Scandal of the Year by Olivia Drake Page B

Cromptons in the main rooms, be sure to search the attics, too.”
    James had no doubt that an imposter would have sent orders for any incriminating paintings to be put out of sight. He only hoped they hadn’t been disposed of entirely.
    “A very wise plan,” the elderly man said with a nod. “When shall I depart?”
    “Preferably on the mail coach in the morning. Roland will give you money for the fare.” James looked at his servant, who was sitting cross-legged on the pallet, drinking his own cup of tea. “Providing he hasn’t squandered all my coin on useless trinkets.”
    Roland flashed a grin. “I bin stay right here, mon. I guard your money right dere.”
    He pointed beside him to his pallet, and James realized that the lump he’d assumed to be a pillow was actually the outline of a strongbox.
    James chuckled as he blew on his hot tea. “You’re a good man, Roland. Remind me to give you a bonus when this is all over.”
    “Well, then!” Thornton said, rubbing his palms. “If all goes well, I should be back in about a week or so.”
    “In the meantime, I’ll continue to look for evidence myself,” James said. “I’m hoping to find something when I search George’s desk. The sooner I can bring those two charlatans to justice, the better.”
    Roland scrambled to his feet. “I can help, suh. You pluck one hair from George and one from his wife, and I make gris-gris magic. Den I stick a pin in each one”—he mimicked stabbing an imaginary doll in his hand—“and real quick, dem two be sorry dey stole your money.”
    “Voodoo won’t be necessary,” James said with an amused shake of his head. “I intend to rely upon the English court system to handle the case.”
    “Maybe den you bring fingernail clipping from Miss Crompton? I make a powerful potion so she fall in love with you, suh. That be a fine revenge on her momma and daddy.”
    James sat up straight as if he’d been pricked with a gris-gris pin himself. He gripped his teacup hard. “For God’s sake, no . There’ll be no witch doctor deeds at all, and that’s that.”
    Rising from the chair, he ignored Roland’s crestfallen look. The fellow didn’t know it, but the last thing James needed was a love potion. He was already far too obsessed with Miss Blythe Crompton.

Chapter 11
    Blythe needed to finagle a measure of time alone with James so that she could broach her plan about tricking Lady Davina.
    With that in mind, Blythe ordered a breakfast tray brought to her bedchamber the following morning. Unfortunately, one of the maidservants delivered it. James was nowhere in sight, either, when she sought out a footman to accompany her to the shops on Bond Street. She was loath to ask for him specifically since that would draw undue attention to her interest in him.
    At noon on the second day, she descended the grand staircase with Kasi. They were preparing to take a stroll to Lindsey’s house on Park Lane and visit the children. But upon reaching the entrance hall, Blythe spotted her quarry in an antechamber.
    Although his back was to her and he wore the traditional white wig and blue livery, she recognized James at once. No other footman had those broad shoulders or that self-assured stance.
    Determination took fire within her, but she hid the reaction behind a cool demeanor. She knew from long experience not to stir the suspicions of her ayah .
    Going to one of the long windows that flanked the front door, Blythe made a pretense of peering out into the gray day. “Oh, pooh, I do believe it looks like rain. We had better postpone our walk until later.”
    Kasi’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. Too wise by half, she glanced from Blythe to the antechamber, then back again. “We take coach, missy.”
    “That is an excellent solution,” Blythe said. “Why don’t you order it brought around? Tell the coachman that half an hour from now will suffice.”
    Kasi gave her another suspicious look. Nevertheless, she put her palms together and