Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (8 page)

He caught her eye then, and not wanting to spread her ill humor, she smiled. But he must have seen her hesitation. He must have understood that something was amiss because he frowned back at her. Or rather, he frowned, not at her, but at himself as he clearly began thinking hard.

But then the meal was over, the musicians were tuning their instruments again, and Wendy was laughing into the eyes of her gentleman. For her part, Irene was feeling her joy return. Just seeing Wendy so happy erased any uncomfortable moments. The woman was usually so tense, always stitching or mysteriously absent. Every one had noted the dark circles under her eyes. And yet right here, she was smiling, her eyes sparkling, and the lines of care that usually pinched her brows beautifully gone.

Disaster struck in an instant. It was so fast that Irene didn’t even see it happen. A man appeared. A gentleman she didn’t know, but that meant very little. She scarcely knew any of the men in society. But he slipped in beside Wendy and took her hand. She turned, laughing because of something Mr. Grant had said, and then suddenly her body went rigid.

Beside her, the gentleman’s expression turned to glee. “I knew it,” he crowed. “I would know you if you wore sackcloth.”

Wendy stood there, her mouth slowly gaping open while the blood drained from her face. For a woman who always had a tart answer ready, something was clearly wrong. Without even knowing what was going on, Irene stepped forward and firmly disengaged the man from Wendy’s side.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced.”

“Oh, my name isn’t important. It’s Miss Drew’s that is so very interesting.”

“Miss Drew
is
her name, and it is completely unexceptional,” Irene snapped. “Good evening.”

With that, she walked away, pulling Wendy along. The girl moved woodenly, all her earlier animation gone. Behind them, Mr. Grant had taken up a position to block the impertinent man’s approach. Irene felt reassured with him there, so solid behind them.

“I shouldn’t have come,” whispered Wendy. “I knew it was wrong.”

“Of course it wasn’t wrong,” Irene said. “But there is clearly something at fault here. Who was that man?”

Wendy shook her head. “I don’t even remember. That’s the horrible part. I don’t remember.”

Irene aimed them straight to the ladies’ retiring room. Sadly, as it was just after supper, there were a host of women, and all were gossiping. Irene wanted to change course, but they’d already stepped inside. So with a significant look at Wendy—one that said their discussion wasn’t over yet—both ladies set about fixing their hair. And they listened to the gossip with a rather distracted air.

It was nothing they hadn’t expected. After all, this was Helaine’s first ball as Lady Redhill. This was also her first time in society after her true identity was revealed. She was not actually Mrs. Mortimer, dress designer extraordinaire at A Lady’s Favor dress salon. She was Lady Helaine, the daughter of the
Thief
of
the
Ton
. And the biddies—young and old—were ready to crucify her for that fact.

Or so it seemed by the murmured talk in the retiring room. Irene absolutely hated that these women could come to Helaine’s ball, eat from her table, and enjoy her hospitality, while simultaneously damning the woman for being common. It was ridiculous, and she burned to give them all a piece of her mind.

Sadly, she knew that any amount of argument added fuel to the flame. Besides, Helaine could defend herself, especially with the powerful Lord Redhill as her husband. Wendy was the one who needed her attention right now. The girl was still pale and shaking.

“Come along, Wendy,” she said, pitching her voice to a clutch of shrews. “The air is foul in here. Poisoned by people who know nothing of life because they have never done anything of worth.”

Wendy gasped at her words, though there was a gleam of delight in her eyes. Irene was a little startled herself. After all, if things had gone how she’d wished so many years ago, she would have been one of those girls. Titled, pampered, and firmly settled in the belief that such things made her a woman able to judge other people. What a shock it was—albeit a small one—to discover how wrong her entire childhood education had been.

In any event, they were out of the room now. She had perhaps twenty seconds of privacy in which to grill the quiet Wendy. Irene seized it with both hands.

“Out with it, my girl. What is going on?”

Wendy shook her head. “I cannot say. Not here.” She looked around. “I can leave, can’t I? I’ve stayed long enough that it won’t reflect badly on Helaine?”

Irene grimaced. Trust Wendy to be worried about Helaine when clearly she was the one feeling threatened. “Yes, of course you can leave now. It’s perfectly acceptable—”

“I’ll go then. Thank you, Irene. Thank you for helping.”

“But Wendy—”

“I’ll tell you everything later. Maybe tomorrow. But I must go now.” And with that, she rushed for the door. Not so fast as to draw attention, but quickly enough that Irene would have to run to catch up. And that, of course,
would
draw attention. She gathered her skirts, planning on making an attempt, when Mr. Grant appeared at her elbow.

“Let her go,” he said softly.

“What? But she’s—”

“Safest out of here. Come along. I had a discussion with the rude Mr. Marris. If you would care to walk with me…”

She nodded, her eyes narrowing as she watched Wendy top the staircase on her way out the door. “I should see that she gets home safely.”

Mr. Grant saw the direction of her gaze. “I’ll see that she gets into a hackney. She likely walked here.”

Irene nodded, knowing it was true. “And I’ll tell mama that she’s taken ill and that I’m seeing her home.”

“Excellent. I’ll call for your wrap and meet you at the door.”

“Done.” Then just before they separated, she grabbed his arm. “You promise to tell me everything you’ve learned?”

He flashed her a grin. “Of course.” Just for a moment, she saw the darkness in him again, the predator that drove him. It sparked a shiver of excitement down her spine—part fear, part attraction, and wholly inappropriate. It was what she felt when entering a difficult negotiation. It was the life that roused her from her bed every morning and filled her days with excitement. And here it was with him, except they were likely going to negotiate something a great deal more important than simple money.

“Very well,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll meet you at the door.”

It was a struggle to keep the gorgeous seamstress from fleeing, but Grant managed to delay her. She was twitching in her anxiety, but apparently felt better once her cloak was about her shoulders, the hood covering nearly her entire face.

“You don’t want to be seen,” he said in a low voice. “I understand. But rushing away will draw more attention than a leisurely stroll away from a ball.”

She nodded, showing that she’d heard him, and to his relief, her anxiety eased. Then Grant was pleased to see Irene join them. He took a moment to help her with her own cloak, settling the heavy black fabric about her shoulders.

More
black. Blech.

For once Grant agreed with his madness. It was a crime to cover her beauty with such dreariness, but this wasn’t the time to discuss her attire. Then with a lady on each arm, he headed toward the street.

“Shall I call a hackney?” he asked.

Irene hesitated, her gaze on the seamstress who adamantly shook her head. “I don’t want the expense,” she said. “It’s a short walk to the shop.”

Beside him, Irene gasped. “Surely you’re not going to work now!”

Miss Drew stuck out her chin. “We’ve got orders coming in. More’n I can handle. And if the nobs won’t pay their shot, then I’ve got to finish the orders for those that will.”

“Wendy,” Irene said with a sigh. “You’re upset and frightened. If you could tell us—”

“I need payment, that’s all. We all do!”

“But—” Irene began.

Grant forestalled an argument by walking faster. The ladies followed suit. They were headed toward the dress shop, which probably represented a place of safety for the seamstress. Meanwhile, Wendy was getting herself under control, speaking as much to herself as to the others.

“Helaine’s plan has worked. Most have paid. We’ve got money now or will have soon. Then everything will be all right.”

Grant nodded and made sure to keep his voice gentle. “To pay off Demon Damon?” he asked. “Is that why you’re working for him?”

Both ladies stiffened at his words, but it was Wendy’s reaction that was the most telltale. While Irene just gasped, “What?” Wendy pulled back and looked around guiltily.

Then she opened her mouth—likely to deny it—but Grant didn’t give her the chance. “I spoke with Mr. Marris, that man who said he knew you.”

She nodded. “Is that his name? He’s sat at my table, but I don’t ask their names so they won’t ask mine.”

“Your table?” Grant pushed. “Cards or dice?”

“Cards.
Vingt-et-un
most of the time, but sometimes, Damon has me sit at the hazard table. Taking bets mostly, but usually just…”

“Distracting?”

She swallowed and nodded. “And making sure they keep drinking.”

That made sense. A smart girl like Wendy, especially with her body, would be a potent attraction at a gambling den.

Meanwhile, Irene was struggling with this new information. “Why would you do that, Wendy? Doesn’t the shop earn enough?”

“It earns plenty!” she shot back. “Even without the nobs paying, I have enough. It’s just…” She sighed. “Bernard.” She said the name like it was a heavy weight.

“Your brother?” Irene asked.

Grant all but groaned. That was a losing game for sure—a sister paying a brother’s debts. He made a mental note to visit this Bernard and explain that a man’s responsibility was to protect his sibling, not expose her to huge risks.

Then he turned those words to his life and flinched. After all, he’d failed to protect both his sister and younger brother. Meanwhile, Wendy was spilling a secret she’d obviously been keeping much too long.

“Bernard got in the wrong at the gambling house. They were going to kill him, and I didn’t have enough—not by far—so…”

It seemed she didn’t want to continue, so Grant picked up the tale, his guesses easy because he knew how a man like Damon thought. In truth, he’d nearly fallen afoul of the man years ago and only luck had kept him safe.

“So Damon smiled sweetly at you and offered you both a deal. You could work off your brother’s debt as a dealer.”

“Bernard works too! He mans the door and watches for trouble. He’s big, you see. Much bigger than I am, and he can throw a man across a room if need be.”

“And how much longer before you clear his debt?”

“By dealing cards alone?” the woman scoffed. “Years.”

Irene spoke up, proving that she understood the situation completely. “But if you get the money from the dress shop—everything owed—then how long will it take?”

A martial light entered Wendy’s eyes. “As soon as we’re paid, I’ll pay off the Demon.”

Grant nodded. That was good. Unless…“How sure are you that Bernard hasn’t been racking up more debt? How sure—”

“Because I told him I’d skin him alive if he did it again,” said Wendy. “No more gambling. If he so much as touches dice or cards, I’ll cut off his hands.”

She looked like she’d do it too, and Grant smiled in approval. Sadly, such threats didn’t always work on gamblers. “If you give me his address, I can have a word with him. If you like, I can make sure—”

“I’ve got Bernard under control,” she interrupted, her voice steady. “And the Demon.”

“
No
one
controls the Demon. Don’t fool yourself.”

She sighed, crossing her arms tight to her chest. “You don’t think Mr. Marris will talk, do you? It won’t harm Helaine, will it?”

Grant was silent, his gaze catching Irene’s. Anything was possible with the
ton
. Any rumor could destroy or enhance a reputation. It was all in the telling and the fickle whims of the
ton
. And he could see the same understanding in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Irene pulled Wendy into a quick hug. “It shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll keep an ear out for news, and in the meantime, just do our jobs. After all, Helaine and the shop are already notorious. A salacious rumor about the seamstress might bring in more business.”

It could, thought Grant grimly. Or it could tip the scales and make the
ton
flee the shop like rats from a sinking ship. Either way, there was little they could do about it now.

“I spoke harshly with Mr. Marris. No need to worry about him for the moment. But you must end things with the Demon. Right away.”

Wendy swallowed as they finally made it to the front of the shop. “I know. I will.”

“I could go with you when—”

“Other gents make him tetchy,” she interrupted. “I can handle him myself.”

“But—”

“Thank you, sir. But no.”

He had no choice but to agree. She did not want him there, and he could not force her, though a shared look with Irene told him she was likewise worried.

“Perhaps I—” began Irene.

This time he was the one who jolted, his words snapping out before he could think how it sounded. “Absolutely not! The Demon would not hesitate to reel you in as well. One woman on his hook is enough.” Irene opened her mouth—mostly in shock at his sharp words—but he didn’t allow her to speak as he pressed his card into Wendy’s hand. “Let me come along. Let me speak to Bernard. Let me help in some way, but do not—”

“I will not be bringing in any of the other women,” Wendy said firmly. “I don’t like the way he looks at them. And the way he talks is even worse—very sweet and sly. I don’t like it.”

Well, at least she understood that much. “Contact me. I will go with you.”

She nodded slowly and under his steady gaze, she tucked his card into her glove. It wasn’t an agreement, but she was at least thinking about it. Though, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure what he could do to help. If Demon Damon wanted to cause trouble, the bastard had any number of armed brutes around to do it. And one man or one woman could do little but surrender. Still, he was willing to try. And hopefully, she was willing to let him.

Meanwhile, she opened the shop door.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to go home?” pressed Irene.

Wendy visibly shuddered. “No,” she said. “I have work to do here. There’s Penny’s brother and Tabitha upstairs. I’ll be safe.”

By implication, she meant safer here than at home. He did not like the sound of that. But she was a stubborn woman, and one glance at Irene told him she understood that as well. So together, they gave in to Wendy’s wishes. He went inside the shop first to make sure everything was as it should be. And how bizarre that he was doing the same prowl here—in a dress shop—that he’d done for nearly five years at the mill.

Everything was fine. The workroom was empty. Upstairs in the living quarters, the child—presumably Penny’s brother—was asleep, as was the girl Tabitha with a pile of half-stitched fabric on her lap. Wendy gathered up the soon-to-be dress with a grimace.

“I’ll just finish this,” she said as they all went back to the workroom.

There was nothing left to say except good-bye. And while Irene was giving her friend an earnest hug, Grant took the time to look about the workroom. He had enough experience now to read the chaos of a business in a quick assessing glance. What he saw impressed him. There were receipts and orders compiled on a desk and clear stations throughout the room. Everyone appeared to have their area and their tasks, all nicely organized, if not exactly neat. It was the sign of a thriving business, and he was inordinately pleased. Especially since he saw fabric from his own mill already in process for numerous items.

Then it was time to go. He and Irene stepped outside, and Grant started looking for a hackney. “I’m afraid there aren’t many cabs in this area of London right now.”

“No, no,” she said. “I’d rather walk anyway. Though it is rather far.”

He held back his laugh. There was nothing that far away in fashionable London. She told him her address, and they headed toward a very expensive neighborhood.

“That’s not far at all, Mrs. Knopp,” he said. Her name sounded awkward on his tongue, especially since he’d been calling her “Irene” in his thoughts since their first dance nearly two weeks ago.

“Please, you must call me Irene. And I shall be glad of your escort, Mr. Grant.”

So she hadn’t heard his real title yet, and right then, he was faced with a decision. Did he tell her the truth? He really didn’t want to. He had no wish to expose that he was “that feckless Crowle,” and so he simply shrugged.

“Please, just call me Grant. It’s how all my friends refer to me.”

“Grant?” she asked. “But isn’t that rather rude?”

“Not if I specifically request you to.”

She gave him a curious look, but didn’t press. In the meantime, they began walking, her hand on his arm. It was a lovely night, the summer heat giving way to autumn crispness. The cooler temperatures were welcome, especially in the city, and Grant found himself feeling again the rhythms of a city he’d left five years ago.

“I’d forgotten how nice London can be in the evening.”

She smiled. “The city does have its charms. Do you get here often? Or do you spend most of your time in Yorkshire?”

“Yorkshire,” he answered firmly. “But that’s changing. I’ve just hired a new manager, and I need to let him have his head for a bit.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You
own
the mill?”

He smiled. “Partially. Lord Redhill and I bought it—”

“Oh my God!” she gasped. “You’re Lord Crowle! Grant Jonathan Benton, Earl of Crowle!”

He blanched, caught flat-footed. All he could manage was a strangled, “Uh—”

“Good Lord, I’m such a fool!” she continued. “I should have realized earlier, what with you coming to the party and all. And everyone stopping you.” She shook her head at her own stupidity. “And you’ve been missing for five years. Five years! You were running the mill. Of course!”

He gaped at her, impressed. How could she know all that? She must have seen his expression. She must have because she tilted back on her heels and crossed her arms.

“You didn’t think I’d do business with you without a thorough investigation, did you? I don’t just meet anyone in a London inn. And I certainly don’t buy goods without learning everything I can about the factory.”

Finally, he was able to gather his wits enough to speak. “You are an unusually perceptive woman.”

She snorted. “An unusually perceptive woman would have figured this out before meeting you in the inn.”

“I assure you. You are the only purchaser to know my real identity.” Then he took a deep breath. “I apologize for deceiving you. It’s usually easier to do business without a title muddying the waters.” Especially a title as murky as his own.

She waved that away and resumed walking. “No, no, I understand why you did it. I don’t advertise that I’m a woman. I can’t hide that as easily.”

He didn’t have an answer, and so they walked quietly for a time. Their steps were easy, the night pleasant. And before long, he began to relax again. He was unaccountably reassured that she understood his choices, and better yet, she hadn’t heard of his reputation.

In a world of setbacks, that was like a breath of clean air. Suddenly, his step was lighter, the air was sweeter, and he believed that good things waited around the corner. He felt his luck gathering again. He knew better than to trust it, but it was a sweet sensation nonetheless.

“Actually,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “There is something I need to confess as well.”

He turned, seeing the chagrin on her face. It was rather adorable, really. Her white skin flushed rosy, and her lips plumped as she bit the lower one. Her chin was down slightly, so she was forced to look up in coy embarrassment. On another woman, he would have found the expression too manipulative. But he had spent time with her now. Such games were not her usual method of operating, so for her to look so gamin now became endearing.

“You have me breathless with anticipation.”

She flashed him a rueful look and then opened her mouth to speak. But the words never came out as from somewhere behind Grant, a man’s growl roared out. It was an angry sound, harsh and guttural in the evening air.

Grant moved by instinct, shifting to face the sound, while simultaneously shoving Irene behind him. That quick reaction was the only thing that saved her life. But somewhere between the attack and the defense came something else: the hot flash of pain.