Christian opened his eyes wide. “Used a moneylender to draw the large sums, then paid them back with numerous smaller amounts much easier to explain from his own accounts?”

“Exactly. Do you think that’s possible?”

Christian nodded. “I would say so.” He met Tony’s gaze. “Certainly worth asking.”

“Next question: who do I ask? I’ve never had any dealings with such gentlemen.”

“Ah! You’ve come to the right source.”

It was Tony’s turn to open his eyes wide. “I would never have imagined you deep in debt and reduced to dealing with moneylenders.”

Christian grinned and laid aside the news sheet. “No, I never was. But I once bailed out a friend, and along the way I made the acquaintance of a good handful of the gentlemen. Enough, certainly, to start you on your way.”

Folding his hands across his waistcoat, Christian leaned his head back; eyes on the ceiling, he started recounting all he knew.

Tony drank it in. At the end of fifteen minutes, he knew exactly who to approach, and even more importantly, how.

Thanking Christian, he left the club and headed into the city.

His interview with Mr. King, the most famous—or infamous depending on one’s point of view—usurer in London was an unqualified success. Mr. King’s office was a stone’s throw from the Bank of England; as Christian had prophesied, Mr. King was perfectly happy to assist the authorities given their investigation in no way threatened him or his trade.

A traitor lost all claim to confidentiality; Mr. King had ascertained that no gentleman with the initials A. C. had borrowed large sums of cash from him. He’d confirmed that the practice of disguising major debts in such a way was not uncommon, and had undertaken to inquire on the government’s behalf among the other moneylenders capable of advancing such sums.

Tony parted from Mr. King on genial terms. Hailing a hackney, he headed back to Mayfair. With the money angle in hand, he had two other avenues of inquiry to pursue; as the carriage rocked along, he considered how best to tackle them.

Nearing the fashionable quarter, he glanced out at the pavement. It was a glorious day, ladies walking, children laughing and dancing.

Temptation whispered.

Reaching up, he thumped on the roof, then directed the jarvey to Green Park.

He arrived to an exuberant welcome, and had just enough time to have a quick turn flying the kite before Alicia, feigning primness, gathered them all and herded them back to Waverton Street.

Although he quizzed her with his eyes, she remained spuriously aloof, walking smartly along, the boys skipping about them.

He matched his stride to hers, inwardly amused, not only with her but with himself. It had been a long time—thirteen years at least—since he’d felt so relaxed, experienced this kind of subtle content. He’d honestly enjoyed his time with her brothers; it was almost as if his military years, especially as he’d lived them, had been taken out of his life, excised, so the youth he’d been at nineteen had more in common with the man he had become.

Or perhaps all he’d seen, all he’d experienced in those thirteen years away, had left him with a deeper appreciation of life’s little pleasures.

Reaching their house, she opened the door. The boys tumbled in.

“Blackberry jam today!” Matthew sang, and rushed for the stairs.

The older two raced after him, laughing and calling. Jenkins, the kite in his arms, smiled and trudged after them.

Alicia called after him, “Do make sure they’re clean before they come down, Jenkins.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Jenkins looked back. “And I’ll let Cook know about tea.”

He nodded deferentially to the presence behind her; suddenly realizing, Alicia whirled. “Oh—yes.” She met Tony’s black eyes; uncertainty flared. “You…er, will stay for tea, won’t you?”

They were suddenly alone in the hall. He smiled, slowly, into her eyes, then inclined his head. “Blackberry jam’s my favorite.”

His gaze dropped to her lips; the image that flashed into her mind was of him licking blackberry jam from them. Heat rising in her cheeks, she quickly turned away. “Adriana will be in the parlor.”

She led the way, with some relief saw Adriana look up as they entered. Adriana and Tony exchanged easy greetings; as was her habit, Adriana was studying the latest fashion plates prior to designing their next round of gowns.

They all sat; a companionable, almost familial ease fell over them. From her corner of the chaise, Alicia watched as Adriana asked Tony’s opinions on various styles depicted in the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée. He responded readily; it was quickly apparent he understood more about ladies’ garments than one might suppose a gentleman would….

She broke off the thought. His attention was on the plates Adriana had spread before him; she seized the opportunity to study him.

She wished she could see into his mind.

Since they’d parted the previous evening, she’d been plagued by one question: how did he think of her? How did he see her—what were his intentions, his expectations? What direction did he imagine they were headed in?

Given the circumstances, those were not only valid questions; learning the answers was vital to maintaining her charade and succeeding in their aim of having Adriana marry well.

Tony—Viscount Torrington—could easily scupper their plans. If he learned of them, and if he so chose. There was, at present, no reason he should stumble on their—her—crucial secret. That secret, however, was precisely the fact that most complicated her way forward.

Along with all the ton, he thought her a widow.

Last night had been a warning. If she was to maintain her charade long enough to establish Adriana, and then disappear, she was going to have to as far as possible restrict her interaction with Torrington.

And what she couldn’t avoid, she was going to have to respond to as if she was indeed a widow; she couldn’t risk all they’d done, all their success to date, by succumbing to any missish sentiment.

The thunder of feet on the stairs heralded her brothers’ arrival. They burst in, full of chatter and exclamations. Jenkins followed with the tray. In seconds, the parlor was filled with rowdy, boisterous warmth and comfort; if anything was needed to remind her why she was playing the role she was, it was there before her in her brothers’ smiling, laughing, happy faces.

Torrington—thinking of him by his title helped to keep a sensible distance between them, at least in her mind— gave his attention to the boys, answering questions, joining in their speculations and wonderings, occasionally teasing in a way the boys not only understood and accepted, but took great delight in.

As the guardian of three males, she’d long known they were incomprehensible beings; watching Tony— Torrington!—slouched on the floor, munching a muffin slathered with blackberry jam only compounded her wonder.

He caught her watching; their gazes touched, locked, then he smiled. A fleeting, wholly personal, even intimate gesture, then he looked again to David, who’d posed the question of when the animals in the zoo were most likely fed.

To the boys’ disappointment, Tony admitted he didn’t know; to their delight, he promised to find out.

It was time to step in. She leaned forward. “Enough, boys! Time for your lessons.”

With artistic groans, they clambered to their feet; eyes alight, each shook hands with Tony. Armed with his promise to let them know what he learned with all speed, they left with remarkable alacrity for their books.

Inwardly frowning, Alicia watched them disappear. Jenkins entered and removed the tray.

As he was leaving, Adriana bounced to her feet. “I want to do some sketching. I’ll be up in my room.”

Before Alicia could think of a suitably worded protest, given he whose presence occasioned that protest was stretched at her feet looking thoroughly at home, Adriana had blithely taken her leave of him, then, without meeting her eyes, her sister whisked out of the room.

And closed the door behind her.




SIX

ALICIA CONSIDERED THE CLOSED DOOR, THEN LOOKED AT Tony. Torrington! He remained on the floor, shoulders against the side of an armchair; his expression gently amused, he raised a brow at her.

She cleared her throat. “Have you learned anything more about Ruskin?” She needed to keep his mind away from her, from his interest in her; his investigation was assuredly her best bet.

His eyes opened a fraction wider. “Yes, and no. I haven’t learned anything definite, but I have certain inquiries in train. Whether they bear fruit remains to be seen.”

When she waited, pointedly, Tony grinned. “I spent a most illuminating morning learning about moneylenders.”

“Moneylenders?” Alarm flared across her face; her hand instinctively rose to her breast.

“Not on my account.” He frowned fleetingly at her.

“It’s not unknown for gentlemen like A. C. to move the large sums they use to pay their informants via moneylenders, thus concealing their part in the transaction. I visited Mr. King this morning, and asked if he knew of any gentleman with the initials A. C. who had borrowed large sums regularly over recent years.”

She continued to stare at him; her stillness was strange. “Any gentleman…” She drew breath. “I see. And did he?”

“No.” Tony studied her, trying to fathom the cause of her reaction. “He had no such borrower on his books. However, he agreed to check with the other moneylenders. Given he’s something of an institution in the field, if A. C. has been using moneylenders to cover his tracks, I believe we can rely on Mr. King to unearth him.”