At the Duke’s Pleasure (32 page)

Yawning, he walked barefoot toward Claire’s room.

At least the night had proven productive.

Earlier at the ball, he’d received word that his men had intercepted an operative coming out of the row house on St. Giles. In the agent’s possession, they’d discovered a leather pouch containing a thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, instructions that appeared to be a wish list of sorts requesting intelligence on British troop strengths and officers’ lists, and the partial coordinates to a rendezvous point.

A bit of forceful persuasion yielded the fact that the rest of the coordinates were scheduled to appear in code in tomorrow’s
Morning Chronicle
, and that once they were retrieved, the operative was to ride to the meeting place for an agreed-upon exchange.

His contact’s name was Wolf!

Finally, the break they’d been seeking, Edward thought, as he opened the door to Claire’s bedchamber. Right now, though, he didn’t have time to indulge in further speculation. Instead, he needed a few hours’ sleep, since tomorrow—today now—was sure to be a busy one.

Claire was lying on her side, turned away from him. Taking care not to disturb her, he slid into the bed.

“Edward?” she asked in a thick, quiet voice.

“Sorry to awaken you.”

A small silence fell. “Where have you been?”

He paused for a long moment. “Just downstairs. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the library to read.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

When she said no more, he assumed she’d fallen back to sleep. Curling up behind her, he did the same.

Claire pressed a fist to her mouth to keep from making any sound. A pair of tears slid over her cheeks, but she refused to let herself cry in earnest. Later, she would give way, but not now, not with Edward sleeping only at her back.

He lied to me
, she thought, pain wedged like a knife between her ribs.

She’d always thought Edward told only the truth, but apparently she’d been mistaken. Not only did he lie, he did it with a smooth and confident ease. And if he’d lied to her about leaving the house tonight, what other tales had he spun? What other deceptions had she so trustingly believed?

She could confront him, shake him awake and demand to know where he’d gone and with whom. But he would probably just lie again. And even if he didn’t, did she really want to hear the truth?

For in spite of his previous assurances, she couldn’t help but wonder if he did keep a mistress here in Town.

Was it Philipa Stockton?

Or another woman?

Yet even if he’d been honest in that regard and he wasn’t having an affair, it didn’t take back his false words. Or fix her broken faith in him—and their marriage.

Choking back a sob, she bit her lip to keep from crying aloud. Fearing she might wake him, she curled in upon herself and held as still as she could.

Why had she ever let herself weaken? Why had she married him when she’d known where it could lead?

I always knew he’d break my heart
, she thought.

And now he has.

W
ithout pausing long enough to do more than take a cup of coffee, Edward dressed the next morning, then went in search of the newspaper.

He’d left Claire sleeping, her winsome face pressed with a kind of weary peace against the pillows. He told her maid not to wake Claire and to let her sleep as long as she liked.

Carrying the
Morning Chronicle
into his study, he closed the door, then took a seat at his desk. Methodically, he began scanning each page, looking for an announcement or other likely item that might contain the encrypted message.

Finding one, he unlocked his top desk drawer and withdrew a small black book, which contained the cipher key Drake had created. Opening it, he set to work.

His first try proved useless and his second as well. But then he used the key on an advertisement for ladies’ skin lightener—guaranteed to erase blemishes and freckles in only five applications—and he had something viable. When he put his new find together with the decoded message obtained from the agent, the date, time and location of the rendezvous suddenly came clear, along with a great deal more.

For long seconds, he stared, his mind racing over what he’d revealed. Puzzle pieces began clicking into place, new possibilities taking shape as a flood of answers sped through his mind.

And suddenly he knew.

Suddenly he felt sure that tonight he would catch more than a Wolf, he would catch a mole!

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Edward told Claire later that afternoon, as she sat on the drawing room sofa, “but another matter of business has come up. I’m afraid I shall have to beg off from our dinner at the Mortons this evening.”

Without glancing up, Claire drew a length of blue silk thread through her sewing. “Oh, that’s a shame. Especially since I hear they are going to be serving fresh peach ices, the best of the Season.”

He smiled. “Then I shall be doubly sorry to have missed such a treat. Mayhap Cook can make some ice cream for us one evening when we are at home?”

She pulled another stitch through her embroidery. “I’ll be certain to add the sweet to next week’s menu.”

“I cannot wait until then. Well, I have a few matters I must see to before I leave. I may be very late tonight, so don’t wait up.”

She sent him a smile. “All right. I hope your meeting isn’t dreadfully dull.”

He laughed. “I’m sure it shall be both dreadful and dull.”

Walking to her, he bent down for a kiss. Her mouth was stiff at first, but then she closed her eyes and kissed him back. He was considering the pleasure of indulging in a second buss when he decided he’d better stop while he still had the willpower. “Have a good evening,” he said, “and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Turning, he strode from the room.

Claire stabbed her needle deep into the cloth, her jaw clenched with anger, as she shot a narrow-eyed glare after him.

Mendacious cur!

How dare he lie to her again, and with such an affable smile on his face while he did it. There wasn’t any meeting tonight, she knew that much. At least not one that had aught to do with business. As for his real destination, the possibilities made her stomach flip over with a sick twist.

How dare he kiss her as well, as though everything between them was fine. Although she supposed it was for him. When he’d bent down and covered her lips with his, she’d wanted to give him a good, hard slap across the face. Instead, she’d held still. Then she’d turned weak and wanting, responding to the undeniable pleasure of his touch in spite of her fury and despair. Even aware of his lies, she still wanted him, still loved him too.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt and furious. Nor did it mean she had to sit quietly and accept the situation as meekly as a lamb. Suddenly she realized that no matter how much pain it might cause, she had to know where he was going tonight.

Assuming she could find out, that was.

She waited patiently for Edward to depart, using the time between to pen her excuses for the Mortons’ dinner. He wasn’t the only one who could change his plans.

At a few minutes past six, she saw Edward leave, watching through the window as he drove away. Only then did she ring for Croft.

“There is something I forgot to mention to His Grace,” she told the butler with a casual smile. “He’s meeting on business tonight. Did he happen to mention where?”

“No, Your Grace. I can try sending a man after him, but I’m not sure if it will serve.”

She kept the smile on her face despite her disappointment. “No matter. It can wait after all, I’m sure. Would you see that this note is delivered immediately?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Taking the missive, Croft bowed and withdrew.

Hands tightened into fists at her sides, she considered what to do next. There had to be some other means of discovering where he’d gone. Suddenly she thought of his study. Mayhap she would find something there. Letters perhaps, or a bill.

The idea made her cringe, but she decided she had to know the truth.

Striding quickly downstairs, she moved along the hallway to Edward’s office. Closing the door behind her, she didn’t waste any time crossing to his desk. If he’d left anything behind, it was sure to be there.

She searched the papers and books on the top of his desk first, but found nothing of interest. Next she moved on to the drawers, or tried to, a tug proving them all to be locked. Knowing Edward was far too careful to leave the keys out in the open, she decided to take a more direct approach.

Sliding a hairpin from her short curls, which her maid had only just started putting up for her again, she twisted the metal into a new shape. Growing up, she’d learned how to put a hairpin to good use, since Marsden Manor had any number of stubborn old locks in it. Those skills came in handy now as she angled the pin just so and inserted it into the lock.

As she began to work the tumblers, her gaze fell on a framed miniature she hadn’t noticed in her earlier search. Staring, she realized a painting was of herself as a girl. She even vaguely remembered sitting for the work. How unexpected that he would have such an item. Even more, that he would keep it here on his desk as though it was something to cherish.

Knowing that not to be the case, she had no difficulty turning her thoughts back to the matter at hand.

She searched, opening and looking through another pair of drawers before she found what she was seeking. Oddly enough, the information was on a page of today’s
Morning Chronicle
, where Edward had scrawled a block of notations.

August 3
11:00
Danberry Hall

Wherever the devil that is
, she thought, a scowl creasing her forehead.

Just then a footfall came at the door.

She glanced up and found Mr. Hughes standing on the threshold, a look of astonishment on his face—as well as disapproval, if she didn’t miss her guess.

“May I help you, Your Grace?” he said, striding into the room. “Was there something you required?” His tone bordered on the accusatory, as though she were doing something she shouldn’t. Which, of course, she was, depending on one’s point of view.

Ignoring his remark, she gave him an imperious look, an expression more than worthy of the Duchess of Clybourne. “Have you heard of Danberry Hall?”

Her question threw him off guard. “Well, yes, I think I have.”

“Where is it located?”

“South of Guildford in Surrey, I believe. An old estate that fell on hard times after the last earl passed away. Went to a cousin, though I don’t think he’s in residence very often.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. You’ve been most helpful.” Placing the newspaper back inside the desk, she shut the drawer.

He blinked with confusion. “You’re welcome, Your Grace.” Then he frowned. “A-About His Grace’s desk—”

She strode toward him. “I suggest you lock it back up, assuming you have a key. If not, use this. It works astonishingly well.”

With his mouth hanging open, she handed him the bent hairpin. Going out into the hall, she called for Croft and ordered the coach.

“They’re in there right and tight, Yer Grace,” Edward’s lead man whispered in a voice too low to carry. “The boys er in position and ready at yer command.”

“Excellent, Aggies,” he told the wiry, baldheaded ex–Bow Street runner, who Edward had convinced some while ago to do a bit of business for the government instead. The whole team, in fact, were former runners with a knowledge of backdoor dealings and underworld activities. He’d seen their skills at work and knew he could trust them with his life.

Edward checked his weapon, then secured the gun at his waist. He didn’t plan to fire the pistol, but there was no sense going inside unarmed.

Glancing up, he surveyed his surroundings once more, the stone walls of Danberry Hall rising up like a looming grey shadow against the nearly moonless night sky. Insects hummed brightly in the moist summer air, frogs belching out deep-throated songs in the tall, unmown grass.

“I’ll go first,” Edward said. “You and Brown come in behind.”

Aggies grinned, then raised his head to give the signal—two owl’s hoots that let the others know the mission was in play.

Edward moved toward the house with fast, purposeful strides. Rather than burst through a side door or window, which seemed unnecessarily troublesome and dramatic, he walked straight up to the front of the house and knocked, careful to keep to the concealing night shadows. After all, the courier from St. Giles Street was expected, so someone inside was certain to answer.

A minute passed before he heard the metallic click of a lock being pulled aside and the creak of the old wooden door as it opened. “Haven’t I told you not to use this entrance,” came a censorious male voice. “And you’re late. Again. Do you have the items?”

Edward gave a muffled assent and the door opened wider to admit him. He stepped inside. Low candlelight illuminated the worn interior of the once proud hall with its threadbare carpets and scuffed furnishings.

The other man turned, his eyes rounding as he caught sight of Edward. “What are you…”

“Not who you were expecting, eh, Dumont? So sorry to disappoint. I, on the other hand, am delighted, since I was hoping I’d find you here tonight. Seems I’m in luck. So, where’s your partner?”

Recovering quickly, the Frenchman assumed a casual stance. “Partner? I don’t know what you mean. I am here alone.”

“No, you aren’t. And you can drop the act, since we have your man in custody.”

Dumont didn’t react, only a small twitch near his right eye betraying his true emotions.

“Had quite a lot to say, your man, once we managed to loosen his tongue,” Edward continued. “So, do you care to add your remarks now or would you rather wait until you can do it from prison?”

Dumont’s brown eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear. Without warning, he shoved past Edward and bolted for the door. He made it outside, but was just as quickly marched back in, Aggies prodding him forward with a loaded pistol in hand.

“Got us one of ’em, Your Grace.” The runner flashed a gap-toothed grin.

“Back so soon, Dumont. Once again, where is your associate?”

“I told you. I’m the only one here.”

“How noble. I wouldn’t have thought it of you under the circumstances.”

Striding deeper into the house, he looked into two rooms, both empty. Turning around, he raised his voice, calling out at large, “I know you’re here, so you might as well show yourself. I have men surrounding the house. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

When no answer came, he called again. “I
will
search if you put me to the trouble. Come out now and save us both a lot of bother.”

Long moments passed again, and just when Edward thought he and his men would have to comb the house, the soft tread of footsteps came from the landing above. “What is all this, Clybourne? Or are you often in the habit of invading private homes in the middle of the night?”

“Only when I’m hunting for spies, Lady Stockton.”

Philipa Stockton became visible as she moved out of the dim shadows and walked down the stairs. “Spies?” She laughed. “How absurd. And what are you doing to poor Dumont? He’s my houseguest and you should be more polite.”

“Oh, you may be sure I’ll be especially polite when I’m questioning him. And you too, Lady Stockton. Or should I call you Wolf?”

Her eyes widened, unable to hide her surprise.

“Yes, I figured out the connection,” Edward told her. “Although the spelling threw me off until today when I realized I’d omitted the ‘e.’ Your maiden name is Wolfe, is it not? Philipa Wolfe, whose father owned Danberry Hall until he ruined himself with gaming and drink.”

Her insouciant façade cracked, her lip curling along one edge. “Yes, that would be my father, who squeezed every last cent out of this place, and out of me as well when he married me off at sixteen to that reprobate Stockton. The only good thing my father ever did was to break his neck when his horse refused a jump.”

She strolled deeper into the hallway. “But having a bad father and an even worse husband doesn’t make me a spy. Nor does the last name of Wolfe.”

“Oh, but it does,” Edward stated. “Not only do we have the money and papers we retrieved from the courier, we have this house as a coded rendezvous point and you as the contact.”

“I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” she defended. “As for the name Wolfe, it’s no more than an interesting coincidence. The items you mentioned are for Dumont. He’s the spy.” Her lovely eyes brimmed with sorrow and regret as they turned toward Dumont. “I’m sorry to give you up, Rene. I tried, but it’s no use. Surely you must see that?”

She looked back at Edward, pleading. “Clybourne, you have to believe me when I tell you that he forced me to let him use this house. He blackmailed me and left me with no other choice.”

“Why, you lying little bitch!” Dumont spat back, clearly enraged.

“See how abusive he is? What else was I to do?”