A Scandalous Proposal (22 page)

“Suits the man,” Gabe said quietly. “All that's missing is an assortment of riding crops hanging in pride of place on the wall.”

The majordomo had remained in the open doorway. “If I might be of any further assistance...?”

“You can't,” Coop told him, closing the door on the man's face, and then leaning up against it, to grin like a schoolboy who'd just made off with his father's pipe and tobacco.

Gabe had already begun searching the bookshelves, to be sure none of the decorative boxes held the letters. “Did you imagine it would be this easy?”

“No. But I had hope. Minerva sails through life like a man-of-war, and for the most part everyone she encounters is quick to hasten out of her way. I merely tore a page from her lesson book. I'll take the desk.”

He pulled out the chair and sat down, opening one drawer after the other until he realized one of them bore a keyhole. Locked, of course. “Gabe, do you have a knife?”

“You mistake me for Darby. Here, try this letter opener.”

“There's no need for that, gentlemen.”

Coop froze where he was, as did Gabe, and they watched as a not too tall, not homely nor handsome—indeed, a totally unmemorable—young man entered the study via the French doors that led out to a balcony.

“You,” Coop said, careful to keep his hands still until he saw that the man's hands were empty. “You're the one from the jewelry shop.”

The man bowed. “One and the same, yes, for my sins. Allow me to introduce myself. I am William Bruxton, brother to Miss Sally Bruxton, who is soon to be wed to the marquis. If I don't kill him first. Now, who are you?”

“We're here on the king's business,” Gabe said, surreptitiously sliding his fingers around a slim bronze statuette and slipping it behind his back.

Bruxton smiled. “No, you're not. You're here to find Ferdie's latest incriminating manuscript. You're too late. He had me deliver it to the printer this morning.”

“Just as he had you take the garnets to the jewelry shop.”

“As you say, yes. I recognized you that day, which is why I hid my face as I rushed past. Not that anyone ever remembers my face. It's both my curse and my blessing.”

Coop stood up. He felt more comfortable, standing. “So you're in league with your soon-to-be brother-in-law.”

“Hardly. Like my sister, and courtesy of our gambling-mad father, I am firmly held beneath the thumb of my soon-to-be brother-in-law. There is a discernible difference, if one cares to look.”

“I do. The jewelry you attempted to sell. That wasn't your first visit to the shop to do such business.”

“No. The other visits were to deliver minor pieces of the Lanisford family's enormous collection, to have the larger of the genuine stones popped out and replaced with glass.”

“Why would he do that?” Gabe asked, relaxing enough to put down the statuette and take up his position, seating himself on one edge of the desk. “Ferdie's rich as Croesus, last I heard.”

“The late marquis's will left several of the minor, unentailed pieces to his late wife's sisters and nieces. Ferdie figured out that his father's will did not demand they be given in their original condition.”

Coop actually saw the humor in that. “Sounds just like the man. What is that Irish saying? Oh, yes—‘If he had only an egg, he'd give you the shell.' Now tell me why you continue to cooperate with him—and if you were the man who shot at me today from the trees.”

“You might still be able to stop publication if I tell you the address of the printer,” Bruxton said, which fairly well answered Coop's question.

“That information won't save you. The chapbook is already in our possession. You shot my tiger. You could have killed my fiancée.”

“I could have hit you squarely in the back of your head,” the man said, actually boasted. “Instead, at the last minute, I came to my senses, and shot low, knowing I had to hit something, or else you might not even realize your life was in danger. My apologies to your tiger. It was only a graze.”

“That graze cost me a pony, the four-legged kind. So now you've come to your senses. Why?”

Bruxton pointed to the drinks table. “May I?” He walked over and poured himself a glass of gin, downed it and then poured another. “Do you know what it's like to be poor, my lord? Poor, after years of
not
being poor? I think that's even worse, because you've known better, and don't precisely know
how
to be poor. At any rate, when Lanisford decided he fancied Sally, asking no dowry, and paying Papa's gambling debts, his mortgages into the bargain, it became easy, at least for a while, to turn my head away from what was really going on with my sister.”

“You once pursued Sally, didn't you, Coop? Pretty girl, as I recall, and always with a smile. What happened there?”

“She had to leave town in the middle of the season. Her mother fell ill, I believe it was.”

“Our mother was fine. It was our finances that suffered a near-fatal affliction. And if you haven't seen Sally since her engagement, she doesn't smile much anymore. I think I miss her smiles most of all. I told her tonight. The marriage, the title, the prospect of never being poor again? They're simply not worth another day of Ferdie and his curious predilections. That's why I'm here tonight while he's on the town, to collect my severance upon departing his employ. You're standing on it, my lord, by the way—my severance. Sally and I take ship on the morning tide, for Boston, and the home of our mother's sister. There, that's honest for you, gentlemen. Since you say you already have the chapbook, why are
you
here?”

Coop looked down at his feet, then pushed the chair away and lifted the small rug. There was a thick iron ring cut into the floor, and the wood was carefully cut on four sides. “A trapdoor? Where does it lead?”

“Nowhere. It's more of a secret compartment. Open it. Oh, and if you'd be so kind as to turn the black metal box over to me, I'll be on my way. Time and tide wait for no man, you know.”

“Chaucer,” Gabe said. “You are an educated man. You and your sister should land on your feet.”

Coop had checked the contents of the box, and then handed it to Bruxton. “I believe they'll be reasonably well cushioned until our new friend here finds employment. My quick guess is ten thousand pounds.”

“More than twelve actually. I counted it last time I was fortunate enough to be left alone in here. My aunt has already secured a position for me in a school named Harvard. You may have heard of it? I'll be instructing students in classical literature. And now I'm off. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

“I think we just have, yes, thank you. And thank your sister, for it's only because of her that you aren't leaving this room with two blackened eyes. Gabe?” Coop held up a nearly inch-thick stack of letters tied with a black bow. “A lesser man might even cry out,
Eureka!
”

“Archimedes,” Bruxton called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Gabe joined Coop behind the desk. “Is there anything else in there?”

“There is more, yes. But we've got what we came for, as did Bruxton. I don't know that I feel justified delving any deeper.”

“Really? Well, let me tell you, friend-straight-and-narrow,
that's
why you need the rest of us. Move aside, and let me do the delving.”

“All right, but be quick about it. I don't trust that dragon at the door to not have sent off a note to his employer, alerting him to our presence.”

“True. Ah, here we go. I believe I'll just take these interesting bits, and we can look at them more carefully later. Are you ready?”

Coop rolled his eyes as Gabe stuck several sheaves of paper into his waistcoat. “Not quite, no. I thought we'd have someone come stoke the fire and share some of Ferdie's brandy while we have a pleasant coze—of course I'm ready. And for the love of all that's holy, wipe that grin from your face. We're here in service of the king, remember?”

“The king who's locked up in the castle, convinced he can fly? Yes, yes. We needs must show all gravitas.”

“Rigby said you'd settled yourself, perhaps even become domesticated.”

“So much for Rigby's powers of observation. Thea would never let me
settle
.”

Taking one last look about the room, Coop picked up one of the less revolting statuettes and opened the door to the hallway.

The majordomo rushed to meet them, wringing his hands.

“Sirs! That's one of his lordship's most favored pieces.”

“I'm certain it is, my good man,” Coop told him as he brushed past. “Unfortunately for your employer, it is also the property of the Crown, having quite recently resided in its own secure case in the Tower. Please inform his lordship that he is to make himself available tomorrow at ten of the clock, when another colleague of mine will arrive to discuss the matter further. Good evening to you. George—our hats and gloves, if you please.”

The young footman hastened to assist the gentlemen, and in another minute they were on the flagway, clear of the mansion, and increasing their pace until they exited the square and were safely ensconced in the back of yet another hackney.

“What the devil am I supposed to do with this monstrosity?” Coop asked his friend, who was sitting at his ease on the cracked leather seat, chuckling in amusement.

Gabe took the figure and leaned forward, to wave it in the driver's face. “Hey—you up there. How would you like this for your mantel?”

“Don't got me no mantel, but it'd fetch me a right snootful in m'tavern, Oi wager.”

Gabe handed it over and sat back once more. “There, another problem solved. Whatever would you do without us? Although I must say, your actions tonight bordered on genius. Where to now?”

“Back to the Pulteney, to retrieve your coach, and then I'll follow you to the duchess, where I'll gather up Dany and take her back to her sister.”

“Do you think that's wise?”

“I don't see why not.”

Coop believed he could actually feel Gabe's smile in the dark inside the hackney. “No, of course you wouldn't. But you've forgotten something, Romeo. We're meeting Rigby and Darby back at the hotel.”

“Damn.” Coop felt ten times the fool. How could he have forgotten that? But he had news for Dany, and she'd be overjoyed to see her sister's letters.
Really
overjoyed. Even grateful. “Gabe, I'm turning into a very bad man.”

“Yes, that happens when a man tumbles into love,” his friend said matter-of-factly. “We also at times act like fools, and make rare cakes of ourselves. I'm saying this, you understand, as a man who rode to London in the back of a wagon filled with birdcages, just so I could be near Thea.”

“Why was your fiancée riding with what I will assume were your uncle's parrots?”

“I didn't say we men are the only ones who make cakes of ourselves when we tumble into love, did I? But that's another reason why it might be best if you allowed Miss Foster to remain where she is, surrounded by women who will be more than happy to— You know, Coop, you may be right. Perhaps you should escort her back to the countess.”

“My mother was still there when you left?”

“She was. Also prepared to stay the night. And my aunt Vivien, of course.”

“And Rigby's Clarice?”

“And my Thea,” Gabe added, chuckling. “They were all in the drawing room, having a lovely chat, when I left. Although perhaps
escaped
might be a better choice of word.”

Coop thought about the situation, thought about his mother, the duchess, Clarice. “I have to get her out of there.”

“A true den of female iniquity, I agree. Complete with whispers and feminine giggles and, for the matrons, a decanter of gin employed to stiffen their cups of Bohea. But first, the Pulteney. If what I saw when I quickly looked at the papers I pilfered from Ferdie's hidey-hole contain what I believe they do, I think the last of your problems may just have been solved and you can return to your new estate, to grow turnips.”

Coop's head turned so quickly he should have been in danger of snapping his neck. “Did you say turnips?”

“Yes. Turnips. I was given a quick summary of the grand climax to
The Chronicles of a Hero.
You rescue the fair damsel—I think that would make five now, yes?—and the Crown declares you a hero once more and releases you from further obligations so that you can return to your first love as a botanist, eager to serve the Crown in another way, by inventing new varieties of winter-hardy turnips meant to ease hunger in the masses.”

“Gad! Minerva. I suppose I won't have to worry about being mobbed on the streets anymore, there is that. But...
turnips
?”

“Turnips,” Gabe repeated, and then went off into howls of laughter until, against all reason and even sanity, Coop joined in.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

D
ANY
HAD
RELUCTANTLY
gone up to her borrowed bed just after midnight, still hoping Coop would come knocking on the door with good news.

Now she not only had to worry about Mari, but she was forced to worry about Coop, who could have failed, could be bleeding in a ditch or could have just not considered it necessary to seek her out because he didn't care if she was going quietly out of her mind with worry.

And what did that say about the man?

What did it say about her?

“That I'm a fool,” she told herself as she punched once more at her pillows, unable to sleep. And what did Clarice say, hmm? Men don't buy the cow when they can get all the milk they want for free. Yes, that was it. And everyone else had laughed, except for Thea. Dany hadn't understood at first, and when she did, her cheeks had gone hot with embarrassment.

“But they do come back,” Clarice had gone on to say. “My goodness, sometimes there's no getting shed of them. Isn't that right, Minerva?”

“I like this gel,” Coop's mother had said, saluting Clarice with her well-laced cup of tea. “Knows the way of the world, she does. And when they come back for more? Ah, that's when a wise woman plays the maiden all over again, until the poor sot can't stand anymore and begs—pleads!—for her hand in marriage. Then, of course, you're really stuck with him. Look at you, Viv, for pity's sake. You've been stuck with Basil for nearly forty years. Stuck
to
him, in your case. Randy old goat.”

“Yes, but that's all right, if there's love,” Clarice had argued. “I love my Jerry straight down to my toes. What do you have to say for yourself, Thea? And remember, I was there when you and Gabe were courting, so don't try to play the innocent with us, for it won't fudge.”

Thea had just smiled and lifted the tray of lemon squares. “Anyone care for another?”

Dany had grabbed one, and shoved the entire thing into her mouth, so that she didn't have to say anything at all.

Now here she was, where she didn't want to be, knowing nothing she needed to know, and caught between worry for Coop and a strong desire to box his ears for not dutifully reporting back to her on what had transpired since she'd last seen him.

And when she'd last seen him, he had been all tight-lipped and clamped jaw and looking very, very dangerous.

She threw back the badly mussed covers and stood up, fully prepared to pace away the remainder of the night, but when she heard the faint click of the latch she quickly dived back beneath the covers, to lay on her side, her back to the door, and feign sleep.

The last, simply the last, thing she needed at the moment was one of the ladies—dear women, all of them—stopping by to share something else she really didn't want to hear.

She felt the faint pressure of someone joining her on the mattress, and prayed the next voice she heard wouldn't be that of Minerva Townsend, who had already heard the story of the assault on the roadway twice—and why had the two of them driven so far from London in the first place?—and still believed there must be more details being kept from her.

“Dany? Dany, are you asleep?”

Coop? Here, in the duke's residence? In her bedchamber? With the mansion chock-full of people—his mother!—any of them fully capable of discovering him here?

Was he insane?

She didn't move. It would be better for both of them if she feigned sleep and he went away.

Was
she
insane?

“Coop!” she exclaimed, throwing off the covers so she could sit up, launch herself into his arms, pressing kisses all over his face.

“Happy to see me?” he joked after he'd finally captured her mouth in a long, satisfying kiss that ended with the two of them reclined against the pillows.

“You could have come sooner,” she said, remembering that cow and milk business Clarice and everyone had thought so amusing. “Are you all right? Where have you been? What were you doing? Did Thea's husband find you? You didn't shoot anyone, did you? Who let you into the house? Who told you where I— You didn't just prowl up and down the halls, looking in every room until you found me?
Say something.
”

“I was waiting for you to run out of breath. Although I must say your concern—for most everything—has been amusing to hear. I have something to show you.”

“The letters?” Dany felt as if she couldn't breathe. “You have Mari's letters?”

She watched as he shrugged out of his jacket and reached inside his waistcoat, pulling out what had to be her sister's letters. “We're not going to read them.”

She grabbed the packet, could feel its thickness. Mari had always been long-winded. “No. No, of course not.” Her fingers strayed to the tied length of black grosgrain ribbon. “Not even one?”

“Not even one,” Coop told her, taking them from her and tossing them behind his back, where they landed with a soft thud on the carpet. “I think we have much better things to do right now, don't you?”

“Here? Now? But what if...?”

“Dany, are you seriously telling me to leave?”

The milk. The cow.

“I
should
tell you to leave. I mean, you've done what I'd asked you to do, so there's no real reason for you to remain now that we have the letters back, and you apparently have bested terrible Ferdie without permanently dispatching him so that you have to flee the country, and I know we said we'd be betrothed, but there's no longer any reason, is there, for us to— Are you going to stop me anytime soon, Lord Townsend? Because I think this has been the longest, best and worst day of my life, and...”

His kiss stopped her just as she felt herself ready to burst into tears, and she held on for all she was worth as they rolled together on the bed, limbs tangling, hands searching, seeking, finding.

She knew now. Knew what lay at the end of the long, sweet and winding path he was leading her down, and she was determined, this time, to be a more active participant in that journey.

What had been new, even strange, that morning now seemed as natural as breathing. They were two, and the goal was to become one.

Her rising passion didn't frighten her now; she welcomed it.

She unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt with sure, confident fingers, and gloried in the warm, hard strength she encountered beneath. She traced his rib cage, marveled at the scarred flesh that must have come from an old wound, longed to kiss it, remove any memories of the pain he must have suffered.

When he lifted her night rail, her breath caught in her throat and she bent her knees, opening to him, longing for his touch, the hot moist center of her his for the taking.

Please. Please.

She sensed his urgency, and it mirrored her own.

“Yes,” she breathed against his mouth, just as she had earlier.
Yes, Coop, yes.

When he sank into her there was no real pain, but only a moment of soreness, easy to ignore, for now she knew what possession felt like, and welcomed the feeling of being filled, consumed while consuming.

“God, Dany,” he whispered, raising himself up on his hands, to look down into her eyes. “You don't know...you can't know how I've worried that you might have changed your...”

She slid her hands behind his back and held him, attempted to comfort him, until slowly, he began to move inside her.

“Please,” she said, “no more talk. I know there's more for you. I don't need you to be gentle tonight. I just need
you
.”

He leaned down to kiss her, even as he moved his lower body against her, beginning slowly, building a rhythm she had no trouble matching, because they were one, they moved as one, reacted as one.

She'd let him go. If she had to, she'd let him go. She wasn't here, holding him, flying, soaring, floating with him, with any thoughts of forever.

She wanted him, now. He wanted her, now.

They'd been through so much in only a few short days. They needed each other; they'd given in to temptation.

And she'd never regret a moment.

Colors swirled inside Dany's tightly shut eyes; her heart raced, pounded, her whole body tensed in anticipation as Coop took her beyond anything she could have dreamed existed, into a world that held only the two of them...and then beyond the realm of what seemed possible.

His back was slick with sweat as he collapsed onto her, and she nuzzled into his neck, licking at his salty skin, holding him while he shuddered, then seemed to melt against her.

After a few moments she would have given half her life to cling to forever, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so that she could snuggle against his shoulder while he dropped light kisses on her hair and they both recovered their breath.

She didn't know what to say. It seemed entirely the wrong time to tell him that he was free now, that she regretted nothing.

It didn't seem fair to question him, either, not when he was clearly as caught in the moment as she was, and have him say something he might spend the rest of his life regretting.

There simply wasn't anything either of them could say.

Or so she thought.

“Turnips?”

Dany looked up at him, saw the smile on his face.

“Pardon me?”

“That's all they could come up with? Turnips?”

Dany smiled. It was all right. He was still Coop, and she was still Dany. And they both, thank God, could still see absurdity for what it was, even in the midst of all that had been so very complicated and frightening.

“The Townsend turnip. The Hero Turnip.”

“Never,” he said, pulling her close once more. “If I'm to discover some fine, hardy new turnip, it will be the Minerva.”

“That seems only fair,” Dany told him. “Followed by the Vivien and the Clarice. You're not leaving, are you?”

“Not for a while, no. I don't think I can move.”

“Good. Well, then...good night,” she said, and then snuggled closer, suddenly able to find sleep. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.