Foolish girl. Perhaps you are better off in your cage.
Chapter 13
“Where did you get to last evening?” asked George.
Harry gave a disinterested shrug. “Out and about.” He wasn’t going to make mention of Alice or their visit to the Temple of Diana. Fortunately, the club was one with strict rules regarding discretion. Names were never spoken outside of its walls. Many of Harry’s former clients were members, and he knew enough dirty secrets about them to be confident that his visit would not be mentioned by anyone.
They were waiting at the RR Coaching Company offices for Stephen and Monsale to arrive with news of Cuthbert Saint. Harry’s mood was dark. The three cups of black tea—no lemon, no milk, no honey—which he had already downed this morning had done nothing to lighten his spirits.
Perhaps I should have begun the morning with whisky. Start as you mean to go on.
George frowned at him. If anyone could read people as well as Harry, it was the master thief. “You are certainly Lord Misery Guts this morning. Maybe I don’t want to know where you went last night.”
“It’s not that. Things in this case have become a little complicated. And then there is the question of Milton,” replied Harry.
“The piglet? What’s wrong with him?”
“Papa’s breeding manager sent word that he needs Milton in the country,” he replied.
All his life, even after he and his father had fallen out, Harry had taken care of the youngest male breeding pigs for the Steele family estate. From the time the piglets were weaned off their mother, to the time they were put to stud, they were Harry’s to care for and feed.
George sighed. This wasn’t the first time any of Harry’s friends had been forced to give him sympathy over a curly tailed piglet. “You do know he is going off to the country to live a life that few humans, let alone animals, ever get to enjoy? Eating, sleeping, and fucking. Where do I sign up?”
Talk of Milton kept the subject of Alice North at bay; she was the real reason for his melancholy mood. Last night had been magical. The expression of joy on her face as he’d brought her to completion had gone straight to his heart.
And then she’d cried out his name. Harry. A man would have to be made of stone not to fall in love with a woman right at that moment.
But you were already in danger of falling. Holding her just tipped you over.
Any thought of not getting involved with Alice North had long ago gone up in flames. He wanted her, body and soul.
The only thing which had held him back last night and stopped him from asking ‘May I?’ was that he’d known to his bones that she would have said yes. And he would not have been able to resist.
Saving Patience North from one imprudent marriage while luring her sister into another would defy all the laws of irony and logic.
If she is to be yours, you have to offer her everything. And that includes the truth.
The thought of telling Alice about the RR Coaching Company and its dubious business enterprises made Harry’s mouth go dry. Coming from new money, she must already know what it was like to be treated as someone less than equal by London high society. What was the chance that she would choose him if she knew that being a part of his life would mean accepting that her husband was regularly involved in shady and downright illegal dealings?
Would she take that risk, knowing that if things ever went awry, her reputation would be destroyed?
The thunder of boots on wooden stairs heralded the arrival of Sir Stephen Moore and The Duke of Monsale. Harry was grateful for the interruption. The question of Alice and any possible future with her had kept him awake all through the night.
“Ah, just the man we want,” said Monsale.
Harry moved away from where he and George had both been toasting their asses in front of the fire. After the long chilly walk up from the River Thames, a few minutes of buttock warming was always in order at this time of the year.
“We have news,” announced Stephen.
Monsale tossed a leather pouch onto the long wooden table, before heading over to the nearby sideboard on which a platter of various meats and some cold roast potatoes sat. Stephen followed him, grabbing two plates from off the table as he went. His gaze went to the fireside and he grinned as Harry wriggled his backside.
“Cuthbert Saint is no saint. Never went to Eton. In fact, there is no record of him anywhere. The man does not exist,” added Stephen.
“But . . .” said Monsale, with a raise of his eyebrows.
Harry’s ears pricked up. Monsale always proceeded the juicy, noteworthy bits of any investigation or scandal with that tantalizing word. He and Stephen exchanged a grin.
“What we do have is a missing valet. A chap by the name of Cuthbert Leigh who used to work for a Scottish family just across the border. Disappeared about six months ago after having helped himself to a number of valuable pieces of plate and jewelry belonging to his employer. The description of this Cuthbert matches the blackguard we have been following here in London.”
All the fragments of the picture slowly drew closer together. The man who knew how to treat champagne stains had been a valet. And they now knew the origin of the expensive trinkets Cuthbert had pawned at Jones and Son.
“Good, so we are pretty confident we have the make of him. Now I have to decide what to do about getting him away from Patience North,” said Harry.
Time was of paramount importance. Notwithstanding the fight that the two of them had had the previous evening, Harry suspected there was every chance that matters between Alice’s sister and Cuthbert would be back on even keel quickly. With Cuthbert’s coin becoming low, he would likely do everything he had to in order to be able to make a move with Alice’s sister.
“I need to speak with my client this morning. Inform her of these developments and get her approval to make the next move,” he said.
Monsale’s brows knitted together in a worried expression. He wasn’t one for ever asking a woman her opinion. The fact that he was still unwed at the age of one and thirty probably had something to do with his inability to sweet-talk the ladies.
“Why are you asking a prim little miss for her thoughts?” asked Monsale.
George cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh. Stephen, meanwhile, studied the platter of meats as if it held the secret to life and the universe.
“Because, your grace, she is paying me. And I actually value her opinion when it comes to her sister. She is the one who is going to have to mop up the mess after all this is over. I would prefer it if the pile of shit she has to clean is as small as possible,” replied Harry.
“Bah!” huffed Monsale.
Harry picked up the satchel and made for the stairs. If he moved quickly enough and went back to Grosvenor Street, he could track Alice down this morning. “Thank you. This gives me all that I need to move on our friend Cuthbert. I shall send word again to our people in Gretna letting them know that a possible elopement may be imminent.”
“Send word if you need help!” cried George.
As he hurried to the rear mews and summoned the stable boy to fetch his horse, Harry took the opportunity to gather his thoughts. How am I to deal with this blackguard and cause the least amount of damage?
Publicly unmasking Cuthbert could be problematic, as it could also expose Harry to scrutiny. His carefully crafted foppish personae had taken a long time to build. He wasn’t going to risk it just for the sake of expediency.