Page 11 of With Good Grace
‘What’s happened now?’ Parker asked with his usual lack of deference as he arranged Jake’s shaving water.
What indeed? As Parker shaved him, Jake spoke when he felt it least likely his throat would be accidently cut if he moved.
‘I shall go round to Cheyne Walk this morning and look through her husband’s records to see if they lend any clues,’ he said when he had explained the entire situation. ‘I’d like you to call on Barber in The Strand, the man who purchased Grantley’s business. See if anything went missing in the burglary.’
‘What reason do I have to question him?’
‘Tell him you are employed by the Grantley family. Don’t say which member of it. See if all of Grantley’s clients have remained with Barber. Oh, and see if you can find out if he’s had any dealings with Hubert Grantley.’ Jake paused, in the process of tying his four-in-hand necktie. ‘I’ll wager Sir Hubert is short of cash and has probably tried either to coax some of his brother’s former clients away from Barber, promising to offer them a higher class of representation himself, or else he has endeavoured to inveigle himself into Barber’s agency, claiming perhaps to know of all his clients’ foibles.’
‘Good way to get himself killed,’ Parker said casually. ‘There’s money to be made from the theatre nowadays and it seems Mrs Grantley’s husband realised it before most. Still, I hear there’s any number of agents nowadays, trying to take over the business interests of up and coming actors.’ Parker frowned. ‘You’re thinking that Sir Hubert is dead, I presume.’
‘I’m not sure what to think yet.’ Jake slid his arms into the coat that Parker held out for him. ‘Other than that I don’t like him.’
Parker’s only response was a grunt.
‘I shall take breakfast and then go to Cheyne Walk. Call there when you’ve spoken to Barber. I don’t suppose he’ll be around too early. Theatrical types are creatures of the night. This afternoon I’m planning to go down to Surrey with Mrs Grantley to see her sister-in-law. You’d best come too.’
‘Won’t three be a crowd?’
Jake sent his henchman a droll look and left the room, preoccupied by the knowledge that Olivia had not been herself the previous night. He had expected lively repartee and her usual teasing irreverence; had been looking forward to bandying words with her after his self-imposed exile from her company. And yet, apart from her playful suggestion that he turn his hand to growing roses, she had been subdued, distracted. To Jake, she never looked more adorable than when she showed rare glimpses of the vulnerability she was at pains to disguise, even from him.
Her preoccupation was understandable, he supposed, given that she had been compelled to deal with the humourless Lady Grantley and then spill the unpleasant particulars regarding the private side of her marriage into his sympathetic ear. Olivia pretended to be resilient but Jake had seen the pain in her eyes as she spoke of her treatment at the hands of the brute she had so unwisely married. He understood so much better now why she had never pretended to be sorry about her husband’s death, causing society to raise its collective eyebrows at her frankness and for Olivia to gain the notorious reputation she so often joked about.
Warbeck could easily have handled the business in Scotland without Jake’s assistance but he went with the deliberate intention of putting space between himself and Olivia. For the first time in his adult life he had put instinct ahead of prudence during the investigation into the Radicals’ activities and finally gave in to the overwhelming draw of Olivia’s addictive femininity. He had been attracted by her fragile beauty, pale and scared witless yet fighting mad, as she sat in a grimy prison cell at Newgate. After he had succeeded in securing her release, he assumed the attraction would wane. He was pushover when it came to a lady in distress; especially when it was evident that a miscarriage of justice would ensue if he did not intervene—and more especially still when she was as tragically beautiful as Olivia. But he was equally well-versed in avoiding entanglements that could see him become leg-shackled if he didn’t have a care.
But his feelings had not waned. He toyed with the idea of proposing once her period of mourning came to an end but quickly realised that he couldn’t risk doing so for fear of reprisals. His difficulty was that letting her go completely—the wise course of action—was unthinkable. Jake had successfully foiled plots against the government, helped individuals who were being duped by master manipulators, saved a certain duke from a situation in which he had exposed himself to blackmail, with confidence and comparative ease. But he was at a loss to know how to deal with his feelings for this infuriating, challenging, adorable and uniquely individual female. All he did know was that he couldn’t let her go.
The fortune hunters would circle their wagons and besiege her night and day, unless there was someone around to protect her interests. Or so he managed to convince himself. He sensed in her a need to fight against injustice, had a requirement for a female within his organisation and recruited her; thereby creating a legitimate excuse to continue their association. Jake was a strict disciplinarian and convinced himself he would be able to harness his lust, once he became accustomed to being frequently in her company.
Ha!
Jake took his breakfast, attended to a few pressing business matters and was admitted to Olivia’s residence when her hall clock struck ten. Before he could follow Green’s suggestion and join Olivia in the back parlour, a mini-whirlwind launched itself at him and small arms circled his legs.
‘I rang the ship’s bell,’ Tom informed him, sounding mighty pleased with his achievement.
‘Did you now? Are you going to be a cabin boy?’
Tom giggled. ‘I’m going to be the captain and all the sailors will have to do what I tell them to.’
‘Of course you are.’
Jake laughed as he tousled a mop of dark curls and swung Tom over his head, causing the child to giggle wildly. The giggles brought both Olivia and Molly to investigate the reason for them. Jake threw Tom into the air, caught him and set the dizzy child on his feet again. Molly sent Jake a disapproving look, belatedly bobbed a curtsey that was almost insulting in its brevity and took Tom firmly by the hand.
‘Come along, Master Tom. Jane will wonder what has become of you.’
‘I have become a sailor, Molly, that’s what.’
Jake laughed. ‘Heisobsessed with seafaring.’
‘This week. Next week it will be something else.’
‘Molly really does not approve of me,’ Jake remarked as he followed Olivia’s svelte form into the room she had just vacated. Boxes covered the surface of the table.
‘Molly and I are overdue a frank discussion,’ Olivia said, a determined set to her features. ‘I will not permit my maid to sit in judgement on me which, I suspect, is exactly what she is doing. If she does not like my ways she is at liberty to find another position.’ She turned to smile at him and the anger left her eyes. ‘Good morning, Jake. I did not expect you quite so early.’
‘It looks as though I didn’t get here a moment too soon,’ he replied, nodding at the dusty boxes. ‘Green must have broken his back, getting that lot down.’
‘Finch did the heavy lifting,’ Olivia replied. ‘Speaking of whom, would you like him back? You loaned him to me when you thought I was in danger during the Radicals case but—’
