Chapter Nineteen
“One wonders what favor Lord Redfern owes your aunts, seeing as the man is a powerful peer,” Jamie mused to his friends, who were seated across from him in the carriage.
In the two weeks since they’d visited the Crimson Serpent, he’d been investigating the initials on the list. So far, he’d found no trace of Jackson.
Either Toby or Anthony had shown up at his door each day demanding to know what they were doing that day in regards to locating Jackson. It was both humbling and vexing that they didn’t let him do the investigating himself, as he’d been doing.
Even now, they’d sent their wives on ahead to the dinner party and had collected him.
“You do know I could have driven myself here?” Jamie drawled.
They waved his words away.
“We don’t trust you, so we are watching you,” Anthony said.
“I’m the most trustworthy of all of us.”
They laughed at that.
“Back to your aunts. How is it that tonight Lord Redfern is hosting a dinner party on their behalf?” Jamie asked.
“I tried to get that out of them, actually—”
“Perhaps I could try; they do love me the most,” Jamie added, needling his friends.
“Evie and I have a theory on that,” Anthony said.
As he was looking at his friends, he could read the smirks on their faces now.
“What theory?” Jamie demanded.
“Why, it’s for you, my friend. After all, you are not showing progress with the names on that list, so they feel it is time to move things along by holding a dinner party,” Anthony said.
“You cannot be serious? They would go to all this trouble just to ensure I spend time with the three women on that list?” Jamie felt a sinking feeling at the prospect that this evening was all about him.
“You do know my aunts, don’t you?” Anthony asked. “They didn’t want to put me to the trouble of hosting a dinner party because of Evie’s delicate condition, so they asked their dear friend Lord Redfern is my understanding.”
“What names were on that list anyway?” Toby added.
Jamie thought seriously about leaving, but as the carriage was stopping outside Lord Redfern’s house, he didn’t think he’d get the chance. Mind you, he could outrun his friends.
“I’m not telling you the names,” Jamie said.
If his friends were right, then Lady Alice would be inside. He’d only seen her once in the past few weeks, from a distance at a ball. When he’d finally worked up the nerve to approach, she’d turned and walked away. Jamie didn’t know why he’d taken that as deliberate—but he had.
He’d even sent her a note the next day, asking to speak with her. Her reply had been polite, stating she was unavailable. Something about it didn’t sit right. There was more to her refusal than courtesy; he could feel it.
He pushed aside the flicker of guilt that he hadn’t told her what he’d discovered. It was for the best. A woman like Lady Alice had no place in a brothel. He’d tell her about the ledger when the time was right.
You’re doing this to keep her safe, he reminded himself. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
They stepped from the carriage and then took the stairs up and into Lord Redfern’s townhouse.
Lady Petunia appeared to be waiting for them in the front entrance, elegant in lavender. “I could not hold them off much longer. Where have you been?” she demanded.
“Surely we are not that late, Aunt,” Anthony said, kissing her cheek. “And where is Lord Redfern as we are in his townhouse?”
She made a tsking sound. “We are hosting, and he merely offered a larger dining room. In fact, he was excited, as since his wife passed, he’s not hosted a ball or dinner.”
“Well then, how kind of you to help him with that,” Anthony said solemnly.
“Yes, well, your aunts and I thought it time to revive his flagging spirits.”
“A whopping untruth,” Toby whispered to Jamie. “Now I need to find my wife.”
“You’re pathetic,” Jamie muttered as his friend smiled at the thought of seeing Liberty.
Anthony clapped his hands together. “This is going to be an excellent evening. I can feel it.”
He could simply turn and walk out the door; no one would be able to stop him.
“Jamie, you will stop dragging your feet!”
Except maybe her. “Coming, Lady Petunia.”
Was Lady Alice here? The thought made his pulse pick up speed. What was it about that woman other than she had lush, soft, and kissable lips?
The townhouse was hushed save for the muted clink of crystal and the faint murmur of voices carrying from somewhere ahead.
A footman, immaculate in black, led the way.
Candles flickered in polished brackets, their light showing Jamie portraits and cabinets filled with expensive porcelain and crystal.
“Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever been here,” Toby said.
Jamie couldn’t remember a time he had either. His father perhaps, but not him.
As they slowed, he put his social smile in place as the glow of the parlor spilled into the hall, accompanied by a swell of laughter and the rustle of silk.
The doors were open and he stepped through.
The guests all turned their heads as the new arrivals were announced.
Jamie wasn’t sure why he tensed suddenly, as this was something he’d done more times than he could remember, but he did.
When he studied the guests, he instantly realized why.
Lady Alice was here and standing against the far wall from where he’d entered.
The look on her face told Jamie she was no happier to be in this place than he was.
Yet, despite himself, a surge of something dangerously close to happiness stirred in him at the sight of her. He’d think about that later.
As if sensing his presence, she turned, and the look she gave him was through narrowed eyes. Her mouth tightened, and then she looked away.
Why was she angry? Had someone said something to upset her? Looking at the person she was with, he noted it was the youngest of Anthony’s aunts. Perhaps they were pressing her about her marriage prospects?
“And now if you’ll all come through, dinner will be served,” Lady Petunia announced in tones as commanding as a field marshal. Her voice carried easily to every corner of the townhouse, and Jamie suspected even the neighbors two doors down had heard the summons.
Much to his relief, he found himself paired with Anthony’s other aunt, Lady Agatha, on his arm. Relief, however, proved fleeting.
“Now, Jamie,” Lady Agatha began in her brisk, determined way, “tonight will give you ample opportunity, without hordes of people interrupting you, to chat with the three women on the list.”
Jamie stiffened. “I do not wish to marry, Lady Agatha.” He kept his voice low and direct, hoping honesty would stall their matchmaking attempts. “I understand you and your lovely sisters want my happiness—as Toby and Anthony have found it—but I can be content without a wife for now, thank you.”
“Oh, pooh to that.” She waved off his declaration. “You need a wife to help you heal and move on, dear.”
The word heal slid under his ribs like a blade.
Jamie’s fingers twitched where her gloved hand rested lightly on his arm.
He had no wish to revisit those wounds, not here, not under the blaze of candlelight and the watchful eyes of Anthony’s aunts.
He owed this lady and her sisters a great deal, but his marriage was not part of that.
“It is time, Jamie,” Lady Agatha added softly, as they entered the dining room. “You’re seated here.”
Now wasn’t the time to continue this discussion, so he inclined his head, and took up his place behind the designated chair. As custom dictated, he waited until all the ladies had claimed their seats before lowering himself.
Directly opposite, Lady Alice Smythe sat in her own chair with her usual composure.
Her ivory silk gown caught the glow from the candelabra above, the delicate sheen making her appear almost luminous.
Pearls rested against the graceful column of her throat, modest enough in appearance, but the gentle curves above the bodice had his blood heating.
He’d kissed this woman, and held her. Jamie had felt every lush curve of her body pressed to his. Not now, Jamie. Having lustful thoughts for a dinner guest was not exactly the done thing in such a setting.
He noted, with a sinking heart, that clearly the aunts had placed the other two ladies on his list beside him to his left and right. Lady Alice, the third, was opposite. He was hemmed in on all sides. To his right, Miss Devlin offered a greeting.
“Good evening, Lord Stafford.”
“How wonderful,” cooed Miss Timothy on his left, as if being seated beside him were akin to discovering a treasure.
Jamie sent Anthony’s aunts a look sharp enough to draw blood. All three, grouped together like conspirators at the far end of the room, returned his glare with indulgent smiles. He was a reluctant pawn on their matrimonial chessboard.
Forcing a polite expression onto his face, he acknowledged both women at his sides before lifting his gaze across the gleaming white linen and colorful blooms on the table to Lady Alice.
She was poised, and distant. There was no trace of the woman who had wept in his arms outside the Black Dog in sight. Tonight she was all elegance and haughtiness, her expression polite as she spoke with the gentleman to her right, Lord Braxton.
Jamie’s jaw tightened. Braxton was a second son miraculously turned heir after an uncle’s death abroad and a brother’s fatal fall from a horse.
Elevation had not improved his character, only his debts.
And the way he leaned too near Alice, smiling with practiced charm, spoke volumes about his intentions.
Jamie wanted to tell him to sit back, to warn him off. But he had no rights where Lady Alice was concerned. No claim. No promise. Nothing but the uneasy feeling that she was angry with him, though he did not yet know why.
Her eyes turned suddenly and locked on his. The candles flickered, casting her face in a golden hue, but those eyes were once again narrowed. She was definitely angry with him. Why?
He’d tried to speak to her, but hadn’t in two weeks, so to his knowledge nothing had passed between them to warrant her anger. She looked away first.
Jamie had admired many women in his time, even desired some, but none intrigued him as Alice did. He knew he needed to get her alone. He had to tell her what he’d discovered. It was only fair.
Braxton bent nearer still, murmuring something that drew a polite nod. Jamie caught her slight retreat as she leaned back. The man mistook her distance for coyness, idiot that he was.
Jamie clenched his hands beneath the table. He wanted, badly, to break Braxton’s nose.
Which should tell you, he reminded himself grimly, that distance from that woman is the best course forward.
Conversation around the table ebbed and flowed. Servants glided in with the first course, tureens of fragrant broth. Jamie nodded for the footman to ladle some into his bowl.
“Shocking business in Covent Garden, shocking,” boomed Mr. Rushbridge from Jamie’s left, his voice carrying above the general din. “A gentleman stopped in his carriage, bold as brass. Robbed him right there on the street.”
Gasps circled the table and then the questions started. Jamie’s attention wavered between the conversation and the woman across from him, who still did not glance in his direction again.
“Are you enjoying the soup, Lady Alice?” Jamie said, reduced to seeking her attention. Fool that I am.
“Yes, thank you, my lord.” Her eyes went to his left ear.
“Are you to attend the theater tomorrow evening? I believe it is Shakespeare’s—”
“I am not to attend, Lord Stafford,” she said, cutting him off. Her eyes then returned to Lord Braxton. The man smiled across the table, looking smug over the fact Lady Alice appeared to have no wish to speak to him.
Was her anger because she’d found out he’d been to the Crimson Serpent? But who would have told her?
He had promised her honesty. Promised to keep her abreast of his search for Kenneth Jackson. And he had broken that promise, but she couldn’t know that.
Jamie emptied his expression, lifting his spoon, though he could not have said what he tasted.
From his left, Miss Timothy asked a question about hunting lodges. From his right, Miss Devlin pressed him about his family estate. He answered automatically, with the ease of long practice. But inwardly, his focus never shifted.
Every movement of Alice’s hands, the tilt of her head, the light catching in her hair—these occupied him more than any conversation at his own side.
She was furious with him. He knew it now, as surely as he knew his own name. Just not why.