Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  This declaration failed to excite any enthusiasm in Letty. Arietta had set herself an impossible task, for no man would measure up to Brandon in her eyes. But she smiled and thanked her, opening her umbrella and holding it over Arietta’s head, her arm tucked in hers as they left the museum. The weather was as dreary as her spirits. It had so far proved to be a cold spring with dull skies, said to be caused by a violent volcanic eruption somewhere else in the world.

  As if she’d come down with some malaise, Arietta fussed over Letty that evening, even escorting her up to her bedchamber, and later coming to say goodnight. She turned to smile at the door. “Sleep well, my dear.”

  When the door closed, Letty lay in the dark, her mind too busy for sleep. She slipped from the bed. There was no movement in the street below. Had what she told Brandon been of no importance? She’d half expected someone to call during the afternoon to question Arietta, and indeed had been on tenterhooks, fearing they would give her away, but no one had come.

  Letty settled back into bed, determined to sleep. She managed to drift off, but woke again some time later. She stared into the dark, unsure what had awakened her. She started up at a muffled cry, threw back the bedclothes and lit her candle. Outside her room, the corridor was empty. Over the banister rail, the hall downstairs was a well of darkness. She crept to Arietta’s bedchamber, fearing it might have been her. Candlelight flicked under the door. She put her ear to it to listen.

  Another soft cry.

  Letty put her candle down on the hall table, opened the door, and stepped inside. With only a small candle lit, most of the room lay in shadow, and for a moment, Letty couldn’t make out the two bodies writhing on the bed. They were caught up in their passion, both naked, Arietta’s pale body entwined with that of a swarthy, dark-haired man.

  With a gasp, Letty fumbled for the door latch behind her as the couple broke apart. She opened the door and was about to dart out into the corridor when the man demanded she stop.

  Letty froze.

  Pierse rose naked from the bed and stalked to his clothes, pulling on his breeches. “Mon Dieu! You said she was asleep, Arietta!”

  “I thought she was.” Arietta reached for her dressing gown.

  “I am dreadfully sorry.” Letty’s heart beat in her throat, her face burning. She wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t. The Frenchman stood before her, bare-chested, his hands on his hips. “I thought Arietta was in trouble,” she managed to croak out.

  “This complicates matters, Arietta,” he said coolly.

  Tying her belt, Arietta scuttled over to Letty. She placed an arm around her shoulders. “It doesn’t need to, Pierse. Letitia is my friend and confidante.” Her bright blue eyes both implored and warned, sending a shaft of cold fear through Letty. “She would never say a word to hurt me, would you, my pet?”

  Before Letty could affirm or deny this, the man stalked over to them. He took hold of Letty’s arm and shoved her roughly into a chair. “A silly young debutante.” He gazed at Letty dismissively. “She will spill it all as soon as someone says boo to her.”

  Letty opened her mouth to refute it, but closed it again, as a wave of terror rushed through her. The man, his mouth a thin line, his eyes as cold and hard as stone, had curled his hands into fists, and she feared he would hurt her.

  Arietta pushed her way in between them. “Darling, I tell you she won’t. Letitia is wise beyond her years. Has she not done a marvelous job of spying for us?”

  He shook his head. “We’ll have to deal with her.”

  Arietta burst into tears.

  He paused. “It has grown too hot for me in London, mon amour. I’m leaving by boat at the first morning tide. They will throw you in Newgate if you stay. Come with me!”

  Arietta wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “You promise not to hurt her. Pierse?”

  With a trail of French curses, he stalked to the window and pulled down the silken cords. “Pack your valise while I tie her up.”

  Arietta dressed and then flew around selecting items to pack while Pierse secured Letty to the chair with sharp hurtful tugs at her wrist and ankles.

  “Go outside,” Pierse ordered Arietta, when she had done up her valise. “Wait for me in the rear lane while I dress.”

  Arietta eyed him fearfully, but she finally left the room, leaving Letty chilled and afraid for her life.

  Pierse strolled over to where he had thrown the rest of his clothes in a jumble on the chair. His expressionless black eyes on Letty, he dressed.

  After he’d donned his shoes, he still studied her meditatively, then stood and pulled a knife from his pocket.

  Letty’s blood froze. “I’ll scream the house down if you come anywhere near me.”

  He took a step closer. “One peep out of you and I’ll cut your throat.”

  Arietta ran into the room. “No Pierse!” She rushed at him, and in her haste, stumbled against him.

  She crumpled to the floor with a moan.

  With an inhuman growl, Pierse fell to his knees beside Arietta’s still form, the knife lodged in her chest. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the carpet. Shocked, Letty’s throat closed over. With a strangled gasp, she struggled against her bonds.

  Noise erupted downstairs. It sounded as if a hundred people stampeded into the house. Pierse straightened. He shoved Letty’s chair out of the way, made a dash for the door, and was gone.

  It was clear that Arietta was dead. Tears flooded down Letty’s cheeks. She sagged against the chair, fighting for breath. Would he change his mind and come back to kill her? Footsteps ran along the corridor.

  Brandon rushed inside. “Good God! Letty!” He knelt beside Arietta’s limp form, then sadly shook his head. “Are you hurt?”

  “No! Hurry! Pierse will have gone down the servant’s stairs.”

  “He won’t get far.”

  Brandon walked over to the bed. He picked up the quilt and placed it carefully over Arietta’s body.

  “She put herself between Pierse and me, Brandon. She saved my life.”

  “Did she, sweetheart? Perhaps your faith in her wasn’t entirely misplaced.”

  “I was wrong about her association with that man, but she was fond of me, Brandon. Perhaps she loved him.” She took a shuddering breath. “Why are so many people I come to care for taken from me?”

  “Not everyone, sweetheart,” he said soothingly as he untied the curtain cords which bound her to the chair. “I can easily predict your future filled with people who care very much for you.”

  Her whole body had begun to shudder. “Can…you?”

  Free of her bonds, he gently rubbed her wrists. “You are eminently loveable, sweetheart.” He took out his handkerchief and handed it to her.

  Letty wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Her wrists, still sore from the earlier assault on them, stung, her throat too tight with emotion to talk anymore.

  She held the handkerchief out to him. She hiccupped, and gazing down, realized she was still in her thin-lawn nightgown.

  “No, keep it, sweetheart. Let’s go and get your dressing gown, then I’ll take you away from here.”

  A hand around her waist, Brandon helped her to her bedchamber. “I’ll have the maid pack a bag for you,” he said.

  There was a commotion in the street. Candlelight flickered in the surrounding houses. Front doors opened. Men in blue coats ran past. The staff had emerged and were milling about, looking stunned. One of the Bow Street runners came to tell him they had captured Pierse.

  “You have nothing to fear now, Letty, we’ve got him.” He drew her to her feet from the chair in the front hall. She wobbled, and he wrapped his arms around her slim body in the thin silk dressing gown, as the awful fear he’d had of finding her dead faded, and his racing pulse slowed.

  “We needed to catch them together. I was coming to find you,” he said. “I thought you’d be asleep,” he said almost accusingly.

  “I was, but a noise woke me.” She dropped her chin, a flush
coloring her pale cheeks. “They were…”

  “No need to explain.” He ran a soothing hand over her back. “We have somewhere for you to stay tonight. Let’s find your maid. Her voluble French has mystified the Bow Street runner.”

  “You won’t leave me?”

  “No, I won’t leave.” He smiled down at her as relief gripped him again. He placed his arm around her to reassure himself as much as her. The hurt this evening had caused her would take some time to heal, and he wished she could have been spared this frightening business. Their agent watching the house had taken too long to alert them of Pierse’s presence. “Ah, here she is,” he said as Adele appeared from the servant’s stairs, gasping and crying. “She will help you dress. I’ll be right outside the bedchamber.”

  When Letty emerged again, she was pale, but composed, her hair in a smooth topknot. She was dressed in a lavender pelisse and gloves and carried a shawl and a portmanteau. “Adele wants to stay here, she says her brother will come for her.”

  Brandon nodded. “She may do so.”

  He escorted Letty down the stairs and out into the street. She gazed around at the confusion, the wagon trundling off with Pierse inside, but said nothing as he led her to the carriage.

  In the minute when he’d burst into that room fearing the worst, the depth of his feelings for Letty struck with force. He cared for her deeply. Such an emotion rocked him, it made him want something from life he’d refused to believe he could have. That he didn’t believe he could have without causing some hurt to her.

  “I want to go home, Brandon,” she murmured.

  “Yes, of course you do, sweetheart. And so you shall,” he said, his breath catching.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brandon assisted Letty into the carriage. Once seated, he took her hands in his, while he explained that Mrs. Willard had expressed some confidence in finding a sponsor for her, to allow her to remain in London for the rest of the Season. “If you wish to stay,” he added, studying her in the faint glow of the carriage lamps. “You did express a desire to go home, which might be best.”

  Letty looked away from him. He wanted her gone. She watched the shadowy quiet streets pass by, and the halos cast by the gas lamps. “How very kind of her,” she murmured, aware that she sounded flat, dismissive, and profoundly weary.

  It was barely halfway through the Season. That meant many weeks living with a new family. She feared she would make a dreadful companion. She and Arietta had shared such good times together, giggling at nonsensical things whilst browsing amongst the jewelry and furs at the Pantheon Bazaar, or the perfumery and millinery at Harding Howell & Co in Pall Mall. To contemplate joining another household, trying to fit in with a new family, with the possible resentment of their daughter who would hardly care to share her come-out, did nothing to lessen the sensation of being cut adrift.

  Letty kept revisiting the frightening scene in Arietta’s bedchamber in her mind. Pierse, as he held up a vicious-looking knife and moved toward her, having made up his mind to kill her. Then, Arietta rushing in to save her, only to be impaled on the blade. It all happened so fast and left Pierse as stunned and shattered as Letty. She shuddered. She would never forget the almost inhuman sound of his heartbroken cry.

  As if in response, Brandon’s arm came round her shoulders. “But I can’t arrive at the Willard’s door in the middle of the night,” she murmured.

  “Mrs. Willard is more than happy to take you in. She is a pleasant woman, is she not?”

  “I met her only briefly. I hate to impose.”

  “None of this is your fault.”

  “I’ve had the most dreadful Season,” Letty said almost to herself. “I wouldn’t want another like it.”

  “Another? Then you might stay in London?” Brandon’s voice began to sound strangely hollow as if he was far away.

  “I don’t know…” Warm beneath the rug he’d tucked around her, Letty gratefully leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes, while the juddering carriage took them away from the dreadful carnage.

  “Letty?” Brandon’s soft voice reached her. It was too soon. She wanted to go on like this for hours.

  “Yes?” She opened her eyes. They’d stopped in front of a townhouse she recognized as the Willard’s. A lady in evening dress waited on the porch. “There’s Mrs. Willard,” she said, surprised. She had not expected to see the lady until the morning.

  “She will look after you,” Brandon said again.

  “I’m such a nuisance,” she said. “Will you come in, Brandon?”

  “No. I’ll return tomorrow to see how you fare.”

  After the footman put down the step, Brandon lifted Letty down. They stood on the pavement as his concerned, blue eyes met hers. “You need rest, sweetheart.”

  Letty nodded numbly.

  The elegantly dressed Mrs. Willard greeted Brandon informally like an old friend.

  “I’ll leave you in Mrs. Willard’s capable care, Letty,” he said.

  Strangely bereft, Letty watched the horses pull away from the curb.

  “Come, my child. You are all done in.” Mrs. Willard’s soothing voice eased Letty’s discomfiture as she placed an arm around her and drew her into the house.

  “I am most dreadfully sorry to have disturbed you,” Letty said.

  “Nonsense. No one goes to bed until very late in Town. We are not long returned from a party and prior to that, the opera.”

  “We had tickets for the opera, Arietta and I.” Letty gulped, and tears ran down her cheeks.

  Mrs. Willard offered her a scented handkerchief. “More will come out about this, I imagine, although we may not get to hear the whole. We women do not. It’s not a world we are often exposed to, because our brave, honorable, gentlemen work hard to protect us from it. I am so very sorry indeed, my dear, that you have been hurt. You liked Lady Arietta, didn’t you? So did I. But I’m afraid our loyalty to her was sadly misplaced. Now, up to bed with a hot drink and a bedwarmer at your feet. You’ll feel ever so much better tomorrow.”

  She tried to save me, Letty wanted to say as a need to defend Arietta tightened her chest, the words hovering on her tongue. But what good would it do? She wiped her tears and followed Mrs. Willard up the stairs. “I must write to my uncle and Aunt Edith. They will be distressed at the news. My aunt especially. She placed me in Arietta’s care after she became too ill to sponsor me. And because she’s in Cumbria, she won’t be able to attend the funeral. But I shall go.”

  “Women do not attend funerals, and certainly not young women. You need to rest, my dear. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Mrs. Willard said, her firm hand on Letty’s arm guiding her into a bedchamber.

  Brandon wearily entered his townhouse, his relief so profound he could almost taste it. Letty, safe at last with the Willards. It was possible that she might decide to stay for the rest of the Season should her uncle allow it. But the horrible experience she’d witnessed tonight had left her badly shaken. He now knew her well enough to be confident the spirited young woman would rally, given time, but Lady Arietta’s betrayal, and how she had died would leave its mark.

  With a deep regretful sigh, he acknowledged his involvement in Letty’s life must end. An agent had no business dallying with a debutante. A wife weakened a man’s resolve. All his thoughts were channeled into protecting her. And there would be children, even worse. At least he’d managed to keep his head and not gone with his rampant emotions. She must be left to find her feet, and enjoy a lighthearted time in London, if she chose. And perhaps meet the man she would marry. He ran up the stairs as his mind skittered away from that possibility. It would be a lucky man who married Letty. The fellow better be worthy of her.

  The next day, Brandon met Willard in his office where they discussed the events of the previous night, and how matters now stood.

  “So, Lady Arietta was working for the French?” Brandon asked.

  “She was enamored of Pierse, but we’ve discovered nothing to suggest she passed secr
ets to the French. The fire’s gone out of Pierse. He is talking. We’ve determined that he first met the lady through her husband. Pierse must have subsequently pursued her after Kendall died. He used her for his own ends while he worked for Fraughton, who was perhaps the only member of the gang of four who had political leanings with a view to incite revolution. Pierse is merely an opportunist who offers his services for hire. A violent man, and is suspected of being behind Kendall’s death and that porter’s death in France.”

  Willard ran a hand over his eyes. “Descrier and Elford are businessmen, Marston, too, to a lesser degree. Descrier lost money after the decline of slavery, and Lord Elford after a storm razed his cotton plantation in the West Indies. Marston was a gambler who went through his family’s money. They all looked to fill their coffers by any means available to them. When the opportunity arose to engage in opium smuggling, they grabbed it.” He leaned back in his chair. “The Home Office is satisfied with the outcome. The Journal Noir proves these men were contributing money to Napoleon’s cause, aided by Pierse. A clear case of treason. They will stand trial, as Fraughton and Marston would have, had they survived to face justice. That is why the journal frightened them. Napoleon had advised them of it, perhaps with a view to keep them under his control, who knows? But knowing their names were in it made them all too aware of the consequences should the journal ever fall into British hands.”

  Brandon folded his arms. “The mystery of the journal is at last solved. How was Miss Bromley this morning?”

  Willard lifted his bushy eyebrows. “She was breakfasting with my wife when I left home. I gather you will call and see the young lady today?”

  “This afternoon. Did Miss Bromley mention whether she planned to remain in London?”

  Willard shook his head. “The offer is there should she wish to do so. My wife is so taken with her, she might sponsor Miss Bromley, herself.”