A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,13
about him doing his duty, he had no desire to wed at present, especially to a young lady on the Marriage Mart. He’d been to Almack’s once and swore he’d never return. Which was once more than Harry had gone.
“I appreciate the warning.” Jeremy took a drink of brandy, and they went to join the other gentleman.
Their father broke away and came to Harry. He was a few inches shorter than Harry, and his dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was beginning to thin. He possessed a warm smile and demeanor, both of which were on full display as he spoke. “I’m pleased you came. It makes your mother happy.”
“I know it does.” Harry should probably do it more often.
Father lowered his voice and leaned close. “Do you have any news about the fortune-teller? Your mother didn’t see her this week, as far as I know, but I don’t think she’s given her up, despite my insistence.”
Harry almost smiled. “The more you insist, the more she will cling to the woman. Perhaps if you leave the subject alone, Mother will simply lose interest.”
“Not bloody likely.” Father snorted softly before sipping his brandy.
“Well, I have nothing to report, unfortunately. Madame Sybila refuses to read the fortune of a gentleman, so I’m developing another plan. And no, don’t ask for details, because I won’t give them. Please let me do my job.”
Father held up his hand, his dark brown eyes flashing with irritation and then determination. “I do have information to share, however. Would you like to hear it?”
Harry kept the exasperation out of his voice. “Of course. Information is always helpful.”
“Lord Balcombe told me his wife donated a considerable sum to that charity suggested by the charlatan. He’s livid.”
“Do you know if Lady Balcombe gave the money to Madame Sybila or to the charity directly?”
“I don’t.” Father blinked, his gaze intent. “Does that matter?”
“Yes.” If Lady Balcombe had given the money to Madame Sybila, it could be theft—if the fortune-teller hadn’t given it to the charity as intended. “May I speak with Lord Balcombe, or are you still demanding I keep this investigation a secret for now?” Not that Harry hadn’t shared it with some of his fellow constables, such as Remy.
Father winced. “I don’t want your mother finding out I asked you to investigate.”
“She won’t know it was you. This is what I do, after all.”
“Then yes, you may speak with him. He should be here later.”
Harry groaned inwardly. He didn’t want to be here later. If he didn’t see the earl tonight, he’d pay him a visit tomorrow or the next day. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise this woman will not swindle Mother.”
“Thank you. I trust you to take care of this matter.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast before taking another drink.
A short time later, Harry and the others left the library to join the soiree as the first guests were arriving. Their father took his place beside their mother to greet people, while Harry and Jeremy went directly to the card room.
“You playing?” Jeremy asked.
“Perhaps. I should probably look for Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford first.”
“Careful, Harry, or I’ll think our sisters are right about your potential interest in one of them.”
Harry gave his brother a light shove that did nothing to move him, nor was it meant to. Then he turned and left the card room without a word, intent on going up to the drawing room, where he’d find a cozy corner to inhabit until Lady Gresham arrived. Hopefully, that would be very soon.
Luck was smiling upon him, for just after he’d taken up his position, Lady Gresham appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a stunning dark pink gown that seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, she was impossible to miss. Also because she was taller than most women, and tonight, with her golden-brown hair styled with a pair of white ostrich feathers, she seemed even more so. A single pearl rested against the hollow of her neck, and he found himself staring at the spot.
Forcing himself to look up, his gaze followed the graceful slope of her neck and the pert jut of her chin. He paused briefly on her mouth, a captivating bow, before moving even higher. She surveyed the room, and he imagined he could see the bright blue of her eyes—nearly the color of a robin’s egg—from where he stood. He couldn’t really, of course, so he pushed himself away from the corner and went