a liaison or two, now and then, as I recall. In fact,” he said, turning to his decanter of cognac again, “there was talk of you being rather indiscriminate when you first returned from France, which was unusual for you. You were never one to go in for barmaids and opera dancers. Still, that phase soon passed. And so far as I can see…”

  “Or so far as your associates can,” Simon put in sardonically.

  “Yes, exactly, we don’t frequent the same places do we? Some of my friends do, however. I was surprised at your taking up with such females at the time, and so many of them. Now I’m surprised to hear that you’re playing the monk. For the past months you haven’t seen any females, of any sort, socially. Nor have you frequented any places except for your clubs and the homes of old friends.”

  “Shame on me,” Simon muttered into his goblet. “No dances, no balls, no masquerades or house parties. No taverns or houses of fragrant repute, or even any green rooms backstage. Gone off the pursuit of females?” His expression grew serious. “Simon, did anything happen during your captivity in France that I don’t know about? You were examined by our physicians when you got out, and declared in fine fettle for a man who’d been imprisoned the best part of a year, but if there is something amiss we do have the best leeches in London at our disposal.”

  “Good for us,” Simon said. He shook his head. “No, the only thing wrong is my mood. I don’t want any entanglements just yet, of any kind. I need to sort things out and I have to be alone to do that. Sorry if my monkishness offends you. I didn’t know you lived vicariously.”

  “Now, now,” the viscount said. “You know I have an understanding with a lady in Town. I was worried about you.”

  “Don’t,” Simon said. “Just tell me: is this pursuit you’ve assigned me due to fear of your brother being captured in wedlock by Lady Lydia a real worry, or a device for my benefit?”

  “It isn’t a device for your benefit, it’s for mine. My fears are real.”

  “That surprises me,” Simon murmured. “The lady isn’t evil, or poor, now. Her parents arranged her previous marriage to save the family from bankruptcy. They did that and then some. But the old man was kind to her, by all accounts. She’s got the money in her own right now. I can’t see her in the role of predator. Richard is probably just flattered by her attention. And she’s probably just amused by him. She needs amusement after such a marriage. Why don’t you just have a talk with him?”

  “If you had a younger brother, you’d understand,” Proctor said, sighing. “If I tell him she’s unsuitable, he’ll marry her out of hand. I can say nothing.”

  “I’ll indulge you in this for a while, Proctor, because of old times and old favors,” Simon said, rising to his feet and stretching. “I’m investigating, and will report to you, as asked. I’ll be a frequent visitor to the lady’s salon. I’ll flirt with her. But if she gets the impression I’m serious about her, I’ll leave instantly. I won’t mislead her or you. That’s one of the reasons I’ve hired on so many servants at her house. If I can’t be there in person, I’ll have ears and eyes there anyway.” He cocked his head to the side. “You know, you might try calling there yourself.”

  “Likely I shall. But you first, Simon; because you’ll attract others in the ton to her side. You may not care or credit it, but you’re intensely eligible: wealthy, back on the Town again, handsome and single. The lad
y wants her salon to be a success. When word gets out that you visit there, other gentlemen will follow. The more competition Richard has, the better. Thus, everyone will be happy.”

  “Mostly you,” Simon said. “I’ll do my best, Proctor. But remember: if the lady takes a liking to me, I’m off the case.”

  “And if you take a liking to her?”

  Simon smiled. “I do like her. But there’s no way on earth I’ll love her. I’m not ready to get entangled with any female just now, in any way, physically or mentally.”

  Proctor frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want to visit with a physician again?”

  “I’m certain. What I need is time for reflection. I didn’t like imprisonment, but it taught me the value of both freedom and contemplation. I’m weary,” he added, closing his eyes for a moment. “But don’t feel guilty,” he said quickly, looking at his host again. “I admit I need a bit of livening up. When I’m done with this favor to you, which is probably also a favor to me, I’m going home.

  I need rest and peace, and no living female can provide that.”

  Simon paused. That had been a lie. No rest or peace came to him these days from any source. His nights were ruined by memories of being alone in the dark in a dungeon deep in the living earth, wondering if he’d survive to see the light again. He actually slept with a lamp near his bed, like a child, and hated himself for the comfort it gave him.

  Now he strolled to the door and went out into the hall. He accepted his hat and cloak from a footman. Then he sketched a bow to his friend. “So thanks and good night, old friend. I’ll see you soon, or as soon as need be.” He tipped a finger to his hat in salute, and left the house.

  Jane’s hands shook. So did the banknotes she held. So much money! This must be an immoral thing to do, she thought guiltily. In her experience, morality paid little. So this offer of money in exchange for information about Lady Harwood definitely had to be wrong. But how wrong was it to merely watch, listen, and then tell someone who came to one of her employer’s houses? It was a puzzle, one she had to solve alone.