Page 6 of Dallying with the Diamond
“Wounded myarse,” Julia muttered as she took up position directly behind Honoria. “You’re simply trying to drag me into scandal along with you.”
“Someone must. You refuse to do so yourself. Quiet. I am listening for footsteps.” Honoria ducked her head out and cocked it first to one side and then to the other. “They’re coming up the back stairs.”
“Who?”
“The men whose journal pages were sold in error.” She adjusted her bonnet and veil and looped her reticule firmly around her wrist. “Come along.”
“What? Why?” Julia tried to back pedal even as Honoria dragged her onto the narrow walkway that led to the back door of Forbidden Pleasures.
“To accidentally run into them, of course. I want to have a good look at Captain Leonidas Atherton.”
“What?” This time Julia clapped her hand over her own mouth. When next she spoke, her tone was a furious whisper. “You intend to negotiate with Atherton’s Bastard? The most scandalous man in London? Over some licentious pages inhisjournal?”
“Actually, I intend to makehimnegotiate with me.” She grabbed Julia’s hand and dragged her towards the door which flew open before she could lift the latch. In an instant Honoria stood pressed against six and a half feet of warm muscle and bone. Even through her veil the heat of his body and the scent of masculine sweat, paint, and a northern forest surrounded her. Powerful hands gripped her elbows.
“I beg your pardon…miss?” Even his voice carried the promise of dark nights in a large soft bed. Honoria realized he was somewhat shocked to find a woman stealing out of the back door of Lord Whitcombe’s shop. She tried desperately to make out his face from behind the dark barrier of her veil. Her hands itched to reach up and caress the shape of his face, all carved angles beneath a stern, but intense expression.
“Unless you plan to take the lady with us, you can release her now, Ath.” Honoria glanced at the man’s companion and recognized him immediately. Julia did too if the sudden stiffness of her posture was any indication. Lionel Carrington-Bowles had the good fortune to be devilishly handsome and the heir to the entire fortunes of his two late grandmothers and two late aunts as well. He currently lived with a great aunt whose fortune would be added to the rest once she decided to leave this mortal coil. She sent up a brief prayer that he did not recognize her or Julia.
She nodded at Captain Atherton and hurried out the door with Julia close on her heels. Neither of them spoke until they reached the confines of Julia’s carriage. Honoria pulled the shades down over the windows, but then she pushed one aside to look back at the landing where the two gentlemen stood.
“He watched you from the moment you started down the stairs,” Julia said as she swept off her bonnet and veil. “At least he watched part of you.”
Honoria removed her own millinery disguise and peered up at the door that led to Whitcombe’s personal office. “Did he?” She lowered the curtain, and Julia knocked on the roof of her carriage, the signal for her driver to take them home.
“Yes. Apparently, his reputation for lechery is not exaggerated. Do you think Carrington-Bowles recognized us?”
“He could not possibly.” She folded her hands in her lap over her reticule full of naughty books. “Now. Tell me everything you know about Captain Leonidas Atherton.”
“Are you certain you don’t want Esme to gather this information for you?” Julia peeked inside her own reticule and drew the drawstrings tight.
“Oh, I had Esme begin to gather information the moment I suspected he might be the man in the journal entries.” Honoria leaned back against the squabs of the carriage and pretended to stare out the window. She had just done perhaps the most reckless thing imaginable, and today’s step was simply the beginning. Her plan was logical, sound in theory, and utterly mad. She wanted to jump out of her skin her nerves sang so, not that she dared let Julia know. This plan would change her life, at least for a little while. Perhaps a little while would be enough to get her through the rest of her life. For what she intended to risk it would have to be.
3
Ath stood on the landing outside the back door into Forbidden Pleasures, unable to move. He wrapped his hands around the iron banister and leaned forward to follow the progress of the unmarked carriage as the coachman steered the conveyance out of the small back courtyard and into the narrow lane behind the alley of Half Moon Street. The scent of summer flowers filled his head. A lady, a shapely elegant lady had visited Whitcombe’s house of smut. Who—
“Do you plan to run after the lady like a randy pup or can we get on with this?” CB clamped a hand on Ath’s shoulder and dragged him backwards into the narrow walkway that appeared to run the length of this floor of Whitcombe’s business. “I am not bearding this lion in his den alone. This little visit was your idea, remember?”
“No, my idea was to wait until he closed the shop, confront him in the alley, and beat the information out of him.”
“The Duke of Chelmsford may not approve of his brother’s business. He may not even like his brother. God knows I despise mine. But the duke will likely object if you pound his brother to a pulp, no matter what the reason. Let’s try negotiating first.”
“If you insist.” Ath made a feeble attempt to brush off his jacket and straighten his neckcloth. CB rolled his eyes and rapped forcefully on the door to Whitcombe’s office.
“Come.”
Ath closed the door behind them before he took a look around the office. There were actually windows at the far end of the room. Shutters stood open to let in the light, but they could no doubt be closed and locked against the prying eyes of his competitors and the authorities. The man himself sat at a large desk and wrote in a thick ledger as if Ath and CB weren’t even there. An odd mechanical hum permeated the room and caused the floors, walls, furnishings and ceilings to vibrate. Or perhaps the brandy he’d had for breakfast lingered to play tricks on his senses.
“I assume you know why we are here, my lord?” CB dropped into one of the spindly chairs in front of the desk and Ath followed suit. Good manners were likely wasted on a man who had fled the luxury of being a duke’s heir to set up a notorious book shop on the mostsinfulstreet in London.
“I do.” Whitcombe carefully returned his quill to the quill rest and finally looked up to appraise the two of them with an imperious up-and-down perusal. His eerie green eyes reminded Ath of Prinny, his tomcat. “Though I am not certain how I can help you. The book was sold to me by Hatchard’s and—”
“You tore the original into four parts and sold each one to the highest bidder?” Ath had little patience for idle conversation and even less patience for people who refused to address the heart of a matter.
“That was, of course a mistake. The original should have stayed locked in my safe. A new clerk misunderstood the process. He was supposed to make a copy of each section and turn it over to the printers upstairs.” Whitcombe used a technique Ath had seen his friend, Forsythe, use in court. Only give pieces of information. Never the entire truth, unless forced. He tapped his booted foot on the floor and clenched and unclenched his fists.
“And was a copy made?” CB had a way of darkening his voice to the point it sounded as if his words came from a tomb. Ath watched Whitcombe’s shoulder twitch and smiled.