Page 10 of Undercover with the Heiress
There it was. A renegade zero, clumsily added to the end of a return, a casual shifting of the man’s fortunes from precarious to flourishing. Funny how nothing could change everything.
Someone was hiding something. But who, and from whom?
And what did his churlish neighbour have to do with it?
Because for all her fire and contempt, he felt sure Rosanna and the Hempels were ignorant of Lord Richard’s deception. Lawrence may have been light in his attitude to the law when young, but he was too devoted a father to risk his family’s well-being in a scheme. He was also comfortable enough with his fortunes that he did not lust after more.
Phineas crossed the thoroughfare, making for the path that cut through the park near Honeysuckle Street. Summer had found London, and this year it had decided to be kind. The ornamental plums and cherries had grown lush and thick. Robins and larks hopped from branch to branch, couples hovered at the edges of the pond where ducklings—not fully grown, but not chicks any longer—nipped at one another as they bobbed on the water or waddled along the edges. The devout, seeking the solace of evening mass, gathered in a small group outside the church. He spotted Mrs Crofts amongst them, clad in black and surrounded by some of the pastel ladies from her society. Since the duke had left and she’d lost her patron, the Society for the Promotion of Civic Morality and the Adherence to Proper Values had lost many of its members. Good.
A sudden shift in the ambiance slowed his step. Had the wind changed direction? No—the chatter of the birds overhead had also altered its tenor. A prickle raced across Phineas’s skin. He scanned the park. Something was happening somewhere, some kind of disturbance not yet noted by people. Petunia Hartright and her niece, young Elise, hovered by the pond. The older MissHartright enthusiastically gestured as she spoke to a mother with her daughters—possibly trying to recruit them into her singing troupe.
A little further back, in the shadows, a couple stood immersed in deep conversation. Their heads bowed together, perhaps too brazenly for this time of year when the sun didn’t dip until almost nine o’clock and sunsets went on forever. Phineas ground to a halt, then squinted. That was his neighbour Rosanna, speaking with a man at least a foot taller than her. Could it be the infamous Lord Richard, the man with the wayward zero?
The young lord shot a look at the Misses Hartright. Then, with a gentle nudge, he guided Rosanna deeper into the gardens, into the shadows, behind the hedges. Now there was a scoundrel’s move if ever he’d seen one. They moved completely out of his line of sight, except for a flash of blue fabric as they ambled behind the hedges that edged the sunken garden. Was the young lord trying to make a scene, to create a scandal and force a betrothal? He’d not be the first to resort to such a desperate move. With access to family wealth like that possessed by the Hempels, the errant zero could be fixed firmly in place.
Served her right for being so damn arrogant and headstrong. A wave of nausea chased his flash of anger, followed by a rush of shame at his own vehemence. If Lord Richard only cared for her money, the marriage would not be a happy one. How many women had come into the bank, bereft and heartbroken, desperate to regain some control over their meagre finances once they learnt the professions of love had all been a lie to get to their purse? A life of misery was a hefty price to pay for a little youthful confidence.
Phineas set off again, altering his path to keep Rosanna and the lord in view as they moved into the sunken garden. He could just stomp in loudly and pretend he was taking a different route from his usual walk home. If he was wrong and it was onlyan innocent detour as they strolled along, lost in conversation, there would be no harm done. He would give her something new to scowl about. Because he might be wrong…
When was he ever wrong?
His foot hovered over the step leading into the garden. Wait. Someone else was down there.
‘Mr Pennington wants his money. Now. Today.’
Pennington.
A confluence of hot and cold, of elation and dread, collided and swarmed inside Phineas so rapidly that he had to shake his head to clear the pounding in his ears. It couldn’t be. After all these years… Pennington, here? He’d traced the man relentlessly, hard on the heels of a few scant clues as he desperately tried to locate the villain who may have abducted Imogen. Years of walking the streets, of listening out in clubs, of scanning names at the exchange, and this was the first time he’d heard anyone other than himself utter that name. He’d known Percival Pennington—thief, smuggler, and loan shark—had come to London. For all these years he’d justknownit. And now, on the other side of the hedge, was a chance to find him. This lord, this ridiculous man with his sights set on his uppity neighbour would lead him straight to the answers he needed and perhaps to the elusive man himself.
Phineas pulled back, crouching between the hedge and the edge of a fountain. Cool drops of mist settled against small slips of exposed skin, and he wiped them away. He shuffled closer to the hedge and leant in, his ear straining to hear the voices which were muffled by foliage and water splashing into the pond.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the lord stammered, his voice heavy with concealed deceit. ‘I don’t owe anyone money.’
‘How dare you!’ Rosanna. Did the woman not know when to hold her tongue? ‘You clearly have mistaken us for someone else.This is Lord Richard, son of the Marquess of Hanley, and he is not in debt to anyone, especially not a grubby, no-good rogue. If you don’t leave immediately, I will—’
Her words morphed into an indignant cry, harsh, hurt, and shocked. The backhand came so casually that its smack against Rosanna’s cheek surprised even Phineas. A hard knock, full of malice and disregard. Rosanna staggered, then fell back into the bushes. The man leant forwards, grasped her dress, and tugged her face close to his.
‘You his chit?’ he snarled.
Rosanna touched a finger to her lips. Even through the shadow of foliage, Phineas saw the bright smear of crimson blood.
‘I… his what?’ she stammered.
‘He said his chit had his money. Pay up…’ The man flexed his hand, then bunched it into a fist. ‘Or you’ll learn what happens when people don’t meet their deadline.’
‘I don’t have your money!’ Lord Richard shouted, his voice trembling.
Phineas grasped the edge of the fountain and hauled himself up. It had been so long since he’d been faced with an altercation like this, with a man who wasn’t just angry, but who mighthurtsomeone. What to do? How to help? What had the corporal taught him, what had they said when he was in the army? He slunk around the edge of the garden. As he ran, he loosened his umbrella, then popped it open with a half-shout by the pond. Ducks and swans scrabbled into the air, quacking and honking as they took flight. A few people shouted and scurried out of the way. The Misses Hartright looked around, and Petunia called, ‘Rosanna? Miss Hempel? Where are you?’
Angling through the walkers, Phineas staggered into the garden, shouting and cursing at ducks. He expected to find the three of them—the man, the lord, and Rosanna—but when heclosed his umbrella, the only other person in the garden was his churlish neighbour. She pushed herself up from between the snapped branches of the hedge and cried out, ‘Lord Richard? Help me stand.’
Phineas caught Rosanna’s hand and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled into him. With a loud ripping noise and an anguished shout, she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. ‘I was so scared,’ she cried. ‘Thank heavens you were here.’
Phineas stiffened. Rosanna snuffled. He gave her a few light taps on the back.
‘Did he hurt you?’ Phineas asked stupidly, softly, even as the bright red mark across her cheek screamed the answer.
She looked at him, blinking, as if trying to pull him into focus. ‘What? You? Where is Lord Richard?’
