“And what does that have to do with Col, er, Mr. Colwyn?”
The marquess flashed her a smile that clearly said he suspected how close she really was to Col. “He is the middle son of Charles Colwyn, although by far the most intelligent of all of the man’s offspring.”
“His mother was the housekeeper at the main Jamaican plantation house. She was mulatto, and so Col is more of a quadroon. He showed so much promise as a child that his father brought him back to Scotland to be educated alongside his other sons. Unfortunately, Mr. Colwyn died shortly after his return, of island fever, and Col’s brothers kicked him out of their rooms at Cambridge and cut off his funds. He was taken in by friends, but had to, um, work to earn the blunt to finish his education.”
“I know all about Col’s Cambridge days,” Charlotte admitted softly.
“Then you know he’s a good man, and I’m certain he’s in love with you. Whatever’s happened, perhaps you could find it in your heart to compromise with him.” He motioned to his footman he needed assistance with his chair. “Now, with your permission, I’m going to present myself to your cook to let her know her lavender biscuits are so extraordinary, I’ve a mind to set her up in a proper baking business of her own.”
Charlotte stood and moved out of the way so that he could be wheeled to the kitchen. Before they disappeared down the hallway, she warned, “Do not even think to ask Lilith to leave again, or I can’t be responsible for how my butler, Samuel, might react.”
* * *
April 12,1826
Goodrum’s House of Pleasure, London
Col once again walked into Goodrum’s chess room, for the last time, he hoped, searching the dark corners for the old marquess lurking somewhere in his wheeled chair. A handful of players, who had somehow managed to stave off destruction by Charlotte’s terrible queen, still remained at the board tables.
When he found the corner with comfortable chairs where the marquess liked to retreat to succor his wounded pride with brandy, he walked directly there. He didn’t care that the man had wasted good money to provide him a place for ignominious defeat. He preferred to watch her toy with the other players, like a vicious cat with doomed mice.
“You’re late,” the old man complained, when Col took the seat next to him and motioned to one of the club footmen. “Why didn’t you arrive earlier and play at one of the boards?”
“Miss Smythe is a devilishly dangerous woman. I’ve decided I need to give my mind and body a rest from her mental assaults for a while.”
“Mental assaults?” The old marquess commenced laughing so hard, he began to choke and had the footman who arrived with Col’s brandy bring him another.
Once they were in relative privacy again and the marquess had staved off a coughing fit with copious sips of brandy, Col demanded, “What was your cryptic message all about? Was that just a ruse to get me here again?”
“Amongst other things, I wanted to let you know of anon ditI heard at my club, strictly in confidence. There is a secret chess club of decadent players who apparently have been convinced by their leader, a fraudster no doubt, that they can become consummate players by drinking the blood of master players. “And he’s…”
Their quiet conversation was interrupted just then by shouts from the middle of the chess room. Col looked up to see a tall scarecrow of a man jerking Charlotte by her arm and making loud threats that he’d caught her cheating and meant to see her in Old Bailey.
Some part of his mind also registered El’s small army of guards working their way through the crowd, but he ignored them.
All of Col’s senses slowed and his vision narrowed to the man with the pinched face and receding hairline who was shaking Charlotte like a terrier with a rat. Col stood, a red blaze seething behind his eyes, and was immediately at the man’s side, having no idea how he got there. Although the strange man was a bit taller, he was no match for the blind rage surging within Col. The next thing he knew, Obadiah, El’s head guard, had pulled him off the chess player who’d fallen to the floor after the guard had pried Col’s hands loose from the man’s neck.
He knew he was being marched in the direction of Eleanor Goodrum’s office on the top floor, but he didn’t care. He’d fling himself on top of St. James bones and pull the dirt in after him before he’d let anyone hurt Charlotte ever again.
* * *
El pinnedCol with a piercing stare which usually intimidated normal people. Col was different. Tonight he’d become a raging animal in her chess room, of all places, trying to defend Charlotte from the wrath of an irate customer.
Personally, El was grateful he’d stepped in before her guards had a chance to remove the bully from the premises. However, she couldn’t have her guests launching into brawls. She had a reputation to maintain for keeping stern order at the club. It wouldn’t do to allow Col to behave like an out-of-control beast, no matter how righteous his cause.
The gossip sheets would have a record-selling day with this story. She always kept a few caricaturists on hand in dark corners for sketching proof of, um, compromising situations for her own purposes. She had no doubt, though, that the lot of them would not hesitate to sell their versions of what had just happened: A Bow Street runner brawling with one of her clients? She’d need months for the uproar to calm down, and there was always the risk of losing her more staid chess club players.
She ordered Obadiah and his guards out of the room before leaning back and crossing her long, booted legs on the top of her desk, allowing her elegant midnight blue satin dress to cascade around them.
She opened a silver box from a side table and offered Col one of the cheroots inside as well as a sulfured stick. When they’d fiddled their smokes to where they wanted them, she finally spoke. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Charlotte. Furthermore, I don’t care. I warned you about her fragility, and I trust you, since she seems to trust you as well. But I can’t have an overprotective lover wreaking havoc in my club.
“Furthermore, and more to the point, where the devil are you with the investigation you promised me in exchange for an introduction to Charlotte?”
“I think your files and the investigation I’ve been working on for the river police all lead to the same place - her former handler, Bernard Deauville. I’ve turned over all the details you had on him to the JP overseeing the case. We have sketches of him being circulated around the docks. It’s only a matter of time before he makes a mistake and we have him.
“However, he’s made a lot of enemies over the years with all of his fraud schemes. With any luck, someone else may get to him first and save us all a lot of work.” Col leaned back, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep puff of the decadent tobacco in the expensive cheroot she’d given him. He blew a series of perfect rings of smoke toward the ornate ceiling of the fierce pirate’s feminine office.
15
