Page 19 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

18

“To climb the ranks, to force others to accede to your whim, you must be prepared to use all tools within reach. The sword, the mind—and if need be, the bed."

—Marian Fitzroy, to her son, at eighteen

W ith the memories in his head and the scents of the woman in his bed, it was no surprise he found himself cast back within his dream.

The cool March night was a balm against his sensibilities, raw with testiness from escorting his sister through events of the little season. Though truly, it was no one’s fault but his own that he was at this insufferable event. He could have turned a deaf ear to her pleas to accompany her to Lady Norwood’s musicale, but instead he had decided a night away from his club would do him good.

It wasn’t until their carriage pulled up to the house that Peregrine recalled Lady Norwood’s unfortunate love of performing—despite being tone-deaf. The moment she stepped forward to sing an operetta, he had excused himself, slipping through the nearest door. That it led to a balcony hardly mattered. Once it was shut behind him, the warbling notes mercifully faded.

Would anyone notice if he failed to return? Wishful thinking. Still, a few minutes of peace wouldn’t go amiss. He wandered to the far corner, letting the shadows of a nearby oak conceal him.

Just as he resigned himself to returning, the door scraped open. A blonde goddess stepped through. He’d seen her earlier, whispering with his sister—another fresh debutante getting her bearings before the season began in earnest.

As a rule, Peregrine avoided the chits and their marriage-minded mamas. He knew how many saw him—a young, handsome, and rich lord already in full possession of his title, no doubt low hanging fruit ripe for the easy plucking by a pretty young girl. They never even imagined that simpering, empty-headed innocence held all the attraction to him of a goat in a skirt.

But she was alone, and he could still hear Lady Norwood caterwauling like a cat in heat, so he waited for her to go back inside.

Like this, she was pretty, with her head tilted up, and her eyes closed in some silent meditation. Moonlight edged her in silver along her golden curls, high cheekbones, and the bottom curve of her red lips. But she stayed, even though her shoulders, pale as dawn, shivered in the cold.

“You should have bribed a footman to fetch you a wrap before making an escape, my lady.”

He tossed in the honorific without knowing if it was due, just to see how she’d react. She jerked at the sound of his voice, her perfect ringlets swinging, and he cursed himself for disturbing her solitude. Unescorted, she could hardly linger on a balcony with a strange man—though he supposed that made him the one who ought to leave.

Instead, she stepped forward, head tilting slightly as if trying to place him in the shifting candlelight from the window. He shifted too, letting the glow catch the edge of his face. Rather than shrink away, she took his measure just as boldly as he had done hers a moment earlier.

“A gentleman might offer a lady his coat, my lord,” she said archly.

She was a bold thing, at least. He gave her a slight mocking grin. “What if I am not a gentleman?”

The girl lowered her lashes at his evasion. “Of course you are. I can see your clothing.”

“Many men dress beyond their means.”

She gave a sly smile at him. “Whatever Lady Norwood lacks in singing ability, she has a gift for coaxing the highest of the ton into attending her events. Only those who also boast a title or deep pockets make her lists.”

Almost against his will he was curious. Few debutantes showed much penchant for observation and the workings of society. It spoke highly of her possibilities for making a match in her first season—not that she would have difficulty. With her vainglorious beauty, she would have men panting at her feet once she made her debut.

“Far be it from me to shatter your illusions,” he said gallantly, shrugging off his coat. “I would hate to prove myself a disappointment.”

Ignoring all rules of propriety, she came closer, stopping within arm’s reach, and he slid his coat over her shoulders. “Are you not at all worried about being caught here with me?”

She paused for a moment. “Not enough to risk my ears,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. Then, she muffled a giggle, hand over her mouth.

And the sound had snared his heart.

How could he let it happen? Even though she had a canny eye, she was too young. Too innocent. But her laugh was so honest and lacking in artifice that Fitzroy found himself wanting to make it happen again.

The chill breeze was like an omen, and before both knew it, the moment was over. She returned his coat to him swiftly before sneaking back inside, and he had spent the rest of the evening with the scent of her in his nostrils, a hint of salt and orange mixing pleasantly with the night and the spice of his soap.

Even though courting was—and should have been—the very last thing on his mind, he couldn’t help looking for her again and again. When he finally found her, Fitzroy had made certain to ask for an introduction.

Charity’s gentian eyes had been sparkling with mischief to see him again, right up until she heard his name and title. And then he had the privilege of watching how the smile in her eyes died aborning, fading into a polite mask.

No mere earl, no matter how wealthy or connected, was worth more of her time. She was meant for greater things. Until the night of his ball, every now and again, he had caught her looking his way across a crowded room, and knew she had wondered. Still, though, it wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t enough. And a part of his soul had been adrift ever since.

But this was his dream, and here he could take the advantage of a chance encounter that had, in truth, ended all too soon. To take what he knew they both wanted, but what they continued to deny themselves.

And so, taking himself back to that cold garden, he lifted his hand and trailed his fingers through her shimmering strands of gold. The white satin gloves on her arms disappeared, leaving behind more bare skin. She wrapped an arm around his neck, urging him closer. He burrowed his nose against the warm, soft skin on hers. Her hands played with his hair, coaxing him onward. He dragged his lips up to the sensitive place behind her ear.

God help him. She shivered.

“Perry,” she moaned. But instead of melting deeper into their embrace, she stiffened and then jerked backwards. The movement dragged him free of Somnus’s hold, and into the stark light of day.

He was in his bed, in his townhouse, with his legs intertwined with none other than the woman haunting his dreams. And this time she was most definitely not happy. He had to blink the sleep from his eyes to identify the exact expression twisting her features.

Was that embarrassment? A bolt of pure male satisfaction raced down his spine. She had called his name. And this time, not because some thug was holding her hostage.

He chose his first words with great care, knowing one wrong move would send her running away—back to her unsafe home, to the confines of Buckingham Palace—anywhere but here.

He reached up and plucked her arm from where it lay across his shoulder. “Did we not have a rule about touching?”

She jerked her arm free and shook it off as though cooling a burn and then scowled at him in return. “ You are touching me .” She reached up to touch her neck, where he had nuzzled her in his dreams. “You kissed me!”

It seemed he had, and could not find one single regret—except that he had done it while sleeping instead of enjoying it while awake. Still, he relaxed as if it was of no consequence to him whatsoever. “Do not flatter yourself, Your Shininess. You drool in your sleep.”

The sight of her rosebud mouth dropping open in shock was worth the mouthful of goosefeather pillow he got in return. She whacked him again with the pillow, calling him a scoundrel, rake, reprobate, but unlike previous times, her anger lacked any real heat.

He rose on his knees to loom over her. “There are no rules in a pillow war. Swing again and I will not be held responsible for whatever you suffer next.”

It was a dare, and he half-wished she would carry on. But she called herself back, dropping her pillow as she scooted out of the opposite side of the bed.

At least she attempted to reduce him to ashes with a fiery glare, and perversely, that soothed him.

He left her then, to wash up and make tea. He had no milk but at least he had an abundance of sugar and some bread that was not too stale. When he returned, tray in hand, the duchess had returned to her bearing… although she looked discomfited. Her hair was twisted into a simple knot and her dress hung loose around her shoulders. Charity stared at the tray and then at him, frowning as if she couldn’t make sense of him at all.

“What is wrong?” he asked her.

“I cannot—the buttons,” she said, in defeat. “I need your help.”

God help them both, for a number of reasons. This was torture no man should be forced to endure, to stand this close to a bounty for the senses, dealing with so many buttons. All so tiny, designed to be done up by the delicate hands of a lady’s maid.

He took his time closing them, looking at the smooth column of her neck and back and the stray curls that tickled between her shoulders. All the while imagining working in the opposite direction… if not simply ripping them asunder.

“You are… curiously domestic,” Charity murmured. Peregrine had been arguing with himself to remove his hand from the warmth between her shoulder blades now that he had fastened the last button. But likewise, she seemed reluctant to pull away. Lifting her head, she stared at him through her lashes over her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Drink your tea before it gets cold and eat what you will. We must hurry.” Fitzroy’s words came out harsher than he’d meant. “You are in desperate need of a maid’s assistance with your hair. Let us hope Sina will offer hers.”

“You know nothing of styling a woman’s hair? Pity,” she said dryly.

Maybe there was hope for that truce after all.

“Dare I ask how often you have used this entrance?” Charity asked him at the back of the Marchioness of Normanby’s home, her voice almost sounding jealous.

He smirked. “Once or twice.”

As if in answer, a stableboy caught sight of them and hurried off to alert the house.

The crabby-looking marchioness herself opened the door to what Fitzroy knew was her breakfast room. “You have some nerve showing up unannounced at this hour, Perry—oh.” Selina’s gaze fell upon Charity, hiding beneath his cloak, and her eyebrows took flight. “ Ohhh ,” she repeated, her voice taking a much more interested and amused tone.

Predictably, Charity bridled. “It is not what you think!”

“The marchioness would accord you far more respect if it was,” he informed her, and Selina smiled at her in agreement.

“Perry does keep high standards as well as the most interesting guests.” She traced her lower lip with the edge of her thumb, her eyes flickering as she thought rapidly. “We have a great deal to talk about. Little lamb, let me sneak you to my maid.”

Peregrine was not about to let her drag Charity off to her den without him. Sina wouldn’t be interested in prying out the usual juicy tidbits about their entanglement—or lack thereof. Right now, the duchess positively reeked of ‘prey animal,’ and Selina would be out to get whatever information she could extort.

He couldn’t let her have the chance to get it. Peregrine needed it for himself.

So he followed Selina as she whisked Charity upstairs, knowing that her servants would not even try to stop him unless she asked them to. Good manners were like locks on doors; the privacy it afforded was only respected by honest souls. That would apply to no one who ever darkened the Marchioness of Normanby’s doorstep.

Predictably, Selina attempted to shut the door in his face, and he thwarted her with the toe of his shoe. “Perry, be reasonable,” the marchioness said patiently. “We are just helping her freshen up.”

“Your maid can do that,” he agreed. “While she is busy, I would have a word with you downstairs.”

Selina cocked her head at him in consideration, and then came back out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. “Surely you do not wish to talk with me without her present. I do not think she would appreciate that. At all.”

The marchioness was correct—Charity would hate it. But he doubted it would take much in the way of explanation to sway Charity to his point of view later. She was a little too naive to this world. Not stupid.

“Let me be the one to worry about that,” he told her.

“I will wait to talk to you both, then,” Selina said, the very picture of amiability as she looked up into Peregrine’s face, pointedly rubbing a finger lightly over the stubble on his chin. The expression on her face was one of contemplation rather than flirtation. “It rather looks like your evening was so much less entertaining than it should have been. Perhaps you would like the chance to freshen up yourself.”

“I am not in the mood to be trifled with, Selina,” he told her, impatience thrumming beneath the surface.

She tsked, running her hands down the front of his shirt. “You wound me. The gossip mongers have been hard at work, and if half of what I have heard is true, I thought you would appreciate some hospitality.”

“Hospitality, yes,” he said, conceding he was in dire need of a shave. He plucked her hands off of him, caressing her knuckles briefly with his thumbs to soften his rejection of her touch. “All other things I will leave to men foolish enough to think you are not looking for something in return.”

She smiled, not at all put off. “You cannot blame a woman perishing of curiosity.”

Peregrine let a knowing smile curl his lip at that. “You are seldom so lacking in subtlety. Do not let your impatience ruin a deal before we can even come to the table.”

“Give me a hint, Perry, if for no other reason than to prevent my mind from wasting its energy running in the wrong direction.”

Peregrine shook his head at her inability to wait, but did as she asked. “I need to know about Mr Cameron.”

“See, that was not so hard at all. I will play good hostess and let you both be. Take the adjoining suite and I will send Locke to you. Come down to the table for breakfast when you are ready.”

It said a great deal about the state of his wits that he didn’t anticipate the last card up the marchioness’s sleeve. When both came downstairs washed, shaven, and groomed, they were whisked promptly into the dining room and plied with food and drink by the marchioness’s unassuming servants. He did not even think to question her absence from the table.

Not until they finished and were escorted to the upstairs drawing room, where three men waited with her. The marchioness had clearly made the most of her time, attempting to summon the bloody leadership of the Order of the Centuriate.

Peregrine did not bother to pretend he wasn’t annoyed, halting in the doorway with Charity on his arm. Now he sorely regretted bringing her here at all. “Pembroke. Chandros. How interesting to see you here.” He looked at the third man. “I do not believe we are acquainted.”

“Mr Goldbourne, meet Lord Peregrine Fitzroy,” said the Duke of Chandros.

A bloody banker.

“If Fitzroy is too upset to introduce us, I hope you do not mind if we dispense overly with formalities,” Chandros said, leaning casually on the gold head of his cane with both hands before he came forward to greet Charity. “You see, we friends of England have been most eager to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

Peregrine tightened his grip on her arm just slightly. The polished older man who was the de facto leader of the Order had… vision. He kept his fingers in every pie he could, and would use anything—or anyone—as a lever to bend the world to his satisfaction. A well-positioned woman who sat at one side of the Queen and controlled the heir of a chunk of Scotland would be attractive to him.

He had not had a chance to warn Charity, but fortunately, it seemed she had developed a sense of caution. Her smile was easy, if practiced. She tilted her head just so, as though amused by Chandros’s directness. “Friends of England?” she repeated lightly. “How very grand. And here I thought we were merely guests in the marchioness’s home.”

Chandros’s smile sharpened. “Ah, but hospitality and business are never far apart, are they?”

“I take it this is your way of negotiating?” Peregrine said dryly, pulling their attention away from Charity. “Stacking the table before we have even agreed to sit at it?”

“Do not be angry at the marchioness,” Chandros said mildly. “We were most… put out by the idea of another faction exerting their will on the throne, and so we were pleased to hear that you were part of the investigation. Violent attacks on peers, however, is a reason for all of us to pay close attention. Take our swift response to Selina’s summons at this hour as proof we might be happier to strike a good bargain for information than you believe, Peregrine.”

“Was it Caroline after all?” Pembroke interjected, his face spotted with colour. “She should have been cast out of the country long ago.”

“No,” Peregrine said blandly. “I will tell you who I believe is the architect of the violence and the attack at Prinny’s garden party. But I need more information in return on that person, and I think you are able to give it to me.”

“I think that seems eminently fair,” Chandros said, stroking his salt and pepper beard. But he was still casting sidelong glances at Charity, and it raised Peregrine’s hackles. “Tell us who it is.”

“A Mr Cameron. He was my mother’s agent for many years.”

There was a brief pause, and Chandros, unexpectedly, laughed. “The unassuming spider who spun your mother’s web. Horror vacui , Peregrine. How very interesting.”

“Your response is not giving me much faith in your network of information, Chandros,” Peregrine said, gritting his teeth.

Chandros sighed, looking genuinely regretful. “It was not until after everything happened last year that we even began to suspect the scope of your mother’s resources. We had always kept an eye cast towards Marian’s dealings, but what we saw also looked so… small-minded and only with an eye to her finances. Smuggling. Questionable trade. And of course, the occasional petty blackmail.”

They didn’t know a tenth of what his mother’s larger ambitions had been before she had been forced to abandon England. Peregrine’s stomach soured, but he kept his face expressionless. “So you paid little attention to Cameron after she left. Do you know if he is working for someone else now?”

Pembroke shook his head. “No. Your mother left quite a bit behind. It was easy—and far more lucrative—to continue with what he had himself. He is not taking new business.”

“Some small comfort there,” Peregrine murmured. “For a man who prizes information, you keep your nose too high in the air, Chandros.”

“Fairly said, Fitzroy,” the man bowed his head. “Times… they appear to be changing somewhat, and sometimes the current moves faster than I anticipate.”

“As Chandros said, nature abhors the vacuum, Peregrine,” Pembroke said speculatively. “A single stitch might be all that is needed to restore order to the situation.”

Pressure began to build in Peregrine’s temples. “I would hate to think, Pembroke,” he said lightly, “that you are implying I am somehow guilty of causing this by being so lamentably absent.”

Beside him, Charity was silent, but she was tense, listening and thinking.

“Of course not, Perry,” Chandros said obliquely. “He is only suggesting that we have all the pieces here to restore power to where it belongs.”

“No,” Fitzroy said flatly, not caring how rude it was.

“You cannot blame us for thinking it might be a good solution. What other choice is there, Fitzroy?” Goldbourne asked, finally venturing into the conversation. “Even without a more permanent alliance, we still have interests in common here. We know where Cameron is, would you like our assistance in exposing him? He will hardly confess to the Crown, and you do not have much in the way of your own resources.”

“I will bear your offers in mind, gentlemen,” Peregrine said carefully. “But as entangled as I am now, I would prefer to avoid making commitments of any kind until I have restored order to my house. Duchess, we need to depart if we wish to keep our appointments. Selina, darling…” he looked in the direction of the marchioness. “I will be in touch.”

As they hadn’t even taken more than two steps into the room before being accosted, leaving it was easy. Fortunately, Charity was silent and thoughtful as they descended to the stair and out the front door.