Page 77 of The Best Marquess

“That’s not all,” said the viscount abruptly. “Come with me.”

They rode along Rotten Row for a while longer, and with each minute that passed Finn’s heart sank further. But it plummeted directly to the ground when up ahead he saw a small cluster of men in curricles…the husbands of three of the women he’d instructed Abby to send the romance novels to, including Lord Campbell. Sir Edwin Ironside was there also. All reminded him of London weather at its bleakest; he’d never seen so many hues of gray clothing in one place. But their expressions were grimly purposeful. This was no chance encounter in the park, but a planned meeting.

Shit. What on earth was Pippa’s twin doing? Delivering a gladiator directly to the arena to be consumed by lions seemed too cold, even for someone as ambiguous as Xavier.

“Ah, Northam,” said Sir Edwin, his cravat so starched it looked as though it could poke out an eye. “We are grateful for the continued support of the illustrious Nash family. And…Pinehurst! My, how it gladdens my heart to see you finally turn onto the righteous path of your dear departed father and offer your assistance in our quest. I forgive your past behavior in the drawing room, I’m sure grief temporarily turned your mind.”

“The quest. Of course,” said Finn, trying not to sound like the one actor in the play who didn’t know his lines.

Xavier’s eyes glinted. “Why yes, my lord marquess. These fine gentlemen here are determined to unmask the scoundrels responsible for Bliss. Everyone knows the city should be Bliss-free, or the ladies at least. No good comes from Bliss.”

Comprehension dawned. Not a delivery, but a warning. And confirmation of the villains of the tale.

“Ah,” murmured Finn. “A good old-fashioned investigation.”

“Damned right,” said Lord Campbell. “While I’m not as charitable as Sir Edwin and consider your morals exceedingly lax, in this situation you may well be just the man to assist. Join us and prove your worth to society, for many doors closed to a reckless heir will be opened to a pious marquess. Your task, should you choose correctly and accept it, is to talk to the ladies and discover who is behind the nefarious plot to replace good, decent Englishmen with this treasonous French deviancy. Romance novels are dangerous, incendiary tools, corrupting pure feminine minds. As for dildos…why would they need those?”

“Why indeed,” said Xavier gravely.

“The owners of Bliss should be horsewhipped,” snapped a silver-haired, thrice-married earl. “Stirring up trouble like this, denying the natural order in the household. So, you agree to lead the charge then, Pinehurst? Find out who the bastards are?”

Finn blinked, still trying to grasp the notion of romance novels as dangerous, incendiary tools that denied the natural order in a household. Although in fairness, it wasn’t hard to imagine these particular numbskulls being so small-minded, so pathetic, so out of step with the hopes and dreams and desires of their wives, that books and pleasure toys were considered an affront to decency. “Er…I’m not sure how I could be of service, my lord. As I’m officially in mourning, I won’t be attending any social events, so not much occasion to talk to your fine ladies. My dear wife cannot host anything for the same reason.”

Lord Campbell sniffed. “You had no trouble talking to my wife and niece outside that sweet shop.”

“Very much a chance occurrence.”

“Then create some more chance occurrences, boy,” snapped the baron. “Take a stroll. Visit a bookshop or museum. Purchase an ice. Unless you are a secret supporter of deviancy?”

Xavier cleared his throat. “Perhaps Pinehurst could make some discreet enquiries over the next few weeks and report back. But in the meantime, no one else must do anything. Mistakes have already been made in giving the story to a scandal sheet. Even now, the owners of Bliss may be taking steps to go underground. Then you’ll never catch them and the corruption of ton wives with romance novels and dildos will continue unabated.”

“Very well,” said Lord Campbell grudgingly. “In two weeks, we meet back here. Same time.”

The other men voiced their assent, then one by one they drove their curricles away until only Xavier and Finn remained.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Finn quietly.

Xavier inclined his head. “Good luck.”

Pippa had actually enjoyed redecorating the marchioness’s bedchamber; choosing a palette of creams and golds, so it looked like the sun always shined into the room. With a new mattress on the bed, a charming mahogany writing desk by the window, and new leather armchairs beside the fire she was more than content with her sanctuary. Except for one thing. Thanks to her foolish lie the previous evening about having her menses, instead of testing out their new mattresses with some prolonged and enthusiastic bedding, Finn had kissed her forehead, handed her a bottle of herbal tonic, and wished her good night before retreating to his own chamber.

He was being decent, damn his eyes.

And now, a storm was unleashing outside. Not just a shower of rain and a few gusts of wind, but a fully-fledged Gothic novel violent tempest of a storm. Thunder shook the townhouse, rain lashed the windows, and lightning streaked across the sky like yellow paint on black canvas.

Pippa huddled under her quilt in abject misery.

She hated storms. Not because of the sounds or the reminder of how fierce the elements could be, but because whenever there was a storm, memories of the night her mother died flooded her mind.

I want Finn.

Reaching across to the small side table, Pippa fumbled for her spectacles and put them on. That marginally improved the situation; a raging storm, flickering candles, and shifting wood pieces in the fireplace were bad enough without everything looking like misshapen blobs that had slithered out of the Thames. Then she glanced over at the connecting door between her chamber and Finn’s. It stood a few inches ajar, but seemed too far away. There was also the fact that she had never told him about her night storm terror, after making such a scene about secrets.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room and Pippa whimpered. No. She couldn’t remain in here alone. Already perspiration was gathering at the nape of her neck, her limbs were shaking, and her heart thumping. Slowly, she slid her legs out of bed and eased them onto the polished wood floor. It was cold under her feet, and her teeth chattered. With only the smoldering flicker of the fireplace and the soft glow of the candelabra in the corner to light her way, Pippa crept over to her new writing desk and picked up her reticule. Yes. Excellent. There were still a few wrapped caramels in there to sweeten Finn’s pain at her untimely arrival. Then she took several deep breaths before hurrying over to the connecting door, yanking it fully open, and stepping into his chamber.

“Can’t sleep, Lady Pinehurst?”

At the polite enquiry, her gaze darted across to the bed where Finn was sitting up and reading by candlelight. She swallowed hard to remove the boulder from her throat. “Oh no, I am quite well. But I thought perhaps you might need company. Bit of a storm outside.”