Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Page 4

  She laughed in delight at his knowledge of the poem. She loved nothing so much as trading lines of poetry with another lover of the art form. “Dull, are they? I find them fascinating.”

  “To each his own,” Sir Hilary said. “I may,” he prompted, reminding her of their previous conversation.

  “Yes, you may ask,” she said.

  His smile was slow to build. She was rather shocked to realize that she found him attractive. She hadn’t thought of him as such until now. But that animal grace about him, and the intelligence in his deep-blue eyes, was formidable and irresistible. “How, Mrs. Enderby, did you manage to elude my search?”

  “Oh, I daresay you just didn’t look in the right place,” she responded blithely, amazed at her own bravado.

  “That is obvious,” he agreed. “Where would have been the right place to look?”

  “Lyme Regis,” she answered, seeing no reason not to reveal the information. “I was in Lyme Regis.”

  “Lyme Regis?” he said disbelievingly. “Why on earth were you there?”

  “Because no one would think to look for me there.” It was quite obvious. She hoped her tone didn’t reveal her disappointment in his detecting skills. She’d been led to believe he was brilliant at deducing such things.

  “No one looked there because you had no connection to Lyme Regis,” he explained, clearly annoyed. He was about to say more when the words caught in his throat and he began to laugh. “Which was really quite brilliant of you,” he conceded. “I assumed as a woman you would seek help and sanctuary from a known source, an acquaintance or distant relative. It is what women usually do. I did not give you enough credit, Mrs. Fairchild. For that, I do apologize.”

  “And so you should,” she told him smartly. “But truthfully, if you had given me the credit and run me to ground,” she looked around to make sure they would not be overheard and continued in a whisper, “I fear you would have brought my husband’s men down upon us, and I was not ready for that.” She cleared her throat and continued in a normal tone of voice. “So your underestimation was to my benefit, and there is no need for apologies.”

  “I will make them just the same,” he said firmly.

  “Of course you will,” she said dismissively, rather disappointed in his benign behavior so far. “It is what gentlemen do.”

  * * *

  Hil could hardly believe her cheek. He’d been expecting a runaway wife. Mrs. Enderby … he mentally shook his head. He had to think of her in her new identity or he risked unmasking her. Mrs. Fairchild did not fit that description in any way. He’d forgotten what she’d been like the night she showed up at Roger and Harry’s, and the way she’d confronted him when she’d thought herself cornered.

  He wasn’t sure why he found her so attractive. Tonight she was outlandish. The pink dress she wore defied fashion. It was better suited for a young girl of seventeen just making her bow to society. Although the dress accentuated curves that had not been evident at their first meeting, and her porcelain skin contrasted beautifully with the pale color. And her hair was mercilessly short, cropped over her ears and curling madly around her head with a ribbon holding it at bay. She should have seemed ridiculous. Instead, he found her delightfully enticing. Her cheeks, rosy with health, made her dark-brown eyes practically glow with vitality. The transformation from the thin, fatigued waif he’d met months ago was astounding. He was riveted by her. Damn if she wasn’t the sort of extraordinary person he found irresistibly fascinating. She smelled like flowers; not just one, but many. A bouquet of Eleanor Enderby. Or was that Elizabeth Fairchild? Ah, well, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, as Shakespeare said so eloquently.

  “I have often been accused of being a gentleman by those who do not know me well,” he admitted. “I find it useful to continue the deception.”

  She glanced at him, those brown eyes now brimming with amusement. “We are all deceiving each other, are we not?” she asked. “I’m fairly certain that the gentleman wearing the sky-blue jacket and golden waistcoat was not born with those shoulders, and his calves are suspect as well. Nor was his companion in the peach organza born with that bosom.”

  Hil covered his laughter with a polite cough. “No, madam. I believe you are correct.”

  “And I am masquerading as a fictitious stranger. So I hardly think pretending to be a gentleman that noteworthy. As a matter of fact, I’m also fairly certain that most of the men here are practicing the same deception.”

  “You know us too well.”

  She laughed gaily, drawing attention to the two of them. He wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or not. Was she flirting? His failure to read her easily was infuriating. “Yes, well, I do not claim a scholar’s knowledge on the subject of gentlemen.”

  “I can, with authority, tell you exactly what most of them are hiding,” Hil offered, gesturing to the room in general.

  “Oh, that would be unfair and not very interesting,” she said with a moue of disappointment. He suspected her disappointment was in him and not his offer. “I far prefer deducing it myself. Or at the very least imagining things far more interesting than the truth.”

  “The truth can be the most interesting thing about a person.” He wanted to know her truth. Was she the hapless victim who had appeared on Roger’s doorstep, or this rather fearless woman before him now, challenging him at every turn?

  “I’m sure you would know,” she agreed. “What is your truth, Sir Hilary?”

  He’d walked right into that question. She was wreaking havoc on his usually impeccable judgment. “The truth? Why, the truth is that I am out of champagne.”

  She looked at his glass, not showing an ounce of annoyance at his flippant answer. “So you are.”

  He really ought to have spoken to Roger about her more when he’d returned, but he’d been busy trying to placate the prince regent, who had become king not long ago. Prinny was growing even more petulant with age, and the crown had not helped his natural disposition at all. It was hardly Hil’s fault that Lancaster had turned out to be a fraud. The fact that Prinny had fallen for his schemes, losing a great deal of money, and Hil had been forced to chase the miscreant halfway across the continent, at great inconvenience to himself, did not matter one whit to the spoiled royal. The new king was desperate to improve his public image, and yet another financial disaster would certainly not have helped. If Hil had been able to say no, he would have. Unfortunately, Prinny knew his secrets just as Hil knew his. Damn him.

  As she turned away from him toward the refreshment table and more champagne, a beautifully embroidered handkerchief fell from her reticule. He bent down to retrieve it at the same time Mrs. Fairchild did. They found themselves bent at the waist and staring at one another as they both grasped the delicate piece of cloth. The deep brown of her eyes was flecked with gold. How extraordinary. He wondered what other delights he’d failed to notice about her. His gaze flicked downward to the creamy expanse of small, perfect bosom revealed by her gaping gown as she bent over. Yet another treasure discovered.

  It was only a moment, but when he looked back at her face she was blushing profusely and staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. She quickly looked away and straightened, letting go of her handkerchief as she did so. He rose more slowly. “Excuse me,” he said politely, silently admonishing himself for his bad behavior. “I believe you dropped this.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice betraying none of the embarrassment her flushed cheeks indicated. She took the cloth from him and tucked it into her reticule, refusing to look at him.

  “Would you care to accompany me to the refreshment table?” he asked, hoping she would accept the olive branch he offered. He really shouldn’t have ogled her like an ill-bred youth. He was looking forward to more of their verbal sparring.

  “No, thank you,” she replied politely. “I am enjoying my turn about the drawing room. And I must speak with more of the guests. I don’t know many people in London yet. Harry very kindly had this
reception for the sole purpose of introducing me. I mustn’t disappoint her.”

  Hil didn’t let his annoyance show. “Of course. Until we meet again,” he responded, and with a bow, turned to find another drink. Something more substantial than champagne. He was off his game, clearly, when he couldn’t entice a lady to spend more time with him. But he had not suspected the diminutive, shapely Mrs. Fairchild would have such an arsenal of feminine weapons at her disposal. His suavity had taken a direct hit.

  He was standing near the refreshments, leaning on a column and still observing her, though he knew not why, when Alasdair Sharp spotted him. Even though the man was happily married, his tall, blond good looks drew quite a few longing glances from the ladies as he walked over to Hil with a smile. “Why so glum?” he asked jovially. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “I am sulking,” Hil responded. “I was dismissed by Mrs. En—Mrs. Fairchild, of all people. I am losing my touch.”

  Alasdair laughed. “Eleanor is not to be treated lightly,” he warned. “I spent several months with the lady at Throckton’s. Her wit is as sharp as yours.”

  “No one’s wit is as sharp as mine,” Hil declared, affronted.

  “Her self-adulation is merely passable,” Alasdair assured him, “so you needn’t fear she’ll best you overall.”

  “She shan’t best me at all,” Hil declared, ignoring his friend’s insult. “I am sadly out of step with what’s going on,” he admitted reluctantly. “I have been so busy wrapping up that silly business that had me chasing my tail all over the continent I haven’t caught up with all of you. What has happened in the last six months?”

  “How was Italy?” Alasdair asked with interest. “Julianna and I quite liked it.”

  “Is there anywhere left in the world you have not taken that damn pearl of yours?” Hil asked testily, referring to Alasdair’s famous, and priceless, family heirloom, the Stewart Pearl, once the property of Bonnie Prince Charlie himself.

  “Everyone loves a precious jewel,” Alasdair said with a smirk. “Julianna said she thinks they have a burning desire to see it in Russia.”

  “Is she learning Russian now?” Hil asked with amusement.

  “Trying,” Alasdair said with a laugh. “I’m helping her by only taking orders in bed in Russian.”

  Hil burst out laughing. “You devil. You should be careful, my friend. Someday you’ll find your precious jewel stolen and part of some sheikh’s harem.” He was not referring to the pearl.

  “Duly noted,” Alasdair said, nodding solemnly. “We shall not visit the desert kingdoms.”

  “You’ll never find anywhere as fine as England.”

  “To quote Shakespeare, ‘Cry God for Harry, England, and Saint George,’ ” Alasdair said, amused.

  “Italy was cold and magnificent and lonely.”

  “You should have taken Wiley,” Alasdair told him.

  Hil winced as he thought of his young protégé. “I should have. Did no one keep an eye on the lad while I was gone? He’s fallen into bad habits again.”

  “Sorry, old man,” Alasdair said with a shrug. “I was busy keeping an eye on Eleanor. My eyes can’t be in two places at one time. That’s why I made him come out to Throckton’s with us for a while.”

  “What about Roger?” he asked, annoyed all over again.

  “Well, there was that pesky little new baby taking all his time, when he wasn’t attempting to establish himself in his new position as a barrister.”

  Hil blew out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, it shouldn’t be that difficult for me to leave London from time to time without all of you getting into mischief.”

  “We shall endeavor not to inconvenience you the next time you go away,” Alasdair promised insincerely. “I’ll have Julianna speak with Wiley. He has a soft spot for her.”

  “I’d hoped his worst habits had been curbed by his education,” Hil mused. “But he is still out all night and secretive about his activities.”

  “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him a saint,” Alasdair said wisely.

  “That is not how the saying goes, and I would have settled for a Devil,” Hil drawled.

  Alasdair looked surprised. “Well, then, you’ve done your job. He’s a Devil, no question. Learning to act the gentleman has made him quite popular among a certain group of ladies.”

  “The term ‘ladies’ used loosely, I assume?” Hil asked, amused.

  “Quite loosely,” Alasdair agreed. “The ladies and the term.”

  Well, that explained his late night excursions. “Tell me about Mrs. Fairchild,” Hil asked at last. He’d been resisting the urge to ask ever since Alasdair walked over, but he could still see her, now standing in the middle of the room chatting among a large group of people, Harry at her side. She was quite animated, and everyone seemed taken with her, but Hil sensed that it was all an act on her part.

  “She’s been declared dead.”

  Alasdair looked so pleased at what was supposed to be a shocking revelation that Hil hated to disappoint him. “I know,” he said anyway. “Roger told me about the inquest. Her husband claimed she died under mysterious circumstances that were the result of foul play. Not surprising really, that he got a death certificate from the coroner. What was surprising is that he produced a body. I’d love to look into that, but dare not for fear of exposing her. She covered her tracks extremely well. The question is why, after gaining her freedom so irrevocably, is she parading around Roger’s drawing room? I’d expected to find her long gone when I returned.”

  “Of course you know,” Alasdair mumbled. “Because”—he paused to glance from side to side to make sure they weren’t overheard—“by producing a dead body and then remarrying so quickly, Enderby made it impossible to denounce her for fear of incriminating himself. Originally she thought she’d have to wait much longer to emerge from hiding, until after he remarried, and then keep a very low profile, but the body changed her plans.”

  Hil looked at the lady with interest. “So that was her plan,” he said quietly. “I’d assumed she’d want to simply disappear. I know I would. Her original plan was foolish, of course. Normally it takes years to have a missing person declared dead.”

  Alasdair nodded. “Yes, Roger pointed that out immediately. But then Enderby obliged us by producing a body.”

  “If she’s discovered, there will be dire consequences for all involved,” Hil warned. “The authorities will want answers.”

  “If that ever happens, we plan to tell them that Eleanor was injured, and when she was found she had lost all memory of her life. All she had was an old letter with Harry’s name on it. Fearing for her health and safety we kept her secluded until her memory returned.”

  “And why didn’t you inform her husband immediately?” Hil asked.

  “Because we didn’t wish to upset the new Mrs. Enderby,” Alasdair said. “And when a body was produced we feared for her safety.”

  “A claim of amnesia is highly suspect,” Hil said. “She’ll still be suspected in whatever foul play Enderby has been up to.” He turned to Alasdair and sighed with regret. Clearly he was going to have to get involved. “You do realize, don’t you, that this is a terrible plan? She cannot take a prominent place in society under an assumed name and expect not to be unmasked.”

  “Yes,” Alasdair said, watching Mrs. Fairchild. “I know. But they won’t be separated again, her and Harry. They’re sisters. They should be together.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing the plan is moot.”

  “What do you mean?” Alasdair asked with a frown. “It will work. We’ll make it work.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You won’t have to. Roger may be new to the law, but he is well respected and already has connections. Not to mention my own involvement. There is absolutely no way Enderby could take her away again. I can’t imagine he’d even try at this point. To do so would create more issues for him, with a new wife already.”

  Alasdair shook his head and looked away
from Mrs. Fairchild. “She doesn’t say much, but I think she endured a great deal during that marriage.”

  “A lady does not run away as she did without great provocation,” Hil agreed. “And what I learned of Enderby during my investigation indicated he was the sort who would treat his wife cruelly.”

  “Thank God it doesn’t appear he was ever violent with her,” Alasdair told him. “She bears no scars that I know of, nor does she seem frail.”

  The thought of Enderby laying a finger on his wife in anger made Hil unaccountably furious. “He is lucky he did not.”

  Alasdair nodded again. “Yes, he is. Had he, I believe Roger would have called him out.” From his tone, Hil gathered Roger wasn’t the only one.

  “And so she has made her first move in the chess game,” Hil mused. “And now we wait to see how Enderby counters. I am glad I returned in time for this.”

  “It’s not a farce at Drury Lane, Hil,” Alasdair chastised. “It’s Harry’s sister. Julianna and I have come to care for her a great deal over the past few months.”

  Alasdair misunderstood him. He’d meant he was glad he’d returned to make sure all went well. He didn’t correct Alasdair. “Have you? Then I can do no less.” Hil made a mental note to assign a few of Wiley’s friends to keep an eye on Mrs. Fairchild for the time being, until he figured out what her husband was up to. Their foolish plan was doomed to failure. Enderby would find out about his runaway wife in due time. He smiled benignly at Alasdair without voicing his concerns again and then turned back to Mrs. Fairchild. She was caught unawares, staring at him, and she blushed and turned away. Hil raised his glass to her, though she couldn’t see his tribute. It had been a long time since he’d met anyone who could match wits with him. A woman that clever, ready to sacrifice everything, even her identity, for her freedom and her family, was surely worth getting to know better.

  Chapter Four

  Hil was finally forced to go in search of Mrs. Fairchild at a garden party. She’d been avoiding him since their encounter at Harry and Roger’s the night she returned from the dead, almost two weeks ago. If the truth were known, she was the only reason he would show up at a garden party in February. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the hostess, Lady Gaston. She was an amiable woman who didn’t talk too much, and merely expected him to show up at her functions, not be the main attraction. But this party was beyond frivolous. Lady Gaston had filled her ballroom with hothouse flowers and garden statuary, and everyone was sipping bad lemonade as if it were June. Ridiculous. He couldn’t believe he was wasting an entire afternoon here when he had inquiries to make.