"Precisely," the countess said with the decisiveness that seemed characteristic. "I mentioned that my husband was fond of speculating. The family has for more than a decade existed on the very brink of financial ruin, from before I married into it. After our marriage, I discovered the truth. After that, I oversaw all financial matters. Between us, my husband's agent and I were able to hold things together and keep the family's head above water."
Her voice hardened in a vain attempt to hide her vulnerability. "That note, however, would be the end. Our problem in a nutshell is that the note does indeed appear legal, in which case, if it is executed and the money called in, the family will be bankrupt."
"Which is why you don't wish me to know your name."
"You know the haut ton-we move in the same circles. If any hint of our financial straits, even leaving aside the threat of the note, was to become common knowledge, the family would be socially ruined. The children would never be able to take their rightful places in our world."
The call to arms was a physical tug. Gabriel shifted. "Children. You mentioned Charles, the youthful earl. What others?"
She hesitated, then said, "There are two girls, Maria and Alicia-we're in town now because they're to be presented. I've saved for years so they could have their come-outs…" Her voice suspended. After a moment, she continued, "And there are two others still in the schoolroom, and an older cousin, Seraphina; she's part of the family, too."
Gabriel listened, more to her tone than her words. Her devotion sounded clearly-the caring, the commitment. The anxiety. Whatever else the countess was concealing, she couldn't hide that.
Raising the note, he studied the signature of the company's chairman. Composed of bold, harsh strokes, the signature was illegible, certainly not one he knew. "You didn't say why you thought I could help."
His tone was vague-he'd already guessed the answer.
She straightened her shoulders. "We-our agent and I-believe the company is a fraud, a venture undertaken purely to milk funds from gullible investors. The note itself is suspicious in that neither the company's address nor its principals are noted, and there's also the fact that a legitimate speculative company accepting a promissory note for such an amount would have sought some verification that the amount could indeed be paid."
"No check was made?"
"It would have been referred to our agent. As you might imagine, our bank has been in close touch with him for years. We've checked as far as we can without raising suspicions and found nothing to change our view. The Central East Africa Gold Company looks like a fraud." She drew in a tight breath. "And if that's so, then if we can gather enough evidence to prove it and present such evidence in the Chancery Court, the promissory note could be declared invalid. But we must succeed before the note is executed, and it's already over a year since it was signed."
Rerolling the note, Gabriel considered her; despite the veil and cloak, he felt he knew a great deal of her. "Why me?"
He handed her the note; she took it, slipping it once more under her cloak. "You've built something of a reputation for exposing fraudulent schemes, and"-lifting her head, she studied him-"you're a Cynster."
He almost laughed. "Why does that matter?"
"Because Cynsters like challenges."
He looked at her veiled face. "True," he purred.
Her chin rose another notch. "And because I know I can entrust the family's secret to a Cynster."
He raised a brow, inviting explanation.
She hesitated, then stated, "If you agree to help us, I must ask you to swear that you will not at any time seek to identify me or my family." She halted, then went on, "And if you don't agree to help, I know I can trust you not to mention this meeting, or anything you deduce from it, to anyone."
Gabriel raised both brows; he regarded her with veiled amusement, and a certain respect. She had a boldness rarely found in women-only that could account for this charade, well thought out, well executed. The countess had all her wits about her; she'd studied her mark and had laid her plans-her enticements-well.
She was deliberately offering him a challenge.
Did she imagine, he wondered, that he would focus solely on the company? Was the other challenge she was flaunting before him intentional, or…?
Did it matter?
"If I agree to help you, where do you imagine we would start?" The question was out before he'd considered-once he had, he inwardly raised his brows at the "we."
"The company's solicitors. Or at least the ones who drew up the note-Thurlow and Brown. Their name's on the note."
"But not their address."
"No, but if they're a legitimate firm-and they must be, don't you think?-then they should be easy to trace. I could have done that myself, but…"
"But you didn't think your agent would approve of what you have in mind once you discover the address, so you didn't want to ask him?"
Despite her veil, he could imagine the look she cast him, the narrowing of her eyes, the firming of her lips. She nodded, again that definite affirmation. "Precisely. I imagine some form of search will be required. I doubt a legitimate firm of solicitors will volunteer information on one of their clients."
Gabriel wasn't so sure-he'd know once he located Thurlow and Brown.
"We'll need to learn who the principals of the company are, and then learn the details of the company's business."
"Prospective business." He shot her a look, wishing he could see through her veil. "You do realize that any investigating risks alerting the company's principals? If the company is the sham you think it, then any hint of too close interest from anyone, particularly and especially me, will activate the call on promised funds. That's how swindlers will react-they'll grab what they've got and disappear before anyone can learn too much."
They'd been standing for more than half an hour in the mausoleumlike porch. The temperature was dropping as dawn approached; the chill of the mists was deepening. Gabriel was aware of it, but in his cloak he wasn't cold. Beneath her heavy cloak the countess was tense, almost shivering.
Lips tightening, he suppressed the urge to draw her closer and ruthlessly, relentlessly stated, "By investigating the company, you risk the note being called in and your family being made bankrupt." If she was determined to brave the fire, she needed to understand she could get burned.
Her head rose; her spine stiffened. "If I don't investigate the company and prove it's a fraud, my family will definitely be bankrupt."
He listened but could detect no hint of wavering, of anything less than informed but unshakable resolution. He nodded. "Very well. If you've made the decision to investigate the company, then yes, I'll help you."
If he'd expected gushing thanks, he'd have been disappointed-luckily, he'd had no such expectation. She stood still, studying him. "And you'll swear…?"
Stifling a sigh, he raised his right hand. "Before God, I swear-"
"On your name as a Cynster."
He blinked at her, then continued, "On my name as a Cynster, that I will not seek to identify you or your family. All right?"
Her sigh fell like silk in the night. "Yes." She relaxed, losing much of her stiff tension.
His increased proportionately. "When gentlemen reach an agreement, they usually shake hands."
She hesitated, then extended one hand.
He grasped it, then changed his hold, fingers sliding about hers until his thumb rested in her palm. Then he drew her to him.
He heard her in-drawn breath, felt the sudden leaping of her pulse, sensed the shock that seared her. With his other hand, he tipped up her chin, angling her lips to his.
"I thought we were going to shake hands." Her words were a breathless whisper.