The Wilder Wedding

The visitor shifted his leather case to his left hand. “Yes. My business, Wilder Investigations, is an individual concern. Your father’s aware of that, if you are not.”

“Ah, yes, that’s it!” Lambdin gushed. “A private enquiry agent! Of course, I remember now. Well, come in, come in!”

The guest entered and shook Lambdin’s outstretched hand. Even as he did so, the man’s piercing green gaze fell on her. Dimly Laura registered the impression of emeralds set in gold. Golden skin, sun kissed, as though he dwelt in warm, southern climes. Soft, dark and wind tossed waves framed his strong features.

The stranger projected a gilded warmth that drew her, as though somehow he might banish this frightful coldness if she let him. Then, suddenly, he deliberately did something to shutter all that, and the intensity of his regard made her uncomfortable.

Laura sucked in a deep breath and tried to muster what composure she could. He made her feel like a bug pinned to a collection board. Pinned by those eyes. Eyes that seemed to ferret out everything. Once again, something flickered briefly in their jeweled depths. Compassion?

Could he see at a glance that she was doomed? Dying, even as he watched? She couldn’t bear it.

With a sob she couldn’t contain, Laura took to her heels and clattered up the stairs.

The upper hallway had never seemed so long. When she finally reached her room, Laura slammed the door behind her, turned the key and threw herself across her bed.

She was not going to die. She wasn’t! There was some ghastly mistake here. The doctor was old, confused. Or Lamb and Charles were playing some horrible joke on her. They knew she was eavesdropping and were teaching her a lesson. Perhaps she had imagined it all. Or her ears had deceived her.

Oh God, she couldn’t be dying. She flatly refused to die!

Sean Wilder looked a question at his host, though he didn’t bother to ask who the scurrying little rabbit might be. He didn’t usually affect women quite that profoundly. And—modesty aside—when he did so they usually ran to him, not away. True, his size intimidated some. That must be the case. She was a wee mite of a thing.

Pretty, too, he had noticed. Petite and curved in all the right places. He would bet the hefty fee from his last case that her shape was natural, and not the result of fashionable underpinnings. That umber hair of hers gleamed like flawless satin against her well-shaped head. Made a man wonder what it would look like loosened from that untidy chignon and swinging free about her shoulders. He recalled then that those wide gray eyes had already been wet when he first saw her. She hadn’t run from him, then. Perhaps she had just received a dressing-down from Middlebrook for shirking her duties.

“My sister,” the fellow explained, summarily dashing Sean’s theory about a rebuked servant. “Been off her feed here lately. Sorry if she seemed rude.”

“She seemed upset,” Sean said bluntly.

Middlebrook shrugged. “Oh, you know, women suffer these megrims time to time. Had the doctor to her just this morning.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” To his surprise, Sean found himself wishing very hard that the man’s answer would alleviate his worry. Why the hell should he care one way or the other? The girl meant nothing to him. God only knows he had seen scores of women in straits far more dire than this pampered pigeon’s worst nightmares. But for some reason, he needed to know what was wrong.

Middlebrook obviously took Sean’s question as a polite response and ignored it as he led the way into a well-appointed study. The young man introduced his friend who was busy pouring drinks. “This is Mr. Sean Wilder, James. Sir, my neighbor, James Maclin.”

Sean noted Maclin’s hands tremble on the decanter and glass and the fellow’s dawning expression of awe. So, this one was no stranger to London’s gossip mill. Affecting his most enigmatic smile, Sean slowly inclined his head in greeting. He rather enjoyed Maclin’s discomposure. Fostering his black reputation remained one of the small pleasures Sean allowed himself.

“Don’t mind James,” Middlebrook said. “He’s only hanging about to see my new foal when it arrives. Interested in breeding, sir?”

“Not at all,” Sean declared abruptly. He had little use for horses other than their getting him from one place to another. They were fractious beasts at best, and he had never had the slightest desire to own one. Besides, distractions from business at hand always bothered him and he did not intend to encourage this one. The lovely watering pot dashing up the stairs had proved distraction enough already. He could ignore fury, petulance, even outright seduction, but a woman’s tears stopped him in his tracks every time. What in the world could have set her off like that?

Middlebrook looked miffed at Sean’s disinterest in his stables. “Very well, then. Have a seat if you will. You have the information my father requested before he left? I recall I’m to forward it to him as soon as he sends word where to post it.”

Sean shook off thoughts of Middlebrook’s sister and drew the documents out of his case. He hadn’t the time or the inclination to get involved in anyone else’s problems.

Still the young woman had looked so confoundingly tragic, clutching that stair rail. He could still envision the white of her knuckles and the trembling of her full lower lip. Damn! He shook his head to clear it of the troubling image.

He knew better than this. Once a man let a woman get close enough to make him worry about her, he might as well go ahead and lift his chin for the throat-cutting.

No, a real attachment didn’t bear thinking about. He had already traveled that scenic route twice with young ladies of good name. The first time proved devastating. The second had only pinched his pride, of course. One learned.

If he had any driving ambition at all, it was to avoid any emotional entanglement with another female. Now, a physical entanglement would be welcome as hell, he thought, repressing a smile. But Miss Middlebrook was not that sort.

Best get his business completed and remove himself from the vicinity before the idea of seducing her took root.

“You should pass these reports along as soon as possible so your father can take action on them. He is losing a fortune even as we speak,” Sean advised the lad.

A pair of old Middlebrook’s shipping managers were skimming funds on both sides of the water. Middlebrook had specifically asked him not to kill anyone involved. Some wag or another must have added “paid assassin” to Sean’s list of dubious talents. The thought prompted a grin. Fear certainly had its uses.

“I assume he left instructions as to my remuneration?” Sean asked politely.

Sean had sensed the fear underlying the elder Middlebrook’s disdain the day he had hired him. But only once in this business had someone tried to cheat him. One of his clients—a banker, ironically—had refused to pay once Sean had completed a job for him. A neighbor discovered the man dead of knife wounds the very next day. Never mind that Sean had spent the entire evening with the chief inspector of Scotland Yard. Never mind that the real culprit had been caught and punished by hanging. The gossips would have it that Wilder “had his ways.” Sean didn’t mind. Reputation was everything in this business.

“Oh yes, of course. I’m to see to it.” Middlebrook stashed the folder of facts in the desk drawer and handed over an envelope containing a presigned cheque. Sean verified the amount and they shook hands. “Tea’s in one hour. You’ll stay, of course?”

The boy’s offer of refreshment was solely due to ingrained manners, Sean knew. He meant to refuse, but on second thought, accepted. He would see the girl one more time. Just once, to find out whether she was recovering from whatever had caused her tears.

Not that he cared all that much. It was that cursed curiosity of his. Besides, a four-hour trip loomed ahead and he felt sharp-set even now. He only hoped he wasn’t delaying his departure for a mere handful of cucumber sandwiches.

“James and I are just off to the stables. You’re welcome to join us,” the lad said.

Sean smiled at the halfhearted offer. He had put the lad off with his bluntness. Of course, that had been his intention, but it served no purpose now. He had the balance of his fee in his pocket and an hour to kill before a free meal. “Yes, I could use a brisk walk after that carriage ride. I’ll admit knowing nothing about the business, Middlebrook. What sort of horses do you breed?”

That did the trick. Middlebrook and Maclin carried the conversation, with Maclin darting anxious looks as though he expected Sean to make off with all the cattle. Suppressing satisfied laughter, Sean only needed to add polite grunts and hums of feigned interest.

Normally he would not have bothered with this little pup and his horse-mad prattle. He would have taken his leave the moment the boy forked over the blunt. Sean assured himself that only hunger had prompted his acceptance of the invitation. The young man’s weeping sister had little to do with his tarrying at Midbrook Manor.

Getting involved with a woman like this one, however intriguing she might be, would prove foolish at best. Camilla Norton had intrigued him recently, too, he reminded himself with a barely restrained grimace. And for all his experience with women, that relationship had proved fiasco enough for the year. Give him a good, honest whore any day of the week.

He had his life sorted out just the way he wanted it now and he wasn’t about to muck it up again. Control, that was the thing. He had worked damned hard to attain that and, by God, he meant to keep it, too. No more women messing about with his finer feelings, what little there was left of them.

This curiosity about Laura Middlebrook was only that, Sean decided firmly. Simple curiosity. The girl would be well over whatever was wrong with her by teatime. He would fortify himself with whatever culinary delights were offered at tea, see that she was fine, and then he would be on his way.

When the time came, tea proved interesting. Not the tea itself, Sean mused, but the serving of it. Miss Middlebrook poured. All over the table, as a matter of fact. He had to shove back sharply to keep from getting a lapful. She reacted strangely, as though the accident rated a distant second to whatever really concerned her. Even her brother’s sharp curse didn’t seem to register.

She summoned a maid and had the mess cleared away. Then she retired to her own chair with a cup and gave rein to her preoccupation. Sean wanted desperately to ask what that was.

Instead, he consumed every morsel set before him, absently answering Middlebrook’s questions between bites of delicious little spiced beef pies and cakes iced with lemon sugar. Very deliberately, he concentrated on the food, ignoring the girl.

“So, your mother lives in Cornwall? Lovely place, I’ve heard. Never been there myself. My betrothed has an aunt and uncle who reside in Trevlynton, though, on the coast,” Middlebrook chattered on. “Just got myself spoken for, y’see. Nineteen’s rather young to get myself yoked, but I was lucky to find a pearl like Jillian. Can’t let her get away. Are you wed, sir?”

“No,” Sean snapped. He had shot the boy a threatening look before he realized the question wasn’t meant as a taunt.

Suddenly Sean could not wait to get away. This empty-headed chatterbox and his gape-mouthed friend annoyed him. As did his own inclination to sort out the little Middlebrook beauty’s dilemma. “I am poor company this afternoon, and I do have things pending in town,” he said curtly. “I will excuse myself now and head back.”

“Of course,” Middlebrook agreed rather heartily. “Good of you to come all this way to deliver the results of your enquiries.”

Sean inclined his head. “Your father compensated me well for it. Part of the job.”

“Laura, fetch Mr. Wilder his hat and cane, would you? There’s a dear,” Middlebrook said. Maclin exhaled with what appeared to be profound relief.