Page 36 of Rakes & Reticules
“I do not play cards either.” A wistful look whisked across her pretty, pixyish features. “Are you sure this is the best plan? Icouldhelp abduct him.”
Fletcher burst into laughter again.
When was the last time he’d laughed this much?
“Why doesn’t that suggestion coming from you surprise or appall me? No need to fret, Siobhan. I only need you to keep Huxley distracted. It’s his wife I plan on getting the information from.”
“Won’t she be suspicious?” Siobhan took a sip of wine, and wonder momentarily brightened her face as she held the ruby-tinted glass up to the window light. “Oh my. That is quite delicious.”
Her joy at something so simple caused a weird sensation in Fletcher’s belly.
In all his years, he’d never met a woman as unpretentious as her, and he’d known many women. It wasn’t that he’d believed her to be a male for the past several weeks either.
There was something abouther—Siobhan Kenney—though he couldn’t pinpoint what that undefinedsomethingwas.
As the son of a wealthy deceased banker and adopted son of a duke, Fletcher had never known want or need. A large, close-knit, and loving family had always surrounded him. The closest he came to understanding Siobhan’s need to provide for and protect her siblings was his concern for his employees’ safety.
“We’ve considered that.” He cut a bite of chicken. “Chandler and my cousin Torrian hatched a scheme to entrap the Huxleys.”
In truth, wily and conniving, the Huxleys mightn’t fool easily. Pessimism reared its gnarly little troll head, but Fletcher shoved it to the back of his mind.
Her expression unconvinced, Siobhan asked, “Which is?”
Fletcher arced his knife in the air.
“I’ll tell Lady Huxley that my boy of all work mentioned he’d left me a note for a clandestine assignation but, regrettably, I never saw it. I’ll tell her my secretary or one of the maids set it aside when they straightened my desk and fears they accidentally tossed it into the rubbish bin when gathering the news sheets. I’ll claim that I don’t want Samantha to think I ignored her message.”
Siobhan gave a slow but doubt-ridden nod. “How will you convince her? You said yourself that you don’t dally with married women.”
“I’ll persuade her that I’m interested in a flirtation and will make an exception for her.” It shouldn’t be hard to do. Samantha Fogwell, Viscountess Huxley, flirted with him outrageously whenever their paths crossed. Rumor had it Huxley was impotent, and his wife had strong carnal appetites. “Two years ago, before Samantha married Huxley, she propositioned me.”
More than propositioned, in truth.
She’d practically begged Fletcher to have his way with her at a country house party—the last he’d ever attended. She wouldn’t accept his refusal, and only approaching guests finally dissuaded her amorous attempts. He left the house party that night, convinced she’d have climbed into his bed in the wee morning hours had he not.
Less than a month later, her betrothal to Huxley appeared in the papers.
Siobhan’s eyebrow shied upward, but she didn’t feign shock as a society miss would have done. “That ought to make things substantially easier.”
But then again, Fletcher wouldn’t have had this conversation with ahaut tonmember in her bedchamber, let alone ask her to flirt with a married man. He’d have been slapped and probably called out for his audacity.
“I was involved with an actress at the time and declined Lady Huxley’s invitation.”
Fletcher might be a confirmed bachelor and rakehell, but he was faithful to women while he courted them. Besides, Samantha’s desperation hinted at something ominous and unbalanced.
The cynical look Siobhan leveled Fletcher fairly shouted she didn’t believe him. “With the club overrun with your men, how will you arrange a privatetête-à-tête?”
Should he tell her?
Yes. She would need to know.
“There are hidden, private passageways.”
“Oh.”
She left it at that, and Fletcher was grateful.
They ate in silence for several minutes before she set her fork down.
