LITMIR.BIZ

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knees, pretending her sister had her fullest attention. “Not that I’d have reason to either understand or worry about that. But, please, do go on.”

      “I’d be happy to explain.”

      Sarcasm was something else that eluded Mari’s comprehension. It must be nice to be so completely and dedicatedly involved only with oneself.

      Mari unwrapped one side of the toweling and used it to wipe away the drying, flaking green potion. “It’s simple, really. Oliver saw me and was immediately smitten. He told me that, told me how beautiful I am. But I was four entire years younger then, Dany. If I’m to keep him, to hold him, I have to remain beautiful. And—” she sighed soulfully “—clearly I’m failing. Soon I’ll be a hag.”

      Dany was all attention now. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. What had Coop said to her when she was wishing he’d shut up and kiss her? Oh, yes, she remembered. You’re so beautiful.

      “I think you’re wrong,” she said, partially to reassure herself. “Men always say things like that. Especially when they’re...when they’re being romantical.”

      “And how would you know that?”

      Dany blew out her cheeks, and then smiled. “I’ve read a few of Mama’s books.”

      Mari motioned for her to move so that she could put down her legs and get out of bed. “Oh, that’s too bad, Dany. I thought perhaps your betrothed kissed you.”

      “And what do you mean by that?” Dany asked, following her sister to the dressing table and the basin and pitcher of water that sat there. “Not the kissing. The way you said betrothed. As if you—how did you—Emmaline?”

      “It wasn’t her fault, so don’t fly up into the treetops, for goodness’ sake. After my initial jubilation, I got to thinking, that’s all. What would the hero of Quatre Bras see in my fresh-from-the-country sister? You only did it so that he could be closer at all times, to help me retrieve my letters. Really, Dany, I’m extremely grateful to both of you. What I don’t understand is how you’ll manage to cry off without looking the greatest fool in nature. Turning away the hero, that is.”

      “The debutante who turned off the hero. I imagine it will do wonders to enhance my reputation when I make my formal debut in the spring.”

      It seemed a reasonable answer. For three full seconds.

      Mari was bent over the washbasin but, unfortunately, every word she said was clear as the pealing of a bell—perhaps a death knell. “But, Dany, haven’t you realized yet? With me increasing, and probably huge by the spring, I can’t possibly chaperone you, and Mama swore she would rather have splinters stuck beneath her fingernails than try to ride herd on you in Mayfair. Your debut is going to have to be delayed again. How old will you be then? I mean, in real years?”

      “You missed a spot on your forehead,” Dany said dully once her sister was done scrubbing at her face and turned around. “I’m going to bed.”

      “Yes, all right. No, wait. Why did you come bursting in here in the first place?”

      “Oh. That. I was... I was just going to say that Coop believes we’ve identified the blackmailer, and you’ll have your letters well before Oliver comes home.”

      Mari gave a ladylike screech and held out her arms as she raced to gather her sister close. “Oh, you’re the best of sisters, Dany. Thank you.”

      “I’m your only sister,” she returned, attempting to avoid being coated with chicken fat and whatever else was clinging to Mari’s hair.

      “Yes, but you know what I meant. You didn’t say. Do you have a name for this horrid blackmailer? Is he anyone I know?”

      “No, Coop plays his cards quite close to his chest, as the saying goes,” Dany lied. “I’m just the make-believe fiancée, as you so kindly pointed out. I don’t know anything more on the subject. You’ll be fine. No matter what, Mari, Oliver loves you. Please remember that.”

      Her sister gave her another hug. “Thank you. I love him so much. And now we’re going to have a baby, and we’ll live happily ever after!”

      Dany struggled for humor. “Only if you don’t wear Mrs. Sweet’s concoctions to bed once he’s home. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Good night.”

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      COOP ARRIVED AT the Fleet before ten, having partaken of an early breakfast with Darby, who was now on his way to see Geoffrey Quinton.

      Divide and conquer wasn’t quite their strategy, but time was of the essence, so they’d split their chores between them.

      Besides, Darby had never really cared for Geoff, a man too slow with his brain and too quick with his fists, and had admitted to looking forward to watching the man squirm. “I’m a true believer in taking my pleasure where I can,” had been his exact words.

      After bribing a burly fellow at the gate, Coop was escorted up several flights of stairs covered in residue of dubious origins, and stood back as the fellow rapped his hairy knuckles on the door to what he presumed to be Ned’s cell.

      The man knocked? As if requiring permission to enter?

      Hmm.

      “Master Givens,” the man called out, his mouth inches from the door. “It’s Clem, sir. Oi gots a gentry mort out here wot wants ta see ya. Crossed me palm with a copper and said please, too, jist loik you tol’ me real gentry morts do.”

      The jolly, disembodied voice of Ned Givens came from the other side of the door. “The gentleman rewarded you, Clem? Good on you! By all means, send him in.”

      Clem reached for the latch, but before he could grasp it, the door opened and nearly took off his nose. A tall, spindly shanked man pushed past them, but not before Coop saw that he had a copper shaving basin, some brushes and other clear advertisements of his trade hanging from a leather strap around his shoulders.

      Checking again, to make sure he was correct, and there was no lock on the door, Coop stepped inside what was not a cell at all, but a generously large and tastefully appointed apartment containing other doors leading God only knew where.

      There were tall windows. There were draperies. There were couches, chairs, a writing desk, a large fireplace, even bookcases containing a small library. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling.

      It all seemed impossible, but then again, Ned had always found a way to land on his feet.

      The man himself was standing before a tall dresser equipped with a mirror, and was in the act of tying a pristine white linen neck cloth, as if he planned on taking the air sometime that day.

      “Cooper Townsend, is that you I see reflected in this mirror?”

      Ned turned around, presenting a face and build that had barely changed since their years at school. The same dark copper hair, the same overabundance of large white teeth and the same slim-shouldered body with its unfortunate tendency to spread in the middle.

      “Ned,” Coop acknowledged. “You’re looking well.”

      “Expected to see me huddled in a corner, covered in rags and sores, weeping, mumbling incoherently?”

      Coop took up a seat on one of the striped blue satin covered chairs. “Very nearly, yes.” He spread his arms as if to encompass his surroundings. “How did you manage all this?”

      Ned sprawled his frame nearly sideways onto the closest couch, somehow making Coop feel like a starchy-backed headmaster.

      “You know why I’m here, don’t you?” Ned asked, not waiting for an answer. “That business about fuzzing the cards. Happily, I was forewarned, you understand.”

      Coop leaned forward. He had to mean Ferdie. “Not really, no. Tell

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