“Do we?” His mouth twisted with distaste. Color infused his cheeks as he turned away. He didn’t look her in the eye.
She brushed her hand across his sleeve. He jerked away. She bit the inside of her cheek. Like Morgan said, it was a shock for him. “I know you must have been startled this morning, but you shouldn’t worry. Morgan is a good man. He’s helping us.”
The muscle in Jared’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need your help anymore. I’ll handle it on my own.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why not? Jared, this is a family matter. I want to fix this.”
He lifted his hands halfway to his hair before he dropped them with an exasperated breath. When he turned to her, his eyes snapped. “By God, Phil, I didn’t want you to prostitute yourself to a duke in exchange for his influence!”
The words rang through the house. The patter and hum of voices as the servants went about their chores went silent. Phil’s cheeks heated.
“It isn’t like that at all,” she said, raising her voice for the others to hear. In a lower tone, she added, “We love each other.”
Jared scoffed. “Is that what he told you? He only wanted to get between your thighs.”
She flinched at his scathing tone. “What is wrong with you this morning?”
She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. The rift between them widened, almost an audible rip in the air as his face hardened.
“I’m a man, remember. Not a boy. I know what men are like.”
Maybe he did, but Morgan wasn’t that sort of man. For heaven’s sake, he’d proposed to her the first time they’d kissed!
Jared jutted out his chin. At that moment, he reminded her so much of their mother. Grief swamped her, so hot and thick she could barely pull herself out to see him in front of her. She blinked away tears.
“Did he propose to you?” Her brother’s voice was hard.
She swallowed, but she couldn’t answer one way or another. It had been weeks since that first proposal. He hadn’t mentioned marriage since. She’d hoped, once they woke up…
After they attended this business with Jared, he would propose, wouldn’t he? If not, Phil would propose to him. Perhaps he was still afraid she would laugh in his face.
In a soft voice, she said, “He agreed to help before he spent the night. Before I…seduced him.” Good God, did she have to have this conversation with him? If he insisted he was a grown man, surely he could see that she was a grown woman, more than capable of making her own decisions on who warmed her bed. “He’s a good man, Jared.”
Her brother’s expression didn’t soften. “We’ll see. If he doesn’t marry you, I’ll call him out myself.”
Because finding herself trapped in a forced marriage was always the right answer.
She balled her fists. “You can’t duel a duke.”
He lifted his eyebrows, his expression cold. “I’m a grown man. I can do whatever I please. And right now, it pleases me to go out.”
Her stomach turned somersaults as he walked away from her, storming through the door and slamming it shut behind him, to the shock of Mr. O’Neill, their butler. Phil swallowed heavily, choking back the tide of tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
Jared didn’t understand the truth. Maybe he didn’t want to. At least, between Phil and Morgan, he would soon be free of this spying business, free to return to the carefree young man he’d used to be.
In the meantime, she had work to do.
* * *
The moment Morgan entered his townhouse, he found himself faced with three sly-faced family members. Thank Zeus it was before noon and the two newest additions to his family were still abed.
Mother beamed, clasping her hands over her chest and pressing her lips together as if she waited for an announcement. Lud, he’d love to give her one, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t asked Phil to marry him yet.
Lucy, arms akimbo, fought a losing battle to contain her grin as she tried to appear stern. “Where have you been? You weren’t down to breakfast.”
“I was at the club.” From time to time, his work necessitated that he lie to his family, and he’d started to become quite good at it. Even if Mother, for one, likely knew the truth.
Judging by his grin as he folded his arms across his chest, so did Giddy. “You were at the club all night?”
Morgan gritted his teeth. He glared at his brother, who didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. You are not helping. Gideon’s grin widened.
“Yes.” His voice was stiff.
Lucy harrumphed. “Is that so? It must be a new club, then. I don’t believe White’s remains open ’round the clock.”
Not quite, but she would be surprised at the hours the club sometimes kept, depending on the patron. Given that he was a duke, they would likely keep it open for him if he desired. It was one of the few benefits to his station.
He raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become my keeper?”
She stuck out her tongue. “Since you lost all sense mooning after Phil. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”
Morgan looked to his brother for help, not that he found any. Mother beamed with delight. He couldn’t stand there in the entryway, under the weight of all this pressure. Don’t you think I would have proposed to her if I could have? His only hope was to absolve her brother of treason, and then they might stand a chance.
Brusquely, he shoved his way between his sister and Giddy. “I need to change out of these clothes.”
“Not sleep?” His sister’s voice was sly. “You must have gotten some sleep last night, after all.”
“Not much,” he muttered under his breath. He smiled as he remembered the night, even if the cold reality of the situation soon chased away his good mood. Thankfully, his back was turned to his family, so he couldn’t see their faces.
“Wait,” Mother called as he reached the stairs. The click of her footsteps on the floor punctured him like needles.
He paused with his hand on the banister, but didn’t turn around.
“Do you have any news you’d like to share with us?” Her voice was light and effusive.
He gritted his teeth. “No.”
He managed four steps before his mother’s voice rang again. “She said no?”
Guilt bowed his shoulders inward. He ducked his head. “I didn’t ask.” Obviously, she meant a proposal.
She gasped. “Morgan Arthur Benedict Graylocke, what sort of man did I raise?”
He cringed at the use of his full name, with all the middle names. Nevertheless, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t trust himself. If he did, the truth might pour out, and he couldn’t get his mother involved. He continued up the stairs.
“Don’t walk away from me,” she called. Her footsteps on the stairs heralded the fact that this conversation was far from over.
Abruptly, they stopped. “Let me speak with him,” Gideon said. Although his voice was pitched low, it carried to Morgan’s ears.
He shook his head. What could Giddy possibly say that he hadn’t said to himself? He hurried to his room.
By the time he reached it, his brother was one step behind. Morgan stepped through the door to find his room neatly cleaned, everything put in its place, the bed made—not that it had been used—and the drapes pulled apart to let in the wan sunlight. His valet—the man he was borrowing from Tristan—must have found a spare moment in between his spying duties.
Giddy shut the door behind them. Rubbing the streak at his temple, Morgan turned. He didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, not even the brother he was closest to.
“Don’t get me started. I would have proposed to Phil, if I’d been at liberty.”
Gideon raised his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the door. “At liberty? I didn’t know you were suddenly engaged to someone else.”
Morgan didn’t bother answering something so obviously ridiculous. Instead, he crossed his room to his wardrobe and searched for clean clothes.
Gidd
y stepped away from the door. “Is this about…our mutual business?”
Morgan sighed. He dropped down onto the chair to remove his boots. “In a peripheral way. I have a problem I need to solve.”
“Can I help?”
Giddy looked earnest, his eyes bright and his expression open. Morgan shook his head, hating to disappoint his brother.
“Not this time.” As Gideon’s face fell, Morgan blurted, “The moment I need your help, I promise I will come to you.”
Giddy’s mouth thinned, but he nodded. “As long as you know that I’m here when you need me.” His voice was a bit surly, but resigned.
Standing in his stocking feet, Morgan crossed to clap him on the shoulder. “I know, and I’m grateful for the support. I daresay I’ll need it, if what I plan tonight goes poorly.”
His brother smiled, mollified for the moment.
With a fond smile, Morgan added, “Now, get out of my room. I need to dress.”
21
“Leave the carriage here,” Phil instructed as she rapped on the roof.
Morgan nodded. Although her carriage, unlike his, didn’t have a crest on the side, approaching Lady Whitewood’s townhouse on foot would likely draw less attention, especially considering that they hoped for the lady in question to be out. His sources had produced no other holdings in London; aside from the townhouse, Lord Whitewood had bequeathed her a small estate in the country, over a day’s drive from Town. Reports claimed that Lady Whitewood had been in London since Christmas, so she couldn’t have stashed her blackmail at the country estate.
Morgan preceded Phil into the open air. He reached up to hand her down. Tonight, she’d opted to wear men’s clothes for mobility. He didn’t know how he’d ever believed her to be male. Although she’d bound her chest flat, there was still a slight curve to her torso. Her unruly hair didn’t quite fit under her hat. Stray strands sprung up to frame her cheeks and neck. Her breeches clung to her shapely legs, and her bottom filled out the rear to advantage. He admired the view as she joined him on the cobblestones. Her form was undoubtedly feminine. Every muscle in his body attuned to her when she was near.
Fortunately, her head seemed to be clearer of lust than his. She turned away from him the moment they set foot on the street. “Let me collect my bag out of the boot and we’ll be on our way.”
With a frown, Morgan followed on her heels. “Your bag?”
Sure enough, she hefted a bulging sack that looked to have been fashioned out of a pillow case. The silhouettes of various shapes crossed each other through the linen.
Nonchalant, she answered, “I fashioned a few inventions in case we needed them to infiltrate the house.”
If Lucy or Gideon had announced such a thing to him, he would have groaned. But, even though the sack drew more attention to them than he would like, he was curious about the wonders she hid inside it. “What sort of inventions?”
She smiled. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
They meandered down the street toward Lady Whitewood’s residence. As luck would have it, they came into view just in time to watch her carriage drive off. She rode in an open carriage today, not a coach like they’d arrived in, and so Morgan was able to identify her in the seat along with a gentleman he didn’t look too closely at.
The moment they passed, he turned to Phil. “I suppose it’s time to put your inventions to the test.”
He waited to ensure the street was clear before he hurried Phil across with a hand at the small of her back. Even through their clothes, her heat seared him.
Her inventions did come in handy, beginning with a small device that helped to unlatch the servant entrance on the side. Phil listened, placing another gadget to her ear that she claimed enhanced her hearing. She charitably gave him the light-enhancing goggles to wear, not that he needed them. Once they slipped into the house, they found a candle burning in the kitchen and snatched it.
The kitchen staff were abed and the stove was cold. Given the rustling above stairs, the servants were on their way to sleep now that the sun had set.
“Let’s begin with the ground floor,” Morgan suggested. “By the time we finish, we should be able to sneak up to the second floor without interference.”
Phil nodded. “Shall we split up and search different rooms?”
He hesitated. He didn’t want to be parted from her. He shook his head. “We’ll finish the rooms faster if we work together, and we’ll be less likely to be caught if we only occupy one room at a time.”
She nodded. “Lead on.”
They agreed that Lady Whitewood wouldn’t have left the blackmail where the servants would easily find it. That ruled out the kitchen, pantry, and linen closet. They started their search in one of the drawing rooms, each taking half the room and checking it thoroughly.
In the study, Morgan found a hidden compartment in the underside of the desk and pulled out several sheets of correspondence. A quick glance showed it was all in code.
“What’s that?” Phil asked, meandering from her end of the room, with the bookshelves.
“Code,” he answered. He skimmed his finger along the first message, deciphering it in his head. “This must be old. I think it’s from Elias Harker.”
“Didn’t he die recently?”
“Yes,” Morgan said absently. “At my estate. Mrs. Vale shot him.”
Phil said nothing. The silence grew, heavy and laden with disapproval.
Morgan raised his eyebrow as he glanced at her. “Harker was a French spy.”
“Yes. Of course. He most likely deserved it.” Doubt lingered in her voice, as if she didn’t condone anyone’s murder no matter the circumstances. Truthfully, he didn’t either. Let the magistrates decide who deserved to die. He wanted no part in deciding such a fate.
“He was aiming a gun at her daughter at the time.”
“Charlie?”
Morgan shook his head. “No. Freddie. Tristan’s new wife.”
“Then I’m surprised Tristan didn’t kill him.”
Morgan chuckled. “He might have, if he had been close enough. Then again, by that time his sense was so muddled that he might have thrown himself in front of the bullet instead.”
“Then perhaps it’s for the best that it worked out this way.”
Morgan nodded. His lips thinned. If Harker had still been alive, and Mrs. Vale still keeping an eye on him, he wouldn’t have been sent into the field. Perhaps Lady Whitewood wouldn’t have taken it upon herself to blackmail Phil’s brother into committing treason. Of course, then Morgan might never have met Phil. He would like to think himself above such insensibility as he described of his brother, but the truth was, if he was in the same situation with Phil in danger, he would do everything he possibly could to keep her safe. Even if it meant throwing himself into danger in her place.
He pushed the thought away. “Can you find me some foolscap? I need to decode some of these others.”
A curious look overcame her features. She found paper while he dug out a pen, ink, and sand to blot the page. He pulled the first sheet toward him, copying out the translation as he deciphered it. The moment it referenced a code book, the same book he and his brother had passed along a month ago, Morgan switched to the next message. It also contained old news. The third mentioned a meeting between Lady Whitewood and a gentleman who signed his name as “Monsieur V.” The message didn’t indicate the date of the meeting, only the place and time, so Morgan copied the information to send to Strickland later.
“How are you doing that so fast?” Phil breathed. When he turned to her, he found her expression in awe. A strange, warm feeling expanded in his chest.
He shrugged. “It’s only a code. Once you memorize the cipher, it isn’t terribly hard to crack. These are using outdated codes.”
She squinted, comparing two of the missives beneath the light of the candle. “But they’re different codes, surely. They look nothing alike.”
He nodded. “They are. With two differe
nt people. But, like I said, once you memorize the cipher, you don’t even need the book anymore.”
“Brilliant.” She pulled out another page, squinting at it. “And this one? It seems like a normal letter to me.”
He looked over her shoulder. The missive was written in French, but there were accents on letters that didn’t need them. He pointed those out. “See these? It’s more than poor spelling. This is certainly a code.”
“Oh?” She stood straighter, looking at him expectantly. “What does it say?”
The words burned in his throat as he admitted, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen this cipher before.”
“Oh. Then you can’t read it?”
“Not yet.” He slipped a clean sheet onto the top of the pile of papers and carefully copied down the missive, including the exact slant of the letters and every mark on the page. As he did, he murmured, “I’ll have to take it to my study and look it over.”
“But you don’t have the key to the code.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug as he compared the two pages. Satisfied they were identical, he sprinkled sand on his copy to blot the letters. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve cracked more than one French code. In fact,” he thrust back his shoulders with pride, “Strickland has confessed that I do so more quickly than he can. He sends all new codes directly to me, now.”
“Strickland?”
He winced. He shouldn’t have given away his superior’s name, not even to Phil. “Britain’s spymaster, but that stays between you and me.”
“Certainly,” she said with a nod. “If he relies on you so much, how can he afford to send you into the field?”
He shrugged. “It’s only paperwork. It isn’t that glorious.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You forget, I invent things from thin air. I know the value of a brilliant mind. This field work?” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Anyone can search a room. Not everyone can do what you can.”
He’d never felt that way. Sitting behind a desk had felt stifling, as though he was being given work simply to occupy him and make him feel important due to his status as Duke. However, the confidence in her voice was infectious.
Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) Page 19