“Uh, yes, sir,” the stripling replied, the earnest outrage on his homely face transforming to confusion. “We just came down from Nottingham yesterday.”
“Well then, let me give you a little advice. Strong opinions are best saved for your social circle and relatives, honorably intended though they may be. Imagine if I had a temper, a weapon, and friends in high places.”
His eyes bulged. “I…I didn’t mean any offence, sir. I have sisters...”
“Then run along and see to them rather than bothering Mr. Underwood,” interrupted a jovial voice with a steel undertone. As the would-be knight in shining armor scooted away, William grinned over his shoulder at Lord Harold Havenhurst.
“Harry, my good man! It’s been an age.”
“David. Still causing trouble here, there, and everywhere I see,” said Havenhurst, clapping him on the left shoulder as he came around to stand in front of him.
Agony screamed through his body. Christ, he was going to pass out. But after a few shallow breaths, William gritted his teeth and jauntily swung his cane as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Tosh! I did the lad a service. If he continues around the city preaching like that, he’ll only wind up with a dagger between the ribs for his trouble.”
“Perhaps. But he’s right about one thing. Lady Samantha Buchanan is far too young for you, and already spoken for by someone far loftier than us, if what I think is true.”
William froze. “Harry. I know your dear wife is a source of all sorts of delightful gossip, but please don’t say you believe that tasty treat and Southby will make a match. I’ll be crushed beyond repair. Those luscious curves would be wasted on him.”
“Southby? I’m not talking about his grace, but young Standish. As soon as the marquess returns and is on his feet again, mark my words, there’ll be wedding bells a-ringing.”
“Oh? You think so?” William replied, stifling a smile.
“Indeed. If you had seen the two of them at Mary’s soiree, you’d know what I mean. He was very attentive. And all I can say is thank God for small mercies, I’ve been worried about the lad for some time now.”
“Worried about Standish? Why? Richard’s boy is a chip off the old block, isn’t he?”
Havenhurst glanced left and right and moved closer. “That is what concerned me. William following in Richard’s footsteps and being so overly dedicated to crown and country intrigues that he’d also fall into a dark abyss he couldn’t escape from. Andrew and I both warned Richard, many times, to stop crusading and concentrate on his family and responsibilities to the title, but the damned fool ignored both of us.”
Icy claws wrapped themselves around William’s heart and gouged viciously. What in the bloody hell was Havenhurst talking about? Father had been the perfect marquess who’d cared for his wife, taught his son, tended his lands, made excellent speeches in the House, and travelled occasionally. Nothing more.
“What do you mean, follow in his footsteps?” he made himself ask slowly, in Underwood’s nasal drawl. “Richard had no ties to Whitehall.”
“Not officially, no. But until the day he died he worked to stamp out treasonous activity. It kills me to say it, but I’ve never thought young William was orphaned by accident. I believe Richard’s work led to his and Sophia’s deaths.”
“No! But...the highwaymen...” he said hoarsely, as images from that excruciating day blasted through his mind like cannon fire. The screams as the carriage plunged over the bank. Those cruel, pitiless silver eyes which had mocked him before he’d been pistol-whipped. The sight and scent of a river of blood...
“Highwaymen?” replied Havenhurst grimly. “Or assassins?”
“You’re wrong,” William snarled, his right fist jerking up to wrap itself around the baron’s cravat. “So very, very wrong. How dare you impugn my fa...friend’s memory in this way. Richard was the best of men. He would never have put his family’s safety at risk. Ever!”
“David?” Havenhurst croaked, his eyes bulging as his face turned purple. “What on earth?”
With a muffled, dark curse he let his father’s friend go. Had it really come to this? Bad enough he’d jeopardized this new mission once already because he couldn’t stay in character at the theater, now he was assaulting an old man in public over a piece of nonsense theory. He would have known if his father had been involved in covert investigations. White would have said something, even more so had his father been murdered due to his work. Especially if they were still fighting the same battle against treason, against the same black-hearted bastards.
Surely.
“Forgive me, Harry,” he muttered, stepping back and attempting an Underwood smile. “Too much fresh air and sunshine and not nearly enough brandy and women make me a cantankerous old fool.”
Havenhurst let out a long, slow breath and adjusted his neck cloth. “Well, let’s find you a drink and a woman at once. But definitely not a married woman. Do you know I heard some twaddle that a gentleman brained you with a broom, shot you, and threatened to feed your entrails to the ducks because he caught you balls-deep in his lady wife?”
“Geese,” William replied with a shudder, closing his eyes briefly. “It was a flock of geese. But all untrue, as you can plainly see.”
“Indeed, indeed. Do I need to say no sweet young blondes also?”
“No sweet young blondes, Lord Havenhurst?” interrupted a laughing voice, and he glanced sideways to see Aunt Jane, Caroline, and Samantha all staring at them curiously. “We three are vastly disappointed at such discrimination!”
“Of course he didn’t refer to you, Janey darling,” William laughed, kissing her hand as the baron gave him a meaningful look and excused himself with a low bow. “Or your scrumptious younger sisters here either.”
She rolled her eyes and gave him a fond smile. “A line for every occasion. Perhaps you might act the gentleman for a bit and escort us to afternoon tea?”
“Act like a gentleman? Good God, you ask the earth, the sun and the moon, my love. But for you, I suppose I could. As long as you never tell anyone, mind.”
In reality, he didn’t even know if he could manage one foot in front of the other, let alone conversation after the lightning bolt Havenhurst had just stabbed through his chest. But he took Jane’s arm, and led the three women away from Hyde Park.
The tea shop was warm and busy, and the four of them were soon settled at a wooden table with plates of cream cakes, apple and nutmeg pastries, and lemon curd tarts to go with their steaming cups of fragrant tea.
Yet again, Samantha found herself picking at her food. For some unknown reason her lips wouldn’t form words in front of David Underwood today, at least not with an audience, and she listened more than participated in the conversation as he laughed and teased Aunt Jane and Caroline, all while shooting her the odd puzzled glance. When they returned out into the warm afternoon sunshine, she nearly stumbled over her own feet when he deliberately took her arm, leaving the other two to walk a few steps behind.
“Did you enjoy the refreshments, my dear?”
“I did indeed, Mr. Underwood,” Samantha replied politely as they walked back toward Hyde Park where Aunt Jane’s carriage waited to take them home. “Sweets are a weakness of mine, I’m afraid.”
“Uncle David, pet. But not as much as Lady Westleigh, though. While I never object to a little hand-stroking, I thought she might snap my fingers clean off when I reached for the last cream cake. Naturally I conceded defeat immediately—only a fool comes between a lady and her heart’s desire.”
Samantha’s lips curved into a smile. “Very wise, sir. Caro—Lady Westleigh—is, ah, particularly attached to cake.”
“Another of her many charms. Can’t abide women who eat like sparrows, all skin and bones. Ladies should have bosoms and bottoms and hips like the good Lord intended.”
Samantha coughed to halt an inappropriate giggle. This man truly was an irredeemable rogue. “Hasn’t the weather been lovely today? So warm and sunny.”
“Oh, darling, no,” he chided reprovingly. “We’ve just had an hour of small talk, I cannot abide a minute more. Tell me...tell me about all the young bucks who have been chasing you relentlessly since you made your come out. I’m sure you’ve been quite inundated with callers and flowers.”
“Actually, there isn’t much to tell.”
“What? Never you say. I am grievously worried for the future of this great country if the gentlemen of London cannot see what a perfect little peach you are!”
“It’s not that so much,” Samantha replied, her cheeks warm.
Mr. Underwood beamed. “Aha! So you do have a beau. I knew it. Who is he? Strapping, titled, and wealthy enough to keep you like a queen, I hope?”
Good grief, her blush had spread to her entire body. She was now a walking, talking tomato. “Well, I...ah...”
“What is the matter, pet? Surely he’s champing at the bit to put a ring on your finger. If I were a younger man, my word…”
Samantha looked away. Even though it was oddly easy to talk to David Underwood, how could she begin to explain the current situation with William? The man I love went to France on a dangerous mission. Before he left, we spent a magical night together, and now I am carrying his child. But he doesn’t know, because he was shot, and is still in France and I pray every day for his safe return. Although I don’t know whether or not he actually wants to marry me, or will ever love me back…
“Well, he’s a busy man with a great many responsibilities. And I do admire his steadfastness, even though I miss him terribly when he is…otherwise occupied.”
“I see,” said Mr. Underwood, in a voice so uncharacteristically cold, she glanced back in surprise. What had she said that was so offensive? But then his anger vanished as though it had never been, and he smiled cheerfully. “If you won’t regale me with naughty tales of young love, then tell me, hmmm, tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.”
Before she could answer, an angry fracas started behind them. They both spun around.
“Stop! Thief!” a man barked, and seconds later, a roughly-dressed youth sprinted past them clutching a leather money purse and gold fob watch.
Shockingly, her companion moved like he was about to run after the thief, but Samantha grabbed his hand.
“Wait,” she hissed. Yanking open her reticule, she pulled her dagger from its leather casing, turned, and threw it hard at the fleeing criminal in one thankfully smooth movement. To her amused delight, the dagger embedded itself in the youth’s backside, and he fell face-first onto the ground, howling like a hungry toddler. Old Gwen would have nodded with stern approval at that throw.
Unfortunately, David Underwood wasn’t nearly so admiring.
“Samantha!” he choked out, actually looking rather ill. And his fists were clenched, too, like he was furiously angry.
Oh God.
“Look, everyone!” she yelled. “See what Mr. Underwood did! He stopped the thief!”
Applause and cheers rang out from the gathering crowd. Hastily, her companion inclined his head and hurried over to the trapped youth to take back the money purse and watch, as well as her dagger, which he slipped into the lacy cuff of his shirtsleeve.
“Much obliged to you, sir” said the owner of the stolen goods, and Samantha whipped out her fan and waved it front of her face as though the excitement was too much.
Mr. Underwood awkwardly shook the man’s hand. “Er, no trouble. No trouble at all, my good man. Can’t allow injustice to go unpunished. But we must be off.”
Aunt Jane and Caroline were still talking with some passersby, but Mr. Underwood re-tucked Samantha’s arm through his, and almost dragged her along the path several feet.
“Well, Uncle David,” she said defiantly, although her voice trembled a little. “You said you wanted to know something about me that no one else knew. Now you do.”
He stared at her for the longest moment, then he chortled and handed her back the dagger. “Indeed, baby Sam, indeed. My word, aren’t you full of surprises! What a skill for a young lady to have. I’m desperately curious to know where you learned to do that, but darling Janey is charging toward us to save your virtue. So unnecessary. I’m not at all interested in ruining my clothing with twigs and grass and dirt. The good Lord created beds for a reason.”
Samantha smiled as she swiftly wiped the dagger with a corner of her pelisse, then tucked it back into her reticule, but the thrill of her perfectly executed throw had dulled to be replaced by acute unease. She had shocked a man she thought unshockable. The way he’d looked at her…almost like she had betrayed him. And that had been a horrible sensation.
In the future, she would need to be far more ladylike.
Or at least try.
Chapter 15
He hadn’t slept all night. How could he, after the two cannonballs that had been delivered yesterday, first by Lord Havenhurst, then by Samantha and her bloody damned assassin-like knife throw, plus a stitched up shoulder that hurt like the very devil?
But his family history—no, not history but mystery—was the oldest lie. So here he was, pacing White’s office like a caged tiger ready to pounce.
“I want the full story about my father,” said William sharply. “No more falsehoods, evasions, or half-truths. And I want it right now.”
Moving a pile of paperwork to one side then sitting back in his chair, White sighed. “The truth of the matter is, Standish, and I swear this on my mother’s grave, I don’t know the full story. Despite what many think, I wasn’t born in this chair.”
“Well, what do you know?”
“I was only a clerk back then, and the powers that be refused to release anything in relation to the events before and after what unfolded on that road. I understand the men responsible had strong connections to a fledgling but brutal sect of French sympathizers. I understand they disappeared off the face of the earth after the deed was done, not surfacing again in England until at least two years later.”
“To your knowledge.”
“Standish, try and understand the position the authorities were in. The outcry if it became known a senior peer of the realm and his wife had been murdered by English traitors, and not been apprehended, would have been utterly untenable for the Home Office.”
William rubbed a hand slowly over his face. It was either that or swear himself hoarse and punch several holes in the wall. In the space of a day, all blinkers about his past had been well and truly removed. The debacle with Samantha was one thing, but this was another matter entirely. Everything he thought he had known about his father, all his own years working within the bloody Home Office, had been a lie. This new awareness felt like a rusty, jagged knife plunging hard into his gut. Lies. So many fucking lies!
He pinned White with a gaze. “Is it still the same group you are trying to bring down? Even after all these years?”
“Yes. I believe so.”
“So the criminals who killed my parents could have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds or thousands of others in the years since? Right this very minute, they could be murdering innocent men and women because of the sheer incompetence of this division—”
“There is no need to state the facts to me, Standish. You think I am not well aware of the atrocities being committed in every village, town, and city in this country? Believe me, I know! I know them all. In fact, we were delivered a parcel just the other day. Two severed heads, neatly wrapped with a satin bow. You know who they were? Two well-trained spies who volunteered to join the enemy and had been providing us with solid information. On Claremont. So although I am sorrier than I can say at what happened to you, your parents are not the only victims.”
William froze. “Christ.”
“I understand your anger and frustration. Now imagine it tenfold. We were so close this time to making arrests, bringing these bastards to trial and seeing them hang for high treason. But they are cunning, fearless, and move like evil shadows in the night. They don�
��t attend tea parties with ‘villain’ painted on their backs.”
“Have you caught any of them? Any at all?”
White sighed. “Of course we have. But it seems no matter how carefully they are guarded, no matter how secure the prison, they either escape or are mysteriously found dead. This group are not pretenders. They are perhaps the greatest threat to our country in history. The French are on their way, and these traitors are lighting their path. And with every success, more poor and hungry and disenchanted Englishmen flock to join them.”
Slumping into a chair, William rubbed a weary hand over his face. Suddenly he felt one hundred years old. As the saying went, a little knowledge was a dangerous thing. And what he’d learned in the past day was enough to near-destroy him. “Then what do you plan to do? I can’t keep up this ridiculous David Underwood charade. Especially when it is obvious Lady Samantha can take care of herself.”
“Really? How so?”
“She throws knives like a bloody assassin. Demonstrated the fact right in front of me yesterday in Hyde Park, when a thief ran past and she felled him with a goddamned dagger to the backside. A weapon she just happened to have in her goddamned reticule.”
White’s bushy ginger eyebrows nearly catapulted back over his head. “A knife thrower? So, the chit does have secrets then. Perhaps as many as Claremont. This means we need you more than ever.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because Lady Samantha is now our only hope for success, and you are the only person I can trust absolutely to watch her. You have access to all the places she does, you can stay within her vicinity without arousing suspicion. I’m asking—nay, begging, Standish, stay on this course. If we can trap Claremont, we may just be able to crush this ring of traitors once and for all. Including those who murdered your parents.”
Tempting the Marquess (The London Lords Book 3) Page 19