Kasey Michaels - The Regency Redgraves - What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares

Jessica blinked at him. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility. It would make what he said to Lady Caro and Mrs. Urban last night take on an entire new meaning. It would have been a threat, or even a dare, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, yes. The man may be playing his own game. No matter which scenario we could choose, I believe we need to stay out of Singleton’s way until we know more. Hell, Jessica, at the moment, seeing you with those women, he may believe I’m a part of the Society.”

“If he’s even aware of the Society,” Jessica pointed out correctly. “Perhaps he’s been watching them because of what they’re doing, perhaps he has suspicions of his own or the government has suspicions for some reason. But perhaps only Lord Charles and Mr. Urban are suspects. They may have no idea of the scope of the conspiracy, that there’s a devil’s dozen of them plus anyone they might be blackmailing into cooperating with them. There are so many possibilities, far too many of them. We were chasing murderers, that’s how this began for you, and I was attempting to protect Adam. We’re out of our depth now, Gideon.”

And now they’d come to the heart of the matter.

“I agree. We’ll soon have a different theory for every day of the week, won’t we? It’s the deaths of the more longtime members that started it all, just as you said. That, and a tree branch poking a hole in the Redgrave mausoleum. I certainly didn’t go into this with any thoughts of stumbling into anything quite so dangerous. My father has a lot to answer for, doesn’t he, even twenty years dead?”

“Your father, and mine. But there’s something else to consider. If my father hadn’t died, you and I would never have met, would we? I wouldn’t have approached you about Adam, you wouldn’t have learned what happened five years ago, you wouldn’t have confronted Trixie—none of it. Those murders may have been the worst mistake the Society could make. Gideon, we know so much, but clearly not enough.”

That wasn’t precisely true, but Gideon knew this wasn’t the moment to tell her he did know one thing, one very important thing: it was time for Jessica to be as far from London as possible. He’d have to ease his way into the subject, however; he’d already ducked one candlestick today.

“For the moment, let’s concentrate on the marquis. I won’t ask you again if you’re positive you recognized him, but I will ask you to once more consider if he may have recognized you.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I had the hood of my cloak raised, and I stayed behind Richard for the most part. But I suppose it’s possible he might recognize Richard, and then remember me.”

“Yes. Richard. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Jessica lowered her head into her hands. “Yes, I know. Poor Richard, he loves London so. You’ll send him off?”

“Only as far as Redgrave Manor.” He took his chance. “And you with him.”

Her head shot up, her eyes gone wide. “What? But why?”

“Because, either way, Jessica, patriot or traitor, if Singleton recognized you last night or his memory is jogged when next he sees you, you are now a problem to the man.”

He could tell she hadn’t considered that possibility. “I was thinking only of how he could be a problem to us. But I see your point. We could confront him, ask him if he’s working for the Crown and—No, that wouldn’t work, would it? If he is, he’d lie to us, and if he isn’t, he’d lie to us. And if he’s neither, and I’ve mistaken him for somebody else, well, that would be even worse, wouldn’t it?”

Gideon smiled. He enjoyed listening to Jessica think out loud. “Immensely, yes. So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed to what? What are you agreeing to, Gideon? I’ve agreed to nothing.”

“I noticed that. Are we about to have our first argument? Yes, what is it, Thorndyke?”

The butler bowed and held out a small silver salver with a folded note on it. “Excuse me, my lord. This just arrived by messenger. I was informed it’s imperative her ladyship reads it immediately.”

“Then why are you handing it to his lordship, or have I been somehow rendered invisible?” Jessica asked, snatching the missive from the tray even as Gideon reached for it.

“And now we’ve both been put in our place, haven’t we, Thorny?” Gideon remarked, laughing.

“Firmly, my lord,” Thorndyke agreed and quickly bowed himself out of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize later.”

“To Thorny or to me?”

“Not you, certainly. Thorndyke hasn’t gotten used to having me about as yet, but you should know better,” she explained absently, eyeing the missive as if it could possibly turn into a writhing snake at any moment. She slid her fingernail beneath the wax seal and unfolded the sheet, her eyes going immediately to the bottom of the page. “It’s from Felicity Urban.”

“Our invitation?” Gideon asked, rising from his chair, in order to stand behind her as she read. “Hmm, obviously not the invitation we were told to expect.”

Jessica read the note aloud. “‘I know what you and the earl are about. Help me and I’ll help you. Four o’clock today, Le Bon Modiste , Bond Street. Ask for Fontine. I will need five thousand pounds, and safe transport.’” She tilted her head back to look up at Gideon. “So much for my belief I was subtle last evening, I suppose. I told you she was looking at me curiously, as if measuring me or some such thing. She says she can help us? Honestly, I thought I’d be much better at this than I am.”

“You got results, and that’s what’s most important. But if it’s any comfort to you, I didn’t do much better at subtlety. She knows what I’m about? It has to be that damn rose. I only wore it for a few days, but obviously Felicity Urban took notice.”

Jessica was looking at the note again. “But didn’t mention it to her husband?”

“Yes, I’ll have to ask her about that when I meet with her, won’t I?”

Gideon Redgrave—and Thorndyke, for that matter—had a lot to learn about what it meant to be married to Jessica, but there wasn’t much he didn’t know about women in general. Or at least he prided himself on learning quickly.

“When we meet with her,” he corrected almost before Jessica could take in a breath in order to disabuse him of his former statement.

After all, Trixie may have thrown a candlestick, but there were knives on the dining table, for God’s sake… .

LE BON MODISTE WAS A small shop in a tall, narrow building. Gideon had insisted they make a business of visiting several shops as they strolled along the block and even convinced Jessica to purchase a new bonnet in one of them. They walked arm-in-arm, stopping to peer into store windows. They nodded to passersby, even stopped so that Gideon could chat with a rather florid-faced matron who begged permission to be introduced to the new countess and invited them both to a delightful musical evening the following Thursday.

Gideon had promised he would do his best, but it was possible they would be adjourning to the country prior to that date.

“I never said I’d go,” Jessica had pointed out once the lady had taken her leave and they were walking on once more.

“You never mentioned a burning desire to submit to a session with the thumbscrews, either, but that would be an almost enjoyable experience when compared to listening to Hetty Frampton’s offspring—and there are an even half dozen of them—as they attack your ears with song and defile every musical instrument known to man.”

“Oh,” Jessica said quietly. “I mistook your motive. I’m sorry.”

His smile melted her knees, which he had to know. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find some way to make it up to me. Now, are you ready? I believe, rank amateurs that we are, we’ve been suitably clandestine about our approach to Le Bon Modiste.”