Page 39 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“No, I’d call you insane,” Oliver drawled. “But you’re welcome to try and see what happens.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Maria told Oliver.
The door opened suddenly, and Freddy whirled with the sword in hand, knocking a lamp off the desk. As the glass chimney shattered, spilling oil in a wide arc, the wick lit the lot, and fire sprang to life.
Maria jumped back with a cry of alarm while Oliver leaped out of his chair to stamp it out, first with his boots and then with his coat. A string of curses filled the air, most of them Oliver’s, though Freddy got in a few choice ones as the fire licked at his favorite trousers.
When at last Oliver put the flames out and nothing was left but a charred circle on the wood floor, dotted with shards of glass, the three of them turned to the door to find a dark-haired man observing the scene with an expression that gave nothing away.
“If you hoped to catch my attention,” he remarked, “you’ve succeeded.”
“Mr. Pinter, I presume?” Oliver said, tossing his now ruined coat and singed gloves into a nearby rubbish pail. “I hope you’ll forgive us for the dramatic intrusion. I’m Stonevi—”
“I know who you are, my lord,” he interrupted. “It’s what you’re doing here setting fire to my office that I’m not certain of.”
“Mr. Pinter,” Maria put in, too mortified to hold her tongue any longer, “I am so sorry for what my cousin did. I assure you I’ll pay for having the floor and the lamp replaced, and whatever other damages there are.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Pinter’s gaze shifted to her. Though his eyes seemed to soften, the thick rasp of his voice sent a chilldown her spine. “That lamp smoked like the very devil. I was about to buy a new one anyway. And that charred spot can be covered with a rug quite easily.” He shot Oliver a veiled glance. “I’m sure his lordship won’t mind offering one. He’s bound to have an extra, now that he’s sold his infamous bachelor quarters in Acton.”
Oliver went rigid. “I see that my friends have been gossiping about me.”
“I spend my days upholding the law,” Mr. Pinter said with a shrug. “It behooves me to keep abreast of what men of rank are doing.”
Oliver’s eyebrow arched high. “Because we break the law?”
“Because most of you have little regard for it. Except when it suits you.”
Something dark glittered in Oliver’s eyes. “I see. Does my friend Lord Kirkwood know you’re so cynical about men of rank? He’s the one who recommended you.”
That gave Mr. Pinter pause. “His lordship sent you to me?”
“He told me that if I should ever need investigative services, I could trust you to be discreet. Can I?”
“That rather depends on what it is that requires discretion.”
“It’s a matter that concerns me, not Lord Stoneville,” Maria put in. For some reason, Mr. Pinter seemed less than keen to deal with Oliver. Perhaps he would be more inclined to help a woman with no rank at all.
“Forgive me for not introducing you at once, Mr. Pinter,” Oliver said. “This is my fiancée, Miss Maria Butterfield.”
That seemed to startle Mr. Pinter. “You have a fiancée?”
“She’s notreallyhis fiancée,” Freddy put in. “You see, Lord Stoneville’s grandmother—”
“Come, lad,” Oliver said sharply, taking Freddy’s arm in a firm grip and leading him forcefully toward the door. “Let’s leave your cousin and Mr. Pinter to discuss their business, shall we?”
On their way to the door, Oliver extricated the sword neatly from Freddy’s hand. Then he paused in the doorway to glance at Mr. Pinter. “Give her whatever she wants. I’ll pay you well for your services.”
“Rumor has it, my lord, that you’re up to your neck in debt. Are you sure you can afford me?”
Maria sucked in a breath. Any other man would have been insulted, might even have called the man out. But though Oliver narrowed his gaze, he showed no other sign of outrage. “I sold my bachelor quarters in Acton, remember? I’m sure I can find a few pounds lying around.”
“It will cost you more than a few pounds.IfI take the case.”
A sudden twinkle appeared in Oliver’s eyes. “You will. Maria can be very persuasive.” He hung the sword he’d taken from Freddy on the hat stand, then gave her a wink. “Though I’d keep your weapons well away from her, if I were you.”
As Maria blushed furiously, he and Freddy left. Mr. Pinter strode to the door and called for his clerk to come sweep up the glass on the floor, which gave her time to survey the runner.
He looked to be about thirty, younger than she’d expected. Tall and lanky, he wore a form-fitting coat and straight trousers of black serge, a plain gray waistcoat, a white linen shirt, and a linen stock simply tied. His angular jaw and thick black brows lent him a hawkish appearance. Some women might even call him handsome . . . if they could get past the chill of his expressionless features.
