Amanda Quick - The River Knows

“You cannot force me to get into your carriage.”

“I wouldn’t dream of using force. Not when calm reason will very likely work just as well.”

“What is the nature of this calm reason?”

“Why don’t we start with the observation that you and I appear to have a mutual interest in our host’s private affairs.”

He felt her take in a quick, startled breath. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“That was Hastings’s bedroom you emerged from a few minutes ago.”

“How do you know that?” she said. “You are guessing.”

“I rarely guess, Mrs. Bryce. Not when I have the facts before me. I know that was Hastings’s bedroom because I obtained a floor plan of the house yesterday.”

“Good heavens, sir.” Sudden comprehension and something that looked a lot like unmitigated relief brightened her face. “You are a professional burglar. I had began to suspect as much.”

A proper, well-bred lady would have been horrified, he reflected. Louisa did not seem the least bit put off by the notion of being escorted by a member of the criminal class. Instead, she was clearly intrigued. Delighted would not be too strong a word. He had been right: She was a most unusual female.

“You can hardly expect me to confirm your suspicions,” he said. “The next thing I know you’ll be summoning the police and having me arrested.”

To his astonishment, she laughed. The sound captivated him.

“Not at all, sir,” she assured him with an airy wave of her fan. “It is nothing to me if you make your living by stealing from the likes of Elwin Hastings. I must say, this news does explain a few things, however.”

It occurred to him that the conversation was veering off in a rather bizarre direction.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I will admit that ever since I met you at the Hammond ball I have been quite curious about you, sir.”

“Should I be flattered or alarmed?”

She did not answer that question. Instead, she smiled, looking as satisfied and smug as a small cat curled in front of the fire.

“I thought from the first that there was something decidedly mysterious about you,” she said.

“What was your clue?”

“Why, you asked for an introduction and actually danced with me, of course.” She flicked her fan open and closed in a small gesture that implied she had proved her point.

“What is so odd about that?”

“Gentlemen never care to make my acquaintance, let alone take me out onto the floor. When you danced with me again at the Wellsworth reception I realized immediately that you were perpetrating some clandestine scheme.”

“I see.”

“I assumed, of course, that you were using me as a cover to conceal your interest in some other lady.” She paused delicately. “A married woman, perhaps.”

“You have obviously spent a great deal of time and energy thinking about me in the past few days.”

As much time as he had spent contemplating her, he thought. He found that satisfying.

“You were a puzzle,” she said simply. “Naturally I felt the need to find an answer. I must say, this is a most fortuitous turn of events.”

They arrived in the front hall before Anthony could come up with a response to that statement. A footman in old-fashioned blue-and-silver livery, a powdered wig on his head, stepped forward.

“Mrs. Bryce’s cloak, please,” Anthony said. “You may summon my carriage and then inform Lady Ashton that the lady has left with me.”

“Yes, sir.” The footman hurried away.

Louisa made no further protest. Anthony got the impression that she was as eager to be away now as he was. Apparently the idea of setting off into the night with a professional thief did not worry her overmuch. He was not sure how to take that.

The footman returned with a dull maroon cloak that matched the dull maroon gown. Anthony took it from him and arranged it around Louisa’s shoulders. The small act of gallantry would send a message that would not go unnoticed. If Hastings questioned him later, the footman could say in all honesty that Mrs. Bryce and Mr. Stalbridge appeared to be on very intimate terms.

The carriage appeared at the foot of the steps. Louisa allowed herself to be handed up inside. Anthony followed before she could change her mind.

He sat down across from her and closed the door. The dark confines of the cab enveloped them. In the intimate space he was intensely aware of Louisa’s delicate scent, a mix of some flowery cologne and woman. He was half-aroused, he realized. He had to force himself to concentrate on the business at hand.

“Now, then, Mrs. Bryce,” he said, “where were we?”

“I believe you were about to tell me something of the nature of your unusual profession.” She reached into her muff and withdrew a pencil and a notepad. “Would you mind turning up the lamps? I want to take notes.”

There was an acute silence.

Louisa looked up. Anthony was gazing at her, dumbfounded. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said, opening the small, leather-bound notebook that she carried everywhere. “I don’t intend to steal your trade secrets.”

“Just as well because I don’t plan to reveal them to you,” he said dryly. “Put the notebook away, Mrs. Bryce.”

A little chill feathered her nerves. It was the same shiver of alarm she had experienced when Lady Ashton had introduced him to her earlier in the week at the Hammond affair. His name had rung a very loud, clanging bell of warning, but she had assured herself that being asked to dance by the man whose fiancée was one of the two women who had drowned in the river a little over a year ago was sheer coincidence, not the Dread Hand of Fate. The social world, after all, was a relatively small realm. Nevertheless, when she saw him in the hall outside Hastings’s bedroom tonight she almost panicked. He could not know it, but the truth was, encountering him there had given her far more of a jolt than she had got from meeting up with the guard.

She was certain she could have dealt with Quinby. After all these months in Society the image she and Lady Ashton had worked so carefully to establish had been generally accepted. She was Louisa Bryce, the unimportant, unfashionable, excessively dull relative from the country whom Lady Ashton had kindly taken in as a companion. There was no reason for Quinby to be overly suspicious of her.

Anthony’s unexpected appearance in that hall, however, had shaken her nerve. This time there could be no denying that something more than coincidence was at work.

She had known intuitively from their first meeting that the air of ennui and jaded disinterest that Anthony projected was an illusion. For that reason she had been very cautious around him. Perhaps it was for that very same reason he had fascinated her from the start.

The realization that he was very likely a professional jewel thief not only reassured her, it had given her a brilliant idea. At least it had seemed brilliant at the time. She was starting to have doubts. Perhaps it was not inspiration that had struck her a few minutes ago. In hindsight, it might have been foolhardy desperation.

She realized that he was watching her with a mixture of amused irritation and relentless determination.

“If you insist,” she said, keeping her tone polite and trying not to show her disappointment. “No notes.”

Reluctantly, she returned the notebook and pencil to the small pocket inside her muff.

He had made no move to turn up the interior lamps as she had requested, so his features remained carved in shadows. But she had danced with him several times in the past week. His enigmatic eyes and the implacable planes and angles of his face had been imprinted on all of her senses. When her gloved fingertips had rested ever so lightly on his shoulder during the waltz she had been vividly aware of the strength in the sleek muscles beneath his expensively tailored coat.

Dancing with Anthony was like dancing with a particularly well-dressed, well-mannered wolf: The experience was both dangerous and exhilarating. Kissing him a few minutes ago had been a thousand times more exciting and, no doubt, a thousand times more hazardous. She would never forget that shocking, thrilling embrace in the hall outside Hastings’s bedroom, she thought.

There was an aura of cool self-mastery about Anthony, a steely edge that simultaneously attracted her and commanded her wary respect. She had heard that he had spent a great deal of time journeying to far-off lands before returning to England four years ago. She had a feeling that his experiences abroad had taught him to see beneath the surface in ways that others in Society did not.

The Stalbridge family was considered by one and all to be heavily populated by eccentrics. For the most part they ignored Society. The Stalbridges, however, had become quite wealthy in recent years, and the family’s bloodlines were impeccable. Given those crucial factors, Lady Ashton had explained, Society could not ignore the Stalbridges. Anthony and the other members of his family were routinely included on every guest list, although they rarely accepted invitations.

Any hostess who succeeded in attracting a Stalbridge to a social affair was widely considered to have achieved a great coup. The new Mrs. Hastings was no doubt very proud of having lured Anthony to the first ball she had given as a married woman.

Satisfied now that the notebook and pencil had vanished, Anthony lounged against the seat and contemplated Louisa with faintly narrowed eyes.