Revealed (51 page)

Then Fieldstone cleared his throat and started forward with a smart bow. “Mrs. Benning, I’m pleased to see you looking so well. May I ask, er, how you got past the guards?”

Phillippa gave that effortless, elegant shrug of hers. “I’m Phillippa Benning,” she said plainly, without conceit.

“Right,” Lord Fieldstone said. “I’ll, ah, just go have a word with them. Worth, why don’t you show the lady to your office? The rest of you, continue . . . continuing.” And with that delicate bit of maneuvering, Fieldstone took his leave and went down the hall, and after a short moment, the rest of the room followed instructions and resumed their activites.

Marcus led Phillippa to the back office, where Sterling had once watched over them all. It was filled with boxes, some being packed, some being emptied. One of Marcus’s exercises of the past four days had been moving Sterling out and moving himself in. Officially, the story was that Sterling had died an innocent bystander, but Marcus knew otherwise and wanted to eradicate the traitor as thoroughly as possible.

“Your office?” Phillippa asked, once Marcus closed the door, and after weighing propriety against privacy, lowered the blinds.

“I’ve, ah, been promoted,” he said, running his hand over his hair.

“Congratulations,” she said. Then, after a moment, “How’s your arm?”

“Fine.” He held up his right arm. She could see the bandage peeking out from his sleeve.

She nodded. After another pause, she said, “Broughton came to see me.”

He held his breath for what she would say next.

“He proposed.”

All the strength left him, and he leaned casually against his desk for support. “I suppose congratulations are in order for you as well.”

She folded her arms over her chest, cocked her head to one side. “If you think that, you’re a bigger moron than I took you for.”

Marcus’s head came up. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He couldn’t think of any. But it didn’t matter, because Phillippa wasn’t about to let him get a word in.

“Four days, Marcus!” she yelled. “It’s been four bloody days! And you couldn’t come to call? You couldn’t write a note, make sure I was well, or let me know where you went that night?”

“I . . . I had work to do. Important work. Besides,” he grumbled, “Mariah was there, and she let me know—”

“Oh, so you sent your sister-in-law as a substitute? I adore Mariah, but Marcus—”

“Phillippa, you can’t be here,” he tried to interject, stop her ranting, but she cut him off with a prodding finger to the chest, pushing him back into his chair.

“I have come here with one question, Mr. Worth, and you will answer it honestly.”

“Just one?” he asked, an eyebrow going up.

“Just one,” she intoned. “And then, if you want me to, I’ll go.”

“All right.”

She leaned her hip against the desk, effectively blocking his escape.

“Do you love me?” Her voice was clear as she met his eyes.

He would have leaped up then, taken her into his arms, if he could. But he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

“That’s not a fair question,” he hedged.

“What’s unfair about it? It’s a simple yes or no question. Do you love me?”

“Its unfair because . . . because you know the answer.”

“Aha!” she triumphed, a smirk coming to her face. “Do I? Because you save me in the hedge maze, you push me away, you make love to me, you save me from the fire, and then you push me away again! And since somewhere in the midst of all that, I fell wholly and devastatingly in love with you, you’ll forgive me if I’m somewhat confused on the subject.”

“Phillippa—” Marcus sighed.

“Do you love me?” she pressed.

“Stop—” he warned, rising from his seat.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes!” he finally exclaimed, unable to hold it in any longer. “Yes, I love you. I’m completely mad about you. Are you happy now?”

He grabbed her then, as he’d ached to, as every nerve in his body told him to. He pressed her body against his, against the desk, and kissed her silly.

Her arms snaked around his neck; her mouth tore at his. But this was indulgence. As soon as she sighed, that tiny happy sigh that sent a shot of lust down his spine, he put her at arm’s length.

“But that’s why I can’t have you near me, Phillippa.” He gave in to temptation, lightly caressing her neck as he spoke. “Don’t you understand? I got you involved in this mess. Me, playacting the hero? It nearly got you killed.
I
nearly got you killed—and I couldn’t stand it, Phillippa, I couldn’t—”

“But you saved me,” she soothed in a whisper. “You’re the one who saved me.” She closed the space between them, placed her hand on his heart. “You can’t keep me at arm’s length simply because you think it keeps you or me safer. I won’t accept it.”

He looked into her eyes then and saw stern determination.

“I promise”—her eyes twinkled mischeviously—“if it’s the only way, I will find some means of getting kidnapped or shot at every other week until you realize you’ll be far better off with me by your side than out of your sight.” She stood on her tiptoes, kissed him gently. And suddenly, a light went on in his head. She loved him. A weight lifted from his chest, and his blood began to hum with joy.

He accepted the inevitable, and it made him happy.

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” he admitted. Her eyes were shining, and it made his heart full. “I lied to you. And then, after the fire, I thought you would be better off without me.” Seeing her curious expression, he stuttered, “Its only logical; you are Phillippa Benning.”

“Marcus, your logic is ridiculous.” She smiled at him and kissed him again.

So involved they became in their activity, that neither Marcus nor Phillippa heard the knock at the door, or Lord Fieldstone stick his head in.

“Worth, I, uh—oh,” Fieldstone said, as Marcus and Phillippa broke apart like guilty schoolchildren.

“Worth,” a blushing Fieldstone continued, “when you have a moment, we should really get back to this; the Prime Minister is going to want a report tomorrow about what information we recovered from the ashes.”

“Ashes? You mean from Laurent’s flat?” At their nod, she cocked a brow. “I don’t suppose any of that wall of maps survived.”

Fieldstone’s mustache twitched. “Wall of maps?”

“Yes,” she replied, “there were dozens of them. I stared at the silly things for a half hour, waiting for Marcus to arrive.”

Marcus smiled. “You don’t happen to remember . . .”

“Don’t be silly; of course I do.” She went to the door, where Fieldstone stood blinking, passing him on her way into the main room. “Let’s see, there was one of Buckingham House, it looked multileveled, including the sewers that ran by it. There was one of Kentshire, Dilby, oh, there was one of the Thames and the Regent’s Canal; it had these little
X
s on it, I could probably show you where, if you got me another map, or—”

But Phillippa found herself unable to speak further, as a resounding smack was placed on her lips by a flushed and grateful Fieldstone.

“Mr. Worth, get Mrs. Benning a chair. Get her anything she asks for!” Fieldstone whooped and then started ordering the room about, sending men out for maps of Dilby, Kentshire, the Thames, and Regent’s Canal.

“Anything I ask for?” Her eyebrow went up, a plan forming behind her eyes.

“Anything you want.” He smiled warily.

“Mr. Marcus Worth, I do hope you don’t come to regret that.”

F
IVE days of massive planning and replanning later, the Benning Ball was in full swing. While speculation had been that she might have to postpone or cancel, Mariah’s help had proved a godsend, and Phillippa was not one to let a little thing like being kidnapped get in the way of being the most celebrated hostess in London. And now that she had her main event back in place, she would be.

As she told Marcus several times, a bargain was a bargain was a bargain.

The house was bedecked in midnight blue drapes, silver candles casting an eerie glow. All the guests were given black domino masks and heavy velvet cloaks at the door, masking identities and the normally bright colors of evening gowns in luscious darkness. Eerie music in minor chords set the tone, and mirrors had been placed in every conceivable corner, heightening the dramatic spirit.

“Are you ready?” Phillippa whispered in the dark from the balcony above the ballroom. She peeked through the dark curtains, saw Totty holding Bitsy as she chatted with the beturbanded Mrs. Hurston.

She saw Lady Jane dancing gracefully with the younger son of a Duke.

She saw Louisa Dunningham with her mother, listless without her friend Penny. Miss Sterling was now in mourning for her father. At least she would never know of his complicity and always think of the man as a decent, loving parent. She would be safe in that lie.

Looking farther down the hall, Phillippa could see Nora dancing with Broughton in a manner most forward for an unmarried lady. Broughton didn’t seem to mind. Nora was welcome to try her hand with him. Who knows? Given Lady Jane’s lack of interest, Nora may have a chance.

And finally, Phillippa saw Mariah standing next to Graham as she cornered the Duke of Wellington. She was pointing out the various decorations and wall hangings she had taken part in choosing, obviously proud of her work, as she should be. And Wellington, for his part, looked politely enthused.

Phillippa smiled, as she ducked back behind the curtain and turned around. “I said, are you ready?”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Marcus asked, pulling at his collar.

Phillippa simply rolled her eyes. “I promised them a show. Besides, a bargain is a bargain—”

“Is a bargain, I know,” Marcus sighed. “I’m just not used to being . . . put on display.”

“You’ll be brilliant.” She squeezed his hand and, with an easy smile, ducked through the curtains, leaving him nervous in the wings.

She nodded to the musicians, who upon the signal stood and trumpeted a fanfare. The room went quiet, and all eyes fell upon Phillippa.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, happy to find her voice steady. “I would like to thank you all for coming—such wonderful friends and honored guests.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “But there is one guest in particular I should like to single out.”

A titter went through the crowd. Was it true? Could it be?

“Our guest of honor. I know there has been a great deal of speculation about his identity. There seems to be a mystery to solve. So let’s dispense with the nonsense, shall we?”

“Yes, please!” came a voice from the crowd, eliciting chuckles, including from Phillippa.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I should like to introduce you to my husband, Marcus Worth.”

A gasp went through the crowd, and Marcus stepped through the curtain. He waved nervously and came and held Phillippa’s hand.

“We were married this afternoon,” he said to the awed guests. “You are not, in fact, at the Benning Ball. You are instead at the Worth wedding reception.”

Then, in perfect time, servants released dozens and dozens of cords, dropping the heavy dark blue drapery and revealing bowers of roses, white satin runners, and a feast fit for a King.

As a wave of applause ran through the crowd, growing, thundering, Marcus took Phillippa in his arms and kissed her soundly. A cheer rose up, and the musicians struck up a lively reel. Cloaks and masks fell away as men and women took to the floor, revealing their true selves.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it, Mr. Worth?” Phillippa asked, breathless.

“It was arduous, Mrs. Worth.” Marcus smiled. “You’d best make it up to me with a dance.”

He held out his hand and, since her hand had such a curious fondness for his, she took it, and he lead the way down from the balcony and through the crowd to the dance floor.

They danced every dance, their hands apart from each other only as long as the dance necessitated, and when they moved about the room to speak with friends, their hands entwined completely.

Most wished them well, happy to see them so joyfully coupled. Admittedly, there were some people agog with disbelief that
she
would choose
him
, and
he
would choose
her
. But such people were few and far between. And even they, once they saw the newlywed couple that night, could not dispute that they had never seen a better-matched pair.

Marcus and Phillippa couldn’t agree more.

 

 

 

 

L
ADY Jane Cummings, only daughter of the Duke of Rayne, second cousin twice removed of the Prince Regent, and most soughtafter ginger-haired, but unfreckled, dance partner of the Ton was in trouble.