Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 158
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Luke had known that coming to see Portia would put him in a better frame of mind after last night’s ominous realization that Joel was the Red Carnation and had most likely been kidnapped by his own damned uncle.
That in itself would have been grim enough, but, for Luke, the implications for their match made it even worse.
After all, with this fairly sure confirmation that her precious Joel was indeed still alive, and soon to be rescued by Silversmoke and his gang at the next Carnevale, Luke could not deny he’d begun to feel a twinge of anxiety about how Portia would react once she got her gambler back safe, as promised.
However.
After that winsome encounter in the garden just now, with the taste of her ardent kiss still lingering on his tongue, he was walking on air, feeling wonderfully certain that, come what may, the wedding was most definitely on.
For it to be otherwise at this point would simply tear his heart out.
Determined to become a true part of this family, he sprang lightly up the stairs into the morning room.
“Good morning, Lord Liddicoat!” He strode in with a smile. “How are you today, sir?”
“Ah, Fountainhurst.” The portly marquess turned to him with a sleepy-eyed blink. “Didn’t realize you’d popped by.”
Luke nodded and joined his future father-in-law before the budgie’s spacious wicker cage. “I came to pay my respects to your daughter before I leave Town. I’m off to Gracewell to make sure everything’s in order for our gathering. Did my coachman send over the directions for your drive tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes, yes, we’re all sorted.”
“Excellent,” Luke said.
Then the marquess fell silent, standing there, hands in pockets, gazing at his little pet bird, who stared back at him.
As the seconds ticked past without another word from the man, Luke wasn’t sure what to do, what this silence might signify—if he was supposed to go away now, dismissed, or if Lord Liddicoat was standing there stewing with disapproval.
Perhaps Portia’s father had seen more than either of them had intended.
Like Luke’s hard cock pressed against her lovely derriere.
Luke gulped at the memory as the silence stretched thin. To be sure, that flaxen-haired vixen and he were both feeling the springtime today—and Luke would’ve been overjoyed at her newfound desire for him, if only he had some assurance that he had not just outraged her father.
He must apologize if he had, for that was no way to start off their relationship as father- and son-in-law. He did not want Liddicoat thinking he’d treated his daughter dishonorably, for as far as Luke was concerned, he had been an absolute gentleman with her at all times.
Even as Silversmoke—though perhaps slightly less so.
Anyway, she was the one who had started it today.
For his part, Luke knew he was more prude than rakehell.
Still, he did not want Liddicoat taking him for a cad. He studied the portly old chap from the corner of his eye, trying to read him.
Liddicoat seemed fairly peaceful. By all observation, his bride’s sire was a man of very few words.
Portly and placid, sedate under sail as a thirty-ton merchant ship laden with cargo, the Marquess of Liddicoat had white sideburns to match his snowy eyebrows and what was left of his hair—the sort of white hair that had probably been jet-black in his youth.
He sported the round potbelly of a true gourmand, and, from what Luke could tell, was about a decade older than his rail-thin, glamorous wife, in perhaps his mid-sixties.
Portia clearly took after her mother, with her slim build and sociable nature. Her father, by contrast, was the sort of inert chap who could sit at a party all night, still as a boulder, arms crossed, and barely utter a word. Not having a bad time, perhaps, but showing no signs of having fun, either.
Luke could not fathom what the man was thinking right now.
If anything.
He was having trouble thinking, himself, after seeing the come-hither sparkle in Portia’s blue eyes. By God, if he had not been smitten enough with the girl, her sheer adorableness this morning had made him her slave.
Little did she know that their butler had allowed Luke to stand there for a few minutes before making his presence known. He’d been utterly tickled watching his lovely future duchess prowl back and forth across the lawn and then turn suddenly and fire, as though hearing an enemy closing in—and she usually hit the target! She had reminded him for all the world of a kitten stalking through the grass, pretending to be some fierce lion in a jungle.
Adorable, he thought. Just adorable.
Oh, and when she had turned around and seen him there, the way her face had lit up… Luke knew he would remember that smile forever.
Now, that was the way a lady was supposed to look at the man she was set to marry in a fortnight.
Finally! he thought. Why, it was beginning to look as though he had truly won her—even as Lucas, awkwardest chap in the ton.
It hadn’t been so long ago, after all, that she’d rolled her eyes whenever she saw him coming, and then tried politely to hide her exasperated boredom with him—or rather, with Lucas.
What am I going to do about Lucas? he wondered with a frown, because he did not intend to play a stammering quiz in Town for the rest of his life. If Sidney, for one, had already seen through his ruse, others were bound to start noticing, too.
There was also the small fact that Luke had begun yearning to fully be himself with Portia.
Maybe with everyone.
But that was a question for another day.
Right now, he still had her father to deal with.
Liddicoat hadn’t spoken, though he made a little chirping sound to his budgie, and the bird hopped about.
Perhaps the marquess had seen nothing and was simply that quiet—more awkward than Lucas himself. Say something, Luke scolded himself. Don’t just stand there like a lug. He’s about to become your father-in-law.
At least make sure he doesn’t despise you.
Besides, Portia was watching now, too. Bow and arrow in hand like some wayward Artemis, she hung back in the garden, peeking through the door and spying on him with her father. It was clear she wanted the two of them to bond a bit if they could.
If that was ever going to happen, Luke saw it was up to him. Here goes nothing. “Ahem, I say, my lord. Lady Portia tells me this is your budgie. I had one myself as a lad, as it happens.”
“Did you, now?” Her father turned to him with genuine interest, and no sign of rage in his eyes, to Luke’s relief.
“Indeed.” Convinced now that her father had either seen nothing or, at least not enough to alarm him, Luke proceeded to tell him about Snowball, the blue and white budgie that his grandmother had given him for his tenth birthday.
They chatted for several moments on this topic, and, finally, just as Portia had promised, her father started coming out of his shell.
“Does yours talk?” Luke asked.
Liddicoat smiled mysteriously. “Hmm, ask him if he likes Napoleon.”
At the mere sound of the conquered emperor’s name, the bird squawked. “Hang Boney! Hang Boney!”
Luke gasped with astonishment, then started laughing. “That’s fantastic!”
Liddicoat beamed, hands in pockets. “Mr. Greensleeves, what’s your favorite holiday?”
“Happy Christmas!” the bird squawked.
Luke laughed merrily. “Are you the one who taught him?”
“Over time,” Liddicoat said with a chuckle and a nod.
“Speaking of time, I really should be on my way. My sister is bringing her family out to Gracewell a day early, since they have a long drive.”
“Ah, very good, very good.” Liddicoat bobbed his head. “Mr. Greensleeves, say goodbye to the duke.”
“Cheerio!” the parakeet rasped.
Luke grinned. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Greensleeves.” He started to turn away, but a thought struck him. He’d done well with Liddicoat discussing birds, but the older man’s potbelly gave him a hint that there might be something even dearer to the marquess’s heart.
“I say, sir, before I go, do you have any suggestions for what I might tell my chef to serve for the sweets course? It would put my mind at ease if I could be sure in advance that my table will offer selections that everyone likes. Any particular favorites I could arrange for, hmm?”
He gave the marquess a conspiratorial smile, and Liddicoat grinned, looked flattered and pleased at the question.
“Well, my wife likes lemon meringue. Portia barely touches sweets; she usually takes fruit instead.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Actually,” he confessed, “I have always been fond of a good trifle.”
“Me too!”
“Yes? Splendid. All sat atop sweet Naples biscuits and mounded with custard, then topped with a cloud of whipped syllabub, what?”
“Damn me, that sounds delicious right now,” Luke said, and he wasn’t jesting.
Liddicoat snorted. “Too bad Samantha won’t let me eat ’em. Says I’m too fat.” He clapped both hands to his belly, but Luke waved this off.
“She should look at the Regent.”
“That’s what I tell her!” the marquess exclaimed.
“Well, if my chef were to make a trifle for us tomorrow…?” Luke suggested, elbowing him.
Liddicoat grinned. “’Twould be rude to refuse.”
“Exactly.” Luke grinned back. “Consider it done, sir. Mum’s the word.”
Liddicoat laughed and clapped him on the back. “You’re a good sort, Fountainhurst—much like your father, although he was a great deal sterner, I warrant.”
Luke went motionless. “That’s right… My sister mentioned that you knew him.”
“Oh yes.” The old fellow nodded. “That’s why I was so glad when you began courting my daughter. I had great respect for your sire.” Liddicoat glanced past him out the open doors of the morning room, checking on Portia, who waved sweetly when he looked.
“Morning, Papa!”
“Morning, dear!” He glanced discreetly at Luke, then lowered his voice. “Such a good girl. Always looking after her mother and me. It pains us to part with her.”
“Well, we’ll be just down the street,” Luke said with a smile.
Liddicoat nodded. “That’s a blessing. I, for one, was relieved when you asked for her hand, heaven knows. She’d been so unhappy, and I just had a feeling you would take care of her for us. I know your father certainly worshiped your dam.”
Startled by the mention of his mother, Luke lowered his head. “Why, yes. Yes, he did, sir. She was his prized jewel. Thank you for trusting me with your daughter. I am…humbled by your faith in me. I won’t let you down.”
“No, Fountainhurst, it is my wife and I who thank you. ’Tis a good match. Frankly, I never quite trusted that Clayton fellow of hers. Doesn’t surprise me a’tall that he went off and got himself into some ridiculous scrape.”
“Why do you say that, my lord?” Luke studied him, fascinated.
Liddicoat waved a hand. “Eh, you ask me, all those Clayton men are alike: all flash, no substance. Gamblers, the lot—the nephew as well as the uncle, I daresay.”
“The uncle gambles, too?” Luke asked keenly, considering it was only last night he had concluded that Axewood himself was behind Joel’s disappearance. Hopefully, Sidney would dig up more useful details, but Luke hadn’t heard back from him yet.
“Gambles, yes,” Liddicoat said, “but in a different way. His way’s more respectable: business investments.” He gave Luke a wry look of warning, his eyes shrewd.
“I see.” Luke nodded. Sidney had told him as much at the club.
The marquess slid his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. “You know, I never could fathom how, with his reputation, Axewood got himself appointed to that budget committee I served on with your father all those years ago.”
“Pardon?” Luke stared at him, taken off guard. “What budget committee was that?”
“Eh, fairly ordinary business. It was a joint appropriations committee, with oversight on certain aspects of military spending. We had them each year during wartime.”
“Is that right?” Luke murmured, searching the older man’s face. A prickle of foreboding crept down his spine. The same ominous feeling that had come over him last night, once he’d reached his conclusions about the earl and the identity of the Red Carnation.
Chiefly, that his father would never have been friends with such a man, despite Axewood’s claims to the contrary.
Liddicoat nodded idly. “Our committee members came from both houses of Parliament, with representatives from the Treasury and Admiralty, as well. We were the last layer of review, you see, on the proposed annual budget for the war effort before giving final approval. It then went to a vote in the full Parliament, and if it passed, the funds were dispatched, based on our recommendations.”
“I see.” The sense of ominous premonition grew in Luke’s breast.
“Your father was chairman; Axewood was secretary. I was just a voting member.” Liddicoat shrugged. “We were fourteen in all. Still, it was our duty to give the final yay or nay over budgets worth millions of pounds. That’s why I was surprised they let Axewood participate.
“He always seemed, oh, I dunno, a bit dodgy.” Liddicoat gave him a confidential glance. “But then again, the earl has a great deal of experience managing fortunes and choosing which business concerns will make good investments, so I suppose it makes sense.
“Of course, your father kept a close eye on him,” he added. “Made sure he didn’t attempt any nonsense to line his own pockets at the nation’s expense. It all ran smoothly enough.”
For a moment, Luke stood there trying to absorb what Liddicoat had so casually revealed. “I’ve been told my father and Lord Axewood were actually friends.”
The marquess gave a mild scoff. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Enemies?” Luke asked darkly, peering over his spectacles.
“No, not enemies, really. It’s just that your father saw through his pretensions; Axewood didn’t much care for that. But Fountainhurst kept him in line. He was a hard one sometimes, but fair.”
“Oh, I know, believe me,” Luke murmured, feeling sick to his stomach as his search for Joel Clayton suddenly led him down a sinister alley, indeed.
One he had never expected to find while hunting for the gambler. But was it possible?
With millions of pounds from the nation’s coffers to tempt him—a man with a reputation for running dubious financial schemes—and with Luke’s father watching him like a hawk, as he surely would have done, might Axewood have wanted, even needed, to get rid of the committee chairman?
Luke had long worried that he’d missed something about his parents’ murders. That the last surviving MacAbe might’ve been telling the truth when he’d claimed that a wealthy Englishman had hired the gang.
For years now, he had been plagued with the gnawing fear that, somehow, for all the wild lengths he had gone to to wreak vengeance on his parents’ killers, the real source of the plot against them had slipped through his fingers.
But now, after what Liddicoat had just told him, he stood there privately reeling with shock. My God, what if it was Axewood?
It seemed impossible. But…millions of pounds sterling earmarked for the war could certainly prove a strong motive to a man with the heart of a swindler. And Father—strict, stern Fountainhurst—would never have allowed it to occur.
Unlike Luke, Father would never have fallen for Axewood’s lies. And once he’d sniffed him out, he would have exposed him, turning a deaf ear to any and all excuses.
Proud as Axewood was, the mere whiff of threat that he had been detected would’ve given him all the incentive he needed…
To reach out to some of the brutes for hire at this Carnevale.
Suddenly shaken, Luke needed to go home and think.
Since Lord Liddicoat apparently had nothing more to add on the topic, Luke said his goodbyes in a daze. Portia came skipping in to walk him to the front door of their family home, hanging on his arm.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly, scanning his face with a worried look. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Lucas.”
“No, I’m fine,” he said in distraction.
“Are you sure? Was Papa angry? Did my father see us together? Did he scold you?” she whispered.
“No, nothing like that, sweet. We spoke of parakeets…and other things. Well, I’d better go. I-I’m not sure what time my sister is arriving.”
“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She lifted onto her toes and kissed his cheek.
Luke looked at her gratefully as she pulled away again. Her light kiss made him feel better despite his thoughts’ churning like a foul whirlwind.
He could feel the same black rage he had once known so well gathering anew in his veins, all but blurring out Portia’s worried face.
“Goodbye, Your Grace. See you tomorrow.”
He bowed to her and mumbled something in kind.
With suspicions swirling in his brain and Liddicoat’s idle comments reverberating like an earthquake under his feet, he took leave of his bride’s family residence and returned to Fountainhurst House.
There, he delayed his exit from Town just long enough to take his butler aside. “Howell, I need you to find something for me.”
The elderly fellow lifted his head, at the ready. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“I need you to dig out my father’s old records on a budget committee he headed during the war years. It’s very important. I’ll send Finch to Town to review any papers you find on the matter. Check every file drawer in the study. Any boxes of his old papers up in the attic, too. I want whatever you can find on this committee—including anything that might mention Lord Axewood.”
“Lord Axewood?” Howell echoed in surprise. “As you wish, sir. Anything else?”
Luke shook his head. “That’s all, at the moment. If I think of anything else, I’ll send word with Finch.”
