A Little Bit Scandalous Page 11

“Nothing will happen.”

  An interruption he was grateful for, because he’d been about to say something he would have regretted, something that would show Caroline he cared for her far more than he ever let on.

  “Boomer is meeting us there. All will be well.”

  “So you keep telling me. You know I could have donned a disguise just as easily,” he said.

  She let out a laugh. “That would never work. You are a duke. You walk like a duke, talk like a duke, look like a duke.”

  His brows rose. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “But you disguising yourself as a man, that’s believable?”

  “More believable than you trying to pretend to be a commoner.” The carriage stopped outside of Rodale’s. “Any last words of advice?”

  “Watch him carefully, but don’t speak to him. Now that he’s met you as Caroline, it will be more difficult to change your voice.”

  “I can manage that.”

  He grabbed her hand as she reached for the carriage door. “And win, Caroline, win every hand.”

  She leaned in and kissed him smack on the mouth. “I can do that, too.” And then she stepped out of the carriage.

  …

  Caroline eyed her cards, then looked at the other men at the table. She was fortunate Mr. Lamb was already seated and playing by the time she arrived, so joining his table had been simple. He was losing. She couldn’t help but notice that the stack of coin in front of him had dwindled considerably since she’d taken a seat. Of course, she also noticed that Mr. Lamb was not a smart player. He often made very wrong choices with his hands, seeking another hand and soaring over the necessary twenty-one sum.

  He wore very different clothing here than when she’d seen him at the orphanage. He was less tidy, with no tie at his throat, and his shirt appeared old and worn, whereas during the board meeting he’d worn a smart jacket and matching trousers.

  “Grey, where you been hiding yourself of late?” Cabot asked. “Playing in the main room now?”

  She gave him a slight smile. “Nah, just been busy.”

  “Finley was in last night and told us all about the housekeeper next door, the one who’d had the affair. She got sacked,” Cabot said.

  “Indeed.” Caroline had been curious about what had happened in that scenario, and she missed the men here. They felt, in some ways, like her comrades.

  She eyed the rest of them, checked their hands. At the moment, Mr. Lamb had a nine showing and he’d already asked for one card. She winced when he asked for another, then saw his face fall when the dealer dropped an eight in front of him. Nevertheless, he reached into his pockets and pulled out another pouch of money, a seemingly endless supply, surprising when it seemed he couldn’t win any hand.

  Caroline won her hand. She knew from watching Mr. Lamb that he was on edge. He moved his hands so much that she would have thought he was cheating, except for the fact that he rarely won a hand. Considering his lack of skill and endless run of bad luck, Caroline was certain the man was up to something. No one could play that poorly that often unless they had endless funds of money. But that would prove nothing to the authorities.

  Caroline climbed back into the carriage to find Roe lounging against the back bench, his legs stretched out in front of him, a glass of brandy held in one hand. He held it up to her as she took a seat across from him.

  “What did you discover? Is Mr. Lamb up to something evil and nefarious?”

  The carriage lurched forward, rolling down the dark London street toward Roe’s townhome.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I believe he is,” she said. She withdrew the hat from her head and began pulling at the pins binding the mass of hair to her scalp. “My memory of him from before was spot on. He loses. Every hand. No one who is that bad a player can continue playing again and again unless he has a large sum to play with. We know that Mr. Lamb does not, correct?”

  “Yes, I had my solicitor’s firm look into Lamb’s private financials and they indicated the man’s coffers were slim at best,” Roe said. “There’s no way he’s paying for all of his playing time.”

  “Precisely. He’s getting the money from somewhere. I asked around to some other players to see if Mr. Lamb had been in regularly and he had. Same story again and again. He plays for hours, he loses nearly every hand, yet he comes back at least three times a week,” Caroline said.

  “There are certain people out there who will loan people money with exorbitant interest, but that would only make sense if we’d seen him show some sign of skill or luck.”

  “None of either, I’m afraid,” she said. “Does he have any family?”

  “Not that I know of. Perhaps we need to speak to the other board members about the monies given to the orphanage,” Roe said. “If he’s the only one seeing the financials, then he can do with them what he chooses.”

  “Yes, but how to prove it?” Caroline asked.

  “There are ways, but it will take time. And we’ll likely have to set a trap. Or two.” Roe took a long sip of his brandy. “You certain he didn’t recognize you?”

  “No, but he did speak to me tonight more than he had the other times we’ve been at the same table.”

  “Did he talk to everyone?”

  “More or less. He was uncharacteristically chatty this evening.” It had bothered her, but Mr. Lamb already made her feel unsettled, so it was probably just his character. Still, she should use caution when it came to him.

  “We should also consider that there are other ways he could be funding his habit, other than theft and high interest loans.”

  “What other ways?”

  “He could have a wealthy benefactor.” Roe shrugged. “A widow who gifts him for pleasuring her.”

  Caroline opened her mouth, then shook her head. “That is a vile thought.”

  “You do not have to imagine such a thing. But it does happen.”

  “With men? I thought mistresses were just for men.”

  “It’s far more common for a woman to be a mistress. Men, in general, don’t want to have to rely on women for creature comforts. But it’s probably more common than you’d think.”

  “Interesting.” She couldn’t imagine a life like that. For a man or a woman. To be paid off for your physical favors was no better than prostitution, regardless if the payments were given in jewelry boxes rather than coins.

  “What if we speak to the other board members and find out what their impressions of Mr. Lamb are? That could be helpful,” Caroline said. “Inquire as to what they know about how the funding is spent.”

  “You and my mother could visit the ladies. Except Lady Fairfax, I shall handle her.”

  Caroline knew they had history. He claimed it was a relationship from his past, but perhaps he intended to rekindle things with the beauty. She knew Belinda was interested in such a thing, she’d heard as much from the woman’s mouth the other day. But she hadn’t heard Roe’s response.

  “I’ll also pay a visit to the other men.”

  “Very well. Perhaps Millie and I will see to it tomorrow and make certain that we try to uncover some of this situation before that man steals every last dime from those children.”

  If Caroline knew pledging her life’s service to the Queen would get her out of her current situation, she would gladly sacrifice it all. When she’d agreed to the board position for the orphanage, she hadn’t counted on it affecting her social calendar to such an extent. Not that she begrudged the orphanage her time, but she certainly would have been happier if her time while she was in London allowed her to avoid appearances in polite society. Nonetheless, she knew that Millie was right and this was a part of it, especially while she was reintroducing herself to Society.

  It had occurred to her that perhaps Mr. Bishop saw their pending visit to the opera as a courtship type scenario, and she hated that she’d somehow misled him. She hoped for an opportunity to dismiss his intentions this evening without ruining her chances of gaining him as
a benefactor for the orphanage. She did not want to hurt the sweet man.

  She ran the brush through her hair and counted to ten. Next she made three large braids then wound them around the crown of her head. It was the only clever thing she could do with her hair. And for whatever reason she hadn’t wanted the maid’s assistance with that for the evening, perhaps because that made it feel as if she was taking too great of care with her appearance when that shouldn’t matter at all.

  She donned her evening gown of cobalt, and inspected herself in the looking glass. No creases in the lush fabric. She leaned forward and peered closer. She patted her cheek.

  Good enough.

  She wasn’t attending the opera with Roe, so what did it matter how she looked? After all, she wasn’t a young miss on the marriage mart. She was the insignificant daughter of a lowly Baron. No one would be looking at her. In that respect, Mr. Bishop was the perfect match for her. They were equally unremarkable.

  Mr. Bishop was right on time. He looked handsome—or as handsome as a man with a not-so-handsome face can look. Smart was a better description. Tailored. Yes, that was it. He looked very tailored in a nice black coat with tails and matching black breeches. He lifted his top hat when he saw her and bowed slightly.

  “Good evening, Miss Jellico. You look lovely tonight.” He bent his head over her hand and kissed it lightly.

  She blushed like a fool and wished for a moment that this were a real courtship, that she were attracted to Mr. Bishop, and that someday they’d find themselves in love and married. But this was none of those things. This was merely an outing to the opera. “Thank you, Mr. Bishop.”

  He assisted her into his carriage and seated himself across from her.

  “It is a beautiful evening. The clouds are quite remarkable tonight,” she said.

  He leaned forward to peek out the window. “It looks as if it might rain. I’ve noticed London gets plenty of rainy weather.”

  “How long will you be here in London?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not certain. I’ve always been fascinated by your fair country and decided recently it was finally time for a visit. I amassed quite the fortune back in Maryland, seemed time to spend some of it.”

  “Do you not have charities in America?”

  “Of course, but I felt drawn here.” He smiled at her. “Perhaps now I know why.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. Caroline kept her eyes on the window, but was able to see that Mr. Bishop kept his eyes on her. It was unnerving, being watched. She wondered if this was what it would have been like if she’d stayed in London so many years before. Would she have felt all the young men turn and stare when she walked into crowded ballrooms? A wistful ache surged in her belly and she took a deep breath to suppress it. But as it was, she had fled back to the country where she knew her place. Being the daughter of a baron and the ward of a duke was a very strange thing. Though she was raised as a gentlewoman, she was not truly a member of the gentry, certainly not at the level of Society in which Roe and Millie circulated. Perhaps if she had stayed in London the first time she would have been accepted among those ranks. But, instead, she’d chosen to return to the country to nurse her broken heart. As a result, she now felt hopelessly unsophisticated.

  It was one thing to don a disguise as a man and play in a gaming hell. It was quite another to wear a beautiful ball gown and mill about the cream of London’s crop. Odd that she’d feel more comfortable as Mr. Grey than she did now as Caroline the Repeat Debutante.

  Had she stayed a bit longer in London she might have been more skilled in discerning men’s intentions, because it would seem she had misunderstood those of poor Mr. Bishop. Certainly he did not mean to court her. Certainly he had not meant to imply that meeting her had given meaning to his visit. But what if he had meant that? What if he were to court her? She could not imagine loving a man as unremarkable as Mr. Bishop, not when she’d loved Roe so fiercely and for so long. But Roe was not meant for the likes of her. Only her youthful ignorance had made her imagine he might one day love her in return. She would be happier if her heart would be satisfied with anyone but Roe. But hearts were not known for their logic and hers could not be swayed to consider Mr. Bishop.

  The opera house positively buzzed with people. Men and women milled about in the entryway, and all Caroline could think of was finding their seats. Thankfully, Mr. Bishop felt the same as he quickly led them through the bustling crowd and into the theatre.

  Finally in their seats, Caroline held the theatre glasses up to her face and looked about the room. It was not her first venture to the opera, but it had been many years since she’d been here, and she found she had new eyes to appreciate her surroundings. The red velvet seats matched the curtains flanking the stage.

  The opera began, and the longer they sat there, the more uncomfortable Caroline became. The singing was spectacular, but Mr. Bishop leaned closer and closer to her with every song. It was enough for her to cry off for the evening during the intermission.

  Once they returned to the carriage, Caroline rubbed her temples and frowned. If her horrid acting did not give her a headache, her nerves would.

  “I am so sorry you are not feeling well.” Mr. Bishop’s features were etched with concern. “Do you get headaches often?

  “It is I who should be sorry, Mr. Bishop.” She had already overused the headache excuse. “No, I’m not generally one to get headaches, so perhaps I’m coming down with something. I have ruined your evening, and I do apologize.”

  He shook his head. “Nonsense. It serves me right, ignoring you the way I did. I should never have let my old friend monopolize my time that way. It was rude and unmannerly of me. You deserve much better behavior and attention.”

  Had she been a woman to be wooed by sweet words, that last earful would have sent her into swoons. Truth was, though, she’d been relieved when he discovered someone he knew sitting near them. She smiled. “I suppose we could spend the ride home apologizing for the poor turn of events this evening took.”

  He chuckled. “You are a remarkable woman, Miss Jellico, and I must admit, I am quite taken with you.”

  Icy fingers trailed up Caroline’s spine. A suitor? Who would have thought? She tried to calm her nerves. Perhaps she should consider the scenario. If she did not marry, she would restore her family’s home and live in it. Alone. Forever alone. Still, the thought of saddling herself in a relationship she did not want left a sour taste in her mouth.

  “I am quite flattered, but I must confess that I am not so worthy of your praise.”

  He opened his mouth to disagree, but she silenced him with a raise of her hand.

  “Hear me out. I find you a most charming and delightful man and enjoy your company. It is always a pleasure to find one with whom you can have such enlightened conversations, but I must warn you that I am not looking for a husband. I am too busy to take on the duties of a wife.”

  She considered him a minute, taking in his long face and kind eyes. There were few people in London with kind eyes. She would hate to lose the opportunity to befriend him.

  “I realize you were not proposing. You could simply find my intellectual mind stimulating and would like to start a reading organization with me. And if that is the case, then please ignore all that I have said.” She took a breath and sat back into the carriage seat.

  He smiled and reached across to pat her hand. “As much as my pride would love to claim I was only interested in you for a reading group, I am afraid that would be a lie. I do think it is a little premature to make any definite decisions, though.”

  The carriage rocked to a stop. She was home and had accomplished her goal. Mr. Bishop was such a gracious fellow. She did not feel as horrible as she had anticipated.

  He assisted her out of the carriage. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I realize that is bold, and perhaps ungentlemanly of me, but I’m an American and I don’t know any better.” He gave her a crooked grin that made her almost want to reth
ink her decision about him.

  Caroline sighed and let her shoulders slump. Now she understood why young girls slept so often—courting turned out to be more exhausting than she had considered.

  …

  Roe knew going to Belinda presented its own risk. She’d made it abundantly clear she was willing and ready to be his mistress again if he only said the word. They’d had a good time when they’d been together, but it had been meaningless in the end. There was nothing between them besides carnal pleasures, and he’d grown bored with her. But he appreciated that she was an intelligent woman who knew people around London. Perhaps she could tell him more about Mr. Lamb.

  He was shown into her parlor and took a seat in one of the blue brocade chairs, hoping it would create distance between himself and his hostess once she joined him. Nearly twenty minutes after arriving, Belinda floated into the room wearing a revealing dressing gown, an interesting choice for the time of day. He suspected Belinda had put it on especially for him, to remind him of her wares, as it were. He was reminded. There was no way around it, her breasts virtually spilled out of the low-cut gossamer.

  “Monroe, love,” she said slowly, her voice low and seductive. “How lovely for you to visit. I’m afraid you caught me while I was still lounging about in bed.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Alone, in case you were wondering,” she added. “But that could certainly be remedied.”

  “I came to ask you a few questions,” Roe said, deliberately ignoring her baited comments. “About Mr. Lamb.”

  Her brow furrowed. “The director at the Dover Street Girls’ Asylum? Why ever do you want to know about him?”

  “I am new to the board, whereas you are an established member, and have been for a while,” he said.

  “Yes, don’t you remember, love, it is how we met?” She smiled broadly her fingers twirling the ribbon that tied her dressing gown around her. “I came to your townhome looking for your sweet mother to discuss something about the board and there you were, looking just as dashing as you do now. I could scarcely keep my eyes off you, and I nearly forgot why I’d come to your house to begin with.”