How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy

by Vanessa Kelly

  Will snorted out a disbelieving laugh before disappearing into the other room.

  Sighing, Evie propped her elbows on her knees and rested her aching head in her palms. Fighting exhaustion, she tried to order her thoughts. Words swam through her brain in choppy, incomplete sentences as she struggled to frame Michael’s information in its most positive light. It seemed an impossible task, given that he had lied to her, too. She’d been sadly gullible when it came to the men in her life.

  “Evie, can I get you something?” Will’s voice seemed only a few inches away.

  She jerked upright, her eyes popping open. She blinked to see him crouched down in front of her, dressed in a shirt and waistcoat, and with his boots on. She must have dozed off because she hadn’t even heard him enter the room.

  “N-no, I’m fine,” she stammered. “I’m just tired.”

  He frowned with concern as he covered her hands with one of his. “Which is why you should be at home resting instead of dashing about town risking even more scandal. I don’t mean to lecture, sweetheart, but what are you doing here? Could anyone besides the porter have seen you enter the building?”

  “No, I was very careful.” She was impatient with what seemed like pointless social considerations, given the gravity of the situation. But she told herself that Will was genuinely concerned for her well-being, and that chased some of the chill from her heart. “I paid your porter very generously to keep what he saw to himself.”

  “I’ll make certain of that.” Will stood and pulled her to her feet. “But we’ve got to get you home as soon as possible, before anyone is up in this building. If we’re seen on the way back to Reese House, we can just tell your mother we went for a morning stroll.”

  Evie resisted his efforts to pull her toward the door. “I’m not leaving until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  He started to look thunderous again. “Evie, I told you the other day—”

  “I’ve spoken with Michael,” she interrupted. “He’s told me something you need to know.”

  His face went blank for a moment, then his brows gathered in a disapproving frown. “What do you mean you spoke to him? He’s under guard at his father’s house with no visitors allowed until this mess is sorted out. The Duke of York made that condition very clear to Lord Leger when he agreed to allow Beaumont to be confined at home, not hauled off to prison under suspicion of treason.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said tartly. “Lord Leger made that clear to me last night when I called on him. Besides, you needn’t act as if you and the duke were granting Michael any favors. I know very well that you decided not to bring charges at this point because you feared Michael’s arrest would warn his fellow conspirators. Not that he has any conspirators,” she hastily added.

  He stared at her, incredulous. “Lord Leger told you all this?”

  She nodded.

  “Unbelievable. And then he let you see Beaumont, against the duke’s express orders.”

  Evie waved that detail away. “You make it sound worse than it was. I simply told him that Michael was withholding information you needed to know, and that I was the only one who would be able to get it out of him.”

  Will took a step back, putting distance between them. “So, you knew Beaumont was lying, didn’t you?”

  She nodded reluctantly, hating the austere look that came into his eyes.

  “And when did you realize that?” he asked, sounding every inch the spy, not the man who professed to care for her.

  “About the same time you did, I imagine. When he lied about the names on that list you found.”

  “And yet you said nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “In fact, you defended Beaumont, even knowing he’s up to his neck in this. How could you choose him over your country, Evie? Over me?”

  She forced herself not to overreact. After all, she’d anticipated this response from him. “It’s not what you think. He might know something about this alleged plot. Might,” she emphasized, holding up a hand to stop his objection. “He certainly isn’t part of it, and he doesn’t condone it in any way. That’s why he finally agreed to tell me what he knew. He’s innocent, I swear.”

  Will reached up and started rubbing the back of his neck, which did lovely things to his brawny shoulders under the thin fabric of his trim-fitting waistcoat. Good Lord, the man was a study in masculine power and grace. Yet again, Evie wondered what he could possibly see in her.

  Stop being a nitwit.

  “We’ll let others decide whether he’s innocent or not,” Will said, although he did sound a bit less annoyed than a minute ago. “For now, just tell me everything you know.”

  “Of course, but I would be grateful if you didn’t loom over me in such a threatening manner, as if you’re ready to gobble me up if I say the slightest thing to annoy you.”

  His stern face cracked with a rueful smile. “I’m more likely to gobble you up if you say something nice to me. But I take your point.”

  That remark made her blush, but by the time he dragged her back to the armchair, she’d recovered her composure. He pulled over a chair from a small writing desk by the window and crossed his arms over his chest. Looking stern as a judge, he lifted a brow as if to say, proceed.

  “You would make a splendid magistrate, in case you’re wondering about a future career,” she said. “Very well. It was clear to me during that horrible meeting at St. Margaret’s that Michael knew nothing about any treasonous conspiracies.”

  “So you said, but just how do you know that?” Will rapped out.

  “Because I can always tell when he’s lying. He’s not very good at it, as I’m sure you noticed. Beyond that, I’ve come to know him very well in the last few years—”

  She stopped when Will’s eyes narrowed, practically shooting blue sparks at her.

  “Not that well,” she said with exasperation, “which should be clear to you after what happened in the parlor the other night.”

  He didn’t look particularly mollified. “Then perhaps you can explain exactly what you mean by knowing him very well.”

  Evie threw her hands up. “We were planning on getting married, you foolish man. Do you think we didn’t talk about what we expected our lives to look like? We are very good friends, or we were until you came along and blew everything up.”

  He shrugged, not looking the least bit sorry.

  “You are incorrigible, Wolf Endicott,” she sighed.

  Will gave her a lopsided smile. “I know, my sweet, but you’ll just have to put up with me. Go on with what you were saying.”

  “Michael is not a devious or secretive person. Rather, he’s ardent and open about what he believes in, and very principled. He’s also a man of . . . elevated sensibilities, for lack of a better word. He abhors violence and killing.” She wrinkled her nose. “In fact, he’s rather squeamish about it. He even refuses to hunt.”

  “Huh,” Will grunted, not sounding very impressed. “That’s all very well, but what if someone else is doing all the dirty work?”

  “No,” she replied in a firm voice. “Michael would never become involved in something like that. Besides, I am just as much engaged in the business of the Hibernian Association as he is. I doubt he could hide evidence of a conspiracy from me even if he wanted to.”

  “And yet he lied about the list,” Will said in a skeptical voice.

  “Yes, that is the one thing he’s lying about, at least in terms of what he thinks the list might indicate in addition to what it truly means.”

  Will frowned. “I don’t follow.”

  “The list is exactly what he said it was—the names of four men who are having difficulty adapting to life in London. Michael takes very seriously the notion that those men have no future in England and would be better off in America somewhere, like Philadelphia or Boston. Michael even approached Terence O’Shay with the idea a few weeks ago. Terence turned him down flat, I might add.”

  Will pondered that for a moment. “We’ll get back to that
detail. Let’s say for the sake of argument that the list is what Beaumont says it is. What, then, is he holding back? Something’s got him worried, or he wouldn’t have acted the way he did.”

  Evie drew in a long breath, marshaling her thoughts. This would be the trickiest part of the discussion. “Have you ever heard of the Battle of Garvagh?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  “But you have heard of the Ribbonmen, I’m assuming, by your reaction to the information that the men on Michael’s list were from Londonderry.”

  Will’s mouth twisted up in a wry smile. “That was very perceptive of you, Evie. Yes, I know who the Ribbonmen are—a secret society of rural Catholics, mostly in the north of Ireland. They fight tenant laws and evictions by Protestant landlords. I couldn’t help wondering if the men on Beaumont’s list were members. Are they?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute after I tell you about the battle. In 1813, at the conclusion of a county fair in Garvagh—which is part of Londonderry—fighting broke out between hundreds of Ribbonmen and members of the Orange Order. Michael calls the Orange Order loyalist volunteers, for lack of a better term.”

  Will nodded. “I’m familiar with the Orange Order. They were as guilty of atrocities as some of the radical Catholic groups.”

  “Correct. There has been brutality on both sides, with very ugly results, as you know.” She’d heard stories from women at St. Margaret’s. Despite all the hardships they faced in London, she couldn’t wonder that they’d sought to escape the tragic violence of their ancestral homeland.

  Will leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he searched her face. “That list of names . . . the men were all from Londonderry, I’m assuming.”

  “Actually, they’re all from Garvagh,” she said softly.

  Will jerked upright. “Good God, are you telling me that all the men on that list are Ribbonmen, and that they’re here in London?”

  She winced at the bark in his voice. “Michael isn’t sure they would identify themselves as such, especially now. But they left Ireland after that unfortunate episode because, well . . .”

  “Because they were fleeing arrest?” Will asked sarcastically.

  Evie couldn’t help feeling defensive on their behalf. “It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re guilty of anything, either in Ireland or here in England. According to Michael, some simply seem to have gotten caught up in the brawl.”

  “What about O’Shay?”

  “Michael says Terence makes no effort to hide his allegiance to the Ribbon Order—or his hatred for the English.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” Will said dryly. “So, Beaumont knew these men were fugitives and yet he chose to withhold that information. That doesn’t sound promising for him, I’m sorry to say.”

  “It’s not like that, Will,” she exclaimed. “He had no inkling of any sort of conspiracy or plot until we told him.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t he just tell me the truth?”

  “For one,” she said, trying to be patient, “he had no indication that any of those men were involved in some sort of assassination plot. He only knows their personal histories and the fact that they’re unhappy in their new lives.”

  “And is there a second reason Beaumont chose not to share his concerns with me?” he asked, clearly disgruntled by her reasoning.

  “He’s worried that the men will never get a fair hearing. That they’ll be arrested and hanged for treason on the basis of nothing more than rumors and wild conjecture.”

  Will started to argue, but Evie held up a hand. “Surely you realize how much prejudice and hatred exists for Irish Catholics, especially here in London. Many are treated little better than animals. Can you blame Michael for worrying about them?”

  “I understand all too well,” Will said with a grimace. “And I sympathize. But why didn’t Beaumont at least share his concerns with me? I would have assured him that I would do my best to gain fair treatment for those men.”

  Evie weighed her words, but there was no getting around it. “Michael doesn’t trust you. That’s why he didn’t say anything.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed to irritated slits. “Because I’m a soldier, or because I’m going to marry you?”

  She stared at him, astounded that he could be so dense. “He doesn’t trust you because you lied to me. You betrayed and manipulated me, and it’s not the first time you’ve done it, either.”

  He flinched, but then a slow wrath heated up his gaze. “Evie, did you really tell Beaumont about what happened between us in the past? That’s our business, not his.”

  She mentally winced, knowing she’d overplayed her hand. “Never mind that now. Please just tell me what you’re going to do next.”

  He rose, looking impatient to be off. “I’m going to take you home, and then I’m going to talk to Beaumont and get him to tell me where those men have gone to ground.”

  Evie shook her head. “He doesn’t know. You can check the church records, but I doubt it’ll do much good. You know what a rabbit warren St. Giles is.”

  He gave her a hard stare. “Are you sure Beaumont isn’t holding anything back? Or you, for that matter, to protect him?”

  Evie jumped up, outrage blasting away the lingering remnants of her exhaustion. “Of course I’m not holding anything back! Do you know how difficult it was for me to come here like this? To trust you when you so patently did not trust me?”

  He didn’t look the least bit put out by her tirade. In fact, one corner of his mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “I trust you, Evie. It’s myself I worry about.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Don’t you? Then never mind. Come, we must be on our way. I need to track down Alec and then take another run at Bridget O’Shay. This new information might shake something loose about her brother.”

  Evie had already heard from Mrs. Rafferty that Will and Gilbride had spoken to Bridget. The girl, understandably, had dissolved into hysterics at the idea that her brother was involved in a treasonous conspiracy.

  When Will reached to take her arm, she stepped back.

  “You will help Michael, won’t you?” she asked, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.

  He shook his head. “Is that the only reason you came here? To save Beaumont’s hide?”

  His hard demand flustered her. “Of course not! I want this to be over for your sake, as much as anything. But Michael is innocent, Will. Surely you see that. I need you to help him.”

  “And what if I don’t? What could you possibly do about it?” he asked in a cold voice.

  For a moment, Evie felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. Then she remembered how well she knew the man standing before her. “Don’t make idle threats, Will. It doesn’t become you.”

  He took a stride toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Goddamn it, Evie. I don’t want to see an innocent man dragged into this, but Beaumont is in trouble—have no doubt about that. I don’t even know if there’s anything I can do.”

  She placed her hands on his chest, sensing the frustration and anger vibrating through his big frame. She’d been furious at what she saw as his betrayal, but he’d been under enormous pressure—not only from his father but from the very nature of the threat that loomed over them. If Will and Gilbride weren’t able to prevent the threatened assassinations, the results could be dire for all of them. It would surely shadow them for the rest of their lives, and then what chance would she and Will have?

  She stretched up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his chin. “I know. Please just do what you can, for my sake.”

  When he lifted her off her feet, bringing them face to face, she could only gasp. His eyes blazed and his features were taut with a complex mix of emotions she had trouble deciphering. “Are you in love with Beaumont, Evie? Tell me the truth, once and for all.”

  She felt her eyes pop wide. “What? No, of course I’m not. Didn’t you learn anything from the other night, you stupid
man?”

  He didn’t drop her to the floor, although she’d half-expected that given how she’d just insulted him. Instead, he mashed her against his brawny chest and took her mouth in a smothering kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Evie tasted the wildness in him. She answered it, grabbing the edges of his waistcoat and hauling herself up to fight for the kiss. To fight for him.

  Her nails dug in as she tugged, and she heard a rip. Will dragged his mouth away on a choked laugh. “No need to rip my clothes off, Evie. You simply have to ask.”

  She shut her eyes, humiliated to be acting in so unladylike a fashion. Ripping one’s fiancé’s clothing hardly seemed appropriate behavior regardless of the provocation. And she hadn’t really been trying to undress him, although the idea certainly appealed to her. But Will had made it abundantly clear that she needed to return home, and he needed to continue his search.

  When she felt his fingers under her chin, swiftly untying the ribbons of her bonnet, she cracked open an eyelid. “What are you doing?”

  “Undressing you.” He tossed the bonnet behind her.

  “Why?”

  “So I can make love to you,” he answered as he stripped her out of her spencer. He then spun her around and attacked the back of her dress. Faster than any lady’s maid, he soon had her out of it and the dress joined the growing pile of clothes on the chair.

  “But I thought you were in a hurry,” she said. As protests went that was a weak one, she had to admit. Not that she actually wanted him to stop what he was doing—not with the delicious heat starting to pool between her thighs.

  He loosened her stays, then spun her back to face him. Evie’s heart stuttered at the possessive, almost feral expression pulling his face tight.

  “I am in a hurry,” he growled. From the way his gaze devoured her, Evie knew he wasn’t talking only about the search that awaited him.

  He swept her up in his arms, holding her high against his chest.

  “Now what are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m taking you to bed.” He strode through to his bedroom. “I’ll be damned if I make love to you in a chair again.”