The Duke of Trensom was standing where Adam had to pass him. No doubt he was on his way to meet his family. Adam touched his hat in acknowledgement and quickened his stride.
“I’d like a moment of your time,” the Duke of Trensom said as Adam walked past him.
Now here was a smooth gentleman. Dressed in neat, fashionable, dark green raw silk, his hat set at a jaunty angle over the gray wig, this man appeared fit to conquer the world.
Although the last thing Adam wanted to do was to talk to him, he had no choice but to pause and give him a slight bow. “If this is about Delphi—Lady Delphi, you’re too late. She has made matters between us perfectly clear.”
The duke lifted his shoulders slightly. “What lies between you and my guest is your affair, not mine or my wife’s. If you step over the bounds of acceptable behavior which comes to public notice, I will act. But as far as I know, that hasn’t happened. Yet. I want to talk to you about something else.”
He glanced over to where Matilda stood talking to Delphi. His expression lightened, a smile teasing his lips before he turned his attention back to Adam. “Walk with me, if you will.”
Surprised, Adam obliged, strolling by Trensom’s side when he moved away from the group of women at the column. At least Trensom was still talking to him. They walked back up the thoroughfare that led in the direction of the Spanish Steps, too quickly for anyone to overhear them.
“There is a particular reason why the government wants me to act as attaché to Rome. They want to send me communications under diplomatic seal. And then ask me to act. I received notification this morning that you are the person I need to contact in this matter.” He turned his head, meeting Adam’s eyes directly. “You know what I’m talking about, do you not?”
A chill went through Adam. With an effort, he kept his bland expression in place. “I believe so, yes.” It could only be the assassination plot.
“I am also informed that I am to take control of the government’s response. It is unpleasant, to say the least.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But needs must.”
Adam wouldn’t say too much, not until he heard certain things. “It does.”
“In fact, I’d say that our friend Bolsover may find himself needing our help before too long. Especially regarding the Marriot matter. I am Sheffield.”
They were the words. Bolsover was the name Frederick had taken, and Marriott referred to the assassination plot. He knew.
Trensom paused while someone walked past them. “We need to discuss this further, but not at my house, or yours.”
“Mine has a back entrance and I have a majordomo I trust with my life. I’ve taken pains to secure it.”
“Very well, your house then. But after this, we will not seek each other out in public. If I have anything for you, I’ll send a note.” He looked up to the sky, as if he could find help there and made a sound of exasperation. “Faugh! I hate this.”
“No more than I do.” This affair had lost him a woman he badly wanted. Again, and maybe this time for good. “The shop in the Piazza Navona is a useful place for contact, or so I’m told.” He sucked in a breath. “I believe the older Marriott is involved.”
“Hmm.” Trensom rubbed his fingers over his chin. “The plot seems more like something the son would do. If the father is involved, it would be better planned, and—”
But whatever he had to say was lost in a shout from behind them. They were walking along a wide street that would eventually lead to the Spanish Steps, but a warren of narrow alleys opened off it.
Adam turned, casting his face into aristocratic disdain.
A man stood there, flourishing a sword. He did not seem to be at all concerned by Adam’s expression. He was dressed well, but his clothes were plain and undistinguished, a russet cloth coat and black breeches. Behind him, another man stood, sword drawn. By his side, another, and behind them, a man bearing a pistol aimed at Adam’s heart.
He had his hand on the hilt of his dress sword in an instant. Behind him, a clash of blades told him Trensom had his own problems.
How many? Six? More?
Adam parried the first blow with savage relish, moving quickly, careful to keep at least one attacker between him and the ruffian with the firearm. But after he’d defeated the three with swords, he would have to face the man with the pistol, and he had no weapon to counter that. They didn’t look as if they wanted to send him a warning. They wanted to kill him.
He risked a glance to the side as he dodged another blow. The impact jarred his arm but, prepared for the blow, he held fast, and pushed the pain away. His sword might be decorative, but it was made of the finest Toledo steel, whip thin and deadly.
These men weren’t street thieves. They knew what they were doing. Adam and Trensom couldn’t fend all of them off for much longer. He glanced to one side.
“Here!”
His yell alerted Trensom, who shouted the terse response of “Yes!”
Together, they took one step back, and then another. They were standing close, not precisely back to back, but enough to prevent anyone coming between them and separating them. A mistake like that could cost them their lives.
The alley to their right was empty, the occupants fleeing or hiding at the sight of trouble. Adam and Trensom entered together, turning so they stood side by side, their shoulders bare inches apart. Halfway down was another alley, narrower, leading to a warren of passages Adam had taken the trouble to learn well. After Delphi had walked back with him that day, showing him the possibilities of the routes, he’d wandered them himself, memorizing landmarks and putting his excellent sense of direction to good use.
Their dress swords were weakening. A direct blow from one of the army-style weapons attacking them would snap them, Spanish steel or not. And their attackers knew it. Half a dozen men in all were forcing them down the alley.
Adam grunted as the tip of his sword connected with soft flesh. Ruthlessly, he drove in a few inches, but withdrew before his weapon stuck in a bone. The man he’d skewered fell to the ground, crying out, blood spurting from the wound. Good, bright red arterial blood. None of his colleagues paused to help him. One kicked him out of the way.
A slash against his wrist concentrated Adam’s mind wonderfully. If not for his swift action, pulling his hand out of the way and striking out with his other arm, the damage could have been serious. As it was, his own blood stained his coat now, as well as that of two of the men coming for him.
They fought quietly, no yells after that first one, just grunts and the occasional yelp of pain as their weapons struck home.
A curse from Trensom drew Adam’s attention. Half his sword fell. Adam stood over the body of the man he’d felled. The cobbles were slippery under his feet, forcing the men back until Trensom managed to bend and sweep up the fallen man’s weapon. He discarded his own jewel-hilted sword as if it were a useless fribble, which in this circumstance, was the case. What use did diamonds and rubies have now?
Adam let Trensom go before him, since the older man had the better weapon. Adam fought hard, savagely, his arm never still in his attempts to hit the opponents. Only four remained, but that was four too many. The man with the pistol—no, men, two of them—followed behind, presumably waiting to get a clear shot. They should have shot Adam and Trensom at the start, instead of letting them draw their opponents into hand-to-hand fighting. Idiots.
Finally, after what seemed an age, when Adam’s arm was aching and his sight blurred by sweat dripping from his forehead, they gained the first turn. Adam had picked it well. “Can you run?” he shouted.
“What do you think?” Trensom yelled back, never taking his attention from the four swordsmen. Their open mouths revealed a tragic loss of teeth, and their barrel chests heaved with effort. Adam gloried in the sight of them losing their pace and their breath. That increased his chances of getting out of this.
“Here!”
Spinning around, Adam headed up the even narrower a
lley, full tilt. Footsteps behind him told him Trensom was doing the same.
A shot zipped above his head, sending stone chips flying. Adam turned again, and then again, zig-zagging until he entered a dim, narrow alleyway that stank of piss and cabbages.
Only one pair of feet followed him now. Trensom. He had his hand in his pocket, came out with the key and thrust it in the lock. Turning it, he flung himself through the door, holding it for Trensom to pass through before slamming it behind them.
They startled his majordomo, who was standing at a narrow stove.
“Sir!”
Standing in the cool-tiled, smaller kitchen, Adam leaned forward, hands on his knees, and gasped for air. Trensom leaned against the wall, his head thrown back. He sucked in breath like a drowning man. Their bloodstained weapons lay disregarded on the floor.
“I was about to tell you,” his guest said when he’d gathered enough breath to speak. “I was warned that the conspiracy would come after me. They know what I’m here to do, and they will try to stop me any way they can.”
“You left your wife, daughters and Delphi out in the street?”
“No.” Trensom shot him a look of disgust. “I brought two footmen with me to escort them back to the house immediately. Do you think I’d have stopped to talk to you if I wasn’t sure they were safe?”
Half an hour later Adam and his guest faced each other over a table laden with food and drink. Trensom had discarded his ruined coat and washed up, and Adam had changed into a fresh set of clothes, and wore his banyan instead of a formal coat. Both men exchanged bare civilities as they ate and drank. Wonderful how fighting to the death sharpened the appetite.
“Your valet is an excellent cook,” Trensom said.
“Heath is a majordomo. He’s been with me for years. It’s true he started as my valet, but he also arranges my personal life. He found this house, arranged travel. He is the only person I trust implicitly.”
“That’s the only thing he has in common with Matilda, then,” the duke said. “She can’t cook, but she’s a demon organizer. My houses have never been so well managed. Nobody is safe.”
“He knows as much as I do about this affair.” Dabbing his napkin at the corners of his mouth, Adam leaned back, temporarily sated. “Whatever it is. My poor brain is finding difficulty keeping up with everything.”
The duke snorted. “You? Your mind is as sharp as a knife. Or that sword you used.”
“You lost yours. Were they real diamonds?”
Trensom merely shrugged. “I freely donate them to the poor of the city.”
“Just as well because you won’t see them again.”
“Better than not using it at all. I know some men who might consider that. What use is a sword if you don’t use it?”
Adam nodded. “Some men just have the hilt and a sheath. Equally foolish, in my opinion. Good that we both had one.” He plucked a grape from a bowl in the center of the table and turned it in his fingers. “So, who do you think the ruffians wanted to kill? You as the attaché, or me as the brother of a conspirator?”
“Me,” Trensom said immediately. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the linen tablecloth. “One of the ruffians looked at me and nodded to his colleagues. If you can call them that. ‘That one,’ he said.”
“For want of a better word.” Adam shrugged. He didn’t care how anyone referred to them. He knew what they were. Paid assassins. They had no intention of letting Trensom get away alive. “They know you know about their plot.”
Trensom sighed. “Annoying, but I’ll have to go about with the strongest footmen I can find. I always put a couple with Matilda and the girls and I brought reinforcements with me, otherwise I would not be here now.” He shuddered. “They were lying in wait for all of us, but they saw my men and thought they would take me. After all, I’m all they need to stop the immediate danger.”
“Will you tell your wife?”
He nodded. “If I did not, she’d winkle it out of me. I can work better knowing Matilda is looking out for Delphi and the girls. She works best when she isn’t in the dark.” He cocked his head. “They will try for my weakest spot.”
“Oh, I agree.” Threatening Trensom with the murder of his womenfolk would be a way to stop him acting against them.
The prospect fact, it terrified Adam. Delphi, who wandered about Rome on her own, in this place where acceptable behavior was more lax than at home in London was at risk. The duke would safeguard his wife and daughters, but Delphi was problematic. She was his guest, not under his control.
And she did not know she was in any danger at all, apart from the occasional footpad. Fortune hunters, seeing her with the footman assigned to her, would seek easier prey. But if someone put a target on her back, a professional arrow would have no problem hitting the bullseye.
He could not allow that to happen. What he’d asked her to do this morning, to wait for him, was no longer an option. Delphi was safer with him.
He wanted, no needed to take care of her himself. He wouldn’t feel safe unless he had her in this house, which he and Heath had turned into a fortress. It was no accident that the majordomo was in the back kitchen when they came in. Neither was the presence of the two burly footmen they’d passed on their way upstairs.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Trensom said, watching Adam roll the grape to death. Juice trickled over his fingers, and still he didn’t stop. Trensom continued. “You know they will not agree to confinement, but I’ll ensure they are well protected at all times. You must promise to do the same.”
Adam dropped the empty skin on his plate and dabbed his fingers with his napkin. He reached for another grape but, this time, he ate it. “Of course,” he said lightly. “I have no intention of taking unnecessary risks. What would be the point in that?”
He wanted her here, under this roof.
“Wouldn’t they expect you to be their friend, if you are posing as an ally? Why side with me in the fight?” Trensom asked.
He had to admit, that was a good point. “Nobody warned me about an attack. So what if I thought they were just ruffians? If I’m asked, that is what I’ll say. Even get angry, because they didn’t warn me first.”
“Good.” Trensom frowned. “I want this sorted out quickly. I don’t want my family threatened. Once we discover who is behind this plot, we must cut it off at the head. The most efficient way we can. If that includes an execution, so be it. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Whatever it took. He wanted his brother back, and he wanted him safe. Or as safe as an army officer could be. He plucked another grape, rolled it but then popped it in his mouth. “I’ll go back to the Palazzo del Re, and discover what hand The Old Pretender has in this.”
Trensom got to his feet. “Let me know how your meeting goes. If you need anyone to vouch for you in London, let me know that, too. You will not suffer for helping the government in this matter. In the meantime, let’s concentrate on finding out who is behind this insane plot and stop it.”
Relief filled him. He had a powerful ally.
Adam nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll go to the palazzo and do what they hate most. I’ll be blunt. They love obfuscation and intrigue there. My approach might just set them on the wrong foot.”
“I’ll make inquiries in the other direction.”
Adam raised a brow in query.
“The British community in Rome. After all, I’m supposed to be looking after their interests. And nobody gossips like the British.”
Adam grinned in response. “True enough. Except for the French at Versailles, but I’d call that backbiting and boredom. Their king keeps them confined like prisoners.”
Trensom paused at the door. “Indeed. He’s seen how we tamed our monarchs and he’s afraid his will do the same.”
He left to the sound of Adam’s laughter.
“You still want him.”
Matilda’s abrupt comment had Delphi choking on her toast. Crumbs burst from her mouth as she covered it with her napkin.
They were sitting on the terrace, enjoying a late breakfast. The servants had delivered the food and left them alone to savor the beauty of an Italian garden in the autumn. Now that the scorching weather had passed, the gardeners had made themselves busy, pruning and trimming, watering and transplanting. The result was lovely; purple, pink and white flowers jostling for attention in the raised beds, the gravel paths freshly raked and trees once again displaying their verdant beauty. The very Roman plane trees gave dark green shade, inviting the wanderer to linger. Dorcas would know the name of every flower and plant. Delphi just knew they were pretty.
Delphi had been dreamily contemplating the scene before Matilda spoke. Once she’d recovered, she put down her toast and answered the duchess, who was smiling in a cat-got-the-cream way. “I beg your pardon?”
The words weren’t as cool as she’d wanted them to be.
“You know what I’m talking about—or rather, who.”
She did, indeed. “I sent him away.”
With a rustle of silk, Matilda reached for the coffee pot. Even at home, she dressed extravagantly, the triple Méchlin lace ruffles at the end of her sleeves brushing the tablecloth. The gown, in eye-watering pink and green stripes, somehow suited her. Delphi didn’t know how she did it. Or how she managed to hit a person right in the stomach when they were least expecting it. Metaphorically, at least.
As Matilda poured them both another cup, Delphi gathered her thoughts. “He won’t come back.”
“He will.”
“I don’t care.” Delphi would drink the coffee in a moment. When she was sure she wouldn’t reveal her agitation with shaking hands. The shock had jolted her back to Adam, and she’d spent all night trying to forget him.
But she couldn’t. She could almost feel his arms around her, his lips on hers, and the intimacy of her dreams made her wonder how she knew such things.
She would get over it. Of course, she would.
A Whisper of Treason Page 12