A Scandalous Proposal (15 page)

They exited carefully, Coop and Dany both, and were followed a few moments later by the viscount, who promptly propped himself against the wall, so that Dany and Coop had no option but to become his audience.

“Prepare to be amazed, my friend, although I suggest you don't so forget yourself as to exclaim, ‘Aha! Now it all makes sense!' Which, by the way, it does, even as, considering the objects of his blackmail, I suppose my secret is safe with him. In case you still were worried, Miss Foster.”

“Could you just please get on with it,” Coop said, shaking his head. “I've realized you're only amusing when you're teasing someone other than me.”

“I never tease. I build anticipation. But very well. The box itself, to the best of my recollection, belongs to the ancient and revered Lanisford family, with Ferdinand Lanisford serving as the current marquis. You remember Ferdie, don't you, and a certain event?”

It didn't take long for Coop to jog his memory. Ferdie had been at school with them for three terms, and a more repulsive specimen would be difficult to imagine. He whined, he bullied, he snitched on his mates. He screwed his badly dyed hair into a near corkscrew at the top of his head; he dressed rather like a circus clown, brayed like a donkey when he laughed and often smelled like one, as well.

“Oliver was with me that night, and a few others,” Coop said, nodding. “Yes, Darby.
Aha.
”

Dany looked from one to the other, clearly frustrated. “Is anyone going to explain any of this to me? Why are we suddenly talking about Mari's husband?”

“Later, Dany, please. For now, who else was in the box?”

“Ferdie, of course, his lovely fiancée, Sally Bruxton—you once thought her a pretty little thing, I believe. That was before the frown lines, I'm sure. Knowing her father's gambling debts, I imagine this is not a love match.”

“Just the names, Darby,” Coop said as Dany looked ready to open her mouth yet again.

“Now you're forcing me to admit I don't know the name of the other person present. However, after observing the box through a slight gap in the draperies, I believe the gentleman seated behind the happy pair could be Miss Bruxton's brother. I seem to remember him only as being vastly unmemorable. The sole other occupant is a maid, sitting in the shadows at the rear of the box. And now, just to prove that our dear Miss Foster is not the only one who can flit from subject to subject—do you happen to remember who else was with you and Oliver that night? We may want to have small chats with them tomorrow.”

“I don't have the faintest idea what he's talking about,” Dany said, tugging on Coop's jacket sleeve, “but I want to chat, as well.
Now.
My lord, you are excused.”

“I beg your...”

“I don't think begging would work,” Coop said, laughing. “But don't depart in complete haste, if you please—at least not before stopping by the duke's box and informing Minerva that Miss Foster has developed the headache and I'm escorting her home.”

“I don't have my reticule. Besides, she won't believe that obviously trumped-up story,” Dany pointed out.

“No, but she won't kick up a fuss, either,” the viscount countered. “None of them will, or haven't you already noticed that adhering to convention isn't of paramount importance to any of them.”

“Well, I like them, my lord,” Dany replied staunchly. “I like them all.”

“As do we all, Miss Foster,” Darby said, bowing in her direction. “Sometimes, however, not all in one bunch, at least when not armed with a large bucket of cold water. And yet, friend to the end, I'll now take myself off to do as I'm bid. Coop? Until later?”

Coop felt Dany's gaze on him and turned to smile at her. “What can I say? He's my friend.”

“And a good friend,” Dany answered, slipping her arm through his as they made their way through the throng of theatergoers on their way back to their boxes as Intermission was signaled to a close. “But he does see a lot for a man with only one eye, doesn't he? At the very least, he could have said hello, or at least cleared his throat or something when we entered the royal box.”

“Until I spoke, I imagine he didn't know the identity of his fellow occupants,” Coop pointed out as they made their way down the first long flight of stairs to the street. “It was nearly dark as pitch in there.”

“He heard what you said. He heard the sound of my slap.”

“What I said was inexcusable. Your response was quite in keeping with the gravity of my indiscretion.”

“Oh, piffle. I only slapped you because otherwise I would have had to answer you, and I didn't have an answer. Not that you should have asked. You might want to stop doing that, asking decidedly personal questions I can't answer, at least until I can think up another way to divert you.”

“I can think of several, just off the top of my head.”

How strange. His friends hadn't been able to corrupt him, as it were, in all their years together, yet Dany had managed to strip away whatever
starch
Minerva had always complained about in less time that it took for a cat to lick its ear.

She looked up at him, clearly measuring, digesting his words. He prepared himself for another well-deserved slap.

“I think that was naughty. It was naughty, wasn't it? Is that your coach?”

Coop looked to his left, where she had pointed. The coaches had begun circling the theater, as many patrons departed at Intermission, to move off to another engagement scheduled for the evening. “It is. Like Darby, it would appear our luck is in. And as my coachie has recognized us, he's already stopping.”

The steps were let down by the tiger-cum-groom, and Coop handed Dany inside.

“Portman Square, my lord?”

“Not yet, Harry. Please tell Simmons to drive through the park until I signal for a return to Miss Foster's residence.”

“Yes, sir! And he's to go right slow, too, sir.” And then the lad winked.

Coop looked at the boy curiously. “Aren't you too young to— Never mind. I forgot you've been escorting my mother about town, as well. Carry on.”

He settled himself beside Dany, waiting until the coach had moved away from the front of the theater before leaning forward to lift the shades three-quarters of the way and secure them, preserving their anonymity but giving them enough light to at least see past their noses.

She didn't say a word. Which, of course, spoke volumes.

“You'll want me to start at the beginning, I suppose.”

“If that means you'll start with Oliver, yes, I think so. You've figured out something, haven't you?”

“Darby did first, I'd have to say, but yes, I believe we now have some answers.”

“I had only one question. Who is the blackmailer? Is it this Ferdie person?”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and then kept hold of it as he lowered their hands between them. “I want you to think about something, Dany. Have you wondered why the blackmailer singled out your sister for his attentions? After all, there was considerable effort involved on his part. Searching out the premises, finding that knothole. All those letters to write as he cultivated her to the point where she wrote something...well, shall we just say embarrassing about her husband the earl.”

“He was
using
her? To get to Oliver? Is that what you're saying? But...but what about the five hundred pounds?”

Coop shook his head, knowing he'd been guilty of the same incorrect assumption. “Ferdie's family is what many would term odiously wealthy. Money never had anything to do with it. Or with me, for that matter. This is a matter of revenge. Inflicting suffering, offering false hope, turning the screw again and again and then applying the coup de grâce, destroying the person. Persons. There was never a way out, not from the beginning.”

“Revenge? On you? On Oliver? Why?”

But Coop was still thinking, considering. “It had seemed such a coincidence that two victims of the same blackmailer would learn about each other. And it was, really, except that without mention of Oliver's name, I may have walked away. No, that's not true. Walking away was never an option. A broken heel, a pair of indigo eyes. Fate, intervening. He couldn't have foreseen that, simply proving that no crime can ever be perfect.”

Dany squeezed his hand, and not gently. “Could you possibly stop talking to yourself and tell me what you mean? Especially that business about indigo eyes.”

He smiled at her in the darkness. “Don't tell me you weren't using them to their best effect when we stumbled on to each other.”

“I would
never
— You're grinning at me, aren't you? Never mind. Go on. You have a mutual enemy, you and Oliver. And perhaps there are others, since the viscount asked if you remembered the
names
. Am I guessing correctly so far?”

“Because you're brilliant, yes. Again, I'll begin at the beginning.”

“With Ferdie the marquis. Because he's the enemy.”

He ran a fingertip down the side of her cheek, and then gave her chin a gentle flick. “Are you telling this story or am I?”

“Sorry. Carry on,” she said. She divested herself of her shawl and then snuggled against his side just as if they'd been romantically involved for years and such an action was only natural.

It certainly felt natural, just as raising his arm so that she could move in closer before he draped said arm around her shoulder felt natural.

Before I beat Ferdie into flinders, I really should thank him...

“Once upon a time,” he began, earning himself a playful elbow jab in the ribs, “there was an exemplary student on the subject of military tactics as first presented by the legendary Sun Tzu in his writings, most commonly called
The Art of War
. At the request of several of his fellow students, he agreed to an evening of drinks and conversation.”

“You were that student, of course,” Dany interrupted, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Your high opinion of me is truly humbling, and I'd like to say I was, but that's not true. I was one of those hoping to learn something that might keep me alive if I ended up facing Bonaparte, which most of us were convinced we would. My friend Gabriel Sinclair was our informal instructor. In any event, we met in a local tavern, and then returned to our rooms as a group, except Gabe, who had caught the eye of one of the barmaids—but that isn't important save for the fact that he wasn't with us.”

“But Oliver didn't catch the eye of one of the barmaids. Nor did you. Good.”

“I'm relieved that I have your blessing on that, but we weren't feeling all that fortunate at the time,” he told her, daring to drop a kiss on her hair.

He could say anything to her. They...they could be two halves of the same person. A person he barely knew, even as he was sure he knew her more than anyone else ever would, and she him.

“Who was with you? The viscount? Rigby?”

“Neither of them, no. I don't remember where they'd gone off to, but I'm certain it had nothing to do with ancient teachings. All right, I have it now. The others were Oliver, Johnnie Werkel, Thad Wallace, Geoff Quinton, Edward Givens and— No, that has to be wrong.”

He turned on the seat and took Dany's hands in his own. “There was someone else. David Fallon. He was the youngest of all of us.”

“Yes? But what has to be wrong? I can tell you're upset.”

Davy's dead, that's what's wrong.
He was found hanged in his mother's attic. Rigby was the only one who could travel to the services, but Davy's mother showed him the note he'd left behind:
I can't let it happen, this is the only way. Forgive me.

“I'm sorry. Davy suffered a fatal accident, not quite six months ago. He'd made it through the war without so much as nicking himself shaving. You're right. It still upsets me.”

She put up her hand to stroke his cheek. “I'm sorry, too. What about the others?”

Coop lightly rubbed at the skin she'd touched, mentally taking roll. “Johnnie died on the Peninsula. Thad emigrated, to Jamaica I think it was, to take charge of his uncle's holdings there. We weren't that close. I believe Geoff is in town, and I know where Ned is. The ton turned its back on him when he was exposed as a card cheat, his creditors immediately called in all his accounts and he now resides in the Fleet for debt.”

He held up his hand. “Yes, and before you say anything, that suddenly sounds suspicious.”

“We really must visit him. I've never been to a debtor's prison. I've read they lower baskets from between the window bars, begging for food and farthings.”

“Your family must keep an interesting library. And no, you're not going to visit the Fleet. Besides, you haven't heard the rest of the story.”

“Well, that's true enough. You may continue, I suppose.”

“Thank you.” Coop smiled. “I was heading back to my room, along with the aforementioned others, when we heard a slight whimpering, some low moaning, coming from Ferdie's quarters. Curious, I knocked, only to be told to take myself off if I knew what was good for me. That's nearly an exact quote.”

“You didn't, of course. Know what was good for you, I mean. Did you knock again, or simply kick down the door?”

“A little of both,” he admitted. “Remember, I'd just come from a tavern, so I wasn't entirely sober, and felt rather opposed to being told what to do, especially by a bas—a person I didn't care for in the first place. Once inside, we discovered someone sprawled on the floor, and not in a pretty state.”

“A woman? You said
pretty
. You mean a woman, don't you? Perhaps a female of negotiable affections?”

“You're rather enamored of that phrase, I believe. Yes, a prostitute. Ferdie had taken his riding crop to her. So—” he was having some trouble being so frank, but Dany really did make it easier for him “—so I wrestled the crop from him and returned the favor. Someone, probably Geoff, shouted, ‘All or none!' or something similarly ridiculous. In the end, everyone had taken turns with the crop before dumping a now-unconscious Ferdie in front of the dean's door, a note pinned to his shirt, confessing to his crime. I'm not proud of any of that, but we were young, we were all three-parts drunk...and it happened.”