Nigel could not understand why Giles was not more pleased with himself when they met at White’s again that night.

“But I thought your man said Whattling was smiling when he left her house,” he grumbled at Giles’ lackluster accounting of the days’ events. “You were pointedly interfering, if you ask me, but you were effective. I don’t understand why you persist in pouting.”

“I am not pouting,” Giles protested, lips set in something remarkably resembling a pout. “I simply cannot feel we have done our full duty in this situation.”

“Don’t see why not,” Nigel complained. “We sent flowers, you plied her with comfits, we lowered ourselves to warn her about Safton. And you praised Whattling so much in her hearing, one would think you were the one he was courting.”

Giles colored. “Do you think anything I said untrue? Or do you not remember how Kevin and I found you?”

Now it was Nigel’s turn to color. “You needn’t remind me. I was in the very worst condition. Never thought I’d be fit for anything in life but military duty, then a lucky shot on the Peninsula and I’m sent home permanently. And I don’t even limp!”

“No, you don’t, which is a blessing. And you found others who would enjoy your company even if we weren’t in your unit, didn’t you?”

“Certainly, certainly. You and Whattling have been the best friends a man could ask. But I don’t generally go around spouting your virtues to every female you make eyes at.”

“Malign me all you like,” Giles replied, head high. “I know what I did was right. I only regret I didn’t act sooner.”

“Do not harp on that chord again either. I agree with you that we were negligent in our duty as far as Robbie was concerned. I simply do not see how you think we can do more now. The man is dead!”

Giles eyed him, breast heaving as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. Nigel had known him too long to have to wait.

“Don’t tell me,” he said with a sigh. “You think we should go after Safton.”

Giles nodded vigorously in obvious relief not to have to say it aloud.

Nigel shook his head. “Are you daft, man? You know as well as I do the magistrates were unable to convict him of any wrongdoing in the matter of Robbie’s death. What more can we do?”

“He has other suspicious activities,” Giles protested. “He will slip again. If we watch him, Nigel, we could be there in time to prove him a villain.”

Nigel snorted. “That could take months, years! I do not see how that helps Whattling or Miss Welch.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t,” Giles acknowledged, gaze lowered to the tabletop. “But it will help me come to terms with my inability to help poor Robbie. You do not have to come along, Nigel. I’ll do it alone if I must.”

“As if I’d let you face danger alone,” Nigel grumbled.

Giles raised his gaze to beam at him.

“Do not crow just yet,” Nigel warned. “I may not be the best campaigner to retire from His Majesty’s service, but I did earn my title honestly. We need a plan of attack, my lad. Safton will not be easy to catch. You might as well order us some dinner. I have a feeling this will take some time.”

 

–

     

Jenny floated through the rest of the day. She still couldn’t believe Kevin had been jealous of Mr. Safton’s attentions. After all, his concerns could have been merely one charming rake protecting his game from another. Yet when he’d warned her, when he’d spoken so earnestly, she’d begun to hope he might have feelings for her. Having his love was worth the gamble.

Martha continued to grumble, and it was hard to ignore Fiching’s gloating grin every time she did. But Jenny was sure of her decision. The one good thing about George Safton’s brief presence was that it had showed her what a true fortune hunter was like. Whatever Kevin Whattling was, he was honest. Time enough to find out if all the other traits Giles Sloane had attributed to him were real.

Accordingly, she instructed Fiching to tell Mr. Safton she wasn’t at home. Fiching reported doing so that very afternoon, and that the man had been rather pleasant about the whole thing. She imagined he’d try to call again at some point, but he would eventually realize his mistake. By then, she would either be married to Kevin Whattling or retired from this social whirl. Either way, she would be immune to George Safton’s influence.

The last thing she expected when she, Martha, and Stevens set out the next morning on her constitutional down Curzon Street was to find the fellow waiting at the corner. She should have realized that he knew her habits; after all, that was how they had met. But she hadn’t imagined that he’d be there, for all the world like a panther lying in wait for a docile herd of antelope.

She saw him leaning against the lamppost several yards away. Tempting as it was to simply turn around and go home, something told her it would be unwise to give him so direct a cut. Besides, she refused to be driven from her daily activities by some gentleman who was too dense to know when he wasn’t wanted. Instead, she squared her shoulders and proceeded to the corner. Martha continued beside her, oblivious, but Jenny took some comfort in Steven’s wide shoulders and considerable bulk behind her.

Mr. Safton straightened and doffed his top hat, bowing, as she approached. He was dressed in his usual black, making him look just a little menacing. She heard Martha suck in a breath. Fiching must have instructed Stevens, for he stood a little taller, brown eyes narrowing.

“Miss Welch,” Mr. Safton greeted with a charming smile. “How fortuitous. I had been hoping to encounter you.”

“Mr. Safton,” she replied with a cool nod, “I’m sure you were.”

He raised his dark brows. “Why Miss Welch, you seem a bit short with me today. Have I done something to displease you?”

Beside her, Martha was shaking her head vigorously no. Jenny decided that roundaboutation would afford her nothing. “Mr. Safton, you were very kind to see me home after that unfortunate incident the other day and to escort Miss Tindale and me to the theatre the other night. But I’m afraid we’ve had some rather distressing reports about you, and I’m sure you’ll understand that I am loathe to continue our connection.”

“I can surely understand,” he said, handsome face showing obvious distress, “but Miss Welch, may I say it is unlike someone of your good sense to take gossip so seriously. Surely you understand how the ton can take delight in slandering one’s reputation, belittling one’s accomplishments.”

She understood all too well. Normally his comment would have won the day, but she couldn’t shake off Kevin’s unflinching dislike of the man, despite the fact that Martha was biting her lip beside her, obviously taken in. “If that is the case, I’m very sorry for you, Mr. Safton. But I must stand by my decision.”

He looked perplexed. “But I have been completely aboveboard with you, have I not?”

“In most respects, Mr. Safton, you have,” she allowed, but found she could not leave it at that. “However, twice now you have mentioned your supposed friendship with Mr. Whattling. Mr. Whattling tells me you are not his friend.”

He drew himself up, clutching his breast. “What? Have I wounded him as well? Why hasn’t he told me so himself?”

Jenny could not stand the theatrics another minute. She turned away, tugging Martha with her. “I cannot say. You will have to talk to him yourself. Suffice it to say that you and I will not be meeting again. Goodbye, Mr. Safton.”

“Wait!” He pushed in front of her, and she caught a quick glimpse of a face contorted with rage before his pleasant smile shut it out. The glimpse sent a chill up her spine, and she stepped back. He caught her hand.

“Please, Miss Welch, you must not listen to the stories you hear about me. I have been much maligned by my enemies. I assure you, I thought Mr. Whattling was my friend. It amazes me to hear he does not think so. But that has nothing do to with the friendship you and I have been building. I have so enjoyed our time together. Do not cut me off now.”

Martha nudged her. “Listen to him, Eugennia,” she whispered. “Does that sound like the villain Mr. Whattling painted?”

Jenny ignored her. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Safton. I must do as I see fit. However, if you reconcile with Mr. Whattling and he informs me of the fact, I would be happy to receive you again. If Mr. Whattling is such a friend of yours, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

His grip on her hand tightened, and she tried to pull it back, alarm growing. Stevens took a step forward, but something made him hesitate. The smile on Mr. Safton’s face was a tight mask as he leaned closer. “I hope you’ll reconsider, Miss Welch. I wouldn’t want to count you among my enemies.”

The malignant gaze was nearly hypnotizing, but the grip was becoming painful. “Let go of me, now,” she told him quietly. “I don’t think you want a scene.”

“You have no idea what I want,” he replied, but he broke off his hold and patted her shoulder.

“I’ll abide by your wishes, of course, my dear Miss Welch. But you mustn’t say I didn’t warn you. Good day to you, and you, Miss Tindale.” He nodded and strolled back around the corner, the crowds on Park Lane thankfully swallowing him up almost immediately.

Jenny shook herself. “Martha, you will do me the honor of not mentioning that man in my hearing again. You are not to let him in the house, you are not to speak to him on the street. If I find that you have done so, I will sack you, despite all your years of service and the fact that I consider you a dear friend. You have been completely wrong about him, and I will brook no argument. Do I make myself clear?”

Martha swallowed, long nose trembling. “Yes, Miss Welch.”

Jenny put an arm about her waist and hugged her. “It’s Jenny, you wretch, as you well know. And I adore you, but that man is dangerous, and you must heed me.”

Martha nodded, sniffing back a tear. “But he seemed so presentable.”

“The devil usually does,” Jenny told her, steering her back toward home, Stevens falling into step behind her. “How else do you think he entices souls? No one goes willingly to hell.”

Martha shivered but kept walking. None of them looked back.

 

–

 

So, Whattling had won. George stalked up Park Lane to where his carriage stood waiting. The lady was cutting him off while encouraging Whattling’s suit. Not only was he losing his opportunity to thwart Whattling, he had lost the opportunity to part Miss Welch from any piece of her considerable fortune. Even if Whattling decided to spend some of it himself, he would hardly do so to Safton’s benefit. The situation was simply unacceptable.

He would have to find another way. If he could not win Whattling’s companionship, perhaps he could at least discredit him. If he could not stop the biting accusations, he could at least ensure they had no teeth. He would watch how the situation unfolded with Whattling and the bluestocking and look for another opportunity to gain the upper hand. He would let them think the game was theirs, for now.