The Genuine Article

by Patricia Rice

  Michael had said the Lady Marian was soon to be pledged to the wealthy Lord Darley. From all he could tell, the viscount was the usual pleasant British fool. He had no particular objection to the match. But it hadn’t been Darley in that sitting room when all went silent.

  The eighth marquess of Effingham had the distinct feel­ing that his little cousin had just been thoroughly kissed by a man with whom she had moments before been trading in­sults. And if Michael’s information was correct, that “odi­ous tyrant” and cynical aristocrat was little more than a shopkeeper and not the wealthy lord the ladies needed.

  It made his head hurt to think about it.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  The marquess removed his boots and crept quietly up the servants’ stairs to their quarters. He glanced down the bare hallway of closed doors, then decided on the nearest one. Michael wouldn’t waste steps going to the end of an empty corridor.

  He swung the door open quickly and stepped in, pushing it closed with his heel. Had his gaze been steel, it would have pierced the occupant through the heart.

  Instead, the auburn-haired man on the narrow bed merely threw another card in his hat, wriggled his wrist, and flung a coin at the man glaring at him. The marquess caught the coin and shoved it in his pocket without looking at it.

  “I ought to wring your neck.” The look in his eyes was murderous, enough to make anyone believe he meant to carry out the threat. The scarred cheek twitched furiously as he spoke.

  “You’ll disturb your guests,” the other man replied calmly, gathering his scattered cards with a wave of his hand.

  “They’ve all taken a break for something they’re calling ‘nuncheon’ but which smells very much like roasted game and apple pies. I’m damned well going to starve, thanks to you.”

  “Tarts. They call them tarts here. Pies contain meat.” O’Toole crossed his legs blithely, tailor-fashion. “You could go down and join them. They’re only looking for me.”

  The marquess grabbed a straight-backed chair and straddled it. His expression wasn’t any more pleasant. “Fine idea. I’ll go down and terrorize the ladies, have the damned hot-headed gentlemen call me out, and spill my blood on foreign soil. What else have I got to do today?”

  The irrepressible O’Toole grinned. “You’re all cock-a-hoop about nothing, as they say here. Your fair visage ain’t nothing to expire over. Lady Marian will no doubt pin you to your chair and interrogate you over hot coals, but the other two will twitter and offer you tea. Scary thought, ain’t it?”

  The marquess rubbed idly at his mutilated face. “It isn’t your Lady Marian I’m wary of, it’s that other damned bas­tard, the stuck-up fellow who looks down his nose all the time. He’s already putting two and two together, and it’s his cash on the line if the ruby doesn’t show up. I heard him offering to pay for it.”

  O’Toole looked impressed. “I didn’t think he had it in him. From all I can tell, he lives pretty modestly by London standards.”

  The marquess crossed his arms over the back of the chair. “He’s arrogant enough to bankrupt himself trying. When all this started, I just thought we’d be removing a bauble no one would miss. Now we’re losing ladies their homes and bankrupting noble aristocrats. I don’t like it.”

  “Gavin, your soft heart is showing. Besides, the ladies can’t lose their home and Montague lose his blunt both. It’s one or the other. Once we sell the necklace and get things righted around here, you can ask the ladies to come stay.”

  The marquess scowled, drawing the scars into a formida­ble mask. “It’s not going to be that easy. That blasted Mar­ian has all the gall of every Lawrence ever born. She’s determined to throw herself away on the viscount and save the family fortune. And I think your friend Montague is likely to tear a few people apart to prevent it. The situation is getting downright nasty out there.”

  O’Toole gave a fascinated whistle. “And here I thought the British were a cold lot. I’m damned glad Mother had the sense to find someone besides a Lawrence to father me.”

  The marquess stood up quickly and kicked the chair aside, bunching his fists as he did so. “Say that again and I’ll beat you into a shadow on the wall. You’re a Lawrence, just some hideous throwback, that’s all. I’d suggest you put that active brain of yours to finding some way out of this mess, or I’m going to have to give the necklace back.”

  He turned and strode out of the room, leaving his younger brother to grin after him.

  His brother, the marquess, wasn’t such a bad lot, O’Toole mused to himself. Perhaps Gavin had killed a few men in the latest war between Britain and her former colonies and wouldn’t be looked on all that friendly in these parts, but he hadn’t bothered to kill his closest living relative yet. Considering the temptation Michael had of­fered frequently enough, that was saying a good deal about the marquess’s character.

  * * * *

  “If it doesn’t rain again, the roads will be clear enough for the ladies to go back to London. There will be enough light if we hurry.” Reginald wiped his hands on his napkin and sat back in his chair as if he were the head of their odd household.

  Marian managed a pleasant smile. “We have hired the servants for at least a day’s work. We cannot leave them unsupervised.”

  Reginald gave her a sharp look. “And tomorrow there will be some other excuse not to leave. You will wish to wait for the marquess to be certain he is well, or to make your apologies for intruding, or half a dozen other damned excuses. I say we leave now before anything else happens.”

  One of the new maids came to clear away the dishes, but Lady Grace spoke as if she were not there. “You really must mind your language, Mr. Montague. I had to remind the squire quite frequently. Single gentlemen often fall into bad habits, you know.”

  Since this was not at all to the point and misdirected his intentions, Reginald scowled and looked to Darley to pick up the notion again. His friend was so lost in thought that he did not appear to notice there was a conversation going on.

  Reginald stifled an exclamation of disgust. The damned hidden passage had yet to be discovered and explored. He wasn’t going to get Darley out of here any time soon, and he had hoped to send the viscount back with the ladies. He could see when he was overruled. He didn’t even have to look to Marian to see her triumph.

  “I suppose we must search a little longer, then, but we are all leaving here on the morrow. I will speak to the help and see if any wish to stay until then.” He waited patiently for Lady Grace to lead the way from the table so he might get about his business. Reginald wasn’t accustomed to hav­ing ladies in the house, but he remembered his upbringing when it was necessary.

  Lady Grace gave him an approving smile and rose from her chair, indicating that her daughters follow. Reginald felt as if he had just been given a motherly pat on the back. He hadn’t known any such damned thing since he had been in leading strings, and then it had most likely been from a nursery maid. His mother had seldom noticed him when she had been around, and she had left his father when he was little more than a lad. He had scarcely been aware of her existence by the time she died. Motherly pats weren’t anything he expected.

  Shrugging off the odd feeling caused by that approving smile, Reginald went in search of the old woman who had made herself head of the household servants. Lady Grace would no doubt wish to have the woman’s pastries for breakfast on the morrow.

  They congregated in the upstairs hall a short time later to resume their search for the passage. Marian had pinned her hair up before the meal, and now she was wearing a more appropriate afternoon gown that concealed most of her fig­ure in loose folds. Now that he had been made aware of her, though, Reginald could not forget the willowy slenderness of her waist nor pretend he did not see the long-legged grace with which she walked. He clenched his teeth and tried to keep his mind on the subject at hand.

  “We will need to find the length of the passage and posi­tion look-outs all along the way so our
thief cannot escape if he is hiding in it.”

  “There are no doubt stairs to the first floor. We cannot possibly guard all exits,” Marian replied thoughtfully, her gaze following the length of the various halls.

  “The house is not old enough to warrant a warren of old passages like some.” Darley did not realize he was correct­ing a lady. He was too lost in this new game to remember that he was actually talking to a female. He, too, was fol­lowing the length of the hall and determining the passage’s possible path. “I think the original owner simply had some eccentric tastes. It would have been costly to build in hid­den staircases.”

  “It does not appear to me as if cost ever deterred any of the Effinghams,” Reginald replied cynically, “but I think we can begin with one of us standing here and watching down the hall where we know one end is, and the rest of us starting down at the end of this other hall and working our way around.”

  They applied themselves more seriously this time, now that they had some evidence that there might actually be a hiding place. Discovering that the hollow wall actually began in the master suite occupying the entire north end of the manor, they quickly examined all the rooms in between to determine that it passed behind all of them, then set about looking for exits. Lady Grace stood at the stairway as before and watched with mild interest, calling encourage­ment.

  Possessing more patience than the others, Darley was the one to discover the door concealed between the fireplace and the windows in the sitting room of the master suite. The ladies came running at his call, and they cheered as the hidden door silently opened. Then they grew silent at the prospect of someone entering that unlit hole.

  “I think it might be dangerous,” Jessica whispered, standing back from the cold draft of air coming from be­hind the wall. “I wish you would not go in.”

  Marian tried not to give her sister an impatient look, but she could tell she was not entirely successful by the flicker of amusement she caught in Mr. Montague’s eyes. She managed to hold her tongue, however, and allow the gen­tlemen to make the decision, not doubting for a moment that they would ignore Jessica’s admonitions.

  “I think it would be best if we found another exit before exploring the passage,” Montague advised.

  “We’re more apt to find it from within the passage,” Darley argued.

  “Perhaps we could follow on this side while you ex­plored the other,” Marian suggested, attempting to disguise her impatience with this argument. She wished to grab a lantern and descend into the darkness right now to see if it harbored a despicable thief. “You could knock on the walls as you go and we would answer as to which room you’re nearest.”

  This suggestion was eventually adopted, with Darley being given the honor of exploring the passage, since he had discovered the door. Both gentlemen carried pistols but neither thought there would be need of them. The thief was no doubt long gone.

  Montague guarded the doors into the hall while Jessica and Marian rushed in and out of the chambers communicat­ing with Darley behind the walls. If the thief left the pas­sage by some route and attempted to leave by way of the hall, Reginald meant to catch him.

  By the time they reached the final sitting room at the end of the east hall, everyone was thoroughly disappointed. Darley had reported no hidden treasures, not even a skele­ton or an old sword behind the walls, and still no other exits had been found. When he thumped against the final length of the wall and the sound came from within the wardrobe, even Montague joined them in searching for the door.

  It was scarcely a minute’s work from there to discover the latch that unfastened the door, and Darley stepped out. He dusted himself off as he stepped from the wardrobe, but there wasn’t the amount of webs and dust that could be ex­pected from a long-deserted passage. He exchanged glances with Reginald but didn’t say anything aloud in order to pro­tect the ladies. The passage must have been used recently.

  Marian caught the glance and tried to interpret it, but her mother rushed in and exclaimed excitedly over the hidden door, examining it front and back while rattling off conjec­tures on its purpose. The gentlemen could very well guess the purpose, but they didn’t mention the possibility to the dowager. For all they knew, her late husband could have kept a mistress in this room.

  Marian waited for her mother to quit prattling before asking, “How could Mr. O’Toole have known about this passage?”

  Reginald managed to look uncomfortable. “He claimed to have worked for the old marquess. I wasn’t certain whether to believe him or not. I suppose I should have be­lieved him.”

  Lady Grace looked surprised. “He did not look old enough to work for George. George has been dead nearly twenty years, after all. Mr. O’Toole couldn’t have been more than a child then. I should think I would have remem­bered him.”

  Silence reigned momentarily. Montague was the first to break it. “Is it possible he may have worked for the new marquess?”

  Everyone turned to Lady Grace, who shrugged her deli­cate shoulders. “It is possible, but I have been told he has been here only a very short while. He is an American, you know. They had to go back to the heirs of the fifth mar­quess to find a descendant.”

  It had been her failure to pro­vide a son that had resulted in that search. She had never been bitter about being turned from her husband’s home upon his death. She had only been upset about the brief amount of time she had been given to do her duty.

  “O’Toole didn’t sound American,” Montague said more to himself than any other.

  “I can’t think of any good English servant speaking as he did,” Marian reminded him. “He was above all insulting. I cannot understand why you engaged him in the first place.”

  As of this moment, neither could Reginald. Darley, how­ever, interrupted his thoughts.

  “O’Toole insulted you?” he asked with a hint of outrage.

  That had let the cat out of the bag. Marian bit her tongue and glanced helplessly at Mr. Montague. She could not very well explain the contretemps that had led her to ex­change words with his valet.

  Reginald gave her a closed look from beneath his lashes and lazily explained, “He also acted as my groom. I asked him to take the ladies to some lecture or another and they had a difference of opinion. He was appropriately dealt with for the incident.”

  The question was quickly dropped as Marian swept from the room declaring as she went, “I have had enough of this nonsense. I think it is time we searched the third floor. Who is to guard the stairs?”

  By the time they reached the servants’ quarters, O’Toole, his hat, and his cards had vanished. All that remained in his place was the carcass of one chicken.

  With frustration and disappointment, the small party searched the remaining rooms, pounded all the walls, and wished the valet to the devil. When their search was com­plete, they were tired, filthy, irritable, and hungry. It didn’t take a second request when Lady Grace called them down to wash for dinner. The ladies went one way, and the gen­tlemen, the other.

  Feeling thoroughly wretched, Marian discarded her filthy gown as soon as she entered her chamber and quickly washed herself off in the bowl provided. The ruby was lost, Darley had not proposed, and the elusive marquess was ob­viously bankrupt. The entire journey had been a complete disaster. She did not see how matters could get any worse.

  She did her very best not to even think about Mr. Mon­tague’s kiss. If she allowed herself such an indulgence, she would lose sight of all her goals. She could not be swayed from her purpose by a kiss that made her soul ache.

  She closed her eyes and tried not to remember Mr. Mon­tague’s hands upon her, nor the firm feel of his chest be­neath her palms, nor how it felt to be held so close while a man’s mouth devoured hers. It would not do at all to think these things.

  But the moment she saw his tall, elegantly garbed form standing in the hall waiting to escort them into the salon, her heart began to pound, and she greatly feared he would hear the commotion it was ma
king. She refused his arm, tilting her chin proudly as she entered the salon without his aid.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Reginald sipped at the claret some enterprising person had found in the wine cellar and watched, disgrun­tled, as Marian turned her rapt attention to Darley’s repetition of the day’s adventures. She was hanging on to every one of his friend’s words as if they were pearls of wisdom, when even Reginald was forced to admit they were little more than self-serving paeans to himself. He knew Darley’s faults intimately and had never been irri­tated with them before but was now.

  She was staging this show for his benefit, Reginald knew. She was simpering like an idiot to show him she and Darley would suit beautifully. After that kiss today, he damned well knew otherwise, but he was at a loss as to how to prevent the inevitable. Darley was so thoroughly blinded by her act that the viscount would be calling on the marquess to make his offer right now if the dratted man could be found.

  Reginald would have to appeal to the lady herself. She knew precisely what she was doing. She wasn’t blinded by anything but her damned need to save her family. She could let Darley off the hook gently, if she chose. Reginald would have to force her to so choose.

  He bided his time. The ladies rose and left the gentlemen to their claret. Darley eagerly followed them shortly after­ward. Reginald finished his wine, then found his way to the library instead of joining the others. It would drive Marian crazy not knowing where he was or what he was up to. He was beginning to understand her nature very well. And she understood his. She would look for him here first.

  He wasn’t disappointed. When Marian arrived, she car­ried a candle and a book she had borrowed earlier from the shelves. They both knew it was highly improper to meet like this, but it was rather difficult not to be in each other’s pockets when the party was so small. No one would suspect collusion except the parties themselves.