Wanted: An Earl for Hire: Calling all Rakes Read online

  “I have every confidence you’ll keep us safe.”

  Some male part of him reveled in her words as his loins involuntarily tightened. “You shouldn’t.”

  “I agree with him, Charlotte.” Miss Ayers added from her seat.

  “We can take you home first.”

  “So stubborn,” Miss Ayers mumbled.

  “Address,” Charlotte repeated. “At least one.”

  He frowned. He shouldn’t. “Miss Pennington, I am here to do this work for you. Remember?”

  “It’s the middle of the day. How dangerous can it actually be?”

  “She’s as stubborn as a mule,” Miss Ayers said.

  He couldn’t see her with Charlotte standing over him. Not that he was complaining. The view was delightful.

  “I thought I was a bull,” Charlotte called back over her shoulder.

  “You likely are. But I’ve never been to Spain. I’ve met plenty of mules, however, and right now…”

  Charlotte spun so fast, she bumped her head on the ceiling and then with a cry, bent again, tumbling directly into his lap.

  His hands automatically came to her hips, his intent to steady her but the moment he grasped them, he sucked in a breath.

  Because as her rounded backside pressed into his groin, his hands were filled with the most delightful set of hips. Slender but still so soft and round. He bit back a groan and willed his nether regions to behave. “Miss Pennington.” He pushed the words out through his clenched teeth.

  “My lord,” she replied, twisting to look at him and rubbing her achingly soft flesh over his lap. “My apologies. I did not intend for that to happen.”

  “Oh good,” he replied, knowing he should take his hands away. She was steady but he couldn’t seem to let go. “I was concerned.”

  “Concerned?” she asked, her brow drawing into a confused line.

  He gave his head a shake. She clearly had no idea what she was doing to him and therefore was not doing it on purpose to cajole him into taking her where she wished to go. “I am concerned. About taking you to questionable neighborhoods.”

  “Oh.” She waved her hand twisting more. He was losing the battle to control his cock. “I already told you, my reputation is not of primary importance.”

  “You did not tell me.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “You said your mother was not a concern. Specifically, her aspirations.”

  “So I did.” And then she leaned back against him. As though she did that sort of thing every day. As if she belonged in his lap, his hands cupping her hips. “How clever of you to remember.”

  A new fantasy began dancing in his mind and it took every ounce of control to push it away. It involved him, once again, under her exactly as they were now only with no clothing. “Do men usually not remember?”

  She gave him a wink, a small laugh falling from her lips in that husky voice of hers. “Most people, really. But then again, I seem to have more of a mind for detail.”

  “I see.” He did. Willful, intelligent. The bed sport with her would be fantastic.

  “Good. So you understand why I need to search the murder site myself. The latest will do. It’s most likely to have undisturbed clues.”

  He tried to argue but she’d stolen his damned voice. He’d completely stepped into her trap. What was worse, he’d not a clue until it had closed about him. “You are devious.”

  She flashed him an angelic smile. “Why thank you. I far prefer that to being called either a mule or a bull.”

  He thumped on the carriage wall again. “Take us to Rattier Street.”

  How had Charlotte never experienced the pleasure of sitting in a man’s lap?

  His hard angles were in sharp contrast to her softer curves, his hands strong and steadying on her hips.

  She could stay here all day.

  But Mona was making a series of faces that let Charlotte know it was past time to get up.

  With a long exhale, she planted her feet, intent upon rising. But before she could push off, his lordship effortlessly lifted her by the hips. “Duck this time.”

  “I know to duck,” she said back, cursing the breathless sound of her voice as her hands clasped his for added balance. She could feel the strong cords of his wrists under his coat even as he continued to hold her, making certain she was steady before his hands began to slip from her body.

  She held his wrists a second more before she finally let go and slid into the seat next to Mona. Her breath was shallow as she attempted to compose herself.

  Mona leaned closer, her lips moving close to Charlotte’s ear. “Keep what I said in mind.”

  Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “If I’m a mule then you’re a ram.”

  Mona gave a snort of laughter as she straightened again. “I’d prefer to stay in the carriage, if the two of you don’t mind.”

  Charlotte looked at her cousin. Was she concerned about her safety or deliberately making certain that Charlotte and the earl had time alone together?

  Lord Westmoreland jerked his chin in agreement.

  The rest of the ride passed in silence until the carriage finally stopped.

  Lord Westmoreland stepped out, and glancing around, turned back to hand her out of the carriage.

  She placed her fingers in his, stepping lightly from the vehicle as she too assessed the area.

  He’d been right.

  Even at a brief glance, the street was dirt, congested, the smell hitting her nose in the most noxious way possible. It was a mix of unwashed bodies, excrement, and rotting fish that made her nose involuntarily curl.

  She ceased breathing through her nose as she straightened up. “Here?”

  “He said the alley between the faded red building and the stone.”

  She studied each building. “One of them is faded red? How would you tell?” To her, they all look the same dirty grey.

  “Let’s take a closer look.” He offered his elbow, and she gratefully slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, his strength and warmth focusing her thoughts once again.

  “Excuse me, mum,” a little voice said from her right.

  Charlotte turned to find a small girl standing just to her right. Her clothes were tattered, her face smudged with dirt.

  Charlotte’s chest tightened. So many had come to the city in search of work and a better life. They were packed into tenement homes, barely living.

  Her heart rose up, clogging her throat. “Hello, little one.”

  The girl gave her a glowing smile. Was she five? Six? She reached out a little hand and unclasped her fingers, showing Charlotte a tarnished brooch. “A bob for you, mum?”

  The lump swelled so that Charlotte had trouble speaking. From a nearby stoop, a woman held her hand to her mouth, waiting. Was this her daughter?

  “What a pretty piece,” Lord Westmoreland said from next to her.

  Right. His easy grace helped unstick her tongue. “It’s truly lovely.”

  “I can sell it to you. A shilling?” The girl held it higher. Her hands were bare, red and raw from the cold. Without thinking, Charlotte tugged off one glove and then the other. Then she placed them in the girls outstretched hand over the brooch, softly closing her fingers over the girl’s to close her hand. “I couldn’t possibly take something so beautiful from you.” She bent down. “But I do need information. Is that your mother?”

  The girl looked back with a nod.

  Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a pound and placed it in the girl’s other hand. “Fetch her for me. Tell her I could use her help.”

  The girl’s eyes widened as she fisted the money, racing back to her mother. In moments, the woman rushed over to Charlotte.

  “Yes, mum?”

  Charlotte gave her a tremulous smile. “The recent murder. Do you know where it happened?”

  The woman nodded, pointing to an alley. “Right there, mum.”

  Silently, Lord Westmoreland unwrapped his scarf from his neck and pressed it into Charlot
te’s hand. “Thank you,” Charlotte answered as she draped the cloth around the woman’s neck.

  “Mum, I couldn’t,” the woman answered, starting to pull the fabric from around her neck. That told Charlotte all she needed to know about this woman’s character. Reaching into her reticule again, she pressed her card into the woman’s hand. “Show this at the kitchen door. I’m sure there’s a scullery position for you.”

  Tears welled in the woman’s eyes as she nodded, returning to her daughter and ushering her inside the faded door.

  Drawing in a fortifying gulp of air, Charlotte turned toward the alley.

  “Place both your hands on my arm,” Lord Westmoreland murmured close to her ear. She did as he asked, and he placed a gloved hand over her bare fingers. “That was very generous.”

  She didn’t correct him. Didn’t say that compared with her fortune it hadn’t been very generous at all. Nor did she admit that her flippant comments about orphanages were ringing in her ears.

  Yes, solving murders was important. But so was taking care of children like that little girl. And making certain mothers had a means to care for their children, that felt the most worthwhile of all.

  They stepped into the alley and Charlotte’s stomach gave a bit of a lurch. Blood still stained the stone and its coppery smell permeated the air. She found herself pressing closer to the earl.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, my lord,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on his arm. She’d wanted to do this. There was no backing down now.

  “Call me Tate.”

  “Not West?” She looked at him, then, forgetting the scene in front of her.

  “Alfred’s friends called him West. That can never be my name.” Sadness pulled at his mouth, tightening his cheeks. “I think I shall remain Tate.”

  “Thank you, Tate.”

  “You’re welcome, Charlotte.”

  The intimacy of given names helped her straighten her spine as she took another look around.

  Of course, there was no murder weapon waiting to be discovered. No footprints, no dropped necktie, or any other piece of evidence.

  But as she glanced around, something white did catch her eye, stuffed between two stones in one of the buildings that flanked the alley. It stood out thanks to its crisp color. “What’s that?”

  Tate caught it too and they moved toward it, Charlotte reaching out her fingers and pulling the scrap from between the stones.

  She unfolded it to find a set of squiggles on a page, little or no meaning in them. Her shoulders hunched in disappointment as she threaded a hand back through his elbow. But Tate tightened, his muscles growing hard as stone under her touch.

  She looked at him, confusion pulling at the corners of her eyes. “What is it?”

  “The inspector found the exact same markings at another murder.”

  She gasped, pressing closer to him as though the danger had become more real.

  He looked down at the page. “Well. Actually, the markings were a mirror image of this.”

  “Oh my,” she whispered. “I don’t think I actually expected to find a clue.”

  He placed his hand over hers again. “Didn’t you? I’m not the least bit surprised; you have a natural aptitude for detective work. You might be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

  The compliment washed over her, heating her from the inside out. She’d waited her entire life for a man, a handsome man, to see something of value in her.

  The fact that it was him and he’d noticed not her breasts or her hair, but her mind... Well, that had the potential to melt her heart.

  “With that said, can we agree to have me search the other murder scenes? I know what to look for and I don’t want you in any more danger than necessary.”

  Her pulse skipped a beat as a fluttering sensation filled her belly. Was he trying to make her fall in love? “I concede.”

  “Good.” He gave her a winning smile. “I’ll start first thing tomorrow morning and I’ll meet with you tomorrow afternoon and report anything I’ve found.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan.” Charlotte allowed him to steer her back to the carriage.

  By all accounts, today had been a success. And yet, somehow, several things she’d been so certain of were now as grey as the buildings that surrounded them.

  Did she still want to be a detective? Perhaps an orphanage filled with little girls was her calling? Or maybe she wished to help mothers who were trying their very best to provide for their children?

  And maybe, just maybe, a man like Tate was in her future too.

  Chapter Seven

  Tate had searched each of the addresses the inspector had given him, and he’d found one other scrap of paper, which was now safely tucked in his pocket.

  As he climbed the steps to Charlotte’s home, he wondered what she might do with the information. Would she share it with the detective through him? Or on her own? He wouldn’t put it past her to prove to the man how capable she was.

  Would she keep it all and attempt to solve the case without his help?

  His heart squeezed a bit in his chest.

  He didn’t like that idea so much, not that he’d liked the inspector. But Charlotte, kind as she’d been to that little girl and her mother yesterday, didn’t belong in those neighborhoods. She might be strong-willed for a woman, but she was still soft in so many ways.

  A few choice memories danced across his mind as the butler showed him up to the morning room.

  Charlotte sat at her desk, quill in hand as she quietly worked.

  “Good morning,” he said as he entered, noting that Grace had returned to her spot in the corner. She sat, still knitting her long something or other.

  “It’s afternoon,” Charlotte replied not looking up. “Were you able to visit any of the other places?”

  He gave a nod. “Two.”

  She waved him over to her desk and he started across the room, noting the thick carpet under his feet. “Did you find anything?”

  He didn’t answer right away as he looked down at what she worked on. It was a mirror image of the slip they’d found yesterday, she was recreating the one he’d described to her. The one in Inspector Scully’s possession. “It’s perfect.”

  “Oh good,” she answered, looking up at him then, her features bathed in soft light, her lips softly parted. He had the urge to press a kiss to that mouth.

  He reached into his pocket, pulling out the scrap he’d found.

  She gasped to see it, eagerly pressing the piece flat on the desk. She tried it against the two she had but it didn’t seem to fit with the other two. “Drat.”

  “How many murders have there been?”

  “Five,” she murmured, continuing to move the piece.

  He winced. If the two they had fit together, and this one didn’t, that meant that either they weren’t actually meant to form a cohesive picture or…they were missing several pieces.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll visit two more of the addresses tomorrow.”

  She stood, her skirts brushing his legs and that’s when he realized just how close they were. “Should I come too?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll report back to you if I find anything.”

  “Thank you, Tate.”

  He brushed her arm, the fine wool of her gown sliding against his hand. “What do you want to do with the evidence we have so far?”

  She looked down. “Why don’t you search the other sites first and then we can decide?”

  We? He liked that word between them. Liked that she was including him in the decision-making process.

  She was a strong woman. And to earn her trust was special. “Good plan.”

  And then amazingly, she stepped a bit closer, her voice dropping. “They came this morning.”

  For a moment he was confused. “Who?”

  She nibbled at her lip, a gesture he recognized and one that made him hectic inside. He wanted to run his thumb along that worried
flesh, releasing it from her teeth. “Mary and her daughter. The woman from yesterday. The one to whom you gave your scarf.”

  His scarf.

  He was exceedingly glad to have given the garment to the mother. She’d been a stark reminder to him of all the bounty that he still enjoyed despite his troubles. But he, in all honesty, couldn’t afford to buy another, which would mean going without for the remainder of the winter.

  His cravat and collar would have to do the trick.

  “Did you feed them?”

  She nodded with a smile tugging at her lips. “I did better than that. I hired them. Or Mary, at least.”

  His brows lifted as her brows drew up. “You hired her?”

  “I did.”

  “Is it common practice for young ladies to hire staff?”

  Charlotte shook her head, still looking pleased. “I’m a bit older than young and I care little for common practice.”

  He shook his head, but he found his own lips pulling up to match hers. “Well, I’m glad.”

  “Grace,” she called across the room. The woman didn’t look up. “Grace,” she said louder giving a little thump to the desktop.

  Slowly the older woman looked up, her eyes cloudy but her look alert. “Yes, miss?”

  “The earl has brought me flowers. Could you fetch me a vase? It’s just in the other room.”

  Tate started. He didn’t know what Charlotte was doing but it seemed almost cruel to make the woman move. “I can…”

  She widened her eyes, cocking her head as if to silence him. He closed his lips.

  To his surprise, the old woman rose, looking quite spritely and started for the door without any trouble. The moment she’d disappeared, Charlotte opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a fine scarf of cashmere in a paisley pattern. It was so soft, it slid through his hand like freshly churned butter.

  “Charlotte.”

  She shook her head. “Put it on, quickly. Not even I’m brave enough to openly give you a gift. But you should be warm. Catching your death is no way to repair your earldom.”