Although he kept a firm grasp on her arm, Beatrice was acutely conscious of the fact that Leo was not paying much attention to her. He was entirely focused on their surroundings. She could feel the alert, prowling tension in him. She sensed that he registered every scrape of shoe leather on stone, every figure that loomed in the fog, every vacant doorway.
She did not realize how quick and shallow her breathing had become until she and Leo reached the street where the hackney carriage waited. When Leo handed her up into, the cab, she heard herself release a deep sigh of relief.
“We left the visit to Cox’s shop a bit late,” Leo said dryly. He closed the door and sat down across from her. “I believe that the next time we set out in search of information, we will make the appointment closer to noon.”
Beatrice gave a rueful chuckle. “Agreed.” She sat back and arranged her skirts. “What do you make of Cox?”
“I’m not certain. As was the case with Madame Virtue, he was extremely anxious at the prospect of being accused of murder.”
“One can hardly blame either of them,” Beatrice said.
“No.” Leo lounged in the corner and studied the fog-bound street. “But I do not think that we are going to make much progress with the direct approach. Everyone we talk to fears that he or she will be accused of theft or worse. The time has come to take a more indirect route in our inquiries.”
Beatrice leaned forward, fascinated. “What do you mean?”
Leo turned his head to look at her. The amber glow of the carriage lamp etched the high cheekbones of his face in grim relief.
“I shall start with Cox.” he said. “The titles of some of his books lead me to believe that he is more acquainted with arcane lore than one might expect in a quack. I have a few of those same books in my own library.”
“I do not understand. Do you have some sort of plan?”
“Tonight, after I take you and your relatives home from the theater, I shall pay the good doctor a second visit.”
Beatrice widened her eyes as realization dawned. “Are you saying that you intend to enter the premises of Dr. Cox’s Apothecary after it has been closed for the night?”
“I want to have a look around the place.”
“But, Leo, that could be terribly dangerous.”
He smiled his sorcerer’s smile. “Do not concern yourself. I shall take a friend with me.”
“Of course.” She squared her shoulders. They were partners, after all. None of her heroines would have flinched at the notion of a bit of midnight investigation. “I have not had any experience with this sort of thing, but I am certain that I shall catch on quickly.”
“No doubt you would. I never cease to be impressed by your talents, Mrs. Poole. But I was not referring to yourself when I said I would take a friend. Elf will be happy to accompany me.”
BEATRICE WAS STILL fuming several hours later as she sat with Winifred, Arabella, and Leo in the theater box. She had not enjoyed a single moment of Edmund Kean’s compelling Macbeth. All she could think about was Leo’s unrelenting refusal to allow her to assist him when he searched the premises of the apothecary.
She was well aware that her aunt, on the other hand, had elevated Leo to the level of near sainthood. Winifred was thrilled with the opportunity to display Arabella in such glittering surroundings. There was nothing like sitting in a theater box next to an interesting earl to give a young lady a certain cachet. Beatrice had seen more than one curious eye training an opera glass in the direction of the Monkcrest box.
She had to admit that Arabella was in especially fine form. She wore one of Lucy’s new gowns, a whisper of transparent gauze floating over a pale pink confection of a dress. Flowers of a slightly darker hue ornamented her hair.
Beatrice’s own gown had also been designed by Lucy. It was a deep golden silk cut in elegantly simple lines.
Leo had come for them in a carriage he had hired for the evening. He had explained that as he spent so little time in London, he did not keep a town coach. No one minded in the least.
“Magnificent,” Winifred declared as the heavy curtain lowered to signal the end of the second act. “Kean may be a drunkard and a spendthrift, but the man can act.” She turned to Leo. “My lord, I cannot thank you enough for inviting us to join you tonight.”
“It was my pleasure.” Leo looked at Beatrice, eyes gleaning with ill-concealed amusement. “I trust all of you are enjoying yourselves.”
Beatrice gave him her shoulder and pretended to survey the boxes on the other side of the theater. “Some of us are less able to appreciate the performance than others.”
“Oh, dear, don’t you have a clear view from where you are sitting?” Arabella’s fine brow creased gently in concern. “Perhaps we could have your chair shifted closer to mine. I can see perfectly from here.”
“There is no obstruction to my view of the stage.” Beatrice shot Leo a reproachful glare, which he ignored. “The problem lies in another direction entirely.” She broke off abruptly as her gaze fell on a familiar figure in another box. “Good heavens.” She raised her glasses for a better look.
Madame Virtue’s elegant features came into sharp focus. Beatrice was nearly blinded by the sparkle of her diamonds. They glittered in her hair, her ears, and around her long, graceful throat. The gems formed a stunning contrast to her low-necked, black satin gown.
Beatrice took a closer look at the exquisitely shaped and trimmed neckline of the gown. There was something very familiar about the style. She was almost certain that the satin roses and the fine tucks were the work of Madame D’Arbois’s shop.
The striking courtesan was holding court. There could be no other word for it. Gentlemen came and went from her box like so many courtiers dancing attendance upon, a queen. They kissed Madame Virtue’s black-gloved hand and hovered over her deeply cut décolletage.
When Beatrice lowered the glasses, she saw Leo watching her with an amused gaze. Before she could comment, the velvet curtain at the rear of their box opened.
Pearson Burnby entered. Arabella’s face lit up with happiness.
“Pearson.” She blushed. “I mean, Mr. Burnby. How nice to see you this evening.”
Beatrice smiled at him. She was fond of Pearson. He looked more like a country farmer than a young gentleman of the ton. He was solidly built with a square, honest face and competent hands. Although he could afford the most expensive tailors, he was not a mirror of fashion. His sturdy physique did not show the current styles to best advantage. His light brown hair was neatly brushed rather than crimped and curled. His neckcloth was tied in an uncomplicated design.
“Miss Arabella.” Pearson inclined his head. “Lady Ruston. Mrs. Poole. Allow me to tell you that you are all in excellent looks this evening.” He turned toward Leo. His voice dropped several degrees in temperature. “Monkcrest.”
Leo raised his brows at Pearson’s chilly tones. “Burnby.”
Pearson’s mouth thinned as though he were about to throw down a gauntlet. “I came to ask if I might fetch the ladies a glass of lemonade.”
“I would dearly love a glass of lemonade,” Arabella replied quickly.
“So would I,” Beatrice said.
Winifred twinkled at him. “A lovely thought, Mr. Burnby.”
“It seems to be unanimous, Burnby,” Leo said. “You may fetch three glasses of lemonade.”
Pearson hesitated. His scowl deepened as he appeared to realize that he had just excused himself from the box. He nodded brusquely, swung around on one heel, and stalked back through the curtain.
Beatrice frowned. “What on earth is wrong with Mr. Burnby this evening? He is acting rather odd, don’t you think?”
Arabella bit her lip. “I believe he is overset about something. I wonder what it is?”
Winifred chuckled knowingly. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “I think we can lay the blame at Monkcrest’s feet.”
Leo held up one hand, palm out. “No call to look in my direction. I assure you,
I have done nothing to annoy young Burnby. I am barely acquainted with him.”
“But it is obvious to Mr. Burnby that you are closely acquainted with Arabella, my lord,” Winifred said. “Indeed, you have contrived to entertain her and the rest of us tonight. And therein lies the source of Mr. Burnby’s agitation.”
Beatrice groaned. “Good heavens, you’ve hit upon it, Aunt Winifred. Burnby is jealous.”
Arabella started. “Oh, no.”
A distinctly Machiavellian gleam appeared in Winifred’s eye. “This is perfect, my dear. Mr. Burnby will assume that Monkcrest is pursuing you. Why else would he bother to pay so much attention to our family?”
“But this is terrible.” Arabella fluttered anxiously. “I would not want Mr. Burnby to think that I have a tendre for Monkcrest.” She paused, her cheeks reddening furiously. “I mean no offense, sir. I know that you are a very nice gentleman, but I would never—”
Leo inclined his head. “Do not concern yourself, Miss Arabella. My wounds, though deep, will heal eventually, I’m sure.”
Arabella gasped. “Sir, I assure you, I never meant to do you an injury.”
“He is teasing you, Arabella,” Beatrice said crossly. “Pay him no heed.”
Leo smiled his enigmatic smile.
Arabella breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank heavens. But what about Mr. Burnby?”
“There, there, my dear.” Winifred patted Arabella’s hand reassuringly. She exchanged a meaningful look with Beatrice. “No harm done. If there is a small misunderstanding here, it will soon be straightened out.”
Beatrice was not deceived for a moment. Whatever she claimed to the contrary, Winifred was secretly delighted with Pearson Burnby’s erroneous conclusion concerning Leo. Every matchmaking relative understood the basic strategy of the marriage game. Nothing brought a young man up to scratch as quickly as a dose of competition.
Beatrice supposed she ought to feel sorry for Leo. Turning him into a pawn in Winifred’s scheme to draw an offer out of Pearson Burnby had not been part of their bargain. But on the whole, she decided, it served him right for refusing to take her along with him that evening.
And as Winifred had observed, there was no great harm done.
Pearson returned with the glasses of lemonade just as the curtain was about to rise on the third act. Beatrice saw at once that his mood had changed. He looked positively triumphant.
“Mama has asked if you will join us after the theater, Miss Arabella. We are going on to the Baker soiree and then we intend to drop in on the Talmadge ball.” He glanced quickly at Winifred and Beatrice. “Lady Ruston, Mrs. Poole, you are also most welcome.”
Beatrice glanced at Leo. If he was offended at having been pointedly left out of the invitation, he managed to conceal his dismay with admirable aplomb.
Arabella turned to Winifred. “Please, Aunt. Say that we may join Mr. Burnby’s party. It will be such fun.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burnby,” Winifred said with well-calculated hesitation. “We had other plans for the remainder of the evening, but I suppose we could be convinced to accept your invitation.”
Pearson flashed Leo a gloating smile of victory. “Excellent. I shall inform Mama.”
Beatrice smiled demurely. “If you do not mind, Mr. Burnby, I believe that I shall go on home. I have had a rather exhausting day. Monkcrest will see me to my door, will you not, my lord?”
Leo raised one brow. “It will be my pleasure.”
“YOU MAY AS well save your breath,” Leo said as he vaulted into the carriage he had hired for the evening. He sat down across from Beatrice. “No amount of argument will persuade me to change my mind. I am not going to take you with me tonight.”
Beatrice had spent the entire last act of Macbeth marshaling her arguments. “I’m certain that Elf is an admirable creature, but he has his limitations. You will need someone to keep watch while you are searching the premises. I can perform that task.”
“A watch will not be necessary. The fog will provide me with all the cover I shall require.”
She drummed her gloved fingers on the seat cushion. “We are business associates, sir. Equals in this endeavor.”
“I have not forgotten. But we each have certain skills. Tonight’s work is not for amateurs.”
“Are you saying that you are expert in house-breaking?”
“I think it only fair to say that my experience of hunting highwaymen has taught me more about tactics and strategy than you could possibly know.”
“Of all the outrageous, incredibly arrogant claims.”
His eyes softened slightly. “Be reasonable. One misstep tonight could precipitate a disaster. I cannot allow you to take such a risk.”
She stilled as the full meaning of his words struck her. She looked away from his implacable face to gaze out the window into the night. The lamps of passing carriages bobbed ghostlike in the mist. Vehicles loomed briefly and then disappeared in an eerie parade. The fog was so thick now that it was impossible to make out the buildings on the far side of the street.
“Yes, of course.” she said after a while. “My inexperience could put you in great danger, my lord. I had not looked at the situation from that angle.”
“Beatrice—”
An inexplicable tingle of foreboding went through her. She was suddenly aware that her hands were very cold inside her gloves.
She turned quickly in the seat to face him. “Promise me that you will be extremely careful, Monkcrest.”
He looked bemused by her sudden concern. “I give you my word.”
She was not satisfied. The shiver of dread did not evaporate. “You must take no risks.”
“I told you, I intend to take Elf with me. He is worth an entire regiment.”
“I do not like this, Leo. I know you think me inclined toward melodrama, but I have a very unpleasant feeling about this entire venture.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Will you give me a kiss for luck?”
“Oh, Leo.”
Beatrice did not stop to think. A volatile mix of fear, desperation, and desire impelled her. She threw herself into his arms without a second’s hesitation.
He caught her close and dragged her across his thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a muffled cry as his mouth crushed hers.
He was, indeed, a sorcerer, she thought. There could be no other explanation for the wild reactions she experienced whenever he took her into his arms. His kisses inspired a fever in her that threatened to rage out of control.
Leo groaned as she clung to him. “Sweet bloody hell.” he breathed against her mouth. “I must surely be mad.”
His hand slid under her cloak and closed over her breast. She gasped when she felt the heat and strength of his palm through the heavy silk bodice of her gown. She shuddered when the hard pressure of his thickened manhood pressed against her thigh. He wanted her. There could be no doubt. He did not have to fortify himself with strong spirits or erotic etchings in order to arouse himself.
She was aware of a sudden dampness between her legs. Leo seemed to sense it even before she did. The hand that had been on her breast moved beneath her skirts, gliding up her leg to her inner thigh.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her head fell back. When his mouth moved to her throat, she thought she would scream with the sheer pleasure of his touch.
“Damnation.” Leo’s hand stilled abruptly on her thigh.
“No.” Her eyes snapped open. An old despair shot through her. She seized the lapels of his jacket. “I swear, if you tell me that you cannot make yourself want me—”
“Hush.” He yanked his hand out from beneath her skirts and covered her mouth with his palm. “Something is wrong.”
It was happening all over again, just as it had so many times in the course of her marriage. She could have wept with rage and disappointment.
Then she realized that the carriage was slowing. Perhaps Leo had ended the embrace so abruptly because they had reached her t
own house.
She struggled to sit up and adjust her clothing. “Have we arrived already?”
“We have arrived somewhere.” Leo pushed her off his lap with scant ceremony. “But not at your address.”
“What on earth?” Confused, Beatrice glanced out the window. The fog swirled in the street, but she was able to make out the vague outlines of nearby buildings. They were much too close, she realized. This street was much narrower than the one on which she lived. And there was no sign of the new gaslights that had recently been installed in her neighborhood.
A deep chill swept over her. “Where are we?”
Leo did not answer. He was on his feet, shoving open the trapdoor in the roof of the carriage.
“What the devil are you about up there?” he said to the coachman huddled on the box. “This is not the right street.”
“Sorry, m’lord.” The man’s reply was muffled by a heavy scarf. “Got lost in the fog. Could ’appen to anyone on a night like this. Don’t ye worry none. We’ll get ye home safe and sound.”
“Turn this coach around at once.”
“Can’t do that, m’lord,” the man whined. “Not enough room. But I’ll swing about at the top of the lane, I promise ye.”
“See that you do so.” Leo sounded annoyed but not alarmed.
Beatrice raised her brows as he allowed the trapdoor to slam back into place. He dropped down onto the seat beside her and held up a finger to ensure her silence. Then he leaned very close so that his mouth was almost against her ear.
“Do exactly as I say. Do not ask any questions. Do you comprehend me?”
She opened her mouth, closed it quickly, and nodded.
He squeezed her gloved hand briefly. “I am going to open the carriage door and leap out. You must follow immediately, before the coachman realizes what is happening.”
“Leo—”
“You must not hesitate. I will catch you.”
A hundred questions pounded through Beatrice’s brain. There would be time enough to ask them later, she told herself. She gathered her skirts, raising them to her knees so that they would not hinder her.