Lord Margrave's Secret Desire

by Samantha Grace

  The duke’s stance had earned a sliver of respect from Crispin. When he re-entered the study, Alexander was leaning against the desk while Kane and the duke lounged on adjacent chairs. His protégé chatted amiably with Stanhurst. Perhaps he had become too comfortable.

  The duke snapped his head toward Crispin; his attention was focused. “My duty has been dispatched. I require a horse, and I will be on my way.”

  Crispin met his brother’s shuttered gaze across the room. Did he imagine they knew each other’s minds with only a glance?

  “I insist you stay as our guest, Your Grace,” Alexander said.

  The duke frowned. “But your mother—”

  “She was distraught over her husband. She has asked me to extend her apologies and invite you to stay.”

  “I have sisters.” Stanhurst stood. “They need my protection. I promised to meet them in Lancashire.”

  Alexander crossed his arms. He was unmoved by the duke’s appeal. “It seems your cousin wants you dead. Maybe your sisters are safer without you.”

  Stanhurst exhaled as if he had been punched in the guts.

  Kane glowered. It was clear he had grown fond of the duke during their short association, not that Crispin was surprised. Saving a life often tethered men together and formed a steadfast friendship that might take a lifetime to build under ordinary circumstances.

  “I am sure my brother did not intend to be harsh,” Crispin said and silenced Alexander with a firm glance. “The truth is often cruel, however. Lady Van Middleburg knows you are in possession of the letters. She arranged for your demise, knowing your sisters would be without a protector. We must assume she has no great love for your sisters and would not oppose eliminating them as well, if necessary.”

  The duke’s swallow was audible.

  “Allow me to go to your sisters in your stead,” Kane said. “If you pen a letter, I will deliver it and stay on to protect them until this rotten business is behind you. No harm will come to them. I give you my oath.”

  Stanhurst looked from man to man. “Are you one of them—all of you?”

  “If you are asking if we are in partnership with your cousin,” Crispin said, “the answer should be obvious.”

  “Your man saved my life. I realize you are not aligned with Lady Van Middleburg.” Stanhurst’s lips thinned. “In my brother’s diary, Geoffrey mentioned a group of spies answerable only to the King—the Regent’s Consul.”

  Crispin scoffed to hide his surprise. Had Kane said or done something to lead the duke down this path? “What did your brother have to say about this Regent’s Consul?”

  “He met the leader at a gaming hell a few years ago, and they struck up a friendship after a time. Geoffrey described him as ambitious and hinted he was unhappy playing the King’s lap dog.”

  Kane flashed their private symbol for Farrin, a brief flick of his pointer and little finger. Devil’s horns.

  Crispin answered in sign. Maybe.

  “Where is your brother’s diary now?” he asked the duke.

  “It was in my saddlebags. Ask your brother.”

  “His belongings were taken to his chambers above stairs,” Alexander said.

  “I want to read it.”

  Crispin’s brother nodded and summoned a footman. He gave orders to retrieve the duke’s saddlebags.

  “You may keep the diary,” the duke said, “but you may not hold me against my will.”

  “I will not stand in your way, Your Grace.” Crispin stepped aside and fanned his arm toward the door. “There is the exit. However, if you leave, I cannot guarantee your safe passage to Lancashire. You will be on your own.”

  The duke raised his narrow nose. “I will take my chances. No one will catch me off guard again.”

  “I do not expect they will. Whether you can defend yourself against a band of men eager to draw your blood, I cannot say.” Crispin turned to Kane. “How many riders ambushed the duke on the road?”

  “I counted five, more or less. It was dark.”

  The muscles in Stanhurst’s jaw knotted. “Under the circumstances, perhaps you would lend me your man. Kane, I will see you rewarded once I am reunited with my sisters.”

  Crispin held his tongue. In matters of this nature, he did not attempt to influence Kane. The younger man would be risking his own life. He should have complete authority to make his decisions.

  Kane cleared his throat and signed, trust. “You are right about Lord Margrave and me,” he said to the duke. “We are Regent’s Consul men. Lieutenant Locke is not, but he knows about us. We can speak freely in his presence.”

  Stanhurst’s eyes flared slightly, revealing his surprise. Perhaps he had been casting for answers without believing he would get a bite.

  “What you have done is brave,” Kane said. “You have much to lose, but you came forward without hesitation. I promise, I will do everything possible to protect your sisters if you will entrust the task to me. You must know I am capable.”

  The duke’s lips twitched.

  Crispin took a step toward him. “Your contribution will not be overlooked, Your Grace. His Majesty will be left with no doubts as to your loyalty, and no one else will ever question how your brother and father died. I will take the secret to my grave.”

  “As will I,” Kane and Alexander said in unison.

  Stanhurst sighed. His obstinate stance softened marginally.

  “I believe our country is in danger,” Crispin said, “and you may be the only one who can help discover the origin of the threat. Have you ever heard of a group called the Black Death?”

  “I take it you are not referencing the plague.” The duke’s voice was flat.

  “I am not.” Crispin gestured toward the empty chair. “You should sit. This is a long story.”

  “Then I believe a brandy is in order.” Stanhurst sat while Alexander poured him two fingers. Crispin declined a glass when his brother offered and claimed a place on the sofa. Alexander joined him.

  “The Black Death is the name given to a tribe of fearless warriors from the Egyptian peninsula,” Crispin said. “Membership is handed down as a birthright, and both boys and girls undergo training at a young age. Per legend, the tribe’s beginnings can be traced back to Ahmose, I.”

  “Should that name mean something to me?”

  “Not unless you have studied Egyptian history.”

  “I have not.”

  “Ahmose, I was an 18th dynasty pharaoh who restored Theban rule over Egypt. The pharaoh enlisted these highly skilled warriors to expel the Hykos from the lower delta.”

  The duke frowned. “Again, this is meaningless. Is there a reason you are educating me on Egyptian history? I see no correlation between these long dead warriors and whatever trouble my brother fell into.”

  “The exact relationship is unclear, Your Grace,” Kane said, “but there is one. Lord Margrave could omit the history, but I think it is necessary to truly understand the gravity of our current situation.”

  Stanhurst looked back and forth from Kane to Crispin. He sharply inclined his head. “You may continue, Margrave. You have my attention.”

  “Thank you.” Crispin attempted to curb his irritation, but it leached into his voice. “After Egypt fell to the Romans, the tribe retreated to the mountains and lived undisturbed for centuries. Their existence would likely have remained undiscovered if not for the Crusades.”

  “A period of which I have some knowledge,” the duke said.

  “You were unlikely to have read about the tribe. Historians reached a consensus and declared the group was nothing more than a fable, a trick of Erminhilt Osterhagen’s feeble mind.” Before Stanhurst could ask another question, Crispin supplied the answer. “Sir Osterhagen was with the Order of Saint John.”

  “Rivals to the Knights Templar.”

  “Yes, Osterhagen’s actions dealt serious blows to the Templars. After a particularly bloody battle, he became separated from his order. He wandered in the mountains for weeks, lost. So
me reports claim he was dead when the tribal women found him, but he was not. They carried him to their village and nursed him back to health.

  “While Osterhagen regained his strength, he witnessed the warriors performing inhuman feats. He had never seen such vicious and cunning fighters, and he took it upon himself to negotiate with the tribal chiefs on behalf of the Vatican. Osterhagen left the village at the end of his convalescence with an agreement that would earn him a position of power in the Church. He promised gold in exchange for the tribes assistance fighting the Knights Templar.”

  “He did well for himself, eh?”

  “The alliance changed the course of the war. The Egyptians could steal into any camp undetected and leave behind no evidence that they had ever been there.”

  “Aside from the bodies of their targets,” Kane added. “Each victim bore a mark of death on their foreheads, but the marks were conspicuously missing from other victims that fell while trying to protect their masters.”

  “Some believed the acts were committed by traitors in the camp,” Crispin said. “The Black Death became a legend in time, but they are real. The Regent’s Consul became aware of the group’s existence during the war with Napoleon, but there has been no recent talk of the Black Death until last week. It seems your brother and Lord Van Middleburg enlisted a group of merchants to hire the warriors.”

  The duke cleared his throat. “For what purpose?”

  “We don’t now,” Kane said, “but we need to find out. With your brother’s death, the merchants’ confidence has grown shaky. They are threatening to withdraw their support, which would be disastrous.”

  Creases appeared on Stanhurst’s forehead. “I do not understand. Wouldn’t it be to everyone’s advantage if the deal was dissolved?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes,” Crispin said, “but your brother and his cohorts already sent a man to hire the mercenaries. Half of what is owed will be paid before the job, as a show of good faith. The warriors will expect the remainder once the task is completed.”

  “And if the merchants withdraw their support?”

  “Black Death will come to England to collect,” Kane said, “and from the tales I have heard, we do not want them descending on England.”

  A storm brewed behind the duke’s eyes. “I cannot fathom what sort of mess Geoffrey created. What did he hope would come of this?”

  “We believe your brother’s correspondence holds the answers,” Crispin said.

  “I have given you everything I found, and I have no knowledge of deciphering. I do not see how I can be of any more use. Allow me to reunite with my sisters.”

  Crispin acknowledged his cooperation. It had required no small amount of bravery to come forward with what he had discovered. “You may know more than you realize, Your Grace. As I said earlier, I will not stop you if you insist on going, but you must accept that your choices could have far-reaching consequences for England.”

  “Your cooperation,” Alexander said, speaking for the first time since sitting down with the duke, “could be an opportunity to clear your name. It must be difficult to leave your sisters’ care in the hands of another man, but Kane is trained for this type of work. Wouldn’t your sisters be safer with him?”

  “I will leave at once,” Kane said. “They will not be unprotected. You have my word.”

  Silence descended over the room. Stanhurst plowed his fingers through his hair, grimaced, and made another pass with his hand.

  “Damnation,” he muttered at last. “I cannot see I have much choice. My loyalties lie with the King. Tell me how I can be of use.”

  After Stanhurst retired to his chamber to compose instructions to his sisters, Crispin’s brother detained him.

  “There is something I must show you,” Alexander said. “It is unpleasant business, but I believe you deserve to know the full truth about our parents’ marriage. Perhaps it will explain our mother’s behavior toward you, although it does not absolve her.”

  Crispin’s brother approached the desk by the window and retrieved a stack of yellowed papers. They were tied together with stiff string, as if they hadn’t been read in a long time. He extended the packet to Crispin.

  “Mother kept our father’s letters, too,” Alexander said. “I am afraid his words do not flatter him. If you do not wish to read them, I understand. Your memories of him paint him in a much better light. I thought you should know they exist, though, even if you choose to destroy the letters without opening them.”

  His brother extended the packet to him, and Crispin took it with confidence that nothing contained in the writings would alter his opinion of his father.

  He was wrong.

  Twenty-two

  Sophia was no less distressed over Crispin’s decision to pursue Farrin and his men when she came below stairs that evening than she had been upon learning of his plans. Nevertheless, she pasted on a smile to mask her upset, offered a bright greeting when she entered the drawing room prior to supper, and apologized for being late. Aunt Beatrice, Crispin, Lieutenant Locke, and the Duke of Stanhurst had arrived before her.

  “There you are, dearest.” Aunt Beatrice took Sophia’s hands in her own and kissed her cheek. “We were discussing if we should wait on supper. I thought perhaps you were taking a tray above stairs like Mrs. Ness.”

  “No, ma’am. Forgive me for delaying everyone.”

  “Forgiveness is yours.” Lieutenant Locke came forward with a jaunty smile and lifted her hand to kiss the air above her knuckles. His stomach grumbled; he laughed as red stole into his cheeks. “Even as my appetite protests the delay.”

  Sophia chuckled. She must admit to being relieved Mrs. Ness chose not to dine with them after the unpleasantness that morning, but she hoped her absence did not signal a turn for the worse for Mr. Ness. “How is your stepfather this evening, sir?”

  “There has been no change, Miss Darlington, but his rest is peaceful now. He is no longer struggling to catch a breath.”

  Sophia’s heart felt a little heavier, given their host’s troubles. She really should have practiced restraint with Crispin’s mother. She must be very worried for her husband. “I am sorry for Mr. Ness’s troubles, and I hope he remains free of suffering.”

  Sophia caught Crispin staring at her and quickly averted her gaze. Despite his assertion that she needn’t apologize for arguing with his mother, Sophia’s conscience insisted otherwise. She had formed an opinion of her future mother-in-law long before the conflict, and she suspected that opinion had colored her judgment. Like it or not, marriage to Crispin came with a difficult mother-in-law. Life would be easier for everyone if she and Sophia learned to tolerate each other.

  “Are you well-rested now, dearest?” Aunt Beatrice asked.

  “I feel much better, thank you.”

  Sophia had secluded herself in her chambers all afternoon on the pretense of needing to recover from their travels. Instead of sleeping, she had sat at the window seat to contemplate alternatives to Crispin’s plans and had come up with no viable alternative. Everyone at Mr. and Mrs. Ness’s home would be in danger if Farrin and his men were allowed to come to them. Crispin must find the blackguards first. She needed to trust in his abilities.

  As he had proven during the attack behind the theatre, he was capable of defending himself. This knowledge gave her little peace, however. A whisper at the back of her mind refused to be quiet. You have everything you want; it cannot last.

  She ignored the fatalistic pest and accepted Crispin’s escort to the dining room. The duke was partnered with Aunt Beatrice and preceded them to supper. Lieutenant Locke, absent a dining partner, followed in their wake.

  A dark mood emanated from Crispin as he took his place across the table; a gloom seemed to settle over the room. The wall coverings appeared more dingy than she recalled from the morning, and the air trudged thickly through her lungs.

  To ease the awkwardness, she attempted to initiate conversation at the supper table. “Did you find your
sisters well when you were home, Your Grace?”

  The Duke of Stanhurst’s head snapped up. He seemed startled to be addressed. “Er, yes. I was home only briefly, but everything was as well as could be expected.”

  Sophia smiled in sympathy. She felt a kinship to the duke and his sisters, having lost both of her parents too. “I imagine this must be a difficult time for everyone. If you would find it appropriate, I would like to write to your eldest sister to extend an offer of friendship. I understand she will be presented next Season. Perhaps having a friend to correspond with prior to her coming out will make the prospect feel less daunting.”

  “That is kind of you, Miss Darlington. Emmeline would be pleased by your offer, I am sure.”

  The duke returned to cutting the chicken on his plate into small pieces that she suspected he wouldn’t eat. He had only pushed the carrots around his plate since he was served.

  The poor man. It must have been harrowing to be driven off the road and almost shot by highwaymen. Even more disturbing had to be realizing his assailants were working for his cousin. Was it any wonder he had lost his appetite?

  Aunt Beatrice picked up the conversation and questioned Lieutenant Locke about his post in Canada. He regaled them with humorous accounts of his time with his regime, lightening the mood during the supper hour. Sophia caught Crispin studying her throughout the meal, and even though she had come to accept his decision to leave in the morning, she couldn’t bring herself to offer the reassurance he likely sought.

  After supper, Lieutenant Locke suggested they retire to the drawing room for a glass of claret and cards. Aunt Beatrice eagerly accepted the invitation and hooked her arm with the Duke of Stanhurst’s before she directed him from the dining room.

  “Convey our regrets to the duke and Miss Darlington’s aunt,” Crispin said to his brother. “I promised my betrothed a breath of fresh air after supper. If we go now, we can watch the sunset.”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise at the boldness of his lie, and her stomach turned uneasily. She didn’t wish to argue with him, not when he would leave her before sunrise.