Just a Little Wickedness Page 7

  Alistair and the others could do nothing but stare at him. Lionel seemed absolutely certain of everything he said.

  “That was quick,” Wirth told him with an arch of one brow, as if outbursts like that happened frequently. “You have outdone yourself.”

  Lionel shrugged. “It wasn’t a difficult riddle. Nothing puts a woman in the mood for marriage, or makes her less particular about who with, than sisterly rivalry.”

  “And you would know?” Wirth teased him.

  “My sisters fight like cats,” he drawled, returning Wirth’s grin with a pointed look.

  Alistair was surprised that a man like Lionel had sisters, that he had a family at all. He seemed more like the sort who had once been a marble statue enchanted to transform into a flesh and blood man.

  Wirth didn’t appear entirely convinced. “You cannot just assume sisters don’t get along. Where did you get your information?”

  Lionel stood and walked between the two sofas to the stove in the corner, where a kettle sat steaming. “Their father, Lord Yardley, gets extraordinarily talkative post-coitus,” he said over his shoulder with a look that could only be called devilish.

  Alistair’s jaw slipped open as the implication of Lionel’s words hit him. Joe sputtered into laughter, which he tried and failed to hold in. Wirth seemed entirely nonplussed.

  “Don’t worry,” Lionel continued speaking over his shoulder as he poured hot water into a teapot he’d taken from the closest bookcase, adding tea leaves as he did. “I haven’t been in the game for years now. But it paid my way through university and beyond.” He finished with the tea leaves, then carried the teapot over to the table closest to the sofas. “It’s amazing what being agreeable can do for a man. I made many friends and I kept them. I gave them what they wanted, and they continue to give me what I want.”

  “Understood,” Alistair said, or rather croaked, mostly because he wasn’t certain he wanted an explanation that was any more detailed. “I’ll investigate Lady Matilda as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t bother with that,” Lionel moved to another of the bookcases to retrieve a small tray with teacups, sugar, and cream. “You’d only waste time. I’ll let Yardley know you’re interested, and I’m certain he’ll make the proper introductions.”

  “You…you will?” Alistair blinked.

  “Darling, it’s what I do,” Lionel said, bringing the tray to the table and beginning the work of making tea for them all.

  Wirth cleared his throat. “Yes, well, if you’re finished playing matchmaker.”

  “I am,” Lionel said as though he were the queen dismissing Parliament.

  “Then back to the matter of Lily Logan and the other missing young people.” Wirth grew serious again.

  Joe’s laughter dried up and his expression hardened. “Anything at all that you can do to help locate her would mean everything to me. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

  “Don’t worry about payment until I produce results. In the meantime, I’ll make inquiries,” Wirth promised. “One of the men who mentioned the other missing young people to me was a police officer, Patrick Wrexham. He’s a friend whom I’d trust with my life and a fellow member of The Brotherhood. He can absolutely be trusted to investigate thoroughly and discreetly.”

  “What should we do until you’re able to speak to him?” Joe asked. “Or until he’s able to find anything about Lily?”

  “You should drink your tea,” Lionel answered, handing both Joe and Alistair teacups. “And tell us how the two of you met.”

  Wirth rolled his eyes but didn’t contradict him. “Unfortunately, investigations like this don’t move quickly,” he said. “Especially since you say your sister has been missing for months.”

  “As long as we find her, I don’t care how long it takes,” Joe said with a sigh, then added, “We met at Eccles House. Alistair’s father needed the services of a valet. Conversation happened.”

  Lionel hummed sagely, handed Wirth a cup of tea, then took his own cup back to the arm of the sofa he’d perched on before. “It always begins with a conversation,” he said in a sentimental voice.

  Alistair nearly choked on his tea.

  “We’re just friends,” Joe said, handling the situation far smoother than Alistair ever could.

  “A valet and a viscount?” Lionel asked, raising one eyebrow as he raised his teacup to take a sip. “Seems rather like an all or nothing class division to me.”

  “Lionel,” Wirth warned him. “Do save your opinions until they’re asked for.”

  “Yes, but my opinions are always right, so I don’t see any reason to deny them to the world,” Lionel answered with perfect sincerity.

  Alistair wondered if he were joking. He wondered if there was more to the relationship between the two men than a working one. But as they finished their tea, chatting about inconsequential things, then stood to leave, he found himself wondering about far more important things.

  “I have a good feeling about this,” Joe said as they walked out of the building and back onto the chilly street, buttoning their coats as they went. “I haven’t had any sort of confidence that I might track down my sister for weeks now.”

  “I’m glad,” Alistair said, distracted by his own thoughts. He pulled his collar up around his neck, glanced around to be sure no one was close enough to them to listen in, then went on with, “I’d like to see you again,” as they strode down the street.

  He caught the smile that lit Joe’s face out of the corner of his eye but didn’t risk looking directly at him for fear that everything in his heart would show on his face.

  “I’d like that too,” Joe said after a few steps, darting a sideways glance toward Alistair.

  Alistair’s moment of elation fell instantly flat. “I’ve no idea how to orchestrate a meeting, though. Lionel is right—a viscount and a valet cannot socialize easily.”

  “That’s not what Lionel said,” Joe told him with a laugh. They paused at an intersection and Joe looked straight at him. “I’ll see what I can arrange, though.”

  “What you can arrange?” Alistair’s brow flew up. Since when did valets have the ability to arrange clandestine meetings with men of his station?

  “I’ll think of something.” Joe winked at him.

  It was all Alistair could do not to check around them to make certain the flirtation hadn’t been seen.

  They crossed the street, but another pause followed. “Eccles House is this way,” Joe said, pointing down the cross street.

  “And my father’s house is in that direction,” Alistair sighed, nodding forward. He hated the idea of walking away from Joe, but didn’t see how it could be avoided. “Thank you for referring me to The Brotherhood,” he said.

  “And thank you for coming with me on this errand. It might not look like it, but it was more difficult than it appeared.”

  They stood where they were, simply looking at each other for far longer than they should have. In the space of less than twenty-four hours, Alistair’s world had altered beyond recognition, and he had a feeling it would never be the same.

  “Until we meet again, then,” Joe said, touching the brim of his hat.

  It was a poor way for friends like them—if friendship was the word for it—to part, but it was the best they could do. Alistair nodded, then marched on, feeling as though he’d left his heart behind him.

  Chapter 7

  Days passed, and nothing happened. The strain of it wore on Alistair’s nerves as though he were in the middle of life-or-death combat. His brief visit to The Chameleon Club and the trip to Dandie & Wirth seemed like a dream he’d woken up from, only to face a cold, hard reality.

  “We shouldn’t be taking Father out in his current condition,” Darren whispered to him as the entire family jostled through the streets of London in a cramped carriage on their way to the theater. “He should be in bed, resting.”

  “Nonsense,” their father grumbled from the forward-facing seat across from them. “I’m perf
ectly well. Well enough for the theater.”

  Alistair and Darren exchanged a look. The two of them were squeezed into the rear-facing seat, their broad shoulders wedged uncomfortably into the narrow space. But their father had grown frail enough that he didn’t seem fussed at all to be seated between their mother and younger sister, Beth, who had just returned from a jaunt to the country with her friends.

  “You do need to take care, Father,” Alistair said, hoping his smile came off as compassionate and not condescending. He couldn’t shake what Lionel Mercer had mentioned in passing the other day—that Lady Matilda Fairbanks would jump at the chance to marry him because he would likely inherit the earldom soon. The only way that would happen was through the death of the man sitting across from him, a man he had adored since boyhood. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

  “Your father does not want to miss Everett Jewel’s performance,” their mother said in a disapproving voice, though whether it was their concern or their father’s recklessness that she didn’t approve of was hard to tell.

  “He is supposedly the most talented actor to take the stage since Edmund Kean,” their father said, his face lighting up. “Everyone is talking about his Hamlet. And rumor has it that he has the voice of an angel in addition to dramatic gravity.”

  “We’re seeing a comedy, are we not? The Cabinet Minister?” their mother asked.

  “Yes, Mama,” Beth answered, glancing past their father to her. “But that’s part of what makes Jewel so sensational. He’s versatile. I’ve heard that, if the applause is grand enough, he’ll sing after his curtain call.”

  “We must all be certain to applaud with gusto,” their father said.

  Alistair exchanged another look with Darren. He doubted his father was capable of doing anything with gusto anymore, but if a sensational actor could put some life back into him, he would hire the man to come serenade his father during tea.

  That fancy brought thoughts of Joe rushing in with it. How exciting would it be to have Joe serenade him? Though really, it was a ridiculous notion. He didn’t even know whether Joe could sing, and it was horribly classist of him to assume Joe would be the one to do the singing. Why shouldn’t he creep over to Eccles House and find a way to stand outside the servant’s hall, putting on a romantic performance himself?

  Because the idea was ludicrous in every way, that was why. He couldn’t even call on Joe the way he would on his normal friends. He’d lost patience with the whole thing and gone to The Chameleon Club twice in the last week, completing his application and becoming a full-fledged member when he did. But all he’d encountered there was friendly conversation with men he didn’t know well. Though Hillsboro had been there, telling him all about his new endeavor patronizing an orphanage. Hillsboro had helped Alistair with his official application to become a member of the club as well.

  It wasn’t enough, though. If he didn’t find a way to see Joe again soon, he wasn’t certain what he’d do. Something drastic that would end in disaster, no doubt.

  “You seem more than usually agitated,” Darren muttered to him once they reached the theater and stepped out to help Beth and their mother down. “Something wrong?”

  Darren was the absolute last person on earth Alistair could confide in, so he settled for a benign, “I still think this is a bad idea and Father should be at home.”

  Darren hummed in agreement, then leaned back into the carriage to help their father out.

  The prickles that raced down Alistair’s back only got worse as he offered his arms to his mother and sister and proceeded up the stairs and into the grand theater. The crowd of theatergoers was already thick and loud. Half of London society seemed to be present for the performance, even though it wasn’t the show’s opening. Two, gigantic posters of Everett Jewell looked down on the crowded lobby. If the likeness was at all like the man, he was outrageously handsome, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and the look of the devil about him. Clusters of ladies stood under each of the posters, glancing up at the man as though observing the stations of the cross in a cathedral, ready to prostrate themselves in worship.

  “Good heavens.” Beth shook her head as she spotted the groups of admirers. “Do they think the man is going to step down from those posters and propose to them?”

  “I don’t believe it’s a proposal they’re after,” Alistair commented with a wicked grin.

  Beth laughed, her cheeks going pink as she understood exactly what he meant.

  “He’s an actor,” their mother said with a sniff, completely missing the ribald undertone. “He certainly isn’t suitable for any of them. Why, that’s Lady Hyacinth Gimble and Lady Eleanor Haverbrook. Her father is a duke. She shouldn’t be gazing at a portrait of an actor like that. It’s obscene.”

  Alistair and Beth both made choking sounds as they tried to hide their laughter. After the intensity of the past week, it was something of a relief, and it made Alistair wonder if he should spend more time with his sister. She was barely out of the schoolroom, but he had to admit that she’d blossomed into a woman while he wasn’t looking. Women were always more understanding about certain things, especially when it came to matters of the heart, so perhaps it wouldn’t be as much of a risk if he—

  “Lord Farnham, I believe?”

  Alistair was taken completely off-guard by the stately, older gentleman who approached him and nodded slightly in greeting.

  Tension immediately gripped him, as though an iron band had been clamped around his chest. “Lord Templeton.” He nodded back to George Fairbanks, Lord Templeton, then acknowledged the young woman on his arm, his daughter, Lady Matilda Fairbanks, with the same gallantry, even though his heart was instantly racing. “Lady Matilda. What a pleasure to see you this evening.”

  “The pleasure is all ours,” Lady Matilda answered for her father, extending an elegant, gloved hand toward him.

  Alistair took her hand and performed the requisite bow over it. Was the meeting a coincidence or had Lionel pulled his strings already?

  “This is a surprise,” Alistair’s mother said as Lord Templeton greeted her. “I don’t believe we’ve spoken in a decade at least, Lord Templeton.”

  “An oversight on my part, I can assure you,” Lord Templeton said. “I was just reminded the other day of how delightful the entire Bevan family has always been and how our family and yours should renew our acquaintance.” His gaze slipped sideways to meet Alistair’s with frankness.

  Yes, Lionel was most certainly behind the chance meeting.

  “Are you a theater aficionado, Lord Farnham?” Lady Matilda asked, raking Alistair with an assessing look as she did.

  “My father certainly is,” Alistair answered, unnerved by the sharpness of her look. She was sizing him up the way he’d seen breeders size up horses. But then, if he were honest, his reasons for potentially courting her wouldn’t be that much different than her reasons for allowing him to. “I haven’t attended nearly as much as I should. Perhaps if I had a regular companion who enjoyed it I would,” he went on.

  Inside, Alistair heated with discomfort at what sounded like too obvious a line, but Lady Matilda’s smile widened.

  “I should attend more myself,” she said. “But you are right. It is so difficult to find a suitable companion these days.”

  She tilted her head down slightly and glanced up at him through thick lashes. The gesture was coy, but the calculated interest in her eyes was unmistakable. It was also disconcerting. Lady Matilda Fairbanks was a woman who knew what she wanted. Of course, the only reason that unsettled Alistair was because he knew exactly what he wanted too, and it wasn’t her. But life wasn’t always about what one wanted.

  “Lord Templeton,” his father said in a voice that was both pleased and frail as he and Darren joined the group. “What a surprise. It’s been ages.”

  “It’s been too long, sir.” Lord Templeton shook Alistair’s father’s hand, poorly disguised pity in his eyes. At least the emotion was sympathetic. If the man had sne
ered or scoffed at his father, Alistair would have abandoned the entire charade, no matter how good a match Lionel Mercer thought he and Lady Matilda would be. “You must forgive me for failing to call on you for so long. Duty calls, of course.”

  “Of course,” Alistair’s father agreed. “How is your brother, Reginald?”

  As the two older men launched into a conversation of old times, Alistair stole another glance at Lady Matilda. She watched him with a smile of her own. More than that, she let go of her father’s arm and stepped closer to Alistair’s side.

  “I don’t know why my father was so intent on making certain the two of us met this evening,” she said in a sultry alto, “but I’m glad he did.”

  “You are?” Flirt. Alistair knew he had to flirt. It was a damn shame he was so bad at it.

  “Apparently, Papa heard whispers that you might be on the marriage market,” Lady Matilda went on, her smile warming.

  Alistair hated himself for taking the bait, for playing the game he’d been forced into, but all the same, he said, “My father’s health isn’t what it used to be,” and inched closer to Lady Matilda. “I have a duty.”

  Lady Matilda nodded subtly, her eyes sparkling. “Fortunately, I have been trained my whole life to assume exactly the sort of duties a man in your position might need help with.”

  She met his eyes with stark understanding. So much so that Alistair wondered how fully she comprehended who he was and how she might fit into his life.

  He was spared having to find out as a chime sounded, indicating the heart of the theater was now open and patrons could take their seats. The women who had been gazing adoringly at Everett Jewel’s posters rushed to the front of the crowd, causing a stir as they pushed on, trying to be the first in the theater. The rest of the crowd in the lobby began to stream toward the open theater doors as well, making Alistair feel as though standing still were swimming against the current.

  “We should probably take our seats,” he said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to figure out how to entice Lady Matilda into marriage right then and there.