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Chapter Sixteen

Brandon took off his glasses and stretched back in his leather chair behind the desk. He had been poring over the latest dispatches from London. Even though Parliament was out until spring, dedicated politicos like Earl Russell were still hard at work, trying to lobby support for the Reform Act which would be the focus of the spring session.

Brandon used his break from paperwork to study the beautiful woman sitting demurely in the wing-backed chair near the fire, her neck bent slightly forward as she read a slim volume of poetry, a silver tray containing hot fudge and strawberries next to her elbow. Nora.

After nearly a week of her constant presence, he still couldn’t believe his good fortune. She had stayed. She had admitted she cared for him; so much that she would throw away the passion they shared together in order to protect him. It was the partnership he craved, the knowledge that he was not alone. He had found the one person who could bring him the solace his soul demanded, not just in the dark watches of the night but in all aspects of his daily life, from the mundane to the more extraordinary.

Never had his heart been so committed. He could not resist her. She could not resist him, yet she did for reasons he did not perceive or understand. For every obstacle she erected, he countered with a solution and still it wasn’t enough to win her capitulation.

Looking at her now with the firelight dancing on her features, her toes tucked beneath her soft rose-coloured skirts, her hair gathered into a loose chignon at her neck, he could hardly reconcile the image with the brazen Cat who had dangled her trousered legs over the same chair and swigged down his brandy like a dockhand a month ago. Anyone seeing her tonight would see a lady of gentle refinement. Of course, it was all an act, a trick wrought of fine clothes and a competent lady’s maid.

He liked the illusion. He liked it even more because he knew what lay beneath the soft wool and pearls. He had only to look in her sharp jade eyes and see the truth of her—the keen intelligence, the ardent passion for her cause. That passion made sense now in the wake of her tale. She’d been disappointed by important people in her life and by the world in general. But instead of letting those disappointments overwhelm her, she’d elected to change the world so that others would not be similarly disappointed.

Not so unlike him. He wished he could convince her of that.

She raised those eyes to meet his. ‘You’re staring, Brandon,’ she chided softly.

‘Better to look at you than these damnable papers,’ Brandon said with a weary tone. ‘I swear they tread over the same ground time and again, never gaining an inch. The act has passed the House of Commons three times, but the House of Lords will not admit the need to change.’

Nora rose and put down her book. She came around the desk to stand behind him, her capable hands massaging his shoulders. ‘Was there anything else of interest in the post today?’

Brandon knew what she was really asking. Had Jack come up with any news of Reggie Portman? ‘No.’

He reached up and covered her hand. ‘It is too soon for him to know anything conclusive. It doesn’t matter what he finds. If Portman is dead, you are free now. If Portman is alive, we will petition the courts for a divorce on grounds of abandonment. You will be free either way,’ he consoled her. ‘It’s been seven years—perhaps we can have him declared legally dead.’

‘Divorce, Brandon? You cannot consider it. A divorced woman may be your mistress, perhaps, but not your wife. You must not forget your station.’ Nora’s soft tone carried a warning edge to it. ‘Besides, he’d have to be the one to divorce me. The law doesn’t allow a woman to sue for divorce. You know that, Brandon.’

There it was again, that damnable tendency to block his solutions. Debating with Nora was as frustrating as his opponents in Parliament; more frustrating, perhaps, because the next minute she was all soft compliance, making him forget how hard-headed she could be.

‘Besides, I am free now, Brandon. There is no sense in going through the public display of a divorce if he’s alive. He hasn’t found me for years. Perhaps you’re right and he isn’t as bent on revenge as I imagined.’

Brandon drew her around to his lap. ‘I would never stop looking for you.’ He smiled at the blush rising on her cheek.

He had discovered in their short time together that The Cat might be a tough, saucy-tongued woman, but true flattery was the chink in Nora’s armor. A sincere compliment was her undoing. It thrilled him that in many ways he was the first to love her honestly and in the truest sense. It also touched a tender spot deep inside him that this woman, who risked herself so completely in order to give to others, had received so little affection in her life.

‘I know, let’s play a game, Nora. I’ve had enough of paperwork tonight. It’s called Truth or Consequence. You choose if you want to answer a question or if you want to take a challenge of my making.’

Nora smiled like a cat with cream. Any thought of ‘demure’ exited his head. ‘That sounds decidedly wicked, my lord,’ she said in the husky voice he loved.

‘It can be,’ Brandon conceded. He had played a few bawdy versions of the game before when he and Jack had been in their salad days. ‘You go first.’

Nora twisted a lock of hair that had come loose from her chignon. ‘What will it be, truth or consequence?’

‘Truth.’

‘Do you really have a sister? You cannot answer yes or no. You must elaborate,’ Nora said.

‘Not only do I have one sister, I have four.’ Brandon laughed outright at the incredulous look on her face. ‘How do you think I got to be such a ladies’ man? I learned a lot about the whims of women growing up in a household where my father and I were severely outnumbered and regularly outflanked by the fairer sex. There’s Margaret. She’s the oldest. Then, Elspeth, she’s the scholar in the family. I’m the third child, but, being male, I was instantly catapulted to the head of the line.’ That earned him a punch in the shoulder from Nora. ‘Then there’s Clara and Dulcinea. Dulcinea’s the wildest.’

‘Was it Margaret you sent for?’ Nora asked, referring to the letter he had sent out for a chaperon.

‘Heavens, no! She’s the most reliable of them all, the perfect oldest child. She’s married with three children of her own. I wrote to Dulci.’

‘The wild one?’ Nora raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t meet the criteria for a proper chaperon.’

‘I wasn’t after a “proper” chaperon. But you have broken the rules. That’s two questions.’ Brandon tapped her on the nose. ‘It’s my turn. Will it be truth or consequence?’

‘Truth,’ Nora said gamely.

‘That day in Manchester, when “Eleanor” tried to give me the slip at the drapers, where were you going?’

‘To Anacoats. I needed to see Mary Malone and give her some money for medicines.’

Brandon’s conscience pricked. His desire to catch The Cat in action had prevented her from doing a good deed. ‘Did she get them?’

‘Yes. When I went back in, I gave instructions to Jane.’

‘Outside the baker’s in Manchester, did you know I was there?’ Brandon broke his own rule and plunged ahead with another question.

‘That you’d been following me? Yes.’ Nora laughed so hard Brandon had to right her to keep her from falling off his lap. ‘I spotted you almost immediately. I confess I was quite mean to you, staying in the bakery longer than necessary. I hope you didn’t freeze too badly but you deserved it, sneaking around behind poor “Eleanor”.’

Nora reached for his cravat and tugged. ‘You were too canny from the start. The day you came to tea at the Grange it was as if you could see right through me. No one in town had caught on after four months of me living under their noses. But you were different. You were too alert and too handsome for your own good. I had to convince you utterly that “Eleanor” was what she appeared to be: a gentry-class spinster with a small amount of breeding, a smaller amount of funds and a ton of missish manners.’

‘You should have let me impress you with my manners and good looks, then,’ Brandon teased. ‘It was your resistance to my charm that put me on your scent.’

Nora pushed at him playfully. ‘You arrogant man! All women are dying of love for you, is that it?’

‘All but you, apparently. I even risked my neck going into the Manchester slums on Christmas Day with you. There were times while I waited for you that I thought I might lose my boots.’

Nora shook her head. ‘You are far too capable for any thug to risk his neck, as nice as your boots are.’

‘Capable, am I?’ Brandon felt himself growing warm. She smelled of rosewater and lavender as she fiddled with his cravat. The game was going to take a decidedly different turn within moments. ‘Is that why you kissed me that first night?’ He dipped his head and feathered a kiss along the column of her neck.

‘I kissed you because I thought it would be a successful distraction and assist my escape.’

‘Why did you think that would work?’ Brandon asked, desire mounting in his voice.

‘I could tell right away that you were a man used to having his commands obeyed.’ Nora traced his jaw with a finger. ‘Men who command sometimes like to be commanded.’

‘Is that why you tied me to the bed after the card party?’ He was completely hard now. He was sure she could feel the progress his member was making beneath her buttocks.

Nora grinned mischievously. ‘I tied you to the bed because you deserved it for torturing “Eleanor” on Mrs Dalloway’s balcony. That’s too many questions for you. We’re not very good at following the rules.’ She was the absolute coquette. She squirmed strategically on his lap. ‘This is harder than I thought.’

Brandon didn’t have to ask what she was referring to by ‘it’.

She breathed against his neck. ‘It’s your turn to pick and you choose consequence.’

‘Do I?’ Brandon asked in hoarse anticipation. ‘I forgot, men like me want to be commanded.’

‘There are no men like you.’ Her hands were in his hair, her mouth at his ear, sucking provocatively on his ear lobe. ‘Take me upstairs.’

‘Your command is my very wish.’ Brandon rose with Nora in his arms and headed for the door.

‘If your skill in bed matches your wit, this should prove to be very pleasurable,’ Nora rejoined, tossing back her head, enjoying the moment thoroughly.

‘One can only hope,’ Brandon parried.

Nora adeptly leaned back in his arms and swept up the small silver pitcher of melted hot fudge used for dipping the strawberries they’d eaten for dessert. ‘When one cannot hope, there’s always chocolate.’

A surge of unadulterated glee ran through him. Never had foreplay been this stimulating. This was an utter romp and had him looking forward to a long delightful night.

A sharp knock on the door of his chambers woke Brandon late the next morning. He was slow to wake, wanting to ignore the knock and focus instead on the warm feminine form curled against him, her buttocks sensuously nestled against his groin. The smells of the night before, mixed with the subtle aroma of chocolate, brought a smile to his face. He wanted the world to retreat so that nothing existed except him, Nora and this room. But Harper, persistent valet that he was, wouldn’t let it. The knock sounded again.

Brandon rose with a groan and covered Nora with a sheet for the sake of decency. For Harper’s sake, Brandon reached for a robe and belted it, although it would serve Harper right if he answered the door naked. Harper found unnecessary nakedness offensive in the extreme, the prude.

Brandon called out, ‘Enter.’

‘Sorry to disturb you, my lord.’ Harper bustled around the sitting room, picking up hastily discarded garments and shaking them out.

Brandon smirked. The busybody wasn’t sorry in the least.

‘I have news that needs your immediate attention,’ Harper said, smoothing out Brandon’s shirt from the night before and clucking over the missing buttons.

Brandon stiffened in expectancy.

‘There was a small fire at one of the tenant’s cottages last night and they need you to come inspect the roof.’

The tension seeped from Brandon’s body. He had hoped the news might be from Jack. ‘I will go at once. Lay out my riding clothes. I’ll have coffee and toast downstairs. Tell the groom to saddle my bay.’

It was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d planned to spend the grey winter morning in bed with Nora, but duty called.

Harper finished dressing him quickly and Brandon penned a short note for Nora, who still slumbered on in the bed. The afternoon was just as good. He could spend the morning thinking up inventive things to do with scones and jam—yes, definitely jam.

The door shut and Nora rolled over. She’d feigned sleep. It would have been too tempting to persuade Brandon to come back to bed and ruin her opportunity. In spite of the pleasure she found in their time together, the problem of getting more funds to Mary Malone and the others still encroached. She wouldn’t rest easily until she had fulfilled her obligations there. She had her plunder. She simply had to get into Manchester and pawn it.

It was clear Brandon was not going to let her out of his sight, so she had waited for a chance to sneak away. He would be gone until mid-afternoon. That would give her plenty of time to go back to the Grange, don her ‘Eleanor’ disguise, drive into Manchester and take care of her business. With any luck, she’d even beat him home. If not, she would leave a note saying she’d gone out to pay calls or that she’d gone to run a few errands in the village.

She regretted the deception, but if Brandon knew, he would never let her go. He might offer to give her the money, but that wouldn’t be the same. This was her cause and she had to see it through. Her mind made up, Nora put her plan in motion.

Brandon had been thinking about scones and a pot of jam all day. He entered the front hall and stripped off his riding gloves, handing them to a waiting footman. The butler bustled out to meet him.

‘Good afternoon, my lord. I am glad to see you. Mrs Bradley is waiting for you in the drawing room.’ He delivered his message with a haughty roll of his eyes, suggesting he found Mrs Bradley above herself to importune the Earl with a visit.

‘She’s waiting for me?’ Brandon asked, slightly perplexed. In all the years he had been in residence here, Mrs Bradley had never called on him alone. She usually called with her husband or alone only if one of his sisters were visiting. ‘Surely you mean she calls on my betrothed.’

The butler cleared his throat. ‘Miss Nora is not at home. She left you a note.’ The butler extended the folded white sheet inscribed with Nora’s neat hand.

Brandon scanned the note and looked up. ‘Are you certain the caller is Mrs Bradley?’ The note from Nora said she was hoping to call on Mrs Bradley and run some errands in the village. He found it deuced odd that under the circumstances she would go down to the village. The fewer people who saw her, the better. Odder still was the idea that she’d pay a deliberate call on the Bradleys, especially since Mrs Bradley was here and apparently had no idea that Nora had deigned to call on her.

The butler looked chagrined that Brandon would doubt his ability to correctly identify the neighbors. ‘It is Mrs Bradley. I have known her for over a decade.’

‘Of course, my mistake.’ Brandon gave a curt nod of his head. ‘I’ll see her right away. Send a tea tray to the drawing room.’ He strode to the blue drawing room, keenly aware that this was not what he had in mind when he had contemplated scones and jam.

‘Mrs Bradley, to what do I owe the honour of your company?’ Brandon said congenially, crossing the room in great strides.

‘I had hoped to meet your betrothed, Stockport,’ Mrs Bradley said.

Brandon wondered if she had any idea that she was far too familiar with the use of his name for London manners. ‘I am sorry she is not here,’ Brandon apologised smoothly, taking a seat across from her. ‘Perhaps there is something I can help with?’

Mrs Bradley smoothed the lap of her skirt and preened under his undivided attention. ‘I came to invite the pair of you to the Squire’s Valentine’s ball. It’s a betrothal ball for you, really. This engagement has been so sudden, but it must be acknowledged. We’ll do it properly for you and the gel.’

Was one actually invited to one’s own betrothal ball? Despite the forward assumptions the woman made on his behalf, the ball would complicate things immensely. Valentine’s Day was past the two weeks Nora had contracted to stay for. A smile creased his lips. Perhaps that would work in his favour.

‘I will have to consult with my betrothed, of course. I am not sure how long she had planned to stay.’ Brandon turned his head towards the door at the sound of light footsteps. Nora was home.

A fleeting look of shock crossed her features when she saw him with Mrs Bradley, the very woman she’d professed to be visiting, which verified that she had been up to something.

She masked her surprise beautifully after that and came sailing across the room, hands extended to Mrs Bradley, apples blooming in her cheeks. The minx had been out riding and for quite some distance to look so ruddy.

‘Mrs Bradley, I regret I was not here to receive you. I’ve been out riding.’

Brandon felt piqued. Not a word of greeting to him. He interjected himself into the conversation. ‘I thought you had gone to see Mrs Bradley.’ He held up the note.

She smiled. ‘You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived at Wildflowers and found I had missed you, then my delight when the butler told me you were here!’ With aplomb, Nora turned to Brandon, beaming. ‘Darling, what did I overhear about a Valentine’s ball?’

Mrs Bradley jumped ahead of Brandon. ‘We are throwing you a betrothal ball, my dear.’

‘I wasn’t sure how long you would be staying?’ Brandon put in cautiously. ‘It is up to you. I think the idea splendid.’ Let her interpret the message and all its import, he thought. It would be tantamount to a permanent declaration.

Nora smiled, but Brandon could see the tension in her lips. ‘If you think it is a good idea, then we shall accept the offer.’ She nodded at Mrs Bradley. ‘You are too kind.’

Brandon grinned. Nora would make a fine Countess if given the chance. Now that she was home, he hoped Mrs Bradley wouldn’t linger over tea.

Mrs Bradley reached for a second shortbread scone and dashed his hopes. ‘Do you think your sister, Lady Dulcinea, will be able to attend?’

The woman was a gossipmonger of the first water. Brandon swore silently, regretting he had mentioned to the Squire that he had sent for his sister. ‘I certainly hope so. However, I am distressed that I have not yet had a reply from her. I fear my letter may have missed her at her current residence,’ Brandon said smoothly.

Brandon let the conversation lag, conveying his desire to be done with the interview. Mrs Bradley finished her scone and took the none-too-subtle hint.

The drawing-room door shut behind her, and Brandon turned his attention on Nora. ‘Where have you been? I was surprised to find you had been out at all.’

‘I went riding. I thought I might pay a call or do some shopping, but I wasn’t sure,’ Nora offered.

Brandon sensed a lie of omission. She was telling the truth, but not all of it. She had gone riding. The rosy cheeks attested to it. She probably had paid a call and done some shopping, but he’d wager his mother’s ring that it wasn’t in the traditional sense.

The knocker on the front door sounded and Brandon swore out loud. ‘Lucifer’s balls, you’d think we were having an at-home.’ The day couldn’t get any worse. Moments later it did. The butler announced Cecil Witherspoon.

‘More tea, if you please,’ Nora ordered tersely, obviously steeling herself against the visit.

‘We’ll need something stronger than that,’ Brandon muttered as Witherspoon strolled into the room, looking as if he had a standing invitation to call on a peer of the realm.

‘Stockport, I have news,’ Witherspoon said with, in Brandon’s estimation, an overblown sense of self-importance.

‘Please, be seated and share it.’ Brandon gestured to a chair with a bonhomie he didn’t feel.

Witherspoon glanced at Nora and then sent a Brandon a silent query as to whether or not she would be staying.

‘You can speak freely in front of my bethrothed,’ Brandon assured him. Whatever Witherspoon had to say, he felt it boded no good for The Cat and Nora had best hear it first hand.

When they were all seated and Nora had poured out, Witherspoon delivered his news. ‘I have had men watching the pawn shops in Manchester, you know, in the hope of finding some of the jewellery taken from us at the dinner party.’

Brandon looked up from his tea cup. No, he hadn’t known. He didn’t let on. He’d thought he was the only one watching them. ‘A very sensible idea,’ he said noncommittally.

‘Indeed. Today, my men found this.’ Witherspoon withdrew a ruby necklace. Brandon recognised it as belonging to Witherspoon’s wife. She’d worn it to the dinner party at St John’s and relinquished it to The Cat.

‘I am sure your wife will be glad to have that back, it’s a lovely piece.’

Witherspoon smirked and held it up to the light, appreciating the jewellery. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? I had it commissioned for our wedding anniversary. You might try the same for your first anniversary,’ he offered pompously.

Brandon fought the urge to punch the condescending tone right out of the lout’s mouth. ‘Did your men discover how the necklace got to the pawn shop?’

‘That’s the best part, Stockport.’ Witherspoon replaced the necklace carelessly in his outer coat pocket. ‘A woman dressed in a gaudy print gown and wearing spectacles brought the necklace in. My men can testify they saw a woman matching the description of Eleanor Habersham enter the shop late this morning. They sent for me right away.’

‘Was Miss Habersham’s name on the ticket?’ Brandon asked, casting a sidelong look at Nora. He didn’t need further evidence to know where she’d gone and what she’d done when she’d said she had shopping to do. Damn her, she had promised. How could he protect her when she refused to be protected?

‘No, of course her name isn’t on the ticket, although my men did look,’ Witherspoon said in a condescending tone that suggested he found the Earl to be soft noodled. ‘She was clever enough to use an alias. It would be foolhardy to pawn stolen merchandise under one’s real name, don’t you agree?’ Witherspoon paused briefly and then went on to outline his own thoughts on the matter. ‘I wouldn’t have been suspicious if it hadn’t been a necklace I personally knew. After all, the Habersham woman hasn’t a penny to her name and she has to live on something,’ he said callously, maligning the poor spinster with the implication that she was disgracefully selling off family heirlooms.

Brandon’s fist clenched. If Eleanor Habersham had been real, he would have called the man out for abusing the woman with his aspersions on her finances.

Unaware of Brandon’s growing agitation, Witherspoon droned on. ‘I did some checking. I stopped at the Grange on my way home from Manchester. Do you know what I found?’ Witherspoon was delighting in the telling.

‘I cannot possibly guess,’ Brandon said in a tone he hoped conveyed interest, although he already knew to some extent what Witherspoon had found. Eleanor Habersham wasn’t in residence.

‘Her man of all work told me Miss Habersham had left a week ago to visit an old aunt in Yorkshire. There’s a rat here, Stockport. How could she be in Yorkshire when she’s pawning stolen goods in Manchester pawn shops, I ask you?’

‘What exactly are you implying?’ Brandon asked, feeling heartsick at the man’s discoveries.

‘That Eleanor Habersham is The Cat. It fits with the timing and my discovery that The Cat is a woman,’ he said grandly.

Egad, the arrogant man was making himself out to be Christopher Columbus. ‘That’s quite a hypothesis. You’ve done a lot of work,’ Brandon said.

It became apparent the conversation was going no further. Witherspoon rose awkwardly. ‘I thought you should know, as the area’s magistrate and as the head of our little investment group.’ There was coldness in his tone that implied he thought Brandon was lax in his duties.

Brandon rose with him. ‘I appreciate your assistance. I am sure this matter will be brought to a close very soon. I believe The Cat has not struck anywhere since the dinner party. I am hoping that the raids have stopped and that Eleanor had some other reason to be in possession of the necklace. I would not like to taint her name with any unnecessary scandal.’

‘We’ll see,’ Witherspoon said tersely, patting the pocket containing the necklace.

‘Are you certain it is your wife’s necklace?’ Nora asked innocently, entering the discussion for the first time. ‘After all, I am sure there’s more than one ruby necklace in the world. Are there any markings or special engravings?’

Witherspoon growled at her. ‘It was commissioned specially for her. I have the jeweller’s papers and original design to prove the necklace is hers.’

Nora appeared to brighten and Brandon was instantly alert. ‘How lovely for her that you’ve retrieved it, then. And how important that necklace will be as a proof should there be a trial. I’d keep it under lock and key. It would be a shame to lose it again.’

‘Yes, quite,’ Witherspoon said, a bit nonplussed.

‘I’ll walk with you to the hall,’ Nora offered.

Brandon sat down and waited. He and Nora would have a grand discussion when she returned. If she thought she was going after the necklace, she thought wrong. After today’s débâcle, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight for a moment.

Nora came back in, a look of contrition on her face. At least she had the good grace to feel guilty over being caught in her little deception. He wanted her to feel guilty for more than that, though. Brandon wanted her penitent for have perpetrated the deceit in the first place, not simply for having been found out.

‘You are not going after the necklace,’ Brandon began. ‘If you think I’ll let you so much as leave the house unescorted, you’re dead wrong. Look at the bumblebroth you caused today.’

‘You’re absolutely right. I won’t leave the house,’ Nora agreed readily, far too repentant for his taste. Something was wrong. She hadn’t interrupted him. He hadn’t thought he would get through the first line of his planned scolding. Now that he had, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘Do I have your word on that?’ Brandon asked warily.

‘Yes, Brandon. I give you my word. I won’t leave the house to go after the necklace,’ Nora pledged solemnly.

Something definitely wasn’t right. Her compliance had been too easily won. Not that her word meant anything after her latest exploit. She had already broken one promise. Still, she wouldn’t promise away her permission to leave the house. Unless she didn’t need it. The inspiration struck Brandon all at once. He grinned in spite of himself. ‘You already have the necklace, don’t you?’

Nora held up the item in question, dangling it from her fingers and laughed. ‘He was far too careless with it. I am sure it would have fallen out of his coat pocket on the ride home. It could be laying anywhere on the ground between Stockport Hall and Cheetham Hill.’

Brandon couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud, finding an outlet for his tension after the last two interviews. Witherspoon would be mightily surprised to find his pocket empty when he returned home.

Goodness, he loved his pickpocket Countess. He pulled Nora to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘Life with you, Nora, is never dull.’ He reached beyond her shoulder for the bell pull, suddenly finding he had a penchant for scones and a pot of jam.