A Notorious Love (4 page)

“To track down Mr. Morgan and your sister.”

“Yes. After all, you do have some experience with…well…”

The truth hit him like a well-placed blow, shattering his humor. “With smugglers.”

She ducked her head to hide her face beneath the wide brim of her bonnet, and a long-buried anger twisted up his insides. He should’ve realized that all that business about trusting him was rubbish.

“You came to me because of my connection to free traders.” Sarcasm weighted his words. “That’s why you chose me, ain’t it?” For once, he didn’t watch his grammar. She thought him a villain, so he might as well play the part. “That’s why, ain’t it?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Not entirely. You’re the only person I know in London. Though I did think perhaps…since you…I mean—”

“It’s bloody clear what you mean. You’ve decided that since I used to be a criminal, I ought to be able to find a criminal.”

“No!” Her head shot up. “Not at all. I—”

“I hate to disappoint you, Lady Helena, but there’s no gentlemen’s club for smugglers where we sit around cup-shot every night, jawing about old times.” He leaned forward to plant his fists on the table in front of her. “I don’t see those people anymore, so don’t look to me if it’s a criminal you need for tracking down this man.”

“You misunderstand me,” she protested, her cheeks paling. “I didn’t mean to imply you were a criminal, for heaven’s sake. I know perfectly well how young you were when you spent time with smugglers. You were only a boy—you could hardly have done much of a criminal nature.”

He straightened, momentarily struck speechless. She didn’t know? Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised—Griff wouldn’t have told her, and Rosalind probably didn’t know all that much herself.

He kept his voice carefully neutral. “What exactly is it that you think I did when I…er…spent time with the smugglers?”

“Why, I’m not sure.” Her gloved finger idly traced the words on the cover of the sketch pad. “I suppose you held the horses. Watched for excisemen. Anything a boy might do.”

A boy of seventeen, large for his age and with a quick mind, could do a damned sight more than hold horses and watch for excisemen.

“Anyone can tell you’re no criminal. And Griff would hardly allow a real smuggler to work for him.”

He stifled a smile at her naiveté. Before Griff had met Rosalind, he would’ve hired the devil himself if it furthered Knighton Trading. “Tell me, m’lady—what would you call a
real
smuggler?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, men who purchase spirits
and goods from abroad, run them into England, and then sell them. They have no scruples about firing on the Preventive Waterguard. They are rumored to be nasty, evil men who’d sell their own mothers for a profit.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice confidentially. “I once read all about the Hawkhurst Gang in a pamphlet. Dreadful men, all of them.”

He was torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to wring her neck. Yes, the Hawkhurst Gang had been ruthless and cruel, but not all smugglers resorted to violence. And why she thought a man of seventeen couldn’t be a “real” smuggler was beyond him.

Still, he wasn’t about to correct her misapprehension. “If you thought I wasn’t a ‘real’ smuggler, why did you assume I could help you? Especially since I’ve been out of the free-trading business for years.”

“Because at least you’d know what sort of man I’m dealing with. You’d know where they go and what they do. I thought that might help.” When he remained silent, she added, “I truly would not have bothered you if not for the possibility that Juliet could be hurt. But the thought of her being…manhandled by a man like that, and my being unable to stop it…” She trailed off with a choked sigh so faint that a wiser man would have ignored it.

Daniel couldn’t. Christ, the woman did know how to get at a man, didn’t she? Gritting his teeth, he straightened from the table. “Do you have that sketch of Morgan with you now?”

Hope filled her face. “Yes.” Picking up her sketch pad, she flipped to a page, then held it out.

He glanced at the well-rendered image of a handsome young man with dark hair and black eyes, then tore off the sheet and folded it. Stuffing it into his pocket, he handed her the sketch pad. This had to be the stupidest
thing he’d ever considered doing. Between Knighton Trading and his own business, the last thing he needed was to involve himself with Lady Juliet’s elopement.

“I’d best take the miniature of your sister, too.” He held out his hand.

“Why?” she blurted out.

“Because I’ll need to show it around while I’m asking questions about Will Morgan and Lady Juliet, won’t I?”

Her eyes widened, but she fished around in her fancy velvet bag.

He doubted the chap was a smuggler, but that possibility should be eliminated first. Then he’d ask in the better inns and taverns. Perhaps luck would be on his side, and the two were still in London. If he acted quickly, he might track them down at once. Or not. London had a hundred rookeries and flash houses where a man could hide himself away without leaving a trace. Even the better inns could be discreet about their clientele, if they thought it would profit them.

And if the pair had already left London?

Bloody hell, he hoped they hadn’t, because then he’d have to decide how far to carry this nonsense.

She handed him the miniature. “Does this mean you’ll help me? You’ll look for them?”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Of course. But you’ve been decidedly unenthusiastic about the idea until now.”

“Believe me, I’m not chomping at the bit, but I’ll find out where they’ve gone.” He only hoped it didn’t take long. “Where was the last place you traced them to?”

“An inn named the Bear and Key on the outskirts of London. That was the final stop of the coach they took. They disappeared there.”

“How long ago?”

“When I left Stratford three days ago, I was already a day behind. I lost time by going to his supposed regiment, and Papa’s coachman refused to travel at night. He said it was too dangerous.”

“At least there’s one coachman around with some sense in him.”

“That made me fall further behind, however, because they posted through the nights. So they’ve been gone from here two days now.”

“Unless they’re still in the city.”

Horror filled her face. “Lord, you don’t think they are, do you? That would mean that he…that they have no intention of eloping!”

He cursed himself for his quick tongue. “I’m sure they’re gone—we just need to find out how they’re traveling to Scotland. They may’ve come to the city to book passage on a ship.”

She worried her lower lip with her fine white teeth. “Yes, but then it would have made more sense to go to the Bristol Channel. It’s nearer to Warwickshire.”

Which meant this mightn’t be an elopement at all. He suppressed that ugly thought. Of course it was an elopement. “No point in speculating on where they went til I make some inquiries.” He tucked the miniature into his coat pocket. “It sounds like you’ve had a tiring journey. Why don’t you return to Griff’s house while I take these ’round? As soon as I’ve got something to tell you, I’ll let you know.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Not bloody likely.” The very thought of the elegant Lady Helena trawling the flash houses with him made his belly churn.

“Why not?”

“Because some of the places I’m going aren’t the sort you take a lady into.”

“I don’t care.” She threw her shoulders back and stiffened her chin like the proud thing she was. “I’ll go mad if I have to sit and do nothing.”

“Better to go mad than find yourself in an alley with your throat slit.”

Eyes widening, she clutched her fancy bag to her chest as if the flimsy bit of velvet would protect her from all those “nasty, evil” men. “You think it’s that dangerous?”

All right, so he’d exaggerated a bit. He was known well enough that even in the rookeries, nobody would dare lay a hand on any companion of his. But he could move more quickly without her.

“Yes, it’s that dangerous,” he answered. “And one look at your ladyship will make all prospective informers keep their mouths shut. The sort of person to have information is also the sort that doesn’t trust the upper ten thousand.”

She chewed on that a minute. “I could change my clothing.”

He snorted. “It’d make no difference, m’lady—you can’t take the breeding out of your speech and walk and manner. It’d be like trying to hide a swan among the ducks.”

“Be careful, Mr. Brennan,” she said dryly, “you’re coming very near to paying me a compliment, and I know you don’t mean to do that.”

Saucy wench. “What makes you think it was a compliment?”

Insulted, she tipped her dainty nose up. “I beg your pardon—I forgot that you prefer women with little breeding.”

“Not true. I prefer women who know how to enjoy themselves—no matter what their breeding.”

Her lovely eyes went round, and her lips parted on a gasp. He grinned. The bloody wench needed shaking up. She always thought she knew everything, but she might as well have been plunked down in Africa, for all she knew of him and the world she’d stumbled into.

“So you’ll stay where you belong, and that’s at Knighton House,” he said with finality.

She looked as if she might argue, then sighed. “Very well. But you must tell me the minute you’ve found where they’ve gone.”

“Of course.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“Don’t you worry—I’ll be quick as I can.”

Thank God, that seemed to pacify her. Because the only thing that could ruin his day more than having to track down some foolish fortune-hunting rascal, was having to do it in the company of a winsome and maddening lady of quality.

He saw her out, stopping to chastise the coachman for bringing her to St. Giles. But he couldn’t really blame the man, having given in to her wishes himself with alarming ease.

That thought plagued him as he strode off for the livery. What was it about the damned female that made him susceptible to her pleas? Yes, she was lovely, but he had his pick of the lightskirts, many of whom were prime articles themselves. And none of them was high in the instep or pricklier than a hawthorn hedge.

But none of them looked lost and vulnerable when fretting over their young sisters…

He ignored the tightening in his gut. His concern had
naught to do with Lady Helena; he was only thinking of poor Lady Juliet. This Morgan chap might be a bad sort. Daniel hated seeing any woman suffer, but especially an innocent lass like the youngest Laverick girl.

He’d seen enough innocents suffer during his childhood, first in the workhouse, where he’d been sent after his parents were hanged for highway robbery, and then among the smugglers. Like other men, smugglers treated their wives and children with varying degrees of courtesy—but a lifetime of ignoring the law led some to ignore common decency, and those were the men Daniel despised.

As a boy, he could only walk away from the troubling sight of a strapping man cuffing a wee lass. As a man, he didn’t tolerate it. Many was the fight he’d got himself into because of it, which was why some smugglers had been as glad to see him leave Hastings at seventeen as he’d been to escape them.

If he’d ever entirely escaped them. As he passed a group of young scapegallows huddled together, probably planning their next crack lay, he thought about Lady Helena’s assumptions concerning him. If she only knew the whole of it.

Not that he was ashamed of what he’d done in his youth; it was all he’d known until Griff had come along. Even now he rarely cared if somebody heard all about his free-trading past.

It’s just that he didn’t want
her
thinking of him as a “nasty, evil” man. Though he strove to deny it, he was pleased she’d come to
him
for help. That she’d trusted him at least a little.

A very little. After last summer’s disaster, she thought him a true scoundrel. She’d made that damned clear. Still, he sometimes wondered what might’ve happened at
Swan Park if matters had been different and he hadn’t been masquerading as Griff, if he’d truly been courting Lady Helena…

He shook off the thought. That was building castles in the clouds, to be sure. Men of his kind didn’t sniff around well-born women if they knew what was good for them. Especially not ones as fractious and untrusting as her. If he so much as touched her, she was liable to blacken his name to every lord and lady she knew. His aristocratic clients cared naught about his past, but they’d care mightily about his insulting a lady. So Lady Helena was not for the likes of him, no matter what his pego thought.

After he left the livery, he rode toward the Bear and Key. Once he found out what he could there, he’d check other respectable inns. He doubted that Morgan was a smuggler, but he’d ask at the flash houses anyway, just to be sure. Blackman at the Black Horse would tell him if anybody unusual had been there, and would probably know if anybody had stayed at another rookery.

Twelve hours later, and after more silver had changed hands than he liked, he had nothing to show for his efforts—which relieved him. Nobody had seen Morgan or Juliet, aside from the proprietor at the Bear and Key, and then only long enough to sell them a mite to eat. So it was probably just an elopement after all.

And if Lady Juliet wanted to marry some low chap who was after her modest dowry, who was he to stop her? Besides, this Morgan might truly be in love with her. The only one to say otherwise was Lady Helena, and God knew he couldn’t take her word for it.

As his horse trotted into St. Giles near midnight, he spotted Clancy’s gin shop. He started to pass it by, but then hesitated. Clancy was a friend to smugglers and Daniel’s only connection to the old crowd. If the Irish
man hadn’t heard anything about Will Morgan, there was naught to be heard, and Daniel could set Lady Helena’s mind at ease with a clear conscience. Besides, a dram of gin would be just the thing now.

Daniel liked Clancy—everybody did. The Irishman was a swiller’s favorite publican—jovial and generous with his pouring, not to mention a spinner of tales as tall as the Tower. His great belly and old-fashioned white wig made him look like a daft Father Christmas, but his eyes were sharp and his mind keen. Besides which, he had a soft spot for Daniel. Though Daniel was only half Irish, that was enough Irish for Clancy, who enjoyed jawing with him about the old country even though Daniel had never set foot in it his whole life.