“I met him once,” added Perry. “And there’s a story there.”
“A dubious one, if he’s the DuQuesne I’m thinking of.” Max shifted in his seat.
“It is.” Perry stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “Here goes. Many years ago, fortunes were being made—and lost—during the early Napoleonic invasions…Egypt and so on. If you knew the right investment to make at the right time? You won. Louis DuQuesne was rumored to have done just that, although his windfall came from a surprising source…the French.”
“Oh my goodness.” Kitty looked puzzled. “How on earth did that happen?”
“Well I cannot speak to the exact details, but at the time it was believed Mr. Duquesne leaned of Napoleon’s plan to take Egypt before the fleet set sail. He invested heavily in armaments. French armaments. There were agents crossing the channel all the time who could easily have accomplished that for a small fee.”
“But the British won that battle, Sir Peregrine.” Grace shook her head. “Wouldn’t that have meant a loss for DuQuesne?”
“If you put money into the production of weapons, Mrs. Chaney, what happens to them after they are installed doesn’t really matter.”
“I see.” She shrugged. “I suppose one could applaud him for taking money from our enemy…”
“One could, and he did. But there was still that taint of association with the French. It lingered. He never really found his way into Society, although he probably could have bought St. James’s and had guineas left over for a nice little country estate. He lurked on the fringes of both Society and some of the less pleasant parts of London. His reputation was not one of gentlemanly affection for his fellow man. Rumor has it he shot a rival to prevent him from purchasing a certain piece of land.”
“Oh dear,” said Grace. “Not a nice man, by the sound of things.”
“Reputation notwithstanding,” Kitty squared her shoulders. “We should speak with him.”
“Sadly, that is impossible,” said Perry. “He died three years ago.”
“So who is behind Kanehall Carriages now? Who took over from DuQuesne upon his death?” Max stared at Perry.
“A certain Mr. Dancey Miller-James.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Thank you for your gracious company, Mrs. Chaney. May I hope there will be a next time and that I might persuade you to play for me?” Perry took Grace’s hand and dropped a light kiss on it, making her blush.
“You are too kind, Sir Peregrine,” she responded. “But I would enjoy talking with you again, should you happen to find yourself in the vicinity.”
“You may be sure I shall. Good evening, Ma’am. Miss Ridlington.”
“I’ll see him out,” said Max over his shoulder.
The two gentlemen left the room, and Grace and Kitty stared at each other.
“That was quite a revelation,” said Grace.
“Indeed,” said Kitty. “And I’m still at a loss as to how to connect Miller-James with any of this. Other than his stealing Max’s carriage and damn near killing my sister, what was his involvement? And if he was the perpetrator…no that is completely silly. He wouldn’t risk a damaged carriage to take Hecate off for her seduction. Even he couldn’t be that daft.”
“He might have been, but I doubt it.” Max came back into the room. “We now have an excellent lead to follow, don’t you think?”
Both ladies nodded.
“It’s an odd connection I could never have anticipated,” observed Kitty. “That our investigations have brought us back around to the victim of the accident…”
“Most curious,” agreed Grace, rising from her chair and stepping around the tea table. Perry had stayed for dinner and the four of them had debated the problem, laughed, argued and generally enjoyed a rewarding evening. “But my mind grows tired of trying to find a rational explanation for any of it. Perhaps in the morning…”
“Of course.” Max gave her a hug as she passed.
“Goodnight, Grace. Sleep well.” Kitty sank back into her corner of the sofa. The room was warm, she’d enjoyed a brandy after dinner, rather than share tea with Grace, and the heat from the fire and the liquor united to render her bonelessly relaxed.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Deery stood at the door. “If not, I’ll remove the tray.”
Max shook his head. “Nothing else, Deery, thank you.”
“Very good.” He swiftly retrieved cups and saucers and turned to leave. “Good evening, sir. Miss.”
The door closed softly, closing Max and Kitty into their own world.
“An interesting day, wouldn’t you agree?” Max loosened his cravat and eased his arms out of his jacket, sighing with relief and shaking out his sleeves.
“I would. Without doubt. Confusing, frustrating and surprising are also words I might use.” Following Max’s example, Kitty daringly kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes with pleasure on the soft carpet.
“Yes, all of that,” sighed Max, stripping off his waistcoat, tossing his cravat on a side table and undoing his shirt.
Kitty watched him, eager for a glimpse of his skin. She wondered why it was so appealing, then there it was and all questions disappeared from her mind as she simply devoured him with her eyes.
He turned, saw her watching him, and tugged his shirt free of his breeches, letting it fall off his shoulders to the floor. “Lie on the sofa, Kitty. On your stomach.”
His voice was firm, and she found herself immediately obeying. Turning her head on the cushion, she saw him lean down to the hearth and pick up the poker. Her heart stopped for a moment or two. “Wha-what are you going to do with that?” She was annoyed to find her voice shaking.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m going to poke the fire.”
“Oh.” Feeling quite stupid, she turned her head the other way to hide her blushes. What she’d actually thought he might do…well, she wasn’t sure. But Max was nothing if not unpredictable.
Sure enough, she heard the sounds of the fire being stirred, followed by the thunk of logs being added.
“Now.” He was next to the sofa. “I want you to pull your skirts up for me.”
Kitty’s cheeks heated once again, but obedient to his command, she reached behind her and gathered handfuls of her gown, easing them up and away from her legs.
“Higher.”
It wasn’t easy, since there were petticoats to be dealt with as well. But she managed. “How is this?”
“You know what I want to see, Kitty. Show me.”
Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and slowly drew up the gathers of material until she felt air brushing her naked buttocks.
“Much better.”
A ringing slap surprised her and she jumped on a little yelp.
“Beautiful.” He caressed the spot with gentle touches. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Not really. You surprised me though.”
“Your arse is perfect, Kitty. Firm, round and so white. Except where my hand struck. There it’s turning red and the contrast is exquisite.”
“Oh.” What else was there to say?