Page 8 of The Marquess of Temptation
Chapter Four
He was losing his mind.
That was the only explanation that Alex could think of for his uncharacteristic behaviour that morning. Whilst riding through Green Park, he had caught sight of a most familiar looking bonnet and, on impulse, had dismounted his horse and followed the bonnet's wearer across the fields. He had then proceeded to be so overcome with righteous indignation at the object of his affection's irresponsible behaviour that he had failed in his initial mission - to charm Miss Belinda Bowstock.
Judging by the angry, stiff set of shoulders that he was trailing through the streets of Mayfair, his charm needed more than a little polishing; Miss Bowstock was livid with anger. Alex kept a safe distance as she turned onto Berkeley Square, watching to make sure she was safely inside Jarvis House, before turning back in the direction of Piccadilly.
Why he was so fixated with Miss Bowstock was beyond his understanding, and Alex hated anything that could not be rationally explained. She was the opposite of the type of woman he preferred; where his usual paramours were sultry and experienced, Miss Bowstock was innocent and more than a little naive. Not to mention stubborn headed. Alex, given his title, was used to women veritably throwing themselves at him --not stalking away in the opposite direction without so much as a backward glance.
The streets of London were thronged with people, rich and poor, going about their daily business. Alex guided Pegasus carefully through the heavy morning traffic of carriages and carts, finally reaching his original destination about a half hour after he had planned.
The offices of Miley and Son Solicitors was located on Half Moon Street, which itself was named after the tavern that stood on the corner. The buildings were modest yet genteel, with brown brick facades and sash windows that revealed little of the occupants inside. Miley and Sons was located two doors up from the tavern, with only a small brass plaque beside the front door to announce its presence.
Alex knocked, a loud rap, that was instantly answered by a beleaguered looking young man with sandy hair and spectacles.
"My Lord," the young man gave an exaggerated bow, "We have been waiting for your arrival. Old Miley cannot begin reading the will until all beneficiaries are present."
"My apologies for being late," Alex replied, feeling not in the least bit sorry for his tardiness. He had no idea why he had been summoned to the reading of his late wife's, late cousin's husband's will, and if it weren't for the fact that Mr. Miley Senior had sent him no less than five letters demanding his presence, Alex would not have come at all.
"No need to apologise," the young man blustered, gesturing for Alex to follow him down a dim corridor. "There is no hurry, Mr Miley Senior abhors rushing of any kind."
Nearly half an hour later, as Alex waited for the elderly, consumptive solicitor to finish reading the last will and testament of David Stockbow, he realised that the young man had been right. Old Miley spoke at a pace that left Alex stifling a yawn as he waited for him to finish. A young man named Captain Black, the only other person present, wore a similar look of boredom as he listened to the old man ramble on.
"Ah," Miley rasped, the phlegm in his chest audibly gurgling, "Now we get to the good bit."
Alex perked up, his interest piqued. David Stockbow had been a notorious privateer in his younger days, and was suspected of having stolen many things, including ancient Egyptian artifacts, among which, it was thought, was the missing part of the Egyptian steele he and Pierre Dubois were trying to decipher. Was it possible that Stockbow had learned of their familial connection and Alex's passion for hieroglyphics and decided to do the honest thing? Alex doubted it, but he pricked his ears and listened intently none the less.
"To my daughter, Hestia B. Stockbow, I bequest all my worldly goods, excepting my ruby-hilt sword which I leave to Captain James Black, as thanks for saving my life."
Alex stole a glance at the young man who sat to the left of him; he was well dressed and handsome, not the type of man who looked like he would be anyway inclined toward saving a criminal's life. He idly wondered how on earth that scenario had arisen, but his imaginings were cut off as the solicitor spoke again.
"And finally," Miley read slowly, his rheumy blue eyes fixed on Alex, "Should I die before my daughter reaches her majority, I wish to entrust her guardianship to Alex Delaney, Marquess of Falconbridge."
"A ward?" Alex was so shocked he had not realised he had spoken aloud until Miley replied "Yes" with a cackle.
"Good God," Alex blustered, "What on earth am I supposed to do with a ward?"
"Well," Miley lay down the sheath of paper on the table and eyed him with unconcealed amusement, "You could start by finding her first. You see, since her father's death, Miss Hestia B. Stockbow seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth."
It took all of Alex's will power not to snarl in annoyance, for the elderly solicitor looked positively gleeful as he imparted the news. Wonderful, Alex thought to himself, not only had he inherited a ward, he had inherited a mystery as well.
"I can help you find her," Captain Black spoke for the first time, his voice as clipped and aristocratic as Alex's own. "For I owe Stockbow my life as much as he owes his to me."
The offer to trade the gallant Captain his ward for the Captain's ruby sword was on the tip of Alex's tongue, but he somehow resisted.
"Thank you Captain," he said instead. "Once Miley furnishes me with the last known whereabouts of Miss Stockbow perhaps we shall retire to the Half Moon to discuss our search?"
"I could do with a glass of ale," Black replied cheerfully.
"I could do with a gallon of it," was Alex's dour response.
White's was not a place that Alex frequented regularly; he was usually too absorbed in his work to bother dedicating himself to nights of drinking, like so many of his peers. That evening, however, after having spent the afternoon in the rather amicable company of Captain Black, Alex found himself alighting the steps of the prestigious gentleman's club for the first time that season.
"Lud," a cheerful voice called as he entered the warmly lit drawing room. "Falconbridge, I haven't seen you in an age."
"Payne," Alex inclined his head toward James Fairweather, whom he had known since childhood, "Fancy meeting you here."
Lord Payne either missed or ignored the sarcasm in Alex's tone, for he gestured for the Marquess to join him at his table at the club's famous bow window.
