Page 31 of Someone to Watch Over Me
Their conversation was interrupted as Mrs. Dobson appeared with a tray bearing a steaming jug of coffee and clean mugs. “You drink far too much of this brew,” she said disapprovingly. “Both of you.”
“It stimulates the senses and promotes clear thinking,” Cannon informed her, while she poured a large does of the black liquid for him. Eagerly he accepted the mug and wrapped his long hands around it.
“And keeps you awake half the night,” Mrs. Dobson scolded, shaking her head until her silver curls danced. She turned toward Grant as if he were an ally in her cause. “Sir Ross never sleeps more than four hours a night, never has time for a hot meal…and what for? The more work he does, the more it piles up around him.”
Ross gave her a swift scowl. “If Mrs. Dobson had her way,” he remarked to Grant, “I’d soon become as fat and lazy as Chopper.”
The maligned cat resettled her stocky body on the corner of the desk and sent her master an insolent glance.
Continuing to shake her head, Mrs. Dobson left the office.
Cannon blew gently into his mug, causing steam to swirl up from the coffee. “Very well,” he said, his gaze arrowing to Grant. “With your permission, I’ll approach Lady Lichfield and ask to expand her guest list.”
“Thank you.” Grant paused before adding thoughtfully, “There is one bit of news I haven’t yet mentioned…something Lord Gerard said when I questioned him. I’m not certain whether to give it any credence, as it wasn’t confirmed by Miss Duvall’s diary or anyone else I’ve interviewed.”
“Well?” Cannon prompted.
“Gerard said that he believed Miss Duvall was expecting to marry soon. Someone with a large fortune.”
“Hmm. What man of means would choose to ‘buy old boots’?” Cannon mused aloud, using the popular phrase to describe someone marrying another man’s mistress.
“Exactly,” Grant said. “As Lord Gerard pointed out, ‘one doesn’t marry soiled goods like Vivien Duvall unless he wants to be the laughingstock of England.’ But it’s possible she found someone in his dotage, willing to take her on.”
Despite Grant’s effort to sound dispassionate, his tone was infected with a trace of bitterness that Cannon could hardly miss. Silently Grant cursed himself as he was subjected to Cannon’s discomfiting scrutiny.
“Tell me your opinion of Miss Duvall, Morgan,” the magistrate said quietly.
“My opinion has no relevance.” Grant stood to brush imaginary dust from the legs of his trousers. “If you’re referring to evidence—”
“I asked for your opinion,” Cannon said inflexibly. “Sit, please.”
Abruptly the office became stifling. Grant longed to ignore the request. Cannon’s cool, perceptive gaze was a jabbing annoyance. He thought of putting off the question with an insolent reply or a convenient lie…but he would be damned if he would ever fear the truth, no matter what it was. Glowering, he eased back into his chair.
“There are two women inside Miss Duvall,” he said stonily. “There’s the one you find in that book, experienced, jaded, greedy…a perverse bitch. And then there’s the one who is currently residing in my house.”
“And what is she like?”
“Intelligent…sweet…gentle. Most men’s fantasy.”
“And yours?” Cannon murmured.
Grant gripped the arms of his chair as if he were manacled to it. “And mine,” he finally admitted gruffly.
Cannon contemplated him with a hint of sympathy that was well nigh unendurable. “Take care, Morgan,” was all he said.
Grant thought of assuring him he would in his usual cocky manner…but somehow the words wouldn’t come.
“All right,” Cannon murmured in dismissal, and Grant took his leave with ill-concealed relief.
Eight
“Aball?” Vivien stared at Grant as if he had gone mad. They sat in the downstairs parlor, where he had told her of the plan he had devised with Sir Ross. Although Grant appeared sympathetic to her distress, he was obviously not giving her a choice in the matter.
“You’re asking me to appear in public,” Vivien continued uneasily, “not merely in public, but at a large formalball,to let everyone in London know that I am alive. And then I’ll be in danger at least ten times worse than now.”
“You’ll be under my protection,” Grant replied quietly, coming to sit beside her on the gold damask-upholstered settee. He took her small, knotted fist in his hand and chafed it gently until her fingers relaxed in his. “Trust me,” he said, smiling faintly as he stared into her worried face. “I would never let anyone harm you.”
“I won’t know anyone there,” she said, clinging tightly to his hand. “I won’t know what to do or say.”
