Page 3 of The Lyon’s Love Letters (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #78)
E lliott managed to make himself welcome in the servants’ hall by flirting with the maids, complimenting the suddenly overwhelmed cook, and avoiding the fearsome-looking housekeeper. He won over a footman or two by offering them a fine cigarillo and making cracks about the shine of the other gentlemen’s boots, as compared to his own fictional employer’s.
It all worked like a charm. It was not long before he heard all manner of stories about the old earl and the shenanigans he got up to, particularly in his youth. He heard multiple testimonials about the man’s daughter, about her kind disposition, and how she had no idea how her life was about to change. And he learned that the old earl didn’t keep a study in the house, as he spent so little time here at Martin’s Nest, but he did keep a corner of the library for his use, and it included a desk that was always kept locked.
Which was when Elliott announced he had better go and get his employer’s dinner clothes ready—and headed straight for the library.
On his way to the servants’ stairs, he discovered he was not the only newly arrived personal servant who had come downstairs. He passed one of the maids standing close to the wall at the bottom and smiling up at a nattily dressed man.
“Kenniston might only be a viscount, not an earl,” the valet was telling the girl. “But my master has Martindale wrapped around his finger.”
The maid giggled, and the man continued. “It was the viscount who convinced the earl to throw this house party.” He reached out and ran a finger along the girl’s shoulder. “And it’s happy I am that he did.”
Elliott sidled past them and went in search of the library. Slipping in quietly, he found it empty. Not surprising, given what he knew about Martindale and his friends.
Elliott found the room to be large, and yet surprisingly homey. Large windows let in the sunlight. No dust coated the large collection of books. A table was covered with a colorful atlas and a collection of haphazardly stacked books. The room felt lived in.
Ah, but there at the back of the room stood the desk. It was a substantial piece, with a design lacquered into a top that bore a simple set of functional items. Elliott sat in the chair and tested the drawers. All on the left side opened easily and contained supplies and documents that looked related to the estate. All the drawers on the right were locked.
Now he was getting somewhere.
Pulling out a sharp-edged file from his pocket, he dug it into the edge of the keyhole plate and gave the end of it a couple of good blows with a book from a nearby shelf. It loosened the plate, but not completely.
Pausing, he ducked down and waited to see if the noise would draw attention. But all the household must be occupied with seeing to their unexpected quests. No one came.
He repeated his maneuver with the file and, after a couple more blows, the plate was loose and the lock broken.
The drawer was full of files. He pulled out the top one and opened it. After looking it over, he closed his eyes and pulled out the next.
So neat. So tidy—the possible ruin of a life.
The first sheet in both contained a description of the sin committed—the deed worthy of blackmail. A Mr. W. Sooks of Ashworth, Sooks, and Sons was embezzling from the business. And the wife of a prominent MP was having clandestine meetings with her husband’s solicitor.
Next in each file came the proof. Pages torn from account books in the first file. Explicit letters and notes with meeting times and places in the second. How had the man acquired these things? Elliott could easily picture a mix of charm, deceit, and bribery being used in their pursuit.
The third part of each file detailed the amount of blackmail solicited, as well as descriptions of when payment requests were communicated and when they were paid.
Very organized. And so very stomach-turning.
Elliott pulled out the rest of the files and began to sort through them. He did not linger over any of them. He didn’t want to know. He only wanted to get the files he needed and get out of Hampshire altogether.
He went through the entire stack and didn’t find what he was looking for. He reached for the metal file again and was contemplating the second locked drawer when he heard a sudden, loud gasp.
He froze and looked up.
A girl stood there, just inside the door. Her hand still rested on it, as if she’d just eased it closed.
All of his breath left him in a whoosh. This must be the daughter. Lady Anna Parbury. She was not what he expected. Not as young as he’d thought. Definitely not saccharine and helpless, as the servants had described her. This girl…
She stood in the sunlight, glaring daggers at him. It was almost as if the sunbeam had sought her out, to show her off. She stared at him with wide blue eyes under strong, slashing brows. Her nose was just the merest shade too wide, the bulb on the end the tiniest bit too round. Freckles were dusted across it, and sprinkled a little farther onto her cheeks. It suited her—and only served to make her an earthier, more approachable sort of beauty instead of the celestial, untouchable kind. But then his gaze moved on to her mouth…her plump, pink mouth. It was lush and alluring and—
“Who in blazes are you?” she demanded.
He realized she held a covered basket and brandished it like a weapon before her.
“And what in the name of little green apples are you doing?” Her gaze widened when she noticed the files. “Step away from there! This instant!”
Tart. Her mouth was lush and tart, just like… “Little green apples?” he asked.
She flushed. “Well, you startled the wits right out of me!” Her bosom—very finely curved and emphasized with a gray ribbon that lightened the otherwise unrelieved black of her mourning gown—rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “I might have said worse, after the day I’ve had.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the files again. “You—you are another one!” She cleared her throat. “You are one of them, are you not?”
“Them?” He looked down and realized what she meant. A victim of her father’s blackmail. “No,” he said at once. “Not exactly.”
“There seems to be an epidemic of not exactly about here today.” Color flushed again over her pretty, captivating face. “I’m sorry—of course you may take the papers that are connected to your…situation, but you must leave the rest.”
He straightened. “Why?” Disappointment bloomed. “So that you may continue your father’s sordid antics?”
It was anger causing her to redden now. “Of course not!” she said, indignant.
“Then what do you intend to do with them?”
Moving nearer, she plunked the basket down on the desk. “I intend to pack them all in here and get them away before my cousin discovers them in the same way that I did.”
Something in him relaxed to think that she wasn’t an accomplice to blackmail. “You didn’t know, then? What your father was up to?”
Her gaze fell away as she shook her head. “No. Of course I didn’t. Not until…after.”
Everything about this situation was beyond odd, yet seeing her dejection struck a chord of empathy inside him. He knew what it felt like to be bemused and disappointed by a parent. “It must have been a shock.”
Her chin lifted at that. “It’s all been a shock, one coming hard after another. Not the least of which was my cousin’s arrival here today.” She reached for the files. “Please, take your own relevant papers and go. I must get these away, and quickly.”
“It’s not me.” For some reason he did not want her to think ill of him, any more than he had wished to believe the worst of her. “I was not being blackmailed myself.”
“Yes, yes. Someone you care for. That’s a condition going around today, too.”
The import of what she’d been saying finally sank in. “Another one, you said?” Then others had been here. Other victims of her father, for the same reason? He didn’t like the sound of that at all. The people in these files were likely furious and humiliated. Some of them might be dangerous.
“Yes, well, it seems no one likes the idea of the new Martindale following in the footsteps of the old.”
“No.” Reminded to focus on his task instead of her, he took up the file again. “What I need is not in this stack. There are more in the other locked drawer, I presume?”
“Yes, but no, don’t break it further! I have the key.” She started to move closer, but then stopped. “Hold a moment.” She went back and locked the door. “Just in case.”
Elliott waited while she unlocked the drawer, trying not to be obvious about watching her bend over the desk. She was slender and curvy in all the most appealing places. He reached for the files inside the second drawer while she moved aside and began to search through the stack he’d already been through. He was about halfway through when he heard her let loose a sound of relief.
“Oh, thank goodness.” She took the papers from the file and glanced through them.
Watching, he caught only a glimpse of a name on the first sheet. It looked alarmingly like Bessie Dove-Lyon. He swallowed. Her father had been so foolish as to take on the formidable mistress of the Lyon’s Den?
Lady Anna folded the papers small and blushed when she caught him watching her tuck the stack away in her bodice. She started moving the rest of her pile into the basket. “Have you found what you need?”
“Not yet.” He went back to sorting—and stopped at last when he found the familiar name he was looking for. He let out a sigh of relief and tucked them away in his coat, then helped her to fill the basket with the remaining files. “What will you do with them?”
“Get them away…and burn then, I suppose.” She gave a shudder. “I don’t want to know what is in them all.”
A twitch of worry made him speak. “Is that wise? What if others come looking?”
“Let them. I will not be here.”
“They might assume you know the contents and come looking for you.” The thought of unscrupulous men searching her out, putting her in danger—it made him restless.
“They won’t find me,” she said with confidence.
“At least let me see you safely away from here,” he offered. “I could escort you to wherever it is you mean to stay. It is local, I presume?”
“No. I am leaving Hampshire altogether. Plans are in place.”
He wondered if it were true. She was such an engaging conundrum. Had he ever met a girl who somehow managed to be both innocent and resolute? He found himself wanting to quiz her about her plans, but it wasn’t his place, was it? He’d made the offer and been turned down. Given how strongly he felt the urge to interfere, it was likely better that they parted ways now.
He placed the last files in the basket, then took her hand and bent over it. “Thank you. You have been very gracious. You cannot know the relief you have brought me, allowing me to take these away.”
“You are welcome. I am only sorry my father caused so much trouble.”
Reluctantly, he let her hand go. “Lady Anna, I cannot help but worry. If you find yourself in trouble, I would help. My name is—”
She raised a hand to stop him. “Perhaps you should not.”
“I must. I don’t wish to think of your needing help and having nowhere to turn.” She looked as if she still meant to object, so he pressed on. “I am Mr. Elliott Ward. My father is Lord Heyden. I keep rooms on Stephen Street, just off Bedford Square in London. If you have need of me, do not hesitate.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You are very kind.” She took up the basket. “Now, let us go.”
They headed for the door, but both paused, stricken when the latch rattled. They froze as it rattled again.
“Another locked door,” a masculine voice drawled. “I would venture that means you are in there, Lady Anna.”
“Kenniston,” she said with a groan. “He is relentless.”
“Kenniston?” An alarming thought occurred to Elliott. “I heard his man downstairs, bragging that this house party was all Kenniston’s idea.”
She picked up where his mind had gone, and they both glanced at the basket in horror.
“You don’t think…?” she whispered.
“He might be the subject of one of those files.”
This time, the whole door shook. “Lady Anna? Let me in, please.”
“If he’s after the files, he’ll never allow me out of here with this.” She lifted the basket. “Not without somehow getting a look.”
“He would be no better than your cousin, if he got his hands on them.”
“What will I do? I have to go. I cannot stay or I’ll be ruined! But I cannot leave these behind.”
“Give them to me,” Elliott offered. “I am not personally acquainted with the viscount. I’ll pretend to be a servant and march out of here with it over my arm. He won’t try to stop me. It would look too odd.”
She hesitated. He couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know him. And yet he found himself fervently hoping she would trust him.
She was wavering. He could see it. But he would not push her. It would be ungentlemanly, and he quite urgently wished her to come down in his favor, all of her own volition.
“Very well,” she whispered. “But what will you do with them? How shall I get them back?”
He shook his head. “No need. I will do just as you intended—I’ll leave Martin’s Nest straightaway and burn them at the first opportunity.”
She still doubted. He supposed it was only natural, after learning of her father’s and cousin’s indiscretions. “You can trust me to do it. I give you my most solemn word.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she handed the basket over. “Go and stand to the side of the door, where you will be hidden when it opens. When I signal you, unlock it and step back.”
She went to stand over the open atlas on the table and opened another book beside it before giving him a nod.
He unlatched the door and stepped back as the double doors immediately swung in.
“That latch is forever sticking,” she said, looking up from her book.
“I am beginning to fear you are avoiding me, Lady Anna,” Kenniston said as he sauntered inside.
“I have been avoiding everyone who might distract me as I try to finish my project, sir.” She began to gather up her papers. “But I am finished now, so the library is all yours.”
“You must know that it is you that interests me, and not the library.”
The viscount started to move toward her, but Elliott had heard enough. He stepped out and paused in the doorway behind Kenniston. “I’ll be sure to see these delivered, my lady.”
The viscount turned, and Lady Anna finished fussing with the books and papers on the table. “Thank you, Jenks. There’s no need for you to go to the village, though. Reverend Brandage is coming to tea later. Just see that his books are left in his gig after he arrives.”
“Very good, miss.”
“And Jenks, will you tell Parker to have this door looked at? It is still sticking.” She pushed past Kenniston. “Do excuse me, my lord. I shall see you at dinner, won’t I?”
“Most assuredly,” Kenniston purred.
Elliott waited until the girl was safely climbing the stairs before he started for the back of the house. If stopped, he would say he was making a delivery for Lady Anna. With a last glimpse over his shoulder, he saw the viscount heading for the earl’s desk. He picked up his pace, darted into a parlor, and took the door outside onto a terrace and away from the house. Ducking into the wood, he remembered, at the last minute, to stop and retrieve his hat.
Donning it, he paused for one long, last look at Martin’s Nest through the foliage before he sighed, took up the basket again, and hurried away.