“I may be a stallion among pups, but even I have seen Wainwright’s curious effect on women,” Mapleton said with a careless flit to his wrist. “I’ve no need to wait for a Sunday sketch to see debutantes swoon into each other like drunken bowling pins.”
With a mumbled excuse, Mrs. Blaylock and the parson slipped back into the crowd.
Heath wished he could do the same. Unfortunately, his reputation depended upon avoiding scandal at all cost. Rumor of a public disagreement with Phineas Mapleton would sweep through the crowd in a trice. Particularly with Mapleton himself helping the gossip along.
“Come now,” Heath said, keeping his voice pleasant. “Surely we’ve better topics of conversation than idle talk. Did you see how they’ve improved the Rotunda?”
“Actually…” Mapleton lowered his voice with great portent as he cast the least subtle glance over each of his shoulders that Heath had ever witnessed. “I do wish to speak to you about a matter pertaining to gossip. You are the keeper of all of London’s secrets, are you not?”
Heath took a half-step backward. “A gross exaggeration, I’m afraid.”
“Not at all!” Mapleton leaned in. “You helped Kingsley and Turner, and of course there was the dust-up with Quinton and Whitfield, and then absolutely everyone saw you bow heads together with Wellington one week and Underhill the next. You cannot deny your involvement. Everybody knows who to call upon if a scandal needs to disappear.”
Heath narrowed his eyes. “If Iwereto have represented the private interests of any of the individuals you mentioned, it would only have happened under complete confidentiality. I cannot say more.”
“Precisely what they want. And what they’re willing to pay handsomely for, am I right?” Mapleton’s eyes glittered. “What if we could earn double that amount? Triple. Quadruple.”
Heath’s hackles rose. “There is no ‘we’ in this topic. Nor is it any of our business how others save or spend their pennies.”
“But itcouldbe,” Mapleton insisted. “And I’m not talking about pennies. There is no limit to what we could earn. All you have to do is suggest that the payments rendered were the first in an… installment plan, if you will. To maintain your silence. If they balk, that’s where I come in. While you’re off in a visible, public place, I’ll—”
“Are you suggesting we embark onextortionschemes?” Heath asked in horror. He’d known Mapleton was a shameless gossip, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of darkness in his soul. Nor could Heath imagine why on earth the daft man would believe anyone in their right mind would agree to such a heinous plot.
“Not extortion,” Mapleton said hurriedly. “Scheduled installment payments. Think about it: you already charge a fee for your services. Your clients pay eagerly and happily. I’m simply proposing the possibility of turning that revenue into a river, rather than an isolated drop.”
“You are literally proposing blackmail, Mapleton.Blackmail.” Heath seethed at the thought. “My clients’ money isn’t for me to guard my tongue, but to solve a problem. Not to cause them new ones. The answer is no.” Disgust curled his lip. “And if I discover you’ve continued in this vein for even a moment—”
Mapleton lifted his palms and affected a wounded expression. “At ease, Grenville. I was speaking in jest, of course. Testing your loyalty. After all, I might require your services one day. I wouldn’t wish to place my trust in the wrong person.”
Heath tightened his jaw. He had no doubt that Mapleton would someday embroil himself in a scandal so deep, he’d have no hope of crawling back out. Heath would not be offering his services. He doubted very much that Mapleton’s alleged “test” had been complete fiction. The man was obsessed with gossip, and openly convinced of his superiority over his peers. Yet this was far from someone’s first attempt to devise some twisted game to test Heath’s integrity.
He always passed, of course. Heath’s word was more than his bond—it was his very identity. Honesty and confidentiality weren’t incidental occupational skills required by his job. Integrity was something he required of himself, as a gentleman. As a person. He expected no less from his family and friends.
Which was why men like Phineas Mapleton did not count among that number.
“In case it was unclear, I am both professionally and morally opposed to any uninvited third party exploiting someone else’s private pain for their personal profit,” Heath said, his voice cold. “Money cannot tempt me. Now you know. And if you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to the supper tables.”
“Of course, of course. Everyone knows you’ve made your name by keeping secrets, not spreading them.” Mapleton fell back. “I didn’t doubt you for a moment. Just having a bit of fun, that’s all. Do enjoy your supper.”
With that, Mapleton swept an exaggerated bow.
Heath refrained from responding in kind. He simply inclined his head and stalked away from Mapleton before the gossip could come up with any more so-called jests.
He swept his gaze along the long rectangular canal leading from the gardens to the supper tables. Sunlight sparkled in the water, dancing with the reflected blue of the sky and the bright colors of the piazzas. Heath’s jauntiness returned. He would not allow his distasteful encounter with Phineas Mapleton to destroy his good mood.
After all, his future bride was waiting to be discovered.
The Italian-styled piazzas overflowed with familiar, smiling faces. Heath traded quips with friends, bowed to matrons and dowagers, and managed to exchange the usual light banter with young ladies he’d danced or conversed with at this ball or that.
Thanks to his mother, however, he could not completely tamp the sudden misgiving that perhaps the most blatant of the flirtatious bunch were more interested in becoming a baroness than being his wife.
Heath’s muscles tightened. Now that he, too, was considering each lash-fluttering debutante with an eye for marriage, he could not deny what he had long suspected to be true. These were not the debs he was looking for. His search would not be easy, if indeed a perfect match existed.
From across the crowded piazza, a flash of color caught his eye. The jewel-red ringlets shimmering in the sunlight belonged to none other than Miss Winfield, the delightful young lady he definitely should not still have on his mind.
He stared in helpless fascination as she tucked an errant tendril behind her ear and nodded at someone he could not yet determine.
Heath couldn’t help but feel Miss Winfield was rather like a painting.
