The Wrong Way to Catch a Rake, page 18
‘You’ve seen me escape over a roof?’
‘I’ve seen you climb out on a ledge narrower than your boots three storeys above the canal. And now I’ve seen you examine what appears to be a very expensive jewelled scabbard. Even if von Haas has the crown jewels of Austria in his possession, stealing from him on his turf is beyond rash, it is suicidal.’
He glanced at the scabbard next to the candelabra he’d replaced. Yet he’d been across the room when the door opened... He remembered the swish of fabric against the door that had warned him. Had she been watching him through the keyhole?
He considered telling her he was waiting for one of the women he’d been so ostentatiously flirting with in the ballroom, but discarded that idea before it was even fully formed.
‘If he did possess the crown jewels of Austria it might be worth a try, but as he doesn’t that is a moot point. And I had no intention of stealing anything. I was looking for his private stash of excellent whiskey Castlereagh sent him. A whole crate of the finest Scotland can produce. One of his fellows told me it was sitting in his study collecting dust. I didn’t think he’d mind.’
‘Why on earth do you think I’d believe such nonsense?’
‘Because it’s the...’
She waited, but for the life of him he couldn’t say it. The lie just wouldn’t come.
She’d broken him. Like a clock stuck just before striking midnight. He tried another tactic instead.
‘Just what were you doing following me in the first place? Did you think I’d slipped off on a tryst with one of my many paramours?’
She made a faint sound, like a kitten hissing. ‘I’m not so easily diverted, Lord Wrexham. But while you’re busy thinking of a better lie I suggest we return to the ballroom. I would rather not be caught here with you.’
She stalked out and he followed, feeling for all the world like a naughty schoolboy. His success in finally confirming who had betrayed the trust of the Foreign Office felt rather less impressive now he’d been caught out by a lady’s companion sneaking up on him with nary a sound... What the devil was happening here?
She stopped at the door to the servants’ landing, listening. He stopped as well, cursing inwardly at fate, at Phoebe, and at the servants he could hear clunking up the stairs. They’d taken too long and the second supper was about to begin, which meant the stairs would be crowded with traffic for the next quarter-hour.
He nudged her aside, taking the key from his pocket and locking the door again before hanging it back on the small hook beside the door frame. He pointed towards the main stairwell leading down to the hallway below. It would leave them exposed for a few moments but it couldn’t be helped. Phoebe followed without a word, but he could feel her glare burning a hole between his shoulder blades.
It was sheer bad luck that just as they had almost reached safety the doors to the ballroom opened. It was instinct that made Dominic open the first door they passed and slip inside. Perhaps if Phoebe had kept walking and claimed she was looking for the ladies’ retiring room the incident would have passed unremarked, but she must have had the same idea as he, for they both found themselves on the other side of the door in a small, dark sitting room.
It wasn’t dark enough, though. The light under the door was sufficient to make out Phoebe’s disapproving form and folded arms. He shook his head at the whole situation and kept his attention on the voices outside the room.
Of all the lousy luck...
‘In there? Are you certain it was Miss Brimford?’
‘Well, naturally I am not certain, Mr von Haas, but just as I was returning from the, ah, retiring rooms I am quite certain I saw a figure dressed in the precise shade of blue she wore slip into that room...with a man.’
‘Mama...’ Rupert Banister’s plaintive voice was interrupted by von Haas’s impatient tones.
‘I sincerely doubt someone of Miss Brimford’s sensibilities would be likely to engage in such behaviour, Mrs Banister. However, if it would calm your concerns, I shall show you...’
Dominic looked about the room, but it offered no recourse, not even a window. He turned so that his back was to the door, pulling Phoebe into his arms just as it opened. A convulsive shiver ran through her and his arms tightened as he bent his head to hers, his lips moving against her temple, down over the crest of her cheek, as he said the most banal and utterly unfounded words he’d spoken in a long, long time.
‘Trust me.’
* * *
If Phoebe hadn’t been so angry at Dominic and even more so at herself, she might have laughed.
Trust me.
She’d never trusted anyone less. Yet even knowing he was a liar and a fraud, her body was responding without restraint to the heat of his body, his scent, to the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She held herself very still, hoping against hope that his stratagem would work.
She doubted it.
The door opened and the brief silence was broken by an all too familiar voice.
‘Ha!’ announced Mrs Banister in tones laced with immense satisfaction. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘Go ’way,’ Dominic slurred without turning. ‘We’re busy.’
‘Wrexham.’ This single word was pronounced in von Haas’s iciest voice. Dominic glanced over his shoulder and wavered, but his arms were like steel bands around her.
‘Von Haas,’ he said with fuzzy amiability. ‘Be a good fellow and run along. Shan’t be long.’
Von Haas broke into a fluent and brutal dissection of Dominic’s morals and wit in German. Dominic listened with apparent amiability as he kept Phoebe shielded from view, but his fingers were digging into her waist.
‘I don’t speak Austrian, von Haas, but that doesn’t sound good. Do a fellow a favour and run along, spare the lady’s blushes.’
‘Lady...’ von Haas muttered, in English this time. ‘You may be my guest tonight but don’t bring your doxies into my private rooms, Wrexham.’
‘Not nice to call a lady a doxy, old boy.’
Von Haas gave a snarl and moved into the room and Phoebe knew there was no possible way she would leave unrevealed. She raised her chin and took a step back.
‘I agree, Herr von Haas. Even a doxy should not be called that, especially not in her presence.’
‘Miss Brimford!’ von Haas exclaimed, and Dominic’s hand tightened convulsively around her waist.
‘Well said, sweetheart,’ he said merrily, but there was an edge to his voice.
‘What are you doing here? With him?’ von Haas demanded, his voice dripping disgust, and Phoebe cleared her throat, avoiding Mrs Banister’s shocked gaze.
‘I apologise for abusing your hospitality, Herr von Haas. I think... I think I had best return to the ballroom.’
‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ Dominic exhorted. ‘It’s early yet. We’ll find somewhere else...’
‘Unhand her, you decadent wretch!’ Lady Banister snapped, her ivory fan aimed at Dominic’s chest. It took that accusation for Phoebe to realise Dominic still had an arm around her waist and she moved away. It also brought Rupert Banister out of his stupor. He took a step forward.
‘I want a word with you, Wrexham. Outside.’
Dominic gave a strange little laugh and took back Phoebe’s limp hand. ‘For pity’s sake, can’t a fellow propose in peace? Do be a good chap, von Haas, and take your guests elsewhere. You are all quite de trop.’
Dominic’s words cut short the burgeoning scene. Three faces stared at them in shock and disbelief. Three voices threw back the word in unison, each an octave apart, with von Haas as base and Rupert hitting the high note.
‘Propose?’
If Phoebe hadn’t been so shocked herself, she would have found the farce quite amusing. But she was shocked. She met Dominic’s gaze and the fog cleared a little. His tone had been typically Dominic—light and just a little slurred—but his gaze was sharp and heavy with warning. She’d caught him out and he was locking her in. She could destroy him with a word, she realised. Tell von Haas what he had been doing only minutes before. It was the proper thing to do, legally and morally. She drew a deep breath.
‘I told you your timing was off, Dominic,’ she said, forcing herself to smile. He blinked twice, rapidly, his hand easing on her wrist, his fingers slipping between hers.
‘I was never known for my tact, or my good sense, except in offering for you. What do you say?’
‘I won’t hear of it!’ Lady Banister announced.
‘You don’t have to hear of it,’ Dominic said amicably. ‘In fact I would be only too delighted not to hear anything of you either. Now you’re all welcome to leave so I can finally get on with proposing. So shoo.’
Lady Banister visibly gathered herself together. ‘I shall be telling Lady Grafton of your shocking conduct, young woman! Not that it isn’t her fault entirely, but what may be excused in a widow of uncertain years cannot be excused in her companion. If you do not come away with us this instant, you shall find yourself in the street without a character and never find employment with a noblewoman again, respectable or otherwise.’
‘Now, that isn’t kind,’ Dominic remonstrated. ‘Phoebe has more character in her little finger than any of your so-called respectable noblewomen. Besides, she won’t need employment. One day she’ll be a duchess. They’re unemployable anyway.’
Phoebe sighed and slipped her hand from Dominic’s. ‘We shall talk tomorrow, Dominic. Good night, Herr von Haas. Thank you for your hospitality and my apologies for abusing it.’
‘What she said, von Haas. Aggie. Banister. Night all,’ Dominic said and turned to Phoebe, briefly touching her cheek with a light brush of his finger. ‘I think it’s best you go with the dragon and her pup and I’ll come to the Gioconda tomorrow so we can continue this without a Greek chorus chiming in. Dream of me, will you?’
He sauntered out, not waiting for an answer, which was lucky because the only response that occurred to her was hardly suitable for polite society.
Mrs Banister lectured her all the way back to the palazzo. Lord Wrexham’s morals and prospects and manners were abused roundly, but she dwelled longest and with great vigour on Phoebe’s foolishness in believing his intentions to be honourable.
‘He may be a rake and a wastrel but the Wrexhams are among the most distinguished families in England. He shall never deign to marry a woman past the first bloom of youth and without a penny to her undistinguished name. The very idea is laughable. You have nothing to offer—neither birth, nor looks, nor dowry. This is nothing more than the whim of a bored and spoilt libertine. You cannot be foolish enough to believe the blandishments of such a knave.’
Phoebe sat mutely, eyes downcast, and offered no defence either of herself or of Dominic. Rupert Banister stared pointedly out into the canal, looking for all the world like a sulky pug. The gondola ride could not have lasted more than ten minutes, but it felt as if they had travelled to Rome and back at the very least.
When they reached the palazzo she hurried to her room, Mrs Banister’s tirade still trailing her up the stairs. Once alone she wrapped herself in a blanket and sank onto the side of her bed with a groan. She had never, in all her years working for Sir Oswald, made such a hash of such an easy assignment. She hoped very much that Milly had done a better job with hers.
The very worst was that nothing she had learned today made any difference. It should have killed all her foolish feelings for him, but they were still there, aching worse than ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Phoebe had no idea how long she’d been staring at the cracked wall of her room when she heard the whisper.
‘Don’t scream.’
She had no intention of screaming, or at least not with fear. Though several times over the past hour as she’d remembered those fateful moments with Dominic she’d wished she could give a good howl of anger and frustration.
‘Surely this could have waited until the morrow?’ she told the shadow moving towards her from the window.
He held up his hands and his voice was calm, neither drunk nor playful. ‘I don’t know that it can. Von Haas might come to speak with you and he’s an early riser.’ He stopped by the bedpost at the bottom of the bed, his eyes catching the meagre light from the windows in a vulpine gleam.
‘What are you, Lord Wrexham?’
His teeth flashed. ‘I think we’ve gone a few leagues beyond common proprieties, Phoebe. You really ought to be accustomed to calling me Dominic.’
She fisted her hands in her blanket. He was trying to charm her for his ends. Strangely, that calmed her. This she could cope with.
‘Very well, Dominic. Go and jump in the canal.’
He gave a low laugh and sat down on the side of the bed. She scooted back further and he raised his hands again.
‘I promise I won’t touch you. But I need to know if you shall tell von Haas you found me in his study.’
‘Thereby disclosing I was there as well? Do you take me for a fool, Lord Wrexham?’
‘Not in the least; pity about that.’
‘I don’t happen to think so. I’d rather not be a fool.’
‘I don’t know. I rather enjoy the experience. It’s freeing.’
‘You’re not denying this...you...this is all a sham?’
‘Which part, sweetheart?’
‘Oh, stop it.’ The bed shifted a little beneath his weight, but he didn’t speak, so she continued. ‘You’re the carnival thief, aren’t you?’
‘Are you planning to tell von Haas that?’
She leaned back against the headboard. Strange that she felt even more disappointed now than she had with the thought that he was a drunkard. It made no sense. After all, drunkards rarely escaped the siren call of the spirits. While thieves...well, that depended. On why they stole, what they stole, and from whom.
In this case from the most powerful man in Venice.
Utter folly.
She took a deep breath, setting aside her anger and trying to think clearly. At first she’d accepted Dominic’s reputation without question—that of a charming, spoilt, impoverished, pretty nobleman spiralling into ruin. Just another charming fool. Was it all a façade to shield the activities of the carnival thief?
Yet stealing from von Haas did not fit that pattern. Could it have been a crime of opportunity and arrogance? Finding himself in the Imperial residence, he’d not been able to risk temptation? No, another man might have been foolish enough to consider it an exciting dare, but whatever Dominic was, he was no fool. If she took that into account, the only explanation was that he had been in search of something other than valuables. The question was: what?
‘Before you make any demands of me, I want to know what you were searching for in von Haas’s study.’
Once again all the charm drained away and that other man stepped forward. He hadn’t moved and yet she felt as if they both had. Then, slowly, he reached forward and wrapped the tip of her braid round his finger. Her scalp tingled, and not with alarm, not that kind of alarm anyway. She wished she were wearing a more substantial nightgown than a thin cotton slip. She didn’t look down, but she could feel her breasts grow heavy, her nipples tighten. She gritted her teeth, willing her body to behave.
‘I have never, ever had such a stroke of bad luck as having you step into my neatly arranged world, Miss Phoebe Brimford.’
Well, that was flattering.
‘The feeling is entirely mutual, Lord Wrexham.’
‘Dominic.’
‘Dominic,’ she parroted before she could think better of it.
He smiled and her antagonism gave a whimper of defeat. Whatever he was—drunkard, thief, or worse—she was in trouble.
‘Do you work for the Luzzattis? Are you a rebel?’ she demanded.
‘None of that matters at the moment. The only thing I need to know is what you plan to tell von Haas tomorrow.’
‘I don’t owe you anything. Certainly not an answer.’
‘I know that. But I am asking none the less. Nicely.’
‘Or?’
‘Or...?’
‘What will you do to me if I don’t answer?’
He stroked the tip of her braid with his thumb and gave a wry smile. ‘Not a thing. You know that.’
Damn him. She could have dealt with threats. She had no idea what to do with capitulation.
His gaze fell and he let out a long breath. ‘I’ve cocked up royally, sweetheart. The point is, I’d appreciate some warning if I must leave Venice precipitously. That is all. You’d have to come with me, though.’
‘What?’ she gasped.
‘We are betrothed, after all.’
‘You aren’t serious.’
‘As serious as rixi e bixi. You do realise my proposal was made in front of the local potentate and the prime gossip of the English community in Venice? That has more authority than having the banns read in church. News of our impending nuptials is likely spreading through Venice even as we sit here, ah, negotiating.’
‘Given your reason for making that offer, I didn’t take you seriously. Nor will they. They saw you were drunk.’
He shrugged, the same whimsical smile curving his mouth. ‘You were caught embracing me in a darkened room and you did say we would continue our discussion elsewhere. Not much of a denial, darling. You could have slapped my face and stormed off. Or hit me over the head with a candelabra. Clapton would have appreciated that.’
Damn him again, he was right. She’d condemned herself as much as him.
‘I think you are mad, Lord Wrexham. Even if that is true, I have every intention of jilting you.’
