Regency Steele
Chapter 2: Monday

Three twenty.  Laura staggered into her room as the last bit of energy dribbled away.  The adrenaline generated by a late-night search had long since vanished.  She and Remington had mentally tagged every possible item in the house that bore a resemblance to the ones already stolen.  Harold had told them in the initial interview that all the items were taken from public rooms.  It was Mildred who pointed out that any sort of search done before the rest of the guests arrived might tip off a passing servant—hence, the midnight foray.  

Remington must have been equally tired, for he’d merely brushed a kiss on her temple as they separated in the hallway.  

At home, she would have slept in her clothes, but Mildred would be here by eight, and Harold had promised to arrange a discreet meeting in the woods for the pair of them to exchange information.  A maid under the impression Lady Holt liked early morning rides would wake her at seven.  I hope I don’t regret that later in the week.  

The clothes went into the trunk.  Clad in her own short pajamas, Laura collapsed in bed.  

Moments later, a light knock at the door woke her.  She rolled over, squinted—and discovered the soft morning sun warming the draperies.  The maid bustled in with toast—and a pot of something Laura hoped was tea—on a silver tray.  The tray went at the foot of the bed.  The young girl set about opening drapes and laying out a riding habit for her mistress.

“Good morning.”  Laura pasted a pleasant expression on her face.  She poured from the pot and was surprised to see hot chocolate coming from the spout.  Chocolate and toast?  The unexpected treat brightened her mood.  

“Good morning, Lady Holt.”

Her chin came up.  “You don’t have to call me that when we’re in private.  What is your name?”

The girl dipped a curtsy.  “Meg, my lady.  And it would be improper to call you by any other name.  May I help you dress?”

Shrugging, Laura turned her hand up to indicate her cooperation.  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, milady.”  Meg bobbed another curtsy and slipped out of the room.  

Laura found a folded sheet of paper was hidden between the towels in the bathroom.  In his bold handwriting, Remington had made a neat list of the items they’d identified as possible targets and their current location for her to give to Mildred.

She was sure he’d had a bit of amusement over letting her wonder how long he’d stayed in her bedroom.  Yet another reminder that the man had spent the better portion of his life as a thief.

A fast shower cleared away the cobwebs left from the scant hours of sleep.  She drew on the shift and was drying her hair with a towel when Meg returned.  The maid handed the various pieces of the costume to Laura and professionally settled the stays and ribbons holding the outfit together.  The fabric of the top dress was heavier than the others she’d worn yesterday.  More durable, Laura supposed, for being outdoors.  

“I’ve got half boots for you, Lady Holt.  They are quite avant-garde for the Regency era but safer than slippers for riding.”  

Laura nodded.  She sat on the edge of the bed to slide them on, then fumbled as the yards and yards of fabric defeated her.  “Oh, damn.  How am I supposed to ride with all these layers?”

“I’ll show you, milady.  Here—”  The maid assisted Laura with the boots, then showed her how to stand and carry the extra layers of material while she walked.  

Laura had actually ridden sidesaddle in her teens.  Her mother had enrolled her in a summer riding academy two years in a row.  In the second year, the girls experimented with the odd technique for a couple of weeks.  With the groom’s assistance and a short stepping block, she settled onto a sweet thoroughbred mare named Sunrise.  Meg arranged her skirts so they draped properly.  

“Thank you, Meg.”  She lifted the reins and Sunrise eagerly broke into a trot.  

They followed a narrow path that quickly took them into the woods, making Laura uneasy.  The tall trees and silence of nature unsettled her in a way L.A. with its noisy traffic and crush of people from all walks of life never could.  She took comfort from her mare who seemed confident about the trail.

“I hope you know where you are going, Sunrise.  All I’ve got is a vague instruction to stick to the path and stay to the left.”  

The brisk morning air felt good.  Harold told her that the journey to the meeting point would take nearly half an hour on the winding trail.  He was right, and the instructions turned out to be accurate.  Without much warning, the path broke free of the woods, opening up to a rock-covered road.  Mildred, clad in a pale grey servant’s dress, had already descended from a plain black carriage.  Harold himself held the reins.  

“Good morning, Lady Holt.”  He nodded in her direction.

She returned it.  “Good morning, Lord Brighton.”  She exchanged happy faces with Mildred over their respective costumes.  “Mildred, forgive me, but if I get off this horse, I’ll never get back on.”  Laura reined in Sunrise so they could walk a little away from Harold.

“That’s okay, Miss Holt.  Pretty clever of you to arrange for Mr. Lindermann, ah, Lord Brighton, to come get me.”

“I didn’t want the other servants to know you are with us.  What did Harold suggest for you to do?”

“I’m going to be a cook’s assistant.  Everyone knows that the kitchen is where the gossip is.”  Mildred shrugged.  “Give me a couple of days, and I’ll be able to tell you if anyone is on the take.”  

Laura nodded.  “I think you’re right.  Mr. Steele and I went through the house last night looking for hiding places and identifying anything that might be at risk.”  She drew the folded paper from her pocket.  “Mr. Steele wrote out a list.  Keep it close.”

“Sure thing,  Miss Holt.  Oh, I checked with all the shops and art dealers Mr. Steele mentioned.  None of the stolen stuff has turned up yet.  And the police have bupkis.  If it’s been sold, it wasn’t around here.”

Laura rubbed her eyebrow.  “That’s likely.  But keep an eye out.  It’s possible an employee has hidden some of it in his or her room and hasn’t disposed of it yet.”

“An employee?  Isn’t Daniel our culprit?”

“Mr. Steele doesn’t think so.”  

“But you don’t agree?” Mildred asked shrewdly.

“I don’t know.  It’s odd that we haven’t found any trace of the stolen items.  I would think at least one of them would have turned up somewhere.  But if Daniel had them, he could have easily taken them back to England and sold them there.  None of this makes sense, Mildred.”

“In what way?”

“We’re hired to find stolen goods.  That’s not unusual.  So we run our regular traces, bribe a few art dealers and check with the police.  Nothing comes up.  Harold told us yesterday that Daniel recommended our agency to find the thieves … which seems to indicate he’s either being honest and helpful for the first time in his life—”  Mildred’s doubtful look had Laura nodding in agreement.  “Or he’s set us up because he needs our help to pull off whatever scheme he’s got up his sleeve.”  

“That sounds more like Daniel.”  

“But Mr. Steele is convinced Daniel doesn’t have anything to do with these thefts.”  Laura’s agitation got through to Sunrise who began side-stepping in response.  She patted the horse’s neck to settle her.  She reined in again and the mare steadied.  “Mildred, keep an eye out.  I don’t know what we’re doing here.  When it comes to Daniel Chalmers and our Mr. Steele, anything can happen.”  

Mildred grimaced.  “That it can.  So what’s our next move?”

Laura twitched her skirts solemnly.  Then, with an abnormally bright cheeriness, she recited, “Riding this morning, breakfast, embroidery, a late afternoon picnic, and some sort of entertainment this evening.  Somehow I have to pretend to be a Regency marchioness interested in sewing, gossip, and talking about the most eligible bachelors.  Apparently, there is a great deal of concern about money, titles and gambling skills.  In the meantime, I have to figure out how to outwit a con artist.”

Chuckling at Laura’s dismay, Mildred reached out and patted her hand.  “Well, you have practice at that.  Try to have fun, anyway.  I’ll be baking bread in the kitchen.”

“If you find anything, let me know.”

“You too, Miss Holt.”  Mildred started to walk away.  She stopped mid-step, drew a letter from the pocket of her gown, and handed it to Laura.  “I, uh, brought a letter for Mr. Steele.  It came yesterday to the office.  It … seems important.”

Laura glanced at the envelope.  The return address was for the Immigration & Naturalization Service, and it was addressed to “Remington Steele.”

“You read it?” she asked.  

Mildred shrugged unapologetically.  “I think he might need to see this letter.  There’s a deadline in there he won’t want to miss.”

Laura pursed her lips, confused.  “I’ll make sure he gets it."

She waved once, then turned her horse back to the trail and trotted away from the carriage.  Mildred was proving to be more and more of an asset as a detective.  Quite frankly, she had saved their butts with the disaster over the Pick-6 ticket.  Laura kicked herself for not thinking of having Mildred in place earlier.  She did such a fantastic job of holding down the office that Laura sometimes forgot the former IRS agent could do excellent undercover work too.

Sunrise took them through a small copse of trees.  When she was sure no one could see her, Laura reined in, bringing the horse to a halt.  She tugged the letter from the envelope with her kid-gloved hands, shaking it out with a snap that seemed too loud in the quiet wood.  

Mr. Steele,

A recent check of your United States Passport has recorded an error.  A document has been improperly reported.  To remedy this error, you must provide one of the following:

1. A valid U.S. Certified Birth Certificate.  A certified birth certificate has a registrar's raised, embossed, impressed or multicolored seal, registrar's signature, and the date the certificate was filed with the registrar's office, which must be within one year of your birth, or

2. A valid U.S. Naturalization Certificate, or

3. Pursuant to Chapter 12, Subchapter II, Part I, Section 1154 of the United States Immigration & Naturalization Act (Title 8), you must provide proof of marriage to a U.S. citizen.  Any citizen of the United States claiming that an alien is entitled to classification by reason of a relationship described in paragraph (1), (3), or (4) of section 1153(a) of this title or to an immediate relative status under section 1151(b)(2)(A)(i) of this title may file a petition with the Attorney General for such classification.  

Adequate documentation or petition must be provided to the office listed below by close of business, May 9, 1986.  

Failure to provide adequate documentation will result in your immediate deportation to your home country.  Penalties for Document Fraud can be found under Part VIII, Section 1324c of the above referenced Act.

Sincerely,

Estelle Becker

Investigations Bureau

Los Angeles Field Office

300 N. Los Angeles St

Los Angeles, CA

Laura re-read the paper in shock.  Then she meticulously folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.  She ran a finger along the edge, found a trace of glue, dampened it with a wet fingertip and sealed it.  After a brief search for her dress pocket , she tucked it inside.  She clicked to Sunrise and pushed her into a hard gallop down the narrow path. For fifteen minutes, her mind was incoherent.  She lost herself in the movement of horse and rider, deliberately not thinking of the significance of what she’d read.

When the trail opened into a wide glade, she pulled up at the sight of another horse and rider on the opposite side.  She didn’t want company.  She wanted—she didn’t know what she wanted—but it certainly wasn’t to interact with any of the other guests.   

She remembered Lord Royce from last evening and hadn’t been much impressed.  He tipped his tall beaver hat as she drew Sunrise past his horse.  “Good morning, Lady Holt.  I’m delighted to discover you enjoy morning rides as well.”

“Occasionally.  Good morning, Lord Royce.”  She held out her hand.  

“Please, call me Anthony.”  He laid a kiss onto her knuckles.

The gracious gesture might have amused her on another day, but with her head spinning in confusion, she could hardly think.  But she did remember Remington’s tutelage.  “Lord Royce, we are not yet acquainted.  Such familiarity wouldn’t be proper.”  

“If you insist, Lady Holt.  Would you care to take a turn about the countryside?  We can call a groom if you like.”  

She didn’t like the dark gleam in his brown eyes.  Lord Royce was a good-looking man, probably of Italian lineage with his stocky build.  The tailcoat and breeches proved his mass was solid muscle, not flab.  She shook her head.  “I think it’s time to let poor Sunrise rest.  I’ve kept her out a while.”  She pretended to flick a bead of sweat from the horse’s neck.  

His eyes narrowed in disbelief but smiled affably.  “Then I’ll look forward to breakfast, my lady.”  He nodded in place of a proper bow.

Laura returned the nod without comment.  She lifted her reins again and bolted for the stable.  Lord Royce disturbed her, and she didn’t know why.  Yet.

*****

Remington paced outside the stable as he waited for Laura’s return.  When she did, his mouth curved up.  Like it or not, Laura in a blue velvet riding habit was extraordinary.  Her natural grace and pretty seat paired well with the magnificent horse she rode.  The mare seemed to know her rider’s beauty and almost pranced into the yard.   But something wasn’t right.  He could see it in Laura’s stiff posture and the firmly-pasted smile on her face.  

She drew near him, handing the reins to a waiting groom.  With a fleeting glance at the young man, her eyes came back to his.  “Good morning, Lord Remington.”

“Good morning, Lady Holt.  Please, allow me to assist you.”  Her eyes widened as he firmly clasped his hands about her waist and lifted her from the saddle to set her on her feet.  

“Um, thank you,” she said with a flush of pink on her cheeks.

Damn, he loved flustering her—and admired her beautiful recovery.

She gathered up the train of her riding habit in one hand and laid her other on his arm.  “Shall we walk, Lord Remington?  I believe I’m quite famished.  I do hope breakfast has been laid out.”

“Indeed it has, Lady Holt.  How was your ride this morning?”

“Lovely.  The path is quite beautiful.  Perhaps you would join me tomorrow?”

“I would be honored.”  

The moment they stepped inside the doors, Laura dug in her pocket.  “I’ve a letter for you.  My … maid brought it up and asked that I make certain you receive it.”  

Remington glanced at the return address.  Ignoring his trepidation, he slipped it inside his pocket and kissed her still-gloved fingertips.  “My thanks.”  Laura’s face reflected her curiosity and concern.  But now wasn’t the time.

He brushed fingers across her cheek, hoping to distract her.  “If riding puts this lovely tint to your cheeks always, I shall buy you a stable of horses so that you may partake each morning.”

She laughed.  “I think someone got into the brandy too early this morning.”

“If I appeared less than well-mannered, I offer my sincerest apologies.  But, my Lady Holt, ’tis your own person I find intoxicating to my senses.”  He pinned her with his eyes as he gave a little bow.  

*****

Although she still worried about the letter, Laura discovered she wasn’t immune to the Regency version of Remington’s charm.  She searched his face, looking for deception or amusement—and found none.  Playing along with the game, she tried to frame her reply appropriately.  “I … fail to find fault in your excellent manners.  I am … unused to such flattering descriptions of me … of my person.”  

“Then I shall endeavor to make certain they fall upon your ears often.”  He held out a hand.  “Shall we repair to breakfast?”  She nodded, and he smoothly tucked her proffered hand under his arm.  “I’ve discovered I’m quite … famished.”  The thread of heat in his voice didn’t surprise her, but rather than finding him grinning at her with an arched brow, she saw a dark intensity in his blue eyes that disconcerted her with its sincerity.  Laura steeled herself.  Remington played the gallant rake all too easily, and she was no more resistant to it than an innocent debutante.  

But she had a number of advantages over a chit fresh out of the schoolroom, not the least being four years of practice at dealing with the rake in question.  Tilting her head, she let her gaze drift southward for a moment, then flicked it back to his face.  “Famished … an excellent way to describe my current predicament.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing Remington miss a step as he escorted her to the manor house. 

*****

The ladies disappeared after the morning meal, leaving the men to their own devices.  In the solitude of his room, Remington tore open the letter.  

Damn Keyes.  Laura had signed a contract with Vigilance Insurance to conduct certain investigations for them.  The company had been impressed with the agency after the recovery of an enormous cache of diamonds.  But the lead investigator had been furious.  Keyes had called him a few days ago.

I don’t like you, Steele.  You’ve crossed a line, and I’m going to see you fall.  You see, you aren’t the only investigator that likes to do a little private work.  And I’ve discovered you have a small problem.  Don’t be surprised when INS gives you a call.  I’m getting rid of you for good.  And if I’m lucky, Miss Holt will be right there with you.  

He let out a quiet string of curses that would have made Laura blush.  

Laura’s gift to him in London, a passport bearing the name she’d given him and a precious key to coming home with her, had become a liability.  There was absolutely no reason for the INS to run a check on his passport unless someone—someone as nasty as Keyes—had tipped them off.  She’d never told him how she’d obtained it.  He’d been rather proud of her ability to produce one on short notice and so bloody happy to not be stuck in London without her that he hadn’t pressed.  Sometimes questions were better left unasked.  

A birth certificate would solve his problems, but if Keyes had told INS he was an illegal, wouldn’t they want some other kind of proof he was here legally?  He could ask Laura to marry him but doubted she would be interested in a fake marriage just to keep him on this side of the Atlantic.  A questionable passport was one thing.  A questionable marriage?  Not exactly Miss Holt’s style.

He dropped his head into his hands, damning the timing of it all. 

Laura was coming around.  Their flirtation had stepped up from saucy comments to heady innuendo—on both sides.  Last night’s dance with the laces was a perfect example.  He wanted her.  Wanted her so much his bollocks ached most of the time.  But he wanted her to come to him.  Anything else would give her an avenue of escape.  And he bloody well knew she wouldn’t come to him until she’d come to terms with all of her own desires and insecurities.  It was the singular characteristic about her that annoyed him as much as he admired it.  

No, he couldn’t ask Laura to marry him under these circumstances.  A false marriage would be a death knell to her pride.  What woman wants a commitment based on avoiding deportation?  

He wondered … could he get married long enough to settle things with INS, then divorce without Laura’s knowledge?  With the right participant, it might work—and would buy him that most precious commodity Laura needed—time.  It would bear some thinking. 

*****

Sitting in a room with five women, Laura stifled a yawn again—and not just because she’d had a scant four hours of sleep.  She randomly stabbed a needle through the fabric, making a mess of the threads.

A young woman in her mid-twenties playing Baroness Esterberg glanced over.  “Not into embroidery?”

Laura sighed. “Not in the slightest.”

“We could do watercolors.”  

“Can’t paint.  Or draw.”

“Do you like to read?  I think we have Fordyce’s Sermons in the library.”

Laura smiled.  The girl was working very hard to stay in character.  “I think I’ll take my chances with the needle.”

“Oh.”  The Baroness thought for a moment, then brightened.  “Can you play the pianoforte?  Some music would be lovely.”  

Grateful for the suggestion, Laura dropped the fabric and thread on the sofa beside her.  “That I can do.”  

She sat at the bench, warmed up her fingers, and laid them on the keys.  Later, she wouldn’t recall exactly what she played.  Her hands moved of their own volition while her mind turned over the implications of the letter.  

Logically, she took them one at a time.  First, without Mr. Steele, the agency would suffer for perhaps a year or more.  She could cover his absence for a while, but he’d become an integral part of the business.  Whether or not she liked admitting it, a healthy portion of their client base preferred dealing with him over her.  Not only that, it would take time to hire a detective with his skills.  Admit it, Laura, no one has his instincts.   

Which brought her to the second point: their partnership.  His abilities and background paired with her acumen for the business gave them the ability to beat the odds time and again on tough cases.  Mildred certainly lent a hand and was getting better all the time, but it wasn’t quite the same.  If anything, Mildred was more like Murphy—steady, methodical, and a whiz with talking to bureaucrats.    

She didn’t really want a new partner.  Her fingers slammed on the keys in denial, but her traitorous thoughts took her where she didn’t want to go.  

Last summer, when Mr. Steele took off to London, she’d been crushed—and not as a professional.  When she’d found him, he’d promised not to leave her again.  Now, all because of the passport she’d given him, he might not have a choice.  

What was with that anyway?   None of it made any sense.  Long ago, Murphy had helped Laura create a birth certificate for Mr. Steele.  With it, they’d obtained a driver’s license, a social security card—and ultimately, a passport.   The birth certificate hadn’t been hard, really.  A little cash and the right connections at the registrar’s office had put a signed and sealed document in Laura’s hands.  A brand new American citizen had been born in that moment; his name was Remington Steele, and no one could prove otherwise.  

All she had to do now to keep Remington in the country was to give him the certificate to take to the INS office to prove he was a U.S. citizen.  

But why would the INS ask to look at the underlying documentation?  It had taken some fast work on Laura’s part to have a passport created in Los Angeles, where she still had connections in the right places, and overnighted to London.  By now, no one should have known the identification had been created first and the paperwork filed later.   No, the passport itself shouldn’t have tripped any alarms, and beyond having an attendant take a look at it as they boarded the plane home, Mr. Steele hadn’t used it.  

Which means somebody had tipped off INS, she mused.  Someone with a grudge against Mr. Steele.  In that case, any birth certificate would be automatically assumed to be false.  Proving otherwise might take time they didn’t have, given that May ninth was only twelve days away.  She wondered who could have done such a thing, then gave up after a minute or two.  They had a long client list plus a whole host of unhappy culprits.  

But if Mr. Steele was married to an American citizen, the whole case would be moot, wouldn’t it?  

Laura played on, entrancing the ladies with the soaring notes. 

*****

Remington leaned against the wall outside the drawing room.  He had a brandy in his hand and swirled it absently.  Lord Royce and Lord Gray made low conversation over billiards in the next room over.  He ignored the clack of the balls in favor of listening.  Laura had played for him once at his request but had been shy about the keys.  He’d considered her well-taught but not necessarily talented.    

He was wrong.  Laura’s love of music poured from the piano, leaving him staggered by the depths and richness of the sound.  He knew little about the instrument but from the first notes had known who sat on the bench to create a work of art.

Daniel strolled down the hall and stopped in front of the closed doors.  “Lovely music.  Who is gifting us with her talent?”

Remington only raised an eyebrow.  “Can’t you guess?” he asked quietly before he sipped.  

“Linda?”  Daniel tsked, then coughed a couple of times.  “It takes deep waters to hide that kind of passion.”

He nearly choked on the brandy but forced it down with a manful swallow.  “That’s … an astute observation, Your Grace.”  

The older man seemed to stare off into the distance.  Idly, he asked, “What are your plans, Harry?  Haven’t you wasted enough time waiting for her to come around?”

The blunt question shocked him, although he automatically jumped to her defense.  “She’s turned into quite a girl, Daniel.”  

“Hm.  They always do until they get what they want.  What exactly does she want from you?”  The question floored him, but his mentor didn’t wait for an answer.  “I must say, I never could understand your attraction to Linda.”

“Laura,” he corrected.  This conversation was beginning to irritate him.  But being irritated with Daniel was a sure fire way to lose a match of wits with the con man—so he suppressed it as he’d been taught.

“Linda, Laura—there have been so many, it’s hard to keep track.  Do you remember the Contessa?”

Instantly, an image of blonde bombshell beauty and a sulky pout popped into his head.  He couldn’t help the laugh.  “Ah, yes, the one with the birthmark.”

“You see?  So many.  Such a shame to tie yourself to just one.”

Yes, but they aren’t Laura.  My turn.  With a false cheerfulness in his voice, he lightly punched Daniel in the shoulder.  “Ah, Daniel, damn you.  You’ve always been such an incurable romantic.  Now listen; tell me.  About this house—are you on the up and up, or are you intending to ... ah ... relieve the castle of all its treasures?”

“Oh, it’s the straight and narrow for me, Harry,” Daniel assured him.  “Living on the edge can become a bit trying as a steady diet.”

There was something in Daniel’s voice that bothered him.  He pressed lightly.  “Who would have thought it, eh?  The two of us making an honest go of it after all these years?”

“Neither one of us is getting any younger, my boy.”  Daniel gave him an odd look.  

“Tell me,” Remington asked, “if you had to do it all again, would you change anything?”

Daniel let out a sardonic laugh.  “A few things.  Here and there.”  Before Remington could coax any more information out of his mentor, Daniel nodded and strode down the hallway—leaving him alone with more questions than answers. 

*****

Someone touched Laura’s shoulder, startling her.  Baroness Esterberg only smiled.  “You play beautifully.”

“Oh.  Thank you.  It’s been a while since I’ve had the luxury to play for an extended period of time.”

“If I had your talent, I think I would spend all my days playing.”

Laura smiled at the sweet girl.  “That would be a luxury.”  Seeing that the other women were rising and putting away their tasks, Laura asked, “What sort of entertainment have we now?”

The Baroness stepped aside so Laura could stand, then threaded her arm through Laura’s to walk in unison to the door.  “I believe we will have a picnic this afternoon in the garden.  This evening, there will be card games in the parlour.”  

“What sort of card games?”

“Whist, I think.  You’ll need a good partner.”

“I can find one.”  

“Oh, do you have someone in mind?”

Laura tried for a shy smile as they ascended the stairs.  “I rather like the looks of Lord Remington.”

The Baroness frowned.  “But Lord Royce was asking about you earlier.”

“Lord Royce?  I saw him this morning as I returned from my ride.”

“Ah.  That must be it.  He’s quite taken with you.”

Laura doubted that.  They had been merely introduced last night and had spoken for only a moment this morning.  But in the spirit of the game, she replied, “Then I shall see if my interest is piqued as well.”  She waited for a moment outside her door.  “Thank you for your company, Lady Esterberg.”

The young lady dipped a curtsy.  “You are most welcome, Lady Holt.”  

The moment Laura closed the door, she let the smile drop as she stalked to the connecting door and knocked.  

A muffled voice from the other side sounded annoyed.  “Come in.  You can help with this damned vest while you’re here.”  Laura found Remington struggling to divest himself of the tightly fitting waistcoat.  As she closed in, he gave her an automatic bow.  She curtsied in response.  They both burst into laughter.  

While she unbuckled the back of the garment, in that absent-minded fashion she knew was anything but, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Laura?”

Tossing the waistcoat over the chair, she threw up her hands and paced.  “I can’t solve a case this way.  There’s nothing to do except hang around, hope something gets stolen, and then hope we can find it before it gets sold.  That’s no way to solve a case!”

“It’s all we’ve got at the moment.”

“Did you talk to Daniel?”

“Sort of.  He swears he’s on the straight and narrow.”

“If his straight and narrow is anything like yours, that’s not very promising.”

Remington’s full lips curved.  “It’s all we’ve got.”  

“So now what?  Tea parties and charades?”  She stuck her hands on her hips.  

“Something like that.”  The low sensuality in his voice warned her.

She took two steps backward, stopping when her hip connected with the writing desk.  He followed, sliding a hand around the curve of her neck.  “I know this.  If we have nothing to do but wait, I’m damned sure not going to waste a moment of it.”  

He kissed the soft flesh below her ear, then blew on it.  The cold air made her shiver.  Her hands dug into the folds of his shirt as he made a journey from her neck to her lips.  By the time he fastened his mouth to hers, she had one hand in his hair, urging him closer.  Laura couldn’t get enough of his spicy flavor.  She craved it, taking the kiss past making out and into dangerous waters.

Kisses stolen after work weren’t enough anymore.  In the back of her head, she knew they had to change clothes and attend the silly picnic, but at the moment, she didn’t care.  Perhaps it was the letter and the possibility of losing Mr. Steele altogether, but Laura wasn’t interested in keeping any sort of distance between them right now.  Shy to verbalize it, she let her hands do the talking by sliding them inside the fabric of Remington’s shirt.  He inhaled at her touch, his hands fisting in her hair—which she now realized was hanging loose on her shoulders, freed of its pins by his clever hands.

“Laura?”

“Hmm?”  She pressed a kiss to his chest before looking up.  

He pulled back.  “Are you quite certain?”

“I’d like to see you without that shirt, Mr. Steele.”

The pure joy she saw in his expression stunned her.  She drank it in, then had to close her eyes when he skimmed a single finger along the inside edge of her bodice, coming dangerously close to the pink tip of her breast.  

Yearning for that first brush of flesh to flesh, her breath came in soft pants as she tried to take in enough oxygen.  Restrained by the stays, she gasped out, “Get me out of this thing.”  

Like a little boy just handed a bag of his favorite candy, he grinned.  “Not yet.”  

Her eyes crossed as he dipped a thumb inside the fabric to caress a taut peak, just once.  His mouth hovered near her ear as he whispered, “Laura—”

“Yes?”

“This is going to take a while.”  

“I was afraid of that.”

If there was to be tension between them, this first time, it shattered as both of them laughed at her breathless quip.  He took pity on her, unlacing first the dress, then loosening the stays underneath so she could breathe without having spots dancing in her vision.  But he stopped her when she made to disrobe.

“Let me.  Please.”    

She hesitated with the fabric in her hands.  She had always been uncomfortable letting a man undress her  But she nodded anyway.  

Remington leaned against the desk, loosening the buttons on his shirt so that it hung open.  With sure hands on her waist, he fit her to him--her back to his bare chest.  They stayed that way, connected, letting heat build between them.  Remington didn't seem to be in any hurry.  He brushed his lips along her neck, taking his time.  His hands wandered, nudging the fabric to reveal the curve of a shoulder.

For someone who teased her about taking her time unwrapping a gift, Remington gave her exactly the same respect, savoring every inch of flesh revealed.  

She shifted her hips to prod him into moving faster.  

“Oh, no, my Laura.  Too much of that and we’ll not make it to the bed.”  He used his thigh to shift her away from his heat, making her groan in frustration.

“Would that be so bad?” she demanded.

“I’m not rushing this, Miss Holt.”  But he did slide his hand underneath the layers of fabric to cup the slight weight of her breast.  The sweet caress tickled, then made her twitch when he expertly plucked the tip.  “Like that, hmm?”   

With the dress restricting her movements and his hands creating exquisite friction, she fought the increasing pleasure—needing to retain some sort of control over her own reactions. 

She turned, breaking their embrace, only to find his face damp with perspiration.  In wonder, she stroked his forehead.  “You’re sweating.”

He blinked, the dilated black pupils making his irises seem indigo in the warm light.  “I'm nervous, Laura.  If I don’t make this right, you might not let me do it again.”

“Then you have incentive to do well.”  She flicked a saucy look at him and took her time sliding his shirt off.  With sure fingers, she traced lines on his shoulders before drawing her fingers down to play with his navel.  On the return trip, she circled the flat nipples before leaning in to touch one with her tongue.  

“Bloody hell, Laura.”  He jerked the fabric of her dress down, then lifted her to her toes to capture an aching peak between his lips.  Her nails scraped bare flesh while he feasted, suckling, licking, even nipping where he pleased.  Pleasure flashed over her, taking her abruptly to the precipice.  He held her there on the crest, then, with his free hand, he pressed her hips hard into his.  Even through the layers of fabric, his own arousal was unmistakable.  Caught helplessly in the wave of pleasure, she broke with it, clutching at black hair with one hand and his muscled shoulder with the other.  

He traced a path with his mouth to her throat as she trembled afterward.  For a moment, he simply held her while she regained her footing.  Or so she thought until she felt the stays slacken further. 

Shooting him a wicked look, she stepped back.  “I think you’re right.”

His face was pure masculine frustration.  “About what?”

“This is going to take a while.”  

His sudden grin faded away at the knocking on her door.  It returned briefly when Laura uttered a word she rarely used as she scrambled to her room.  

“Yes?” she called out.

“It’s Meg, Lady Holt.  I’ve come to dress you for the picnic.”  

Remington had followed and stood in the doorway.  At Laura’s questioning look, he shrugged. 

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready for you.”

“Yes, Lady Holt.”  

Laura returned to his embrace, dropping her head back.  “Do we manage in fifteen minutes or do we wait?”  

“I’m going to regret this in about thirty seconds, Laura.  We wait.  I want time to—”  He let one hand trail from her brow, to her jaw, to the curve of her breast, to her hip.  “Discover exactly what I’ve been missing all these years.  Just—”  He swallowed hard.

“Just what?”

“Don’t change your mind.”  

“Not this time, Mr. Steele.” 

*****

Laura wondered if anyone would miss the looks Remington shot her across the picnic blankets.  Under hooded lids, he let his eyes retrace everywhere his hands had been a scant hour ago.  

Providence had separated them, or Laura might have dragged him off into the woods by now.  Three enormous picnic blankets had been laid under the broad trees near the lake.  Laura, Lady Esterberg, Lord Royce, and Lord Ratcliff occupied one; Daniel, Duchess Waverly, Lady Ratcliff, and Lord Gray filled the second; Remington had his hands full with Miss Tate and Lady Gray.  Sir Lockwood happily joined in that particular fray.  

Laura had to tolerate Anthony’s fawning throughout the long meal.  Her attempts at warding him off proved futile.  

Sally, as Lady Esterberg invited her to call her, had noticed Remington’s gaze.  She leaned in, whispering, “That man is being rather forward.  Perhaps you should lock your room tonight.”

“A locked room wouldn’t stop him,” Laura murmured.  Sally made a questioning sound, and Laura shook her head.  “Sorry, woolgathering.”

“Daydreaming is more like it.  Would you care to take a walk by the lake, Lady Holt?”

“That would be delightful.”  Anything to get away from this.  The two women rose, Sally more gracefully than Laura, as if she were used to the style of dress.  Laura was slightly envious.  

Of course, Lord Royce pressed his advantage.  “A walk sounds great.  Do you want to join us, Lord Ratcliff?” he asked the older man.  

“Ah, no.  I think I’ll rest here a bit.  You younglings enjoy yourself.”  

Laura raised her eyebrows in question at Remington.  His mouth twitched as he leaned away from Miss Tate again.  A slight jerk of his chin told her he’d be along shortly.  

Stuck with Sally and Anthony for the time being, she supposed it was too much to hope that Lord Royce would take an interest in Sally.  When Sir Lockwood rapidly closed the distance to walk on the other side of Sally, that hope shattered.  Laura did her best to make it a threesome as they talked about the birds on the water but eventually gave in to the pair’s obvious interest in each other and stepped back to walk with Anthony.  

“Sir Lockwood seems quite enamored with Lady Esterberg,” Anthony offered.

“He does indeed.”  

“One only hopes the feelings are mutual.”  

“It’s rather early to tell.  After all, they’ve only just met.”

“Sometimes all it takes is a moment, Lady Holt.”

Thinking of her first look at Remington when he walked into her office, she nodded thoughtfully with a small smile.  “Yes, that is quite true.”

“Then perhaps you won’t think me too forward if I ask you to partner with me at cards tonight.”

Laura stopped to stare at him in surprise.  Am I reading too much into this or is he coming on to me?   “I, uh, have already been asked.”  She hadn’t, of course.  

“Then I regret I have moved too slowly.  I won’t make that mistake again.”  He dipped his head to indicate they should keep walking, letting his gaze linger a touch too long.  

Damn.  This was a complication she didn’t need.  Between Daniel and Remington, her hands were full.  Think of something, Holt.  

“Lady Holt, Lord Royce,” Remington said from somewhere behind her.  She turned with a grateful smile.  That Lady Gray and Miss Tate flanked him didn’t really bother her, especially when she could read the faint annoyance in his eyes.  

She remembered to greet the ladies first.  “Lady Gray, Miss Tate, Lord Remington.  We were discussing the card games scheduled for later this evening.”

Miss Tate immediately turned to Remington.  “You must ask me to be your partner.  I’m quite good at Whist,” she simpered.

“Ah, my apologies, Miss Tate.  I do believe I am promised to Lady Holt.”  

Anthony snorted with derision beside her.  “Miss Tate, having been declined by Lady Holt for precisely the same reason, I’d be delighted to be your partner this evening.”

Miss Tate made a moue of her lips, then shot Laura an amused look.  Confused by it, Laura mulled over its meaning for the rest of the walk.

After the card games were over, she got her answer.  She’d excused herself from the parlor after the games were finished with the plea of a headache.  She didn’t have one but should have with the way Remington and Anthony had spent the better portion of the evening trading subtle insults—ostensibly about the card play, but no one missed the references to physical … ability.  

With a desire to test out Remington’s claims, Laura ascended the staircase to her room with a smile.  

Two minutes later, she answered a knock at the door.  Miss Tate and Sally spilled in, giggling madly, carrying wine glasses and an apparently stolen bottle of wine.  Sally shut the door behind her, then sprawled out on the bed.  “Okay, Laura, how did you score the hottest guy in the room?”

Laura blinked in astonishment.  “I … didn’t know I’d scored yet.”  

Miss Tate sat next to Sally.  “My name is Kelly.  There are never any hot guys at these things.  Now there are three, and two of them are after you.”  

Laura began to laugh in relief from the restrictions of the last two days.  “Would somebody get me out of this getup?  I’ll tell you what I know.”  

Sally did the honors while Kelly poured the wine and passed around glasses.  She offered some advice.  “Laura, you really don’t have to wear that wooden busk all the time.  They’re uncomfortable at best.  Loosen your stays a little bit during the day and leave it out.  Save it for the dresses that really call for it.”  

Kelly added, “Regency dress doesn’t have to be all that uncomfortable.  You can even leave off some of the layers of petticoats if they seem too cumbersome.  I usually wear a dress, pantaloons and a short chemise with stays.  It’s enough for daytime.  If you want to be really fast, in the evenings, you can wear a dress and nothing else.”

Laura’s mouth dropped.  “Really?”

“Oh, it wasn’t the thing in the country, but in London?  All sorts of scandalous outfits were worn.”

Sally settled back on the bed.  “Okay, out with it.  How are you a marchioness when you haven’t attended a Regency weekend before?”

Laura picked up the glass of wine and sipped.  “It’s a favor to my boyfriend.  He loves this stuff.”  

“Which one’s your boyfriend?” Kelly asked.

Laura only smiled.  “Now, that would be telling.  But feel free to figure it out.  How about the pair of you?  Are you friends?”

Kelly nodded.  “We’re actresses.  Sally got a small role in a Jane Austen adaptation last year and came here to practice.  This year, she made me come with her.  I’ve been to others, but Lord Brighton holds the staff and guests to really high standards—so we should learn a lot.”  

“What sort of standards?” asked Laura.

“Oh, you know, all the unmarried girls have to guard their virtue and assume all the men are rakes,” Sally answered.  “Any … questionable behavior might result in a betrothal or a wedding.”  She giggled at Laura’s horrified expression.  “Oh, it’s not real—but it keeps us on our toes.”

“I should say.”  Laura made a mental note to recount this conversation to Mr. Steele at the earliest possible moment.

“So tall, dark and handsome with a really great British accent?  Or the sloe-eyed Italian Stallion?  Or maybe the redhead with the wicked sense of humor?”  Kelly poured the wine and passed around glasses.  “If Sally wants the comedian, let me know which one is your leftover, and I’ll happily devour him.”  

Laura drank and wondered exactly how fast she could get the girls out of her room.

*****

Remington, Lockwood, and Royce played billiards after the ladies disappeared.  Knowing that Laura was already in the bedroom gave Remington exactly zero reasons to prolong the game.  He flubbed the first shot on purpose just to give each of the men a chance to play, then cleared the table on his second turn on principle.

“That’s it then, mates.  I’ll be seeing you on the morrow,” he said congenially over Lockwood’s protests.  

Anthony followed him out of the room.  “Lord Remington, I’d like to have a word with you.”

He arched a brow and waited.  

“Lady Holt is of some interest to me.  I’d prefer you give me room.”  

But Remington wasn’t granting any.  “Lady Holt is a woman of her own mind.  She’ll make room where she will.”  I assure you, I’m an expert on the subject.

“Will she?  I wonder.”  

On that enigmatic declaration, Royce left.  Remington stared after him, then rapidly scaled the stairway with his customary grace.  The man would bear watching.  

His valet must have been waiting for his appearance, for the man knocked just moments after Remington closed the door to his room to assist him with undressing.  He vanished as quickly as he’d come.

In full anticipation of resuming the delectable antics of the afternoon, Remington raised a hand to knock on Laura’s door—then stopped when he heard unfamiliar female laughter on the other side, joined by Laura’s.  Since when does Miss Holt host girl parties in her room?  Sulking, he yanked the covers back on his bed and pillowed his head on his hands while he waited.  Something always interrupted.  

Chapter 3: Tuesday