Unmasking the Spy (3 page)

Her father shrugged. “No more
than that.”

Great-aunt Beatrix shivered and
clutched her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders. She nodded to Chadwick,
ignored Louis, and shuffled down the corridor and around a corner without
looking back.

Alicia sank to one knee on the
step, gripping the banister. Why on earth was Louis going through with this? If
only he’d found a wife by now, he would not be forced to look for one in her.
She must disabuse him of the notion immediately.

Louis cocked his head to one side
and pursed his lips. “I suppose there is a ball this very night that we
absolutely must attend?”

“Yes, of course,” answered Alicia
automatically.

She rose to her feet when both
heads swiveled up in her direction. Alicia wanted to kick herself for speaking
such thoughtless words and betraying her blatant eavesdropping. She was
definitely going to have to work on her spying.

“That is,” Alicia continued in a
rush, “I accepted the Montgomery’s dinner invitation some time ago, and it
would be horribly rude for me not to attend. As I planned to go with friends, Louis
need not accompany me. The hostess isn’t even expecting him…” Alicia trailed
off.

Her father blinked at her and
then cast his gaze to the ceiling. He was probably wishing he’d beaten her
after all.

Louis sniffed and tossed his
head. “Eight o’clock, then. Be ready.”

Alicia watched through narrowed
eyes as he inclined his head to her father and left. Apparently, his legs had
healed well enough to enable his signature foppish mince.

Her father turned to look at her,
but before her eyes could meet his, Alicia snatched up her skirts and spun on
her toes to race back up the stairs. She had until eight o’clock to work on her
plan.

Ian Morrissey lounged against a
decorative column and wondered how long he had to suffer the stifling whirlwind
of people. He reached in his waistcoat to pull out his watch. Half past ten. He
would much rather be home, looking for an innocent country miss to settle down
with, maybe raise a family – not playing the fancy for this town of vipers. If
Caspian didn’t show in the next quarter hour, he’d retrieve his coach and leave
London for the last time.

“Boo.”

Ian was unsurprised to discover
Caspian had materialized at his side. “Invisible as ever, I see. Is the hostess
even aware you are a guest in her home?”

Caspian smiled, a tiny dimple in
his left cheek the only thing that interrupted his otherwise bland looks.
“Come, let’s slip out to the gardens for a moment.”

Rather than being a curse to
Caspian’s everyman persona, the dimple afforded him an ageless quality, so that
witnesses never could quite describe him in years or in looks. He was of
average height and average build, with brownish hair and brownish eyes, with
clothes that were neither dowdy enough nor fancy enough to cause any notice,
and a mind that amazed the mightiest of men, making him an indispensable agent
in his particular branch of the government. A branch of the government Ian had
been only too pleased to divorce when Napoleon fell.

“Well, what’s the problem?” he
groused, folding his arms across his chest. “You said it’s a personal favor?”

“I’m doing lovely, old friend,
thank you for your kind inquiry.” Caspian smiled impishly.  “Now, on to
business, shall we?”

At Ian’s raised eyebrow,
Caspian’s expression turned serious. “During the war, I admired your courage
and tenacity both on the battlefield and behind the scenes doing, shall we say,
more delicate work. To this day, I also respect your mind, which I hereby
request to take advantage of. As a friend.”

Ian uncrossed his arms. Caspian
had better have a good reason for luring him here. Ian would have been glad to
give advice from Heatherley.

Caspian stifled a sneeze. Ian
sniffed the air – not roses, something else. He’d never been adept at
deciphering flower scents. But spring was almost here, and any moment the
garden might fill with couples spilling from the ballroom. Caspian glanced along
the path to ensure their seclusion, and then refocused his eyes on Ian.

“This particular inquiry is much
different from those days. Jewels have been stolen from several influential
families. Seven or more thefts over just as many months.”

Caspian paused to withdraw a
cigar from his vest pocket. He held one out to Ian, who shook his head
impatiently. Caspian shrugged, lit the end, and took a swift puff before
continuing. His words unfurled from his mouth in curly tufts of smoke.

“At the request of certain
parties, I have followed the trail to London, but haven’t determined the
mastermind.”

With a wave of his hand, Caspian
indicated a stone bench, but Ian merely propped a foot on top and waited for
more information.

“It has become personal,” Caspian
continued, “now that the latest victim is my sister. The items are family
heirlooms of emotional value beyond price. She returned to Plymouth to rest
until the matter has been resolved. I must visit her frequently, or I would
stay and investigate further myself. I can check in with you from time to time,
if you were willing to help.”

Ian considered the details. “Have
you a suspect?”

Caspian nodded. “I do. Lord
Chadwick.”

Ian slid his foot from the bench
and straightened to attention. The name sounded familiar. “The Baron?”

It was Caspian’s turn to arch an
eyebrow. “You know him?”

Ian shook his head. His more
bookish sister had once mentioned Chadwick as an expert in antiquities and an
avid reader. “Only by name. A collection of amazing pieces, right?”

Caspian smiled faintly. “More so,
perhaps, than they ought to be.”

Ian inclined his head. “I see.”
He glanced around the Montgomery’s garden. The garden at Heatherley was better.
Greener. Fuller. More inviting. “I understand having a sister in an emotional
state may prevent you from staying in London until the matter is resolved. But
couldn’t you ask help from someone already in town?”

Caspian puffed pensively on his
cigar. “I hesitated to involve you at all, knowing as I do about the delicate
matter in your past.”

Ian’s muscles tensed. Damn
Caspian for bringing up memories best kept buried. “So the charges are false,
then. Tell me what you know.”

Caspian stifled a sneeze. “Excuse
me.” He brought out a handkerchief to dab at his nose and refolded it
laboriously before tucking it back inside his vest. “The most curious thing is
the note.”

Ian frowned. “Note?”

“From an anonymous informant. And
if it were truly a one-man operation – with a few thieves and riffraff thrown
in, mind you – I would be singularly unlikely to receive such a note.”

“And this note indicated Lord
Chadwick as sole perpetrator of the plot?”

Three perfectly formed smoke rings shot
from Caspian’s lips. “Precisely.”

Ian crossed his arms. “Either
Lord Chadwick has an accomplice who wants to see him punished and for reasons
unknown feels secure in the knowledge that Chadwick will never retaliate in
kind–”

“Or the note is a false
accusation, and we are about to convict the wrong man,” Caspian finished,
drawing quickly on his cigar and refusing to meet Ian’s eyes.

Ian stilled. “About to convict?”

“Unfortunately. Judged only by
the victims of the thefts. The matter must be cleared up as quickly as
possible. They are out for blood. As the Season will be well underway by April,
having so many people present would cause a far greater scandal than necessary.
I was to capture him this weekend. The victims will be patient for another
month if I can persuade you to assist in this inquiry.

“I can hardly assume Lord
Chadwick’s guilt based on nothing more than an unsigned missive. And as
Chadwick is not without family of his own…”

Very well. So much for settling
down with an uncomplicated country lass. At any rate, not until at least April
- unless he could prove Chadwick’s innocence sooner. Ian released a harried
sigh.

“Fine. I will make a preliminary search
of Chadwick House tomorrow night.”

Caspian’s cigar bobbed between his
teeth. “Excellent.”

Ian stretched his back. “Are there any
particular avenues into his life that I should explore besides Chadwick House?”

“There is, perhaps, one. And it
involves your favorite disguise.” Caspian was grinning again. “How did you
phrase it? Oh yes, ‘playing the dandy to empty-headed fortune-hunters.’ This
particular one does not seem to fit your description as such.” Caspian stubbed
out his cigar. “Come, I arranged to have you introduced to her.”

*              *              *

Steeling herself as she glanced
about the ballroom, Alicia planned to be everything Louis hated. Since he
prided himself on his dandyism, she would hit him where it hurt.

She put her scheme into motion
the moment that Louis giggled in her ear. “It is so good to be fashionable,
cousin,” he tittered. “I’m sure everyone is admiring me even now.”

She studied him with a critical gaze. “I
don’t think so, Louis. Your waterfall is leaning a bit to the left. Perhaps the
ladies are looking at that.”

Wide-eyed with horror, Louis gasped. His
hands flew up and adjusted his cravat, bending and straightening the intricate
folds. “And now?” he asked, craning his head upwards as if to give her a better
view.

Alicia shook her head. “Too much. Now it
tilts to the right.”

Several minuscule adjustments later,
Louis leaned backward, the index finger of each hand pointing at his neck. What
was straight as could be when he first reached her side, now tilted in a
precarious angle. Alicia nodded.

“Much better, Louis. Although it seems
you’ve tamped down your cravat during the straightening process. It’s a bit
flat. Perhaps if you…?”

Louis immediately set to plumping and
fluffing the crooked cravat, destroying what little crispness its lines still
contained in his haste to fix the imagined faults. The cravat now exploded from
his neck in a big, shapeless pouf of wrinkled linen.

“Now, cousin?”

“It suits you,” Alicia replied. “You
both carry the same sort of style.”

Louis preened, running his hands down
his waistcoat and smiling into the distance.

“Although,” Alicia began, touching her
fingers to her chin.

“What? What?” Louis hopped from foot to
foot, shielding his cravat with his hands and casting furtive glances about the
room, lest he be seen in less than perfect glamour.

“I find men’s fashion tedious myself, of
course, but there does seem to be something still not the thing. Perhaps a
mirror would help?”

He huffed and clapped a hand to his
forehead in frustration. He pivoted on his toes and stomped off in the
direction of the retiring rooms.

Alicia smiled to herself. When it came
to how Society viewed him, Louis’ ego was legendary. Surely he wouldn’t want to
pledge himself to a termagant bent on criticizing his every button and crease.
In particular, not one who professed to have no interest in men’s fashion.

For her, fashion ranked much lower than
love. While tender emotions mattered little to Louis, to Alicia love was
everything. She wished she could believe she had a chance of achieving such a
lofty goal in two short weeks. She feared having to settle for someone less
than perfect, but if she met a man better than Louis who showed a modicum of
interest, would she be forced to compromise some of her beliefs? No. She’d been
raised an optimist, and she would not give up her dreams of a caring
relationship without a fight.

First, she needed an appropriate
suitor. Second, she must make him notice her, fall madly in love, and propose
marriage within the next two weeks. How hard could it be?

“Miss Kinsey?”

Startled, Alicia turned to see Lady
Montgomery. Wonderful, now she was even being improper by accident. She hoped
Lady Montgomery hadn’t been standing there long, watching her stare off into
space.

“Why, Lady Montgomery,” Alicia
said, with what she hoped was an easy smile. “I am having a lovely time.”

“Thank you,” Lady Montgomery
replied, pleased. “May I present you to Mr. Ian Morrissey?”

Alicia smiled again. “Of course.”
She turned to look at Lady Montgomery’s companion and her heart stopped.

He cut a powerful figure. Wide
chest. Broad shoulders. Sculpted mouth. Straight, patrician nose with a tiny
scar along the bridge. And the longest, darkest eyelashes she’d ever seen
framed around a pair of intense blue eyes, which were just completing a slow
perusal of their own. Her heart restarted with a flurry of frantic beats.

He stared at her with the precise
expression she imagined on her own face. He must have found her just as
enticing as she found him. And he had caught her looking! This might be the
moment that would break her record of almost twenty-one years without swooning.