Lord Mumford's Minx Read online

  After a considerable drive, they at last pulled to a halt in front of Biddle’s lavish establishment. Luke hurriedly descended from the carriage and swept his way up the long steps. Not surprisingly, the butler favored him with a curious glance as he opened the door and led him into the wide foyer.

  “I fear His Lordship is not yet down this morning,” he apologized as he accepted Luke’s coat and hat.

  “Never fear, Thomas, I shall beard the lion in his den. Would you have breakfast sent up? Eggs and kidneys would do nicely. Oh, and a pot of coffee. I have a feeling we shall need it.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Accustomed to Luke’s familiar manner within the household, the butler merely bowed and retreated toward the back of the town house.

  Taking the steps two at a time, Luke moved down the hall to Biddles’s private dressing room. He shoved open the door without so much as a knock to discover the rat-faced man seated on a padded chair as his valet carefully knotted his cravat.

  “Good God, Luke,” Lord Bidwell drawled in mild reproach. “Do you know the time?”

  “I have need of your talents,” Luke announced without preamble, lowering his large form onto a delicate chaise longue.

  “I have been telling you that for years, old chap.” Biddles carefully turned to run a critical gaze over Luke’s elegant coat. “Only a gentleman in his dotage would choose such a drab attire. I shall ensure that by the end of the month you acquire the most talked of wardrobe in London.”

  Luke gave a visible shudder. “I was not referring to your ghastly preference in fashion, thank goodness. I wish for you to make a few discreet inquiries.”

  “Ah, how dreary.” Lifting a thin hand, Biddles waved aside the hovering valet. “That will be all, Emerson.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  With a small bow, the silver-haired man who had been at Biddles’s side since he left Oxford silently withdrew from the chamber. Biddles leaned forward to peer in the oval mirror. With a grimace, he reached up to give a few expert tugs on the starched linen.

  “A pity I cannot discover a valet who can be discreet as well as tie a decent cravat. As it is, I must suffer this sadly predictable knot for the promise of privacy.” Biddles gave another tug; then, reluctantly satisfied, he leaned back to regard Luke with a shrewd gaze. “Now, what inquiries do you require?”

  “I wish you to discover the whereabouts of an actress named Nell Maggert. She might be connected with a gentleman who goes by the endearment of Herbie.”

  “Egad, still dangling after Lady Greer, are we?”

  “I am not . . . dangling.”

  “Certainly not,” Biddles mocked. “You always trail after unknown women, force your way into their homes and then waste both of our time seeking actresses named Nell.”

  Luke allowed the merest smile to curve his lips. “Perhaps I am dangling a bit.”

  “A very dangerous habit, old boy. Still, you are clearly determined to behave like the veriest moonling over this chit.”

  Luke refused to rise to the bait. For now, his concern for Lady Greer’s safety was too great to ponder his own odd behavior.

  “Will you help me, Biddles?”

  There was a pause; then Biddles gave a shrug of defeat. “But of course. Where shall we begin? With Herbie? A man of society or a cit?”

  A rush of relief eased the tension in Luke’s body. He possessed full confidence in this man’s abilities. Locating a mere actress and her benefactor should prove little challenge to his skills.

  “Difficult to say,” he responded. “Wealthy enough at least to maintain a separate household for his mistress.”

  “La. Prinny maintains any number of households without a farthing to his name.”

  “I doubt that Herbie possesses such royal privilege,” Luke pointed out in dry tones.

  “Perhaps not.” Biddles narrowed his gaze. “Tell me, Luke, what do you intend to do while I am gadding about London in search of this mysterious Nell?”

  A glint of anticipation flickered to life in the depths of the deep blue eyes.

  “I shall be enjoying tea with the lovely Lady Greer.”

  “Indeed?” Biddles arched a brow. “Were you invited?”

  “Let us say that I invited myself.”

  Biddles favored him with a long, considering survey before slowly leaning forward.

  “You do realize that this seeming reluctance might very well be a cunning lure?”

  “A lure?”

  “How better to catch the attention of the Irresistible Earl than by pretending complete indifference?” he demanded. “There are few things more enticing than attaining the unattainable.”

  Luke could not deny the truth in his friend’s warning. It had occurred to him on more than one occasion that Lady Greer’s seeming reluctance might be an elaborate ploy. Even the impression that she was in some mysterious peril might be a hoax.

  Still, he found himself shying from the unpleasant thought. No woman could conjure the innocence he had detected in the depths of her silver eyes. No matter how great an actress.

  “Not all of us possess your devious nature, Biddles,” he protested in a light tone.

  Biddles smiled in a cynical fashion. “Most gentlemen and all ladies possess devious natures, my friend. Do not allow yourself to be led on a fool’s journey. It might cost you more than a few quid.”

  Luke swallowed his instinctive protest. His friend was reading far too much into his interest in Lady Greer. Certainly he was concerned for her safety. And perhaps he was somewhat fascinated by her elusive charms. But to imply that he was in danger of losing his heart. Why, it was ludicrous. Absurd.

  “You have no need to worry on my account, Biddles,” he promised. Then oddly discomfited by the course of the conversation, he glanced toward the door. “My only danger at the moment is to my sadly neglected stomach. Where the devil is my breakfast?”

  Five

  “This is the place, my lord.” Jameson pointed at the narrow brick building. “She came out and stepped right in me path. Nearly stopped me heart, it did.”

  “Thank you, Jameson.”

  Luke stepped out of the carriage and regarded the less than impressive office with a narrowed gaze. It had been nearly a week since he had rescued the impetuous Lady Greer from her absurd visit to the theater district. A week that he had devoted to uncovering the truth behind the maiden’s mysterious charade, only to fail in the most dismal fashion.

  Much to his chagrin, Lady Greer remained thoroughly impervious to his supposedly irresistible charms. His daily visits were greeted with an icy displeasure, and his subtle attempts to unmask her secrets were cut decidedly short. It was quite obvious that he had at last met his match.

  Eventually, desperation had forced him to seek his answers in another direction. His first meeting with Lady Greer had been in front of this building. Her reason for being there had to give some clue to her transformation from a country Miss to an elegant courtesan.

  A few discreet inquiries had revealed that a Mr. Albert Carson currently rented the building, and that he would eagerly oblige Lord Mumford with a meeting at his convenience. They also revealed Mr. Carson to be a staunch, rather humorless gentleman who was quite above bribery and never gossiped about his clients. His one weakness was an ambition to attract a family of quality to represent.

  Luke fully intended to use such an ambition to his advantage.

  “I shall be a few moments, Jameson.”

  “Very good, my lord.” Jameson gave a slight bow before leaping back onto the carriage.

  Luke crossed to the door and entered the narrow hall. His Hessians echoed through the stiff silence as he made his way to the office. At his entrance, a thin, nearly bald-headed gentleman jumped to his feet.

  “My lord, please come in. This is indeed a pleasure,” he stammered, pulling forward a refurbished chair. “Would you care for tea? Or perhaps you prefer brandy?”

  Luke waved a negligent hand as he strol
led to lower his large frame in the seat.

  “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  “Very well.” Mr. Carson gave a reluctant nod as he resumed his place behind the ancient desk. “Now, how may I be of service, my lord?”

  Luke carefully maintained an air of negligent boredom. He did not wish to create any suspicion about his interest in the golden-haired maiden. Stretching out his legs, he gave a faint shrug.

  “Actually, I have a rather peculiar request.”

  “Oh?”

  “A fortnight ago, I encountered a young lady leaving your establishment. She possessed golden hair and was attired in a gray gown.”

  The Man of Business gave a startled cough. Whatever he had been expecting from Luke, it was certainly not this.

  “Is there any particular reason for your interest?” he cautiously hedged.

  Luke suppressed a wry grin, wondering if the man thought him to be a debaucher of young, innocent ladies.

  “She dropped a pair of gloves. I wish to return them.”

  Mr. Carson appeared far from appeased by the glib lie.

  “How very kind,” he murmured. “But there is no need for you to be bothered with such a trivial matter. If you give me the gloves, I will gladly see that they are returned.”

  “I prefer to return them myself.” Luke’s tone defied argument.

  “Oh, but—”

  “I, of course, require her name and address.”

  “My lord.” The man ran a nervous hand over his head, clearly torn between loyalty to his client and a desire to please his illustrious visitor. “I fear that is impossible.”

  “Nonsense. Nothing is impossible.”

  “I cannot possibly give out the young lady’s name.”

  “Why?”

  Mr. Carson gave an uncomfortable smile. “It is a matter of discretion. You understand, my lord.”

  “Frankly, I do not,” Luke drawled. “I merely wish to return a pair of gloves.”

  The gentleman cleared his throat, obviously wishing that he could crawl beneath his desk.

  “A young lady cannot be overly cautious in such times,” he attempted to soothe.

  Luke arched an imperious brow, using his commanding presence to his full advantage.

  “Surely, Mr. Carson, you are not implying that my intentions toward this young lady are of an unsavory nature?”

  The poor man gave a strangled noise, his eyes protruding in sudden anxiety.

  “No, certainly not. I ... That is ...”

  “Yes?”

  Mr. Carson squirmed beneath Luke’s piercing regard, the battle between his stiff morals and his worldly ambitions waging beneath the surface. At last his ambition overcame his pesky principles, and he gave a shaky laugh.

  “Yes, well, perhaps there would be no harm.”

  Luke smiled in satisfaction. There were times when his vast inheritance came in decidedly handy.

  “Certainly not.”

  “The young lady is Miss Cassandra Stanholte. I believe she prefers to go by Cassie.”

  “Cassie,” Luke breathed, feeling a fierce stab of relief. At last a name for his mysterious maiden.

  “From Devonshire,” Mr. Carson completed.

  “Do you have her address in London?”

  “She has no residence in London. Indeed, her visit was quite brief. She has already returned to her estate.”

  Luke was not surprised the Man of Business was unaware that Miss Stanholte was far closer than Devonshire. She had gone to great lengths to disguise her presence in London.

  The question was, why?

  “What a pity.” He pretended an absorbed interest in the cuff of his deep jade green coat. “I presume she resides with her parents?”

  “Her parents unfortunately died in an accident several years ago.”

  “Then she possesses a guardian?”

  “It is a rather . . . unconventional household, my lord,” Mr. Carson conceded, his grimace revealing his disapproval of the situation. “Miss Stanholte is a very independent young lady and not easily persuaded she has need of a guardian.”

  Luke swallowed a chuckle. He was wretchedly familiar with Miss Stanholte’s independent nature. And not remotely shocked that she would refuse the protection of a guardian.

  At least he now understood how she managed to disappear into the disreputable neighborhood without creating a scandal. There was no one to wonder what had become of Miss Stanholte or to question why she had not returned from London.

  “Indeed. She at least depends upon you for her business advice.” He favored the gentleman with a slight smile. “I presume that was her reason for traveling to London?”

  A pained expression of regret tightened the thin face. “I really must insist that my business with Miss Stanholte remain in confidence, my lord.”

  Luke subdued his instinctive desire to demand that the Man of Business reveal the truth of Miss Stanholte’s visit to London. How else could he discover the reason for her bizarre behavior? But the realization that such a demand would only confirm that his interest in the maiden was far from casual held his tongue.

  “Ah, well, I will ensure that my secretary has the gloves delivered to Miss Stanholte in Devonshire.”

  Mr. Carson smiled in relief. “I am certain she will be most appreciative. Although I would prefer that you not mention my name.”

  “Certainly not.” With a languid grace, Luke rose to his feet. It appeared he had pressed the man as far as he dared. At least for the moment. “Thank you, Mr. Carson.”

  Leaping to his feet, Mr. Carson gave a nervous bow.

  “Please let me know if I can be of further service, my lord.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  With a faint nod, Luke turned to leave the small office.

  Miss Cassandra Stanholte of Devonshire.

  He turned the name over and over in his mind as he moved down the hall and into the street. At his appearance, the glossy carriage pulled forward and the groom leapt down to open the door.

  “To Lady Greer’s,” he commanded as he climbed into the leather seat.

  Settling himself comfortably, Luke allowed a smile of anticipation to curve his lips.

  * * *

  Several streets away, Cassie forced herself to calmly sit on the sofa and enjoy her tea. Or at least to pretend to enjoy her tea. Not for the world would she admit that she was anxiously dreading the arrival of the annoying Lord Mumford.

  The man was a wretched nuisance, she told herself sternly. Every day he appeared without warning, as if he possessed the right to treat her home with such casual intimacy. No matter how often she repulsed his advances or threatened to have him thrown from her house, he simply refused to leave her in peace. And while a more vain female might accept his flirtatious banter at face value, Cassie had not missed the piercing questions and the occasional frown of suspicion she caught on his handsome countenance.

  For reasons best known to himself, Lord Mumford had developed an absurd interest in her arrival in this neighborhood, and for the life of her, Cassie could not conceive how to dismiss his attentions.

  Even worse, she could not convince her staff that the annoying man was not a welcome visitor to her home.

  It was little wonder she was as susceptible to her nerves as any vaporish Miss.

  With an abrupt motion, she tossed aside the untasted sponge cake. This was ridiculous. She had far more serious matters to dwell upon than the Irresistible Earl and his peculiar ability to ruffle her staunch composure. Besides which, today she had set her housekeeper to watch the door. Lord Mumford might be able to charm his way past the London servants, but he would find himself hard-pressed to outmaneuver the implacable Mary Green.

  Determined to bend her thoughts upon her more pressing troubles, Cassie suddenly froze as a shadow fell across the open French doors. This was not the first shadow that had caught her attention. Although she could never confirm her suspicion, Cassie had more than once possessed the sensation she was being spied u
pon. Now that familiar tingle of apprehension inched down her spine, and she slowly rose to her feet.

  Was there someone skulking outside her house? Someone who suspected there was more to her presence than just another fallen woman? Or, more frightening, someone who hoped to take advantage of a young lady without the protection of her family?

  On the point of calling for help, Cassie watched as the shadow abruptly disappeared, only to be replaced by a large, all too familiar form. In an instant, her fear faded to anger as she watched Lord Mumford casually stride through the open door and into the salon.

  Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. Obviously, having been turned aside by Mrs. Green, he had simply rounded the house and waltzed in as if he had every right to come and go as he pleased.

  Did the gentleman not comprehend the word no?

  Unhinged as much by her initial flare of fear as by Lord Mumford’s outrageous arrogance, Cassie favored him with a forbidding frown.

  “Really, sir, you are—”

  “Maddening? Vexing? Irresistibly charming?” he interrupted with a wicked smile.

  “Bloody impossible,” Cassie muttered to herself, attempting to ignore the treacherous flutter of her heart. Not an easy task, considering the gentleman offered a most captivating sight in his jade coat and tan pantaloons.

  How was she to concentrate when her gaze longed to linger on the noble lines of his countenance and the inviting shimmer in his blue eyes?

  With an effort, she subdued her unruly thoughts. Tilting her chin, she eyed him squarely.

  “Surely, my lord, there must be some house in all of London where your presence is actually welcome?”

  “Countless.” His smile only widened as he moved farther into the room. “I will have you know that my visits are in the greatest demand. Indeed, I have been assured by more than one hostess that my mere presence is enough to ensure the success of her gathering.”