Olivia conceded that going to see the Duchess of Avendale had been a mistake, because now Henry had a rabid curiosity about the Great Exhibition, after his cousin told him about all the wondrous things he’d seen. To make the situation worse, she returned home to discover she had a caller waiting in the parlor. While Helen took a very tired Henry up to the nursery for an afternoon nap, Olivia removed her black veiled hat, placed it on a table in the foyer, and replaced it with the widow’s cap she’d left there before leaving. She felt as though she’d gotten caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to and might be on the receiving end of a scolding.
Edmund Stanford, Viscount Briarwood, had chosen an inopportune moment to visit. Her husband’s cousin had kindly handled the matter of the funeral and had overseen Lovingdon’s final journey to the family crypt at the ancestral estate. He’d provided her with a strong shoulder to lean on. The notion that he would murder Henry and usurp the titles was ludicrous.
After patting a few final stray strands back into place, she strolled into the parlor.
“Lord Briarwood, how kind of you to call. I do hope you’ve not been waiting long.”
Briarwood bowed. She could see the family resemblance in the cut of his squared chin. He was only a few years younger than Lovingdon had been, but already his wheat-colored hair was fading to white. He’d not inherited the family’s tendency toward tallness. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in width, a shape that gave him a rather intimidating mien.
“Only a moment or two, Duchess. Quite honestly, I was surprised to discover you were making the rounds.”
Olivia felt the warmth flush her cheeks at the chastisement in his voice. “I merely visited my sister-in-law. She’s only recently widowed herself, and I thought she could offer me some advice on dealing with the wretched sorrow.”
“Of course, forgive me for my presumption. I can only imagine how difficult all of this has been for you—”
I suspect you truly have no idea.
“—and allow me to again offer my condolences on your loss. Your husband is now at rest in the family crypt.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done. I can think of no way to repay you your kindness.”
“Think nothing of it. I promised Lovingdon I’d keep an eye on you, don’t you know?”
Olivia couldn’t prevent a fissure of unease from traveling through her. It was a woman’s lot in life to answer to her husband, and suddenly she had far too many men hovering around her, making demands, and voicing expectations.
A maid brought in the tea service. Once she left, Olivia and Briarwood took their chairs in a small sitting area with a narrow table between them. Briarwood was not as lean as her husband had been, and the chair groaned beneath his bulk.
“When did Lovingdon ask you to look after me?” Olivia asked quietly as she poured them tea.
“I can’t remember exactly. You know how it is. Men ask each other for favors all the time, never really expecting they’ll be collected. I came here as soon as I returned to London. I wanted to make certain everything was in order. The will was read last night, was it not?”
Olivia’s hand jerked and the cup rattled on the saucer as her gaze jumped to his. She could see her husband in his expressive green eyes. Lovingdon’s eyes had been the same pale green, carried the same look of regret. When Lovingdon smiled, the joy never lit his eyes. It was almost as though he’d lived his life in mourning. She wished he’d confided in her, but like so many in the aristocracy, theirs was not a marriage of the hearts.
She waited until Lord Briarwood had taken the cup from her to speak. “Yes, yes, it was.”
“Who did he name as guardian?”
She lifted her own cup, took a quick sip. “Who would you have thought?”
He grinned as though they’d been sharing a secret and could now tell the world. “I’d have thought he’d name me. We never spoke about the specifics, but I seem the most logical, being family and all—and the next in line. I want you to know that I consider it an honor to watch over both the young duke and you.”
His presumption left her with a foul taste she couldn’t explain. She was certain he had no ill will toward Henry, and yet she was bothered by his audacity—to assume so much. She was letting Dodger influence her. She’d have never been suspicious if he hadn’t planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. “My lord, I truly appreciate your sentiments, more than you realize. Unfortunately, my husband named Jack Dodger as guardian.”
Briarwood looked as though she’d jabbed him with a fireplace poker. “The Jack Dodger?”
“Yes, quite.”
Clearly baffled by the turn of events, he stared at her as though she’d been responsible for them. “What would compel Dodger to give a care about a lord’s son?”
“I’m afraid I can’t even begin to guess, but Lovingdon secured his interest by leaving him all his non-entailed possessions.” Because Briarwood was next in line, she thought he had a right to know. If he’d not been seeing to her husband’s remains, she was fairly certain he’d have been in attendance last night.
Shaking his head, he studied his teacup as though trying to memorize the pattern of the flowers that surrounded the delicate bone china. Then he lifted his gaze to hers. “Dodger must have blackmailed him.”
“Blackmailed him? Whatever are you talking about?”
“He must have threatened Lovingdon with exposing him for some misbehavior or some such.”
Olivia pondered the possibilities. She couldn’t imagine Lovingdon misbehaving. Considering Dodger’s outburst earlier, it was obvious he was as perplexed as anyone regarding the conditions of the will.
“We’ll contest the will,” Briarwood suddenly announced emphatically, as though no other conclusion could be drawn and she’d agree with him. “It might create a scandal, but I can’t see that we have any other choice. Having Dodger as guardian is taking a quick route to disaster. I daresay, your son will be tainted, his respectability questioned.”
“Mr. Beckwith said the will couldn’t be challenged.”
“Of course he said that. Less work for him that way.”
“And less expense for you,” a deep voice rumbled.
Olivia screeched, jumped, and upset her teacup, pouring hot tea over her skirts. Fortunately, she had enough petticoats that she was saved from any serious injury. She set her saucer and cup aside, grabbed a linen napkin, and began blotting the tea and wiping it from her hands. The man had the infuriating habit of appearing where he wasn’t expected. “I don’t recall inviting you into the parlor, Mr. Dodger.”
He held out his hands in the irritating manner that she was coming to recognize preceded irritating words. “I don’t require an invitation as it’s now my parlor. Afternoon, milord.”
Briarwood had come to his feet, his eyes narrowed as though he trusted Dodger as little as Olivia did. “Dodger,” he finally said.
“You’re acquainted?” Olivia asked, stopping her frantic patting.
Dodger grinned with a touch of malice. “I told you, Duchess, I’m familiar with the aristocracy.” He sat in a nearby chair, slouching back slightly, placing his ankle on his knee. She’d never seen a man sit in such an impolite manner. “Have a seat, Briarwood. We can discuss all the reasons why we don’t want to do as you suggest.”
To her surprise, her husband’s cousin did sit. But his back was straight, his posture excellent. Breeding was so important. She could only begin to fathom the difficulties Henry would face if he was taught behavior by Dodger. His peers would laugh at him, insult him, and afford him no respect.
“Now, as I see it,” Dodger drawled, “we have three reasons not to take this matter to the courts: the expense, because you will have to hire a solicitor; the terrible scandal that will be created, because something of this nature is certain to incite gossip; and the fact that the matter can be easily rectified if you but marry the duchess.”
“M-marry her?” Briarwood stammered, clearly shocked by the notion.
“Yes, did she not mention that? I forfeit guardianship when she marries a man willing to take over the role. So, you see? You merely have to wed her—”
“I’m in mourning, Mr. Dodger,” she repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time, through clenched teeth. How was it that the man failed to grasp so simple a concept?
“The ceremony itself could be handled very discreetly with a special license. Just as Lord Claybourne arranged his marriage while his new bride was mourning the loss of her father. Then off to the country you go. In two years, you return to London with tales of your insatiable love, and all is forgiven. Ladies excuse all manner of indiscretion when love is at its core.”
“I’m not going off to the country—”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“I want to be rid of you.”
“Marriage achieves that end.”
“I have no desire to marry Lord Briarwood.” She jerked her gaze to Briarwood. “My apologies, my lord. I’m certain you were not considering marriage, but I am only newly widowed.” And if she ever married again, she hoped duty wouldn’t be involved. On the other hand, Dodger was correct. Marriage would effectively get him out of her life. She cleared her throat. “I hope I didn’t offend you if you were consider—”
“No, I-I’d not entertained the notion. That’s not to say I wouldn’t, only that I hadn’t considered it up until this moment.” He shifted his gaze to Dodger. “I believe you’ve effectively distracted us with this marriage nonsense. How did you manage to convince my cousin to name you guardian?”
“I can take no credit for convincing him of anything. As to the reason he named me guardian, I haven’t a clue. However, I have an inspector from Scotland Yard making inquiries. Do you know of any threats that might have been made?”
Briarwood seemed more shocked by that news than by the notion of marrying her. “Threats? What sort of threats?”
“Threats to kill the lad.”
“Why would anyone kill him?”
“To acquire his titles.”
“As I’m first in line for the titles, I suppose that puts me first in line as your suspect. Has it failed your notice that I already have a title?”
“Viscount. Hardly the highest of ranks. And it is but one, while young Henry has three.”
“Mine is a higher rank than you possess. And one is sufficient for me.”
“I’d have thought you a man of more ambition.”
Briarwood leaped to his feet, none too agilely. “I resent the implication, sir, that I would greedily clamor for more and use illicit means to take that which does not rightfully belong to me. I shall be on my way.” He bowed slightly toward Olivia. “Good day, Your Grace. If you have need of me, please do not hesitate to send word.”
She rose to her feet. “My lord, I apologize for Mr. Dodger—”
“Don’t be daft, Olivia,” Dodger rudely interrupted. “You can’t apologize for something that’s not your doing. Besides, my behavior requires no apology.”
“We’re certain to disagree on that matter. And I may apologize if I wish,” but Lord Briarwood was already heading for the door.
Jack Dodger twisted around in his chair and called out, “By the by, Briarwood—”
Lord Briarwood stopped and looked back, his eyes fairly fuming.
“—you are correct,” Dodger continued. “If any misfortune befalls young Henry, you will be the first one Scotland Yard interrogates.”
“Then I have no worries. The lad is safe from me. I’m not certain I can assure you that you’re safe from me. I’ve never liked you.”
Dodger had the audacity to smile. “Then do be sure to bring money with you tonight. You’ll find your credit at Dodger’s has been canceled.”
Briarwood’s face grew a blotchy red and his eyes fairly bugged out of his head. “Devil take you.”
Dodger laughed in a velvety soft manner that seemed to hint he was as amused with himself as with Briarwood. “He did that long ago, so he’s no longer a threat to me. And I suspect you aren’t either.”
Briarwood swore harshly and stormed from the room.
Olivia was shaking with outrage. “You provoked him on purpose.”
Jack Dodger was still sprawled in the chair. With his thumb, he rubbed the underside of his jaw. “Why would he want to be guardian? That is the reason he came to see you, is it not? To find out who had been given the great honor of overseeing your son’s journey into manhood?”
She swallowed back her need to lash out at him. “He thought it would be he.”
“He thought, or he hoped?”
“What difference does it make?”
“What would he have gained?”
“Not everyone is like you, Mr. Dodger. They do things because they are the right things to do, not because something personal is to be gained.”
He slowly unfolded his body and in his movements, she saw power leashed. He prowled toward her, his face set in an unreadable mask. She desperately wanted to decipher his thoughts, his intentions. She didn’t want to retreat, but suddenly weak legs gave her no choice. She sank into the chair, pressing back as she had last night in the coach. He placed his hands on both arms of the chair and leaned in, effectively trapping her.
It was an odd time to realize he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. Thick and spiky without an ounce of delicateness to them, but still so incredibly alluring. She wondered if they tickled a woman’s face when he kissed her.
“Are you aware he is in considerable debt? Not only to me. If he were guardian, he’d not only be responsible for the welfare of your son but his estates as well. A very desperate man might think nothing of using those estates for his own gain.”
“A man such as yourself?” she threw at him, her breathing labored, as though she’d just finished playing a game of tag with Henry.
“I’m not desperate, Duchess. Yes, I’m greedy. Yes, I want to die smothered in gold coins. Yes”—he held up his hand so she could see the horrid brand—“I have stolen in the past. But I’ve found a man can gain more wealth through legitimate means, and he never has to look over his shoulder while doing it. And perhaps your husband’s choice of guardian was as simple as that. If you need someone to guard the coffers, you want someone who doesn’t need what the coffers hold.”
Abruptly he pushed back and started walking toward the door.
“Do you truly think that’s the reason he chose you?” she called out after him.
He stopped and faced her. “No. I just know that’s the reason he didn’t choose Briarwood.”
“Your assumption only works if Lovingdon placed as high a regard on money as you do.”
“In the end, Duchess, the only thing anyone cares about is money.”
Watching him leave with a confident swagger, she fought to squelch the tremors that his nearness had wrought. For one insane moment, she’d thought he was going to lower those fascinating lips to hers.
For one shameful moment, she’d hoped he would.
“What the devil was Lovingdon thinking?”
Rupert Stanford watched as his cousin agitatedly paced his library. As he was prone to do, Edmund had arrived without announcement or invitation. He had the unfortunate habit of releasing flying spittle when speaking with such forcefulness. Rupert did wish Edmund would sit so his maid-of-all-work would have more success at cleaning things up when his cousin left. Rupert had an aversion to filth.
“Jack Dodger, you say?”
Edmund came to an abrupt halt. “Yes, Jack Dodger. The Jack Dodger.”
“I’m not familiar with him.”
“How can you not be? He owns a gambling establishment, Dodger’s Drawing Room. He refers to it as an exclusive gentlemen’s club, but everyone knows what goes on inside.”
Rupert sipped his brandy, fighting off the urge to go wash his hands. The presence of his cousin always made him feel as though he needed a good scrubbing. “Gambling is not my vice. I’ve never been there.”
“Now I might never be able to go back. He’s canceling my credit, blast him, simply because I let my temper get the better of me. How else was I to react, I ask you? I couldn’t let the insult go unanswered. He insinuated we’d kill the boy to acquire the titles.”
“It’s not the titles you want.”
“No, dammit.” Edmund finally dropped into a chair. “I was depending on Lovingdon appointing me to serve as guardian, to oversee…” His voice trailed off as though he was reluctant to admit what he coveted.
“His finances,” Rupert finished for him. “So some of his wealth could miraculously, perhaps accidentally, become yours.”
Edmund glared at him. They might have nothing in common, might possess different addictions, but they knew each other well. Or at least Rupert knew Edmund as well as any man, but he’d taken great care to ensure Edmund didn’t know everything about him. Edmund enjoyed living above his station. Rupert preferred living below it.
“I’d not have stolen from him—merely borrowed,” Edmund said glumly.
“You’ve been playing that game for so long, I think you’ve forgotten that to borrow means you must return it at some point.”
Edmund tossed back his brandy in a single gulp. What a waste of fine liquor—on several levels.
“How old is Henry now?” Rupert asked, maintaining an air of boredom. “I’ve not kept in touch with the family.”
“Five. And you didn’t even bother to attend the funeral. That seemed rather odd, even from you.”
“I fear I was not Lovingdon’s favorite cousin. That honor fell to you.”
“Which is the very reason I thought he’d appoint me guardian. What was Lovingdon thinking?” he repeated. “Jack Dodger is likely to have the lad working in his establishment.”
“When he’s older? I can’t see that happening.”
“Because you’re blind, man. You live in this little world of yours and don’t look beyond it. The man employs lads to take care of things for him. They gather our chips or fetch us a drink. Then he has his boot-boys. I’ve heard he has a pair of boots for every day of the week and has a lad for each pair.”
“That seems a strange thing to do—to have that many boys around. Doesn’t seem natural.”
“There’s nothing natural about Jack Dodger, I tell you. But now that I think on it, he does seem to have a peculiar interest in boys. Of course, this isn’t the sort of thing you talk to a lady about. I suppose I should have a word with the solicitor.”
“Have you evidence that Dodger has wronged any of these lads?”
Edmund held his tongue, but Rupert could see all the calculations going through his little mind. Edmund tended to bully people. Rupert’s strength rested in persuasion. He possessed the devil’s own tongue.
“I’d be careful of starting a rumor you cannot prove,” he warned softly.
Edmund leaned forward. “Ah, but you see, there’s the beauty. Perhaps I can’t prove it, but then he can’t disprove it. And in the court of rumors, who is going to be believed? A titled gentleman or a purveyor of sin?”