Stephanie Laurens - A Gentleman's Honor

Beneath all ran a belief, a conviction, in her right to her own life—and a determination, quiet, until now unrecognized and unstated but definitely there, to seize what she wanted.

With the position of Tony’s wife hers in all but name… the role fitted her like a glove, soothed her by its rightness, fulfilled some deep-seated yearning, an unrealized but essential, fundamental part of her.

That was what she wanted.

Her breath caught; a vise tightened about her heart. Her determination didn’t waver.

Yet she was his mistress, not his wife.

He’d said he loved her. Her French was not good— she’d never had time to do more than learn the rudiments; he often murmured phrases during their lovemaking that she couldn’t make out, yet she felt confident she hadn’t misheard or mistaken those particular words.

She even believed them, or at least believed that he believed them.

What he meant by them was another matter.

Marriage had never been part of their arrangement. Just because she now yearned for it, wanted it—and not just because he got along so well with her brothers and had the wherewithal and character to guide and support them precisely as she’d always wished—just because she now realized that marrying him would satisfy every dream she’d never allowed herself to have, she couldn’t now turn back the clock.

Couldn’t now expect him to think in those terms just because her eyes had been opened. Shouldn’t be so naive as to read too much into a simple declaration of love. Pretending to herself would be the ultimate folly, the ultimate way to break her heart.

When Bertha returned at one o’clock, she rose, washed, and dressed. Calmly serene, she went downstairs and threw herself into the social round.

A note arrived from Christian Allardyce just as Tony was about to embark on another round of balls and parties at Alicia’s side. Also gathered in his front hall waiting for the coach to be brought around were Adriana, Geoffrey, and Miranda. Lady Castlereagh’s was to be their first port of call.

Tony scanned the note. Christian wrote to suggest they should meet at the Bastion Club to review progress. Tony surmised that the others—Christian, Charles, Tristan, Gervase, Jack Warnefleet, and even Jack Hendon—were keen to use the investigation as an excuse to avoid their social obligations.

Even with Alicia’s presence as reward, he, too, felt the temptation. For men of their ilk, balls were boring, pointless, and severely drained their never very deep reserves of civility. They’d spent the last decade avoiding fools— why change their ways now?

Noting Alicia, beside him, watching him, he handed her the note. While she read it, he glanced at Geoffrey. If it hadn’t been for the little chat they’d had that afternoon, he’d be irritated by Geoffrey’s and Adriana’s total absorption in the how and where of their nuptials; luckily, Geoffrey had had no argument with his assertion that he and Alicia should marry first, even if by no more than a week.

Given the way Geoffrey was watching over Adriana, as if determined now he’d won her no other would get close, it was clear he, at least, would resist the lure of the investigation.

Tony turned to Alicia as she looked up from the note.

“Are you going?”

He looked into her green eyes, hesitated. “If you would prefer I escort you to the balls tonight, I can put off the meeting until tomorrow.”

She looked at him steadily; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Then she glanced down at the note. “But that would mean actions that could be instigated tomorrow if you met tonight would be delayed, wouldn’t it?”

She looked up again. He nodded. Put like that, it was almost incumbent upon him to leave her to Geoffrey’s care and devote his attention to unmasking A. C. Still he hesitated, not liking the fact he couldn’t follow her thoughts, or see her feelings in her eyes. He usually could. “Are you sure? Geoffrey will stay with you—”

She smiled, confident, and assured. “Yes, of course. Indeed, I’m sure we’re starting to be the butt of comments about being forever in each other’s pockets.” Turning to Miranda, she caught her eye. “Tony’s been called away— I’m assuring him we’ll be perfectly happy with just Geoffrey as escort.”

“Oh, indeed!” Miranda flicked her hand at him. “Go, go!” She grinned, a devilish light in her eye. “I assure you Alicia and I will be excellently well entertained.”

She meant it in purely teasing vein, yet the barb slipped under Tony’s guard and pricked. He glanced at Alicia; turning to him, she gave him her hand.

“I’ll bid you a good night, then. I daresay we’ll be home long before you get back.” She raised her gaze to his face, but not as far as his eyes.

A sudden chill touched him.

Having heard his name and ascertained from Miranda what was going on, Geoffrey turned to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring them all safely back at the end of Lady Selkirk’s affair.” Meeting Tony’s gaze, he quietly added,

“Send word tomorrow morning if there’s anything I can help with.”

Tony nodded. He released Alicia’s hand to shake Geoffrey’s. When he looked back, he found she’d turned away and was embroiled in a discussion with Adriana.

There seemed no reason to dally. “I’ll leave you, then.” He made the comment general; with a single nod for everyone, he headed for the door.

What he learned at the club drove all other thoughts temporarily from his mind.

“We’ve narrowed the field to three possibilities.” As he’d suggested, Christian had acted as a central contact, compiling and disseminating information as the others brought it in. They’d all been involved, but in order to keep things moving, they’d simply reported, then got on with the next task, and left Christian to make sense of the whole. This was the first time they’d all gathered since the meeting in Tony’s library—the first time they’d heard the results to date.

“Between them, Jack”—Christian nodded at Jack Warnefleet—“and Tristan came up with a list of tea and coffee merchants they’ve since verified as exhaustive.”

“Can one ask how?” Charles asked.

Jack Warnefleet grinned. “Not if you want details. But I’m sure those merchants would be amazed at how much their wives, especially their competitors’ wives, know.”

“Ah!” Charles turned a limpid glance on Tristan.

Who smiled. “I left that endeavor to Jack. My contribution was verifying the information via the appropriate guilds. By a sleight of argument, I convinced the guild secretaries that I needed to examine their registers for cases of accidental cross-listings, where coffee merchants had been listed as tea merchants, and vice versa.”

“Which naturally left you with a list of those who were both. Very nice.” Charles looked back up the table.

“The list comprised twenty-three companies,” Christian continued. “We eliminated those we know lost cargoes, assuming no merchant is going to send a precious cargo to France just to cover his tracks. That took twelve names out—some of the sixteen ships carried cargoes for the same merchant.”

“Poor beggars,” Jack Hendon said. “Knowing how close some of them sail to the wind, I’d be surprised if none have gone bankrupt.”

“Some have,” Gervase answered. “Yet more damage to add to A. C.’s account.”

Tony stirred. “So that left us with eleven companies.”

Christian nodded. “Courtesy of you all and your chameleon like talents, passing yourselves off as potential coffee-shop proprietors and the like, not to mention your ability to tell barefaced lies, by focusing on who had stock after the last A. C.-induced shortage, we’ve ended with three names—three merchants. All had stock to sell