Swept Away Page 3

  Lord Stonehaven had grown suspicious when he learned that four large sums of money had been withdrawn from the trust within the space of a year, and that each of them had been sent not to Thomas St. Leger or his mother, but to a person named Jack Fletcher at a London address. A search had turned up no such person and no reason for money to be sent to him. The money had simply disappeared. All four letters requesting the transfer of funds had been written in Selby’s hand and signed by him. They had been countersigned, of course: once by Varian St. Leger and three times by Major Fitzmaurice, but neither of the two men could recall the letters. The most damning thing had been the name Jack Fletcher. All the trustees had known that Jack Fletcher was a false name made up by Selby when they were all young men first sowing their wild oats. Upon being caught in some scrape or other at the university, Selby had always blamed it on Jack Fletcher. The name had become something of a joke with him; thereafter, whenever anything happened—an accident or a prank gone awry—he would laughingly say that Jack Fletcher must have done it. He had even gone so far as to invent a family history for the fictitious man and endow him with all sorts of bizarre characteristics and peculiar looks. The fact that the money had been sent to that name seemed an egregiously arrogant act on Selby’s part, a mental thumbing of his nose at the world, and it was taken as proof positive that he had committed the crime.

  “I know how damning it looked,” Julia admitted. “It shows you how far the real thief went to make it look as if Selby were the one who had done it.”

  “But Selby’s suicide…” Geoffrey said delicately. “Why would he have killed himself if he had not—”

  “He didn’t kill himself!” Julia snapped, whirling around to face him. Her eyes blazed, and she set her fists pugnaciously on her hips. “Selby had too much courage for that. He wouldn’t have abandoned Phoebe and Gilbert to the scandal. Phoebe—well, I’m afraid Phoebe thinks that he did kill himself, that he was so upset over the fact that no one believed him that he put an end to it. But I am certain it was an accident. He was at his hunting lodge. He was probably cleaning his gun or—or loading it to go out and shoot, and it went off somehow. No doubt he was so distracted by worry and the feeling of being under suspicion that he was careless in a way he would not have been normally. His death was a direct result of Stonehaven’s hounding him.” She narrowed her eyes at her cousin. “Don’t tell me that you are one of the ones who thought he was guilty.”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” her cousin replied honestly. “I would have said he was one of the most honest and trustworthy men I know. It seems inconceivable that he could have betrayed a trust like that. But the evidence—”

  “Was faked!” Julia said flatly. “Someone very carefully set out to make sure that Selby was the one blamed for the disappearance of the money. That someone, I am convinced, was Deverel Grey.”

  “Lord Stonehaven?” Geoffrey goggled even more. “Really, Julia, if there’s anyone more unlikely than Selby to do such a thing, it is Stonehaven. I never met anyone who was such a stickler about honor and duty.”

  “Lip service,” Julia told him with an airy wave of her hand. “Phoebe and I have been thinking and talking about this for a long time. The culprit has to be Stonehaven. He discovered it, and he pursued it diligently.”

  “Wait. I’ve lost the scent. If he had done it, surely he would have wanted to keep it secret.”

  “Not when he had put so much time and effort into making it appear that another man had done the deed. He probably realized that someone, the agent or one of the other trustees, would soon begin to question the large expenditures. He had carefully established my brother as the criminal. So he exposed him to the world and whipped up public opinion against him. Selby didn’t stand a chance after that of getting anyone to listen to him. The vigor with which Stonehaven pursued him fairly reeks of malice. Why would he have been so intent on destroying Selby if not for the fact that he was desperately trying to hide the fact that he was the real thief?” Julia gave a decisive nod of her head to underscore her point.

  “It does make a certain sense,” Geoffrey agreed slowly.

  “Of course it does! It had to be someone who knew a great deal about Selby and about the trust. It had to be someone with the opportunity to do those things. Since Phoebe and I know that it was not Selby, then it is obvious that the real culprit must be the one who worked so hard to lay the blame on Selby—Stonehaven.”

  “But how? Why? Stonehaven is a very wealthy man, you know. He wouldn’t need to steal money from St. Leger’s trust.”

  “So everyone thinks,” Julia replied darkly. “Who really knows about another man’s finances? Don’t you see? That is precisely why I need to talk to Lord Stonehaven. I need to discover the reasons, the means.”

  “Do you think he will simply tell you?” Geoffrey assumed a falsetto voice. “‘Oh, Lord Stonehaven, do tell, did you embezzle forty thousand pounds from young Thomas’s trust?”’ He lowered his voice to a gravelly pitch. “‘Why, yes, dear lady, I did. I’m so sorry that you asked, for of course I could not lie.”’

  Julia grimaced. “You know I’m capable of being much more deceptive than that. Maybe I won’t be able to get him to confess, but surely I can get enough information out of him that I will be able to figure it out.”

  “How can you possibly deceive him when everyone knows you are Selby’s sister?”

  “Ah, but very few people in London know who I am. And, of course, I shall give Lord Stonehaven a false name.”

  “Of course,” Geoffrey murmured. “I should have realized….”

  “Please, Geoffrey…” Julia put on her most winsome expression. “Tell me that you will help me. Say you’ll escort me to Madame Beauclaire’s. That’s all you will have to do. You don’t have to stay with me or see me home or anything. I’ll take care of all the rest.”

  “I can’t just abandon you there. I shall have to escort you home.”

  “That’s not much,” Julia noted.

  Geoffrey sighed. “You always make things sound so reasonable. So simple. Then they wind up an utter wasps’ nest.”

  “It won’t. Even if it does, I promise that I will not involve you in it. I will never reveal that you were the one who got me inside.”

  Geoffrey cocked one eyebrow at her. “If I refuse, how long are you going to keep after me to do it?”

  Julia gave him a dimpling smile and tilted her head to one side, pretending to weigh the thought. “I’d say until the day I die.”

  “I thought as much.” He shook his head. “I know I shall regret this. I shall probably end up either in gaol or fighting a duel. But I shall do it.”

  Julia let out a little shriek and impulsively hugged him.

  “Cousin, please,” he protested. “You’ll wrinkle my cravat!”

  “Sorry.” She stepped back, still smiling. “Tonight, then?”

  “Tonight!” He looked thunderstruck. “My dear, at least give me a chance to prepare myself.”

  “Pooh. There’s no preparation necessary. It’s better to strike while the iron’s hot.” She knew from following Stonehaven that it had been several days since he had gone to Madame Beauclaire’s, so this evening seemed an opportune moment. However, she could hardly tell Geoffrey her reasoning.

  “Where do you get such vulgar expressions?” Geoffrey drawled. “All right. You win. Tonight it will be.”

  It took all Julia’s and Phoebe’s combined efforts to get her ready in time. She had decided to wear one of Phoebe’s dresses, since a married woman’s wardrobe allowed for a more flamboyant selection of color than the pastels and whites to which maidens were relegated. Though Phoebe’s blond looks were not enhanced by some of the jewellike colors that flattered Julia’s vivid coloring, there were a few gowns of suitable appearance and style, primarily one of a vivid peacock blue satin that made Julia’s blue eyes bright pools of color and also was a perfect complement to her auburn hair and creamy skin.

  Since Phoebe was both sh
orter and rounder, the dress required some creative work on the seams and hem. But Phoebe was a fair hand with the needle, and the dress, fortunately, was stylishly narrow, so there was not much hem to lengthen. After Phoebe was through with it, Julia took the dress to her room and quickly pulled out the threads that held the ruffles of lace in place at the neckline, thereby lowering the neck of the dress to a level that would have horrified Phoebe. An upswept hairdo with artfully arranged wisps of curls gave her a stylish but somewhat tousled look, which she thought would surely make a man think of running his hands through her hair. The newly redone dress, when she pulled it on and fastened it, fit her like a glove. The high waist and low neckline combined to cup and reveal her full breasts to their best advantage, and the long, narrow skirt emphasized the slender length of her legs. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her eyes blazed. She had not, she thought, ever looked better.

  Julia suffered a brief qualm as she thought of the acting job that lay before her. She must convince a man whom she despised that she was attracted to him. She must also make him believe she was an experienced woman of the world, fully capable not only of arousing a man’s desire, but also of fulfilling it, for if he thought she was the well-bred young lady fresh from the country that she really was, he would doubtless keep his passions leashed, and that was the last thing she wanted. His desire must well up hot and strong, the kind of feeling that could sweep a man into revealing far more than he normally would. Whatever she had told her cousin and Phoebe about merely talking to Lord Stonehaven, her real intention was to bring him so quiveringly close to the brink of mindless passion that he would reveal anything.

  Prudently, she wrapped her cloak around her before she descended the stairs to meet Geoffrey. It would not do for either him or Phoebe to get a glimpse of how her dress actually looked. Geoffrey would probably not be as shocked as Phoebe would, but he was all too likely to pronounce that her attire was “not the thing” and refuse to take her until she changed. When she entered the drawing room, Phoebe, who had been chatting with Geoffrey, sprang to her feet.

  “Julia! You look beautiful!”

  “Egad, Cuz,” Geoffrey added. “Indeed you do. I shall be the most envied man in the room tonight.”

  Julia favored him with a dazzling smile. Phoebe came forward to hug her and whisper a wish for good luck to her. Then Julia took Geoffrey’s arm, and they left.

  The carriage drive was not long, for which Julia was grateful. She could not keep her mind on the languid chitchat in which Geoffrey engaged. The knot of nerves in her stomach grew as they drew closer to the gaming house, and by the time they pulled up in front of the small, elegant structure, she was afraid she might disgrace herself and ruin everything by being sick.

  She took Geoffrey’s arm with an icy hand and walked up the steps to the house, hoping that she looked calm rather than terrified. Geoffrey was greeted with courteous familiarity at the door and quickly ushered inside. She felt the eyes of more than one occupant of the house turn toward her as they strolled in, but she was too busy gazing all around her at the strange atmosphere to pay attention to anything else.

  It was a house like many others, decorated with no lack of taste or expense, with the difference that instead of couches and chairs and the usual things that filled the drawing room and dining room, the rooms opening off the entry were furnished with tables and chairs, all filled by men playing cards. There were only two women among the fifteen or twenty men she could see. One was a silver-haired woman with a fortune in jewelry around her neck and at her ears. Her eyes were fixed intently on the cards in her hand, and a feverish spot of red colored each cheek. The other female was a petite woman with improbably blond hair and an overly voluptuous figure stuffed into a gown designed for a sylph. Julia’s first thought was that the woman looked vulgar, but she quickly reminded herself that she, too, was dressed in less-than-ladylike attire.

  A servant came up to take her gloves and cloak. Julia dawdled over the tasks, reluctant to reveal her attire to Geoffrey, but fortunately, before she had to draw off her cloak, a friend of Geoffrey’s hallooed at him from the next room. Geoffrey lifted his hand in a wave and smiled. He was as convivial as he was lazy, and Julia knew that he would spend the evening drinking and conversing with his friends in endless rounds of cards, and therefore, in his careless way, would probably lose all track of her.

  “Ah, there is Cornbliss. I suppose I must go to him.” He looked back at Julia. “Shall I introduce you? What is your name, by the by, or I shall make a shocking slip, I’m sure.”

  “Jessica,” Julia answered quickly, having spent a good part of the afternoon cogitating on names and other matters of deception. “That way, if either of us slips and starts to say my name, we can change it quickly.”

  “Clever girl.”

  “Jessica Murrow,” she added. “As for who I am, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I shall maintain an air of mystery, that’s always handy when one doesn’t know what one’s doing.”

  Julia smiled. “Go join your friends. I shan’t mind, and I don’t need to be introduced.”

  “If you are sure?”

  Julia nodded. She had counted on Geoffrey’s laziness and general unconcern to keep him out of her hair, and she was happy to see that she had been right. With a brief salute of his lips against the back of Julia’s hand, he strolled away to join his compatriots. Relieved, she shrugged out of her cloak and handed it to the long-suffering footman who still stood waiting for her. Quickly she stepped into the room opposite the one her cousin had entered and moved out of sight of the wide doorway. Thus established, she took stock of her surroundings.

  She had never before been in such an intensely masculine atmosphere. It must be, she thought, similar to a gentleman’s club, that inner sanctum of masculinity from which all women were excluded. Smoke rose lazily from cigars and pipes without regard to feminine sensibilities. Snifters of brandy and glasses of port or wine sat on the tables beside them. The rumble of male voices filled the air, punctuated now and then by a bark of loud laughter. Julia suspected that she would hear things tonight that would make her blush.

  She wandered through the room, then out the connecting doors into the larger room beyond. This, she realized, must be a small ballroom. Here, in addition to the tables of cardplayers, were two tables centered by the popular wheels of chance and another long table where a game of dice had drawn the attention of a large number of men. A woman in her forties stood beside one of the players, seemingly observing the play, but Julia noticed that her eyes were rarely fixed on the table. Her gaze roamed the room with calm efficiency, taking in everything without seeming sharp or inquisitive. She smiled and nodded at one person or another who raised a hand in greeting, and after a moment she moved away from that table to another one. This woman, Julia decided, must be Madame Beauclaire herself, for she definitely had the air of someone in charge. Julia studied her covertly, a little amazed to find that the mistress of a gaming house moved and spoke with such an air of gentility. Her dress of olive green crepe was less revealing than Julia’s own, very much the sort of thing a middle-aged Society matron would wear to a party, and only a simple strand of pearls encircled her throat. She wore only one or two rings, including a simple gold wedding band, and a set of small diamond-and-pearl ear-bobs danced in her earlobes.

  Her gaze turned to Julia, and Julia knew that she was summing up her clothes and manner in the first steps to determining exactly who and what this stranger was. When she looked straight at Julia, Julia favored her with a small smile, then turned away—without haste—and moved back out into the entry hall. A visit to the music room across the hall, where a woman vainly battled the noise with a number on the pianoforte, established that Lord Stonehaven was not in the house.

  Julia took out her nerves on the lace handkerchief she carried, wringing it between her hands. What was she to do if the man did not come tonight? Even if he came, how would she occupy herself until that moment? She
had felt the gazes of more than one interested man on her during her stroll through the rooms, and she felt sure that it would not be long before she began receiving invitations of a decidedly improper sort. The best thing, she thought, was to keep moving, and with that in mind, she turned and started across the hall back to the larger room. Just as she did, the front door opened, and she turned. The footman who had answered the door stepped aside with an obsequious bow.

  Lord Stonehaven stepped into the hall.

  Julia stopped short. Suddenly she could not breathe. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was tall, with the wide shoulders and long, muscled legs of a sportsman. Elegantly attired in black evening wear, a starched cravat tied perfectly at his neck, he was the picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Diamond studs winked at his cuffs.

  He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For a moment they were frozen in time, staring at each other. Stonehaven was, Julia had to admit, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Thick black hair, cut fashionably short, framed a square-jawed face of perfect proportions. His mouth was wide and mobile, his nose straight, and two black slashes of brows accented eyes as dark as his hair and sinfully long-lashed. A stubborn chin with a deep cleft and a small slash of a scar on his cheekbone gave his face a firmly masculine set.