The Scandalous Life of a True Lady (32 page)

The bald-headed buffoon wasn’t staggering for once. He wasn’t slurring his words or drooling, and no flask or bottle was in sight. She turned to Harry while Sir Chauncey turned to a certain wall of books. He was sober, a friend, and a thief? Her head was spinning from Harry’s kiss; that’s why she was so confused. “You say he’s a criminal?”

Harry went to help, pushing on a section of the bookcase that swung open to reveal a large wall safe.

“Chappy’s no jailbird. Gorham would never invite a felon. He’s a sworn knight, elevated for performing heroic service during the war, although no one knows about it. They think Chappy got the knighthood because he paid Prinny’s debts to get the recognition. That wasn’t the case at all. What he did was steal countless valuable documents for us in France before they threw out all the English. He’d have been sent to the guillotine before he could have a last glass of wine, if the French knew.”

“Does Miss Baylor know?”

Sir Chauncey paused in his work to tell Simone, “Susan’s a ballet dancer, not an actress. She doesn’t have your gumption.”

Simone nodded at the compliment.

“She’s greedy, though,” Sir Chauncey continued. “So she puts up with me. The revulsion she can’t hide adds to my character.”

The rumpot/patriot was working on the safe with a set of tools he took from a pocket. Simone had a hard time believing what she was seeing or hearing. “So you are here to rob from our host?”

Chappy looked up and grinned. “Bad form, that. We’re merely recovering stolen property.”

Harry explained it better: “We are taking back what Danforth stole. That way, he can’t use the papers to demand money.”

“You know that the letters you were looking for are in the safe? Why haven’t you had Danforth arrested then?”

“What, and have the letters and journal be seized for proof of his guilt? That defeats the whole purpose of keeping them away from the scandal sheets and public knowledge. Besides, we still have no proof that Danforth placed the evidence in the safe. He won’t talk to me.”

“Or me,” Simone said, “especially since hearing I have Gypsy blood.”

“Or me,” Chappy added happily enough. “And I’m not even a whore or a bastard.”

Simone looked at Harry to see if he was offended at the reminder of his birth, but he’d gone back to the window. She assumed he was going to close it before the room grew cold, but instead he leaned out and brought in a saddlebag. Daniel Stamfield clambered over the window sill after it.

“You, too?” Simone remembered to whisper. Heavens, if that butler came back, he’d know something was afoot.

Daniel bowed to Simone, then went to watch Sir Chauncey at work.

“You had this all planned?” Simone asked Harry.

He removed a stack of papers and three books from the saddlebag. “As best we could. I only saw the documents for an instant, so I had Daniel bring extra loose pages and several sizes of journals for the switch. Our package will be as close to the original in appearance as possible.”

Chappy had the safe open. They all gathered to look in. Claire saw velvet pouches, leather purses, another strongbox, a set of dueling pistols in a case, plus stacks of guineas and pound notes.

“The entry fees for Claire’s contest,” Harry explained, “and the prize money.”

“Too bad we’re such honest folk,” Daniel said, reaching over for a parcel of letters tied with string.

Harry saw Simone staring at a diamond necklace by itself in a corner of the safe. “I think Claire would recognize it.”

Simone jumped back. “I wasn’t thinking of taking it!”

Harry’s lips made a grimace. Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.

“Truly, I wouldn’t do anything so dishonest!”

Daniel rubbed his ear, and Harry found a peppermint drop in his pocket. “Of course not, my love. You only pretend to be a prostitute. It’s not at all the same.”

He and Daniel spread the stolen letters out on Gorham’s desk, counting the number of pages so they could place the same amount in the fake parcel. The journal was slightly different from any Daniel had brought, but they agreed that Danforth wasn’t likely to notice the difference when Gorham handed it to him.

“How will you prove they were his?”

“Gorham will recall who asks for them back, now that I mentioned it to him. But it does not matter if we are wrong about Danforth. The important thing was to collect the blackmail material.”

Simone was positive Danforth was guilty. The pompous twit treated Sandaree like a slave, and even struck her. “He should be brought up on charges.”

“A duke’s son? That won’t happen in this lifetime. I daresay he’ll face a bit of private retribution, if we have proof.”

Daniel flexed his fists. Sir Chauncey studied the sharp tool in his hand. Harry looked grim.

The duke’s scoundrel of a son would pay, all right.

Simone wanted to know what they were going to do with the originals. She looked toward the fireplace. “Shall we burn them?”

Harry shook his head. “We are going to take the journal back to its proper owner, and urge her to destroy it. The letters will go to the victims of the extortion attempt, the fools who sent them in the first place. That way, they’ll have proof that no one else will hold the letters against them. I hope to god they burn them, once and for all.”

He handed the new pile of letters and journal, tied with the old string, to Chappy to return to the safe.

Daniel tucked the originals in the saddlebag and sighed. “I’m wearing a rut in the road to London, I am. Are you sure you won’t go this time, Harry? Fidus could be there and back in the wink of an eye.”

“You know neither Fidus nor I can be seen in Town yet. Go.”

Daniel sighed again on his way toward the window. “I’ll be back in time for the ball tomorrow night, Miss Royale. Remember that you promised me a dance.”

“I remember. I am looking forward to it.”

Daniel grinned, scratched at his armpit, and went out the window.

“May I also request a dance?” Sir Chauncey asked.

“Only if you do not step on my toes.”

He laughed. “It’s all part of the disguise, my dear. All part of the disguise. But I will try not to tear your skirt. I’ll save that for the scornful Miss Baylor. Lud knows I paid for the blasted thing.” He followed Daniel out the window.

Harry closed the window, then made certain the wall safe and the books were exactly as they had found them.

“I suppose we’re done for the night,” Simone said, feeling let down now that the others were gone and the excitement was over.

“Not at all,” Harry told her. “We have to be convincing, don’t we? And I wouldn’t want anyone thinking a quick tumble on the hearth rug was the best I could do. I do have my reputation as a lover to consider, after all.”

Simone did not want to think about his reputation or his past conquests. Now the hearth rug…

“And yours,” he continued. “Those rakes should know you can hold a man’s interest for an entire night.” Or a week, a month, a lifetime, but he did not say those words. “Besides, that leather arm chair looks deuced comfortable to me.”

“You…you are going to take a nap in Lord Gorham’s library?

“I have no intention of sleeping, my dear. Will you join me?”

“On the chair?”

“What do you think Claire and Gorham were going to do, read a book?”

“No, he said they were going to discuss plans for the ball. And the voting.”

“You believed him?”

“No, I suspected Claire was going to plot a new way to manipulate him to change the point count. Either that or they were going to practice their dancing for the competition tomorrow night.”

His lip curled down on one side, then up until he wore a broad smile that showed the dimples Simone adored. “No, that’s not what they were going to do. Trust me, my love, that’s simply not true.”

He drew her over toward the big leather chair, sat and pulled her across his lap. “But if it’s practice we need, shall we dance?”

“On the chair?”

He kissed her protests away.

What a dance it was. All swirls, twirls, whirls; fast and slow and loud and soft. Mostly it was urgent, far more so than the need to win any race, any contest. Simone was dizzy and breathless and giddy, and her feet never touched the ground. She wanted the dance to go on forever, but Harry stopped the music before it was too late to stop. She knew there was more, another kind of crescendo, but this was enough, for now. She doubted there’d ever been a more enthralling waltz, or a more satisfied virgin.

“Oh, Harry.”

*

Oh, hell.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Harry slept on the chair in the bedroom. The dog slept with Simone. That’s how Harry felt, lower than a stray with a sore mouth. He left before Simone awoke, knowing she’d be too tempting to leave if he didn’t go soon. Later she’d be busy getting ready for the ball tonight. He’d be watching to see who took what out of Gorham’s safe, after a long, hard ride on Fidus, and a long, cold swim in Gorham’s trout stream.

For once Simone slept late, not surprising after last night in the library. She’d barely made it up the stairs on boneless limbs.

When Metlock told her that Harry had gone riding, she almost scrambled into her habit to join him, but he could be miles away by now, or off on his secret activities. For all she knew, he and his friend Sir Chauncey were robbing the nearest bank.

Sarah came in full of energy and excitement at the coming ball. There was going to be music in the barn for the servants and the tenants, but the wagering among the ladies’ maids was more crucial. Whichever mistress won the best dressed contest, her maid won the betting pool. Sarah was determined to collect the purse.

She brought a breakfast tray so Simone did not have to go down, to save time.

“Surely it is far too early to begin dressing for tonight,” Simone protested, wanting to wait for Harry’s return, to spend more time with him.

According to Sarah, many of the women had started last night, with their hair in papers and clarifying lotions on their faces. Simone’s skin already glowed with the aftermath of Harry’s lovemaking, but she couldn’t tell Sarah that, naturally.

She didn’t have to speak much, for Sarah told Simone about all the tricks she had learned from Claire’s dresser while she washed Simone’s long hair with various concoctions and rinses. She’d also learned a few tricks from the under butler.

Simone sat up. “You did what?”

“It was just for practice, Miss Noma. Kisses and a bit of snuggling, nothing more. I wanted to be sure about becoming a fine lady’s maid instead of a fine gent’s lady friend. Begging your pardon, miss, but I’ll stay with my plans, even if they don’t pay as much. He smelled of garlic. The second footman’s hands were damp, and Lord Ellsworth’s valet kissed like a fish. I didn’t care for any of it. Better that I know now, don’t you think?”

“You’ll care for it if you like the man better.” Simone smiled on the inside, thinking of Harry’s kisses. “But you are too young. And you might decide to marry instead of going into service. Then you’ll be happy you didn’t become bachelor fare.”

“But then I’d be at some man’s beck and call anyway. I think I’d do better like my mum, with a living of her own.”

Like a housekeeper, or a governess. That was what Simone wanted, wasn’t it? To be independent, not relying on any man? She wasn’t so certain anymore.

Sarah went on while she brushed Simone’s hair dry in front of the fire. “And ladies’ maids do right well for themselves. Gentlemen are always giving them money to carry messages or deliver gifts, and they get their mistresses’s castoff gowns to sell. Miss Hope’s abigail has enough saved to retire on. She doesn’t want to go to Cornwall when her mistress leaves here, not at all. She says folk there have no style, and her skills would be wasted. Miss Ruby’s maid is almost ready to open her own dress shop, and Miss Hanson’s French dresser says she is going to travel if they win tonight. They won’t. I bet them all, and the under butler, that we’ll outshine every one of their ladies tonight, and lead at the finish of the contest, too.”

“I wish you hadn’t wagered so much of your money. I have little chance at the dancing. Harry and I have only danced together a few times.”

“Are you too warm so close to the fire, miss?”

“No, I am fine.” Her face was red because she’d been thinking of last night’s dance. Sarah clucked her tongue, just as her mother would have. “Master Harry ought to know better.”

“But I wanted—”

“Of course you did, but he should have made time for practicing.”

Oh. Simone realized they were speaking of two different things. “We’ll do the best we can. I’ve seen Claire dance, and Ruby, and then there’s Miss Baylor, who is a natural born ballerina.”

“The wagering in the servants’ hall favors Miss Hope, but I put my blunt on you and Master Harry.”

“Oh, dear. I hope you do not lose too much.”

Sarah smiled. “It’s his money anyway. He thinks you can win.”

The best thing Sarah learned from the under butler, who had it from the cellist, was a list of the music to be played that night. And it only cost a kiss or two.

Simone hummed the tunes she knew, and waltzed with the dog, a footstool, and Sandaree, when the Indian girl came to share a luncheon tray. She stayed for a chess game, since neither of them felt like napping, or fussing with their hair and gowns for another few hours.

Simone did go downstairs later, to see if Harry had come back. She thought he’d be closeted with Lord Gorham in the library, watching the safe, but only Sir Chauncey was there, snoring loudly, an empty bottle at his feet.

“A truly inspired disguise,” she whispered before backing out of the room.

He winked and went back to snoring.

With no sign of Harry all day, it was finally time to dress. Sarah did her hair up in a new style, long sections of it braided together with strands of rhinestones. Then she gathered the braids to form a glittering coil atop Simone’s head, as if she already wore a crown. Small flame-colored curls framed her face and forehead. The curls might have lent a cherubic look, except for the gown that was anything but angelic or innocent.