‘Rachel is the only friend who stood by me. She and I became close because both of our husbands were in the same regiment. She was an acquaintance of my mother’s and came to stay with us in Austria for a while. When I returned to England she wrote and asked when she could expect to see me in London. I replied telling her that she would not, and explained why. I expected her to believe the rumours about Evan that someone had ensured were circulating and cut me as well, but I underestimated her loyalty. She told me that if I did not go to stay with her then she would come to Cambridge and forcibly make me show my face in public. Innocent people, she insisted, did not hide themselves away without making themselves look guilty.’
‘A loyal friend indeed,’ Kensley said, apparently impressed.
‘Oh yes. We talked for hours about people we had known in the regiment. Well, she knew many more than I did but even so, we were unable to decide who would want to besmirch Evan’s name, or why. She encouraged me to approach you, your grace, but I…well, I wasn’t sure whom to trust.’
‘And you still are not,’ the duke said softly.
‘Put yourself in my position,’ she replied, refusing to be mollified or to let her guard down in the face of his persuasive manner.
‘You came here looking for answers.’ He glanced through the archway to his desk. ‘What did you expect to find?’
She lifted one shoulder. ‘I have absolutely no idea. Rachel received Lady Murray’s invitation to this party, which I persuaded her to accept. Just because I was turning into a recluse, there was no occasion for her to do so as well. Her maid fell ill, so…’ She spread her hands. ‘It seemed as if providence had intervened and I was supposed to come. I knew that you were Evan’s commanding officer and that some of the other senior men from the regiment are your close friends and social equals, so they were likely to be here as well.’
‘Even supposing that I am a traitor,’ the duke replied, seeming perfectly comfortable with the accusation, ‘why would I be foolish enough to keep anything incriminating in writing, where anyone with an inquisitive nature might find it?’ He fixed her with a mildly condemning look to emphasise his point.
‘There are factions, I have learned, who consider the Prince Regent to be an unsuitable heir apparent. They think he lacks the intelligence to keep the country prosperous and that his weak leadership would allow Napoleon to win the war. When they saw the way the wind blew and that the coalition was gaining the upper hand, they did what they could to aid the Frenchman’s cause and keep their fortunes secure.’
A muscle in the duke’s jaw flexed and hardened. ‘And you think I might be one such man?’ he asked.
Troy wondered how this woman could at one moment invoke his sympathy and the next drive him to such extremes of anger. He seldom lost his temper, but anyone daring even to suggest he was a traitor to his country was guaranteed to achieve that ambition. But observing Brione Gilliard, with her fragile beauty and those fiery eyes shooting accusatory daggers in his direction in her determination to protect her husband’s memory and reputation, stirred up a maelstrom of very different feelings deep within his core. He watched her, with her luscious hair tumbling in disarray all over the place and felt an overwhelming urge to reach forward and run a strand through his fingers.
He had far more serious matters to consider, yet all he seemed capable of thinking about was the colour of her hair; one minute reminding him of dark treacle drizzling over plum tart and the next, when the sun streamed through the window, threaded with gold.
And red. And russet.
Trying to decide what colour dominated could drive a man demented. Her green eyes sparkled with defiance as she met his gaze and considered his question. What had his question been? Troy could scarce recall.
‘I couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility,’ she said, lifting her chin in a haughty fashion. ‘Evan looked up to you and admired your leadership. He would have done anything you asked of him without question.’
She looked furious when a single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and trickled down her smooth cheek. Troy somehow resisted the urge to stop it in its tracks with his forefinger and console her in the fashion that sprang instinctively to mind. The depth of his desire to provide that consolation both surprised and concerned him. Mrs Gilliard was here to find answers, not ward off unwanted advances from a man she didn’t trust.
‘Be that as it may,’ he said in a clipped tone, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. ‘You have my assurance that I am a patriot and did not betray my country. Nor did I ask Evan or anyone else beneath my command to do so.’ He fixed her with a look of stark sincerity. ‘You have my word on the matter.’
There. He had told her the truth. He absorbed the silent tension of the charged atmosphere as he awaited her response. He already knew enough of her frankness to suspect that she would have no scruples in telling him if she disbelieved his word of honour as a gentleman. If she took that course, there would be nothing he could do to help her. He would not take her into his confidence and would disregard the damage to her late husband’s reputation.
‘Thank you, your grace. I accept your word.’ She swallowed when, after what seemed like an eternity of brittle silence that Troy had not the slightest intention of breaking, she finally spoke. ‘I am clearly mistaken, and I apologise.’
‘No apologies are necessary for anything other than the fact that you did not come to me with your concerns before now,’ Troy replied, releasing the breath he was unaware he’d been holding. ‘Kensley and I are aware that there was a traitor in our midst, but we had no idea that the offender had deliberately blackened your loyal husband’s name in an effort to protect his own skin.’
‘Cowardly in the extreme,’ Kensley said, scowling.
‘Then we are in agreement,’ Mrs Gilliard said, ‘but how we go about exposing the offender’s identity is less obvious, especially since I am unaware of the precise nature of the secrets that were supposedly leaked.’
‘Sensitive particulars relating to the peace terms the coalition was prepared to offer Napoleon if he laid down his arms. We assumed he would do so, in which case the battle that claimed your husband’s life would not have been necessary, but unfortunately the powers that be failed to take the emperor’s pride into account. He couldn’t countenance the possibility of surrender and thought that the coalition’s position was weak because they were willing to offer such generous terms. He mistook their desire to save lives and return economic stability to Europe for a disinclination on England’s part to defend herself.’
‘I see.’ She ruminated upon that revelation and then glanced up at Troy through huge, reflective eyes that were in danger of making Troy drown in their depths. Damn it, he did not need the distraction! ‘How many people would have been privy to those peace terms and in a position to pass them down the line? Presumably someone short of money who had placed his all on a French victory.’
‘One assumes so. As to who knew, very few on the ground. Myself and my trusted inner circle, including Kensley here.’
‘It weren’t me what squealed, honest!’ Kensley said in an affected tone, making them all smile and lightening the mood. ‘If it was, I wouldn’t still be running around, picking up after this one,’ he added, jerking a thumb towards Troy in his usual disrespectful manner. ‘Instead I’d be a man of means, ordering others about and living the high life.’
‘That would immediately make you a suspect,’ Mrs Gilliard pointed out, but she smiled as she spoke.
‘Ah, I see what you mean. Crafty devil that I am, perhaps I’m biding my time before spending all that lovely French gold.’
‘You knew that I wasn’t really a maid when you saw me below stairs yesterday, didn’t you?’ Mrs Gilliard asked.
‘I had my suspicions. You looked out of place, didn’t seem to have much idea about your duties, and your manner was far too refined.’
‘Ah, I see. Well, since we are on the subject, your grace, you should be aware th
at the servants’ stairs are far too steep and uneven. It’s a disgrace! I am very surprised that no one has yet broken a limb on them, or worse.’
Troy’s lips twitched. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’
Her expression sobered and it was almost as though she regretted letting her guard down. Troy tried not to feel aggrieved because it was Kensley, with his easy-going manner and ready smile who had encouraged her to react instinctively. ‘Since you have admitted to being aware that there is a traitor in your camp, your grace,’ she said, ‘I confess to being surprised that you have done nothing about it.’
Troy chose not to take offence at the criticism, but he saw Kensley raise a brow when he failed to chide her for her impertinence. Few people other than Kensley got away with speaking their minds to Troy. ‘The traitor could be concealed within the corridors of Whitehall,’ he pointed out. ‘That, after all, is where all the planning takes place, and although few people are privy to the final decisions made it is not impossible for those with determination and a financial incentive to find out what has been agreed and what offers are being made.’
‘And how would that intelligence be passed onto the French?’
Mrs Gilliard leaned her elbow on her knee and the side of her face on her fisted hand as she posed her question, causing her hair to fall forward, partially concealing her profile. And what a delightful profile it was, Troy conceded, drinking in the sight of her and feeling himself reacting to her in a manner that none of his sister’s guests had managed to elicit.
Frown lines formed on her delicate brow and a slight flush touched her beautifully defined cheekbones as her eyes widened and her lush mouth parted, her lips shiny and moist. Troy found it increasingly difficult to tear his gaze away from her. Her small nose and delicate chin were perfectly symmetrical, as was everything else about her. He wondered how well situated Gilliard had left her, and if she knew anything about the more secret side of his life. Perhaps some creative cove had deliberately started the rumours about Gilliard’s loyalties in the hope of impressing her by as quickly making them disappear.
She was a unique woman, and well worth the effort. Troy would need to find a tactful way to ask if she had repelled any man’s persistent attentions since becoming a widow and if the rumours about Gilliard had started before or after she had done so.
‘French agents abounded here in England, and likely still do,’ Troy replied, watching her when Shadow stirred and she instinctively bent to rub his belly. ‘But a humble foot soldier home on furlough could as easily have passed the information on.’ He spread his hands. ‘There are dozens of ways.’
‘And an enlisted man would be less likely to arouse suspicion,’ Kensley added.
Mrs Gilliard closed her eyes and threw back her head, sighing with discontent. ‘Then attempting to unmask the guilty party will be a hopeless endeavour.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Troy replied, smiling at her. ‘As a matter of fact, I have been charged by the foreign secretary with doing precisely that.’
She blinked at him. ‘You have? They don’t think it’s Evan?’
‘His name has not once been mentioned in my hearing, which makes me think that either someone is out to make mischief for you, or more likely the guilty party knows the net is closing and is desperate to divert suspicion.’
‘Oh.’ Her eyes sparkled and a smile drenched in warmth illuminated her perfect features. ‘So Whitehall doesn’t think that Evan…’
‘I was frankly shocked when you spoke of it,’ Troy assured her. ‘But Kensley and I are of the opinion that the traitor could well be at this party.’ He set his jaw. ‘We have been discussing ways to draw him out.’
‘A member of your inner circle.’ Sympathy replaced the momentary relief that had suffused her features. ‘That will be very difficult for you.’
‘Save your pity for the perpetrator when I discover his identity,’ Troy replied, his expression turning to granite.
‘It will be someone with debts, perhaps large gambling debts,’ Mrs Gilliard mused. ‘Evan told me that a lot of men gambled irresponsibly before going into battle. I suppose one cannot altogether condemn them for that. They knew their chances of returning were slim, so their reckless pursuit of pleasure is understandable.’
‘That or a person with a large family to support.’
‘Sisters or daughters to marry off,’ Mrs Gilliard suggested. ‘Perhaps you are being asked to consider marrying the daughter of a traitor, your grace?’
Troy grunted. ‘I am not planning to marry anyone.’
‘I assume that Sir Gregory Frazer and Captain Craig are on your list of suspects,’ Mrs Gilliard said. ‘I mention their names only because Evan often spoke them in the same breath as he mentioned your own.’
‘They are two of my closest friends and I trust them both absolutely, but yes…’ Troy paused to let out a frustrated sigh. ‘They were both in a position to pass on sensitive information.’
‘So it has to be one of them,’ Mrs Gilliard said, tapping her fingers against her knee.
‘It’s possible,’ Troy conceded. ‘Has either of them been to see you to pay their respects?’
‘No. I haven’t seen anyone from the regiment or from government circles. It felt as though no one could bear to be anywhere near me. But it has to be someone who served with Evan and who has decided to deflect blame away from himself by smearing my husband’s reputation. I cannot think of any other reason why they would have chosen him.’
Troy glanced at Kensley. Silent communication took place between them and Kensley nodded, implying that Troy should tell her the truth.
‘Would you care for some tea, Mrs Gilliard? It’s neglectful of me not to have asked before now.’
‘Thank you. Tea would be lovely. I’ve missed it.’
‘They don’t serve tea below stairs,’ Kensley said in response to Troy’s blank look. ‘It is far too costly for the servants’ consumption.’
‘See to it, Kensley, and bring it up yourself. I don’t want anyone to see Mrs Gilliard until we have decided what to do about her situation.’
Chapter Six
Brione watched Kensley leave the room, smiling in spite of herself when he turned at the last minute and winked at her. His relationship with the duke fascinated her. She knew he had acted as his grace’s batman during the conflict, but he also appeared to be a confidant and friend, trusted by the great man himself and unafraid to speak his mind. It was obvious that the duke depended upon him absolutely, confided in him and probably acted upon his advice.
She wondered what his history could be. Was he a junior member of the aristocracy, forced by circumstances to forge his own path? The matter was inconsequential and Brione knew that her mind had dwelt upon it in a subconscious attempt to ignore the fact that she was now completely alone with the disturbingly poised duke, but for a slumbering dog who was lying on its back on a hearthrug with all four feet in the air, too busy snoring to pay either of them any attention.
She had not come to his house with the intention of admiring the Duke of Alford and wondered how she could have been so easily persuaded to change her opinion of him. She had spent the time since Evan’s death blaming him for her husband’s disgrace; convinced that he had to be involved with the traitor and instrumental in besmirching Evan’s reputation. She was disgusted with herself for being so easily taken in by his charm, and furious when inappropriate feelings swamped her reason as he regarded her with an air of such concentrated speculation.
Brione would give a great deal to know what thoughts occupied his mind, hating herself for wishing that she could present a more sophisticated picture than that of a dishevelled maid. Appropriate attire would bolster her confidence and provide her with a useful disguise to hide behind. She was a bundle of nerves and conflicting emotions and doubted her own judgement, changing her mind about his true motives every two minutes. He, on the other hand, appeared to be perfectly relaxed here in his private domain; a large space that felt as th
ough the walls had shrunk inwards and extracted most of the air from the atmosphere.
She turned away from the duke, conscious of his languorous, heavy-lidded gaze resting upon her. She couldn’t stand the scrutiny, so she stood up and paced the length of the room, muttering to herself as she pushed her tangled hair away from her face, flipping it over her shoulder. She felt ill-prepared, inadequate; no match for the commanding intellect that had effortlessly produced hero worship in the men beneath his command. Evan had never tired of singing the duke’s praises and commending his astute military brain—much good it had done her brave, doomed husband. He’d had so much to live for but had instead died a valiant death in the defence of his country. And now, someone had the temerity to besmirch his memory.
Fresh anger coursed through Brione as she reminded herself why she had come to this wretched castle. She adjured herself not to let her guard down, swirling round to glower at the duke when his deep voice interrupted her meandering thoughts.
‘Do I make you nervous?’
The amusement in his tone further infuriated Brione. ‘I am glad you find the situation diverting,’ she replied haughtily.
Her reaction made him laugh. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I don’t find anything remotely amusing about this traitor, or the problems he has caused for you.’
‘Then why are you smiling?’
‘I was admiring your courage.’
‘Ha!’
She tossed her head, furious with herself for feeling mollified, and was again obliged to throw a long tress over her shoulder. She heard the duke clear his throat and when she turned to look at him, he was again watching her in a provocative manner. A slight frown creased his brow; almost as though he felt bemused and unsure of himself. She chased that notion away, convinced that the Duke of Alford had never known a moment’s uncertainty in his life.
‘You should learn to accept a compliment,’ he said with a soft chuckle.
‘I am not here to be admired,’ she replied, glancing down at her shabby gown.
To Desire a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Vol 8 Page 7