There was always more.
“Am I to assume then that it is Lady Elisabeth and Lady Eleanor?” Swindler asked.
“No, her father is merely a viscount. ’Tis Miss Eleanor Watkins.”
Merely? So the man in the corner with his higher rank possessed a superior attitude.
Weary of this dance, Swindler spun around. He could see one outstretched leg and a well-made boot polished to a shine that barely reached into the light. The remainder of the person was lost in the darkness, but still Swindler knew what the man looked like, as the trail had begun at his lordship’s residence. He was not terribly old. He was, however, terribly handsome, with the perfect alignment of features that caused poets to apply ink to paper and wax poetically about the wonders of love. Swindler was damned tempted to address him by name, but for some unknown reason games were being played, and Sir David was tolerating them-which meant that the man either had friends even more superior than Sir David or he’d witnessed Sir David doing something he shouldn’t. “If it was Elisabeth who caught your fancy last Season, why would Eleanor now wish you harm?”
Silence greeted his question.
“Your lordship, I cannot be of much assistance if you are anything less than forthright. I am not one to gossip. You could confess to enjoying the most depraved sexual acts-”
Even with the distance separating them, Swindler felt a ripple of tension emanating from the corner.
“-known to man, and I wouldn’t tell a soul.”
The silence thickened and lengthened. Was that what this was about, then? Some depravity that now haunted his lordship?
Rockberry finally cleared his throat. “Miss Elisabeth Watkins met with an untimely end. It’s quite possible her sister holds me responsible, which is ludicrous, as I was nowhere near the silly chit when she encountered her demise. Miss Eleanor Watkins has never confronted me. She doesn’t speak to me. She merely watches. Near a lamppost or from beside a tree in the park. I’ll be taking a stroll and I’ll have a sense of being spied upon. I glance back and there she is, watching…always watching. When I try to approach her to determine her purpose, she walks away, disappears in the crowd, and I’m left to wonder if I truly saw her at all. Because of her uncanny resemblance to Elisabeth, I was beginning to think Elisabeth had returned to haunt me. But as I said, we only danced, so I can determine no reason for this annoying game.”
With his repeated “we only danced,” Swindler wondered who his lordship was seeking to convince: Swindler or himself.
“So you’ll continue to follow her, Swindler, see what she’s about,” Sir David said sharply in a tone that meant he’d brook no further arguments on this matter.
Swindler gave his attention back to his superior. He liked Sir David, admired him, but this matter was beyond the pale. “As I was forced to approach her, I assume you have no objection to my approaching her again.”
“Handle this matter however you deem best.”
Swindler heard the frustration and annoyance in Sir David’s voice. Sir David was no happier about this situation than he was. If Swindler had his way, he’d make the matter go away on the morrow.
Chapter 2
The following afternoon Swindler discreetly followed Miss Watkins from her lodgings to Hyde Park. Holding a pink parasol over her left shoulder, she wore a dress of pale pink and a bonnet with matching ribbons. Her attire possessed a touch of innocence. He couldn’t fathom that she had it in for Lord Rockberry-regardless of how annoying he found the man. If the young lady was aware of Swindler’s presence, she gave no indication.
As usual, the park was teeming with ladies and gentlemen parading their wares-their fine clothing, their haughtiness, their steadfast belief that they were better than the common man. Swindler had little tolerance for the upper crust-except when it involved his friends who were moving into the ranks of the nobility with alarming regularity. Several years back they had discovered that from birth Lucian Langdon had been destined to become the Earl of Claybourne. Last year Jack Dodger had taken a widowed duchess as his wife. And Frannie Darling, the only woman Swindler ever truly loved, had recently married the Duke of Greystone. Swindler was sincerely happy for her. He’d always been unselfish in regard to Frannie, but unselfishness came with a steep price. His father had taught him that hard lesson, and Swindler had been paying for it ever since.
While his friends didn’t lord their stations over him, neither did they move around in the same circles any longer. It was the way of things. He didn’t resent their rise from the gutter, but he also recognized that he would always be known as the son of a thief.
He’d loved his father as he’d never since loved any other, save Frannie. Yet his father had left him with an incredible burden to bear. When he was a lad, some nights he’d wept beneath the weight of it. During others the fury had ruled him and he’d destroyed whatever came within his path. He’d lost track of the number of times when Frannie tended his hurts, gently wrapping his bleeding knuckles. His hands constantly ached from the abuse he’d delivered to them. His features had weathered the fights as well, leaving faint scars and a less than perfect profile in their wake. He wasn’t what he’d consider handsome, but he hoped there was at least strength in his countenance.
Not that he ever expected to attract a lady with it. Frannie was the only one he’d ever truly wanted. While she’d recently married, it had been a little over a year since she gave her heart to Greystone. Swindler wasn’t of a mind to seek another lady. He’d given Frannie his heart, and with her, it would remain. All he required now was an occasional woman to satisfy his baser needs. As he was known for giving women his undivided attention and serving up pleasure-even to those who’d never before experienced it-he had no trouble finding women wishing to spend an evening in his company. Even those accustomed to taking coins seldom took one of his.
Of late, while he satisfied women, none satisfied him, his actions more mechanical, derived from habit. He was always left with an ache in his chest-no doubt the result of his no longer possessing a heart. Although God help him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a woman to bed.
Miss Eleanor Watkins saved him from his own deep thoughts, as she went to stand beside a tree that gave her a clear view of Rotten Row, no doubt awaiting the arrival of her quarry on his fine steed. While Swindler was supposed to be focused on the lady, he’d made a few inquiries regarding Rockberry. He now knew as well as she probably did that Lord Rockberry took a jaunt about the park every afternoon at precisely half past five.
No one seemed to pay any heed to her. The other ladies were occupied seeking to garner the men’s attention, and the men were more interested in the ladies who wanted to be seen, rather than the one who didn’t. It was all part of the ritual of shopping for a spouse. Approaching her might put her reputation at risk, but he was anxious to get on with this job.
Swindler began to amble toward Miss Watkins. He’d given considerable thought to how he would approach her. He would take on the role of interested gentleman, earn her trust, and then discern the reasons for her fascination with Rockberry-as well as exactly what she intended where the poppycock lord was concerned.
As he came up behind her, Swindler was hit with the fragrance of roses wafting from her. He didn’t remember the fragrance from last night. Perhaps it was because it was earlier in the day, the rose water only recently applied. It teased his nostrils as the scent of most women didn’t.
“Miss Watkins?”
She spun around. Her eyes-the shade of a cloudless sky-widened and her plump, rosy lips parted slightly. She quickly regained control. “Why, Mr. Swindler, isn’t it? What a surprise. I’d not expected to see you again.”