Another ghost of a smile came to his lips when he thought about how her parting words had thrown his own set-down back in his face! Throughout all the trying circumstances of her upbringing, Miss Chilton had not lost her sharp wit and quick sense of humor. Indeed, she was the only person besides Henry and Cecilia with whom he looked forward to conversing. He would miss that, he supposed, if she married some dull dog like Duckleigh …
A dull dog who had the temerity to call her by her given name.
“Alex,” he whispered aloud.
He like the way it sounded on his own tongue. It would be nice to call her that.
Shaking off such strange reveries, Branford looked up and was surprised to see that he was nearly home. But far from settling his thoughts, the walk had only kept his emotions on edge. It was a novel experience, not having them under rigid control. He found himself feeling the need of something—perhaps a large snifter of warming brandy.
Or perhaps a warm bed.
He realized with a start that he hadn’t been with a woman since … well, since he had met Miss Chilton. Mayhap that was why he was feeling so agitated. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone so long without the pleasures of a female companion to warm his nights …
And yet, he had not the slightest desire to visit Lady Cameron—or any other lady for that matter.
He sighed, perplexed with himself.
A glass of brandy would have to do.
Eleven
Hammerton paced back and forth over the oriental carpet in his library, his eyes narrowed in anger. Cursing aloud, he punctuated the oath by lashing out a kick, sending a delicate Louis XIV side table and the decanter it held crashing to the floor. Things were not going as he had planned. The Chilton pup was presenting no problem—the gullible nodcock still suspected nothing. It was the damned sister who was proving too clever by half.
Who could have imagined that a mere female would pose a problem?
At the thought, his teeth bared in a semblance of a smile. The notion of being worried about matching wits with a dowdy, on-the-shelf country miss was absurd. He had let himself become unreasonably alarmed. Perhaps Arthur had a point—it was best to finish things off without further ado, especially given his cousin’s unsteady frame of mind.
But he could handle Arthur later, Hammerton decided as he glared into the flames of the fire. It was Alex Chilton who needed to stopped, before she nosed any further into the matter.
She intended to investigate?What a ridiculous idea! But the damn chit could cause complications. It wouldn’t do to have people begin to ask questions about the so-called accidents.
He began pacing again. As he turned, his boot came in contact with the fallen decanter and another kick shattered the faceted glass. He smirked in satisfaction at the scattered shards. If the meddlesome chit wanted to get to the bottom of things, he would be only too happy to oblige …
Only it would be the bottom of a river or a ditch.
Staring at the broken glass, Hammerton began to put together the pieces of a new plan…. one that would work quite well. In truth, it was even more ingenious than any of the previous ones. Not only would it take care of his immediate problem, it would throw that arrogant Earl of Branford into such disgrace that no respectable person would dare be seen in his presence.
He rubbed his hands together in relish at the very thought of it.
Oh, yes … it was brilliant.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, and as it was only midnight, he could begin putting the new plan in motion right away—the man he needed to see was no doubt just beginning to roust himself for his usual unsavory activities. Hurrying from the room, Hammerton headed out to the mews and barked an order for his carriage to be brought around immediately.
Two nights later,at the same devil-dark time of night, Hammerton waited impatiently inside a seedy little tavern off a small alleyway in the slums of Seven Dials. Though there was precious little chance of being recognized, he kept the collar ofhis greatcoat thrown up to shield his face and his hat pulled down low over his brow despite the fetid closeness of the dimly-lit room.
Finally, a slight man with the pointed features of a ferret, sidled in through the smoky haze and slid into the empty chair across from him.
“Do you have it?” demanded Hammerton.
“Aren’t ye gonna offer me something to wet me whistle with?” whined the Ferret. He scratched at the side of his nose with a grimy finger. “Yea, of course I got it. I’m a professional, ain’t I?”
Hammerton got up and returned with a full bottle and a single glass.
“Just like ye promised, it weren’t no trouble at all,” said the Ferret, his attention on the bottle. “They leave the back door open. A baby could rob ‘em blind—not that there’s much worth taking.”
Hammerton’s eyes narrowed as he watched the fellow fill the glass with gin and take a noisy slurp. “I trust you remembered what I said. I specifically ordered that there was to be no evidence of anyone having entered the house.
The man wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Oiy, I follow me orders. He pulled several folded sheets of paper from his pocket. “These are wot yer after, right? What ye didn’t tell me was that there wud be that many bleeding pieces of paper wid writing on ‘em. Bloody lucky fer ye that I kin read —I hope ye remember that in my reward. Took me ferever to find what ye asked fer.”
