“I have not been badgering Mr. Bridges,” Miss Mirabelle defended.

  Jonathan quirked a brow. She most certainly had been plaguing him. “What would you call showing up in my offices twice and going through documents on my desk while I was not in my office at the time?”

  Trent wheeled on Miss Mirabelle. “Twice!”

  Miss Mirabelle glared at Jonathan. How was he to know Trent didn’t know about the second visit? His wife had been with the woman the last time.

  “Bentley ordered you not to return to the warehouse.”

  What did Bentley have to do with this? If anyone was going to order Miss Mirabelle about, and Jonathan sincerely doubted anyone was successful in doing so, it would be Acker.

  “I am dearly tired of his dictates.”

  Did she just growl with displeasure? It was quiet, and he wasn’t sure, but she made some unpleasant sound. “Dictates?”

  All three turned and stared at him, mouths slightly open, as if they had let something slip they shouldn’t have.

  “You see, Bentley is, well…” Mrs. Trent began.

  “A dictator,” Miss Mirabelle offered with a roll of her eyes.

  “I still don’t understand,” Jonathan said slowly, watching their faces. Mrs. Trent bit her upper lip, Mr. Trent frowned but Miss Mirabelle had a smug smile upon her face. This was very odd indeed.

  “Bentley is not the issue,” Trent said after a moment. “It is the fact that the two of you are alone in this house, without a chaperone present.”

  They were saved from answering when two footmen entered and pulled the settee from the wall and moved a small table before it before retrieving two chairs from across the room. A maid entered on their heels and placed a tea service and fresh plate of biscuits on the table.

  “Why don’t we sit?” Miss Mirabelle offered brightly.

  Jonathan waited until the last moment to remove himself from behind the desk. Thank goodness his body had returned to its normal relaxed state. Mr. and Mrs. Trent settled upon the settee and he and Miss Mirabelle took the matching chairs. Nobody commented while Miss Mirabelle poured for each of them. In normal circumstances, this gathering could be quite pleasant, but Trent was watching him with mistrust that didn’t sit well. Did the man suspect what had gone on before they entered or was it mere curiosity?

  “What does bring you here?” Miss Mirabelle asked of Mrs. Trent.

  “We called upon Acker’s house and learned you had been here all day.”

  “But that isn’t what prompted our visit,” Mr. Trent ground out as he shot a look at Jonathan.

  “Oh?” Miss Mirabelle asked.

  “We were told Mr. David Thorn learned you were here.” Trent turned more fully to Jonathan. “I was concerned with that rake.”

  Jonathan stiffened, he was not, nor did he ever intend to become a lothario the likes of Thorn. Then again, less than half an hour ago he had Miss Mirabelle on her back upon that settee while he was doing his best to divest her of her clothing. Heat crept into his cheeks.

  “You don’t need to worry about Thorn where I am concerned,” Miss Mirabelle insisted. “He did come by to advise that his mother could not meet with me this afternoon.”

  “That is all?” Trent’s question was leading. Jonathan suspected that Trent didn’t believe Thorn’s intentions were innocent any more than he did.

  Miss Mirabelle blew out a breath. “We had a pleasant stroll and I returned to my work.”

  Trent leaned back and sipped from his cup before speaking again. “About this work, what exactly are you doing?”

  Jonathan had enough. Who was Trent to be asking all of these questions? Jonathan set the cup and saucer on the table and straightened. “I don’t really see where it is your concern.”

  Trent’s eyebrows shot up, he too placed his cup on the table. “It is very much my concern.”

  Why was this man so protective of Miss Mirabelle? Did he make a habit out of watching over innocent young ladies who were acquainted with his wife? If anyone should have a concern, it was Acker. “I don’t see that it is. The work Miss Mirabelle is doing for me is of a private matter.”

  Miss Mirabelle picked up the plate and thrust it between them. “Biscuits anyone?”

  Trent glared at her and Miss Mirabelle set it back onto the table before shooting a pleading glance to Mrs. Trent.

  “I am sure it is nothing.” Mrs. Trent placed a gloved hand on Trent’s arm.

  “Nothing?” He turned to his wife and asked with surprise. “They are alone and have been for hours for all we know.”

  “It is a business arrangement,” Miss Mirabelle ground out.

  “And I demand to know exactly what kind of business requires the two of you to be alone, in this house.”

  Jonathan slid forward on his seat. “You have no right to demand anything, Sir. I sought Miss Mirabelle’s assistance to fix a temporary predicament.”

  Trent shot to his feet on the word demand. “I have every right to demand what my sister is doing alone with you.”

  Jonathan slowly rose. Did Trent just say sister? He glanced at Miss Mirabelle. Her face scrunched and eyes closed, as if in discomfort at being caught in an apparent lie and Mrs. Trent once again bit her upper lip. He looked back at Trent. The color was high in his cheeks and Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was from anger, embarrassment, or frustration. It could be a combination of all three.

  “Sister?” Jonathan asked after a moment.

  “Bloody hell,” Trent muttered almost under his breath before he thrust his fingers through his hair and marched from the room.

  Jonathan looked to Mrs. Trent, who quickly glanced away, and then to Miss Mirabelle.

  “It is a long story.” She shrugged and took a sip of her tea.

  Why did John and Elizabeth have to show up here, now? She and Bridges had been enjoying the most delicious interlude before the youngest of her half-brothers stormed into the room, ruining everything.

  Where had John gone? It wasn’t well done of him to blurt out their relationship and then leave the room. She certainly wasn’t going to explain.

  Bridges settled back into his chair but watched her, one eyebrow hitched, as if waiting for her to enlighten him. As she hadn’t let the truth slip she’d let John provide the details when he returned. If he returned. It was so silent, Geneviève could hear the clock tick.

  “We are having such pleasant weather for February, don’t you think, Mr. Bridges?”

  The look he shot Elizabeth quieted her instantly.

  John stormed back into the room a moment later. A decanter of brandy was clutched in the crook of his arm against his side and he managed to carry four glasses. As he entered, he kicked the door shut behind him. Elizabeth rose to help relieve him of the glasses and he set the decanter on the table with a thud.

  “This conversation is going to require something stronger than tea,” he ground out before he poured the amber liquid into the glasses and handed one to each person in the room, and took his seat. “What I am about to tell you will not leave this room.”

  Mr. Bridges shifted his eyes to her and Geneviève offered a weak smile.

  He gave a quick nod of agreement and focused his attention on John.

  John took a healthy drink and set his glass on the table. “Bentley is going to kill me if he ever learns.” He thrust his fingers through his hair and leaned back. “You are aware that my father’s second wife was believed to have died in a carriage accident with my younger sister.”

  Mr. Bridges nodded.

  “The truth was, Adele, the wife, was running away from my father and taking our younger sister with them.”

  Mr. Bridges looked to Geneviève. “You are…”

  “No,” she hastened to clarify.

  “Father and Adele did not get along those last few years and he resented that she had given him a daughter instead of another son.”

  “The man already had four sons,” Bridges pointed out.

  “It didn’t matter. He had no use for a daughter,” John dismissed. “When he learned she was leaving him, he arranged for Adele and Julia to be sent to France, where Adele had a family. He paid her well to never return or have contact with anyone she knew in England. Then, set about claiming a terrible accident in which both of them died.”

  “Julia?” Bridges questioned and then his eyebrows shot up. “As in Juliette, the ballerina and Acker’s wife.”

  Geneviève nodded. “The reason mother wanted to run away was because she was in an interesting condition, with me.” Her face heated. This was not a topic usually discussed in polite company. “And my sister, Hélène, though mother didn’t know she carried twins at the time.”

  “Bentley didn’t know?” Bridges asked in surprise.

  “No,” she answered. “Mother concealed her condition from him. He never did learn.”

  Bridges took a deep drink. The news was a bit startling. A lady usually did not leave her husband and hide the fact that she was expecting a child. Especially from a wealthy lord.

  “My sister and I were born in France. When Juliette was nearing eighteen, Father began looking for her. That is when Mother moved us to Milan,” Geneviève explained.

  “How did you come to be in England?” Bridges asked.

  “Mother learned that Father had passed and thought it safe to return home.” She took a sip, welcoming the warmth of liquid. “When we arrived, Mother then learned that Father had remarried and another daughter, who was at the time not yet married. She also hadn’t realized that she and Juliette were supposed to be dead. So, as to not ruin any chances Madeline might have of making a good match, nor did she wish to see Rose ruined, we did not return to London or the family estate, but traveled throughout England until last spring.”

  “Why then?”

  Geneviève took another drink and swallowed while trying to bury the sadness that welled up within. “Mother had become ill and needed to see us settled. She was going to contact Bentley so that my sisters and I could be protected as we had no other family.” She looked at John. “Of course, my sisters and I had no idea who our father was or that we had four half-brothers and a half-sister.” She returned her gaze to Bridges. “Not until they found us.”

  Bridges raised a questioning eyebrow. “They?”

  “Our half-brothers.”

  “I still don’t understand the secrecy…” Bridges started. His eyes grew wide. “He was never divorced, nor was he a widower when he married the current dowager.”

  Geneviève nodded.

  “Does Brachton know that his wife is well…?”

  Geneviève knew he was asking if Madeline knew she was born on the wrong side of the blanket, or a bastard, even though Rose had believed herself to be lawfully wed.

  “Yes,” John answered. “He knew before they married.”

  Bridges gave a quick nod and took another drink.

  “You now see why you must never speak of this,” John said. “While Brachton knows and is unconcerned, my stepmother could be ruined.”

  “Of course,” Bridges insisted. “But aren’t you concerned the truth may be learned by someone.”

  John blew out a breath. “Frankly, I am surprised it hasn’t been gossiped about already. At every turn, it seems like someone new finds out our family secret.”

  “Bentley is considering the possibility of making an announcement at the beginning of the Season. His only concern in doing so is that Rose will be harmed, as could Geneviève,” Elizabeth explained.

  “He need not worry about me,” Geneviève insisted.

  “The shame to the family could hinder marriage opportunities,” Elizabeth insisted.

  “As I am not seeking a husband, I am unconcerned,” she argued. “However, I agree, Rose must be protected.”

  Bridges sat forward. “What do you mean you are not seeking a husband?”

  Chapter 14

  Why he blurted out that question, Jonathan wasn’t sure. It was none of his concern whether Miss Mirabelle wished to marry or not. He supposed he should think of her as Lady Geneviève now. Or, perhaps he shouldn’t, so he didn’t accidently address her as such in hearing of others.

  But, why did he care if she wished to marry? He certainly wouldn’t want her as his bride. The woman was far too interfering and prying to make for a peaceful and harmonious marriage. Then again, his attraction to her was the strongest he had ever experienced for any woman. Hadn’t he nearly made love to her just a short time ago? His blood still hummed with awareness for her.

  No! He must dismiss all memories of those moments from his mind. He must forget her kisses, heightened awareness when her skin touched his, and her delicious scent and taste.

  “I have no desire to be controlled by a gentleman,” she answered.

  Bridges blinked. If anyone needed someone taking firm control over her actions it was Miss Mirabelle, but he didn’t dare voice his thoughts.

  “Now that I have explained the situation,” Trent began. “It is time you enlighten me to exactly what you and Geneviève are about that requires you to be alone in this house?”

  Thank goodness Trent had called up, alerting them to his presence or no doubt he would have found the two of them on the settee and they would now be discussing either wedding plans or an early morning meeting with pistols.

  “I am helping sort out the paperwork left in disorder by his former secretary,” Geneviève answered.

  “Why can’t it be done at Acker’s home?” Trent demanded.

  “There isn’t enough room.”

  Trent snorted at her answer. “You and I both know that isn’t the case.”

  She looked to Jonathan. At least she wasn’t blurting out the truth, for that he was grateful. But, Trent wasn’t about to leave without knowing the whole of it.

  Jonathan sighed and then finished off his brandy, thankful Trent had provided it. A moment later he explained the whole of the situation, with the same stipulation that Trent say nothing to anyone outside of the room.

  Trent leaned back and whistled after Jonathan finished explaining about the missing shipments.

  “So, you can understand that nobody need learn.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Trent said before she glanced to her husband. She lifted a questioning brow.

  Their eyes were locked for a few moments, as if they were communicating silently before Trent turned back to him. “Have you suspected any of your men of smuggling?”

  The thought never crossed his mind. “No.”

  “It’s no secret that smuggling has been an issue, especially along the coast, due to decades of conflicts with France,” Trent offered. “But recently there have been rumors of goods coming straight into London with items hidden inside crates of legitimate shipments.”

  He thought over the various ports the missing shipments had come from. The Mirabelle’s had come out of the Kingdom of Italy, previously ruled by Napoleon. Several of the missing shipments were from countries with French ties. Had his secretary done more than just steal?

  Jonathan’s stomach tightened and churned at the possibility. “Is Valentine aware of the potential smuggling?”

  Trent nodded.

  It was worse than he ever thought. What if Valentine thought he was a part of the smuggling ring, if that is what it was called? No longer did he have to fear just Newgate or transportation, but death by hanging as well. “All the more reason we need to get through these documents.” Jonathan announced. He had to know the truth, today if possible. He glanced about the room, noting the stacks of paperwork. They couldn’t possibly get through these today or the next. But, he needed to know everything before he reported to Valentine on Monday.

  “I agree,” Trent said as he stood. “How can we help?”

  Jonathan came to his feet. “Help?”

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Elizabeth and I will assist you and Geneviève so you can get to the bottom of this in half the time.”

  Geneviève was shocked by her brother’s offer, but it would be a tremendous help.

  John pulled a small watch from the inside of his pocket. “It is getting late.”

  Surely he wasn’t going to make her return to Acker’s now. There was work to be done and it was even more imperative that it be done quickly.

  “I’ll send word to Acker that you will be with us tonight, Geneviève.”

  She blew out a sigh, thankful he was not making her return home like a good little girl. If John sent the note, nobody would question her.

  “Where shall we begin?” Elizabeth asked brightly.

  She quickly explained how the invoices were currently separated and how they need to sorted and matched to records and receipts.

  With a quick nod of understanding Elizabeth went to the far side of the room and retrieved a stack of documents. She paused and looked around. “Where shall I work?”

  None of them should be sitting on the floor and Geneviève summoned the servants to remove the furniture meant for conversational purposes to be replaced with tables and chairs from within the house. Soon, each of them had a place to work. A few hours after they began, a footman entered with pots of tea and a plate of sandwiches for each of them. She glanced out the window to note that it had grown quite dark.

  Elizabeth excused herself after eating, promising to return shortly.

  Bridges stood and stretched. “I need to take a short walk to clear my mind.”

  She couldn’t blame him. Her eyes were tired from reading despite the number of lamps that had been lit and her neck was getting stiff.

  After the two quit the room, John wandered over to the desk she had arranged for herself. She blinked up at him. Was he leaving as well?

  “Is there anything more between you and Bridges other than this?” He gestured to the documents spread out in the room.

  Her cheeks colored and she hoped he didn’t notice. “Of course not.” Really there wasn’t. Just a brief interlude of delicious kisses and sensations. She was just as certain Bridges would not repeat the experience because he hadn’t indicated he wished for more from their relationship. Well, except this afternoon.