A lot looser, he corrected himself silently as he caught sight of her kiss-bruised lips, pink and soft and moist.
Grace’s brow furrowed as she scanned the letter again, turning it front and back. “There’s no address,” she said. “Only a time and a date.”
Right. The letter. Henry braced his hands upon his knees. “When?” he asked.
“Next week,” she said. “Friday. I suppose your uncle’s financial situation must not be quite as much a secret as he would prefer. There’s a rather nasty implication that he expects your uncle might require some time to gather the blunt.”
“He?”
Grace shrugged. “Could be a woman, I suppose, though by the handwriting I’d assume a man.” She held the letter closer to her eyes, examined it carefully. “The ink is cheap; the penmanship abysmal. This isn’t the sort of letter which would be written by an aristo—and it’s signedCooper, and only that. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Henry shook his head. “Should it?”
“Well, it would surely help, if it had. Either your uncle has got some sort of prior relationship with him, or this isn’t the first time they’ve corresponded. So your uncle must know where to meet him.”
“Butwedon’t,” Henry said, his stomach sinking.
“No,” Grace admitted. “We don’t. Yet.”
“Yet?”
“Wemay not know,” Grace clarified. “But Uncle Chris knows every underworld denizen worth knowing, and Uncle Rafe can findanyone worth finding. Betwixt the two of them, we’ll have it.”
But would they? “Forgive me,” Henry said, “but I sincerely doubt Mr. Moore would be willing to aid me. For any reason.”
“He will if I ask it of him—although he’ll exact a price for his services, as he always does. Uncle Rafe, however, will help only because he really is a nice man.”
“And Mr. Moore is not?”
Grace uttered a low laugh. “No,” she said. “But do you know? I rather prefer him that way. Nice is as nice does, but some of us have got to be a little wicked from time to time. It makes life a bit more interesting, don’t you think?” Over the top of the letter, she winked.
A week ago, his answer would have been a resoundinghell, no. But now? An unequivocal yes. Perhaps he had always needed her brand of wickedness in his life.
Perhaps he had always just neededher.
Chapter Fourteen
He’s going to say no,” Henry muttered dolefully as he poked at his blancmange with the bowl of his spoon.
Grace kicked the back of Henry’s calf beneath the table in silent reproach. “He isn’t,” she said beneath her breath. “Well—he might, at first,” she allowed. “But it won’t stay a no.”
Henry had gone a bit green about the gills as the end of dinner had approached. Grace didn’t know if it was nerves alone or the possibility of rejection. Or perhaps just that Uncle Chris could be a mite intimidating when he wished to be, and she rather thought hewishedto intimidate Henry.
But still, Henry had come to a family dinner this evening anyway. Aunt Phoebe had been pleased as punch to offer him an invitation, as Grace had never requested one for any gentleman of her acquaintance before now. Uncle Chris was somewhat less than enthused. He’d made a passable show of politeness for Aunt Phoebe’s sake, but he had certainly gripped Henry’s hand entirely too hard upon greeting him.
“I still don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” Henry said as his eyes scanned the sheer number of guests warily. “Is it always like this?”
“Oh, no,” Grace said, hiding a smile beneath the corner of hernapkin as she patted her mouth daintily. “Usually it’s much worse. Aunt Phoebe has got just dozens and dozens of nieces and nephews.” But tonight was just for the adults—which still amounted to well over forty people. “And I might have brought Tansy, if I had had a mind.”
Henry’s head darted toward her. “Whatever for?”
“Aunt Phoebe’s quite fond of cats.” Even if Tansy was not quite fond of her. “And Tansy is just fascinated with Hieronymus.”
“Who the devil is Hieronymus?”
“Uncle Chris’ terrapin. He’s got a pond out in the garden.” Grace allowed herself a tiny bit of private amusement at the startled look upon his face. Probably this sort of chaos, with conversation volleying back and forth across the great length of the table, was anathema to him.
But Grace loved it. She always had. Her life had become so much richer for all the people—blood relations and otherwise—who had welcomed her into theirs with open arms. She had come into their lives a frightened, lonely girl, and though they had had no obligation to her, every one of them had embraced her.
