Page 31 of The Wallflower Ruse

He hoped not. He wanted to trust Fortin—they were good friends—but he couldn’t take that risk. He didn’t know what to think of Fortin’s friend Beaudry either, but the man certainly bore watching. He was a little too polite, too proper, expressing the views expected of him, unlike Fortin, who said what he pleased.

As for assessing Lucy Belair—he’d made no headway at all, but why should he? She need not be assessed, merely used.

What an unpleasant thought that was. He didn’t like the notion of anyone using Miss Belair, in any way whatsoever, including himself. The very thought of her going to Lady Tollister’s made him queasy.

At least he now understood why she’d asked him to keep her father’s books until her brother returned. Matthew wasn’t the least bit scholarly; Lucinda was. She’d had an ulterior motive—wanting the books for herself—but it had nothing to do with trapping him into marriage.

Which was a relief, and yet not. Usually, he didn’t give a damn whether anyone, man or woman, liked him, yet he found her dislike of him irksome. Even more annoying, that dislike was his own fault.

“How’d the chit do?” Davis was sitting in Restive’s chair, behind Restive’s desk, sipping Restive’s brandy. The lad had incredible gall and no respect whatsoever. He was a truly excellent friend.

Restive threw himself onto the sofa before the fireplace. “Very well. She played the role of outspoken not-quite-innocent to perfection.”

Davis quirked a brow. “Not quite innocent?”

“Oh, she’s almost certainly a virgin, but she’s educated. She suggested Lysistrata as a strategy to exploit the weakness of the male sex.”

Davis gave a crack of laughter. “Seems to me the women in that play wanted it as much as the men.” Which, to Restive, was an interesting clue about the extent of Davis’ education. He was still a lad, just on the brink of manhood. Had he been tutored in Greek as a boy?

Not that it mattered, and he rather enjoyed not knowing. So why did he mind knowing too little about Lucy Belair?

“Yes, but most of the women who attend Mrs. Haraldson’s salon are too eager for reform to let lust distract them—except of course the ones I exercise my wiles on,” Restive said. “I have but to look at Alfreda Whatshername to make her blush and quiver. Even the other one last night, a prim blonde, wasn’t unmoved. It’s absurd.”

Davis made a rude sound of assent.

“I overheard Miss Belair recommending that they consider me and my vulgar insinuations a source of amusement.” Restive sighed. “If they only would. I am dead sick of this persona.”

“Needs must, in His Majesty’s Service,” Davis drawled. “Did anything worthwhile come from her efforts?”

“Yes and no,” Restive said. “I think her mere presence was what did it, because that poet Pearce fixed his attention on her well before she showed her scandalous side. He seemed to consider her a stroke of luck.” He related the events of the evening. “Pearce wasn’t himself tonight—much more high-strung than usual, perhaps even desperate.”

“You think the enemy have recruited Pearce?” Davis snorted. “Come now. They’re not that stupid.”

“No, I think they have someone else working for them here, and that someone is using Pearce. There was perhaps more tension than usual at the meeting, but that may have been my imagination.” Or divided attention, damn it all; with Lucy there, it had proven difficult to concentrate as he usually did. “I need you to find out everything you can about Pearce—his recent associates, his financial situation, anything blameworthy in his past. I think either he is in immediate need of funds, or he’s being blackmailed. Or both. Or something else I haven’t thought of.”

“And you want it done yesterday.” Davis tossed back his brandy and stood. “My kind of mission.”

“Stay away from Wharton,” Restive said. “If he finds out what we’re doing, he’ll botch everything trying to get the credit for himself.”

Davis grinned. “This should be fun.”

The damnable thing was that Davis meant it. “Try to return in one piece,” Restive said, and Davis laughed and left.

~ * ~

“How did it go last night?” Dorothea asked at the breakfast table the next morning. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Somewhat,” Lucinda said. “I said a few scandalous things to establish my persona, and everyone seemed comfortable with impropriety, which was rather fun. They discussed the need for policing in the metropolis, and there was quite a bit of conflict over what should be done and how. Some knowledgeable ladies, some eager reformers, some rather foolish ones.”

“I suppose those you term fools were infatuated with Restive.”

“One of them, yes. I tried to reason with her. She seems unable to stop thinking of him, and imagining, er—” She glanced around the room to make sure the footman had gone.

“Improper acts with him,” Dorothea said with a grin.

“Precisely,” Lucinda said. “It’s not that I don’t understand—why not imagine oneself dallying with an attractive man?—but surely one must have some respect for oneself. She’s like a puddle of jelly in his presence.” She grimaced. “And he finds it amusing! How horrid of him.”

“Actually, I don’t believe that’s the case. He may have been amused when he was a young man about town, but now it’s just an act. No one’s likely to suspect him of espionage when he’s playing with hapless ladies’ hearts.”