My Kind of Scoundrel, page 11
It was apparent that Pickering could not locate the books. He fumbled about and offered one excuse after another.
Theo lost his temper. “You’ll tell me where those books are, or I shall take you to Bow Street and have you charged with conspiracy.”
“I’m sure you have the information in your ledger,” Miss Darrow added, sounding just as annoyed at Pickering’s dallying. “You will hand it to me, sir, so I may inspect it myself.”
What man could resist the fire in her eyes? Certainly not Pickering. He gave her the ledger before clasping his chubby hands together in prayer.
“I confess. I kept the books. You seemed convinced they were mine, madam, and I thought it better to put them to good use.” A whimper escaped him. “I know nothing about the secret notes or any of the charges you claim.”
“Did anyone ask to borrow those particular books?” Daventry said.
Miss Darrow flicked through the pages, scanning the entries.
“Yes, The Vampyre,” Pickering admitted. “Within days of the lady handing me the book, a customer requested two copies. The solution to my problem seemed simple.”
Theo cursed under his breath. “That doesn’t explain why you stole the books Miss Darrow delivered.”
“It wasn’t stealing. The lady thought they were mine.”
Miss Darrow gasped as she peered at the writing in Pickering’s ledger. “Good heavens. You won’t believe this. Mrs Dunwoody requested two copies of The Vampyre. Is that not the name of the woman who insulted you at the theatre?”
Dunwoody was an unusual surname. “Is there an address listed?” Theo tried to stem his excitement, but the prospect of accusing the hag of a crime had his heart pumping wildly.
“Not in the ledger.”
Pickering piped up. “I keep a separate record of customers’ details.” He rummaged about in his small wagon before appearing at the door. “Mrs Dunwoody lives in Caroline Street. She’s the only Dunwoody with membership.”
Aware of the relevance, Daventry grinned. “I’ll give you a letter granting permission to interview her concerning the crimes against Miss Darrow. She’ll not refuse you when she sees the Home Secretary’s seal.”
Theo could barely contain his elation. “It seems fate has granted me a boon.” He couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk off Mrs Dunwoody’s face.
Miss Darrow mused over the list of books. “Mr Pickering, according to your records, Mrs Dunwoody returned both copies of The Vampyre months ago. They were loaned out again a week later but should be in your wagon.”
As luck would have it, the man found the items they required.
Theo snatched one copy and turned to the bookplate—an image of two turtle doves decorated the inner board. Someone had peeled back the plate and taken the note.
“I am submitting this copy as evidence.” Theo showed it to Miss Darrow. “Is that the plate you were given?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. A pretty picture of two doves.”
The design was an odd choice for a devilish fiend. But if there was no message or recipient, why go to the trouble of having Miss Darrow hide notes and bring them to Pickering’s library?
Did the person who borrowed the books know of the plan?
It was a possibility.
They would know more once they had interrogated Mrs Dunwoody.
However, after another scan of the ledger, Miss Darrow said, “The Vampyre is the only one Mrs Dunwoody borrowed. There’s no pattern here.”
“Perhaps the rogue had another motive,” Daventry said, though offered no further insight.
“What other motive is there for sending blank letters to no one?” Miss Darrow challenged.
That’s when Theo saw there was indeed a pattern. “Perhaps the villain’s motive was to ensure you left your shop.” Hence the demand she deliver them personally. “Where did you meet Pickering’s wagon? And how did you know where to find him?”
“I was told to deliver them at a particular time and location. Always after his last visit in Mayfair.”
“Mayfair? But that’s three miles from the shop.”
“Yes, I took a hackney, though often had to wait up to an hour for Mr Pickering to arrive. He was never there at the agreed time.”
“My customers can be most demanding,” Pickering said, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. “Some request books that are difficult to locate, then are dissatisfied with the copies.”
Skilled at detecting liars, Daventry scanned the librarian with a critical eye. “Bring your ledgers into my study. I wish to record the names of those who borrowed those specific books.”
As one did not negotiate with the devil, Pickering agreed.
Keen to ensure he did not treat Miss Darrow like a hapless female, Theo let her choose their next destination. “Where to now? Do you wish to see Jules, visit Mrs Dunwoody or interrogate your shifty seamstress?”
Miss Darrow nibbled her bottom lip, debating the dilemma. “Logic says we should follow the notes. I cannot think why Mrs Dunwoody would want to lure me away from the shop, but we should confirm she had no part to play before I question Emily.”
They would do more than question Emily.
According to Gibbs, she had tried to access the shop late last night and had left abruptly when she couldn’t unlock the door.
“Come to the study,” Daventry said. “You’ll need an official document if you hope to see Mrs Dunwoody at home.” He glanced at Theo and arched a brow. “Unless you would prefer I accompany Miss Darrow. The woman despises you more than she does her wayward husband.”
“And miss an opportunity to threaten her with arrest?” One look at the Home Secretary’s official seal and Mrs Dunwoody would choke on her own vitriol. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to watch that harpy squirm.”
Caroline Street
Bloomsbury
Theo did not give Mrs Dunwoody’s doddery butler a second chance to refuse them entry. The evil hag was at home. Her loud cackle might be heard as far afield as Gloucester.
“Step aside.” The fire of vengeance burned in Theo’s blood. He would forever blame the Berridge clan for abandoning them when their father died. “It isn’t a request.”
He gripped Miss Darrow’s hand, pulling her across the threshold as he marched into Mrs Dunwoody’s Bloomsbury abode.
“Wait,” she whispered, tugging his hand to halt his progress. “You’re like a wolf baying for blood. You must keep a tight rein on your temper. As an intelligent man, you know this situation calls for brains, not brawn.”
The gentle squeeze of her hand settled his thundering pulse. Theo cast her a sidelong glance, wondering how someone so dainty had the power to calm his restless spirit.
“A few week ago, you said I had the brains of a donkey.”
“Because you’re stubborn and calculating. Donkeys have good survival instincts. All things considered, they’re clever animals.”
“You’re saying I should be pleased I’m an ass?” He wasn’t sure why, but the need to see her laugh was as compelling as the need to kiss her again.
Her chuckle did something strange to his insides. “You should be ecstatic. A donkey’s ability to adapt to its environment is a quality to be admired. So, the goal today is to be assertive, not aggressive.”
He bowed his head. “I thank you for your counsel. I shall remain composed in the face of adversity.”
It should have been easy, but Mrs Dunwoody was having tea with Lady Lucille and Theo’s estranged cousin, the insipid Viscount Wrotham.
Wrotham nearly slipped off the French bergere chair when he saw them. “What the devil are you doing here, Chance? Perhaps you got lost on your way to a bordello.”
“Why would I be in need of a bordello? I am betrothed to Miss Darrow. No woman alive possesses her allure.”
Lady Lucille inhaled sharply.
Mrs Dunwoody sucked in her cheeks. “Tribbings!” she yelled, shooing the Persian cat off her lap. “I said you were to turn this thankless wretch away.”
Theo withdrew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Mrs Dunwoody. “I’m here on a matter of national security.” They did not need to know the letter Daventry gave him related to a different case. “As you can see, I come at the behest of the Home Secretary.”
Wrotham snorted. “Obviously it’s a forgery. What would a respectable man like Melbourne want with a gaming hell owner?”
Retrieving the eyeglass dangling from a chain around her neck, Mrs Dunwoody scrutinised the seal. “It’s a crime to impersonate a peer. Not that anyone would believe you were of good stock. You’re like windfall in an orchard—rotten to the core.”
Theo kept his cool reserve.
Miss Darrow was right. Calmness brought clarity. Yet the lady had trouble following her own advice.
“And you’re the fruit picked first,” Miss Darrow said, albeit with some eloquence. “You’re hard and so dreadfully bitter.”
Theo chuckled. He couldn’t help but admire her insight.
“Says the nobody dressmaker. Though once my friends learn of your shoddy taste, the only ladies you’ll dress are those walking the streets at night.”
“Why would anyone trust your word?” Miss Darrow countered. “You say your husband is in Boston on business when everyone knows he’s living in Hastings with an opera singer half his age.”
Lady Lucille gasped.
Mrs Dunwoody dropped her eyeglass and stared in stupefied silence. Twice, she opened her mouth, but only air came out.
“What is it you want?” Lady Lucille asked in a haughty tone. “Be warned, my father will speak to Lord Melbourne to confirm your claim.”
“Your father, not your betrothed?” Theo glanced at his pathetic cousin. “What do you say, Wrotham? Are you happy to play the docile pug? Will you roll over at the lady’s command?”
Lady Lucille answered for him. “I shall be Lord Wrotham’s responsibility once we wed next spring. Until then, I trust my father to act in my stead.”
“How strange,” Miss Darrow mused, looking at Theo like he was a god amongst men. “I’m quite confident Mr Chance would fight an army to protect me and I don’t even have a dowry.”
Wrotham snorted. “Why would Chance need a dowry? He fleeces the lords of the ton six nights a week.”
Theo firmed his stance, his amusement dissipating. “Are you accusing me of cheating, Wrotham? Have a care. I’ll be glad of an excuse to call you out.”
Mrs Dunwoody was quick to avert disaster. “Good grief! I am being violated in my own home.” She waved the letter at Theo. “Explain what you want then get out.”
Theo snatched the letter and slipped it into his pocket. “You requested two copies of The Vampyre from Pickering’s library.”
Mrs Dunwoody’s face was a masterpiece of disbelief. “What on earth has my taste in literature got to do with the Home Secretary?”
Wrotham tittered. “I told you the letter was a forgery.”
“A secret message lay concealed beneath the bookplate,” Theo continued, unperturbed by their tittering. “The sender is wanted in connection with serious offences. He may be a spy passing messages to an operative in London.” It was not a lie. The villain could be a foreign agent using Miss Darrow to deliver his communications.
“A spy?” Lucille Bowman frowned. “For whom?”
“We’re not at liberty to say. But we need to know why you requested two copies of that book. The London operative would have known the note was hidden inside.”
Mrs Dunwoody chuckled like the notion was farcical. “For goodness’ sake, you really are your father’s son. Always looking to bring others down to your level. I ask you. Do I look like a woman who would entertain a spy?”
While Theo battled to keep his temper—finding answers was the priority—Miss Darrow jumped to his defence.
“You don’t look like a woman who would lie to her friends. You’re hardly in a position to accuse others of dishonesty.”
Cheeks aflame, Mrs Dunwoody scowled. “Mind your tongue, gal. Get out. Get out before I have Tribbings throw you out.”
“Tribbings hasn’t the strength to hang a coat on the stand,” Miss Darrow countered. “If you insist on us leaving, we must place you under arrest. The Home Secretary granted us the power to take any suspects into custody. And you have not answered our questions sufficiently.”
Theo looked at the woman whose kisses could start a war. It was good to see Miss Darrow’s confidence return. He admired her tenacity. Most women would still be abed, nursing a head injury.
“I’m to blame,” Lucille Bowman confessed. “I suggested we all read the same book and compare notes. After borrowing one copy of The Vampyre from the Minerva Press, I asked Mrs Dunwoody if Pickering had two copies. We were surprised he did, but the man has his sources.”
Theo glanced at the lady who turned his stomach. “Did you slice through the bookplate and remove the hidden letter?”
“I wouldn’t dream of defacing another person’s property.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her.
Hadn’t she proved to be false-hearted?
“What was your opinion of the book?” Miss Darrow asked. “I’m surprised you would want to read about a monster who preys on the upper classes. But then the fiend is a member of the aristocracy.”
All three suspects turned as pale as the vampire in the tale.
It was apparent none had read past the introduction.
“It’s utter twaddle,” the viscount said.
“It’s against the laws of nature,” Mrs Dunwoody was quick to add. “Who’s ever heard of a man thirsting for blood? Well, except for that barbarian you call a brother. Aaron Chance is like a rabid dog. I hear his body is littered with scars.”
A heavy silence descended.
Theo could barely see through anger’s red mist.
Every muscle tensed, primed to attack.
No one criticised Aaron, not in Theo’s company.
“None of us tampered with the silly book,” Lady Lucille said in a panic. “None of us intercepted this hidden letter. Surely someone borrowed the book after us. Speak to them. Now, I think you should leave.”
The devil’s own fury burned in Theo’s veins.
Had a man slandered Aaron, he’d be picking his teeth off the floor. As much as he despised Mrs Dunwoody, he would not threaten a woman.
He didn’t need to.
Miss Darrow leapt to his aid.
“Connections are everything, are they not?” Miss Darrow said, glaring at the matron who possessed Lucifer’s tongue.
“What would a modiste know about connections?”
“You would be surprised what secrets ladies share with their modiste. I know the identity of the person who writes the Scandal Sheet. Do purchase next week’s copy. There will be a delicious story about a cad who left his wife to live in Hastings with an opera singer half his age.”
Mrs Dunwoody’s cheeks ballooned and her eyes bulged like saucers. “Spread lies about me, gal, and I’ll have you hauled to court.”
“You should spend less time making idle threats and more on your appearance.” Like a goddess of war, she pointed at Theo’s cowardly cousin. “Perhaps consult with Lord Wrotham’s valet and have him demonstrate the use of a blade. You have more whiskers than your Persian cat.”
Miss Darrow did not bid them good day but took Theo’s arm and marched through the hall before exiting onto Caroline Street.
“That woman would drive a priest to murder,” she growled, releasing her frustration. “If I made her a gown, I would sew fleas into the hem. They’d bite her whenever she sat down.”
That’s when Theo laughed.
He laughed so hard his sides ached. “Fleas into the hem?”
She started laughing, too, and they had to hold on to each other lest they fell to the pavement, giggling wrecks. “Or lice to the inside of a bonnet.”
He was crying now. Tears of joy streamed down his face.
Miss Darrow brought light to the darkness. She was a source of strength in trying times. A muse that stirred his passions. She was utterly unique.
Chapter Ten
The corners of Mr Chance’s eyes crinkled. He put his hand to his chest and laughed again. He couldn’t seem to stop. “You’ve got more whiskers than your Persian cat,” he said, mimicking Eleanor’s voice. “I swear, the look on Mrs Dunwoody’s face was priceless.”
Eleanor watched him from the opposite side of the carriage. She liked the sound of his laugh. The rich, resonant notes spoke of mischief and raw masculinity. She liked that his eyes shone bluer than a tropical sea. Never had she wanted to dive inside a man and explore his hidden depths.
“What happened to remaining calm?” he chuckled.
“Mrs Dunwoody insulted you and your family. After all you have been through, I couldn’t leave without putting her in her place.”
She despised bullies. They hid behind words or the weight of their fists. Vile comments were their weapons of choice, blades sharpened to slay anyone who discovered their dirty little secret—that a weakling lived beneath the mask of aggression.
“Well, I am in your debt. You used your brains while I was seconds away from unleashing a tempest.” His amused expression faded. “I’m built to withstand insults unless they’re aimed at my family.”
“Your love for your family is to be commended. It’s clear they mean a lot to you.”
“They’re all I have.”
She nodded, but the vast emptiness inside reminded her she had no one special. “If I loved someone, I would tell them every day. I wouldn’t leave them doubting the depth of my affection.”
His gaze softened. “Did you tell your father every day?”
The question took her by surprise. “No. He was a hard man to like.” She had pitied her father and blamed herself for his misery. How could she love someone who made her feel worthless? “I have never loved anyone, Mr Chance.”
A look passed between them.
A silent communication neither dared to voice.
He breathed a heavy sigh. “When you do, I expect your love will radiate in every honest word and deed. The beauty of it will leave the recipient in no doubt of your devotion.”
