Three Nights with a Scoundrel

Page 43

Morland’s chin jerked in surprise. “His first win? That would have been …”
“At Doncaster. He was a three-year-old colt. His jockey had been purposely holding him back all year. The gaming lords kept increasing the odds. By Doncaster, they were twelve-to-one, and all bets were on—”
“Mariner,” Ashworth finished. “He’d been running strong all year. I remember it well, the general shock when he ran third.”
“Not everyone was shocked. There were ten members of the Jockey Club in on the plan. I heard them discussing it myself, at the coffeehouse where my mother worked. I didn’t know their names at the time, but I remembered their voices. Repeated them over and over to myself, so I wouldn’t forget. Over the next few years, I learned their identities, and then … And then I blackmailed them, each and every one.”
There was an awed silence in response to this. Julian found himself enjoying it a bit. Even he could hardly believe he’d possessed the stones to do it.
Once he’d learned the identities of each conspirator, he’d posed as—well, as himself, as those men knew him. A deaf-mute ruffian. Through gestures and written cards, he’d demanded a private audience with each man in turn. In each interview, he’d handed over a block-lettered note. It was the first missive he’d ever penned, each word collected separately over a span of weeks; the whole copied and recopied with painstaking care.
Give one hundred guineas to the deaf-mute, and send him back forthwith. If both guineas and boy do not arrive by sunset, tomorrow’s papers will blaze the truth of Doncaster.
They might have shot him where he stood, and no one would ever have been the wiser. There would be no one left to tell the newspapers the truth. Even if Julian had gone to the scandal sheets himself, it was unlikely they would have believed his tale.
But with his mother gone, he’d had nothing to lose. So he played this bluff ten times in all, and in each instance it worked. Almost sad, how none of the men even thought to suspect him. They saw that deaf errand boy from the coffeehouse, and they assumed him to be a simpleton. Ten times, he’d walked away with his heart pounding in his throat and a hundred guineas testing the seams of his pockets. He could have asked for more money; he knew that now. As a youth, he simply hadn’t been able to conceive of a greater sum. A thousand guineas, all told. From it, he’d purchased new shoes and a proper suit of clothes. And then he’d gone about building a fortune.
Years later, when Osiris was retired to stud and Leo started the Stud Club … ah, the irony had been too sweet. At last, he was one of the ten. Not the boy scraping mud from their boots.
“Blackmail.” Ashworth whistled low through his teeth. “And you think someone’s recognized you?”
Julian nodded. “I’m sure of it.”
“But I don’t follow,” Ashworth said. “It was just a horse race, and years ago now. Why would they kill to protect that secret?”
“It wasn’t just a horse race,” the duke said. “Fortunes were gambled and lost. Men were ruined. If the plot were ever known, the conspirators would be permanently barred from not only the Jockey Club, but most of polite society.”
“So they’d commission a murder just to save face?” Ashworth shrugged. “I suppose men have killed for less.”
“It could be something else,” Julian said. “This coffeehouse where I learned of this race-fixing scheme … gentlemen came there every day to discuss their secrets. Political secrets, business secrets, affaires of the heart. If someone has recognized me, who knows what else he thinks I might have overheard. That’s why it’s impossible for me to identify my attacker. I need Stone and Macleod.”
“That’s assuming Stone and Macleod are actually the men who killed Leo. Shouldn’t we at least have Faraday identify them first?”
Julian leveled his pistol toward the riverbank, checking the sight. “We leave Faraday out of this. I’m not sure he can be trusted.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“Today,” Claudia vowed, “victory will be mine.”
“Perhaps.” Her opponent did not look up from arranging the backgammon board. “Your play has seen moderate improvement.”
“Moderate improvement? I nearly won yesterday.”
He nudged the last group of black markers into a precise line. “Do you know the difference between ‘nearly winning’ and defeat, my dear?”
She shook her head.
“There isn’t one.”
Claudia pretended to pout. “The dice, if you will.”
Feigned petulance aside, Claudia liked Peter Faraday. She liked him a great deal. He’d been a most welcome addition to the household. Amelia and Spencer were always busy with their obligations, or each other. Now she had a fellow invalid, a captive companion. Like her, Mr. Faraday was confined to the sitting room and scarcely able to move without a servant’s assistance. They spent most of the day together, and typically part of the evening too. They played backgammon and cards. When they tired of games, he read aloud from the newspaper whilst she worked on a baby quilt or simply rested her eyes. Claudia didn’t care much about the content of the newspaper articles, but she enjoyed listening to his witty commentary.
She enjoyed listening to him, in general. He had a very pleasant voice, Mr. Faraday did, with a rich, soothing timbre and an accent that bespoke education and good breeding. He was very handsome, in a way that recalled Mr. Bellamy, but with less flash and more refinement. A true gentleman, Claudia thought. Quick to jest, but never belittling.
He asked her questions, about everything from her childhood to her pregnancy. Not that Claudia was unused to being questioned, but it was a rare pleasure to have someone truly listen to her answers. She’d told him all about Amelia and Spencer, and what she could remember of her late parents. She’d even talked honestly of her foolish tryst with that horrid tutor in York, and Mr. Faraday hadn’t been the least bit judgmental or cross. Just interested. She could talk to him of anything.
They got on well, indeed.
She rolled the dice and moved her tokens accordingly. “Would you like to marry me?”
Poor man. He’d spent a week at Morland House, and this was the first time Claudia had seen him stunned speechless.
“I beg your pardon?” he finally said.
“Did you not understand me? I thought I made myself rather clear. I’m asking if you’d like to marry me.”
She sensed him mulling over a response, and she sipped at her glass of tepid lemonade, giving him time.
When he still didn’t reply, she tried to put his mind at ease. “Don’t be concerned, Mr. Faraday. I’m not so foolish as to imagine I’m in love with you. But we get on well, don’t we?” She patted the squirming mass in her belly. If this babe’s behavior in the womb was any indication, Claudia was in for trouble years down the line. Still, she loved the bothersome, soon-to-be-squalling lump. “Any day now, I shall give birth. And I want to keep my baby.”
“Then keep it you shall.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me the duke is insisting you either marry or give the child away?”
“No, no. Spencer and Amelia say they’ll support me, whatever I decide. But there’s no denying our lives will go easier if I do wed. And I thought perhaps you might like to be a father. You seem well-suited to fatherhood, and this could be your chance to have a child without … you know, the nuisance of impregnating a wife.”
“The nuisance,” he repeated, incredulous. “The nuisance of impregnating a wife? Just how miserable a lover was this music master, anyway?”
“Bad indeed. But that’s not my point.” With a glance to the corridor for servants, she leaned toward him as much as her pregnant belly would allow and whispered, “You are a molly, aren’t you?”
He was very careful not to react. Instead, he unstoppered the decanter of lemonade and freshened her glass.
“It’s all right,” she assured him quickly. “I’m very good at keeping secrets. And no one else has noticed, I’m sure. You know how it is, being homebound. I don’t have anything else to do with myself, but sit and notice things.”
“But how …?”
She smiled. “Easy. Your eyes follow the footmen, not the maids. And you fancy the tall one with the square jaw, don’t you? So do I. He has perfectly lovely calves. And that arse …” She propped her chin on her hand and released a languid sigh. “Sad for us both, my lady’s maid says he’s devoted to his sweetheart. She’s a seamstress, I hear. Still, that’s no reason we can’t look. We must contrive to drop a great many objects when he’s about, so he will have to pick them up.”
“Why, Lady Claudia.” He sat back in his chair and studied her. A bewildered smile slowly crooked his lips. “You are a truly remarkable young woman.”
Claudia allowed herself a small moment of satisfaction. It was high time someone noticed that. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
“No, my dear,” he said gently. “I can’t marry you. But I think I would very much like to be your friend.”
“A friend can’t give my baby a name.”
“No. There, you will be on your own. But you will do splendidly.”
She slumped back in her chair. “I don’t know how I’m going to care for a child. I can’t even keep myself out of trouble, most days.”
“Claudia, listen to me. I’ve spent the past week learning all about you. Would you like to know what I’ve learned?”
She shrugged.
“You are intelligent, forthright, curious. Extraordinarily perceptive. Unafraid to take risks. You will not be bound by nonsensical rules. These qualities may have made you an awkward girl, but mark my words—they will one day make you an exceptional woman. And a good mother. Of that, I am sure.”
A welling tear made her vision wavy, and Claudia dabbed at it with impatience. “You’re the only one who’s kind to me.”
“That’s not true. Your cousin and his wife are very good to you, indeed. They love you, even if they don’t always understand you. And someday, you will meet the man who both loves and understands you. If there’s any justice in the world, he will also possess a square jaw and well-turned calves. Don’t settle for less.”
“Settling is the best I can expect. An unwed mother of a natural child? I won’t have the opportunity to be choosy. I can’t even have a season.”
His eyes were kind. “Oh, I think you will. Years from now, you will return to London as a strong, independent, beautiful, and deliciously scandalous lady. Believe me, the men will be powerless to resist.” Collecting the dice, he said, “I shall make it a point to attend your first ball, just to gloat over my accurate prediction.”
“Truly?” She cast a glance at his hobbled leg, thinking it rather brave of him to contemplate attending balls. “Then you must be my partner for the first dance.”
“It’s a bargain.”
They shook hands over the backgammon board. A mild cramp seized her abdomen, and Claudia winced.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes, yes.” She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “I have these twinges most every day now. False labor, the doctor called it.” She rubbed her domed belly in small circles until the tightness eased. This was nothing, compared to those frightening episodes in her early pregnancy. The pain and blood …
“What about you, Mr. Faraday?” she asked, trying to distract herself with a change of subject. “Have you been in love?”
His gaze cut away. “Yes.”
“But it didn’t end well.”
“No, it didn’t.” He rolled the dice, then stared at them. “It ended very badly indeed.”