Nightingale. Part 33

Her smile approved his statement. "Yes. Bribery is something John understands."

"I see. How much will it take to make Lout cry off?"

"He and I have spoken openly of that very thing."

"What is his price?"

"If there is no intervention from people who do not normally deal with the likes of John Lout," she cast him a warning look, "he would be willing to terminate our relationship for one hundred pounds."

"One hundred pounds? He will sell his betrothal to you for one hundred pounds?"

She laughed lightly. "I thought it a good price for an overly tall, unemployed scullery maid's a.s.sistant." Her giggling sounded self-deprecating.

Devlin's eyes twinkled. He regarded her a moment before his rumbling laugh enhanced hers. He rose and went to stand beside her at the window.

As their laughter diminished, they pivoted to smile into each other's faces. Devlin opened his arms and Jessica moved into the familiar embrace. He gathered her close and, propping his chin on the top of her head, swayed.

Peeking from the corridor, Patterson allowed a slight, mysterious smile and a sniff, waggling his head as if the scenario were of his own making.

Chapter Nineteen.

"Yer honor," John Lout said, welcoming Devlin into Solomon's Tavern, located between Gull's Way and Welter. The place smelled of smoke and sweat and strong drink, as it had when Devlin visited there last, less than an hour before he was set upon, beaten and robbed. "It's pleased we are to have you among us again, gov'ner."

Lout eyed Devlin jovially at first, but the man's expression sobered when Bear entered the tavern, along with two other large men who looked as if they, too, were in the duke's party.

"What can I get ye?" another voice intervened.

"Have you a private room?" Devlin asked, addressing himself to the barkeep. "Mr. Lout and I have business."

"Yes, Yer Grace. Right this way." The man's feet thudded against the pegged wooden floor, which would have made it easy for Devlin to follow if he had still been blind. He had determined before this trip that it might be to his advantage to pretend he remained sightless.

He closed his eyes as he trailed the tavern owner through a doorway, then heard a chair slide and correctly a.s.sumed it was for him. He fumbled a little as he sat.

"Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace," Lout said, sliding a chair out for himself and settling on Devlin's right, "but we heard ye'd been wounded in a fight and was healed, but the bout had left ye blind as a bat. It's grand to see ye'r recovered from that little set-to with the ruffians, 'cepting fer the damage to yer eyes, o' course."

Other than a slight smile, Devlin disregarded the comment. "Mr. Lout, I am here to present you with a business arrangement I think you will find to your benefit."

"Well, then, milord, feel free to get on with yer presenting."

"First, I think my men and I will have some ale. Barkeep!"

The innkeeper scurried through the door. "Yer Grace?"

"Ale for my men and me and freshen Mr. Lout's drink as well."

Lout looked around as if surprised to realize he'd left his gla.s.s at the bar. "I'll have a new one, my man," he said, ignoring the keep's scowl. "Now, what's this business you have with me, yer worship?"

Lout's addressing him by the mixed bag of wrong t.i.tles galled Devlin, but he schooled his expression not to reflect his annoyance. "Mr. Lout, I understand that you are betrothed to Jessica Blair of Welter."

"Yer information is good, yer honor. Of course, the bans is a formality. Miss Blair and me consummated our joining years ago, as I am sure ye've cause to know." He winked at Bear and seemed taken aback when the duke's man returned a harsh stare with no change of expression.

Momentarily deflated by Lout's airy besmirching of a lady's good name, Devlin took a deep breath, another effort to guarantee no negative reaction showed on his face. "I see." He thought of Jessica, of her spontaneous blush, her nervousness when he had initially placed his hand on her shoulder for guidance or any time he ventured too close to her. She obviously was not accustomed to any man's proximity, much less the intimacy of a man's body. Lout was lying and doing so in cavalier fashion, in a public tavern. That behavior might be one of the many things about the man Jessica considered unacceptable.

The tavern owner chose that moment to return with their ale.

Bear grabbed a gla.s.s, drained it noisily and set it back on the sideboard before the keep left the room. Noticing, the barman gave him a curious look. Devlin's old mentor nodded, answering the mute question, indicating he would take another.

The duke began again. "Lout, as you may know, Miss Blair has been in my household for some time now."

"Yes, yer lordship, we heard about that. A sweet, active little tart to have romping 'tween yer sheets, ain't she?"

Devlin stared at the man, hoping his eyes continued to look sightless. "I would thank you to watch your tongue where the lady is concerned," His voice lowered to a threatening growl, "or you risk leaving here without it."

Confirming the threat was serious, Bear squinted at Lout, whose demeanor and facial expression became apologetic. "I didn't mean no offense, Yer Grace. My mistake entirely. I just figured having a plum like Jessica about ... What I mean to say is, a man couldn't be blamed fer squeezing 'er like."

"I a.s.sure you, sir, Miss Blair has been treated as a lady in my home, with the utmost respect."

"So, maybe I ain't understanding ye clear, yer honor. Perhaps we should get on wi' the business we're to conduct."

Devlin took his indignation in hand, but made a mental note that this was another insult for which he owed Mr. Lout repayment.

"My mother, the dowager d.u.c.h.ess, has grown fond of Miss Blair over the last weeks," Devlin said, pleased that his voice did not betray the raging upheaval of his temper. "The d.u.c.h.ess wants to make Miss Blair her protege."

Lout looked genuinely puzzled. "What's that, gov'ner? The word's not familiar."

"Her student. My mother wants to train Miss Blair for a profession."

"A profession, is it?" The sarcasm was back in Lout's tone. "Just what kind of profession is yer ma thinking might fit a gel from the village betrothed and taken when she was no more than six year old?"

Devlin struggled to let the lie - a vile, odious attack against his angel - pa.s.s. He tallied one more mark against Lout. Once this business was over, he promised himself he would beat the man more senseless than he was.

"I a.s.sumed, Lout, that you wanted what would provide the best income for Miss Blair's future."

Lout's eyes narrowed as the suggestion took root. "Are we talking money here, yer worship?"

Again Devlin struggled to hold his temper. In spite of his pretense, Lout knew the correct way to address a duke, but refused to do so with any consistency.

"Schooled as a governess or a teacher, Miss Blair would have opportunities not now available to her." Devlin again felt pleased that his annoyance did not taint his words or his tone.

"I suppose that'd mean she'd have free run of rich men's houses."

Devlin didn't like the implication, but again steeled his facial expression. "Naturally." He could almost see the wheels of larceny turning in Lout's brain, obviously believing Jessica's access to rich men's houses might be his entree as well.

"Couldn't she do this protege thing married to me as well as not?"

He wouldn't let the man sally off that direction. "Hardly. She would need to be unenc.u.mbered. Probably she would live with a wealthy family and be paid handsomely to educate their children."

"Now, see here, yer honor, that plan would deprive me of my one true love. Can't you see what you and yer ma is asking me to give up?" Lout looked startled and began stammering. "I didn't mean no offense by referring to yer seeing, Yer Grace."

"No offense taken. I a.s.sumed you would be pleased at Jessica's opportunity to improve her situation. I thought the advantages would make you eager to allow her this opportunity by making some small, perhaps temporary, sacrifice as a contribution to her future."

"How much would yer ma be willing to pay me fer this sacrifice, Yer Grace, for making this, whatcha call this here small, temporary contribution?"

"Do you intend to sell your betrothal to Miss Blair for cash?"

"Think of it as ye'r providing me compensation fer her bit o' well being, yer honor."

"How much compensation?"

"How does a hundred pounds strike ya?"

Devlin was prepared to go as high as five hundred, but apparently Jessica knew this adversary and his values well. Perhaps he should follow her advice. Not wanting his relief to be obvious, he gave the request a proper scowl and a moment's thought before he cleared his throat and said a grudging, "Yes, well now, you see, Lout, one hundred pounds is a considerable sum of money."

"Not to a rich man like yerself, yer lordship."

The duke risked a direct look into Lout's eyes and saw the man had more spark to him than Devlin expected. "Of course, we are asking you to sacrifice your marriage to an attractive young woman."

"Yes, well, there's that to consider too, yer honor."

Now that they were down to it, Devlin realized he wanted Lout to relinquish all claims to Jessica. The offered money had mellowed Lout, had him sounding agreeable. It might be wise to raise the ante.

"A sum like one hundred pounds should guarantee more than temporary restraint."

Lout eyed him suspiciously. "Begging yer pardon, gov'ner, I miss yer meaning."

"What I mean is, for one hundred pounds, I would expect you to renounce your betrothal, along with any other claims you might have upon the lady."

Lout's frown indicated thoughtful consideration before he grunted what sounded like acceptance. Devlin wanted to be sure.

"Do you agree?

"I do, yer worship."

The many wrong t.i.tles Lout used gnawed at Devlin. He wanted to correct the man, however, he didn't want to upset negotiations when they were progressing so well, so he held back.

"Exactly what is it ye'd expect of me for yer blunt, your lordship?"

"You will release Miss Blair from her betrothal and ... " He added as an afterthought, "you must give your word never again to speak of your past a.s.sociation with the lady."

"One hundred for me letting 'er out of it permanent, free as a bird, so to speak?"

"I thought the offer of a prosperous future for a woman you profess to love plus one hundred pounds extremely generous."

Lout gazed at his hands fisted together on the wooden table and shook his head. "If it were only up to me, I might be willing to walk, ye see, but there's my ma and pa to consider, too."

"Is Miss Blair obligated some way to your parents?"

"Not so's anyone else would know, but she loves my folks like they was 'er own kin. They've been counting on 'er to be the one to bring a herd of young Louts into ther lives to brighten ther last dreary days on this earth."

Devlin recognized the story for what it was: a credible, spontaneous, fabrication. Lout was more facile mentally than the duke had antic.i.p.ated.

"I didn't realize there were family obligations involved. Obviously I have overstepped." Devlin slid his chair back, annoyed with himself for underestimating his adversary. It was not the thing a seasoned campaigner would do, exposing his position like that.

Lout was on his feet quickly, his tone apologetic. Devlin took heart as he saw Lout wring his cap in his meaty hands. "I can settle it with 'em for ye, Yer Grace, if ye could see to parting with a wee bit more - say another twenty pounds?"

The man did know the proper means of address and had been vexing Devlin intentionally with the other designations. Concerned the duke might walk away from the deal, Lout leaped to bargain for more. Devlin felt victorious, but kept his face a blank.

"I want this to work, Lout," Devlin said, "but it is of more interest to others than to me. I was willing to give it a modic.u.m of my time, and a reasonable amount of cash, but not an inordinate portion of either." He paused. "All right, an additional twenty, but not a shilling more. Do you and your family relinquish all claims upon Jessica Blair for the total sum of one hundred twenty pounds?"

Lout nodded, but studied the duke suspiciously making Devlin wonder if he had revealed too much. He had decided to renege on the additional twenty pounds when Lout said, "I'm thinking ye do well at the tables, Yer Grace."

"I'm not much of a gambler. I usually avoid gaming."

Lout continued nodding and eying him. "Ye may have missed yer calling, Yer Grace."

Chapter Twenty.

Carriages came and went Sat.u.r.day morning. Patterson noticed that Devlin was out of his study on an unusual number of errands, which kept him circulating, greeting the parade of suitors coming and going.

Patterson surprised the duke once listening at the closed salon doors. "Your mother is with them, Your Grace, if you are concerned about the young lady's reputation."

Devlin grimaced, but did not abandon his post. Patterson, too, stopped to listen a moment to the simpering voices of several admirers in that chamber, driveling on about Jessica: her luminescent skin, the silky shine of her hair, her charm, her wit, her manners. The old retainer arched his eyebrows and smiled to himself. If anyone knew the minds of those young gallants, it would be the duke. Patterson rather enjoyed seeing Devlin's agitation. The duke knew how to thwart inappropriate posturing. He had seen - maybe even practiced - similar ploys for years.

Devlin gritted his teeth, exercising already tense jaw muscles, clenched and unclenched his fists in and out of his trouser pockets, and paced. As the number of Jessica's suitors increased daily, the duke's patience diminished at a like rate, and the list of those he considered suitable husband material dwindled with equal dispatch.

The dowager, on the other hand, grew more cheerful with each name Devlin or Jessica crossed off the list, much to Devlin's surprise. Lady Anne appeared to have decided on a husband already, and was biding her time until Devlin and his ward came to her foregone conclusion. Everyone abandoned thoughts of preparing Jessica as a governess.

Through the morning, Devlin recognized several voices: Pearce Rockwell and Clement Browne, both too old; Peter Fry, too devious; Marion Criswell, a notorious gambler and card cheat; William Touchstone, a rake who had maintained the same mistress for a dozen years and doubtless would continue the liaison after he was wed. Voices he did not recognize made the duke edgier than those he did.

One thing he knew: thus far, not one showed worthy of the prize.

He stepped back into the alcove, in the shadows beneath the stairs, to allow a group to pa.s.s, then launched himself into the face of Touchstone the Rake.