Never Gamble Your Heart (The Secret Society of Governess Spies #2)

Chapter 29

A fter Jasper left, Frankie dressed for her excursion to the library. She could not fathom what had put him in such a temper. If anyone had a right to be cross, it was she, who’d had to laugh and fake enjoyment for hours on end. The only person who’d been mildly entertaining was Lord Wilson, but then he’d cut Jasper, and she’d realized he was as much a ratbag as the rest. She had only agreed to the carriage ride in the hopes that it would encourage others to ask her as well, and it had. Soon afterward she had agreed to take more carriage rides and walks than her feet would ever allow. She knew some of the men were tolerating the heat and staying in Town after the Coswold event longer than ordinary in order to pursue her dowry, but others would soon be leaving, and she could only be grateful for their departure.

Jasper had told her not to go anywhere alone, but she assumed he meant on carriage rides or walks with gentlemen. She did not think Hookham’s counted, so after tea, she set off twirling a gray parasol that matched the gray silk dress Cecelia had lent her. She wished Cecelia could have come, but she was meeting an old friend for tea, and Frankie could not wait. She was determined to find the connection between the grooms, even if it meant her eyes went crossed.

And her eyes nearly did cross before she found something of interest. She was seated at a varnished table in the back of the library, peering through her spectacles at her tenth newspaper from January 1836, when a headline leapt out at her: SCOTT SILVER MINING EXPEDITION A FRAUD . It had been buried in the financial section, and the accompanying article was no longer than three lines.

Frankie remembered reading about the Scott Silver Mining Expedition a number of years ago. At the time there had been big, splashy headlines about Mr. Jonathan Scott, an American who owned a Prussian silver mine that was disgorging thousands of pounds of silver each day. Men had rushed to invest in what was to be a sure thing. As a result, investment prices had shot up and become so exclusive that fights had broken out over them.

When the furor died down, the public forgot about the mines, while those who’d been lucky enough to invest had waited to reap the rewards. That had never happened. For such a massively successful con, the scandal had earned very little print space when the fraud came to light. There was no question that someone had paid the newspapers off in order to ease the humiliation of the investors. If Frankie were not obsessed with the papers, she would have missed it like the rest of the ton.

Frankie left the paper splayed open while she went and hunted down copies of the newspapers that had been circulating during the Scott Silver investment rush. To her disappointment, the papers had not printed the names of the investors, but the gossip rags had had no such restraint. They had speculated wildly about who’d been lucky enough to sink their money into the venture.

Frankie’s heart did a slow turn in her chest when she read through the names. Twelve of the twenty purported investors were now married to the troublemakers with healthy dowries.

That was about ten too many for a coincidence.

She bit her lip. The men who’d invested in the Scott Silver Mining Expedition had lost their fortunes, plain and simple. Yet someone had paid to keep the news very quiet. Over the following months, the investors had then supposedly overspent on luxury items, and it had appeared to society that they’d “lost their fortunes” at gaming tables rather than in the mine.

She thought of the jewels and horses the men had listed in their ledgers. Someone had advised them to record their investment losses in smaller increments, and to spread them out over several years as a way to preserve their dignity. It was one thing to lose a fortune to Lady Luck, it was another thing entirely to lose it investing in an elaborate con. A gambling loss could be tossed up to bad luck, but the latter could only be due to stupidity.

It was all coming together, like an equation that seemed unsolvable until a key segment fell into place. Someone powerful had watched the gentlemen lose their fortunes and had seen it as an opportunity. He’d saved the investors from public humiliation, advised them on how to cover their tracks, and then promised them a way to recoup their losses by finding them wealthy brides.

“What do you get out of it?” Frankie whispered, as if she were talking to the head of the operation himself. Could he have devised his plan in order to silence the “troublemaking” women? It seemed unlikely—they had no real power. So then why ? Who was he? A businessman? A politician?

On a scrap of paper, Frankie jotted the names of the eight men who’d invested in Scott Silver and still remained unmarried. She looked them over, her pulse kicking. On the list were two earls, three viscounts, a baron, and two marquesses. If she wanted one of the remaining investors to rise to her dowry bait and lead her to the ringleader, she had to attend the same events they did. The problem was that most of the ton was in the country for the summer, and she doubted that nobility of their rank were planning to attend events like the Coswold literary reception.

But there was someplace where all eight men were certain to be. Every year the Duke of Houndsbury hosted a house party widely considered the greatest crush of the summer. It was such a monumental social event that even the genteelly impoverished like Frankie were aware of it, and it was considered quite a coup to secure an invitation. The Houndsbury house party always drew a large attendance because of its outlandish hunts, extravagant spreads, and the glamorous ball that concluded the weeklong festivities. It was the very event Cecelia had been dying to attend ever since Frankie had arrived at the Jones household.

Frankie’s face blossomed into a smile. If Jasper was irritated about the suitors that morning, he was going to be really mad when she insisted on attending the Houndsbury house party.

When the shadows had stretched over the streets and it was nearly teatime, Frankie finished the letter she’d penned to the Dove at the library detailing all she’d found and asking about her sister, and mailed it on her way home.

When she walked through the door to the town house, she exhaled with contentment, but scant moments later Jasper came thundering into the foyer.

“Where have you been? I asked you not to leave the house alone.”

“Surely I can walk to Hookham’s without a chaperone.” She pulled the list of eight names from her reticule and handed it to him.

Jasper shoved the list into his pocket without looking at it. “Frankie,” he said, moving forward so that she had to take a step back. He continued his advance until she was pressed against the gold-papered wall where any passing servant could see them. He caged her in, one hand flat against the wall over her head and the other lightly grasping her chin. “You are all the ton is talking about. Did you read the headlines today? You were in every single newspaper as the wealthiest maiden in London. That makes you a target, and not only for the Dowry Thieves. You are a target for weasels like Farthins, for rakes like Wilson, and for any other common thief or monster who takes it into his head to kidnap you for ransom, or worse. When I told you not to go out alone, it was not only the Dowry Thieves I was worried about.”

Frankie chewed on her bottom lip. She hadn’t considered the pitfalls of pretend wealth. No wonder women with money could not venture out alone.

Jasper’s heated eyes fell to her mouth. With the pad of his thumb, he traced her lower lip, smoothing over the place she’d bitten. His eyes were scorching, but his calloused touch was gentle. Acting on instinct, she took his thumb between her teeth and flicked her tongue across the tip.

Jasper’s eyes widened, and something wild and raw raged inside. He lowered his head until his mouth brushed her temple, his hand sliding from her chin to wrap around the side of her neck. This man was feared by all of London. She’d watched him beat someone unconscious with these very hands, and yet she’d never felt safer than she did when she was caged in by his body, his palm curved around her neck.

“Please tell me you will take this seriously.” His lips continued their feathery light exploration, drifting over her cheek until his teeth caught her earlobe in a gentle nip.

“I will,” she breathed, as his free hand fell from the wall to cradle the back of her skull. He tilted her head, arching her throat, and kissed an exquisitely sensitive spot on her neck.

Every inch of Frankie’s skin felt overly sensitized. She clutched his coat and pulled him closer, wishing she had more experience so she would know what to do next.

“Promise,” he growled.

“I promise.”

In reward, Jasper trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, and Frankie delved her fingers into his hair. The strands of black hair were short and silky, his shaved jaw rough as it moved over her skin, marking her with a red flush that he soothed with his eager mouth. Frankie no longer knew where she was—or cared. All she knew was that if Jasper didn’t help ease this unbearable ache, she’d—

“Uncle Jasper!” Cecelia exclaimed.

Frankie gasped in mortification and buried her face in his chest.

Jasper instinctively shielded her with his body as he partially turned. “Yes?”

Frankie heard Cecelia’s impatient toe tap on the floor. “You and Miss Turner told me you were not going to marry.”

“That is correct,” Frankie mumbled. Taking a deep breath, she gathered the courage to look Cecelia in the eye and stepped away from Jasper, hoping to heaven her skin wasn’t as red from his ministrations as she suspected it was. “When I arrived home your uncle was worried for my safety.”

“He does not kiss anyone else when he is worried.”

Frankie had nothing to say to that, and apparently neither did Jasper because an awkward silence fell over the foyer.

“I must pack,” Frankie practically shouted, her voice ringing off the tile.

Jasper frowned. “Pack for what?”

But Frankie was already running for the stairs and did not answer. The sooner they unveiled the mastermind behind the Dowry Thieves, the sooner she could take a nice governess situation on the coast far, far away from the temptation of Jasper Jones.