The Mayfair Affair (6 page)

For several seconds, shock held Suzanne motionless. Swiftly followed by a dip in her stomach and a wave of nausea. The certainty that she should have known all along that this was bound to happen sooner or later slammed through her. Ever-present fear transformed to reality in a bone-crushing instant.

She could feel the same fear coursing through Malcolm, for he dropped his arm round her shoulders as though he could physically shield her from the threat. Foolish. But heartening.

"Did you know Trenchard knew about Suzanne?" Malcolm asked in a voice of iron control.

"Feared it. It's another reason I was watching him." The strain cracked through the control in Raoul's voice as well.

"Alistair knew about me. And Lord Harleton." Suzanne spread her fingers over the twilled sarcenet of her gown to still their trembling. "We knew it was a risk that others in the League did as well. It was probably folly to hope none of them did."

"Quite." Raoul's voice was even but the look in his eyes reminded her of the time she'd been taken prisoner by a band of
guerrilleros
. Her memories were fragmented, but she could still hear his voice when he cut her bonds and lifted her in his arms, as incisive as ever but with such a raw note she scarcely recognized it. "But one can always hope. I was particularly afraid Trenchard would try to use it as vengeance against me. I'm sorry to have caught you up in this
, querida
."

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "We're all too entangled as it is. But why make use of his hold on me now? Surely it might have proved useful in the past. Trenchard has hated you for years. Do you think he just learned?"

"Possibly. But I think it's more likely Alistair held him in check."

Malcolm frowned. "You think Alistair protected Suzette? No, I suppose he would. He wouldn't want the scandal for the family. That would trump however he felt about me."

Suzanne swallowed. "What did Trenchard want me to do?"

"You should see for yourself." Raoul reached inside his coat. "I'm surprised one of you didn't notice something was missing."

"I did." Malcolm said. "But I saw no sign of your presence."

"I'm relieved my skills are still so sharp. You aren't easy to deceive." He held out the letter.

Absurd the way she hesitated to touch the cream laid paper. Reading the words wouldn't make it any more real. She forced her fingers to be steady as she carried it over to the library table and set it down in the light of the brace of candles, where she and Malcolm could read it together.

My dear Mrs. Rannoch,

Or should I say Mademoiselle Lescaut? It must be odd to go by the name of a man you married under false pretenses. The challenges of life under cover. I know a bit about that, though I've never attempted anything approaching the scale of your masquerade.

No doubt you are surprised that I know. I won't waste time on the details of how I discovered the truth behind one of the most charming and improbable fairy tales among Mayfair marriages. You must have been aware of the risks you have run. That you have got away with it for as long as you have is something of a miracle. As an Englishman, my duty is clear. However, I would not be where I am did I not know how to put information to use. Were I simply to take your secret to my father-in-law, you would be ruined and your marriage destroyed, but I would have nothing to show for it save Carfax's thanks (and I can't even be sure of that). Instead, I offer you a trade. I am prepared to keep your secret in exchange for information. Carfax has a file entitled Notes from Smytheton. I can't be certain where he keeps it, but I would hazard a guess it's in his study. I'm sure it won't be the first time you've retrieved information from your husband's spymaster. Get the file for me and I will consider us even. At least for the present.

Yours, etc.

Trenchard

Malcolm's fingers curled inwards. He lifted the paper and held it out to the candelabrum.

"Darling, no!" Suzanne snatched it back.

"For God's sake, Suzette, now we've read it—"

"It's evidence. The last words of a murder victim."

"I don't see anything in it to cast light on who murdered Trenchard."

"You know as well as I do one can't see everything at this point in an investigation. If it wasn't to do with me, you wouldn't dream of destroying it."

"Which leaves aside the question that it
is
to do with you."

"Much as my impulse is to agree with Malcolm," Raoul said, "I can see Suzanne's logic."

"You would." Malcolm glanced at him. "You trained her to be ruthless."

"I was plenty ruthless on my own." Suzanne folded the letter and tucked it into her bodice. "It's not as though we don't know how to take precautions with sensitive documents."

Malcolm drew a rough breath and turned to Raoul. "Trenchard was dead when you went into the study?"

"Quite dead." Raoul crossed one booted foot over the other. "Of course, you only have my word for it, and I own this letter gives me a capital motive for murder. In fact, if I had known of the letter's existence before Trenchard was killed—"

"Yes?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm not sure." Raoul took a sip of whisky. "I'd have been sorely tempted. But murder is a messy business and tends to create more complications than it resolves."

"Laura may have seen the letter," Malcolm said.

"Laura and the murderer," Raoul agreed. "Assuming Miss Dudley isn't the killer, which I'm inclined to agree with you she most likely isn't."

Suzanne pushed her fingers into her hair. "Does Lord Carfax know his son-in-law was an Elsinore League member?"

"I don't know." O'Roarke turned his whisky glass in his hand. "Carfax doesn't have a source like Davenport inside the League, but he's certainly shown himself interested in them."

Malcolm looked from Raoul to Suzanne. "You think Carfax married his daughter off to get information about the Elsinore League?"

Suzanne returned her husband's gaze. "Do you think he wouldn't do it?"

Malcolm's mouth tightened. "There's very little I'm confident Carfax wouldn't do. But he's always drawn a line round his family. On the other hand, he's shown himself willing to cross over almost every line imaginable."

"You know him well," Raoul said.

"I've worked for him. Neither of you can say that. Despite my best efforts, Carfax would probably claim I still work for him."

"Does Carfax know you're involved in the investigation?" Raoul asked.

"You mean there's something you don't know about tonight's events? I'm relieved to hear it." Malcolm took a sip of whisky. "Actually, Carfax asked me to look into Trenchard's death. Insisted on it."

Raoul's brows rose. "Interesting."

"Of course," Malcolm continued, "as David pointed out, Carfax would have known I'd investigate anyway, with Laura involved. This could have been a way of keeping an eye on me." He drew a breath. Suzanne reached for his hand.

"Trenchard threatened to write to him," Raoul said. "He'd have had no reason to if Carfax already knew about Suzanne."

"Trenchard might not have known." Malcolm's arm tightened round her shoulders.

Raoul met his gaze. "With Carfax one can never be sure of anything."

Malcolm inclined his head, then turned his gaze to Suzanne. "When did you last go through my dispatch box?"

Bitterness welled up on her tongue, but she kept her gaze on his. There was a time when she could have picked the lock on Malcolm's dispatch box in her sleep. "Not since just after Waterloo."

He inclined his head, the way he would to a diplomat from a hostile country. "You'll find some new documents there. Travel papers for all of us—you, me, Colin, Jessica, Addison, and Blanca. And Laura, as it happens. Aliases we can use, if necessary. Contact information for a smuggler who can get us to the Continent. A draft on a bank in Switzerland to which I transferred money last month."

Suzanne stared at her husband. "When did you do all this?"

"Very shortly after I learned my wife was a former Bonapartist spy. It seemed prudent to have an escape plan."

Numbness shot through her. "You didn't tell me."

"I planned to eventually. At the time you were too wracked with guilt. I didn't want to make it worse."

Her spine stiffened. "I told you, I'm not in the least—"

"You were dangerously close to wallowing,
mo chridh
." He touched his fingers to her cheek. "And I was only preparing for an eventuality. Which now seems somewhat more probable. I'd hope we could leave the country together if it comes to it, but should the situation unravel precipitously, take the children and go to the villa in Italy. I'll meet you there if we aren't able to travel together."

She stared into his eyes, seeing a future she had not let herself contemplate. She had always thought if she ever had to flee Britain, their marriage would have unraveled to the point where Malcolm would have no desire to go with her. Instead, here he was calmly talking about giving up the home he loved, the political career he was building, contact with his family and friends. She swallowed, tasting the ashes of what they had lost. "You don't want to leave—"

"Dunmykel? The House of Commons? No. But if it comes to them versus my wife, it's no contest."

She could scarcely imagine a stronger declaration of love. It slashed through her corset laces like a knife cutting her to the bone. "I never wanted—"

"I know. You weren't thinking about these issues at all. It's collateral damage." His arm still round her shoulders, he reached for her hand and carried it to his lips. Then he turned back to Raoul, who had been observing them in silence. "I can count on you to assist Suzanne should it prove necessary?"

"Of course."

Suzanne straightened her shoulders. "I don't need—"

"You don't have the benefit of being a duke's grandson. But if it makes you feel better, you can ask O'Roarke to assist me should it prove necessary."

"It's prudent," Raoul said. "Very likely it won't come to that, but one needs an escape plan. It's no more than we did in the Peninsula."

But that had been a more day-to-day existence somehow. A less settled life, so escape had seemed not so much a question of turning one's back on all one knew. She managed a smile, feeling the weight of the risk they would live with for the rest of their lives. Assuming they managed not to get caught. "Do you know what was in this folder Trenchard wanted me to retrieve from Carfax?" she asked.

"Not without looking at it." Malcolm squeezed her fingers and reached for his whisky glass. "It seems even without Trenchard we're going to have to retrieve the folder."

Suzanne stared at her husband. The British agent she had spied on for two and a half years. "Malcolm, are you telling me to break into Carfax's study?"

"No, I'll do it. I have a better idea of where to look and I can explain more easily if I'm caught."

"Darling—"

"Besides, I'm not quite ready to loose a former Bonapartist agent on the chief of British Intelligence."

"It's not that. But are you sure—"

"We can't very well ask Carfax for the folder in the circumstances, and we need to get a look at it to see why Trenchard wanted it. If Lady Carfax doesn't cancel her musicale this evening, I'll slip down then. You can keep an eye on Carfax in the drawing room."

"I can do that," Raoul said. When Malcolm looked at him in surprise, he added, "I received an invitation. A thank-you for my supposed service in the Peninsula. Or a way of keeping an eye on a dangerous Radical, or perhaps a bit of both. In any case, if you'll trust me to keep Carfax occupied, Suzanne can go with you and keep watch while you search the study. It's a safer mission for two."

For a moment Suzanne thought Malcolm would protest that he didn't want either of them remotely involved in searching Carfax's study, but instead he inclined his head. "Thank you."

Two words Suzanne had thought might never again pass between the two men. The air in the room seemed suddenly still, fragile glass laid over the tangled abyss between the three of them. "We should look at Laura's room," she said.

Malcolm nodded and cast a glance at Raoul. "You might as well come with us, O'Roarke. You're already in the middle of this."

"You're sure?" Raoul asked.

Malcolm regarded his father. "As sure as I am of anything with you. I much prefer it to you scaling the walls of our house and breaking in."