Regency Steele
Chapter 5: Thursday

A familiar knock on the door woke Laura from a dreamless sleep.  The presence of firm, masculine flesh under her hand hardly registered before Remington slipped out of bed, retrieving his robe at the same time he pressed a kiss to her forehead.  She pried her eyes open just in time to see their shared door close silently.

Sliding over, she buried her face in the still warm sheets, inhaling Remington’s scent before answering Mildred’s persistent tapping.  With a grin on her face, she reminded herself to compliment her partner on his speedy exit.

“Good morning, Mildred.”

“Somebody’s chipper.  You look rested, Miss Holt.”  She handed over a cup of coffee.

Laura’s eyes nearly crossed with pleasure as she sipped.  “I am.  I slept better last night than I have in days.”

Mildred seemed vaguely disappointed by the news.  “Well, that’s something anyway.”  She parked herself on the foot of the bed.  “Where’s the ring?”

Laura let go of the mug to hold out her hand.

“Whoa, Nellie.  That’s a good-looking hunk of jewelry.”  Mildred whistled as she inspected it.  Then she peered suspiciously at Laura.  “You’re still wearing it.  It’s not real, is it?”

“Remington said it is.”

Mildred looked up sharply, hope lighting up her eyes.  “Did Mr. Steele ask you?”  Her face fell when Laura shook her head.

“No.”  But her simple answer didn’t begin to explain the complexities of what had been admitted in the parlor--and Mildred deserved a a better explanation.  “The setting is real.  Remington said it’s for what we have—not this charade—but for what we do have,” she paraphrased.   “And—I like it,” Laura admitted.  She surprised herself with the wistfulness in her voice.

Tears welled up in Mildred’s eyes.  “Oh, Miss Holt.  That’s lovely.”

Laura handed her friend a handkerchief from her drawer.  “It’ll have to do for now,” she said cheerfully.  “Now—we have some detective work to do.”

“Sure thing, Miss Holt.  What’s on the agenda?”

“I need you to talk to the housekeeper.  Find a way to make sure she actually did the inventory on Saturday.  According to her records, she’ll do another one today.  None of the “stolen” items are listed as missing in her journal.”  Laura filled in Mildred on the notation from two years before.  

“Uh huh.”

“If they aren’t stolen, then where are they?  In storage somewhere?  It would be helpful if you could get an idea of where they might be hidden.  Something tells me it’s going to be important.  The hair on the back of my neck keeps standing up.”

Mildred cocked her head.  “You’ve lost me, Miss Holt.  Now we have to actually find the missing items?”

Laura shrugged.  “It’s the only way to prove that Mr. Lindermann made up the whole story.  Then maybe I can get a straight answer out of Daniel.”

“But they could be anywhere!”

“Exactly.  Think you can help me out on this one, Mildred?”

“Absolutely, Miss Holt!”

As soon as Mildred left, Laura slipped into Remington’s room—only to find her partner dozing in his bed.  She ran through several versions of how she wanted to tease him about disappearing from her room.  He raised his arm off his face as she sat beside him.  The intensity in his blue eyes startled her—even more so when he shifted from prone to sitting swiftly enough that she fell off balance.

Remington caught her with one arm, pressed her to him for a hard kiss, and used his free hand to skim down her back until he found the gap in her short pajamas at the waist.  With his fingers on her bare skin, he slowed—settling in to nibble on her lower lip before moving on to tangle his tongue with hers.  At onslaught of sensation, Laura automatically tried to pull away, but he held her fast as she drowned in his taste.  Heat seared through her, and she found herself returning his kiss with fervor.

He palmed a breast under her shirt before she realized his hand was on the move and jumped at his touch again.  But he only drew his fingers around the outer curve as his mouth continued to savor hers.  A thumb sneaked across the tip of her breast as his tongue delved deep, and Laura found herself aching for much, much more.

The speed with which he aroused her and the new familiarity he had with her body left her dazed—and out of control.  She stiffened in preparation for calling a halt when Remington framed her face with both hands.

“Don’t stop, Laura.  I—”  His hands dropped away.  She was shocked to discover they were trembling.

*****

He braced himself for Laura’s withdrawal as her face blanked.  Then, in a fluid move, she flipped her shirt over her head and tossed it to the side.  Naked from the waist up, she faced him with an uncertain smile.  The freckles on her face and neck sprinkled down across her breasts; a few were scattered on her belly.

“Good God, you are beautiful.”  He could hear the hoarseness in his own breath and berated himself.  Always, always he’d maintained his control regardless of what his own sexual desires were.  Never had he been one to beg.  Yet the long night of having Laura in his arms had taken its toll.  Slipping out of her bed this morning in a manner all too familiar in years past left him bereft rather than smug.  While she spoke to Mildred, he’d lain in bed uncomfortably aware of the difference.  And when Laura’d sat beside him, he’d known only one emotion: need.

She traced a single finger along his collarbone.  “So are you.”

Her words pulled him apart.  “Forgive me, Laura.”  Without any further warning, he laid siege to her body, kissing, caressing, finding small ways to bring her pleasure.  He skimmed the lace-edged tap pants down her legs.  They were instantly lost somewhere in the tangle of bedcovers, along with his own briefs that Laura managed to remove without his being fully cognizant of the details.  Then he rolled to his back, taking her with him so that she straddled his waist.

Laura was exposed to him this way.  He recognized that she wasn’t shy or afraid of him.  In truth, she wasn’t letting him have any more of the upper hand than she wanted—yet she followed his lead to see where he would take her.

Deliberately, she eased down so that his shaft slipped into her silky vee—sliding in the notch, yet not taking him inside.  Remington bit his lip hard in an effort not to lose it then and there like an untried youth.  He made himself concentrate only on her pleasure.  As he danced his tongue over the tips of her breasts, her skin flushed pink.  When he slipped a hand into her wet folds and found her nether peak, he experimented rather desperately until he found the sensation she liked best.

With a hitch in her breath, she protested, “Remington, I can’t—”  She tried to wriggle away from his hand.  But her body made a lie of her words as she rocked with his stroking.

Laughing in a low, sensual voice, he encouraged, “Oh, yes, my darling Laura, you can.”

He watched her struggle.  Like a snapshot of their whole relationship, she fought with it even as sensation overtook her.  She closed her eyes, arching backward as the orgasm swept through her.

“Now!”  He sank inside her as much as he dared.  Her spasms took him deeper, drawing him in hard and high.  Unable to resist, his own climax ripped through him, leaving him breathlessly crushing her to him in an effort to wrest every last bit of sensation out of her body.

He held her, stroking her back as he’d done last night.  Groaning, he berated himself for his complete lack of consideration for her.  No words of love, no drawing out of her pleasure, just a swift joining that left him utterly drained and still wanting more—

And yet, Laura lay on his chest with her chin pillowed on her hands, wearing a cat-in-the-cream expression.  Her dark eyes glowed as she hummed a pretty tune in contentment.  She drew the covers up over their hips as she settled in, seemingly uninterested in breaking apart their still connected bodies.

“Laura—”  The door to his room swung open.  Remington looked over her shoulder to see the startled valet jolt in surprise—yet the man made a swift recovery and yanked the door closed.

He pressed his lips together, annoyed at the interruption.  But Laura began laughing, quietly at first, then helplessly as she slid off his chest to lie on her back.  He rolled with her, grinning at her reaction even as he was clueless why the situation struck her as funny.  He thought she’d be mortified.

“Remington.”  She brushed tears from her eyes.  “We’ve been shot at on several occasions, nearly run over, interrupted by fake cases, real cases, and Mildred a couple of hundred times; it’s only fitting that someone should walk in on us now.”

Seeing her point, he chuckled, “Perhaps we should consider ourselves lucky we managed to finish the deed.”

“I think you’re right.  Now—who was at the door?”

“My valet.”

“Any chance no one was in the hallway?”

“Not a one.”

“Lady Ratcliff?”

“And Lady Gray.”

Laura covered her eyes.  “I’m not sure what is worse: getting caught by them or my mother when I was kissing Jimmy Keans on the front porch my junior year in high school.”

“Hmm.”  It was the occasional comment like this that pointed out the differences between him and Laura.  At sixteen, no one gave a damn whom he kissed in the alley behind the flop he and Daniel kept.

Still, she wasn’t naïve.  She knew more about him than any person alive—not so much the details as the man within.  The satisfaction on Laura’s face, rather than filling him with dread as it might from another woman, touched a place deep inside him—one which belonged to her and her alone.

Another rap on the door warned them their brief interlude was over.  Laura kissed him, hard and thoroughly, before disappearing through the door with her clothing in hand and a smile on her face.

He yanked his own dressing gown off the chair and tied it before answering the door.  Daniel wore a dark frown as he walked in without invitation.

“You’re not making this any easier.  The Ladies Ratcliff and Gray spilled the on dit all over the parlor not ten minutes ago.”

Too sated to let such a thing disturb him, Remington needled Daniel, “Glad to know we made the morning news.  I do hope we were the top story.”

“You don’t seem bothered by it.”

“No.  Now if you don’t mind, I need to dress for breakfast.  If you would, ring my valet while I’m in the shower.”

With faint astonishment, Daniel nodded.  Remington grinned at him as he stepped into the bathroom.

While the valet dressed him, Mr. Lindermann himself came to call.

“Mr. Steele, I’m quite at a disadvantage here.  Had I but known about your relationship with Miss Holt, I would have paired you as a married couple.  This,” he flapped his wrists in confusion, “is quite complicated.”

“In what manner?” Remington asked congenially.

“If you were regular guests, I would insist you marry on Saturday morning after a proper wedding breakfast.  Miss Holt’s reputation is quite tattered, and if you don’t do the proper thing and marry her, then yours will suffer as well.”

“Why a wedding breakfast?”

“Oh … it’s Regency tradition that weddings have to be conducted in a church before noon.  We have the chapel on the first floor at our disposal, and I have a local man who poses as a minister.”

“My good man, it is my understanding that a special license allows us to marry anytime and anywhere.  Tomorrow evening will do.  In any case, I don’t see the problem, Mr. Lindermann.  Miss Holt and I are quite used to any charade that is necessary for us to conclude the case.  I do apologize for the confusion though.”

“Ah yes, the case.  I nearly forgot with the state of things.  Have you made progress?”

In truth, Remington had no idea. “Of course we have.  By Saturday, we’ll have your culprit well in hand.”

Now why did that seem to worry Harold?

Remington waited for Laura at the top of the stairs.  They walked together, arm in arm, to the breakfast parlor where all ten guests fell silent as they appeared.

He cleared his throat.  “Good morning, Your Graces, Ladies, Lords.”  He bowed and Laura curtsied in acknowledgement.  “I’ve wonderful news this morning.  Lady Holt has agreed to wed with me tomorrow evening in the Brighton chapel, after which we will celebrate with dinner and the ball provided by Lord Brighton.  We do ask for your blessing on this happy event.”

To her credit, Laura didn’t flinch, flush, stammer or even give him a sidelong glance.  She did, however, use her thumb to lightly caress the base of the ring he’d given her before lifting her chin to grace the throngs with a smile.

The curious movement flummoxed him as he shook hands with Sir Lockwood.

*****

Daniel eyed the pair from his end of the table.  While he ate, he sorted through various possibilities and landed on the one he liked the least, yet—perhaps in light of recent events—might yield the highest gain.  He would have to speak to Lord Royce very soon.

*****

Most of the guests sorted themselves by sex and took off toward opposite ends of the house as the breakfast concluded.  Laura stole a moment with Daniel before he slipped out.

In a very low voice, she queried, “Leaving so soon, Your Grace?”  While she spoke, she eyed Remington as he made conversation with Lord Gray at the far end of the table.

“I thought I’d keep Gray company.”  He nodded to the other man as he left the room.

“You’re avoiding Mr. Steele.  You weren’t planning to tell him at all,” she accused in a low voice.

“I really wish you wouldn’t concern yourself with this.”  His expression seemed pained.

“Well, I am concerned, damned concerned.  Your problem will be solved one way or the other.  I’ll be the one stuck living with the secret,” she hissed.

“Delicately put, Laura.”

“Go ahead and make your jokes.  But it isn’t fair to Mr. Steele, and it isn’t fair to me.”

“You’re right.  It’s time for the truth.”  Leaving her behind, he made his way around the table where Remington waited.

“Ah, Daniel.”

“Harry, my boy, I’ve something to tell you.”

“Let’s take a tour of the gardens, then.”  Daniel exchanged a long look with Laura.  She curtsied to him, smiled at her partner and left the room.

The cloudy day kept everyone indoors, cancelling a game of cricket and leaving most of the guests lounging about, bored out of their minds.  Not at all interested in another afternoon of embroidery or piano playing, Laura paid a visit to Sunrise in the stables.  She’d pocketed an apple from the table and shared it with the mare.

When she’d given Sunrise a last pat, she noted a shadowed figure near the open stable door.   “Back from the tour so soon, you eager beaver?”  Without hesitation, she walked straight toward him and pulled him into a hard kiss.  Everything about it was wrong—the shape of the lips, the taste, his scent.  She pushed away in shock—  “Lord Royce?”

“If I say yes, will we have to stop?” he smirked, then stole another kiss.

She shoved him away.  “Let go of me.”

“Seems you’ve got yourself in a bind here, Lady Holt.  I can help you get out of it.”

“Who says I need help?”

“Your fiancé is using you.”

She didn’t dare ask how.  “What makes you say that?”

“Ask him.”

“Laura?”  Remington’s voice carried through the front door of the stable.

“Why don’t we both ask him,” she suggested.

But Anthony grabbed her arm to stop her from going through the door.  “Do you really want him to find us in here?  Together?”

She hesitated.  She had nothing to hide, nor fear.  Yet—Remington had taken an intense dislike to Lord Royce.

Anthony stole a last kiss on her cheek before he slipped past her and out the rear door of the stable.  Remington walked in just then to see his nemesis sprinting across the lawn.

“Consorting with the enemy, Lady Holt?”

Flustered and annoyed, she retorted, “It isn’t what you think.”

“Yeah, well, no need to look guilty.”  She put her hands on her hips, making him quirk his lips in a grin.  “Your hijinks this morning pale in comparison to this.”  His lips curved with sensuality, and he captured her mouth for a possessive kiss.

She tossed her hair back.  “Do they now?”  She started to flirt, then remembered where he’d been—and with whom.  Growing serious, she said, “You talked with Daniel.”

Remington shook his head.  “It’s all so tragic.”

When she saw the faint tears in his eyes, she laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Death always is.”

He wiped them away.  “Ah, poor Daniel.  He loved that dog so much.”

“What dog?” she asked sharply.

“Montague,” he said.  “His cocker spaniel.”

Tightening her lips, she spit out, “You mean to tell me you have been in there talking about a cocker spaniel named Montague?”  She pointed to the garden.

Remington nodded.  “And what a little cocker he was too.”

She stalked through the front door of the stable, “Where is he?”

“In the garden, Laura.  He’s, uh, composing himself.”

She shot him a look full of fury and went to find His Grace.

*****

The moment Harry left the garden, Daniel zipped into the house.  He worked his way through the guests and hallways until he slipped into his son’s room like a wisp of smoke vanishing into a crack.

It only took him seconds to pop the catch on the trunk and another half a minute to find what he wanted.  He pocketed it and refastened the catch.  Rising, he searched the wall separating Harry’s and Linda’s rooms.  He discovered the panel where the latch was hidden, slid the door open, and found her trunk.

Less than three minutes after he entered Harry’s room, he walked out again, confident in the next stage of his plan.

******

Laura scoured the grounds looking for Daniel.  She ran into Mildred just outside the servant’s entrance.

Mildred didn’t hesitate, just threw her arms around Laura and squeezed.  “I heard the news!”

Returning the awkward hug, she said lightly, “I suppose everyone in the house knows we were discovered in bed together this morning.”

Mildred’s eyes grew round in shock.  “I meant the wedding!  You mean you and Mr. Steele finally—”

“Did the deed?  What do you think precipitated the wedding?”

“But I thought you weren't going to marry him to save him from the INS?”

“It’s not real, Mildred.  We’re just keeping Mr. Lindermann happy.  Speaking of which, what did you find out from the housekeeper?”

“She did inventory of the downstairs right before breakfast.  She does the upstairs after the maids clean during breakfast.  I told her Mr. Lindermann wanted me trained to work one of his other properties.  She bought it and showed me how she tracks everything.”  Mildred put her hands on her hips. “You and Mr. Steele—”

“And what did you find out?” interrupted Laura.

Chastised only a little, Mildred told her.  “Oh, I asked about that little shepherdess figurine since it was listed in her journal.  She nodded and said it was locked up in storage for a couple of weeks but that it would be back on display after this group cleared out.”

“I wonder where that might be.”

“I asked.  There’s a groundskeeper’s  cottage that is sometimes used for honeymooning couples.”  She winked at Laura.  “Perhaps you and Mr. Steele could make use of it.”

*****

Lady Ratcliff and Lady Gray took it upon themselves to dance attendance on Laura for the rest of the afternoon, but eventually Laura prettily pleaded a headache and fled to her room.  She had to find a way to come up with proof of the goods, or Daniel wasn’t going to come clean.  Thinking about the whole predicament did give her the headache she’d claimed.

She rang for Meg and changed into a riding habit.  Sunrise seemed happy to see her and nickered before fidgeting as she was saddled up.  The groom warned Laura to keep her ride short because the weather would turn to rain before long.

“Is there a place to stay dry if I’m caught out in it?” she asked with pretended innocence.

He grunted, not believing her for a moment.  “The groundskeeper’s cottage is thataway.  Good spot for a bit of privacy.”  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder as he grinned and flicked a glance at her ring.

“Ah.  I won’t be long then.”

As she and Sunrise worked their way across a low hill, she wondered what Remington made of her wanting him in bed last night and making love this morning.  She couldn’t quite explain it herself—only that it seemed right.  Even in the grey light of the overcast clouds, the ring glimmered on her hand.  She wondered how Remington knew she preferred emeralds.  Leave it to a jewel thief.…

She had to admit they had ventured into new territory and not only in the bedroom.  For them to have a fight and not cover it up with flippant remarks--or avoiding the subject entirely--was still new.  But perhaps they'd learned something from the Friedlich Spa after all.  She still wondered why Remington had made his accusations--something must have set him off--but for now, she'd chalk it up to the stress of the week.

Naturally, the weather changed from to dry to pouring buckets as soon as the little building was in sight.  Laura tucked Sunrise under a long overhang of the roof and ducked inside.  The cottage was snug—more like an antique version of an efficiency apartment, she thought.

She wandered about, picking up trinkets here and there to examine, looking for the missing pieces.  Keeping an eye on the weather to see if it would lighten up, she inspected the bookcase bordering one wall and gave the whole cottage a quick, thorough search.  Finally, she began pulling books off the shelf to look for a hidden safe.  Reaching up, she tried to pull one off the second-to-top row.  It seemed to be stuck.  Not one to be deterred, she dragged a chair to the bookshelf and used it as a stepstool.

The door to the cottage opened, admitting a dripping handsome man into the parlor.  Laura rolled her eyes and pried at the book.  “What are you doing here, Lord Royce?”

“Looking for you.  What are you doing?”

“Occupying myself until the rain lets up.”

“I could help with that.”  His voice was full of seductive charm as he crossed the little room to stand beside her.

“Anthony?”

“Yes, Laura?”

“Back off.”

“You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

Something in his tone made her pause, but she forgot about it when she pulled the book free. That’s odd.  The book was only two inches deep.  She pulled herself up to peer into the empty slot.

“Laura, what in the hell are you doing?”

She glanced down at him and then back at the slot.  She began pulling books from that row, all of them cut close to the binding.  Anthony danced backward as they hit the floor near his feet.

“Are you crazy?” he yelled.

“No.  I’m looking for something.  By the way, what’s your real name?”

“Anthony.  Anthony Roselli.  My friends call my ‘Tony.’  Why?”

“Uh huh.  What are you doing here?”  She heard him rustling about uncomfortably.  “You’re not getting anywhere with me,” she said rather pointedly.  “ You might as well be honest.”

“I was hired.”

“By Leighton Sinclair?”

He was quiet for a minute.  “How’d you know?”

“I’m rather familiar with the players.  What was your job?  To seduce me so that Remington wouldn’t want anything to do with me?”

He didn’t answer.  She turned to face him and saw the guilt in his expression.  “I see.”  She went back to inspecting the now-empty shelf.  “Ah ha!” she crowed.  With a pin from her hair, she began picking a lock hidden in the paneling.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he asked again.   

“I’m a detective, Tony.  A private one.  I was hired to find—”  The panel door popped open and she drew out a small figurine.  “The person who stole this—and everything else in here,” she said as she peered inside.  “Interesting.  And I’ll bet I know who has the key.”  She slipped the statuette into her pocket.

“A detective?  Then what’s the deal with the Duke?”

She shrugged nonchalantly.  “That Duke has his fingers in more scams than a mafia don at a horse track.  He doesn’t like me.  He’s afraid I’ve corrupted his protégé.”

“His protégé?”

“Lord Remington.”  She took a quick inventory from her precarious perch.  Yes, everything is here.

“I’m confused.  The Duke hired me to seduce you so that Lord Remington wouldn’t have anything to do with you.  But Lord Remington is your new fiancé.  You’re good with that?”

She nodded, looking at him over her shoulder.  “Quite.  We’ve been partners for four years.  It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone—least of all the Duke.”  She shut the safe securely and climbed down to retrieve the books off the floor.

“Four years,” he said faintly.  “Then I suppose you know him pretty well.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t think he’s using you?”

She peered at him, trying to discern if he knew about the letter.  “Most partnerships require give-and-take.  At times, he’s held me up.  This time, it’s my turn.”

He shook his head and held up his hands.  “You know what, Lady Holt?  I’m out of this.”

“That’s probably best,” she agreed.  “Do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell anyone you followed me in here.”

“Sure thing.”  He collapsed on the sofa in resignation as she put the last book back in place.

She murmured soothingly to the mare as she climbed the mounting block.  “Sunrise, you’re just going to have to get wet.  I’m not about to get caught in that damned cottage with Tony.”

The horse whinnied as if she understood, then sulked with flat ears as she trotted home in the rain.

*****

Remington found Laura in her room wrestling with wet fabric and laces.  Without her asking, he began working the strings loose as she shivered.

“What in the bloody hell were you doing, woman?”

“Solving this silly case.  That’s why we’re here, remember?”

Mollified somewhat, he tugged the last of the laces free.  She reached into her pocket and set a figurine onto the bed.  At a glance, he recognized it as one of the missing items.

“You’ve been a busy bee today.”  The dress fell wetly to the floor, leaving her wearing only the corset and pantaloons.  “Aren’t you missing some clothing here?” he commented as he pulled the strings out of the stays.

She looked down.  “Oh, no—Miss Tate said I could leave off a layer or two, especially when I’m riding or for the formal dancing. “

Miss Tate be damned.  He could see Laura’s damp flesh covered in goosebumps, and he had more than a couple of thoughts as to how to warm her.  She loosened the drawstring to the pants now that the stays were coming free.  They joined the dress on the floor.  She wiggled out of the corset, leaving her only in the long chemise that flirted with the curve of her rear.

“I found all of the supposedly stolen items.  I told you this case was a sham.”

“So you did.”  Remington wasn’t paying much attention to her words as she scooped up all the wet fabric and carried it to the sink.  She came back with a towel that she used to dry off the floor, her loose breasts moving appealingly under the damp material.  Identical knocks at both their doors warned them it was time to dress for dinner.

Laura gave him a wide grin as she sat back on her heels and rose.  “Later, Mr. Steele.”  Gently, she prodded him into his own room and shut the door.

He stood on the other side, befuddled by the entire state of affairs.  It occurred to him he had no idea what was going on.

*****

Daniel descended the carriage and waved it off as the butler took his beaver hat, overcoat and walking stick.  Lord Royce waited for him in the hallway, making a fair dent in whatever drink he had in his hand.

“Your Grace.  Might I have a word with you?”  Anthony didn’t sound very happy, and Daniel sighed.  He was tired.  The short trip had been a challenge--even for him.  He’d come away successful, if a bit short in the pocket as a result.

He coughed twice and nodded, grateful for the two fingers of brandy the other man handed him from the sideboard.

“It appears that Lord Remington is much more attached to Lady Holt than you suspected, Your Grace.”  Anthony took a fortifying sip from his glass.  “It doesn’t appear to be one-sided.”

“Indeed.”  He swallowed another cough.

Anthony seemed frustrated by his answer.  “I overheard you two.  You’re gonna let him con her into marrying him just to keep him from being deported?”  He shook his head.  “She’s not as bad as you’ve made her out to be.  I think she really likes him.”

“You forget, Lord Royce, Lady Holt is an excellent actress when the situation calls for it.  Nevertheless, I understand your position.  If she’s not amenable to your advances, I’ll have to make other arrangements.”  Daniel pinned Anthony with a haughty stare.  After a moment, the other man bowed and departed.

Daniel slowly climbed the stairs.  Once in his room, he fumbled for a handful of pills and swallowed them along with his brandy.  In weariness, he sank into his chair and contemplated the awkwardness of truth.

*****

Dinner was a quiet affair after all the gossip and excitement of the day.  Afterward, Lady Ratcliff took Laura personally by the arm and escorted her into the drawing room to have a discussion about wedding plans.  A gaggle of women followed, tittering in their excitement.

Laura sat on a plush chair across from Lady Ratcliff.  The older woman had a small writing table in front of her and parchment for notes.

“Tomorrow morning we will wake early.  Lord Brighton will have a selection of gowns brought up from which we will choose a dress.  Do you prefer gold or silver accents?”

“Gold.”

“Excellent choice.  Now, what sort of cake do you prefer?”

“Italian cream?”

Lady Ratcliff rang for the footman.  “Tell the cook the bride prefers Italian cream.”  He bowed and departed.

“Flowers.  Color preference?”

Laura shook her head in confusion.  “I like them all.”

“Good.  A cluster of tiny buds will be lovely.  I’ll assemble it myself.”

Lady Ratcliff continued to fire off questions.  Regardless of how she answered, the other woman had a plan.  Laura felt a thrill of excitement in spite of herself.  It’s all in good fun, Holt.  Relax.  You get to hold this over Mr. Steele’s head for months—maybe even years. 

*****

The men lingered over port before dispersing to the card room.  Lord Gray promptly fell asleep on a couch, snoring in fits and starts.  Lord Ratcliff joined Lockwood, Royce, and Remington for a game of faro.  Daniel poured another drink and sat at the table.

Remington gave him a sharp look, noting the faded color on his mentor’s face, but Daniel waved him off.

Ratcliff held the cards.  “Three-card loo.  One hundred to play, gentlemen.”

Each of the men exchanged their money for chips and play commenced.

Remington had forgotten what fun loo could be.  He hadn’t played it often over the years, but really, counting the cards was a great deal easier than in poker.  Gray turned out to be a canny cardplayer.  He puffed on a cigar, making Remington yearn for one—except Laura wasn’t a fan of them.

Daniel was off his game a bit, causing Remington concern, but not so badly that he was losing outright.  Lockwood and Royce were comfortable players, neither challenging the others nor wasting their time by not knowing the game.  But when the chips began to tip in the favor of the better players, cracks began to show in Royce’s façade.

“That was a pretty trick, Remington,” Anthony said as Remington raked the chips into a pile yet again.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“Too bad you won’t get a chance to do that again.”

“Take a trick?  That’s rather presumptuous to assume unless you are finished with the game.”

Anthony stood up.  “I don’t think you get it, Remington.  I don’t like the way you play cards.”

“Expertly, with a touch of finesse?”

“Cowardly, with a heavy dose of scheming.”

Remington stood.  “Take care with your words, Lord Royce.  I find offense with them.”

“Good.  You should.”  Anthony balled up a fist.

“Lord Ratcliff,” Remington asked sharply.  “What are the house rules for responding to a challenge of honor?”

The older man laid down his cards.  “Swords at dawn.  Blunt tips.  First touch wins the challenge.”

“Very well.  Choose your second, Lord Royce.  I’ll see you at dawn.  Cash my chips, Lord Ratcliff.  I’ll collect my winnings on the morrow.”  He strode out of the room with Daniel hard on his heels.

The older man caught up with him on the landing.  “Harry, stop.  This is going too far.”

“The bloody prick wants Laura for himself.”

“Perhaps she’s encouraged him.”

Remington abruptly stopped and faced his mentor.  “What do you have against Laura, Daniel?”

“I don’t want you hurt, Harry.  Loving a woman too much … well, let’s just say the pain can last a lifetime.” 

“Not having her would hurt far worse.”

Daniel turned away to climb the stairs.  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, my boy.”

Remington let him go, stunned by the other man’s apparent misery.

*****

Lady Ratcliff escorted Laura to her room.  “Gather your things, dear.  You’re sleeping on my divan tonight.”

Laura laughed at the joke, then discovered it wasn’t one.  “With all due respect, Lady Ratcliff, I’m thirty years old.  I think I can sleep where I choose.”

“Tomorrow, you may.  Tonight, you may not.  Come, dear.  We’re all tired and have much to do in the morning.”

Mindful of keeping Mr. Lindermann happy, Laura complied with great trepidation.  Later, as she settled onto the hard divan at the opposite end of the house, she wistfully remembered how good it felt to sleep in Remington’s arms.

Chapter 6: Friday