Whirlwind Affair

He bowed his head. 'Then look no further, madam, for I am he. How may I help you?'

No other customers were in the shop, and Allie relaxed a bit. Opening her reticule, she withdrew a piece of vellum and handed it to him. 'I need to identify the coat of arms depicted here. I was informed you are an expert at such matters.'

His brows lifted. 'Your accent indicates you are American. May I ask who recommended me?'

His question was spoken in a perfectly polite tone, but Allie easily heard the tinge of underlying scorn. No doubt he thought her some destitute foreign widow, desperate to sell him some cheap baubles. If only I had some cheap baubles to sell…

She lifted her brows exactly as he had. 'The duchess of Bradford -'

'The duchess recommended me?' His demeanor instantly transformed, and he seemed to grow two inches taller. ' 'Twas very kind of her.'

Allie suppressed the urge to inform him that it was actually the duchess's butler who had recommended him, and that if he'd allowed her to finish her sentence, he would know that. Instead, she pushed aside her guilt for allowing him his incorrect assumption and asked, 'Do you think you can help me?'

Mr. Fitzmoreland studied the drawing for several seconds, then nodded slowly. 'I'm certain I can. It may take several days, however.'

'I'm more concerned with discretion than speed.'

'Of course.'

His keen eyes seemed to bore through her to see all her secrets, but she forced herself not to avert her gaze. 'My name is Mrs. Brown and I'm staying at the Bradford town house here in London.'

He inclined his head. 'I shall report my findings to you as soon as I know anything.'

Thanking him, she exited the shop, breathing a sigh of relief at having chipped away another small piece of the burden she carried.

With any luck, she'd soon learn to whom the ring belonged. She would return it, and then, for the first time in three years, she'd be free.

Chapter 3

Shortly before eight that evening, Robert arrived at the town house for dinner. As the night air was delightfully cool and the usual fog had not yet rolled in, he'd walked from his rooms on Chesterfield.

'Good evening, Carters,' he said, handing the butler his walking stick, hat, and cape. 'How is our guest faring?'

'When I last saw her, as she returned from her errand, she appeared quite well.'

'Errand?'

'Yes. Late this afternoon Mrs. Brown asked if I knew a reputable antiquities expert in the city. I of course directed her to Mr. Fitzmoreland.'

Curiosity raised Robert's brows. 'Did she say why she required an antiquities expert?'

'No, Lord Robert. She merely asked for a referral, then inquired about transportation. I arranged for a hack and a footman to escort her.'

'I see.' Annoyed at himself for not thinking to do so earlier, he made a mental note to arrange for a carriage to be placed at Mrs. Brown's disposal. 'And where is Mrs. Brown now?'

'In the drawing room.'

'Thank you.' Robert headed down the corridor, his strides slowing as the sounds of piano music drifted toward him. He silently entered the room, then leaned back against the door, observing Mrs. Brown in profile.

She sat at the pianoforte, her head bent over the ivory keys, her brows and lips puckered in concentration. She was again dressed in stark black, making the curve of her smooth cheek appear impossibly pale, like fragile porcelain. The waning vestiges of daylight glowed through the tall windows, bathing her in a subtle stream of gold. Without her bonnet, she proved incorrect his earlier impression that her hair was merely brown. Indeed, her shiny tresses were a deep, rich chestnut, shot with streaks of red. She'd arranged her hair in a simple chignon at her nape, lending her a regal air.

Her fingers continued to caress the ivory keys, but he did not recognize the tune she was playing. Of course, that may have been because-his face puckered in a grimace-she was appallingly bad.

Her hands suddenly stilled, and she turned her head. When she saw him, she snatched her hands away from the keys as if they'd bitten her. A rose-hued blush colored her cheeks, and he bit back a smile. Except for the mourning gown, she looked like a child caught snitching sweets from the kitchen.

'Lord Robert. I did not hear you come in.'

He crossed to the pianoforte, then made her a bow. 'I was listening to your concert. I was not aware you played.'

She looked up at him, and his breath caught when he detected a tiny flash of what appeared to be mischief in her eyes. 'How polite you are. If you'd been listening, however, you would know without a doubt that I cannot play. I've always wished I could.' She cast a wistful glance at the keys. 'I love music.'

'As do I. Unfortunately, not one member of my family possesses an iota of musical talent, neither for the pianoforte nor singing, and I fear I am the most tone-deaf of us all. However, my philosophy has always been that if you cannot play well, play with enthusiasm, and if you cannot sing well, sing loud. A source of great embarrassment for the entire family, I'm afraid.' He smiled at her, but she did not smile back. Not even the slightest twitch of her lips. Making this woman laugh was fast becoming a quest, just as it was with Carters. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see the joyful woman from Elizabeth 's sketch. 'Tell me, Mrs. Brown, can you sing?'

'Worse than I play the pianoforte.'

'Excellent. Shall we have a duet?' He perched himself next to her on the bench and made a great show of flexing his fingers. 'I can only play one song. It's all my family would allow me to learn. For some inexplicable reason, some emergency or another always seemed to pop up whenever I sat down to play as I was growing up.' He looked around, as if to ensure no one could overhear, then confided sotto voce, 'Actually, the truth is that, in spite of the family's best efforts to squash my budding talent, I did manage to learn a few other ditties, but I fear that as I learned them in pubs, they are not suitable for a lady.' He cleared his throat and nodded toward the music. 'I'll play the upper notes, and you can play the lower. Ready?'

She hesitated, her serious gaze roaming his face as if looking for something. After several seconds, she nodded. 'I'll try.'

They each played their parts, most often with her several notes behind him. Instead of improving as the song went on, however, it seemed their efforts yielded worse results. By the final verse, their voices were raised in jarring harmony:

The sunlight reflected her features so fair

As she waited and wondered, to see if he’d dare.

And he did not disappoint his lovely young miss,

For upon her sweet lips he did bestow a sweet kiss.

The final discordant note lingered, then faded into silence. With laughter rumbling in his throat, Robert shook his head and turned toward her. 'Egad, that was stupendously awful.'

'Awful, indeed,' she agreed in a somewhat breathless voice. 'I don't believe I played one correct note. And I am forced to admit you were correct.'

'Of course I was. About what?'

'You, sir, are indeed tone-deaf.'

An oh-so-brief, yet this time unmistakable, spark of mischief gleamed in her eyes and his pulse jumped. A tingle