Brushed by Scandal (14 page)

‘True. Hanover Square does have a very nice ring,’ Barrington murmured. ‘But I’ve no doubt it
will
be a splendid affair.’ He turned to her and smiled. ‘The wedding breakfast alone will be reason enough to attend.’

‘Good. Since you
will
be attending, at least you can be assured of a good meal.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, you didn’t think I was going to this on my own, did you?’ Anna enquired innocently. ‘You are as much to blame for their engagement as I, so it seems only fair that you should accompany me to the celebration.’

It was an audacious statement and Anna held her breath as she waited for him to answer. What had got into her? A lady
never
asked a gentleman—it simply wasn’t done. Fortunately, Barrington didn’t seem to mind. Ever so slowly, he began to smile. ‘It would be my honour to escort you, Lady Annabelle. Assuming, of course, that I am not engaged in resolving the convoluted lives of others on that particular day.’

Suppressing a ridiculous desire to laugh, Anna gathered the reins in her hands and lightly flicked her crop against the mare’s withers. ‘I trust, Sir Barrington, that on this most auspicious occasion, the convoluted lives of others will just have to go on without you.’

* * *

As well as involving Lord Richard Crew in the investigation of the baroness’s necklace, Barrington made his own enquiries in a part of town the gentry seldom frequented. He wore clothes specifically chosen for the occasion: a hacking jacket a few years out of date, an old pair of topboots, scuffed and in need of a polish, and a beaver, too wide at the brim and looking decidedly worn. The effect was the appearance of a man down on his luck. One who was right at home with the patrons of the Rose and Thistle. Only the elegance of the ebony cane hinted at the presence of wealth, but Barrington wasn’t about to venture into London’s seedier neighbourhoods without it. The specially constructed walking stick had saved his life on more than one occasion.

He strolled into the inn at a few minutes past midnight and caught the eye of the landlord standing behind the bar. Jack Drummond nodded, drew two shots of whisky and, after a brief whisper in the barmaid’s ear, led the way into a quiet back room. Barrington kept a watchful eye on the bar’s patrons, but no one paid any attention to them as they passed. When they reached the small room at the end of the hall, Jack closed and locked the door behind them.

‘Been a while, Sir Barrington,’ the burly man said. He set the glasses down on a table and pulled up a couple of chairs. ‘Everything all right with you?’

‘Can’t complain, Jack, can’t complain.’ Barrington leaned his cane against the back of the chair and sat down. ‘You?’

‘Never been better. Had a baby since last I saw yer and a
right little beauty she is. Don’t know how with an ugly mug like me for a father.’

Barrington grinned. ‘I suspect Molly had a lot to do with it. Is she well?’

‘Aye, sir, she’s fit as a fiddle.’ Jack’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. ‘Still happy to put up with me and that’s saying something. Best day’s work I ever did marrying that woman and it was only thanks to you I got the chance.’

Barrington shook his head. ‘If you hadn’t knocked the knife out of that Irishman’s hand, I wouldn’t be sitting here tonight.’

‘And if
you
hadn’t come running round that corner, shouting to wake the dead, that knife would have been buried in my chest clear up to the hilt.’ Jack glanced at the ebony cane and smiled. ‘Still carrying it, I see.’

‘Never go out without it.’ Barrington smiled. ‘Some things are best not left to chance.’

‘Can’t argue with that. But you didn’t come all the way down here to reminisce about the old days. What can I do for you?’

‘I need you to keep an eye out,’ Barrington said without preamble. ‘A rather spectacular necklace was recently stolen from a lady’s house and it’s possible that over the next while, whispers about the necklace, or the necklace itself, may make its way into your inn. I want to know who’s doing the talking and what they’re saying.’

‘I can do that,’ Jack said with a nod. ‘What kind of jewels are we talking about?’

‘Sapphires and diamonds. Fairly large stones, so the thief may try to sell it by the piece. Or, if he leaves it whole, he may try to smuggle it out of the country. I’d appreciate you letting me know if you hear anything.’

‘You’ve got my word on that, Sir Barrington,’ Jack assured him.

Barrington pulled an envelope from his pocket. ‘Use this if you think it will help. Otherwise, spend it on Molly and that new baby.’

Jack took the envelope, but didn’t open it. ‘You’re a good man, Sir Barrington. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Chances are, if something that valuable’s making its way around London, I’ll hear about it sooner or later. Shall I contact you in the usual way?’

Barrington nodded as he tossed back his brandy. ‘It’s worked well in the past.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Jack.’

‘A pleasure doing business, Sir Barrington,’ Jack said, likewise getting to his feet. ‘You can be sure if that necklace or any of its parts makes it down this neck of the woods, you’ll be the first to know.’

* * *

Anna had intended to tell her father about Julia’s necklace as soon as she’d heard about its theft, but one thing led to another and the days passed without her having a chance. Consequently, when she and her father finally sat together in the breakfast parlour a few days later, Anna wasn’t surprised to find out that he already knew.

‘Julia informed me of it over supper at the Hastings’ last night,’ the earl said, cutting into a slice of ham. ‘Shocking turn of events. I told her to contact the authorities, but she informed me she had already engaged Sir Barrington Parker to look into the matter and that she’d done so on your recommendation.’ He sent Anna a speculative glance. ‘I thought you didn’t like the man.’

‘I do not like or dislike him. In truth, it was Lady Lydia’s suggestion that Julia get in touch with him,’ Anna said. ‘I merely agreed that he would be a good choice because he
was bound to be more discreet than most. He also seems to be privy to a great deal of information not known to the general public.’

‘And how have
you
come to know that?’

Aware that her father was watching her a little too intently, Anna said casually, ‘During my dealings with one of the young ladies whose life I was endeavouring to fix, I met Sir Barrington and he was able to provide me with information that was extremely valuable in securing the lady’s happiness.’

‘I see. So you’ve spent considerable time talking with him, then?’

‘Not considerable, no.’ Anna set her knife down. ‘We met at Lady Montby’s, spoke briefly at Julia’s dinner party, then chanced to encounter one another in the park the other day.’ She decided not to tell her father about the visit she had paid to the baronet’s house over Peregrine’s affair with Lady Yew. That would spark far too many awkward questions. ‘It was then he informed me of his meeting with Julia.’

‘I see.’

Anna sighed. ‘Why is it gentlemen say that all the time, when I am quite convinced none of you see anything at all!’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She was annoyed to see her father smile in that knowing kind of way. ‘I think I’m beginning to see
some
things very clearly indeed.’

* * *

Disappointingly, very little information surfaced about the stolen necklace. London’s underworld kept to itself, and those who were foolish enough to divulge what they knew suffered a noticeably shortened life. Consequently, neither Jack Drummond nor Lord Richard Crew were able to provide Barrington with the information he needed.

Closer to home, he questioned each member of the
baroness’s personal staff, but turned up nothing of use. They were all extremely upset by the nature of the theft, but none were able to offer anything that pointed him in the right direction.

It was discouraging to say the least, but he still had one more avenue to explore. Knowing that gentlemen who imbibed too freely often tended to say far more than was wise, Barrington paid a late-night visit to one of his old haunts. The hell was known for high stakes’ play and the young bucks who flocked to it were willing to risk all on the turn of a card.

Barrington knew many of them personally. Heirs to great estates who frittered away the years engaged in various debaucheries while waiting for their fathers to die. Restless second sons with little expectation of inheriting anything, but with allowances generous enough to allow them to gamble or drink their way into serious trouble. And the inevitable hangers-on. Those who clung to the coat-tails of the wealthy with either enough money or enough charm to make them tolerable.

Barrington knew them all. He had watched both his father and his grandfather drink themselves into oblivion and had sworn as a young man that he would never follow in their footsteps. As a result, for the first time in over two hundred years, the Parker name bore not a trace of scandal. And while his own line of work had not made him the most popular man in London, at least he knew he was doing what he could to make life better for those who were deserving of it.

But at what cost to yourself?

The question was unsettling. As was the fact that of late, he’d been asking it of himself more and more often. At one time, he had been able to ignore it because he had honestly believed there was nothing he would rather be doing, that there was no cost to exposing the dregs of London society.

But that wasn’t true any more. His happiness was the cost. The warmth of a woman’s love was the cost.

Anna
was the cost—and the realisation hit him hard. Until recently, he hadn’t allowed himself to say it. Even to think it. But ever since that night on the balcony, he realised that his feelings had begun to change. The idea of spending his life alone wasn’t so appealing any more—and it was all because of Anna. He wanted to go to sleep with her curled up next to him, then to wake up and see her smiling at him. He wanted to lose himself in the lush warmth of her body and to experience the passion he knew he would find in her arms. Passion a few short minutes on a balcony had given him a tantalising glimpse of.

But, out of habit, he had put her off, telling her that he had no intention of marrying and using what he did as an excuse to keep her at a distance.

For the first time in his life, he wished he hadn’t needed to.

* * *

Around one o’clock in the morning, after three hours of hard play, Barrington was getting ready to call it a night when one of the doxies came over to him and sat down in his lap. Her faded gown left little to the imagination and, as she draped her arm around his neck, Barrington was treated to a glimpse of full, rounded breasts and a long, slim neck. ‘Sir Barrington Parker?’ she whispered.

He looked up into a face that was still pretty and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Then somebody wants to see you.’

Surprised at not being propositioned, he said, ‘What makes you think I want to see him?’

‘Beats me, love, but he said he’d wait for you in the garden and not to be long about it. Said he had something to tell you.’

As she slowly straightened, she ran her hand up his chest, her fingers lingering for a moment at his throat. His shirt was open, his cravat long since having been shed. As she stroked the warm bare skin, she watched his face for signs that her attempts at seduction were succeeding. When she saw none, she sighed and moved away, obviously on the prowl for more lucrative business.

Barrington collected his winnings, picked up his cane and slowly got to his feet. It never paid to appear anxious in a place like this. Though most of the patrons were either drunk or unconscious, one never knew when watchful eyes might be following one’s movements. Instead, he sauntered past the other tables, stopping to pretend an interest in one of the games, before heading towards the door.

The light grew dim as the corridor narrowed and the sounds of conversation and laughter faded away. Barrington concentrated on moving carefully now, senses alert for danger. Someone had gone to the trouble of following him here and of trying to make contact. He had no idea whether it was friend or foe, but experience had taught him well. The last thing he needed was an ambush by someone hiding in a darkened doorway.

Fortunately, no such attack came to pass and when he finally reached the unlocked back door, he stepped out into a small patch of heavily overgrown garden and looked around. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the faint outline of a man standing against the stone wall at the far end of the garden.

‘Sir Barrington Parker?’ The man’s voice was coarse, the accent more north country than London.

‘Yes.’ Barrington slowly walked forwards. ‘Who are you and how did you know to find me here?’

‘Who I am doesn’t matter. What I’ve got to say does. I understand you’re looking for a necklace.’

Barrington stopped dead. So, the rats were finally making their way to the surface. He wished the light was such that he could put a face to the voice, but the man had positioned himself in such a way that his features remained in complete obscurity. ‘What do you know about that?’ ‘Just what I was told to pass along.’ Barrington raised one eyebrow in surprise. So, the man was merely a conduit, a lackey of the person in possession of the necessary information. ‘Does your master require payment for his information?’

‘No. Said it was enough that the guilty party be exposed for what he’d done. A settling of an old score, if you will.’

Barrington smiled. A vendetta. How Italian. ‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘What can you tell me?’

It took three minutes. Three minutes and Barrington had his name. A name he would have spent an eternity looking for and never found. After that, his informant slipped quietly into the night, the creaking of the back gate the only indication he’d ever been there.

Barrington stood alone in the silence of the neglected garden. He was used to hearing lies and rumours. Used to sifting through mounds of trivial information until he stumbled upon that one piece that might be of value. And he could honestly say there were only a handful of times in his entire life when he had truly been surprised by the nature of a revelation. This was one of those times.