Rafe glared at him. “So now you play the court jester too? I liked you better when you didn’t speak.”
“It’s because he uses his words so…economically,” Neil said, “that when he does say something amusing it surprises all of us.”
“Then let’s hope he amuses us all on your account, Wraxall,” Rafe said. “As I was saying, I overheard two Bow Street Runners discussing a rash of abductions.”
“That’s nothing new,” Neil said, but Ewan didn’t dismiss it so quickly. He felt his shoulders tense as they had right before the signal to attack came.
“This is new. Apparently, several heiresses have been the targets of abductions and ransoms. Two women have been taken so far, both returned unharmed after the blunt was paid.”
“Why haven’t I heard about this?” Ewan asked.
“The families kept it quiet. They didn’t want to ruin the girls’ chances at making a good match.”
Ewan should have expected as much. Nothing was sacred to the upper classes save the Marriage Mart.
“You are protecting a lady with a rather large fortune. Perhaps the only threat isn’t from cousin Francis,” Neil said.
Perhaps it wasn’t. He’d be even more vigilant the next time the family went out. And he’d mention this news to the duke when he returned to the family’s town house in the morning.
“How is your bastard of a cousin anyway?” Rafe asked.
“Still an arse,” Ewan said.
The other men, accustomed to Ewan’s long pauses, refrained from asking what Francis had done this time. “He has my father convinced I am trying to steal the lady away from him. My father wrote me a long letter expressing his displeasure.”
“That sounds like Francis,” Neil said.
“Well?” Rafe asked.
“Well what?” Ewan drank more port.
“Are you trying to steal the lady’s affections?”
“No.”
“He says too quickly.” Beaumont smiled like the cat with a bird feather dangling from its mouth.
“It was a firm answer.” Ewan looked to Neil for support.
Neil shrugged. “It was rather quick, and I hear the lady is pretty.”
“But not clever,” Rafe added.
Ewan glared at him. “The hell you say.”
“Hold now, Protector.” Rafe held his hands up. “I only mean she is not so clever if she thinks she’s in love with Francis Mostyn.”
“Women do fall out of love,” Neil said, watching Ewan closely. Perhaps too closely. “And back in again. They’re illogical creatures.”
“One thing is for certain,” Rafe said, pouring more port. “If she falls for Ewan, it’s not because of his charm.”
“Not all women want charm.”
“As you and I know, Protector.” Neil tipped his glass to Ewan’s.
Rafe steepled his fingers. “If I remember correctly, there was a barmaid in Vienna who didn’t look twice at me and couldn’t keep her hands off Mostyn.”
Ewan remembered her well enough—a buxom blond who’d made certain he knew she was his for the night, if only he wanted her. “We had a mission.”
“If that made a difference to most of the men, then my job would have been a lot easier,” Neil said.
“I take missions seriously.”
“As well you should,” Neil said.
Rafe shook his head. “Just remember there’s life after the mission is complete. You can’t work all the time.”
For the sake of Lady Lorraine’s virtue, Ewan hoped that he could.
Thirteen
“I missed you,” Lorrie said as soon as the Viking stepped into the library. She’d attended a rout with him tonight, and though he’d always been within reach, between the games and the conversations about this poet or that novel, she hadn’t been able to speak to him alone. Finally, six hours later, she could say the one thing she’d wanted.
The Viking took the seat opposite her, across from the desk. He wore the same clothes he had to the rout, sans cravat and with his coat draped negligently over his arm. Now he dumped that coat on the chair. She should probably worry that she had grown used to seeing him in this state of undress, but privately she liked the informality.
“I’m sure you didn’t miss me at all.” She hadn’t expected him to claim to miss her too, but some response might have been polite. She busied herself stacking the papers he’d brought with him. “You probably had better things to do than listen to me read contracts and reports, although the surveyors’ report on the estate in Yorkshire was rather well written. I’d like to see the house one day. It sounds very pretty.”
“My father can’t pay the mortgage, so it soon won’t be ours.”
“Yes, well.” The papers were straight, and she had run out of ways to occupy herself. Lorrie chanced a look at the Viking. “We had a very quiet evening last night. My father and I played chess. I’m horrible at chess because I talk myself through every move and then my opponent discovers my strategy—if I even have a strategy, that is. I suppose you occupied yourself doing the things war heroes do when they aren’t guarding silly girls like me. Invaded a small country or saved an old woman from a burning building.”
“I went to my club.”
Lorrie dropped the pen she’d been about to trim. “You have a club?”
He made a sound of assent.
“Like Boodles or White’s?”
“No. The Draven Club.”
“Oh, that one. Yes, I hadn’t thought of it as a club, I suppose.” She sat and leaned her hand on her chin. “And what do you do there? Gamble and tell old war stories?”
“We have an excellent cook.”
She laughed. “Of course you do. You would not go otherwise. Did you have an enjoyable evening?” She was certain he did, and she didn’t want to hear how much he’d enjoyed himself away from her. “I really don’t know why I should have missed you so much.” She stared at the fire, speaking almost to herself. That was easy to do since he was such a good listener. She cleared her throat and met his clear gaze. “I went to bed early and then I couldn’t sleep, which meant I had time to think about your family’s predicament. There must be some solution, some way to save the family. Your brothers are not married. What if one of them married an heiress?”
“Are you volunteering?”
“No.” Her hands began to straighten the papers again. “If I’m not to marry Francis, I suppose I would rather go home to Beauchamp Priory. I miss my friends and my work at the school.”
“You like it,” he said.
“The school? I suppose I do, though it can be quite drafty in the winter, and I do wish the chairs were a bit larger.”
“I mean you like teaching,” he said after she had closed her mouth.
“Oh. I don’t know. I suppose—”
He made a slashing gesture with his hand. “You do. Why did you decide to help that boy?”
“Martin?” Being a creature of abrupt changes in subject, she never minded them. “Oh, well, the village teacher didn’t seem to have any extra time for him, and his father is a farmer, so I knew Martin would have to help with the harvest and might not ever come back to school if he didn’t show any progress—”
“Lorraine.”