Unmasking the Spy (11 page)

This person must have had access
to Chadwick House, whether through obvious or furtive means. No other reason
could explain the knowledge – or planting – of the book. The book that proved
nothing. An accuser could not prove that the book had secreted stolen jewels.
Chadwick’s defenders could not prove that it had not.

With a shove of his hand, Ian
sent the book skating across the desk. He could not even prove he himself had
not removed and destroyed any evidence it might have contained. The villain was
brilliant. Such a clue could only engender speculation and suspicion.

Perhaps the other items offered
more insight. Ian removed the note from his pocket. He unfolded the paper and
quickly scanned the scrawled words. Frame, pottery, book, drawer. If they
existed, he would have to return.

Elizabeth
expected him to return.

Ian propped an elbow on the desk,
closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against his palm. Now that he had her
permission, the threat of discovery was shared and provided him with a
plausible – if bizarre – cover story. Such logic, such clarity of thinking
under pressure. Such idiocy.

“May I see you again?” he mocked
himself.

What seemed like genius mere
hours ago now seemed like folly.

If she wanted him to return, she
would haunt the halls waiting for him. Hardly a conducive environment for a
clandestine investigation. Why hadn’t he told her a false day? An unlikely
time? A meeting place? All he would have needed then was to arrive early or be
elsewhere. If she frustrated his mission again, that was how he should proceed.

Oh, she frustrated him, all
right. His damnable body sprang to life just thinking about her.

Elizabeth, the barefoot waif who
wandered the house in fluttering nightclothes and a floppy house cap.
Elizabeth, the woman whose simple touch had sent a bolt of unfettered lust down
the length of his body. Elizabeth, the openhearted hoyden who tried to brain
him with a poker and sympathize about his sick sister. Elizabeth, the lonely
young girl, whose eyes had lit with shy pleasure at his simple, ridiculous gift
of wildflowers picked from the side of the road – even though they lay limp and
tangled.

She was a beautiful mystery. Her
honesty and wit delighted him at a time when he thought every woman living in London’s city limits was as maddeningly imperious as her self-centered niece, Alicia
Kinsey. Elizabeth’s refreshing innocence was humbling, her candid personality
intriguing.

Too bad he couldn’t have danced
with Elizabeth at the ball instead of her hoity-toity niece. Miss Kinsey hadn’t
bothered to bring the wraithlike woman along. Poor Elizabeth received no
consideration or approval from her ill-mannered relatives. Spinster though she
may be, no doubt she deserved some romance.

And he’d put himself in a
position where she expected him to supply it. Wonderful.

Ian glanced out the open window
to his left. The unmistakable sound of rolling wheels rumbled past. The
sporadic sunlight speared through the clouds before another drizzle sprinkled
the city. From this height, he could see nothing but the row of houses
opposite.

Ian shook his head. Romance.

Next time, he would bring her a
real flower. Perhaps a rose, a deep pink tint to match the color he imagined
those delectable lips. Ian ignored the traitorous pang of guilt at the thought
of buying an innocent girl’s silence by dancing false attendance in order to
exploit her naivety.

The faster he achieved his goal,
the faster everything else dominoed into place: Ian stood, reminded of the need
to sort through tonight’s invitations.

He could not allow mere
conscience to prevent justice and his subsequent return to Heatherley. After
all, his lies were for the sake of good. Exonerating Chadwick benefited all his
dependents, not just the ice queen Miss Kinsey.

Next time, he was definitely
taking that frame.

*          *          *

“I am glad you suggested a
stroll,” Beatrix said with a brisk nod. “It’s just the thing after a long nap.”

Alicia adjusted her aunt’s shawl.
She closed the wrought-iron gate behind them, breathing in the earthy scent of
the garden. She hadn’t napped. While Beatrix slept the afternoon away, Alicia
stared at the roof of her canopy bed thinking about her rogue.

Wildflowers.

Where had he gotten them? Spring
had not yet worked much magic on their garden. Although the bushes and plants
grew green in the damp, dark soil, the flowers had yet to bloom.

Wildflowers, she reasoned, grew
in the wild. He hadn’t bought them. He must have gone looking for them just for
her, even though he could not be certain he would ever see her again. How
romantic was a gesture like that? The sweetness of such an action infused her
cheeks with heat. Thank heavens she could blame the color on the cold wind
stinging her face.

She might have stayed abed.
Stayed abed and missed the fire that swept across her body when her fingertips
touched his. Alicia shivered and clutched her pelisse closer.

For a moment, she thought he
might kiss her. For a moment, she had even wished it.

What would she have done? Alicia
shot a guilty glance in the direction of the house. She might have experienced
her first kiss. Encouraged such a liberty. Craved his touch. The warmth in her
cheeks increased.

Rogue personified forbidden
desire. He was a secret. Her secret. If he had kissed her, no one would be the
wiser. Alicia bit her lip. She almost wished he would have. At least his
interest in her was honest.

She tilted her head as a bird
flew overhead and landed on a branch high atop the tree. The grass crumpled
underfoot as she took another step forward. She craned her neck. The robin
worked steadily on his nest then soared away again into the sky.

To some degree, Rogue also
represented romance. Granted, the flowers had fallen apart the instant he’d
produced them. The corners of Alicia’s mouth twitched and she grinned at the
garden. Although his offering had disintegrated in his hand, his intentions had
been pure. When had Louis ever brought her flowers?

Alicia’s smile evaporated. She
could indulge in romantic fantasies featuring Rogue much more freely if she
were not so worried about Louis.

Blast that prig, for making her
feel forced to keep a companion in order to protect herself from his
machinations. Great-aunt Beatrix bent over a bush, checking its branches for
tiny buds. Alicia enjoyed spending time in the garden with her aunt.

Beatrix wobbled to her feet and
turned bright eyes toward Alicia. “Buds!” she crowed. “The bushes are beginning
to blossom. The garden will be beautiful before we know it.”

Alicia crossed to her aunt’s side
and wrapped an arm around her bony shoulders.

“Excellent. We will have to make
frequent visits out of doors in order to monitor Spring’s progress.”

“Fresh air is wonderful,” Beatrix
agreed. “Sewing little scenes and reading from books can never replace the real
world.”

Beatrix turned toward the next
rosebush and Alicia’s arm fell back to her side.

What a great idea. Her ploy of
being simply boring had driven Louis away for the moment. Perhaps if she
intensified her role to that of a know-all – an opinionated bluestocking with
something to say about everything, and all of it gleaned from books – forever
would seem an excruciating length of time to be leg-shackled to a wife. Any
facts she didn’t know, she could invent as she went along.

Brilliant. Should Louis be the
one to decide not to marry her, Papa could hardly prevent her from looking
elsewhere. With luck, she would soon be the wife of a man who loved her.

Alicia pivoted until she caught
sight of her aunt. She watched Beatrix for long moments before she decided to
speak.

“Aunt?”

“Yes, ducky?”

“Did you ever regret… Mr.
Armitage?”

Beatrix straightened. “Charles?
Never.” She looked Alicia in the eye. “No matter what you may have heard about that
time, I have not one ounce of regret for the love we shared.”

Alicia nodded. “May I ask what
really happened?”

Great-aunt Beatrix stared at the
garden as if she ceased to see it. Alicia had almost decided to retract the
question when her aunt finally responded.

“My brother Eustace – your
grandfather – inherited the title young. Our parents had more debt than we realized
and our family desperately needed money. I was of an age. I had attracted the
attention of a wealthy, older gentleman and was in a position where a timely
marriage could solve our problems.”

Alicia hesitated. “I thought Mr.
Armitage was a young man at the time.”

Beatrix smiled. “He was. Many
balls were given honoring the soldiers preparing to go to war. I met him at one
of these shortly before my parents died. He was beautiful, kind, passionate.
Everything I wanted. The attraction was mutual.”

Alicia stared. The rumors she’d
heard hadn’t touched the complexity of the issue.

“One evening, we bribed a footman
and snuck away from a crowded ballroom. Charles told me he knew he should speak
to my brother first, but he could no longer keep his love inside and wanted to
know if I’d do him the honor of becoming his wife.”

“How romantic,” Alicia breathed.

Her aunt’s gnarled hands clutched
her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“Of course I said yes. How could
I not? The next morning, he planned to present himself to my brother. But that
night, when I returned home, I learned about our debts and the plan to marry me
to a man of means in order to save the family.”

Alicia swallowed. “What did you
do?”

Beatrix stared at the rosebushes.

 “I told Eustace I was in love,
of course. I told him I’d rather be penniless and happy than wealthy and
miserable. I told him to expect Charles first thing in the morning.”

“Did he come and pledge his
love?” asked Alicia breathlessly.

Her aunt shook her head. “He
wasn’t given a chance. I was underage and needed my brother’s consent. Eustace
said he’d murder him before he allowed such a marriage to wreck our family. He
was seated in the great room with the wealthy gentleman in question, who looked
rather shocked by the proceedings thus far. However, he was still willing to
marry me.”

Alicia frowned. “But he did not.”

“He did not. I claimed I was no
longer pure, and he refused to have me. Eustace was incensed. He sent an
immediate letter to Charles, requesting to meet him at dawn for a duel. I
bribed a footman and escaped. I took a hackney cab to meet Charles and told him
what had happened. Eustace was an excellent shot and would have killed him
without hesitation.

“I begged him to leave early with
his troops and to come back as soon as the war was over, as I was likely to be
of age by then and no longer under my brother’s rule. We sobbed, and proclaimed
our unending love. I stayed with him that night and my earlier lie became a
reality.

“Early the next morning, we said
our goodbyes. I took a hack back home and met Eustace’s fury at the door. I was
beaten and locked in my room for several months.

“When I was finally allowed out,
I discovered Eustace had married a reclusive heiress. I don’t know if they had
ever liked each other, but by the time I met her they were no longer speaking.
Shortly thereafter, they were graced with the baby who would become your
father.

“When Eustace released me from my
room, he said I was no longer a danger to myself. Charles had survived the
duel, but died in battle. Eustace said it was what I deserved.

“I slapped him. He did not
respond.” Beatrix paused. “He never spoke to me again.”

Eyes damp, Beatrix turned back to
the rosebushes, the sun to her slender back.

Alicia felt her throat constrict
in pity and horror. A tear trickled down her aunt’s tired face. Alicia’s bonnet
fell from her head as she enveloped her aunt in a fierce hug. After a moment,
she felt Beatrix wrap her thin arms around her back.

“I’m so sorry, Aunt,” Alicia
whispered.

“Don’t be sorry, child. I knew
love. How many people can say that?” Beatrix stroked her hair. “I hope you are
one of them.”

“I hope I fall in love with
someone who will save us both,” Alicia said fervently.

Beatrix pushed away until she
could see Alicia’s face.

“Don’t wait for a man to save
you, honey.” She reached up and placed one warm, wrinkled palm against Alicia’s
wet cheek. “You can only save yourself.”

Alicia wished saving herself were
a little easier.  She forced herself to smile. “I understand, Aunt.”

Beatrix nodded and placed her
hand on the crook of Alicia’s elbow. “Shall we get some tea?”

“Yes, of course.”

She turned to lead her aunt
toward the house when a heavily perfumed figure in orange and purple stripes
strutted into the garden, letting the gate bang closed behind him.