Page 24

T hank goodness Rockwell had the sense to stand at the servant’s entrance, because when Melville learned who was at the door of Lord Lincoln’s townhouse, he tried to make a run for it.

Rockwell marched him back inside, and Wolf said, “Lord Lincoln, may we borrow your library? I need a word with my uncle regarding family matters.”

“Of course, dear boy,” was Lord Lincoln’s response. “Shall I send in some refreshments?”

Rockwell laughed. “We may need some brandy.”

Melville walked with his head down into the room and took a seat by the fire. He looked older than Wolf remembered, yet he was younger than Wolf’s mother. His uncle hadn’t had it easy in life. A second son, he’d never really found his path.

Wolf was thankful his younger brother seemed to know exactly what he wanted. Rockwell had traveled far and wide—exploring new places seemed to soothe his restless personality. And his allowance was all he needed to live off because he’d invested well and sold treasures from abroad when he found them. Most importantly, and thankfully, Rockwell seemed content with his lot in life.

Melville was a man who had nothing left in his life except his sister. His wife had died a few years ago and they had never been blessed with children. Upon Dorothy’s death, his uncle had fallen to pieces. He’d stayed with them for quite some time before returning to his hunting lodge in Sussex. That was when the drinking and gambling had started. He’d lost his home within twelve months, in a game of whist.

Melville’s elder brother, the Marquess of Durith, was dead and his eldest son, the current Marquess, had refused to contemplate paying Melville’s debts. The family had turned their backs on him. But Lady Wolfarth had not. She loved her younger brother. Only Wolf’s family coffers had been paying the price for her love.

Once the brandy was delivered and poured, and the servant had closed the door behind him, Melville finally looked at Wolf. “I promise—”

“Don’t make promises you know you won’t keep.” Wolf almost growled.

Rockwell sat next to his uncle. “This can’t go on, Melville. Do you want to see the Wolfarth family destroyed? Your sister with no money?”

Melville gaped like a fish out of water. “But…but the Wolfarth family coffers hold plenty.”

It suddenly struck Wolf that maybe Melville had no idea what he owed. “You do realize your gambling debts total almost ten thousand pounds. And then there are the share deals you’ve reneged on. They—”

“Shares? What shares?”

Rockwell’s eyes met his, and a look of worry entered his gaze. “A stockjobber named Sprat came to see me, holding notes for shares he claims you asked him to purchase. He’s claiming you refused to pay for them once the prices dropped.”

“I have never even heard of the man, and I certainly have not bought any shares. I’ve had no money to do so.”

Rockwell leaned forward. “Sprat indicated you’d ask him to buy the shares to try and earn money to pay your gambling debts.”

Melville’s face turned purple. He spluttered. “I tell you I have never asked anyone to buy shares on my behalf. I swear on your mother’s life—on my late wife’s grave.” He looked at the floor. “I may gamble a bit—” At Wolf’s scoff he added, “Gamble a lot. But that is my only vice in this life.”

“There is no reason to lie to me, Uncle. I’ll find out the truth soon enough.” Wolf watched him closely.

Melville thumped the arm of his chair. “I have never met a man named Sprat and I have not bought any shares.”

“I tend to believe him, Wolf,” Rockwell stated.

Wolf nodded in agreement. He paced the room, trying to understand what the hell was going on. Why would Sprat bring him this tale? Why accuse a man like his uncle, a man of such high rank, the younger son of a Marquess? What was going on? Had Sprat thought Wolf would pay up without proof? That was the thing. There was no proof, just Melville’s word against Sprat’s. Melville was a lord, but then Sprat could point out Melville owed money everywhere. Would society believe a degenerate gambler, a man desperate for money?

Wolf snarled. “Sprat’s hoping to keep this quiet and that I’ll pay up to do so. I’m not such an easy mark.”

Rockwell spoke up. “Scandal will erupt if you don’t. But hell, we can weather a bit of scandal.”

“We first have to prove Sprat is a cheat and a liar.”

Melville looked as if he was about to cry. “How will you do that?”

He swung around to face Melville. “I have no idea. Not yet. But I will.” He moved and took the chair next to his uncle. “This is what we will do. Melville, I will clear your current gambling debts.” He held up his hand as Melville tried to thank him. “But you will retire to my country estate tonight. I’ll send some of my men and a couple of Bow Street Runners with you, and you must stay there until this all settles down.”

“Bow Street Runners? That’s not necessary. Besides, I don’t want to leave London.”

Wolf looked him in the eye. “Until I understand what Sprat is about, or how far he’ll take this obvious swindle, I want you out of London. If you turn up dead, I’ll have absolutely no choice but to pay him, as you won’t be alive to deny the purchase. It’s a lot of money. With regards to Mr. Sprat, I am not taking any chances.”

Melville’s face paled. “Dead.” He covered his face with his hands and wailed. “How did it come to this?”

“Dorothy would be appalled. I’m being cruel to be kind, Uncle. This gambling has to stop or Wolf will have to do something drastic, like send you to the Americas,” Rockwell uttered.

“The Americas? You wouldn’t do that to an old man?”

“I’d have no choice. Family comes first and your debts put us in jeopardy.” Wolf wasn’t inclined to be nice. The debts would cut a hole in his finances and if these shares had to be honored too—well, he’d need Tiffany even more. “Gambling is a fool’s game if you cannot control it. I’m making it clear tonight to all the gambling dens in London that I will not be responsible for any future debts you incur, and some of the places you frequent are known to be brutal if debts are not paid. So I suggest you take the time at the country estate to find another ‘hobby’.”

Rockwell stood. “I’ll summon the Bow Street Runners and send a note to the house to organize some men and a carriage.”

“While Rockwell is organizing your travel arrangements, you will tell me who you owe money to and how much. All of it. I want this over.” When Melville merely shrugged, Wolf added, “And if I see or hear of any other gambling, I will be talking to mother. I will tell her exactly what you have been doing and how much you have cost this family and that we have to send you away. So, if you don’t want to break your sister’s heart, I suggest you do as I say.”

*

It was close to six in the morning when Wolf finally made it home. Stepping down tiredly from his carriage, he was pleased with the night’s endeavors. Melville and his armed guard had gotten away just before dusk and then, with Rockwell beside him, Wolf had visited all the gambling dens in greater London and told them to send their notes to him. He also warned them he knew the exact amounts owed and would pay no more.

His carriage had dropped Rockwell off at his lodgings, and Wolf was looking forward to getting some sleep. Tomorrow he’d start talking to his stockjobber, Jacob Lane, about Sprat. What did he know of the man? He’d also ask at the club if anyone used Mr. Sprat and then talk to those who did. This swindle was well organized and targeted. He wondered if Sprat had done this to another family before.

He’d just started up the steps when out of the shadows stepped Tiffany, dressed in her widow’s weeds. “What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded with a frown. “Quickly, inside.” Grabbing her hand, he ushered her across the threshold and literally dragged her down the corridor.

Tiffany didn’t speak until they reached his study. With much agitation in her voice, she said, “I want an update on Lord Melville. When is he going to pay his debt to Mr. Sprat?”

“I’m tired, hungry and in need of sleep. Surely this discussion could have waited until later? I’m supposed to start my portrait of you at ten, and that’s only four hours away. And you should not be here.” Damn it to hell, the staff would soon be up. What if one of them saw her?

“Well, perhaps you should have thought about that before staying out all night doing God knows what.”

He was too tired to even smile at the jealousy in Tiffany’s words. “I was out dealing with Melville and our Sprat problem, if you must know.” He was not about to inform her he thought her stockjobber a liar and a thief. He wondered exactly how her father had lost all his money, and why he’d come down to London to meet with Sprat in person. Had Lord Deveraux also been concerned with what Sprat was doing? Had Sprat pulled the same swindle on Tiffany’s father? Or perhaps purposely placed bids without Deveraux’s permission on bad shares?

Her face lit up. “You’ve spoken to Lord Melville. When will his debt be settled?”

“I have a little more information to wade through, but soon.” Not exactly a lie.

“Lovely. I shall leave you to your sleep and be back at ten,” she calmly replied.

“In future, please do not wait outside on the street like a poor urchin. These widow’s weeds won’t hide you for very long and also, it doesn’t look good if I am seen escorting a widow into my house early in the morning with my sisters here. Ashleigh does not have the best standing in society as it is.” He put his grumpiness down to exhaustion.

Bowing her head, Tiffany agreed. “You are right. I’m sorry. I should be able to speak with you when I sit for the portrait, so I won’t have to sneak another interview.”

Wolf walked toward her, and to her credit she held her ground. He ran a finger down her cheek then pushed her glasses back up her nose. “As I’m courting you, all you need do is send for me and I shall come.”

She looked at him, those green eyes open wide. “But…but you have so many responsibilities, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.”

He cupped her chin in his hand and bent closer. “I’m never too busy for the woman I want to marry.” Then he pressed a kiss to her sweet lips and felt them tremble beneath his. He knew he should pull away. She’d come here to talk, but he’d been dying to taste her and when she didn’t retreat, he deepened the kiss. She tasted of innocence and desire. She didn’t try to stop him and when her mouth opened to admit him, his tongue swept in. Her arms rose to wrap around his neck and he pulled her hard against him.

This was what he knew lay underneath Tiffany’s bluestocking exterior. Passion. He intended to make her understand that a marriage with him would suit her very well. They had friendship, respect and, most importantly, passion. They didn’t need anything else. He didn’t want anything else.

Her delightfully delicious moans inflamed his need and were he not a gentleman, he’d have taken her right there in his study. Luckily, he understood she wasn’t ready for more—yet. So with a groan he pulled back and rested his forehead on hers, trying to bring his body and breathing under control.

Tiffany was the one to step back first. “That was interesting,” she whispered dazedly, her fingers pressed to her lips.

“That was passion. Don’t be scared of it.”

She looked at him as if he had two heads. “Scared? I wasn’t scared, merely curious. That was my first proper kiss. It was—indescribable. Wonderful. Sensual. Stirring. Captivating. Addictive…”

“Not so indescribable then. I’m happy to oblige any time.” Wolf smiled brazenly.

“I wonder if every kiss is like that.” Worrying her lip between her dainty teeth, she turned to leave. “I’ll sneak out the servant’s entrance and see you back here at ten.” Before she closed the door behind her, she smiled to herself and demurely said, “And I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

Wolf was still grinning as he walked to his bedchamber to grab a few precious hours of sleep. It was no wonder he dreamed of Tiffany laid out in his bed like a gift. How could one innocent kiss stir him so?

He fell asleep trying not to think too closely about the answer to that question.

*

Wolf had only been asleep for two hours when Rockwell was beside his bed, poking him awake.

“You were right. There is definitely more to this. Melville’s carriage was attacked near St. Albans on the way north. They didn’t try to rob as in ‘stand and deliver’, they attacked with pistols firing. It looked as if they simply wanted to kill Melville. And it was as if they knew he was coming.”

“Sprat. He must have had men watching Lord Lincoln’s house.” Wolf threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, calling for Simpson. “Did Melville get away?”

Rockwell nodded. “They have continued north. The Bow Street Runners have contacted some men in York who will ride south to meet them, just in case.”

Wolf pulled on his shirt, while Simpson found his Hessians. “We need a plan. I need to learn all I can about Sprat as fast as possible. I have Tiffany coming at ten for her first sitting. Can you talk to your stockjobber today? I’ll talk to mine later this afternoon.”

“I’ve already instructed the Bow Street Runners to find out where Sprat lives, where he came from, and what his background is.”

Wolf looked at Rockwell. “I hope they will be discreet. I don’t want Sprat learning we are investigating him.”

“He’ll know that already. He knows we sent Melville home. Why would we do that? He’ll know it’s because we believe Melville.”

“Maybe he thinks I’ve sent him home in disgrace, to stop his gambling? Our trip around the dens last night would indicate my intentions, surely?”

Rockwell shrugged. “Sprat must know our suspicions have been aroused, because Melville was well protected.”

“True. That makes Sprat dangerous. We don’t know enough about him and I don’t like that either.” What he definitely didn’t like was the fact Tiffany was dealing with this man. Her outings to meet with him would have to stop. Convincing her to cease her dealings with the stockjobber would be difficult, like moving heaven and earth. For some reason, Tiffany thought very highly of the man.

“Let’s see what Jacob Lane has to say about our Mr. Sprat.” The clock on the mantle in Wolf’s bedchamber struck half past the hour. “Damn. You’ll have to go alone. Tiffany is due in an hour and a half and I won’t get back in time. I have to start the painting today if I’ve any chance of getting the piece ready for the opening.”

“Let’s meet with Lane this afternoon. I’ll visit my stockjobber this morning. Harold Parker has an office away from Capel Court, so Sprat won’t see me.”

“I suspect he’s got men watching this house.”

Rockwell shrugged. “I bet he’s not watching my lodgings. I’ll return home and wait for a period then go see Parker.”

“Good idea, but be careful.”

Rockwell nodded and as he left, Wolf called for Simpson to find his old painting clothes. He knew exactly how he wanted Tiffany to pose, so now all he had to do was organize the props and ensure the dress he wanted her to wear had been collected from the dressmaker.

The problem now was how to persuade Tiffany to wear it.