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Finn looked down at his watch fob again and checked the time. He’d been gone for an hour, and he wanted to return to be certain Claire was all right. But he didn’t want to seem overly involved in her care and set tongues wagging.
When he’d been to the shop with Katherine, his former mistress, he’d stayed the whole time, watching her preen over silks, lace, and other fripperies. And she’d tried on clothing for him to be certain he liked it. It didn’t matter if he liked Claire’s clothing. He wouldn’t be helping her out of it. Or squiring her about town in it. And if he paid any undue interest, the modiste would get it into her pretty little head that they had a closer relationship than he intended to portray. Then Claire would be ruined. Ruined before she’d even stepped into society for the first time.
He supposed he could waste some time at White’s for a bit. He ambled down the street and entered the establishment.
He perused the room, happy to find that most of his consorts weren’t about. It was much too early in the day. Only a few older gentlemen sat about, drinking tea and looking through the Times.
“Lord Phineas,” a voice called. Finn turned and groaned inwardly when he saw Viscount Vinceberry motioning him over. The viscount was a middle-aged man, still sharp as a tack and as randy as a bull. He was everything that Finn hated in a gentleman. “Come and join me,” Vinceberry suggested.
Must he? He supposed it couldn’t be avoided.
“I’ve a little matter I wanted to discuss with you.” The last time Vinceberry had wanted to discuss something with Finn, he’d put him on a wild-goose chase looking for a man who was shagging his wife. The man didn’t exist. But it had been a bit of sport trying to figure out what had happened.
“How can I be of service?” Finn asked. Very few people knew he took great pleasure in solving crimes. And that he employed a small lot of thieftakers and spies. Unfortunately, the viscount was well aware.
“Not service, particularly,” Vinceberry prevaricated. “But I thought you might want to know…”
“Pray tell,” Finn drawled.
“It’s about Katherine.”
Finn’s gut clenched. “Katherine is no longer my concern.”
“Rumor has it she has taken up with Mayden.”
She’d taken up with the Earl of Mayden before she’d even left Finn. Mayden was an earl. But not a kind man. “That is not news to me.”
“The news, my boy, is that she was seen about town looking like he cuffed her a bit too hard on the cheek. She’d tried to cover it with powder, but it was clear as day.”
“Why is this any of my business?” Finn asked. He regretted the sharpness of his tone for only a moment.
Vinceberry tugged at his cravat. “I thought you might want to know, what with the fact that she’s,” he stopped to clear his throat, “increasing.”
So someone had gotten Katherine with child? Poor sod. “I still fail to see why this should concern me.”
“You didn’t know.” The man sat back and pushed his lips closed tightly. He inhaled, like he was steeling himself. “You needn’t claim the bastard, of course.”
“Why would I—?” Finn bit of the rest of his sentence as understanding dawned. “You’re implying that the bastard is mine.”
If it was, Katharine would have already come to him to collect funds from him. And for him to secure a place for her to live. She knew he would come up to snuff. “I’ll pay a visit to Katherine,” he bit out. He got to his feet.
“Brilliant idea,” the old man said. His eyes narrowed. “Take care with Mayden. He’s not known for his patience. I hear he’s very protective of his little dove.”
Protective, aside from the times he hit her. Of course. Finn understood men like him all too well. “I’ll take great care.”
Finn left the shop with a purpose in mind. But he glanced down at his watch and noticed the time. He didn’t have time to pay a call on Katherine right now. But he’d be certain to do so very soon. Finn stepped back into the modiste’s shop, and the tinkle over the door drew Colette out to greet him. The moment she saw him, the sway in her step grew almost provocative. It was most unfortunate that she no longer tempted him.
“Is Miss Thorne ready to depart?” he asked.
“Almost,” she said, as she stepped close enough to graze his arm with the side of her breast. “A lovely young lady,” she said, watching his face.
“She is quite dear to her family,” he said. He refused to fall into Colette’s trap.
“Will you be attending Ackley’s soiree tomorrow night?”
He hadn’t planned to attend. But it would be the best and only way to get close enough to Katherine to find out the truth of her situation. She always attended Lord Ackley’s soirees. They were known for their debauchery. Ackley had married his former mistress. She walked about in polite society but was still shunned in a lot of places. So she liked to throw parties where men could bring their mistresses and feel comfortable that no one would be the wiser. These parties usually required masks, but it was fairly easy to find out who was who after speaking with them. He knew Katherine intimately; he felt certain he could find her in a crowd.
“The soiree?” Colette pressed.
