Charlotte leanedover Mr. Colwyn’s board and couldn’t avoid an involuntary inhale of clean man, bergamot, and sandalwood.
She spoke in low tones so that none of the surrounding players could hear. “I thought you were more serious about wanting your journal pages back.”
He grasped her wrist beneath the table and applied slight pressure. “I thought you were done spying on my sex life.”
“No. Actually, your descriptions were the prelude last night to a very enjoyable evening.”
He increased the pressure on her wrist. “You and your little friends are lucky you weren’t murdered in your bed.”
Her eyes widened. “You were there?”
“Yes, and I could have joined you at any time, thanks to a thoroughly worthless lock on your rear door.”
Her stomach dropped, and she was unable to summon any spit in her mouth. “Why are you spying on me and my companions?”
“Let’s just say I have a burning interest in how secure you keep my journal pages.”
She didn’t reply, but used her queen to make him suffer for his impertinence. “Check,” she said, and glided away to her next victim.
* * *
Stricken,Col looked down at the board. His king had to make a move, but no matter what he did, she’d eventually have him. Why delay the inevitable? He grasped his elaborately carved black king and laid the poor bugger flat before leaning back in the cushioned chair and crossing his booted feet at the ankles.
The smirk from the obnoxious aristo in the corner evinced a glower from Col. He’d gone down in Charlotte-wrought ignominy several moves before Col had. He motioned with a nod of his head in the direction of an area of comfortable chairs away from the knot of chess players.
What the hell, Col reflected, and moved to join him.
After they’d ordered glasses of Goodrum’s finest brandy, both downed their drinks in one long draught.
The old man had been wheeled over by his long-suffering footman and rudely stared for a few moments before introducing himself. “I’m John Rutger, Marquess of Wisenberry, and I find your frequent presence here damned annoying and contemptible.”
“Archer Colwyn, Bow Street investigator, at your service. You bring up an interesting question I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening. Why all the vitriol toward someone you’ve never met before?”
“Because you’re entirely too familiar with Miss Smythe. She doesn’t need you interrupting her concentration.”
“I wasn’t aware I was interrupting anything. If I’m interfering with her concentration, then how does she beat the stuffing out of me night after night over a chess board?” Col nodded to a nearby footman and then to their empty glasses.
“You know nothing about women.”
“Who does?” Col shrugged and spread his arms wide.
The older man preened and leaned closer to Col from his chair. “I like to think I know a bit about the fickle creatures.” He saluted him with his refreshed glass of brandy. The footman had brought a full decanter to fill their glasses and then left the remainder on a low table between them.
As the brandy began to loosen his tongue, Wisenberry accused, “You’re old Colwyn’s Jamaican heir…”
Since Col assumed the statement was not a direct question, he ignored the old man.
“Demned shame he couldn’t have settled the land on you. His true sons are a couple of nitwits.”
Col had just enough brandy in him to relax so that he didn’t reach over and throttle the old rotter. “What makes you think I wouldn’t have made a cake out myself as well? We all came from the same loins.”
Wisenberry took a long sip and then pointed a weathered finger at Col. “You have a good head on you. I’ve heard things about you, Colwyn. You’re well thought of at the Home Office.”
Col stiffened and set his brandy glass back down. No one was supposed to have known about the many favors he’d done for the well-known barrister Stephen Forsythe when his old friend from Cambridge had been assisting at the Congress of Vienna. Intrigue had boiled at every turn, and Col had been there to make sure Sythe and his superiors had known when and where to throw cold water on the lot of the blighters trying to interfere with peace talks.
Both men were well into their cups when suddenly Charlotte appeared in front of them, her hands on her hips. “What made the two of you think I’d given you leave to abandon your boards?”
Col turned his face up toward hers in drunken impudence. “Who gave you leave to beat us senseless every night?”
