A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery. ANNIE BURROWS
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about the frieze below the elaborate plaster adorning the ceiling. All that yellow. Like sunshine, Mother had always said, although today it put him in mind of lemons and the bitter taste they left in the mouth.
‘We still have more right to be here than...than anyone else.’ She shot a look of sheer loathing at Miss Underwood, who was hanging on to the Duke’s arm and gazing up at him with a worshipful expression. He couldn’t quite believe that any woman could look at any man with quite so much open adoration, let alone a man like the Duke.
‘Especially that by-blow of his.’
‘His what?’ He whipped round to look at her.
‘Oh, didn’t you know? Our perfect brother has blotted his copybook. And rather than making any attempt to be discreet, he has brought the fruit of his misdeeds into his house and is forcing that stupid girl to acknowledge it. And she is making a mull of things, from what I hear. The schoolroom is in total chaos, at any rate, since there is no governess in residence.’
She’d said it at the top of her voice. As though hoping anyone within earshot would hear. Because she was furious. And no wonder. It was bad enough to have been thrown out as though they were chaff. But to hear that Oliver was prepared to bring an illegitimate child here really turned the knife in the wound.
He turned to stare at his half-brother with resentment. Was he doing it to make a point? To tell the world that he held even a bastard in higher esteem than his own legitimate siblings?
By God, he hoped that Miss Carmichael was right. That this week-long celebration of the Duke’s nuptials to a nobody really was a front to disguise the true purpose of gathering this particular set of people here. That among them all was a small group who were dedicated to betraying their country by passing on highly sensitive information to the French. Specifically, to those segments of the French population who persisted in supporting Napoleon Bonaparte and stirring up as much unrest as they could. Who’d do whatever it took to see him restored to power, even if it meant plunging Europe back into a state of warfare.
When he and Herbert had first been alerted to what was going on, he’d leapt at the chance to find out who the traitors were, believing there could be nothing more satisfying than preventing Europe from descending into warfare again. But if the Duke was mixed up in this particular act of treason...then, oh, yes, that would really be something.
Even if the Duke wasn’t mixed up in it, at the very least Nick would stir up a hornet’s nest.
He looked round the room at the wedding guests who’d already arrived. Miss Carmichael seemed to believe that her brother’s killer was here. Possibly in this very room. Why? What did she know that he didn’t?
Hah. Probably a great many things. He’d been so distracted since Herbert’s death that he hadn’t even heard about the Duke’s love child.
He had to pull himself together. The room was teeming with nobles, politicians and high-ranking clergy. Any one of whom could have turned traitor and then had Herbert killed rather than risk exposure. Because Herbert had been getting close. Too close for someone’s comfort, clearly. Else why have him killed?
He altered his stance, just a touch, so that he could see the corner of the room in which Herbert’s sister was sitting. She was nibbling at a slice of chicken, rather disconsolately. Because he’d told her she was no good at this line of work.
And she wasn’t. Yes, she could decipher codes, but she had no talent for the kind of double-dealing that had come to Herbert naturally. She couldn’t sit up all night drinking a potential source of information into a stupor, lulling them into a false sense of security by ladling on the charm. She couldn’t befriend someone and, under the guise of gossiping, gain their sympathy and get them to reveal far more than they should.
And yet she wanted to track down Herbert’s killer. It was why she’d come here. It must be. It certainly couldn’t be for the reason most women would attend a wedding. She wasn’t one of those who went to any lengths to get invitations to the most fashionable events, to get a rich, titled husband. Since she’d stumbled through her first Season without taking, she’d gained a reputation for disliking men. You only had to look at her to see she had no interest in fashion, either.
And from what she said, she had information that, when put together with what he knew, might blow the whole conspiracy wide open.
But how could he involve her in an affair that had become so dangerous that even Herbert, a skilled operative, hadn’t survived?
And Herbert had been so determined to keep her out of things that he hadn’t let anyone, not even Nick, know she was making any contribution to their work at all.
Not so determined, however, that he’d had any scruples about getting her to decipher the coded messages that had occasionally fallen into their hands.
‘Whatever is it about that creature that has you so fascinated?’ His sister’s strident tones broke into his thoughts, making him aware that for the last few minutes he’d been staring at Herbert’s sister, while debating with himself whether he could, in all conscience, bring her on board.
‘I am wondering whether it would be profitable to cultivate her acquaintance.’
‘What, a drab little thing like that? Not your usual style, Nick.’ Though then she grinned. ‘What mischief are you plotting? It has to be something exceptionally wicked for you to get that particular look on your face.’
‘I shall not tell you,’ he said with sincerity. The last person he could tell of his sensitive dealings with government ministers was a gabblemonger like Jane. He might as well take out an advertisement in The Times. ‘But what I can promise you is that our half-brother is not going to like it.’
‘Oh, goody,’ she said. ‘If there is anything I can do to help, you have only to let me know. I would give almost anything to see that smug expression wiped off his face.’
Yes, even to the point of conniving in an innocent damsel’s downfall, by the look she was shooting Miss Carmichael.
Though was he any better? His plans for her were not of the sort Jane assumed. But they would bring her into just as much danger. And not merely of her virtue, but possibly of her very life.
If he was a less selfish man, he wouldn’t dream of involving her. But he was selfish. The work he’d begun with Herbert had given him a sense of purpose for the first time in his life. And he was good at it, too. He simply didn’t want to give it up.
Besides, preventing a war was more important than the welfare of one insignificant female.
Wasn’t it?
The chicken was probably delicious, but to Horatia it might as well have been shoe leather she was chewing. Lord Devizes was just like every other man she’d ever known, apart from Herbert. They thought she could not possibly be of any help with their manly, important work. He’d walked away with a sort of sneer, though how on earth anyone could express disdain by the way they walked she could not say. And then she’d watched him discussing her with his scarily dainty, fashionable sister, to judge from the way they kept glancing at her and laughing nasty little laughs.
The rebuff was doubly hard because at one point he’d more or less acknowledged the contribution she’d made, just before he’d dashed her hopes by pointing out how unfit she was for the kind of work Herbert had undertaken. And then rounded it all off by saying that Herbert would want her to stay out of it.
Which was true, of course. Herbert had been terribly protective of her. He’d stressed how dangerous the people were he hunted down and how important it was that nobody ever find out she was involved in bringing them to justice.
And he’d been right. They were so dangerous that one of them, sensing Herbert was getting close to exposing them, had killed him. But did that mean