A series of lightning notions chased one another through his head, connecting too many coincidences for his comfort. Damn it to hell, was that what he thought it was?
“How the devil did that get here?”
Jerram passed him and went to the desk, setting a hand on the objectionable piece of luggage. “It was not Bullman’s fault, my lord. He opened the door to a knock and some fellow thrust the thing at him and fled.”
Worse and worse. “Did he think to give chase?”
“I fear he was too bemused, my lord. But he had the sense to summon me and I took charge of it.”
At last Raoul approached the desk, eyeing the thing with revulsion. “Have you looked inside?”
“Yes, my lord. It was not locked.” Jerram’s hand went to his neck-cloth and he cleared his throat, a sign of embarrassment Raoul recognised. “It — er — it obviously belongs to a lady, my lord. Would you care to look?”
“I will do no such thing, I thank you.” Bad enough as it was. He was not going to pry into Miss Temple’s belongings, if the wretched thing was indeed hers as he suspected. He bent to examine the valise, trying to find a monogram. “Was there anything inside to indicate the name of the owner?”
Jerram grimaced. “Well, I didn’t rummage, my lord, once I realised what was in it.”
There were no initials near the clasp, nor on the sides. Raoul picked up the valise, which was heavier than it looked, and checked underneath. “Nothing to indicate ownership.” He was tempted to look inside despite his reluctance, but caution won as he pictured the girl’s face should he be obliged to confess to having done so. “However, I think I know to whom it belongs.”
A long sigh escaped his secretary. “In that case, I am glad I did not have it immediately thrown into the street, which I promise you I thought of.”
“Yes, that would have been a mistake.”
Jerram’s countenance, which had a trifle of chubbiness that made him look younger than he was, took on diffident question. “Do you know the lady, my lord?”
Raoul raised one eyebrow. “She is not my mistress, if that is what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not, my lord.” But the blush belied him.
Setting the object back on the desk, Raoul contemplated the thing with his thoughts winging to the Latimer house. No use going back. By now the little redhead would be tucked up in bed. He had gone to his club when he left the party, there to brood over a glass of brandy and exchange desultory greetings with one or two acquaintances. His meditations on the possible whereabouts of Miss Temple’s errant guardian had not proceeded far by the time he was driven out by the arrival of a party of boisterous young men who had been at the Latimer event and appeared determined to live the auction all over again.
Little had he expected to be confronted, on seeking solitude and his bed, by this evidence of Maskery’s skulduggery. What in Hades did the fellow mean by planting the girl’s belongings on him? Clearly Miss Temple had indeed spotted the wretch looking in when she had become agitated at supper. He must have seen Raoul with her and made the not unreasonable assumption that he had won her company at this confounded auction and therefore dumped her luggage at his house, effectively saddling him with an unwanted charge.
Damn it, this was all Angie’s fault! Now what was he to do? It was all very well the girl bleating on about returning to her wretched academy, and no doubt she could, but that would not ease his conscience. One did not, if one wished to retain the slightest claim to be called a gentleman, turn one’s back on a lady who had been cruelly tricked and abandoned to a despicable fate. For only one construction could be placed upon Maskery’s disgraceful actions. Unless he was all about in his head, he could not suppose Raoul would marry the girl. Nor, if that was the case, would Maskery have given her valise into his keeping. He meant, if Raoul did not miss his guess, to hand Miss Temple over in lieu of his debt, to become — just as Jerram had very obviously thought — his mistress.
The notion had an oddly jangling effect upon his senses. The sneaking thought he would not be averse to the implications rose up only to be firmly quashed. There was no going down that road.
“I suppose it is too much to hope there was any message given along with this thing?”
His secretary looked regretful. “No, my lord. I asked Bullman specifically, but he says the fellow said nothing at all.”
Irritation rose again. “Did he at least get a look at him?”
“He thinks the man was a groom, my lord.”
Grimness began to settle in Raoul. “No sign of a carriage nearby? He did not hear wheels or hooves?”
Jerram’s gaze became troubled. “Nothing at all, my lord. Or if there was, Bullman did not hear it. I suspect he was too taken aback to pay close attention. The man’s running feet is the best he could come up with.”
“Curse the fellow!” He saw the startled look in his secretary’s eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “Not Bullman, you fool. I’m talking of Lord Maskery.”
Jerram’s brows flew up. “Lord Maskery? Good God, sir, is that who —?” He broke off, clearing his throat. “I mean, have you reason to suppose…?”
Raoul raised a finger. “This is between you and me, Jerram. It is to go no further.”
“Your lordship may rely upon me, as I hope you know. But I dare not suppose the occurrence will not be discussed in the servants’ hall.”
“Hell and the devil, you’re right, of course! You’d best put it about that the valise is unknown to me and we think the man mistook the house.”
