Dangerous Lover, page 13
Who am I trying to fool? Everyone will know by looking at me, I am just the governess.
It was her only moment of self-mockery that afternoon, for she had resolved to enjoy whatever advantages she could in being Evelina’s governess. Such as this fine tea and finer company, and the knowledge and the wit that Sir Nicholas had brought to understanding the exhibits. In truth, it also felt good to be treated as a lady, to have doors held for her, and to be handed in and out of the carriage. Just as if she were not merely the governess.
After tea, they walked back through the park for a little before meeting the carriage.
“Will you dine with us too, Papa?” asked Evelina.
“Not tonight, my squib. I have work to do, sadly, to make up for bunking off this afternoon.”
Evelina giggled at this turn of phrase. And then, rather cleverly mimicking the visitor this morning, she struck a pose and asked, “When is your soiree? Or will you bunk off that, too?”
Sir Nicholas grinned. He had quite a charming, boyish smile when he chose. “I haven’t decided yet,” he admitted. “It may be that avoiding society causes more talk than actually going to the occasional party.”
“Talk about you?” asked Evelina.
“Yes.”
“What do they say?” she asked curiously.
“That I was a wild young man, and they hope I have mended my ways to make me fit for their hallowed homes.”
“And have you?” she asked with mock severity.
“I am a perfect model of respectability. Most days.”
“A bit like me?” Evelina suggested. “Mostly, I am good, but sometimes I am bad.”
Alexandra shifted on her luxurious carriage seat. “The important thing is to keep trying, so that you are bad less often.”
“Are you ever bad, Miss Battle?” Evelina asked, gazing up at her with sudden interest.
More disconcertingly, Sir Nicholas seemed to be regarding her in much the same way, and for once, she could think of nothing to say.
“Governesses have to be good,” Sir Nicholas said gravely. “Otherwise, they could not put up with naughty minxes like you.”
“I am a mostly good minx,” Evelina said with dignity and smiled when both her father and Alexandra laughed and agreed that she was.
*
Alexandra did not linger in the dining room after Anna took Evelina away. Instead, she retreated to her room, drawn toward music that might soothe her troubled soul, and restore her calm. Grizelda’s guitar had become her refuge most evenings, and only today had she begun to understand why.
It was Sir Nicholas who upset her balance. A fascination with her employer, a physical attraction that had been there from the first, those needed some kind of emotional outlet, and music had always been hers. But the realization by the piano this morning… That would take more work.
Piano. She halted outside the open doors of the pleasant new drawing room, gazing at the instrument. If she closed the doors, and played very softly, surely, she would disturb no one? Evelina’s bedchamber was on the other side of the house, and she rather thought Sir Nicholas had gone out, for, during dinner, she had heard his voice downstairs in the entrance hall.
Her fingers itched. Before she could change her mind, she walked through the open doors and closed them quietly behind her. She hurried over to the piano and sat, adjusted the position of the stool, then spread her fingers over the keys.
At first, she just played, letting her fingers travel where they willed, until the music soothed and took control of her mind. She played a Chopin Nocturne, moved seamlessly to one of her father’s pieces, and on to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The emotion of the music soared with that of her new-found impossible love—tragedy, beauty, and happiness all rolled into one.
With this, inevitably, came past regrets, moments of fun with her father, playing with him, losing him to greed and women and wine… But the memories faded quickly into the image of that other, enigmatic man who, for some reason, held her heart. She would take it back, though; she would. In time.
It was as she finished the sonata and returned to the intensely personal Chopin that she began to imagine him there with her, like a ghostly companion to her loneliness. And she smiled through the pain because she liked the thought. But then, some faint movement penetrated her world, and she glanced around and up to be sure he was not really there.
Her heart plunged. Her fingers stumbled, for he stood only feet away from her in the semi-gloom of dusk that had entered the room while she played.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, but she was already on her feet, pushing back the stool.
“I can’t,” she gasped incoherently.
She felt rather than saw him stride toward her. He seized her in his arms, staring down at her, a frown of bewilderment, of distress, tugging at his brows.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “Even when you weep.”
And then, stunningly, he captured her mouth in his, and God help her, the music was nothing compared to the emotions battering at her now. His kiss was fierce and yet tender, invasive, achingly possessive.
She could do nothing but kiss him back. She had flung out her arms, perhaps in startlement, but now they were around his neck in wonder. His fingers caressed her nape, holding her steady, while his other palm splayed across her back, pressing her to him. Desire, hot and sweet, swept through her.
He seemed to tear his mouth free and held her face between his hands, his thumbs caressing the remaining dampness on her cheeks.
“Why do you weep?” he demanded. “What is wrong?”
You. You are wrong. You… She shook her head and closed her eyes, blotting out the stormy, beloved face. She had never imagined his eyes blazing with such emotion, such passion, not for her.
His mouth came down on hers again, more gently this time, more persuasive than demanding, but no less overwhelming. Only, she could not let herself be overwhelmed. Her survival depended on it.
With a gasp, she pulled back, stumbling away from him. “You mustn’t,” she said brokenly, raising a hand to ward him off when he followed her. “I mustn’t…” She turned and fled, wrenching open the door and not even pausing to close it as she ran across the landing and upstairs to the safety of her chamber.
Trembling, she sank down on the bed, trying to calm her racing heart, wondering what on earth had just happened to her, to him.
It was the music… For her, perhaps. And possibly it had some effect on him, too. She knew she played with emotion. On the other hand, he was clearly a man used to women. Lady Nora. Evelina’s mother. Whomever he had fought a duel over. The beautiful widow, Mrs. Jenner, who had been here only this morning, courting him, Alexandra was sure.
Oh, yes, he was a womanizer. And she, Alexandra, was a woman. There at the right time, tugging his emotions with her music.
Having explained things to her intellectual satisfaction, she drew in a deep breath. It didn’t stop the pain.
Footsteps in the passage jolted her back to reality. Her heartbeat quickening once more, she listened to their approach, quick and firm…and they stopped at her door.
She knew instinctively this was no servant. It was a male tread, and she was sure it was Sir Nicholas’s. Afraid to breathe, she sat perfectly still on the bed, staring at the door.
She hadn’t locked it. What if he came in?
Heat flamed through her like wildfire, and temptation surged in its wake. Where would be the harm? Who would know?
She imagined his fingers grasping the handle. She even imagined it turning, and was afraid to breathe.
And then the footsteps moved on in the direction of the schoolroom.
She exhaled in a rush. She did not want to think she was more disappointed than relieved, so she jumped up, hurrying to the door, where she turned the key deliberately in the lock.
That done, she moved to her desk and sat down determinedly to finish her letter to one of her old pupils. Not long after, she heard the footsteps returning, but they did not pause at her door, merely went evenly on toward the stairs.
*
For the first time since the night of her arrival, Alexandra woke to the sound of that muffled, rhythmic clanking. It seemed to have been part of her woolly dream, so she had no idea how long it had been going on. As on the first night, curiosity blossomed. But she remembered all over again what had occurred when she had wandered the house in her nightgown looking for the source of the noise. She spent some time recalling every word, every look of that warning encounter. And then his every expression, every touch this evening.
It was some time before she noticed the noise had stopped. She closed her eyes to go back to sleep, no easy task when her every sense, every nerve was awash with memory. At some point, the clanking started up again, but she was already half asleep and had no intention of pursuing it.
*
Nicholas left the house early the following morning and walked to the city to keep several appointments. He liked to walk, and often did when time permitted, but on this particular morning, he was very aware his prime motive was to clear his head of Alexandra Battle.
What in God’s name was I doing? Touching her, kissing her had been unforgivably wrong, and yet when he had done it, while he was doing it, it had felt very right. He had been correct about how she would feel in his arms, all softness and curves and feminine strength. And he had been right about the passion smoldering beneath the calm exterior. Only he hadn’t guessed quite how sweet her lips would feel beneath his, how moved he would be by her blind, almost desperate response.
Of course, he had been moved before he entered the room when her music had drawn him there against his better judgment. She hadn’t even noticed as he’d opened and closed the door, walked across the room to her like the proverbial moth on its way to burn itself.
Fascinated, awed, he had been unable to look away from her rapt face. He had loved watching the expressions play across her face, mirroring that inspired by the music. She had never looked so beautiful, so unguarded. The tear he had first seen sparkling at the corner of her eye, then trickling down her cheek, had touched him to the core, even though she didn’t seem to notice it.
And when she’d noticed him… Dear God, emotion had crashed through him, longing to comfort as well as possess and defend…and make wild, passionate love to. All the emotion of the music had been alive in her unguarded face, her lovely, passionate eyes. And so, he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her while he wiped her tears, and rejoiced in every response of her lips and her clinging, caressing hands.
Carpe diem, the only principle of his untamed youth, had possessed him once more. Unforgivably. One did not kiss the governess. One did not make a mistress of the governess. She was a young lady whose survival depended on her reputation, which he had so nearly stolen. He had, in effect, insulted her. She would be well within her rights to leave her post, to leave Evelina and him far behind. Part of him knew she should, since he seemed to have relapsed into the boy who could not keep his hands to himself in the face of physical attraction.
But he did not want her to go.
He strode through the familiar streets, as far as St. Paul’s Cathedral, trying to clear his head and compose a humble, respectful apology. And a promise, which he could not then break, never to touch her again.
He didn’t like that idea either, but it was the least of all the evils he could see opening like a chasm in front of them both. With that decided, he turned his mind determinedly to the appointments ahead of him.
More than two hours later, as he walked home, he decided to take a slight detour to Whitehall and call in at the office where Dragan Tizsa was often to be found in his capacity as an employee of the government. He was lucky enough to find him picking up his hat and coat to leave.
“Is it time for luncheon already?” Nicholas inquired.
“No. I only called in to collect some papers. I prefer to work away from the office. I spent some time with your brother earlier. Is that why you are looking for me?”
“Yes,” Nicholas admitted.
Tizsa held the door for him, and he passed back into the street.
“I went to my bank,” Nicholas said. “They were worried by a large withdrawal requested by Ralph. I told them to allow it. I presume it is the ransom for Henry.”
“I presume so, too.” He cast a quick glance at Nicholas. “He will deliver the ransom tonight in return for his son.”
“Someone should be there,” Nicholas said abruptly. “Not just to be with you in pursuit of the villains, but to look after Ralph and Henry. What if they cheat him at the last moment and keep the boy to extort even more money? What if something goes wrong and they try to hurt or even kill one of them?”
“I will be there,” Tizsa said. “Hidden. You are not an inconspicuous man.”
Nicholas blinked. “And you are?”
“Yes,” Tizsa said in apparent surprise. “And I know how to remain unseen. I tracked Romanian guerrilla fighters through Transylvania for months.”
“Catch any?”
“Yes, actually. Much good as it did us in the end.”
“Tell me where the exchange is to take place,” Nicholas said. “Let’s make a plan that will keep everyone safe.”
“You don’t trust me,” Tizsa observed.
“If there were four or five of you,” Nicholas retorted, “in this particular situation, I would certainly trust you more.”
Tizsa was quiet for so long that Nicholas began to get irritated. Then the Hungarian said, “We’ll speak to Griz.”
Nicholas blinked. “Lady Grizelda?”
Tizsa nodded. He cast Nicholas a glance, and his lips twitched. “She is wise in many things. Lots of women are. Haven’t you found that?”
Nicholas thought about it. “No. Though that may be because of the women I have pursued. Or who pursued me.” Unbidden, Alexandra Battle swam back to the front of his mind. He suspected she was wise. After all, it was she who had broken from him last night. All he had done was manage not to pursue her, though he had been sorely tempted by the sight of her bedroom door as he had gone to look in on Evelina. “By all means, let us consult your wife.”
The Tizsas, it transpired, lived in a sprawling, half-hidden little house reached from a lane off Half Moon Street. It somehow suited the eccentric couple, as did the lively little greyhound with the blue-grey coat who leapt on Tizsa as soon as they entered the front door. Taking shelter behind Tizsa’s legs, it regarded Nicholas with an amusing mixture of smugness and suspicion.
“This is Vicky,” Tizsa explained, bending to stroke the dog and tickle it behind the ears. “After Her Majesty, of course, because on better days, she can look quite regal. Or so Griz says.”
While the greyhound condescended to sniff Nicholas’s feet, Tizsa turned to the maid emerging from the back of the house.
“Is Lady Griz in?”
“In the drawing room, sir. Will the gentleman be staying for luncheon?”
“Let’s say, yes,” Tizsa replied without consulting his guest. “And if he tires of us before that, there will be all the more for me. This way.”
Tizsa led him up a staircase and into a rather fine room with paintings and framed pencil portraits on the wall. It was more of lived-in sitting room than a drawing room, not least because Lady Grizelda sat at a table surrounded by books and papers.
Her face lit up as her husband walked into the room. “Dragan!” She jumped up to meet him, and quite unself-consciously, he threw an arm around her and kissed her on the lips. Only then did she seem to see Nicholas and leave her husband to greet him with surprise. “Sir Nicholas. An unexpected pleasure.”
“I hope I am not inconvenient. Your husband believes we should consult you, and I am interested in your view.”
“I’m very glad to see you. Would you like tea? A glass of wine?”
They settled on a pre-luncheon sherry, which Lady Griz poured while her husband spread out a map of London on the table. The three of them gathered around it.
“Your brother,” Tizsa said, pointing on the map, “has been instructed to come here, to a corner coffee house just off King Street. At half-past nine this evening.”
“Near Covent Garden again,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “You think Henry and perhaps other children are being kept near there?”
Tizsa shrugged. “I doubt it would be too close to where they want to meet. Just in case witnesses see where they come from.”
“Is a coffee house not a rather public place to conduct such business?” Nicholas said.
“There is no guarantee the coffee house will be the final place. My guess is the coffee house was chosen to make your brother feel safe, but once he brings the money, he will be enticed from the coffee house into one of the quieter alleys.”
Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. “Have you been there? Could we pack the house with Inspector Harris’s plainclothes policemen?”
“I thought of Harris himself, but he is not an unknown figure around the area. Besides, the house is frequented largely by actors and people associated with the opera house. Harris would stand out a mile even he wasn’t a known Peeler.”
Nicholas regarded him. “You look like an actor, I suppose, or a struggling writer, perhaps. I could be your financier.”
Tizsa grinned, but his wife said seriously, “That isn’t such a bad idea. I would be happier if you had company inside. And I was thinking, I could watch from the outside. With Nell.”
Even Tizsa blinked at that.
“In disguise,” Griz clarified.
“I know,” Dragan said grimly. “And I cannot protect you outside when I am inside.”
“I won’t need protection when I’m with Nell,” Griz assured him.
Nicholas turned to Tizsa with amused interest. “Wisdom, eh?” he murmured.
Tizsa ignored him. “And if Nell goes off to work?”
“I’ll pay her to say she’s waiting for someone.”
“And if the police move you on?”
“Dragan,” Griz reproved. “You know the police will have been well paid to stay away. It makes sense. We’ll see who else is waiting or watching and what direction anyone takes who bolts out of the coffee house ahead of you. And then, while you and Sir Nicholas follow the villain, I can go and help Mr. Swan and his son.”
It was her only moment of self-mockery that afternoon, for she had resolved to enjoy whatever advantages she could in being Evelina’s governess. Such as this fine tea and finer company, and the knowledge and the wit that Sir Nicholas had brought to understanding the exhibits. In truth, it also felt good to be treated as a lady, to have doors held for her, and to be handed in and out of the carriage. Just as if she were not merely the governess.
After tea, they walked back through the park for a little before meeting the carriage.
“Will you dine with us too, Papa?” asked Evelina.
“Not tonight, my squib. I have work to do, sadly, to make up for bunking off this afternoon.”
Evelina giggled at this turn of phrase. And then, rather cleverly mimicking the visitor this morning, she struck a pose and asked, “When is your soiree? Or will you bunk off that, too?”
Sir Nicholas grinned. He had quite a charming, boyish smile when he chose. “I haven’t decided yet,” he admitted. “It may be that avoiding society causes more talk than actually going to the occasional party.”
“Talk about you?” asked Evelina.
“Yes.”
“What do they say?” she asked curiously.
“That I was a wild young man, and they hope I have mended my ways to make me fit for their hallowed homes.”
“And have you?” she asked with mock severity.
“I am a perfect model of respectability. Most days.”
“A bit like me?” Evelina suggested. “Mostly, I am good, but sometimes I am bad.”
Alexandra shifted on her luxurious carriage seat. “The important thing is to keep trying, so that you are bad less often.”
“Are you ever bad, Miss Battle?” Evelina asked, gazing up at her with sudden interest.
More disconcertingly, Sir Nicholas seemed to be regarding her in much the same way, and for once, she could think of nothing to say.
“Governesses have to be good,” Sir Nicholas said gravely. “Otherwise, they could not put up with naughty minxes like you.”
“I am a mostly good minx,” Evelina said with dignity and smiled when both her father and Alexandra laughed and agreed that she was.
*
Alexandra did not linger in the dining room after Anna took Evelina away. Instead, she retreated to her room, drawn toward music that might soothe her troubled soul, and restore her calm. Grizelda’s guitar had become her refuge most evenings, and only today had she begun to understand why.
It was Sir Nicholas who upset her balance. A fascination with her employer, a physical attraction that had been there from the first, those needed some kind of emotional outlet, and music had always been hers. But the realization by the piano this morning… That would take more work.
Piano. She halted outside the open doors of the pleasant new drawing room, gazing at the instrument. If she closed the doors, and played very softly, surely, she would disturb no one? Evelina’s bedchamber was on the other side of the house, and she rather thought Sir Nicholas had gone out, for, during dinner, she had heard his voice downstairs in the entrance hall.
Her fingers itched. Before she could change her mind, she walked through the open doors and closed them quietly behind her. She hurried over to the piano and sat, adjusted the position of the stool, then spread her fingers over the keys.
At first, she just played, letting her fingers travel where they willed, until the music soothed and took control of her mind. She played a Chopin Nocturne, moved seamlessly to one of her father’s pieces, and on to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The emotion of the music soared with that of her new-found impossible love—tragedy, beauty, and happiness all rolled into one.
With this, inevitably, came past regrets, moments of fun with her father, playing with him, losing him to greed and women and wine… But the memories faded quickly into the image of that other, enigmatic man who, for some reason, held her heart. She would take it back, though; she would. In time.
It was as she finished the sonata and returned to the intensely personal Chopin that she began to imagine him there with her, like a ghostly companion to her loneliness. And she smiled through the pain because she liked the thought. But then, some faint movement penetrated her world, and she glanced around and up to be sure he was not really there.
Her heart plunged. Her fingers stumbled, for he stood only feet away from her in the semi-gloom of dusk that had entered the room while she played.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, but she was already on her feet, pushing back the stool.
“I can’t,” she gasped incoherently.
She felt rather than saw him stride toward her. He seized her in his arms, staring down at her, a frown of bewilderment, of distress, tugging at his brows.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “Even when you weep.”
And then, stunningly, he captured her mouth in his, and God help her, the music was nothing compared to the emotions battering at her now. His kiss was fierce and yet tender, invasive, achingly possessive.
She could do nothing but kiss him back. She had flung out her arms, perhaps in startlement, but now they were around his neck in wonder. His fingers caressed her nape, holding her steady, while his other palm splayed across her back, pressing her to him. Desire, hot and sweet, swept through her.
He seemed to tear his mouth free and held her face between his hands, his thumbs caressing the remaining dampness on her cheeks.
“Why do you weep?” he demanded. “What is wrong?”
You. You are wrong. You… She shook her head and closed her eyes, blotting out the stormy, beloved face. She had never imagined his eyes blazing with such emotion, such passion, not for her.
His mouth came down on hers again, more gently this time, more persuasive than demanding, but no less overwhelming. Only, she could not let herself be overwhelmed. Her survival depended on it.
With a gasp, she pulled back, stumbling away from him. “You mustn’t,” she said brokenly, raising a hand to ward him off when he followed her. “I mustn’t…” She turned and fled, wrenching open the door and not even pausing to close it as she ran across the landing and upstairs to the safety of her chamber.
Trembling, she sank down on the bed, trying to calm her racing heart, wondering what on earth had just happened to her, to him.
It was the music… For her, perhaps. And possibly it had some effect on him, too. She knew she played with emotion. On the other hand, he was clearly a man used to women. Lady Nora. Evelina’s mother. Whomever he had fought a duel over. The beautiful widow, Mrs. Jenner, who had been here only this morning, courting him, Alexandra was sure.
Oh, yes, he was a womanizer. And she, Alexandra, was a woman. There at the right time, tugging his emotions with her music.
Having explained things to her intellectual satisfaction, she drew in a deep breath. It didn’t stop the pain.
Footsteps in the passage jolted her back to reality. Her heartbeat quickening once more, she listened to their approach, quick and firm…and they stopped at her door.
She knew instinctively this was no servant. It was a male tread, and she was sure it was Sir Nicholas’s. Afraid to breathe, she sat perfectly still on the bed, staring at the door.
She hadn’t locked it. What if he came in?
Heat flamed through her like wildfire, and temptation surged in its wake. Where would be the harm? Who would know?
She imagined his fingers grasping the handle. She even imagined it turning, and was afraid to breathe.
And then the footsteps moved on in the direction of the schoolroom.
She exhaled in a rush. She did not want to think she was more disappointed than relieved, so she jumped up, hurrying to the door, where she turned the key deliberately in the lock.
That done, she moved to her desk and sat down determinedly to finish her letter to one of her old pupils. Not long after, she heard the footsteps returning, but they did not pause at her door, merely went evenly on toward the stairs.
*
For the first time since the night of her arrival, Alexandra woke to the sound of that muffled, rhythmic clanking. It seemed to have been part of her woolly dream, so she had no idea how long it had been going on. As on the first night, curiosity blossomed. But she remembered all over again what had occurred when she had wandered the house in her nightgown looking for the source of the noise. She spent some time recalling every word, every look of that warning encounter. And then his every expression, every touch this evening.
It was some time before she noticed the noise had stopped. She closed her eyes to go back to sleep, no easy task when her every sense, every nerve was awash with memory. At some point, the clanking started up again, but she was already half asleep and had no intention of pursuing it.
*
Nicholas left the house early the following morning and walked to the city to keep several appointments. He liked to walk, and often did when time permitted, but on this particular morning, he was very aware his prime motive was to clear his head of Alexandra Battle.
What in God’s name was I doing? Touching her, kissing her had been unforgivably wrong, and yet when he had done it, while he was doing it, it had felt very right. He had been correct about how she would feel in his arms, all softness and curves and feminine strength. And he had been right about the passion smoldering beneath the calm exterior. Only he hadn’t guessed quite how sweet her lips would feel beneath his, how moved he would be by her blind, almost desperate response.
Of course, he had been moved before he entered the room when her music had drawn him there against his better judgment. She hadn’t even noticed as he’d opened and closed the door, walked across the room to her like the proverbial moth on its way to burn itself.
Fascinated, awed, he had been unable to look away from her rapt face. He had loved watching the expressions play across her face, mirroring that inspired by the music. She had never looked so beautiful, so unguarded. The tear he had first seen sparkling at the corner of her eye, then trickling down her cheek, had touched him to the core, even though she didn’t seem to notice it.
And when she’d noticed him… Dear God, emotion had crashed through him, longing to comfort as well as possess and defend…and make wild, passionate love to. All the emotion of the music had been alive in her unguarded face, her lovely, passionate eyes. And so, he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her while he wiped her tears, and rejoiced in every response of her lips and her clinging, caressing hands.
Carpe diem, the only principle of his untamed youth, had possessed him once more. Unforgivably. One did not kiss the governess. One did not make a mistress of the governess. She was a young lady whose survival depended on her reputation, which he had so nearly stolen. He had, in effect, insulted her. She would be well within her rights to leave her post, to leave Evelina and him far behind. Part of him knew she should, since he seemed to have relapsed into the boy who could not keep his hands to himself in the face of physical attraction.
But he did not want her to go.
He strode through the familiar streets, as far as St. Paul’s Cathedral, trying to clear his head and compose a humble, respectful apology. And a promise, which he could not then break, never to touch her again.
He didn’t like that idea either, but it was the least of all the evils he could see opening like a chasm in front of them both. With that decided, he turned his mind determinedly to the appointments ahead of him.
More than two hours later, as he walked home, he decided to take a slight detour to Whitehall and call in at the office where Dragan Tizsa was often to be found in his capacity as an employee of the government. He was lucky enough to find him picking up his hat and coat to leave.
“Is it time for luncheon already?” Nicholas inquired.
“No. I only called in to collect some papers. I prefer to work away from the office. I spent some time with your brother earlier. Is that why you are looking for me?”
“Yes,” Nicholas admitted.
Tizsa held the door for him, and he passed back into the street.
“I went to my bank,” Nicholas said. “They were worried by a large withdrawal requested by Ralph. I told them to allow it. I presume it is the ransom for Henry.”
“I presume so, too.” He cast a quick glance at Nicholas. “He will deliver the ransom tonight in return for his son.”
“Someone should be there,” Nicholas said abruptly. “Not just to be with you in pursuit of the villains, but to look after Ralph and Henry. What if they cheat him at the last moment and keep the boy to extort even more money? What if something goes wrong and they try to hurt or even kill one of them?”
“I will be there,” Tizsa said. “Hidden. You are not an inconspicuous man.”
Nicholas blinked. “And you are?”
“Yes,” Tizsa said in apparent surprise. “And I know how to remain unseen. I tracked Romanian guerrilla fighters through Transylvania for months.”
“Catch any?”
“Yes, actually. Much good as it did us in the end.”
“Tell me where the exchange is to take place,” Nicholas said. “Let’s make a plan that will keep everyone safe.”
“You don’t trust me,” Tizsa observed.
“If there were four or five of you,” Nicholas retorted, “in this particular situation, I would certainly trust you more.”
Tizsa was quiet for so long that Nicholas began to get irritated. Then the Hungarian said, “We’ll speak to Griz.”
Nicholas blinked. “Lady Grizelda?”
Tizsa nodded. He cast Nicholas a glance, and his lips twitched. “She is wise in many things. Lots of women are. Haven’t you found that?”
Nicholas thought about it. “No. Though that may be because of the women I have pursued. Or who pursued me.” Unbidden, Alexandra Battle swam back to the front of his mind. He suspected she was wise. After all, it was she who had broken from him last night. All he had done was manage not to pursue her, though he had been sorely tempted by the sight of her bedroom door as he had gone to look in on Evelina. “By all means, let us consult your wife.”
The Tizsas, it transpired, lived in a sprawling, half-hidden little house reached from a lane off Half Moon Street. It somehow suited the eccentric couple, as did the lively little greyhound with the blue-grey coat who leapt on Tizsa as soon as they entered the front door. Taking shelter behind Tizsa’s legs, it regarded Nicholas with an amusing mixture of smugness and suspicion.
“This is Vicky,” Tizsa explained, bending to stroke the dog and tickle it behind the ears. “After Her Majesty, of course, because on better days, she can look quite regal. Or so Griz says.”
While the greyhound condescended to sniff Nicholas’s feet, Tizsa turned to the maid emerging from the back of the house.
“Is Lady Griz in?”
“In the drawing room, sir. Will the gentleman be staying for luncheon?”
“Let’s say, yes,” Tizsa replied without consulting his guest. “And if he tires of us before that, there will be all the more for me. This way.”
Tizsa led him up a staircase and into a rather fine room with paintings and framed pencil portraits on the wall. It was more of lived-in sitting room than a drawing room, not least because Lady Grizelda sat at a table surrounded by books and papers.
Her face lit up as her husband walked into the room. “Dragan!” She jumped up to meet him, and quite unself-consciously, he threw an arm around her and kissed her on the lips. Only then did she seem to see Nicholas and leave her husband to greet him with surprise. “Sir Nicholas. An unexpected pleasure.”
“I hope I am not inconvenient. Your husband believes we should consult you, and I am interested in your view.”
“I’m very glad to see you. Would you like tea? A glass of wine?”
They settled on a pre-luncheon sherry, which Lady Griz poured while her husband spread out a map of London on the table. The three of them gathered around it.
“Your brother,” Tizsa said, pointing on the map, “has been instructed to come here, to a corner coffee house just off King Street. At half-past nine this evening.”
“Near Covent Garden again,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “You think Henry and perhaps other children are being kept near there?”
Tizsa shrugged. “I doubt it would be too close to where they want to meet. Just in case witnesses see where they come from.”
“Is a coffee house not a rather public place to conduct such business?” Nicholas said.
“There is no guarantee the coffee house will be the final place. My guess is the coffee house was chosen to make your brother feel safe, but once he brings the money, he will be enticed from the coffee house into one of the quieter alleys.”
Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. “Have you been there? Could we pack the house with Inspector Harris’s plainclothes policemen?”
“I thought of Harris himself, but he is not an unknown figure around the area. Besides, the house is frequented largely by actors and people associated with the opera house. Harris would stand out a mile even he wasn’t a known Peeler.”
Nicholas regarded him. “You look like an actor, I suppose, or a struggling writer, perhaps. I could be your financier.”
Tizsa grinned, but his wife said seriously, “That isn’t such a bad idea. I would be happier if you had company inside. And I was thinking, I could watch from the outside. With Nell.”
Even Tizsa blinked at that.
“In disguise,” Griz clarified.
“I know,” Dragan said grimly. “And I cannot protect you outside when I am inside.”
“I won’t need protection when I’m with Nell,” Griz assured him.
Nicholas turned to Tizsa with amused interest. “Wisdom, eh?” he murmured.
Tizsa ignored him. “And if Nell goes off to work?”
“I’ll pay her to say she’s waiting for someone.”
“And if the police move you on?”
“Dragan,” Griz reproved. “You know the police will have been well paid to stay away. It makes sense. We’ll see who else is waiting or watching and what direction anyone takes who bolts out of the coffee house ahead of you. And then, while you and Sir Nicholas follow the villain, I can go and help Mr. Swan and his son.”
