‘I was perfectly serious when I said it was fortuitous that you happened to be here this morning.’ The older man eyed him impatiently.
Darian studied the older man through narrowed lids, noting the hard glitter to Maystone’s eyes and the lines of strain etched beside his nose and mouth. Evidence that the other man’s mood was not as cheerfully relaxed as it had appeared to be when he had arrived? ‘What could you possibly have to discuss with me if not my visit this morning to Mar—Lady Beecham?’
Mariah was wondering the same thing, as she also wondered why Aubrey Maystone had called at her home at all; as a precaution, the two of them had never met at Aubrey’s offices in the Foreign Office or here in her home, but chose instead to pass information on to each other whenever Aubrey arranged for them to meet socially. The fact that Aubrey had chosen to call on her here this morning must mean that he had something of a serious nature to import.
Although that still did not explain why it was he wished Wolfingham to remain.
‘That will be all, thank you, Fuller.’ Mariah smiled at the butler once he had straightened from placing the tray bearing the tea and brandy on the low coffee table. ‘I am not at home to any more callers this morning,’ she added, waiting until her butler had left the room and closed the door behind him before turning back to Aubrey Maystone. ‘What—’
‘I shall begin this conversation,’ Maystone spoke firmly, ‘by first stating that it is necessary that I now inform both of you of the other’s involvement in certain matters of secrecy and delicacy to the Crown.’
Mariah was so stunned by Aubrey’s announcement that she instantly sank down weakly into one of the armchairs, before she even dared to look up and see that Wolfingham’s expression was one of equal shock—proof that he was just as stunned as she was at being so bluntly outed as an agent for the Crown, by the very man who acted as her—no, their?—spymaster?
Mariah was more than shocked; she was having great difficulty believing Aubrey Maystone’s announcement in regard to the haughtily disapproving and condescending Duke of Wolfingham.
The man Mariah knew society believed to be both sober and stern.
A man she personally knew to be arrogant and unpleasant, as well as insulting.
That same gentleman worked secretly, as she did, for the Crown?
It seemed barely possible it could be true, yet it must be so if Aubrey Maystone said that it was.
The puzzle was why Aubrey Maystone had now revealed something that had, in Mariah’s case, remained a secret to all but her daughter for seven years.
A sentiment, a confidence, that Wolfingham echoed, if the glittering green of his eyes was any indication. ‘What do you mean by talking so frankly, Maystone?’
‘Recent developments have made it necessary, Darian,’ the older man excused heavily as he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘And I also suggest that the two of you get over your shock as quickly as possible, so that we might then proceed.’
Darian was shocked by Maystone’s unexpected announcement, too much so to be able to hide the emotion.
And it was a knowledge, in regard to Mariah Beecham, that instantly posed a dozen other questions in Darian’s mind.
Such as how long had Mariah been engaged in such dangerous and secret work for the Crown?
And why had she?
When did she?
Where?
And how?
It was perhaps the answer to that last question that interested Darian the most.
For surely there was only one way in which a woman in society might go about gaining secret information?
‘It would seem, Aubrey, that Wolfingham is too busy drawing his own conclusions as to the methods I might utilise—flirtation, teasing, seduction—in order to be able to garner that information, to be able to proceed at the moment,’ Mariah drawled coldly, for once Wolfingham’s thoughts having been crystal clear to her. Unpleasantly so!
He scowled. ‘I was merely—’
‘I am well aware of what you were merely thinking, Wolfingham,’ she snapped disgustedly.
His jaw tightened. ‘Do not presume to know the thoughts in my head, madam—’
‘Enough,’ the older man interrupted wearily. ‘We do not have time for petty arguments this morning.’
Those green eyes turned as hard as the emeralds they resembled as Wolfingham turned his attention back to the other man. ‘Then perhaps you might state what it is we do need to talk about so urgently that you have deliberately chosen to put both myself and Lady Beecham in a position of personal vulnerability?’
‘Only to each other.’
‘Exactly!’ Wolfingham scowled darkly.
Maystone grimaced. ‘It was necessary, Darian.’
‘As I said, I would be interested to know why.’
‘Plots and treason, Wolfingham,’ Maystone stated emphatically.
‘There is always talk of plots and treason,’ Wolfingham dismissed scathingly.
‘This time it is different.’ The older man frowned darkly. ‘Perhaps you will better understand the situation if I tell you that in the past week plots to assassinate the tsar and the Austrian emperor have been discovered and the assassins dealt with. That such a plot, despite all our efforts to make it otherwise, still exists in regard to our own Prince Regent.’
‘Good lord!’ Wolfingham slowly lowered his body down into one of the armchairs, his face pale.
Maystone nodded. ‘Five days ago two people, a tutor and a footman, attached to and working in the households of two prominent politicians, were taken in for questioning on the matter. My own private secretary was taken into custody late last night,’ Maystone continued grimly. ‘And he is even now being questioned as to the part he has played in the plot to assassinate the Regent himself.’
‘How is such a thing possible?’ Mariah breathed faintly, her hand shaking as she lifted it to her mouth.
Maystone gave Darian a telling glance. ‘I am sure you, at least, will better understand the seriousness of this threat if I say that your old friend Rousseau was involved?’
Both men were well aware that the Frenchman was no friend of Darian’s. Indeed, Rousseau was responsible for the bullet wound in Darian’s shoulder. As Darian was responsible for having brought the other man’s life to a swift and sudden end.
He gave a shake of his head. ‘He left England and returned to France almost a year ago.’
‘But not before he had set up a network of his own spies and assassins amongst the households of some of the leading members of the English government,’ Maystone rasped disgustedly. ‘All set in place and ready to act when or if Napoleon departed Elba and attempted to return to France as emperor, which, as we all know, he is currently doing. At which time the heads of the allied countries were to be eliminated, an act designed to throw the governments of the alliance into chaos.’
Darian lay his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, better understanding the reason for Maystone’s agitation now. Such a plot as the other man was outlining could have had, might still have, a devastating effect on the shaky alliance formed against Napoleon.
Especially so, as Napoleon was even now marching triumphantly towards Paris, an army of hundreds of thousands at his back. And all without, as Napoleon had claimed it would be, a shot being fired.
‘How was it even possible for a Frenchman to do such a thing?’ Mariah frowned.
Maystone gave a humourless grimace. ‘Because he worked and lived in England for a year under the guise of tutor to a son of a member of the aristocracy. Jeffrey Lancaster, the future heir and now the Earl of Malvern, to be exact.’
‘You are referring to the French tutor the Lancaster chit eloped with last year?’ Mariah gasped. ‘Does it surprise you, knowing what you do now, that I have made a point of knowing these things?’ she added dismissively as Wolfingham gave her a frowning glance.
‘That “Lancaster chit” is now the Duchess of Hawksmere and the wife of a close friend of mine!’
he reminded stiffly.
‘She was also the lover of this man, André Rousseau, for several months, if I am to understand this situation correctly,’ Mariah maintained stubbornly.
‘Situations are not always as they appear.’
‘As I once reminded you,’ Mariah said pointedly ‘You—’
‘Could we please concentrate on the subject at hand?’ Maystone interrupted irritably, before sighing heavily. ‘Yes, my dear Mariah, for the sake of clarity, I can confirm that you are quite correct in believing that André Rousseau was tutor to young Jeffrey Lancaster for a year and also the same man who persuaded Lancaster’s sister Georgianna into eloping with him. I would like to add in her defence,’ he continued firmly, ‘that she was also responsible for bringing us information vital to our government just weeks ago. Information that also resulted in Rousseau’s death in Paris just fifteen days ago.’
‘Fifteen days ago?’ Mariah did a quick calculation in her head as she recalled that it had been nine days ago that Wolfingham had told her he had been shot ‘six days ago, to be precise’.
It did not take a genius to add nine and six together and come up with the correct answer.
She slowly turned to look at Wolfingham, knowing by the challenging glitter in those emerald-green eyes as he returned her gaze, that her calculations were correct.
Wolfingham had killed André Rousseau in Paris fifteen days ago.
And in doing so he had received a bullet wound to his shoulder.
She had no doubt now that Darian Hunter, the haughty Duke of Wolfingham, was not only a spy for the Crown, as she was, but that he had also travelled to France in the past three weeks, in the midst of the turmoil of the Corsican’s escape and return to France, and succeeded in killing the man who was a known spy for Napoleon.
As Wolfingham had killed others, in the past, who had threatened the security of the Crown?
It was both shocking and a little daunting to realise there was so much more to the Duke of Wolfingham than the disdain he chose to show outwardly and those flashes of passion he had so ably demonstrated to Mariah privately.
So much so that Mariah now viewed him with new and wary eyes. She had already considered her unwanted physical response to Darian Hunter to be a risk to her peace of mind, but this new information, on exactly what sort of a man the Duke of Wolfingham really was, now caused Mariah to consider him as being completely dangerous.
Indeed, he reminded her of a stalking predator, a wolf, hiding behind a mask of stern urbanity.
Proof indeed that he had more than earned his place as being thought of as one of the five Dangerous Dukes.
‘If we could return to the more immediate problem of this plot to assassinate the Regent?’ Lord Maystone prompted drily as he obviously saw this silent battle of wills between Mariah and Wolfingham.
Mariah found it hard to breathe, let alone break away from that glittering green gaze, feeling as if she were a butterfly stuck on the end of a pin and with no way of escape.
She began to breathe again only when Darian Hunter, after giving her a hard and mocking smile, turned his attention back to Aubrey Maystone.
‘I am presuming that your own private secretary’s involvement with Rousseau will also have exposed the names of the network of people who work for you?’ Wolfingham prompted astutely.
Mariah’s eyes widened in alarm as she saw the truth of that statement in the heavy mantle of responsibility that instantly settled on Aubrey Maystone’s slumped and aged shoulders.
‘Almost all.’ The older man nodded. ‘We had our first inkling of that exposure, of course, when Rousseau revealed to Georgianna Lancaster that he knew of Hawksmere’s work for the Crown.’
Darian nodded grimly, that information having meant that Hawksmere could no longer play an active role in Maystone’s network of spies. Perhaps it was as well, now that Hawksmere was a married man, but even so…
‘I am also presuming, as you wished to speak with both of us this morning, that perhaps Lady Beecham and myself have so far not been exposed?’
‘That is so, yes,’ Maystone confirmed tightly. ‘I do not keep written records of my agents, as you know, but of the twelve in my network, only the two of you have never had reason to call at the Foreign Office or my home.’
‘And would not the fact that you have chosen to call at the countess’s home this morning have succeeded in alerting any now watching you to the possibility that she—’
‘I am not completely without the resource of stealth myself, Wolfingham,’ the older man snapped impatiently. ‘I left my home by the servants’ entrance, hired a hackney cab to bring me to within two streets of this house and walked the rest of the way. All whilst keeping watch for any who might be taking any undue interest in my movements.’
‘I apologise.’ Darian gave a rueful inclination of his head.
‘Apology accepted.’ Maystone nodded briskly. ‘Could we now return to the subject of these assassins and their infernal plots?’
Darian sank back into his armchair. ‘I presume you are now about to tell us what part you expect the two of us to play in foiling this plot?’
Mariah had been aware of the sharpness and acuity of Wolfingham’s intelligence, but she had also learnt a wary respect for his astuteness these past few minutes as the two gentlemen talked and knew, by the irritation in Aubrey Maystone’s face, that the Duke’s words had once again hit their mark.
‘What could the two of us possibly do that you have not already done yourself?’ she prompted guardedly; positively the last thing she wished for was to spend any more time in Darian Hunter’s company than she needed to.
Aubrey Maystone seemed completely unaware of her reservations as his next words instantly trampled that wish. ‘Mariah has already told me that she has accepted her invitation to go to Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house party in Kent this weekend. I now wish for you to accompany her, Wolfingham.’
‘But—’
‘I am aware it is not your usual choice of entertainment, Wolfingham,’ the older man acknowledged drily. ‘But in this instance it is too dangerous for Mariah to attend alone.’
‘Then why attend at all?’ she questioned sharply, her heart having leapt in alarm just at the thought of spending a weekend in the company of the judgemental Darian Hunter. He despised her utterly already, enjoyed thinking the worst of her, without the added humiliation of knowing he was watching her with those cold green eyes as she moved about flirtatiously at one of Clara Nichols’s licentious weekend house parties. ‘It will be no hardship to me to send my apologies to Clara Nichols.’
‘That is the last thing I wish you to do, my dear,’ Aubrey Maystone assured gently, before launching into an explanation of exactly why the two of them must attend the Nicholses’ house party together.
*
‘And to think that you once told me that such things as politics and intrigue bored you,’ Wolfingham drawled mockingly.
Lord Maystone, having stated his business, had now departed as abruptly as he had arrived, after stating that he would now leave the two of them alone together, so that they might discuss and consider his request, before giving him their answer later on today.
A request, as far as Mariah was concerned, that was so outrageous as to be unthinkable.
And yet…
She had never said no to anything that Aubrey Maystone had asked of her in the past and she could not bear to think of doing so now, either.
Except for the fact that this time it involved Wolfingham, a man she had serious reason to be wary of.
Her gaze flickered across to where Wolfingham now lounged in the armchair opposite her own, both the pot of tea and the decanter of brandy now empty, after almost an hour of intense discussion. ‘I believe you also allowed me to continue to think that you came by your bullet wound by engaging in a duel rather than disposing of André Rousseau?’
‘How delicately you put it, my dear Mariah!’ Wolfingham drawled. ‘But I also have reason to belie
ve that you have greatly enjoyed tormenting me with the possibility of it coming about because of some tragic love affair?’ He arched a mocking brow.
Yes, Mariah had indeed enjoyed taunting the haughtily disapproving Duke of Wolfingham with the possibility of his having fought a duel over a woman.
Only to now know that he had come by his bullet wound after days of secretly scouting the French countryside for information to bring back to the English government. Followed by a hand-to-hand fight in which the other man—the Frenchman André Rousseau, a spy for Napoleon, both here in England and in France—had died and Darian Hunter had been shot.
‘It would seem that we have both had something to hide,’ Wolfingham bit out abruptly. ‘The question is, what do we do now in regard to Maystone’s audacious request of the two of us?’
It was outrageous, Mariah acknowledged with a pained wince. Worse than outrageous, as it involved herself and Darian Hunter giving every appearance, in public at least, of being intimately involved with each other. An affair they were to use as their cover when, if, the two of them agreed to attend the house party at Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house in Kent this following weekend.
Because the Nicholses had, apparently, been named in the plot against the Prince.
The Nicholses were notorious for giving licentious house parties once or twice a Season. Parties at which the Prince Regent, usually resident in a house nearby, always made an appearance on the Saturday evening of the masked ball, although Aubrey Maystone and other members of the government had succeeded in persuading the Regent into not attending this one.
The Prince Regent particularly enjoyed making an appearance at such parties as these, occasions not designed for the attendance of the young debutantes and their marriage-minded mamas, but for the older, more sophisticated members of the ton, where their risqué behaviour would not be frowned upon.
Mariah would never dream of allowing Christina to attend, for example. Having accepted her own invitation, Mariah had instantly made arrangements for her young daughter to spend the weekend at the home of her friend Diana Gilbert. Diana’s mother, Lady Gilbert, intended to chaperon her own daughter and Christina to a musical soirée on Friday evening and then a ball on Saturday evening, followed by church on Sunday morning, and Mariah would return in the evening.
Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire Page 8