The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy)

by Diana Douglas

  Her lips twitched in humor. “And here I thought there wasn’t a man alive who was immune to her charms.”

  “I am very much immune.” He paused. “But you, my lady, I will never be immune to your charms.”

  She could never tell when he was teasing. “You’re incorrigible, monsieur, but I shall miss your complements.” She looked away a moment before saying, “I know Clarendon offered you the use of a house. Where will you be staying?”

  “A residence on Green Street.”

  Her brows lowered as she pretended to think. “I didn’t realize it was vacant.”

  He shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Lord Clarendon did not say and I was so stunned by his decision that I did not think to ask questions. In truth, I believe he is anxious for me to leave.”

  She started to protest but they both knew Rand didn’t care for him. To cover her embarrassment she rose and went to the window. She gazed out without seeing. “My husband lost a dear friend recently and has not been quite himself. I’m sorry if he has made you uncomfortable.”

  “There’s no need for you to apologize for him.”

  She pulled the drapes fully open and light suffused the study. A crystal decanter of brandy on a small chest beneath the window caught the sunlight and cast a kaleidoscope of color and shapes against the polished floor. “I’ve been remiss.” She lifted the crystal stopper. “May I pour you some brandy?”

  “No.” There was an edge to his voice that made her turn around. His face was composed but his knuckles had whitened where he gripped the arm of the chair. “Sit down, madam. It is too soon for you to be up.”

  Rankled by the order, she squared her shoulders and gave him her back.

  Horrified, he watched as she splashed a tiny bit of brandy into the glass and picked it up. He leapt from the chair and reached her just as the glass touched her lips. He yanked it away. “Non!”

  With a bewildered expression on her face, she backed away from him. “Why did you do that?”

  He had been totally unprepared and grasped for an explanation. “Women do not drink brandy.”

  “It was only a thimbleful. I thought it might revive me.”

  “Please, madam.” He could hear the desperation in his voice. His hands were shaking. “I beg you. Do not drink this.”

  She simply stared at him.

  He sniffed at the glass. “It has soured.”

  “It seemed fine.”

  He took the glass and decanter to the window and emptied them onto the grass below.

  “I’d like to leave,” she said brusquely. “I’ll rest in my room.” Her eyes had lost their warmth. Her face was drawn tight.

  He nodded. “I will escort you to your chamber.”

  “I’ll go alone.”

  He had no choice but to set the decanter down and follow her out the door. It wasn’t until she left his sight that he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Mon dieu! He had almost poisoned her. It had never occurred to him that she might drink the brandy. It was meant for Clarendon and there was no way to explain his irrational behavior to her. A wedge had dropped between them and he had very little time to make things right.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cecelia gazed at herself in her vanity mirror while Mattie put the finishing touches on her hair. Her maid’s skill with a curling iron was improving daily. The copper waves were secured with a gold clip and spirals of corkscrew curls cascaded to her shoulders, though how long they would stay that way was anyone’s guess. Her gold satin gown with a tissue thin overlay of gold embroidered muslin was simple but stylish. And considering the day she’d had, her expression was remarkably composed. She said a silent prayer that she would get through the evening without anyone suspecting the inner turmoil she was feeling.

  The door flew open and Rand came inside without bothering to knock. The dove gray evening wear seemed at odds with his expression. Black, she thought irritably, would have suited him better. His mouth was little more than a thin white line and his eyes blazed. He stopped a few feet from the open door and nodded curtly at Mattie.

  She smiled at Mattie. “Thank you, Mattie. You’ve done a lovely job. If you’d run along to the nursery and let Rosy and David know that I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck them in.”

  Mattie sketched a brief curtsy to them both and left the room.

  He came up behind her and she fought the urge to bolt from her chair.

  “You were seen coming out of my office with André following close behind.” His voice was very low and taut. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Are you deliberately attempting to fuel a scandal?”

  Her hands clenched as she looked up at him. “Are you having me followed?”

  “I’m concerned for your safety and well being.”

  “I’m touched. Who’s the Lamont woman?”

  Surprise shadowed his features for a moment, and then he scowled. “Where the devil did that come from? It has nothing to do with this. Answer my question first.”

  “Very well. I fainted in the corridor. Your trained dogs must not be doing a very good job because they obviously weren’t around when it happened. When I came to, Monsieur André was kneeling beside me.”

  Alarm flickered in his expression. “You fainted? Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Because, as I just said, no one else knows about it. I asked monsieur to take me to your office because I didn’t feel well enough to climb the steps and I knew your office would be empty. I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t want anyone to see me.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “I’m incredibly annoyed with you at the moment but other than that I feel fine.”

  “We should send for Dr. Tibbs. I don’t like this at all. You’re pushing too hard. You need more rest.”

  “We’ve guests. I can’t.”

  “You can. And if need be, I can send them all home tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened in dismay. “No! This is my first party as Lady Clarendon and I won’t have it ruined. You know as well as I, that this is every bit as important as my come out. Can you imagine what would be said if we sent everyone home? I’ll be more careful. I’ll rest more. Please, don’t send everyone home.”

  His expression softened a bit. “I won’t make any promises. We’ll see how things go. And you mustn’t go off with André, anymore. Why didn’t he call for someone rather than tend to you himself?”

  “It wasn’t his fault. He offered to ring for someone and I said no. I told you. I didn’t want a fuss.”

  He frowned suddenly. “I locked my office. How did you get in?”

  She had hoped he wouldn’t think of that. “Maybe you forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  She stared at her lap and mumbled, “He picked the lock.”

  His brows shot up. “He knows how to pick locks? What else does he know how to do? Who is this man?”

  She took advantage of the opening. “Who is the Lamont woman?”

  He sighed. “Where did you hear about April?”

  “April Lamont.” She pronounced it slowly. “Is that really her name? It sounds like an actress.”

  “She was an actress at one point. And not a very good one, at that.”

  Her lips thinned. “She must have been good at something or you wouldn’t have provided a house for her to live in.”

  He leaned back against the vanity and crossed his arms. “She was my mistress, but I assume that you already know that.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes. Was,” he emphasized. “I settled some money on her and told her she could stay in the house until she found another protector but other than that one exception, I cut ties with her the day I left London. I thought it best to take care of it before word of my title came out. Three weeks later she was gone.”

  “Who lives in the house now?”

  “Servants.” He shook his head in exasperation. “What in the devil is this about? You know I’ve had mistresses in
the past.”

  “I don’t care about the ones you used to have. I care about now.”

  “What makes you think I have one now?”

  “Lady Sheraton.”

  “She told you I had a mistress?”

  “No. She told Lady Trenton. I overheard them. I felt like such a ninny. As if everyone knew what you were about but me.”

  “I don’t have a mistress,” he said between clenched teeth. “And I don’t plan on getting one. What did she say to make you think different?”

  “She said you were sending Monsieur André to stay in the same house as your mistress. Her exact words were ‘the marquis isn’t averse to sharing his mistresses now that he’s left London.’”

  “It seems Lady Sheraton and I need to talk.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “For Christ’s sake, why not? I can’t let this get around. God knows who else she’s told this to.”

  “I’ve already confronted her. Lady Trenton, too. I don’t think they’ll say anything else.”

  “You confronted them? Why am I not surprised? Tell me what you said.”

  “Even though I hadn’t any idea you owned a house on Green Street I told them that it was no longer occupied. And that I wanted their word they wouldn’t spread these lies. Lady Trenton obliged and was very apologetic but Lady Sheraton simply said that I was very young, that men strayed and with you as a husband I should expect to hear such things." She stopped to take in a much needed breath. "So I said that to someone of her years I might seem young but I was old enough to know what was expected of me and that didn’t include putting up with malicious gossip in my home.” She took in another breath before adding, “She didn’t much care for what I said.”

  “I suppose not.” He grinned. “So my lovely wife gave the direct cut to Lady Sheraton. Wish I’d been there.”

  “Well, you weren’t,” she said with a touch of petulance. “And I had to do something because it was just too humiliating to bear. We’ve only been married a few months and she’s spreading it about that you’ve already lined up a new mistress.”

  “I thought it was my old mistress.”

  “She said you had a new one.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Mmm. I wonder who it is? I’ve always hated it when the gossipmongers pair me up with someone I can’t stand.”

  Anger surged through her. “Don’t you dare joke about this. I don’t find it humorous at all.”

  His expression sobered. “I suppose not. I’ve had my share of adventures in the past, sexual and otherwise, but as I’ve told you before, much of the gossip about me that circulated among the ton was unfounded. I usually let it pass. In fact, it was always interesting to hear what they would say next. But circumstances are different, now. I have you and our child to think about. If Lady Sheraton says anything else about this I won’t hesitate to boot her and her husband out of here. Though, I hope it isn’t too soon as I plan to lighten Jack’s pockets in the card room tonight.”

  His eyes twinkled as he pulled a blue velvet box from his jacket. “I have a rather hefty bill at the jewelers, I must pay. They don’t give these away.” He opened the lid displaying a necklace and bracelet. The necklace was fashioned of delicate cascading gold chains studded with small glittering emeralds and diamonds. Caught in the center was an oval emerald surrounded by diamonds. The bracelet was of the same design.

  Cecelia gasped with pleasure. “Oh, they’re beautiful! I thought you had forgotten.”

  “I keep my promises,” he said softly.

  His words were not lost on her as she tilted her head forward and allowed him to unhook the clasp on the pearls she was wearing.

  He set the pearls on her vanity and then removed the emerald necklace from the velvet box and fastened it around her neck.

  She gazed in the mirror. The stones glistened and winked against the creamy expanse of her skin. “They’re perfect,” she said. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “I agree. Now give me your wrist.” He nimbly fastened the bracelet on her wrist and then brought the palm of her hand to his lips for a blatantly sexual kiss.

  A shiver went down her spine and she grinned. “I suppose you’ll be expecting a reward?”

  “Of course.” He peered at her reflection and frowned. “Something’s missing.” He rummaged through the pocket of his waistcoat then withdrew his hand. “Your ears look positively naked.” He opened his hand to display the emerald eardrops nestled in his palm.

  With a cry of delight she snatched them up and clipped them on. “Thank you,” she said as she admired the completed ensemble in the mirror. “I can’t imagine anything more beautiful.” She sat quiet for a minute. “Rand, did you really think I was up to no good?"

  “I don’t know that I was thinking. I suppose I was simply reacting,” he murmured regretfully. He caught her gaze. “Did you really think that I was up to no good?”

  “All things considered, I suppose that’s a fair question. I didn’t want to believe it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Look at me.” He tilted her face up with a forefinger. “As I said earlier, I keep my promises. We need to learn to trust one another.”

  "You're right." She chewed on her lip. “In a matter of months I’m going to be fat and cranky. I don't want to, but I very well may be difficult.”

  “You’re already cranky and we’ll simply make love in the dark.”

  She scowled. “You could have at least disagreed with me.”

  “You wanted me to lie?”

  “Yes. I need reassurance. You’re rarely around but when you are it seems that all we do of late is argue. I don’t like it.”

  “We argue because you are headstrong.”

  “So it’s my fault?” she snapped.

  “Not completely.” His lip twitched.

  “You’re deliberately goading me.”’

  “I am. Now, shall we pay a short visit to the nursery and display our finery to the brats before we go downstairs?”

  “Very well. You do look rather nice now that you’ve quit fuming. Whom will you escort when we go in to dinner?”

  “Perhaps, Lady Sheraton,” he said smoothly.

  She glowered. “Perhaps not. Lady Throckmorton would be a far better choice as it would proper if you escorted the eldest and Lady Throckmorton is seventy if she’s a day. Though, on second thought.” She tapped a forefinger against her chin. “Who do you think is the elder? Lady Throckmorton or Lady Sheraton?”

  He chuckled. “Retract your claws, wildcat. Everyone will be watching.”

  André had no interest in socializing with the male guests and the customary cigars and brandy after dinner was proving to be interminable. The conversation had moved from crops to politics to the recently ended war with France. Emotions ran high on the subject and Sir Williams had rambled on for the past fifteen minutes condemning Napoleon and the bloody French. Periodically, he would glance at André and murmur apologetically, "No offense intended monsieur." Oddly, André found that he took no offense. He felt no loyalty to France. He simply wished the man would shut up.

  “What amazes me is that one of France’s most vicious spies was a woman,” Williams went on. “I’ve heard estimates that she personally murdered as many as forty of our own agents. You wouldn’t think a woman would have it in her.”

  Sir Hammond snorted. “You think a woman can’t kill? I know plenty who would put a knife in my back if they had the chance.”

  “And in most cases, they would be justified,” Lord Holloway said.

  “You’re missing my point,” Williams said. “Some woman can. In fact, most women would to protect their young. But cold-blooded killing? It’s an aberration of the feminine nature. And this particular female,” he shook his head, “she went way beyond cold blooded killing. Fact is, she brutally tortured her victims until they gave up what she wanted and then put a slow end to their misery by offering water laced with poison. The grisly scenes she left
behind were enough to bring the hardiest of men to their knees. Thank God, someone put a bullet through the bitch’s head. Wish I knew who it was. I’d buy the chap a drink.” He shrugged and then tapped cigar ash onto a dish. “I keep wondering if she could have been a man. A small man. Wonderful disguise don’t you think?”

  Holloway shook his head. “Impossible. A woman moves differently. And you said she had a bullet through her head. If they found the body, they would know if she were man or woman. All they’d have to do is lift her skirts or pull down her breeches and take a look.”

  Sir Williams ignored the remark. “She had a partner. Never found him. Probably dead, too.”

  André’s palms dampened and he felt as if the air had been forced from his lungs. Williams' dialogue had triggered something in his brain. The knowledge was there but he couldn’t quite reach it. He took in several slow deep breaths. “What was her name?” he asked quietly.

  Williams leaned toward him. “Beg your pardon, monsieur?”

  He raised his voice. “This woman. Do you know what her name was?”

  “They called her Marguerite.”

  Marguerite... He stared at his glass as the memories came. Disjointed at first. Then they began to connect. Slowly. And then they came in a flood. He could hear her voice, see her face. A thin, hawk like face with dark liquid eyes. Marguerite had been his lover and she had been every bit as cruel as Williams had said. She had tortured many. Maybe not forty, but close. And he had always done the killing. Poison, when it was available. A knife when it wasn’t. But he would have done anything for her. He had loved her. And he had come here to take his revenge.

  Cecelia left the bustling kitchen with her mouth watering. Preparations for tonight’s supper were underway. Loaves of freshly baked bread had been set out to cool and a variety of sauces were bubbling on the stove. The smell was divine. She was determined that Fenton Abbey become known for serving the finest meals in the south of England and all was going well. Last night’s dinner had received high praise and other than the incident with Lady Sheraton, most of the guests had behaved themselves. Lady Throckmorton had pummeled a few toes with her cane and Lord Holloway had gotten foxed during a game of billiards, but neither was enough to draw serious remark.