The Valet Who Loved Me

by Valerie Bowman

  He was sorely tempted to pull her close, but given that she’d watched waltzes in the ballroom before, she would know that wasn’t proper—not to mention that they were still pretending as if they were nothing more than colleagues, the dancing notwithstanding.

  So he concentrated on his smile and his footsteps and on ensuring that Marianne continued to smile, and he tried desperately not to think about how good she smelled or how soft her hands were or how perfect she felt in his arms.

  Minutes later, the music came to an end and Beau reluctantly let her go. She lifted her white skirts, curtsied deeply, and smiled. “Thank you for a lovely waltz, Mr. Baxter.”

  “The pleasure was entirely mine, Miss Notley,” he replied.

  Marianne pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear as her focus returned to the ballroom and she resumed her seat. Beau, pushing away thoughts of another dance—or something even more enticing, like a kiss—placed his own chair back in its former position and resumed his study of the ballroom.

  They hadn’t been watching again for more than five minutes when Marianne leaned forward in her chair and pointed. “Who is that man over there? The one standing near the potted palm, wearing a bright blue coat?”

  Beau scanned the crowd until his gaze alighted upon the man in question. He narrowed his eyes. “That’s Baron Winfield. The father of Kendall’s intended, Miss Wharton.”

  Marianne shook her head. “Is it?” she said. “That’s quite interesting.”

  Beau frowned. “Why?”

  Marianne bit her lip. She stood and clasped her hands over the back of the chair. “I need to go check on something. I think I might have an idea. I’ll meet you at your room at midnight.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Marianne hesitated a moment before she knocked on Beau’s door at midnight. Earlier, she had left the alcove above the ballroom in order to follow her suspicion—but she’d also needed to leave in order to remove herself from his presence.

  Beau teaching her how to waltz had nearly turned her into a puddle, and she hadn’t trusted herself not to hurl herself into his arms and kiss him as she’d been longing to do since she’d met him in the servants’ staircase this evening.

  His strong arms, his broad shoulders, and the way he led her in the dance, teaching her so expertly. It had all been more than she could bear. That combined with the scent of his soap and the memories of their nights together flashing through her mind, and she’d been nothing but pleased to have seen something in the ballroom that had made her need to leave the room. She had to wonder if it was a good idea to be entering his bedchamber tonight.

  The clock at the end of the upper servants’ corridor began to chime, pulling her from her thoughts. At the far end of the hall, a door opened. Marianne sucked in her breath and pressed her back against the wall next to Beau’s door.

  She watched as a woman emerged from one of the bedchambers and made her way toward the staircase in the middle of the floor. Marianne expelled her pent-up breath. Thank heavens the woman hadn’t come all the way down to the servant’s staircase at the end where Marianne was hiding.

  As soon as the maid had disappeared from sight, Marianne spun around and quickly knocked on Beau’s door.

  The door flew open nearly immediately and Beau pulled her inside. “Where have you been?” His voice was quiet but harsh. “I was worried about you.”

  Marianne eyed him carefully. She could see the apprehension in his eyes. “You were worried? About me?”

  Beau paced away from her and scrubbed a hand through his blond hair. “Yes, damn it. I was. I didn’t know where you’d gone or why. I thought perhaps you might need my help.”

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” she said, somewhat taken aback by his admission. “But I had to check on something.”

  He turned back to face her. “Yes, you said as much. What did you find out?”

  Marianne folded her hands together in front of her. “When you told me the man in the blue coat was Baron Winfield, a few things began to make sense.”

  Beau eyed her carefully. “What things?”

  She inclined her head to one side. “Well, I’d certainly hate to have to inform Miss Wharton, but I saw the baron coming out of a maid’s room at Lord Clayton’s house party quite early one morning and in…ahem…a disheveled state of dress.”

  Beau’s brows shot up. “Did you? Whose room?”

  “That’s what I went to check. When I asked Mrs. Cotswold at Clayton’s estate, she told me it was the room of a maid named Albina. Tonight, I went to see if the Winfields were staying overnight.”

  “‘Albina’?” Beau echoed. “I’ve heard that name before —seems Kendall mentioned it was the name of Frances’s lady’s maid.”

  Marianne nodded. “Well, that would explain how Albina and Baron Winfield know each other.”

  Beau plucked at his lip. “It would, indeed. But why do you think Baron Winfield and Albina have anything to do with the Bidassoa traitor?”

  Marianne cocked her head to the side again. “When I was watching the ballroom earlier, I wasn’t only watching Lord Cunningham.”

  Beau narrowed his eyes on her. “Who were you watching?”

  “When I noticed Baron Winfield, I began watching him,” Marianne replied.

  “And?”

  “And he nodded his head toward Lord Cunningham three times in a row,” Marianne continued. “Lord Cunningham nodded back.”

  Beau bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t even seen Baron Winfield until Marianne had pointed him out. Beau had been too busy watching Lord Hightower and the other two men. “Did you already suspect Baron Winfield for some reason before the party?”

  “No. But tonight I remembered seeing him on the fourth floor at Lord Clayton’s house, and I inquired about who he was. The truth is… I’ve suspected Albina. I had an…encounter with her at Lord Clayton’s party, and she seemed a bit…odd. I can’t say exactly how.”

  Beau nodded slowly. “I know precisely what you mean. I’ve had that same feeling about many people, time and again. In our line of work, it’s important to follow such instincts.”

  “I agree, which is why I wanted to learn Baron Winfield’s identity.”

  “You think Albina and Baron Winfield are involved?”

  “I think it’s possible. And I suppose you never suspected a woman being involved, either, did you?”

  Beau arched a brow. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because since I’m a woman, you never suspected me of being a spy. You seem to have a problem with women, Agent B.”

  Beau put his hands on his hips. “I suspected you once. I even looked for your handwriting.”

  She covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. “You didn’t?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Well, I suspected you too, so we’re even.”

  “Of course you did.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair again. “Albina. Damn it. You’re right. I never suspected her or Baron Winfield.”

  “Perhaps it takes a woman to watch a woman,” Marianne replied, grinning at him wickedly.

  “Perhaps.” Beau returned her smile before he tugged at his bottom lip again. “Now that you mention it, Kendall did write and tell me that Winfield was desperate for coin. The baron has even sold his London town house. As his future son-in-law, Kendall is giving Winfield an allowance—but also mentioned that he’s doling out the money carefully, which means Winfield is hardly wealthy.”

  “That makes sense, because I was able to confirm that both Albina and Winfield are staying here overnight. In fact, I just saw her leave her room down the hall as the clock struck midnight. Care to follow her with me?”

  Beau’s shrewd gaze caught hers. “You think she’s going to meet up with Winfield?”

  “Yes —apparently, his wife and he are not sharing a bedchamber, and I just so happen to know which room is his. I asked about that downstairs, too.”

  Beau arched a brow. “Lead the way, Agent M.”<
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  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Marianne hurried out of Beau’s door toward the end of the hall and the servants’ staircase landing.

  Beau followed closely behind her, while continuing to scan the space for anyone else who might see them together. Thankfully the corridor remained empty until they made it into the stairwell.

  They quickly and quietly descended the stairs, careful not to speak to each other, knowing that when following someone in a crowded house at night, the fewer words spoken, the better.

  When they reached the third-floor landing, Beau motioned for Marianne to stay against the wall while he nudged the door open a crack with his boot and peered out.

  Marianne pressed her back against the wall and waited. Beau soon let the door quietly shut again.

  “It’s clear. Which room is it?” he asked.

  “The fourth door on the left,” Marianne replied.

  Beau nodded. “Very well. I hope whoever told you that was correct. I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

  Pushing the stairwell door open using his hand this time, Beau silently moved it until it was wide enough for Marianne to fit through. He followed behind her. They both kept their backs to the wall and remained in the shadows. Any servant or guest might wander into the long hallway at any moment. They had to be prepared to either flee or hide.

  Marianne was the first to arrive at the fourth door on the right. She pointed at it and Beau nodded. She leaned forward and placed her ear against the solid wood. Muffled voices came from inside.

  Beau crept over and crouched down in front of the door. He put his ear against the keyhole and nodded to Marianne to indicate that he could hear.

  “It’s Baron Winfield,” he whispered. “I know his voice.”

  “Can you tell who he’s with?” Marianne asked.

  “Definitely not Lady Winfield,” Beau whispered back, “but a female.”

  “Albina,” Marianne said with a nod. She crouched beside Beau so they both could hear. Being so close to him was doing funny things to her insides. But at the moment she didn’t want to examine too closely the feelings that were careening inside of her.

  She shook her head to clear it of the unhelpful thoughts.

  “Can you hear?” Beau asked in a whisper, his mouth so close to hers that she felt his breath against her lips. She had to fight the urge to close her eyes against the pang of lust that shot through her.

  “Yes,” she managed with a nod.

  They stayed there like that, crouching next to the door in the shadows while they listened to the exchange in the room.

  “Come ta bed, me dear,” Albina said.

  “Not yet, darling. I need your help tonight,” Baron Winfield answered.

  “Help?” Albina’s tone sounded both surprised and confused. “Help wit wot?”

  “I need you to write another letter for me,” Baron Winfield said, his tone wheedling.

  Beau exchanged a loaded glance with Marianne.

  Albina sighed. “Another letter? Are ye mad? I thought we was all done wit that. We about got our heads skinned the last time.”

  Baron Winfield chuckled. “No one ever found out, and you know it. But this will be the last time, I promise.”

  “Ye promise?” Albina repeated, her voice coy, clearly warming to the topic.

  “Yes, and I’ll give you extra coin for your help, just like last time,” Baron Winfield added.

  “Ye’d better,” came Albina’s reply.

  There was some shuffling around in the room. Beau suspected that Albina was taking a seat at a writing desk.

  “Now, wot do ye want me ta write, milord?” Albina asked with a giggle.

  “Here, I’ve already written it. All you need to do is transcribe this. I intend to burn this one.”

  Another sigh from Albina. “Very well. But this don’t change our plans, do it?”

  “On the contrary, my dear, this letter is part of our plans. An important part.”

  “We’re still leaving for France tomorrow, ain’t we?” Albina asked next.

  Beau exchanged another tense glance with Marianne.

  “Of course, my darling. My idiotic future son-in-law thinks he can purchase me with a pittance of an allowance. Little does he know I have my own fortune waiting for me. And this time I’m taking the letter to France myself, to avoid any surprises.”

  Beau motioned for Marianne to go back toward the servants’ staircase. They’d already heard enough. Baron Winfield wasn’t planning on dictating the letter at any rate.

  Apparently, Baron Winfield and Albina were planning to leave together for France tomorrow. Beau and Marianne would somehow have to find out what was in that letter. It was certain to be far from a simple task.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Beau and Marianne raced down the servants’ staircase until they made it to the back stoop of the property. Marianne led the way around the side of the building until they reached the street. Despite the late hour, they quickly flagged down a hackney coach, and Beau directed the driver to a certain unassuming address on Shepherd Street.

  Not half an hour later, they were standing in front of their commanding officer, General Mark Grimaldi. Of course Grim was there at that hour. The man did nothing but work.

  They quickly informed him of the events of the evening, including the letter that Albina had written.

  “You’ve no idea of the contents?” Grim asked, stroking his chin.

  “No. We’ll need to intercept it before they leave for France,” Beau replied.

  “We can’t,” Grimaldi shot back. “If we do that, they’ll be on to us, and they won’t go. We’ll have no way of knowing who Winfield is working for.”

  “What are you saying?” Beau asked, but the excitement that rose in his chest told him he already had an inkling.

  Grim clenched his jaw. “I think you know precisely what I’m saying. We need more than the letter, Bell. We need to know who Winfield intends to meet in France.”

  Beau and Marianne exchanged yet another knowing look.

  Grimaldi shook his head. “Damn it. It was Winfield all along, wasn’t it?” The general hated to be wrong. “I was convinced it was Hightower.”

  “I suspect Winfield was working with Cunningham, too,” Marianne replied. “Someone had to give Winfield the information from the special council.”

  “Yes, well, as soon as we get proof, the bastards will wish they were dead by the time I get through with them.” Grim turned to face both of them. “Now, as for the two of you, your orders are to follow Winfield to France, find out who he’s working with there, and secure incontrovertible evidence that he’s the Bidassoa traitor, starting with that damned new letter.”

  “Yes, General,” they both replied with sharp nods.

  Grimaldi’s nostrils flared. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  It was imperative for Beau to speak to Worth right away. After concluding their meeting with Grim, Beau had hired another hackney coach to rush him and Marianne over to the duke’s town house.

  Now, standing at Beau’s side on the stoop, Marianne seemed uncertain about banging on the door of such a prestigious-looking town house in such a notable part of Mayfair at this hour of the morning.

  “If you’re quite certain about this,” she whispered just before Beau began knocking.

  “I’m entirely certain,” he replied. “Worth is a good friend of mine.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem, the Duke of Worthington, I mean.”

  Marianne’s eyes went wide. “We’re in front of a duke’s door!” she cried, as her voice went up an octave.

  “Yes, don’t worry. Leave everything to me,” Beau replied in a perfectly calm tone.

  But when the sleepy-looking butler, Lawson, finally pulled open Worth’s door, Beau didn’t hesitate. “I need to speak to Lord Worthington,” Beau thundered, “immediately.”

  Stolidly, the butler replied, “His Grace is asleep at the moment. What time is it?”

 
; It might have been somewhere around three o’clock in the morning—Beau wasn’t entirely certain—but he didn’t give a bloody damn. This was important.

  “I don’t care what time it is, let me in,” Beau replied, leaning forward, ready to use force against the man to gain entrance, if necessary.

  “My master is asleep, my lord,” Lawson repeated. “I will tell him you were here.”

  The fool was about to close the door—and Beau was about to push his boot against it and sock the sop in the jaw—when Worth’s voice sounded from somewhere in the foyer. “It’s all right, Lawson. Let him in.”

  Finally, Lawson stepped aside and opened the door wide enough to allow Beau entry. The butler even had the audacity to bow to him.

  Beau marched inside, pulling Marianne along with him.

  Worth was standing at the bottom of the balustrade. The duke blinked at them. “Care to tell me why you’re here at this hour, Bell?”

  Beau kept his face blank. There was little time for explanation. “We’ve found the Bidassoa traitor. We need to leave for France immediately, and we need your help.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As it turned out, the Duke of Worthington owned some ships. Not just some ships—more accurately, a fleet of ships—and Beau hoped that, despite the blockade, the man had enough clout to get him and Marianne onto one of them that was headed to France, in the middle of the night.

  Marianne waited in a large, comfortable chair in the duke’s study, while Lady Julianna Montgomery, who had apparently spent the night with the duke, brought her a blanket and a cup of hot tea. Marianne wasn’t about to judge either of them. She had no right to do so. And at any rate, the couple seemed to be very much in love.

  Marianne had noticed Beau exchange a glance with the duke when Julianna had appeared. Worthington had merely shrugged before announcing that he and Julianna were betrothed.