Chapter Eight
After he sentthe beguiling but troublesome Lady Brookwood home, Flynn returned to the garden of No. 4 Manchester Square. Snow dusted the ground in a cloak of white, muffling his footsteps. As the pervasive cold seeped into his bones, he stamped his feet and blew out gusts of steam into the frigid air, considering how he might gain entry to the house unseen. Before he could act, his patience was rewarded when Woodruff and Crowthorne erupted onto the balcony and peered over the rail.
“See! There’s no way down.” Woodruff waved his arm. “Lady Brookwood must have left by the servants’ stairs. I’m not sure how she managed to get by my footmen. I shall deal with them later.”
“Very badly handled indeed,” Crowthorne muttered.
“I’m not to blame!” Woodruff cried. “When the lady fell into our hands like a plump partridge, I adroitly maneuvered her into my drawing room, did I not? If your temper hadn’t got the better of you when you took exception to my lady guest, our plan would’ve worked perfectly.”
“Some lady!” Crowthorne snorted in disgust. “Couldn’t you keep your strumpet under wraps? Locked her in your bedchamber?”
Woodruff huffed. “I planned to, but Lucille can be difficult. She has her talents though. Lady Brookwood left her cape behind. She must have suspected something. I shall call on her with it tomorrow and endeavor to charm her around.”
“I’m not about to rely on your charm to mend fences. Send the cape with a note of apology. Leave the rest to me. For God’s sake, come inside. It’s as cold as a dead man’s arse.”
“It’s all that devil-born Brookwood’s fault, may he rot…,” Lord Percy’s voice faded to silence as doors slammed.
Woodruff’s words set off a new train of thought. Flynn stared up at the balcony for some minutes before emerging from behind the oak’s trunk. He went in search of the hackney which he hoped had returned after taking Lady Brookwood home. He was sorely in need of a hot bath and a brandy.
Perhaps it was the promise of a handsome recompense, for the jarvie waited blowing on his hands. His horse sported a blanket, its nose in a feedbag. “Good man,” Flynn said appreciatively. “Home to Curzon Street as quick as possible. There’s a healthy tip in it for you.”
Flynn considered Woodruff’s final outburst as the hackney bore him home to Mayfair. It seemed his investigation had taken an interesting turn. It was clear that Lady Brookwood’s husband had been involved in something fraudulent before he died. Flynn wondered if she, wittingly or unwittingly, had any knowledge of what that might be.
A note awaited him on the entry hall console with the king’s seal. Flynn levered it open with his thumb. His presence was requested at Carlton House the following afternoon.
Chilled through to the marrow, he grabbed the brandy decanter from the drawing room and ran up to his bedchamber. His valet bustled in after him with a pail of hot water. Flynn stripped by the fire and sponged himself down, foregoing a bath which would necessitate rousing the servants from their hard-earned rest. Scrubbed dry until his skin glowed, he donned a banyan, poured brandy into a tumbler, and settled close to the fire, while his valet gathered up his clothes. “Go to bed, Frome. My clothes won’t run away in the night. Leave them until the morning.”
“Only take a minute, my lord.”
Flynn settled back and let the heat loosen his tense muscles. This business with Lady Brookwood had become urgent. She was obviously trying somewhat unsuccessfully to deal with it herself, which could prove disastrous. It must not be ignored even for the demands of royalty. What were these men up to? He doubted a conspiracy against the crown. But whatever it was, if they were responsible for Churton’s death, they were dangerous.
The brandy slipped down his throat, warming as it went. Lady Brookwood had no idea how much danger she was in. He must swiftly discover the reason, but first remove the stubborn woman to a place of safety. He accepted it would prove a challenge. How irritating that while in her presence his powers of persuasion, which worked so well in matters of diplomacy, seemed to fail him. It wasn’t just her beauty. He’d known many lovely women. A vision of her raising her chin at him and narrowing her eyes came to him. And despite the gravity of the situation, he huffed out a reluctant laugh.
“Pardon, my lord?” Frome hesitated in the doorway.
“Nothing, Frome. I shan’t require you until past noon.”
“Goodnight, my lord.”
*
“Good morning, mylady. It snowed during the night.” The maid placed a cup of hot chocolate on the table beside Althea’s bed and then drew back the fern-green damask curtains.
“So I see, Sarah.” Althea sipped her hot drink as dazzling morning light flooded the room. In the garden beyond the window, the bare branches of elms were sprinkled with snow like white sugar candy.
“My goodness, my lady.” Sarah held up her torn dress. “What has happened to your gown?”
“A man stepped on it on the dance floor, and then I’m afraid it tripped me up when I climbed out of the carriage.”
“You were lucky not to measure your length.” Sarah tsked. “Some men are so clumsy. Never fear, I’ll fix it in a trice.” She ran the flounce through her fingers. “It’s dreadfully soiled.”
“I’m sure you will make it like new, Sarah,” Althea said.
The alarming events of the previous evening at Lord Percy’s and the ensuing embarrassing debacle with Montsimon, returned in full force. Her face burned. She threw back the covers and slipped into the dressing gown her maid held out for her. What had Sir Horace intended? She tightened the belt in a huff of fury. Was it a ploy to scandalize her and weaken her defenses? Or, worse, had he planned to ravish her? Her mind skittered away, refusing to grasp the horror of such a possibility. Perhaps he was acting out of pure spite because she had rejected his advances. Some men were like that.
Lord Percy had betrayed her to Sir Horace. But why would he assist Sir Horace in such a scheme? It made no sense. Bewildered, she took up her brush in front of the mirror.
“My goodness, my lady.” Sarah took the brush from her hand. “You’ll have none left if you continue to treat your lovely hair like that.”
