Chapter Six
The Countess of Blackhurst was the kind of woman who made a sane man run as fast as his legs, or better yet a horse, could take him.
And yet, here he was. He already knew he naturally gravitated towards dangerous situations and now, apparently, to dangerous women.
This was not something he would brag about at his club.
The countess was to be his new mission, but he would wager he would be far safer on a battlefield than in her company.
Oliver’s main worry was how to keep her hands out of places they shouldn’t be.
He had no wish to see her swinging from a gibbet or walking a gangplank in irons bound for New South Wales.
Oliver glanced over at the Black Raven. What was he to do with her? How was he to handle a potential powder keg of doubtful substance? The last thing he could afford was for this all to blow up in his face.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what are you looking for, a bloody trail? A confession written in ancient Greek? The murder weapon?”
She gave him an impatient sigh. “Must you be so tiresome? I suspect the weapon has been sold ten times over by now or is at least at the bottom of the Thames. I am at this time only trying to confirm association. If I can prove my husband had business dealings with certain people, I will put them on a short list of suspects.”
“Ah, so the list in your notebook is for suspicious persons?”
The disbelieving look she gave him was enchanting. She began frantically rummaging around in her small bag, her eyes never leaving his.
He sat back, happy. “Yes, I have it.” He answered the unspoken question in her eyes. The kiss to get it had been worth it in so many ways. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it back to her. “You have lovely penmanship, by the way.”
She snatched it back and held it to her chest. “How did you steal it from me?”
“Steal? That is rather harsh. I simply borrowed it.”
“You took it without my permission, therefore it is stealing.”
“I had every intention of giving it back, therefore I borrowed it.”
“But how?”
“I have very skillful fingers,” he confessed with a smile. “I have many other skills as well, which you may find… beneficial.”
She rewarded him with a most terrifying scowl.
“To the investigation, of course,” he added.
He loved that his having obtained the notebook from right under her nose shocked her. He loved that she was shoving the notebook back in her little bag with such force that he could imagine she was picturing the notebook as his head.
“Do not take my notebook from my reticule again.”
He grinned. “You have my word.”
She did not smile back. “Why am I still not convinced?”
“Ouch! Impugning my honor? That’s low.”
“Can we not concentrate on the matter at hand, please?”
“Fine. I would think Blackhurst was closed-lipped on the fact he was in trade,” Oliver said matter-of-factly.
Her head shot up. “He was not in trade,” she insisted. “He only invested with those who were and according to my sources he sometimes invited others to participate. It is not like he would be the first gentleman to do so.”
“How charitable of him to want to share the wealth,” he said in a sarcastic tone, thinking of his brother. “Nevertheless, these others would not have been eager to make their participation general knowledge.”
She nodded. “You understand the difficulties I am up against. I have to be careful what I do and how I gain my information. Someone here in London seems to be willing to jeopardize their own reputation to ruin mine, continuously. I have no idea where the gossip and rumors come from. I would have thought this whole business extremely dull scandal broth by now.”
“Murder and money are two things that never become dull, I assure you, Countess.”
“So it seems,” she replied.
For a moment she looked tired, fatigued beyond what sleep could rectify. She had been battling her demons for years, he suspected, but she was determined not to show it.
“Are you sure Blackhurst was not in debt? Perhaps he owed at the tables or—”
“My husband rarely played games of chance and when he did he was usually successful. He was clever with numbers and had a good memory. I suspect there were not many who wished to play against him. He always said they held little challenge for him, in any case. He liked to gamble with much bigger stakes. As for debts, I can think of no reason why he would be. I have more money than I could ever spend in this lifetime or the next.”
“Well, how nice that must be for you,” he bit out between his teeth.
Did she truly have no idea what her husband’s investors lost?
How his demise and the breakdown of the speculation had ruined lives, including Oliver’s own?
His indignant scowl was wasted, he saw, as she again began her ritual.
A look at her pocket watch, her schedule, and then back to the watch before looking out the window of the carriage.
He felt like flinging that damn watch out the window.
Lisbeth peered at her schedule. This is all too much, she thought.
I need to keep myself in control. She knew what was on her schedule, of course, but it was the reassuring feeling of knowing what was going to happen next which kept her pulling it out of her reticule.
It also gave her reason to avoid looking at Bellamy and his all-too-knowing eyes.
She knew he was frustrated with her, and he had shown great restraint so far.
That did not mean she meant to push him further, but she didn’t want to share everything with him either. He already knew too much.
Now Bellamy knew of her plan, everything had changed. Men were used to taking control but this was her fight, no matter what sort of crusade Bellamy thought he was on. He could think himself heroic all he liked, but she had to maintain her course to truth and justice.
“He never spoke of his business affairs,” she said now. “And I was rarely introduced to his friends. However, I do have my sources of information, as you now know.”
“Indeed,” Bellamy said. “Planned out, eh? Why does this not surprise me? I do have another question for you. Do I continue to commit to wagers regarding the Black Raven? Or do you intend to pay me in some other form?”
“You may continue to gather your wagers, sir. I am happy with our arrangement as it is. I gather you have a list of these wagers?” She was not desperate to see what stupidity had been made up but she would like to be prepared for the worst.
Bellamy smiled and sat back against the swabs, crossed his arms over his chest, and tapped at the breast pocket of his jacket.
“May I have it please?” She put out her hand.
“No. Are you not worried that some may find it peculiar if I am winning money off your reputation when you are my mistress?”
Her hand fell back to her lap, her expression incredulous.
“I am not your mistress! I am not your anything.” She tapped her pocket watch open, frowned, and then snapped it closed again in agitation.
Why did she let him do this to her? He did it on purpose.
He was tricky, manipulative, annoying, and she wished that he would not keep trying to challenge her authority.
“That can be easily amended, my dear. You need only give me the nod.” Bellamy moved his arm across her shoulder but stopped when her pistol jabbed his ribs.
She shook with nervous energy. Lisbeth had tried to forget about the pistol but he was moving too close and she panicked.
She wanted to give him the nod, all right, with something hard.
He made her mad enough to scream but she must remain cool, detached, and in control.
The Black Raven must keep playing her part.
“I need only pull the trigger to put a nasty hole in your lovely jacket and your list.”
“You, madam, are a very difficult woman,” he complained.
“Not difficult, Bellamy, just determined. You must keep your hands to yourself. I told you I will be leading this investigation; you are merely assisting. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely.” What was wrong with him? He couldn’t stop looking into the deep, inky depths of her eyes. He did not want to be involved with this woman and yet… confusion warred with desire while sanity seemed to sit back and laugh.
He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss all the stiffness out of her, and he had no doubt where that stiffness would end up. He also knew this woman held him in low esteem, somewhere under the coal boy, probably lower.
His mental meanderings needed to be reined in because while he was swimming about in her eyes and bemoaning his status she had slipped her hand into his jacket and retrieved his list.
A whisper of a smile passed over the corners of her lips as she tucked the list in her bodice and lowered her pistol.
“Cheeky minx.” She was just getting him back for the notebook, he supposed.
He looked at her bodice. Was he really feeling envious of a piece of paper?
Oliver smiled to himself as he watched her looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“You may think yourself the cleverest of thieves but it will do you little good.”
“Don’t be a bad sport, Bellamy. Ah, we are here. Shall we go in or do you wish to sulk for a moment?”
“Oh, no, let us go in. I am exceedingly excited by the prospect of gaining a headache.”
“Do you not like music, Bellamy?”
She asked the question with such an innocent expression and yet he knew she was cheered by the prospect of torturing him.
“It isn’t that I dislike music or singing.
What I dislike is music played badly and singing which leaves one’s ears near to bleeding.
I despise caterwauling amateurs who do little but posture about playing a badly tuned violin like a two-year old.
” I much prefer a good opera, where the singing is in tune and the girls are pretty.
“I’m glad you will be enjoying yourself then.”
He laughed, for what else could he do?