Aiden and warily asked, "Why would ya want to know?"
"I never do business with people I don't know by name.
An odd quirk these days, I know, but business has become so
coldly impersonal in recent years. I prefer the older way of
conducting such affairs."
"Dora Elmore," she supplied, nodding. "And you be?"
"Reginald Majors. And this is my wife, Millicent."
Millicent? Reginald? Why was he making up names for
them?
Aiden took Dora's free hand and laid a five-pound note in
her palm, saying, "It's a pleasure to do business with you,
Mrs. Elmore."
"Yes," Alex added, watching the woman rub the bill between
her fingers. "Thank you for having what I needed. I'm
so glad to have found it."
"Would you be needin' the other two sets?" Dora asked.
"Don't get many people in here lookin' for silver an' with
the money to ac'ly buy it."
Aiden glanced down at the other bundles on the counter.
"Five pounds for each of the others, as well?"
"Would be 'nother ten pounds together."
"Millicent?"
Like the Westerham silver, they were badly underpriced.
But better that Dora Elmore make a little something today,
Alex told herself, than having the silver tossed into the refuse
bin when she died. "Your sisters will someday marry,"
she said, continuing the unnecessary charade. "We could
save the sets for them."
Aiden winked, pulled two more five-pound notes out of
his wallet and turned back to the woman. "Very well, Mrs.
Elmore," he said brightly, pressing the additional bills into
her hand. "We'll take all three. And thank you for sparing
me the ordeal of looking for wedding gifts in the future. You
can't know how very grateful I am."
"I'm even more so," Alex muttered under her breath.
Dora chuckled. "Thank ya, Mr. Majors. Mrs. Majors. God
bless you both."
They took their leave, scooting down the pathway, Aiden
carrying the silver bundles, Alex holding her skirts close and
watching the old woman grin toothlessly at the cash in her
hand. Fifteen measly pounds, Alex thought sadly as she followed
Aiden out onto the walkway. It should have been thirty.
"Did you see the look on her face?" Aiden said softly as
they made their way toward Barrett's waiting carriage.
"She's never in her life held fifteen pounds in her hand at
one moment."
"She's never held so much as two, Aiden. And the saddest
thing is that all this silver is easily worth twice what she
asked for it. I was trying to think of a way to offer her a fair
amount when you stepped in and accepted."
He stopped abruptly. "Is that what all that was about?" he
asked in genuine surprise and obvious regret. "Aw, Jesus.
I'm sorry, Alex. I thought you were thinking about talking
her down, not up, and I didn't care what we paid for it as
long as we got it back and were done."
'That's all right," she acceded on a sigh. Glancing back at
the shop, she added, "I just feel sorry for her. Old and blind
and crippled and poor. With a granddaughter who's apparently
not only a tart, but also a thief and a not very bright one
at that."
"Why do you say that?"
"In the first place, she stole monogrammed silver, which
is the easiest to trace and so the most difficult to fence," she
explained as they resumed their course. "And when she
couldn't find a fence willing to buy it, she gave it to her
grandmother to sell in a junk shop instead of melting it down
and selling it as bullion."
"You know," he mused, chuckling, as they reached the
coach, "the world should be glad that you're an honest
woman, Alexandra Radford. You'd make a very good thief."
Opening the door, he looked up at the driver. "Seaman's
Alex managed to contain her curiosity until they were under
way. "If I might ask ... Why are we going to a bank?"
"Lord Westerham gave Barrett two hundred pounds just
for buying back the silver."
"Dear Lord, Aiden. I didn't know that anyone could be that
desperate. Two hundred? That's a positively insane amount of
money."
He nodded. "And handing one hundred and ninety-five
back to him rubs against my grain. It's money he'll never
miss."
"You're not going to keep it," she said, appalled at the
only course she could see and unable to believe that Aiden
would do something so underhanded.
"In a manner of speaking, yes, I am," he replied happily.
"I'm going to place it in trust with instructions that two
pounds be sent in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Majors
to Mrs. Dora Elmore in Whitechapel on the first day of every
month for the rest of her life. If she passes before the funds
are exhausted, the balance can go to an orphanage."
''That's why you made up the names!"
"I hope they really don't exist. I was thinking on my feet
and picked the first names that popped into my head."
She forgave him for the horrible behavior while shopping,
for giving her a name like Millicent, for everything.
"What if Dora outlives the funds?"
"Then I'll replenish the coffer myself for as long as
necessary," he said with a shrug. "Twenty-four pounds a year
isn't much."
"You're a very good man, John Aiden Terrell."
His eyes sparkled and his smile tripped her heart. "I was
hoping you'd think so. It's all part of my grand strategy, you
know. I'm figuring that if you think I might be in the queue
for sainthood, you'll let down your guard."
"You are so very good. Has any woman ever been able to
resist you?"
"Lady Ogden. But I really don't think she should count
against me. Rumor has it that she prefers women."
Alex considered him, her heart fluttering and light. In the
part of her brain that ordered and aligned the world, she
knew that he wasn't good for her. He was temptation without
commitment, joy without restraint. When the paths of their
lives inevitably diverged, her soul was going to ache with
missing him. But it was too late to avoid that consequence;
she'd come too far already. There was nothing to be gained
in turning back. Nothing at all. She wasn't sure what good
was to be ultimately gained in going forward, but she knew
Aiden well enough to suspect that the journey to discovery
would be magnificent.
"What are you thinking, Alex?"
Ah, so silken, so seductively smooth. He knew precisely
what she was thinking. ''That neither one of us is ever going
to be a saint."
He rakishly cocked a brow. "Disappointed?"
"Not in the least."
He shook his head slowly and expelled a long, slow
breath. "If we weren't just a half-block from the bank .. . "
Alex smiled and looked out the window, wondering how
long it took to set up a trust and hoping she didn't lose her
courage somewhere in the lobby.
In the distance, a bell chimed the half hour. Aiden grinned as
they headed back to their waiting carriage yet again. Half
past noon. An auction attended, the Westerham silver recovered,
a trust established, and Alex on the verge of surrender.
It was amazing what one could accomplish if one really tried.
The only disappointment so far was in spending all that
time surveying Whitechapel Road and not seeing so much as
a hint of the Indian stranger. It would have been nice to have
that end neatly tied up before the day was done, but he
wasn't willing to abandon his plans for it. Let the bastard try
to get into Haven House.
"Terrell!"
His hand on the door, he turned. "Hawkins," he said, handing
Alex in as the man rushed forward, his hand extended.
"Good to see you again. It's been a long time," he added as
they shook hands.
"Talk about divine intervention!"
"Were we?" Aiden chuckled.
"Crumb's out with a broken leg. Fell off a ladder last
week. Which leaves us short a right wing three-quarter back
for the annual Off -Season Challenge. Would you play?"
"I'd love to," he admitted. "When is it?"
"One o'clock at Pritchard's Field. I'm on my way there
now. Running late, as always. And here you are. If I'd left my
office on time, I'd've missed you entirely. It's a sign from
God."
''Today?'' Aiden repeated, realizing that he'd fairly well
backed himself into a corner. ''I couldn't even begin to guess
where my uniform might be."
"I'll go by Crumb's on my way there and borrow his. It
should fit you well enough."
Oh, God. His afternoon with Alex ... "I haven't played
in ages."
"It doesn't matter," Hawkins assured him. "One never forgets
how. Say you will, please. If you don't, we'll have to take
the field a man short. And we're up against Blackthorn this
year. Please, Terrell. Just once I'd like to send Blackthorn
home humiliated. We won't have a chance if you don't play."
Blackthorn. Damn. If ever there was a game worth playing,
Blackthorn was it. He turned back to the carriage and
poked his head inside. "Alex, would you mind a diversion?
It'll take the better part of two hours."
"What will?"
"A rugby game."
Hawkins poked his head in to contribute, "And Blackthorn
tends to think they're cut from a better cloth than anyone else.
It's an old, old rivalry. We desperately need your man to play."
She smiled softly, ever so patiently and understandingly.
"I can see that you're drawn to the prospect of getting yourself
mangled. I wouldn't dream of standing in your way."
"I could go with Hawkins and have the driver take you
home," he suggested, trying to be magnanimous. "I know
you have other things you want to do."
She arched a brow and he could have sworn she intended
to say something wicked, something other than, "And who
would see that you're hauled to a doctor in the aftermath?
I'll go along."
Aiden straightened and met Hawkins's gaze. "One o'clock
at Pritchard's Field. We'll be there."
He instantly bolted off, shouting over his shoulder as he
went, "You're a good man, Terrell!"
Aiden smiled weakly and nodded, then looked up at Barrett's
driver.
"I heard, sir," the man said. "Now it's Pritchard's Field. If
you are to arrive there by one, we will have to hurry."
The carriage rolled forward before he got the door closed
behind himself. He fell into his seat, feeling conflicted and
more than a little frustrated. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I committed
myself without thinking. I really should have-"
"Don't apologize, Aiden," she interrupted gently. "Life
has its own rhythm. All things come in their destined time."
"I suppose so," he reluctantly agreed, staring out the window
as the carriage slowed for traffic. There, just behind
them, standing on the walkway, his hand raised in hailing a
cab, was the stranger.
There wasn't time to leap out and confront him. And the
financial district wasn't the place to do it, either. Aiden did
the next best thing. She landed on the seat beside him with a
startled squeak and was still too stunned to resist when he
turned her, slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her back
against his chest, and laid his other arm over her shoulder
and pointed. "Over there. Climbing into that cab. Do you
know that man?"
"No," she supplied breathlessly as their coach picked up
speed and the other disappeared from sight. "I've never seen
him before."
Still holding her close, he sighed and began. "I've seen
him three times, Alex. First at the window of the Blue Elephant
the day you were almost kidnapped. And twice today."
"All I can tell you is that he looked to be Kshatriya."
"Explain, please."
"There are four castes in India." Holding up her hand, she
ticked them off on her fingers. "From high to low and in the
most simplistic terms ... The Brahmins who are the teachers
and the religious leaders. The Kshatriyas who are the
warriors and the rulers. The Vaishyas who are tradesmen and
businessmen. And the Shudras who are servants and do menial
work." She paused and then added offhandedly, "Well,
and then there's the Untouchables, but they're considered so
low that they have no caste status at all. Mohan's family is
obviously of the Kshatriya caste."
"How do you know by looking who belongs to what
caste?"
"Generally speaking-and always aware that there are
exceptions-by skin tone. The lighter the color, the higher
the caste. That and the occupations in which they're engaged
and how they dress. That man looked Kshatriya on all apparent
counts."
"Why would he be following you?"
''To find Mohan?"
"I don't think so," he gently disagreed, his mind turning
over all the puzzle pieces he'd collected. "If someone
wanted to find the boy, all they'd have to do is ask around the
docks either here or in India. You receive regular shipments
of goods. There are countless men who could tell them
where the crates are delivered and wouldn't know the danger
in sharing that information."
"Mohan's uncle's men are very loyal," she countered, relaxing
into him. "Whether because of family ties or fear
doesn't matter. They wouldn't talk to strangers about such
things."
"I've had Mohan out riding in the city for the last three
days, Alex. From sunup to sundown. In plain sight of anyone
who wanted to find him. No one has come out of the shadows.
But I take you out and about just once and there he is.
It's you, Alex. You're the prey. Why?"
"I think you're imagining dangers that aren't there, Aiden."
He wanted to think that, but couldn't. "Mohan tells me
that there are some in his father's court who oppose your
presence. Is that true?"
"
He's far too young to fully understand such things."
Aiden closed his eyes for a moment, then kissed the top
of her head before shifting her around to face him. "We've
come too far together, my darling duchess," he said softly,
taking her hands in his, "for you to go back to evading my
questions. Talk to me, Alex. I can't protect you if I don't
know where the danger's coming from."
Her smile was bittersweet. "One of the most central realities
of life in the royal court is that you're never absolutely
certain from which direction the danger will come. Intrigue
is an art, Aiden. Those who aren't very good at it die early in
the game. Those who are left to plot and scheme are the very,
very best at disguising their intent and hiding their allies."
"Why would someone want to harm you? Jealousy?"
She blinked and a genuine smile spread over her face.
"For heaven's sake, Aiden. Why would anyone be jealous of
me?"
"Because," he supplied crisply, "you're a Brahmin and
they envy your status?"
"I'm not a Brahmin," she countered, chuckling. "Some