To Love a Wicked Lord (3 page)

“And doubtless many long years left to him,” Lord Montrose said quickly.

She nodded her head in thanks.

“But with all his knowledge,” the marquis asked, “after your own investigations failed, his advice to you was to send you two to search for yourselves and, thence, to me?”

Both women nodded.

He rose from the table. “As I feared. I'm sorry, my dear ladies, to disappoint you, and dislike making Lord Carstairs lose faith in me. But as there's nothing more for me to go on, there's nothing more I can discover for you. I can tell you that yours is a hopeless cause. This Noel Nicholson of yours leaves no trail. He's a true will-o'-the-wisp; a dashing gent who appears and disappears at his own pleasure. I only hope, for your sake, Miss Carstairs,” he added with a look at Pippa, “that whatever you say, it was not entirely at his pleasure.”

Pippa's face turned pink and her eyes flashed, but before she could say anything, he spoke to her grandmother.

“And I must say,” he said, “that I'm surprised you and your husband let this affair go on, Lady Carstairs. Lord Carstairs may have been distracted, and you may have been amused, but the fellow really had nothing to recommend him and no more background than a shadow.”

“He had my grandfather's recommendation,” Pippa flared. “And that's good enough for me, and half the nation,” she added wildly. “Grandfather's famous for his cleverness and intellect, and judgment, and access to information of all sorts. Politicians and authors and poets and…why, even the prime minister has visited with him for advice! Certainly, if Grandfather thought Noel was a fit companion for me, then he was!”

“Possibly,” Lord Montrose said. “But now he's gone, and were I you, I'd be glad of it. Really, the whole affair has a bad odor. Let him go, my dear Miss Carstairs. Place an advertisement in the paper requesting information about him and when there's no honest reply, which there won't be, have your grandfather place a notice canceling your engagement. And then get on with your life and consider yourself lucky.”

Pippa rose from the table, her flushed face showing her fury, as did her suddenly sparkling eyes, lit
by tears of fury. “Very well, we'll find him without your help.”

He was expressionless. “There's folly. But I hear that's also love. You love him so much then?”

“I no longer know,” she said with honestly. “But I must know if he's in difficulty. I know he'd do the same for me.”

“Would he?” his lordship murmured. “Forgive me. I hope he would. But two women, even protected by servants and stout footmen, off alone on a quest throughout England?” He shook his head. “It will not do, ladies. You're sure to be taken in by practiced sharpers, men with no conscience, who merely want money. Not only men, but women and children too. Two females alone, throwing gold around, trying to find out what happened to a missing man, will doubtless encounter many such vile opportunists. The consequences will raise your hopes and then dash them, and put you in danger as well. I hate to see such things befall you.”

He bowed. Then he shook himself as though from a long nap. “There's no help for it. I'll have to help you, will I, nil I. Mind, I'll need any papers you've gotten from previous investigations. You must have sheaves of them. I need to see them,
all of them, including the letter Noel sent to you. I can't proceed until I do.”

“We have them with us,” Pippa said.

“Wise,” he said. “I expected no less of you.”

She was inordinately pleased at this mild compliment. “I'll have them sent down to you directly,” she said, her shoulders relaxing.

He bowed. “Very good, I'll wait, I'll read them this very night. I'm staying with a friend nearby and will see you in the morning, if you wish.”

Pippa nodded. “We do.”

“I only ask one thing of you two ladies,” he added. “When and if I tell you there is no hope, you must believe me and not keep on your mission. I may find amusement in strange places, and I admit I poke fun at many things. But I never lie about such things as life and death.”

Pippa opened her lips and then hesitated. He was, for the first time, deadly serious, his handsome face set as in stone.

“Continuing to follow a path that leads nowhere will be exhausting as well as perilous for you,” he added, shooting a look to her grandmother. Then he gazed steadily at Pippa. “I am good at what I do, Miss Carstairs, whether you choose to believe it or not. Your grandfather does. What I find or don't find should be conclusive. I don't go on fools' er
rands, or do errands for fools. So. Do you accept this? And if so, may I have your word on it?”

Pippa's shoulders drooped farther, but not from relaxation. She took in a deep breath. “Agreed,” she said. “You have my word.”

“My lady?” he asked Lady Carstairs.

“Oh yes, of course,” she said, standing and looking from him to Pippa. “A very good idea, to be sure.”

His smile was faint. “Then I'll wait here for your documents. And tomorrow, if there's anything to do, we will begin to do it.”

T
he large swarthy gentleman sitting in a deep chair by his hearth looked up as Lord Montrose came into his salon. “You're back? So early? Sick?”

“To the death,” Maxwell said as he unceremoniously plunked himself down in a chair opposite his host. He stretched out his legs and laid his head on the back of the chair. “Why does everyone think I can do anything?” he asked the ceiling.

“Because you'd be insulted if they didn't,” his host commented. “Need a drink?” he asked, waving a goblet of liquor in his guest's direction.

“Yes. But I need a clear head in order to go through some papers first.”

“You're taking on Carstairs's commission after all?” the swarthy gentleman asked. “Working to help a female whose fiancé flitted? You said you'd never touch it. Or is it that you want to touch her?”

“Couldn't even if I wanted to,” his friend said glumly. “Carstairs's granddaughter. I'm not ready to be leg shackled yet.”

“A beauty?”

“Better than that,” Maxwell sighed, closing his eyes. “And with a mind like her grandfather's, a temper like a teakettle, and a tongue sharper than an asp's.”

“Sounds just your cup of tea.”

“Is she? Why then did her betrothed ride off like his coattails were on fire to avoid his wedding day? And why in any god's name would a respectable woman go haring off after him, no matter the time spent or money cost?”

“Maybe because he left her holding something, so to speak, and she wants to be sure it's legitimate.”

“No,” Maxwell said, waving his hand. “Too much time has passed and no evidence has shown. In fact, I heard the lady's figure has always been a thing of loveliness. She isn't an ingénue, but she's far from being considered the shelf. Not with that face and form. So I wonder why she's doing it. Vengeance? Love? Hurt pride? Or does he know something he shouldn't?”

“You see spies everywhere,” his friend said. “But I suppose our leaders do too or else they wouldn't
have sent you along on her wild goose—that is to say, wild fiancé—chase.”

“Unlikely,” Maxwell said. “It's a favor between gentlemen. Her grandfather is a sage of some repute.”

“So then I don't see the danger for you. I thought she was looking for her fiancé, not just for anyone to be her fiancé.”

“I am not anyone,” Maxwell said. He opened his eyes again, looked at his host as though seeing him for the first time, and visibly recoiled. “Gads, Whit. What do you have on?”

The gentleman ran a hand over his wide chest, which was covered by a bright crimson robe. “A banyan,” he said proudly. “A new one. Nice, eh?”

“For the circus. Crimson silk with embroidered leaves, and big enough to be a horse blanket.”

“You don't like it?”

Maxwell shuddered. “It doesn't like you. A large man should wear quiet garb, Whitney. I thought I taught you that.”

“You tried,” the man he called Whitney said cheerfully.

“How can I play the fop if even my best friend ignores me? Prinny listens to Brummel, why can't you pretend to be awed by me?”

“Who else will see me in my robe?” his friend
protested. “No one that anyone will credit. The females I consort with in this style have no style. And I certainly don't share my house with anyone else but an old friend like you, Maxwell.”

Maxwell, Lord Montrose, sighed. “You're right. My pose doesn't work in any of its aspects. It's an ancient gambit, trying to be the bored milksop while really being the interested spy, but they insist. What was good enough for that Percy fellow in the last generation seems fine to them. But it's stale to me.”

“Too bad,” his friend said unsympathetically. “But everyone suspects everyone these days, so it doesn't matter.”

“I suppose you're right,” Maxwell said.

“So,” Whitney said, “let's have the truth. Are you doing Carstairs a favor or do you think the girl's fiancé might be involved with something else?”

“As you said, these days everyone's suspected of being involved with something else,” Maxwell said. He sat forward, clasped his hands together, and looked at his host. “Damme, but I'm weary of gossip and tattle, Whit. I'd give anything to get out there with a saber and a musket and do some actual good. This travesty of a peace isn't going to last much longer. We'll be at war again soon. And here I am, supposedly sniffing for spies, but about
to work for an acid wench who probably frightened away her fiancé. In Bath, of all places. I'm taking tea with grannies and amusing the gouty, rheumatic, and antique of the realm. For tuppence I'd run away to sea and make myself useful.”

“No, you wouldn't,” Whitney said. “You wouldn't live to. Your father would murder you first. You're a nobleman, Max. You have the inheritance and the head that will someday hold his title. You can't get it shot off. Let your brother Duncan play soldier. He loves it. How is he, by the by?”

“He flourishes,” Maxwell said absently. “And I'm happy for him. Osgood tutored him too. He's a good lad and a well prepared one.”

“And the fiend?”

Maxwell's smile became curled. “Both my siblings thrive. One's playing soldier, the other is too young to do anything except try to dismantle my father's estate brick by brick, and is damn near succeeding. I'd say my father deserves at least one child like that, but I don't actually dislike the man except for the fact that he holds me back. I don't like it, Whit. It begins to bore me.”

“Too bad,” his friend said. “Last I heard Lord Talwin and his superiors thought the world of the work you're doing. You know you've done well for us. Still, if you don't want to play with this par
ticular beautiful, witty, and sharp-tongued young female, I'd be happy to help. I know old Carstairs too, y'know.”

“That's the point,” his friend said seriously. “Carstairs may be old, but from all I hear, he's not doddering. His wife, who accompanies his granddaughter, is perhaps a trifle addled. Maybe she was always giddy. I don't know, nor does it matter. Carstairs does. He knew everything at one time, and still knows everyone. He's wise, better yet, he's clever, and he keeps his ear to the ground even though he hardly stirs from his estate. The world beats a path to him. His granddaughter's fiancé did too. One Noel Nicholson. He appeared out of nowhere. He came, he socialized, he became engaged. Now he's vanished. It may mean nothing but the fact that he came to his senses and escaped the wench. It may mean more. I'm pledged to find out. But it won't be easy.”

“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” his friend said seriously.

Maxwell levered up from his chair and began to pace. He shot a look at his friend as he did. “Worthwhile? The world is about to catch fire and I'm sitting by the hearthside with sweet old ladies and spoiled spiteful young ones.”

His friend watched him pace. “But, Max, who
else can do what you do?” he asked. “Look at me. What have they set me to do? Watch over you. While it's worthwhile, I can't say it's exciting. I can swing a saber and flourish a foil and shoot with the best of them. I can ride like a demon, I'm good with my fives, and can probably wrestle a dancing bear. But you can do that too, plus you can floor me with a blow and a twist of your shoulders, as you have done. And no one knows it until you choose to let it be known. There's your strength.

“Osgood taught you well,” Whitney went on. “You're lethal.”

“At the time I thought I had to be,” Maxwell said. “I was a child and heard something said in a drunken rant that terrified me. By the time I'd learned it was only inebriation speaking and certainly no danger to me, it was too late. I'd asked Osgood for help, and he obliged. I enjoyed my tuition too much to stop. I also learned that the fellow who had frightened me, my father, by the by, would have gladly cut out his tongue for it when he sobered up. Instead, he asked my forgiveness and cultivated my trust. That began a true friendship in spite of all obstacles. So I didn't have to become lethal, as you put it. But I'm glad I did.”

“So is your country,” his friend said. “And best of all, you don't look as though you can do any
thing but gossip and tattle. So people confide in you. Look at me. Would anyone in their right mind confide in me?”

“I do,” his friend said.

“Well, I mean besides old friends and seriously drunken ones,” Whitney admitted. “Well-bred females make me nervous and they return the compliment. Old ladies may lean on my arm crossing the street, if I offer it. But otherwise I look too fierce to approach, much less confide secrets to.”

Maxwell cocked his head to the side. His friend was huge: long-boned, with large features in a craggy face. “I don't know. You look trustworthy. Females like to lean on you.”

“And I on them,” his friend laughed. “But the well-bred ones? They might run to me in a panic, but they don't trust me otherwise.”

“Odd. I don't find you fierce, nor does anyone who knows you above five minutes.”

“At any rate,” Whit went on, “I'm only here because you are. This house is an inherited one. True, I have to visit it from time to time to make sure it doesn't crumble to the ground. But I'd rather be otherwise occupied. Bath was once the place to be; now it's the place to be old. And all I can do here is keep an eye out for you.”

Whitney shot his friend a bright look. “How do
you think I'd look perched on a little chair, taking tea in transparent cups and nibbling on wafers with the old darlings? Absurd, that's how. No, you're best for that. There are some who may think you're a spy playing at being a dandy, like that mythical Percy fellow a generation ago, but many more doubt you care about anything but the shine on your boots. Even Frenchmen find you shallow and foppish. You're invaluable just as you are.”

“And if I'm tired of being that kind of invaluable?”

Whitney shrugged. “I don't think there's anything else you can do, old friend. You can quit the whole business, of course. But I don't think you'd care for that, would you?”

“No,” Maxwell said, sinking to his chair again.

“Nor would I, which is why I don't, bored though I may be. So find the errant fiancé, send the girl home, and get you to London,” Whitney said. “When you're there you can ask to do something else. Maybe this peace will last, and you won't have to do anything more.”

“And maybe the newly self-proclaimed First Consul for Life Napoleon Bonaparte will retire and cede France to our king after kissing our beautiful prince on both cheeks and wishing him long life,” Maxwell said, staring into the blazing hearth.
“Then we can build a bridge to Paris and live as one nation, happily ever after.”

“Some people think that may be.”

“Some people,” Maxwell said, “think the moon is made of cheese. I'll have that brandy now, thank you. Then I'll scan these reports. You can go over them too and see if I've missed anything. I don't think our missing lover is a spy. Nor do I think he's anything but wise to be shut of this lady. But I promised to look, and I'm a man of my word. And who knows? He may be Bonaparte in disguise.”

His friend rose and went to a sideboard to pour another goblet of golden liquor. “You think the peace is temporary?”

“I think it may be over by the time I finish reading these papers. I know Napoleon wants to rule the world, and I don't care to be under his thumb or his foot. Although, come to think on, I wouldn't have to be. Because one of the first things he'd do would be to detach my head and those of my family and friends, as the Revolution did for my mother's relatives. He has an aversion to the nobility, remember? I'd take tea with three thousand dizzy dowagers to prevent that.”

Maxwell accepted a goblet of liquor from his friend and sighed. “Thank you. But whatever else I do, I must find out what Carstairs's granddaugh
ter's suitor was doing, if only because I hate loose ends. And then even if I have to give up the case because there's no end to it, I'll go to London. You'll follow I suppose.”

“I should be honored to,” his friend said, sitting down again.

“As well you should be,” Maxwell agreed, settling down to read his papers.

 

“That is quite the loveliest gown I've seen you wear in a long while,” Lady Carstairs said, gazing at her granddaughter.

Pippa's gown was a long-sleeved column of saffron-colored silk, embellished with tiny gold rosettes. Yellow roses had been woven into her gilded hair, and a simple golden locket lay at her white throat.

“And yet all we're doing is meeting the marquis for dinner,” her grandmother mused.

Pippa's fair skin showed pink at her momentary discomfort. Then she shrugged. “It's April, it may soon be too warm to wear it.”

“There is that,” her grandmother said cheerfully. “And certainly the marquis will find it beautiful. Then perhaps he won't be so snappish with you. Do you think he's come up with Noel's whereabouts?”

“I don't know, Grandmamma. It's been three days since we met with him. That's why we're going to dinner with him this evening.”

“He might just want to see us again,” Lady Carstairs said brightly. She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, and preened. “He may seem cold to you but there's no question he likes me. I may have aged a bit but I still attract the gentlemen.” She positioned her diamond necklace so that it lay perfectly on the very rounded breast of her blue gown and smiled. There was no self-mockery in her comment or her smile.

Pippa bit her lip. There was no question that her grandmother's conversation was growing strange. But then, she thought guiltily, it may have been so for months now. She hadn't noticed. First Noel had taken up all of her time, and then she'd been absorbed in the mystery of Noel's leaving. This was the first time she'd passed in the sole company of her grandmother in a very long while.