A Study in Scoundrels Page 6

  Sophia glanced toward Southampton Row, where she planned to drop her letter to Mr. Ogilvy in the post, and back into Lady Vivian’s eager violet eyes. How could she refuse the young woman after ducking out of her home so rudely the day before? “I’ll happily accompany you, my lady.”

  After they were seated and the carriage began rolling the very short distance to Berkeley Square, Lady Vivian ticked off her plans for the dinner party she intended to host. The moment she started on ideas for the menu, the carriage juddered to a stop.

  “Was it really such a short distance?” She peered out the carriage window before taking the single step down onto the pavement. “If we’re in luck, Phyllida will still be stopping over with the Holdens, and we can invite them both at the same time.”

  Sophia’s heart kicked into a gallop. “She’s been staying with Miss Holden?”

  “Yes, and it’s such a treat for Phyllida, who’s spent all her life locked away in the countryside.”

  They were admitted to the Holden townhouse by a youthful maid who took Lady Vivian’s calling card and asked them to wait in a front parlor. Sophia assessed the decor for ideas she might apply to Kit and Ophelia’s London home. The Holdens seemed to favor dark polished wood and rich colors. The cherry furniture and deep hunter-green wallpaper gave the sense of cool relief on what would become another hot summer’s day.

  “Right this way, my lady.” The maid reappeared and led them down the hall into a room filled with light. The glare through the long picture windows was so bright that Sophia shaded her eyes and ducked behind Lady Vivian’s feathered hat to allow her eyes time to adjust.

  “Viv, this isn’t at all what you’re thinking,” a young lady declared from within the room. “He came to call on Clive.”

  “Well, well, Lord Winship. If you keep turning up everywhere I go, I’ll begin to think you’re besotted with me.”

  Sophia’s throat went dry, and her heart began an erratic thud against her ribs.

  “But I was here before you, Lady Vivian, so perhaps the infatuation is all yours.” Mr. Grey, who was apparently Lord Winship, stepped forward to greet Lady Vivian, blotting out the glare of the sun so that Sophia could finally see into the room. What she noticed first was how the warm morning light burnished his hair in shades of copper and bronze. Then the look of shock on his face, causing his dimples to go into hiding when he spotted Sophia.

  “Oh, Winship, see how you make me forget my manners,” Lady Vivian chastised. “This is Miss Ruthven. She’s an author and co-owner of her family’s publishing enterprise.”

  When Lady Vivian rushed forward to greet Miss Holden, he stepped toward Sophia.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded on an irritated whisper, the rudest welcome she’d ever received in her life.

  “I was invited.” And he was far too close. Rudely close. She could smell his scent, bay and juniper, and see the bluish circles under his bloodshot eyes. She wasn’t sure if the man was an actor turned aristocrat or an aristocrat who played at being an actor, but she was certain he had a wretched valet. His servant had missed a patch of stubble near his chin and left a tiny blood-edged nick on his left cheek. She fought the irrational urge to pull out her handkerchief and blot at the cut.

  Despite the beautiful symmetry of his features, the gray eyes that had sparked flirtatiously the day before looked desperate now. And exhausted. She wondered if worry had kept him awake all night. She could only imagine how anxious she’d be if her own sister were in danger.

  “Did you know Phyllida stayed here in the last few days?” she asked him.

  “She visited.” He cast a glance back at Lady Vivian to make sure she and Miss Holden were still busy chatting. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Lady Vivian told me Phyllida lodged here with Miss Holden.”

  “Did she?” He leaned in closer and kept his voice low. “Apparently she’s infatuated with Clive Holden. I must get to Hampstead and find him.”

  “Are you two going to join us?” Lady Vivian called. “Beware of Lord Winship, Miss Ruthven. He’s quite the infamous scoundrel. Come and meet Miss Holden instead. She says she’s reading your book and enjoying every word.”

  Miss Holden stepped forward, and Sophia sucked in a breath. The young lady’s petite stature, honey-blonde hair, and ample figure reminded Sophia so much of her sister, Clarissa, that her throat tightened for a moment.

  “What a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ruthven.” The girl’s smile was warm and genuine. “You must know more decorum than all of us put together. My mother made me read the original Ruthven Rules for Young Ladies that your father wrote, but I like this one much better.”

  “Yes, as do I, to be honest.” Her father had seen women as meek and demure. Passive creatures who waited on men to guide them. She’d learned how to be everything he expected of her, but she’d often felt the discomfort of playing a role.

  “If you ladies will excuse me—”

  “Winship, no. You cannot depart just as we arrive. You’ve been away so long. Stay and tell us about your life on the stage.” Lady Vivian positioned herself on a settee and patted the cushion beside her thigh.

  Grey cast a longing glance toward the open drawing room door, eager to make his escape.

  “Tea, Miss Ruthven, or a biscuit?” Miss Holden approached and offered Sophia a brimming teacup and a gold-edged plate bearing a sampling of biscuits.

  “Actually, I fear my pins are coming out.” Sophia reached up to surreptitiously tug on one of the pins holding her chignon in place. “Is there someplace where I might fix it?” Lady Vivian would think her the most indisposed woman in London, but she had a hunch she couldn’t quell. The kind of instinct that often led her lady detective, Effie Breedlove, to the clue that solved a mystery.

  “Of course,” Miss Holden whispered conspiratorially. Privies were not the sort of thing decorous young ladies discussed in front of handsome gentlemen. “There is a closet with a wash basin and mirror at the top of the stairs.”

  The handsome gentleman in question shot up both brows and dropped his lips in a grimace as he watched Sophia exit the room from which he couldn’t seem to find a way to extricate himself.

  At the top of the stairs, Sophia discovered that the house was much larger inside than it appeared from the pavement. A hallway ran along the upper level landing, and she counted five doors to choose between. She dismissed the one ahead as the ladies’ privy and tried the knob on the next, finding it locked. As she approached the third door, she heard a young woman’s voice emerge and froze in place. Tiptoeing forward, she peered through the opening.

  Next to the bed, a maid stood fluffing a pillow and singing quietly to herself.

  Sophia pushed the door open gently. “Was this Miss Grey’s room?”

  The maid dropped the pillow and pressed a hand to her chest. “Goodness, miss, you gave me a fright. Yes, miss, this is Lady Phyllida Grey’s room.” She answered in an obsequious tone, but scanned Sophia from head to toe, as if trying to determine precisely who she was. “Did Miss Holden send you up, miss?”

  “She did.” And she’d be horrified to know the young woman she thought the most decorous in London was skulking around her home, looking for clues to her friend’s disappearance. “She sent me up to fetch a book of Lady Phyllida’s.” She’d always suspected fibbing got easier the more one practiced, but she was still a much worse actor than her brother or Lord Winship.

  The maid squinted one eye, rightfully dubious. “Haven’t seen any books in this room, miss.”

  “Very well, then.” Sophia couldn’t think of a single fib to get the maid out of the room and allow her to search the space on her own. “Forgive me for interrupting your work.”

  “No bother, miss.” The maid seemed gratified, even shocked, by Sophia’s apology and offered her a grin.

  Sophia started out of the room, but the maid called her back softly. “Miss?”

  When she turned to face the girl, the maid leaned down and lifted
the edge of the mattress. She pulled out a slim book covered in a cream fabric. “Is this the book, miss?”

  Sophia stepped forward and retrieved the volume. Three pink ribbons along the edge kept the pages tied shut. “I think it very well might be. Thank you.”

  She struggled to steady her breathing as she made her way downstairs. Perspiration trickled down her neck. Excitement and anticipation zinged through her body. There was no doubt in her mind that she held Lady Phyllida’s journal, and its pages might contain information to help Grey in his search.

  Unfortunately, she’d brought no reticule and the pockets of her skirt were too narrow to conceal the book. At the bottom of the stairs, she sidestepped behind a potted palm in the hallway and shoved the volume inside her shirtwaist. Her buttons bulged and her corset protested, but the book was mercifully thin.

  “Oh, my dear,” Lady Vivian said the minute Sophia reentered the drawing room. “Is it another megrim?”

  “Where is Lord Winship?” The one time she actually had a reason to see the man, he was nowhere in sight. And asking about him clearly wasn’t what Lady Vivian or Miss Holden expected. They exchanged a questioning glance.

  “He departed just before you came down,” Miss Holden explained.

  “I should be going too.” Especially since she noticed Miss Holden tipping her head to examine the bulk stretching the front of Sophia’s shirtwaist.

  “My carriage can deliver you home, if you like,” Lady Vivian offered. “As long as you’ll promise to come to my dinner party.”

  “I’d be honored, my lady, but I can see myself home.” She listened for the sound of a carriage departing from in front of the house but heard nothing. Perhaps he’d come on foot. “Good day to you both.”

  Both ladies opened their mouths as if to offer some parting words, but Sophia didn’t wait to hear them. She spun on her heel and started toward the door.

  She had to move fast if she was going to catch Jasper Grey, or Lord Winship, or whatever his name was.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The longer Liddy was gone, the more Grey began to wonder if he should relent and hire a discreet detective to assist him with his search. He could try other avenues of inquiry while an investigator wasted time questioning a sixteen-year-old girl for scraps of information.

  Wouldn’t Sophia Ruthven love to know he was considering her advice? The lady seemed the sort who enjoyed being right. And proper. Good lord, had any woman ever held herself with such perfect poise? He doubted the queen herself managed Sophia’s ramrod posture.

  “Grey.”

  He turned as someone called his name. A cluster of ladies and gentlemen on a morning stroll were passing on the other side of the street, but none seemed interested in catching his attention. Perhaps one of the group shared his family’s surname.

  Quickening his pace, he scanned the main thoroughfare ahead for a hansom cab. A brisk morning walk had seemed a good idea an hour ago. Now he wished he’d taken his father’s carriage.

  “Lord Winship!”

  He stopped and glanced behind him, and his mouth fell open.

  Sophia Ruthven rushed toward him, a few long golden curls bouncing at her shoulder, her hem hiked up above her ankle boots. She drew up in front of him and bent at the waist, gripping her chest to catch her breath.

  When she finally stood and faced him. Mercy. What a glorious sight. She didn’t look proper at all. Cheeks splotchy pink, eyes bright and wide, she opened her mouth just enough to let a few rushing breaths escape.

  “I’ve been chased by women before, but never quite so fetchingly.”

  “I am not chasing you.” She lifted a hand to block the sun’s glare as she frowned up at him. “Not in the sense you mean, anyway.”

  Grey stepped closer. “Pursue me in any manner you please, Sophia. I won’t complain.” His chest tightened as he caught her floral scent. Other parts of his body were tightening too.

  She tapped her foot in annoyance. “I need to speak to you.”

  “You have my full attention.” Every inch. Good grief, he’d never found a woman appealing enough to hang on her every breath. He looked away, forcing himself to stop staring at her flushed lips. Glancing back toward the Holden townhouse, he quipped, “Lady Vivian will think you despise her. That’s two days in a row you’ve escaped her company.”

  Sophia ignored the tease. “We need to speak privately. We’re only a mile or so from Kit and Ophelia’s townhouse. Shall we walk?”

  “Do you think you can manage?” She was still working to steady her breath, her chest rising and falling in the most distracting way. Except . . . He tipped his head and examined her heaving bosom, which looked oddly square.

  “Yes.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “I have something here you’ll want to see.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you do.”

  She huffed out an irritated sigh. “Do you think you could stop being a lecher for an hour?”

  “I’ll do my best.” Though the chances were slim. Nonexistent, really. Especially since the clearest thought he had while she stood before him, breathless and perspiring, was how much he longed to kiss her senseless.

  Sophia began striding away in the direction of her brother’s townhouse, not bothering to wait on him to follow. She looked quite as appealing departing as she did while stomping toward him. Another tress of hair slipped loose, bouncing down her back, almost to her waist. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dangling strand. Then she stopped, turned back, and glared. “Are you coming with me or not?”

  Grey swallowed hard and nodded. The woman truly had no notion that half the sentences she’d uttered carried potent double entendres.

  He caught up with her and examined the odd shape of her bosom again. “So what is it you have to show me?”

  “A book.” She spoke the two words out of the corner of her mouth, as if practicing her ventriloquist skills. “I think it may be your sister’s journal.”

  Grey caught Sophia’s arm and yanked her to a stop. “Let me see.”

  “You truly want to examine it here?” She turned and braced a hand against his chest. The gesture was meant to push him away, but he liked the feel of her palm against his body. Though her cheeks were flooded with color, her hand was blessedly cool, and he realized he was the one whose body was overheating. “On the street? In front of anyone who might pass?”

  “No.” The woman was so bloody practical. And irritatingly correct. “Let’s hurry.”

  His strides were longer than hers, but she kept up admirably. Or tried to. He offered his arm at one point, but she brushed his touch away and fixed her chin even higher. He’d never found a woman’s presence at his elbow quite so distracting. It was that hair, like honey silk ribbons bouncing at her back. When they reached the pavement outside Kit and Ophelia’s house, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “Your hair.” He gestured vaguely toward her head. “It’s come undone. You might want to . . . ” Words failed him, and he found himself touching her instead, reaching out to tuck a loose tress behind her ear.

  Once again, she brushed off his touch and sidestepped away from him. “Yours is disheveled too, Mr. Grey. Or should I call you Lord Winship?”

  “Grey will do.” As she lifted her arms, shoving that square bosom toward him to draw her rebel tresses into a knot at the back of her head, Grey ran a hand through his hair. He knew he’d made a haphazard mess of his morning ablutions. Count on Sophia Ruthven to point out any sign of untidiness.

  Yet as they stood on her brother’s front step, righting themselves like two wantons sneaking back into a party after a tryst in a moonlit garden—an experience he knew a thing or two about—it wasn’t disdain he saw in Sophia’s blue-green eyes. Heat lay beyond the cool ocean hues. And desire. He’d seen that fire in women’s eyes too many times to mistake the look.

  “Will I have to explain to your brother why your hair is mussed?”

  Ignoring him, she twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door, turn
ing back as she stepped across the threshold. “I’m a spinster, Mr. Grey. No one worries about why my hair is out of place.”

  Then they were fools. And she was too, for thinking of herself as a spinster. She was a ripe, luscious woman who—

  “Kit and Ophelia departed for France this morning, so we won’t be disturbed.”

  Grey followed her into a parlor just off the main hall. Before Sophia could secure the door behind him, a woman’s voice called, “I heard the door, Miss Ruthven. Shall I have refreshment sent to the parlor?”

  A short, dark-haired woman with alert almond-shaped eyes peered at him from the doorway.

  “No, Mrs. Cole. We won’t be long.”

  The lady didn’t look in a mind to leave him alone with Sophia, so he offered her his most reassuring grin. Which only caused the Cole woman to narrow her eyes, as if she suspected him guilty of the twelve most recent crimes committed in London.

  “Letter came for you this morning, Miss Ruthven. I left it on the mantel.”

  “Very good, Mrs. Cole.” Sophia pushed the parlor door toward the woman, inch by inch. “We won’t be long.”

  The moment she turned to face him, Sophia began unbuttoning her shirtwaist. In other circumstances, she would have made a fine seductress. She looked into his eyes boldly as her nimble fingers played over the top two pearlescent buttons of her blouse. Grey licked his lips in anticipation, as much for a glimpse of her soft flesh as for the journal she thought belonged to his sister.

  “If you need any help, Sophia.” His voice emerged hoarse. “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Blackguard.” She spun away from him and reached inside her blouse. A moment later, she lifted a ribbon-tied book out toward him.

  He snatched at the volume, at the hope of finding some clue to his sister’s whereabouts. “Where did you get this?”

  “I went upstairs at the Holden’s. A maid pulled the book out from under the mattress of the room where Phyllida has been lodging. She was under the impression your sister would be returning.” Sophia approached as she buttoned her shirt back up to her neck, watching as he fumbled with the knotted ribbons. “Would you like me to untie them?”