Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (14 page)

“William. Yes, he’s my brother. But why would you ask about him?”

“You should talk to him, I think. But in a public place. No reason to take unnecessary chances.”

“
What?
”

Mr. Morrison frowned, apparently choosing his words carefully, as if he were trying to be delicate. Apparently, this was not normal for him, and so he was awkward at it.

“Seems to me a younger brother who manages to court and soon marry the lands that were once yours might want something else that is yours.”

Grant stared at the man, his mind churning. “You think I was the focus of the attack?”

“You said there was no demand for money, just a quick attack that you foiled.”

“Yes, but I thought he was going for Irene.”

“Or perhaps, that’s what you believed, because you’ve since learned of her mysterious follower. A good thought and still a possibility. However, I submit that
you
might have been the focus of the attack, and who has a better motive for murder than your brother?”

“Will’s a prig, not a killer. And he’s not in London.”

“Easy enough to hire someone,” the man answered with implacable logic. “When was the last time you really talked with your brother? Really knew him enough to say what he is or is not capable of? In my experience, every man is capable of murder in the right circumstances.”

Grant rubbed a hand over his face, his mind frozen with doubts. Good God, could he really be considering this? Will a murderer? “It can’t be.”

“It might not be. I simply offer it as a possibility. One that should be explored, if only to prove it is
not
possible.”

Grant’s chest tightened, and he noted almost absently that his hands had tightened into fists.

Whom
do
you
mean
to
plug? Will or this bastard?

He didn’t mean to plug—er, punch—anyone. Except perhaps himself, for considering that his brother could be coldly plotting his murder. And yet, he couldn’t
not
consider it. The idea had taken root in his brain.

“In the meantime,” continued Mr. Morrison, as if he hadn’t just turned Grant completely inside out, “I shall try to be a little more vigilant in watching Mrs. Knopp. You will tell her to be careful though, won’t you? I can’t be everywhere, and if your brother is indeed innocent, then the lady could be in grave danger indeed.”

“What if this was a common footpad?” Grant asked.

Clutching
at
straws.

“Is that what you think?” countered Mr. Morrison.

“No.”

“Then why waste time on the question?”

“Because,” answered a female who left the shop doorway to stand beside Mr. Morrison. “It’s a damned hard thing for a man to think about murder. Makes it even harder when it’s in the family.”

Mr. Morrison’s face lightened suddenly, going from coldly precise to something that some might call soft. Where once there was the impression of only hard angles and cutting intellect, suddenly, the man became almost vague as he stared down adoringly at the woman. Grant recognized her as Penny Shoemaker, fiancée to the odd runner.

“I think of it all the time,” Samuel murmured vaguely.

“Well, you’re a mad gent, and no mistake about that,” she returned with a grin. Then right there on the street, she stretched up to kiss him. Mr. Morrison’s hand tightened on her waist, and his head lowered. The kiss was scorching for all that it was public, and Grant felt acutely uncomfortable on any number of levels.

Fortunately, it didn’t last long. It was the woman, he thought, who ended the kiss. Pushing Mr. Morrison away, though not hard.

“Stop it, Samuel. It’s not proper.” Then she turned to give a considering look at Grant. “You’re Lord Crowle, aren’t you? We spoke last night.”

Without thinking, Grant gave her a courtly bow, kissing her rough hand as if she were a queen. “Pleasure to see you again, Miss Shoemaker.” He gestured to the shop behind them. “So this is your father’s place? Though I never had the pleasure of wearing a pair of his boots, I understand they were divine.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She dimpled prettily even as she stepped backwards. “But it’s my shop now—for ladies—or will be within a few weeks, after I get the insides sorted out. And I make the shoes.”

Grant’s eyebrows rose, impressed again. It was most unusual to hear of a woman making shoes, much less owning her own shop. Meanwhile, his madness wasn’t allowing him to escape into pleasantries.

Forget
his
girl. Focus on yours!

“Do you think Irene could be in danger?” he asked, his voice coming out a little too abrupt.

“What?” asked Penny, obviously alarmed.

Mr. Morrison patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her. Or pay Willy to—”

“No!” exclaimed Grant, though God only knew why he was suddenly so passionate. “I’ll do it.”

Mr. Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were going to speak with your brother.”

“I am,” Grant said, his tone growing colder by the second. “I’m going to do
both
. In fact, I believe I’m going to find Irene right now. And I’ll be damned if I let
her
sensibilities deter me!”

There was a moment of dead silence from all three. Then suddenly, Mr. Morrison nodded sharply. “Good man,” he pronounced.

That, apparently, was enough for Miss Shoemaker, who pointed off behind him. “I left her less than an hour ago at the dress shop. She’ll probably still be there.”

Grant nodded, suddenly resolved to stand beside Irene night and day, until this particular mystery was solved. If nothing else, he would find the culprit long before he had to face his brother. Because if it were really Will trying to kill him, his brother wouldn’t need to use a knife or pistol. Just the knowledge alone would stop his heart dead.

And on that grim thought, he bowed to the couple and headed off to find Irene.

Irene couldn’t focus. Numbers were something she understood, but no matter what she did, her mind would not grasp the simplest concepts. It didn’t help that she was sitting in the workroom at the dress shop, there were people everywhere, and the one person she’d come here to see—Wendy—was conspicuously absent.

She was sitting at Helaine’s desk trying to sort through the bookkeeping. She needed to understand what money the shop was going to pay her, so she could figure out what money she had to buy new fabric. After everything she’d paid Grant for his wool, she was feeling decidedly pinched. Sadly, Anthony’s neat columns were making no sense at all. She could see the numbers—36, 27, 102, all adding up to 165—but what part was meant for her? And how soon would she be paid?

She winced as laughing chatterboxes made their way to the back workroom. The group—mother, two daughters, and Helaine—were having a lively time as they wandered here to inspect several bolts of fabric. It wasn’t the usual way with things. Normally, Wendy and her apprentice Tabitha carried the cloth into the showroom, but with the increase in business and the massive purchase Irene had made from Grant, there just wasn’t room. So now, customers came to the back to see their choices.

Irene looked up, knowing that she needed to appear friendly, despite the headache that thrummed behind her eyes. Then her expression froze. Miss Josephine Powel stood in the center of the group, her eyes sparkling and her gestures expansive. Her sister was no less animated as the two argued back and forth, but it was Josephine who drew Irene’s cool regard.

The girl was lovely, reddish brown chestnut curls and all. And she had been stunning last night at the ball when Grant had abandoned Irene to rush to that woman’s side. Irene had watched—discreetly, of course—as Grant had maneuvered an introduction and had spoken with the woman for a few minutes, then he’d gone white-faced with shock. A moment later, the man had disappeared into the card room.

Irene had no idea what happened, but she had a sudden fierce need to learn all she could about the harpy. So she listened, while pretending not to, and she tried to think of a way to enter the conversation. Then Helaine solved her problem by asking for her help.

“Irene, dear, I wonder if you might help us. This is Lady Lawton and her two daughters, Miss Josephine and Miss Megan. Josephine has just gotten engaged and is looking for the right dress for her party.”

“Engaged? Best wishes, my dear!” Irene said, her mind working furiously. Was that what Grant had discovered last night? That the girl was engaged?

Of course it was. Which meant that he went to the card room to cover his disappointment over losing her. And when that wasn’t helping, he had sought something else: a woman who
was
available. Irene. Oh damnation, was that all she’d been to him? A way to get past this fiery beauty?

Irene’s smile felt brittle, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Miss Josephine’s eyes were dancing, her cheeks flushed, and it was obvious to everyone that she was ecstatically happy. And the sister was no less thrilled as she discussed the details of the wedding—engagement dress, wedding dress,
her
dress. A trousseau for both girls, it seemed, with all the fashion excitement that entailed.

Irene was pulled into a discussion of silks and buttons, what supplies they had on hand, what could be purchased for the right price. It was dizzying, and it was all for the woman who had broken Grant’s heart. The same woman who would look awful in that swath of orange.

Irene was about to point out the silk when she stopped herself. Was she really that spiteful? And to a girl who may not even know what she’d done to Grant? Especially when Irene didn’t truly
know
what had happened.

With a grimace of annoyance, she shifted to a silk with a subtle wash of green. That would be divine on the girl. “How about—”

“Irene! There you are!”

Everyone spun around at the loud, male voice that cut through the chatter in the room. It was Grant, his voice half angry, half exasperated as he pushed his way from the front salon into the back workroom, while everyone else fell dead silent and stared.

Helaine was the first to recover. “Sir, this is a place for ladies. I must insist that you wait in the front salon immediately.” She glanced pointedly at his attire—which was of a decidedly unfashionable nature—then gestured to the back door. “Or you could always compose yourself outside. I’m sure Lady Irene can discuss her business with you out there.”

Grant was about to answer. His eyes had locked onto hers, and he was pushing his way forward as fast as he could without actually shoving the ladies aside. But at Helaine’s words, he abruptly stopped and turned to her.

“
Lady
Irene?” he asked.

Oh no! Had she never told him her true title?

Meanwhile, the bride suddenly gasped and clapped her hands. “Lord Crowle! Goodness, I didn’t recognize you at first.”

At which point, Irene watched everything again, just like what had happened last night. Grant turned, his eyes widening as he saw Miss Powel. His body jolted as he took in not only her, but her sister and mother. And then his face drained of all color. He covered, of course. His skin didn’t truly go gray-white. But Irene saw it clear as day, even though he stammered his way through a startled bow.

“Uh… good afternoon. Misses Powel and Lady Lawton. I hadn’t realized—I mean, what brings you—well, of course, you’re here looking at dresses, aren’t you?”

Megan trilled with laughter, the sound too flirty to be comfortable. But everyone else just smiled at the flustered man. Everyone, that is, but Irene, who stepped forward. “Lord Crowle, is there something you wanted?”

He turned, focusing on her. His eyes were piercing sharp at first, but then his expression softened. Then it slid to a slow frown. “
Lady
Irene? I had no idea you were so exalted.” Was there an edge to his tone?

“I believe we both understand the reasons for hiding a title sometimes. I apologize if I surprised you.”

He blinked and then recovered, while his skin flushed ruddy. “No, it is I who must apologize. It seems I am out of practice with London.”

What
the
devil
did
that
mean?
Irene wondered. Meanwhile, the blushing bride pressed forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Out of practice? Then you have been traveling. Will has been extremely curious as to your whereabouts.”

Grant straightened, and his expression closed down. It was a subtle change, one that Irene wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been looking right at him.

“Really?” he drawled as he turned to face Miss Josephine. “He has mentioned my whereabouts to you?”

The woman blinked. “Well, only that he has been looking for you all summer. Came down here expressly to find you a couple months ago. I’m so glad that you’re here now. We were hoping you would be.”

He rocked back on his heels as he considered the girl, and Irene could feel his attention like a sharp point in the air. It was a wonder that the girl didn’t bleed.

“Well, I am here now. Is there something he wished to discuss?”

She blinked at his cold tone, obviously startled. “Well, yes, actually. Um, I—we—wanted to be sure you come to our engagement ball. We, uh, we don’t have your address, so we didn’t know if you—”

“My solicitor handles all my mail. Will knows the address.”

She bit her lip, and Irene could see the entire family shuffle their feet in discomfort. Whatever the reason for Grant’s chilling tone, these ladies didn’t understand it.

He must have seen that as well because he abruptly ran his hand through his hair. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve had a rather disturbing day already and am out of sorts.”

“Nothing terrible, I hope?” Miss Josephine asked.

His gaze tightened again on her while Irene tried to understand. It had sounded like an innocent question, but obviously, something was bothering the man. “Um, no,” he said. “Nothing too disconcerting. Perhaps you could tell me when Will is coming to London. I should very much like to see him.”

“Oh!” The woman brightened considerably. “Of course! He will be arriving today! Or perhaps tomorrow. You must come for nuncheon. That way we can all get to know one another better.”

Irene saw an expression flit across his face. Wariness. As if he saw demons in every corner, and most especially in the girl who stood right across from him.

She knew the feeling well—the vague uncertainty that haunted every thought. But for the life of her, she couldn’t guess why he would be so suspicious of the Lawton girls. But it was clearly getting the better of him, so Irene judged it time to step in. He might not appreciate her help, but she couldn’t bear to see him so at a loss.

“How stupid of me!” she cried as she pulled out a chair. “Lord Crowle, your wound must be paining you. Please, will you not sit down?” She gave him little choice as she all but hauled him backward. Then amid the general chaos of questions, she flashed a smile at everyone. “Lord Crowle was kind enough to escort myself and Wendy home last night. We weren’t that far from here when we were attacked by a footpad. Lord Crowle was extremely dashing as he defended us. But he took a knife in the belly for his pains.”

If there were expressions of concern before, there was outright horror now. All of sudden, everyone was asking questions and offering Lord Crowle tea. He held up his hands, waving their words off with a horrified look. “Lady Irene exaggerates. It was a mere scratch. I am quite well.”

He was not quite well, Irene thought rather loudly in her own mind. But the problem appeared to be in his mind more than his body. Even in the midst of the current chaos, she remembered how he’d come barging in, demanding to see her. Something important had brought him here. Something that had gotten lost amid the awkward discussion with the Lawtons.

Meanwhile, Grant was refusing all offers, his tone pleasant, his expression neutral. And all the while, he kept his gaze on Miss Josephine. Irene couldn’t fathom what he was looking for. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to get it. In the end, he grimaced and turned to her.

“Lady Irene, I actually came here to speak to you.”

“Yes, I know. Is it urgent?”

“Just some details that we need to make clear. I was with the constable this morning, and there were additional questions.”

“Oh… oh, of course.” Then she looked at the avid listeners surrounding them. There was a great deal about last night that she had no interest in sharing. “I was planning on walking home. Do you think you are well enough to escort me?”

He straightened immediately. “It would be my honor.”

A second later, they were turning to the workroom’s back door when Miss Josephine interposed herself between them and their escape. She was adamant, her expression almost fierce.

“My lord, please, I really must insist. Your brother is most anxious to see you. Couldn’t you please join us for dinner tomorrow?”

He was caught. She had no idea why he wanted to avoid his brother so desperately, but the bride had been insistent. Now, he had no choice but to accept or be extremely rude to his future sister-in-law. Obviously, he knew that. Especially since he finally dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “Of course, I should like to see my brother. But your house must be in disarray. You’ve only just arrived.”

“No. We’ve been here a week so far.”

The smile he gave her was clearly strained. “Nevertheless. Do you know of The Crooked Billet inn? I’m having a small gathering there tomorrow night. Quiet thing. A thank you to Robert, Lord Redhill, for our longstanding friendship.” He looked over to Helaine. “Lady Redhill, I came here today to beg you and your husband to attend.” There was a silent plea in his gaze as he looked to Helaine. “Say you will be there. Seven o’clock?”

Helaine blinked, a frown on her face. “Why, of course. Robert and I would be most pleased to attend.”

Grant sent her a grateful smile before he turned back to Miss Josephine. “Perhaps you and Will could attend as well?”

“Most definitely,” the woman said.

“I look forward to it.” Then he bowed to the room in general before holding out his arm to Irene. “If you are ready?”

She smiled back, her thoughts spinning with questions. “Thank you, my lord.” Then together they stepped outside.

She held her tongue well after the door shut behind them. She kept silent for six steps, ten beats of her heart, or three long, rather frustrated breaths. But at the end of all that, she clenched Grant’s arm and spoke quite plainly.

“If you don’t tell me immediately what that was about, I swear I shall cause a scene.”

He blinked as he turned his troubled gaze to her, then he nodded. It was a slow nod, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And then he gestured to the side.

“Hyde Park is over there. Fancy a stroll?”

She thought of the time and gasped in horror. “Now? In Hyde Park? I am not dressed for it.” She didn’t dare mention that what he wore was completely outre. He was dressed as a tradesman and couldn’t risk being seen as such. Not by the
haute
ton
.

He grimaced. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten.”

“Do you know, I believe you have been Mr. Grant for much too long. You have completely forgotten the responsibilities of your title.”

He eyes flashed angrily. “Believe me,” he ground out. “I am well aware that I am an earl. Today of all days, it weighs most heavy on me.”

“But why? Why today of all days? What happened in the few hours since we parted?”

He grimaced then looked away. His feet took them in the opposite direction of Hyde Park. It was toward her home, so she didn’t object. Truthfully, she would walk to Bath and back if it meant he explained himself. Fortunately, it didn’t require more than a couple steps before he began to speak.

“What do you recall of last night?”

Her face abruptly heated, and worse, her belly quivered. “Um,” she began, struggling for words.