when he answered, "Mohan said that you wouldn't want to
because your crates have arrived."
"Well, then he's right," she hastened to assure him, relieved.
''There's work to be done here." She started and studied
the light filtering through the fretwork. "What time is it?"
"Just after nine," Mohan supplied, marching toward the
door. "We have been up for hours. We have much to do today."
"I've never slept this late in my entire life," Alex whispered.
"It's hardly a sin, you know," Aiden said on his way out
the door. He grinned at her over his shoulder, winked, added,
"But that nightgown certainly is," and then disappeared from
sight.
With a mortified squeak, Alex buried her face in her hands.
Maybe, just maybe, Hope quickly suggested, he hadn't really
seen anything before she'd pulled the coverlet over her.
Checking the open doorway with a nervous glance, she took
a deep breath and slid to the edge of the mattress again. The
opposite one this time. The side nearest her dressing-table
mirror.
"God," she moaned, knowing there was no point in
scooping up the coverlet to see how fast she could hide herself.
A single moment-a mere fraction of a moment - would
have been more than enough. Gossamer silk didn't
hide a thing. And the cinnabar shading only made the curves
and the peaks of her breasts all that much darker, all that
much more noticeable. Her only remaining hope, tattered
and slim as it was, was that her nipples hadn't been hardened
then as they were now.
Flannel. She needed to make herself a nightgown of thick,
heavy flannel. In black. With buttons all the way up to her
chin. And then pray that he'd have a chance-just once-to
see it and realize that she wasn't a complete wanton.
Aiden blew a stream of cheroot smoke into the fading daylight
and considered his accomplishments. By any standard
of measurement the day had been an absolute success on almost
every single front. The one less-than-sterling achievement
He glanced toward the enclosure he'd fashioned
out of poles and a huge fisherman's net. Inside were the peacocks,
hale, apparently happy, and, to his irritation, very
much alive. Whoever had originally thought to clip their
wings should have been shot. And the sound the damn things
made at first light ... Jesus. He'd come straight up off his
bed, scrambling for his revolver and thinking that Mohan
was being murdered by inches in the back yard.
How Alex had managed to sleep through it was a mystery.
So was the fact that the neighbors hadn't stormed the yard
and, in the name of public peace and order, dispatched the obnoxious
beasts. He'd sure as hell been tempted. But he hadn't.
No, he'd gotten Preeya feed grain from the stable before he'd
left and then built the pen when he'd returned.
Aiden sighed, shook his head, and deliberately set it all
aside, reminding himself that the positive notes in the day's
ledger had considerably' more weight than a pair of peacocks.
Mohan was no longer a sullen, abrasive brat. In fact,
he was downright pleasant company. The boy had a quick
mind and a rather impressive ability to focus on not only the
larger tasks but the finer, essential details within them. Aiden
knew adults who couldn't claim the same abilities.
The horse trading had gone exceptionally well, too. The
two black ones for the carriage had been pulling together for
years. They'd stepped in the traces without so much as a hint
of resistance and then brought the carriage home as if they'd
already known the way. And the three horses for riding ...
Aiden smiled and blew another stream into the evening
air. Mohan, in addition to his other fine qualities, had a
healthy amount of good sense, too. It had firmly and instantly
crushed the desire for a white stallion as he'd stood
there with the saddle in his hands and the animal pawing the
ground in front of him. The Irish palfrey gelding had been
his next choice, one Aiden had let stand. His own was a gelding,
as well. A tall Arab bay with an incredible spirit and a
beautifully smooth gait. He'd picked a bay for Alex, too. A
little gelding with a gentle disposition and a willingness to
do anything for a slice of apple. Aiden grinned, hoping yet
again that Alex might follow the horse's lead in certain respects,
and flicked ash onto the patchy snow at his feet.
Then there'd been the trip to the blacksmith's. The man
had been thrilled with the size of their order and had promised
to set aside all of his other work to see the commission
finished in days instead of the weeks he'd expected it to take.
Not, Aiden admitted, that he could see any real necessity for
the window covers. If there was anyone following Mohan as
Alex had said, he hadn't been able to detect them. They
either were a figure of Alex's Mother Hen imagination or
they were very, very good at blending into the shadows. Which
would have been some trick if they were Indian. London
might well be a hub of nationalities, but the non-European
ones tended to be a bit more noticeable than most.
No, the odds were that no one was actively stalking Mohan
at the moment. Or Alex, either, for that matter. Which
was fine by him. The lack of any real threat meant that he
could focus on more personal concerns. Aiden grinned. Like
getting another peek at Alex in her nightgown. That had been
as much an unexpected treat as it had been a truly wonderful
compensation for the peacock start to the day. And the memories
that had kept him inspired all day after that ...
Chuckling, he tossed down the stub of his cheroot, ground
it beneath his heel, and then headed toward the house. He
stopped just inside the back door, brought up short as a
stranger, a petite, well-curved female, stepped out of the silver
room. She seemed vaguely familiar and he had a feeling
that he should know who she was. His eyes strained to adjust
to the dim light of the hall, to see her face.
"Mr. Terrell!"
He relaxed, instantly recognizing the voice. "Well, hello,
Polly," he replied, his mind racing back through the past.
''What brings you to the Blue Elephant?"
"Business for her ladyship."
Silver business, he guessed. "And how is Lady Tyndale
doing these days? Is she well?"
Polly sighed and shook her head. "She's still living apart
from his lordship. Has been for over two years now. Since
the last time we saw you in London."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he offered politely. Not at all surprised,
though, he mentally added. "Hopefully they can reconcile
one day soon." Not that there's much chance of that.
"His lordship tends to be the kind to hold a grudge."
And all of London knew it, too. Charlotte had been playing
with fire. Which made the temptation of playing with her all
that much more irresistible. "Well," Aiden drawled, "that's
not a sign of good character, is it?"
She smiled and then arched a brow to ask hopefully, "Shall
I give her ladyship your regards?"
Not as long as he had the slimmest of hopes of making
his relationship with Alex more intimate. And not even if he
didn't, actually. If Charlotte knew he was there, she'd turn
up on the doorstep if for no other reason than to exact revenge
for his role in the debacle. Minor though it had been.
"I think it's best to let the sleeping dog lie, Polly," he answered
truthfully. "No sense prodding it with a sharp stick if
it's not necessary. His lordship isn't the only one who can
carry a grudge."
"I understand completely, Mr. Terrell," she said solemnly.
She offered him a little curtsy, adding, "It was a real pleasure
to see you again, though."
"And I you, Polly. Take care of yourself."
She smiled prettily and then turned to the silver room to
say, ''Thank you for your assistance, Miss Radford. I'll show
myself out."
Aiden watched her make her way to the front door of the
shop, his shoulder propped against the wall, keenly aware
that Alex had stepped into the doorway and was watching
him. The tiny pucker of her mouth ... Oh, and were her eyes
gray! With the brightest telltale flecks of green.
"What?" he asked in wholly feigned innocence.
"Just out of pure curiosity . .. Is there a woman in London
that you haven't bedded?"
He tried to look as though he were ticking through a list.
"Polly," he finally provided.
Alex's hands went to her hips and the green sparks in her
eyes danced. "If you offered, she'd accept."
"Really?"
"Ugh!"
And with that disdainful comment, she turned on her heel
and disappeared back into the silver room. Aiden followed
her, laughing and realizing that he'd truly missed her company
that day.
"Since Polly left here empty-handed," he said, propping a
hip on the corner of the central table, "I'd guess that Charlotte
Tyndale is selling off silver to pay her living expenses."
Taking a tissue-covered object from a silver chest, she
unwrapped it, saying, "I have no idea what she's doing with
the money, but yes, she's selling silver. An especially ornate
set of Roberts and Belk, a design they created just last year.
The set looks as though it's never been used." She handed
him a fork, adding, "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"
It was both gold and silver and far too fussy to be to his
liking. But he knew that diplomacy lay in silence. He simply
nodded and checked the balance of the piece. It was finely
made and no doubt horribly expensive. Which made perfect
sense.
Handing it back, he said offhandedly, "Knowing Charlotte,
she received it as a gift from an ardent admirer."
Alex chuckled softly and quipped. "She apparently didn't
admire him enough to invite him to stay for dinner."
"He probably wasn't interested in dinner, anyway. That's
not why men give Charlotte gifts, you know."
She looked up from her silver to meet his gaze and arch a
dark brow. A tiny smile tickled the corners of her mouth and
she replied, "No, I didn't know. But thank you for so freely
sharing what has to be - at best - dubious knowledge."
Lord, he didn't know when it had happened, not precisely,
anyway, but Alex Radford had somehow become one of the
most adorable women who'd ever crossed his path. And dubious
knowledge was what Barrett Stanbridge was operating under
if he thought she could be involved in a fencing operation.
It was so far from the realm of even remotely plausible as to
be laughable. But, just for the time when Barrett would ask if
he'd 'so much as bothered to pursue the investigation, he'd
make a show of it now and then be done with it.
"Speaking of knowing ... " he began, pointedly looking
around the room. "How do you know that the silver you're
asked to buy isn't stolen?"
"Very easily, actually," she replied, taking an oil lamp and
a small silver box from one of the shelves. "You can tell
which is honestly acquired silver by the caliber of the person
coming in to sell it. Ladies' maids, housekeepers, butlers,
and footmen are of noticeably better quality than your average
thief."
Placing the lamp in the center of the table, she opened
the box, took out a phosphorus stick, and proceeded to light
the wick. Adjusting the flame and fanning away the smell
of the igniter, she added, "When I first started brokering,
though, a good number of people tried to sell me stolen
goods. But the word soon spread that I wasn't willing to be a
Occasionally, but not at all often."
''Those that do are probably very new to the thieving business,"
he ventured, hoping she might know something about
the illegal side of the brokering street. A description-or
even better yet, the name--of a potential buyer would be far
more than Barrett had at present.
She nodded and put the silver box back on the shelf.
''They tend to be very young and haven't the foggiest notion
of the silver's worth. I'm always tempted to take them by
their ear and drag them home to their mothers."
"An admirable consideration, but it wouldn't do any
good," he counseled. ''More than likely their mothers are
counting on the money to go to market."
''Which is why I don't do it," she agreed with a sigh. "It's
horrible to live so hand to mouth."
Aiden frowned. East India officers made handsome
wages. And then, as first the daughter of the royal tutor and
then the tutor herself, Alex never should have wanted for
anything in her life. "And how does Miss Alexandra Radford
know about a meager existence?” he pressed gently.
She studied the maker's mark on the back of a fork as she
replied, "My father had many vices, the worst of which were
drinking and gambling. Mother would wait for him to stumble
in during the wee hours of the morning, and when he finally
fell unconscious, she'd search his pockets. What money she
found would be what we had to take to market and to pay the
rent that week."
"So she left him and went to teach in the raja's court,"
Aiden supplied.
She shrugged and picked up the wrapping tissue she'd removed
earlier. "More or less."
The fact that she'd been vague was telling. "It's considerably
more, isn't it? Was he abusiveT'
A sad smile touched her lips. "Have you known very
many drunks who were jolly, lovable people?"
She'd answered a question with a question, one of the defensive
strategies she'd employed early yesterday and then
abandoned along the way to sunset. That she'd resorted to
evasion again suggested that he was prying into areas that
troubled her. The gentleman in him urged him to cease his
questioning and let her keep her secrets. But
something else
insisted even more strongly that he'd never understand her
unless he could get her to share her story. He didn't know
why understanding her was so important, but it was.
"Did your mother kill him?" he asked bluntly, hoping to
force her into an equally direct answer.
''No.'' He was about to ask if she knew where her father
was when she expelled a hard breath, put the fork back in the
box, and added, "But she didn't shed any tears when one of his
gambling associates did. The man came to us for the money
my father owed him and since we didn't have it and had no
way of getting it, Mother and I fled Bombay."
"And went to the raja," he offered, thinking to make the
telling easier for her.
"Eventually. Where's Mohan?"
Eventually? Aiden cocked a brow, watching her put the
chest on a shelf and debating whether or not to press her for
more. The simplicity of her answer and the abrupt change in
subject, however, suggested that he wasn't going to be successful
at it a second time. At least not right now.
"Preeya's supervising his bath:' he provided. ''He's gotten
a bit piggy today. I came in for his clean clothes. Mine,
as well. I'm next in the queue."
"I would hope so," she laughingly said. picking up the
lamp and moving past him.
He came off the table and followed her out into the hall.