“I cannot abide weak men,” he said, firming his jaw in irritation. “Be aware, if we find your lousy brother I’m liable to break his nose.”
The irony of the situation was not lost on him. All men had weaknesses. Intelligent, interesting women could well be his.
“You’re welcome to try anything that might knock sense into his muddled brain.” Her tone echoed her frustration. “As to your second question, my given name is Evangeline, but I prefer Eva. Is there a particular reason you asked?”
Evangeline.
It was unusual. Striking. Unique. Much like the lady herself. There was something sensual about the way his tongue wrapped around the syllables as he whispered it almost to himself. Somewhere there had to be the word Angel. Just like his need to protect D’Angelo from his tragic past, Noah felt the same compulsion to save Evangeline Dunn.
“I’ll explain on the way.” Noah stood. “As you live but a ten-minute walk from here, we’ll visit a shop in Castle Street first. Mrs Gunning will act as chaperone.”
“There is no need to trouble your housekeeper. My brother is a wicked scoundrel. It’s too late to consider my reputation.”
“Still, I must insist.” His uncle’s spies were everywhere. Lord Hawkridge sought any opportunity to spread gossip and lies, to blacken Noah’s name.
“Very well.” The lady pushed her spectacles into her reticule and snatched her dark blue kid gloves from the desk. “I assume there’s a reason we’re going shopping.”
Noah opened the study door and followed Miss Dunn into the hall. “We’re shopping for undergarments. I have three theories regarding the theft this morning.” Initially, he’d had two. The fact she lived close to the Lying-In Hospital brought to mind a third.
“Three?”
“An obsessed publisher might want a memento.”
Miss Dunn’s eyes widened in horror. “Surely not.”
“We shall see.” He inclined his head. “Excuse me a moment.”
He left Miss Dunn waiting in the hall while he informed his friends of his plan to visit Brownlow Street. Investigating scoundrels brought its own dangers, and they always kept abreast of each other’s movements. Then he descended the basement stairs.
“Mrs Gunning?” He knocked on the door of the housekeeper’s sitting room before entering. He might have tugged the bell to summon her, but he wanted to speak privately. “I need you to accompany me on an outing.”
The housekeeper hauled her stout frame out of the chair behind the old oak desk and closed the ledger. “Should I change into my best dress, sir?”
“That won’t be necessary. But be prepared. When we reach Miss Dunn’s house, I may need you to play a role.”
Mrs Gunning failed to hide a grimace. It wouldn’t be the first time she had assumed a supposed identity. She crossed the room and snatched her pelisse from the coat stand. “Not the madam of a brothel again.”
“No, Mrs Gunning.” He laughed. “Not the madam of a brothel.”
The housekeeper gave a relieved sigh. “I’ll let Cook and Sally know I’ll be gone from the house and then meet you upstairs.”
He made to leave but paused. “If you discovered someone had stolen washing from the line, what would be your first instinct?”
Noah had a suspect in mind.
The motive would soon reveal itself.
“That depends on how easy it is to access the garden, sir.”
“And if the only access was through the house?”
“Suspicion would fall on the servants.”
“Indeed.” There were many reasons why the maid might have lied about the stolen undergarments, although he was more intrigued as to how Miss Dunn would deal with disloyal staff. “Until we reach Brownlow Street, you will play the part of Miss Dunn’s maid.”
The thought of beginning a new investigation sent blood surging through Noah’s veins. Yet the excitement filling his chest stemmed from more than a need to feel useful. The reason became abundantly clear when he entered the hall and found D’Angelo pressing his lips to Miss Dunn’s bare hand.
Jealousy reared like a spitting viper.
D’Angelo straightened upon hearing the clip of Noah’s boots on the tiled floor and flashed an arrogant grin. “Ah, the wanderer returns.”
Devil!
Noah ground his teeth in annoyance. D’Angelo was lucky he cared for him like a brother.
“Is it not considered the height of rudeness to leave a lady waiting in the hall?” D’Angelo teased.
“It’s the height of rudeness to interfere in another man’s business,” Noah countered. “If you wish to be useful, write a note to Peter Lydford and arrange for me to meet him on the morrow.”
From the wicked glint in D’Angelo’s eyes, Noah knew to expect a provoking retort. Indeed, the rogue said, “Why? Have you written another book of lewd poems?”
Miss Dunn’s delightful mouth fell open. “You write poetry, Mr Ashwood?” Her excitement rang through the hall, the information feeding her innate curiosity.
God’s teeth!
“Mr D’Angelo enjoys taunting me.” Noah shot his friend an irate glare. “It is merely a hobby. I once wrote a collection of rather salacious poems. Poems unfit for a lady’s delicate ears. Mr D’Angelo persuaded me to publish them, anonymously, of course.”
“They’re remarkably good.” D’Angelo grinned. “So exceptional one can almost feel the poet’s crippling torment when he denies himself that which he desperately craves.”
“How interesting.” Miss Dunn’s animated smile reached her cornflower eyes. “I wonder, might the book be entitled Every Man’s Desire?”
Good Lord! Surely she had not read the volume.
Noah swallowed deeply. “Men are driven by a multitude of passions. They strive to be great landowners, doctors, tailors. Yet their base desires are the same. In that regard, rich or poor, we share an affinity.” He cleared his throat. “That is but one topic explored.”
The lady continued to study him intently. “Fascinating. Perhaps we might discuss your work in more detail.”
“You wish to discuss erotic literature?” Noah spoke past the hard lump in his throat. He tried to ignore the tightening in his groin, tried to ignore D’Angelo’s satisfied grin.
“That would be inappropriate, sir. But I am most interested in your creative process.”
“Trust me, Miss Dunn. You do not want to explore the mind of a man who commits his desires to paper.” It
