‘And they told others?’
He nodded. ‘I have become quite popular. The income from other people’s troubles has got me a rather nice house in Wimpole Street.’
‘But that is just around the corner from our home.’ She had imagined him maintaining simple bachelor’s quarters somewhere, until he had mentioned his servants at the ball. She had never expected to find him living so close to the Comstock town house.
‘It has been most convenient working for your family,’ he said with a grin. ‘I can help you in the morning and be home in time for tea. If any of your neighbours need my services, please be sure to recommend me to them.’
‘Do you plan on continuing in your career for long?’ It should not matter to her if his job allowed him enough income for a wife and family. But the longer she was with him, the more curious she became.
‘Money is no longer my motivation, if that is what you are wondering,’ he said. ‘I mean to work as long as the job interests me.’ Then he gave her a probing look. ‘Solving one last, enormous task would be a wonderful way to end my career.’
‘You are speaking of my problem,’ she said quietly. ‘The one I told you that you cannot help with.’
‘You trust me with your sister’s reputation and your own. But you keep hinting at a thing so big that I cannot manage it. It is clear to me that it troubles you.’ He frowned for a moment, as if he could not quite understand his own curiosity. ‘I do not like seeing you upset. Will you ever tell me what it is so that I may fix it for you?’
‘You have a great deal of confidence in your own abilities,’ she said.
‘Of course I do,’ he replied. ‘I have never failed.’ Then he gave her another of his half puzzled, half worried looks. ‘But it is more than that. I appreciate the confidence you have shown in me, thus far. I do not want a secret to stand in the way of it.’
His eyes were soft again, as they had been when he had asked for her trust in the sitting room. It made her feel warm and safe, and a little sad that she could not give him what he wanted. ‘And I do not want to be the person to destroy your perfect record by asking the impossible,’ she said. ‘I really do not think there is anything you can do for me. When we return to London, you will complete the list we gave you. I cannot expect more than that.’
‘A Herculean task.’ The smile he gave her now was the breathtaking one that he had given her on the first day. ‘What use is my reputation if I baulk at doing the impossible?’
She wanted to tell him, almost as much as he wanted to hear it. She had told him before that it was a problem that could only be shared with Comstock. No matter what his temperament or marital state, the Earl was head of the family and was the only one who could decide what was to be done about the diamonds.
But suppose Mr Drake became part of the family? There would be no reason not to share her burden with a man who was her husband, or at very least her betrothed.
‘I would be able to show you what I am facing when we arrive at the manor.’
He leaned forward, ready to aid her.
She held up a finger in warning. ‘I would, if I wished to. But you have made it plain that you wish to be out of my life as soon as you have found the last item on the list. This is the sort of secret I cannot reveal to a man who refused to bring a clean shirt on this trip because he did not want to be trapped in the same house with me overnight.’
‘You know my reasons for avoiding you,’ he said, sounding almost as prim as she’d felt before meeting him.
‘It is because you are afraid of what will happen,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘So am I. But unless we can overcome that fear, I cannot tell you what you want to know and you cannot help me.’ Then, she summoned all the courage she had and smiled at him. ‘If things change? Then we will see if you can perform miracles, Mr Drake. Or may I call you Gregory?’
Chapter Eleven
The house was both more and less than Gregory expected it to be. In the bones, it was the sort of grand English manor one could not help but stand in awe of. A conglomeration of styles, from Gothic to modern, it had been built and rebuilt until it stretched to forty rooms and was set on acres of park land with trout streams, rose gardens and herb knots.
But on closer examination, it was clearly in need of care. The slates on the roof were cracked, as were the paving stones at his feet. The gardens were not yet choked with weeds, but it was clear that the gardeners fought a losing battle in them.
Inside was no better. The staff was smaller than he would have expected for such a large house and many of the rooms they passed through were cold and dark, the furniture swathed in holland cloth. When he pulled the covers back, he was relieved to see that the appointments were in better condition than the things they had been retrieving.
But that raised the question that had been tickling at the back of his mind since they had located the candlesticks on the first day together. If she was short on funds, there were dozens of things that would have fetched more money than she had probably got. What had made the Dowager choose the items she had?
Hope Strickland walked him through the house, taking care to point out the bedchamber that would be allotted to him, should he stay the night, as well as the chambers that belonged to her and her sister. Was this intended as encouragement to act on his desires? Was she truly offering herself to him, should he be brave enough to accept her? Or was she a naïve girl who did not understand the consequences of her actions?
There was also the matter of the mysterious problem she would not explain. He wanted to help her. He wanted other things as well. To hear Hope Strickland call him by his name in a moment of passion, for instance.
There was a way to have that and his honour as well. He should settle the problem of Miss Charity, then catch the next mail coach back to London. Once there, he could wait for the return of the Dowager, or Leggett, or even the new Comstock so he might ask permission to offer for Miss Hope.
But in the time that took, she might change her mind about him. Literature was crowded with metaphors about striking hot irons and seeking forgiveness rather than permission. If he went to her room tonight and declared himself, by morning there would be only one course of action.
Had his father thought that, before bedding his mother, or had it always been his intention to leave her? And after the pain and isolation of his own childhood, what would possess him to risk the future of his wife and child by repeating his parents’ mistake?
Now, Hope was looking at him with a smile that was both seductive and expectant. She knew what she wanted from him and was awaiting his answer.
