Dogs could not speak, could not explain to an owner this baffling behavior or that persistent bad habit. Will had often wrestled with the mysteries of the canine mind, occasionally going so far as to get down on his hands and knees, sniff, and consider the world from a dog’s-eye view.
These flights on his part were sometimes forays into the ridiculous. Other times, taking a moment to view the world from a canine perspective had illuminated a problem. Georgette had repeatedly moved her puppies from the whelping box because it had been positioned in a draft obvious only when a man sat on the floor next to the box.
Between one flicker of the candlelight and the next, insight shot through Will, with the stealth and rapidity of instinct.
“For Della to refuse Effington would be a disaster,” Will said, climbing off the bed. For a moment, he could not remember where he’d put his clothes, then he recalled that Susannah had gathered up his clothing for him.
“On my vanity stool,” she said. “I thought you disliked Effington.”
“I dislike him,” Will said, sorting his breeches from the rest of his clothing and pulling them on. “I loathe him, in fact. He cheats at cards, beats his dog, uses his dog to cheat at cards if the talk can be believed, and gossips. Where is my—?”
He found his shirt and pulled it over his head.
Susannah plucked at the coverlet, and the quality of the gesture was reminiscent of a cat flicking the very tip of its tail before pouncing.
“Do you want Della to marry such a paragon?” she asked.
“Of course not.” Susannah had wanted that very outcome, at least until recently. Will shrugged into his waistcoat rather than remind her of that. “But when Effington realizes his courting has come to naught, he’ll look about for somebody to blame his failure on, and for a means of getting even with the woman who led him a dance.”
If not the man who intended to wreck the dognapping scheme Effington had very probably set up.
Susannah pushed the covers aside and slid off the bed, subjecting Will to a glimpse of pale knees and muscular thighs.
“I warned Della the situation could get messy,” Susannah said, taking Will’s cuff in her hands and accepting a sleeve button from him. She did up his cuffs, left then right, then began on his shirt buttons.
“Susannah, messy isn’t the half of it.” Will didn’t want to say the words aloud, much less to Susannah, as if speaking them would turn his hunch into a certainty. “Effington is mean, but he’s not stupid. If he can’t have the bride he wants, he’ll not only ruin her chances of a good match, he’ll ruin who or what she cares about.”
The rest of Will’s suspicions, he kept to himself. A hunch was not proof, a guess was not certainty.
Susannah tied Will’s cravat in a tidy mathematical. She’d make an attentive and comfortable wife, when she wasn’t loving him witless—except he’d never have the opportunity to marry her if his instincts proved correct.
“Della will retire to the country at the conclusion of the Season,” Susannah said, patting Will’s cravat. “Or she’ll attend house parties with a grandmamma or auntie. I’ve endured many a house party, and will attend a few more if necessary.”
The image of Susannah, loose among the ne’er-do-wells and scapegraces who frequented house parties, nearly had Will sinking back onto the bed, but a worse disaster loomed closer at hand.
“Effington doesn’t like you, Susannah, not that he likes anybody, and he’ll turn on Della like a rabid cur. When she refuses his suit, his only decision will be whether to accuse me or to accuse Ash of stealing the missing dogs. Perhaps he’ll accuse us both and Sycamore too.”
*
Will tucked in his shirttails and buttoned his waistcoat, and with each article of clothing, he became less Susannah’s lover and more the mannerly gentleman who’d brought her a purple parasol and an apology weeks ago.
Not her Willow, but some quieter, more reserved fellow who’d forgotten how to smile.
“I want to say you’ve taken leave of your senses,” she muttered, passing him his cravat pin. “But Effington isn’t… He isn’t a credit to his antecedents. He’s calculating. Shrewd and nasty.”
Like the Mannering sisters, to whom Susannah had given too much deference.
“Effington is also in want of coin,” Will said, sitting on the vanity stool to yank on his boots. “That combination bodes ill for all in his ambit.”
Two hours ago, Susannah had been pleased with life, enjoying a sense of newfound calm and clarity. She’d excused herself from the duty of seeing Della married off, and had instead focused on ensuring Willow Dorning remained a part of her own future.
“What are you planning?” Susannah asked.
Will stood, all buttoned up, and produced a comb from a pocket. He put his hair to rights without even glancing in Susannah’s folding mirror, then tucked the comb away. He looked ready for a hand of cards at the club.
Maybe even ready to walk out of Susannah’s life.