by Ava Stone
Bile rose up in Marc’s throat. What he wouldn’t give for a pistol or even a dagger-wielding man in a mask at the moment. “It’s Haversham now,” Marc said evenly, relieved for the years of training he’d had, ensuring that there was no emotion to be found in his voice at all.
“Yes, yes.” St. George nodded and stepped toward Marc and Caroline. “I do remember hearing about that. So sorry about your father.”
But there were no apologies, no condolences for the knife St. George had plunged into Max’s unsuspecting back. “Well, it has been nearly a decade,” Marc returned, glancing down the path and wondering how he could possible spirit Caroline away from the man before she was truly in harm’s way.
“Who is this?” St. George asked, his eyes landing on Caroline before his gaze flicked back to Marc.
“Someone I should have already seen returned to her family,” Marc said, sliding Caroline’s hand into his and squeezing it meaningfully. “Do excuse us, will you?” He started for the path’s exit with Caroline still tightly in his grasp.
“I remember the revolutionary-minded fellow you once were,” St. George called after them. “I was hoping we could find some time to talk, Haversham.”
Not for anything in the world. But saying as much with Caroline beside him would not be in the best interest of her safety. “I’m certain something can be arranged.” Marc glanced back over his shoulder at the man. “Do have a good evening.”
They rounded a hedge, back onto the Grand South Walk just as a whistle was blown to signal the garden’s lamplighters, and a breath whooshed from Marc’s lungs, though it would take a while for his heart to return to its normal pace.
“I have every bit of confidence,” Caroline whispered, “that you are going to tell me who that was.”
“A very dangerous fellow,” Marc said only loud enough for her to hear.
“Yes, I gathered that from the hold you had on my hand.” She drew him to a stop, which was the last thing in the world Marc wanted to do. He wanted to get her as far away from St. George, and as quickly as possible, before the villain found them. He wanted to round up Rachel and Emma and take a ferry back across the Thames. And he wanted…“Marc, tell me what’s going on. What did he mean revolutionary-minded? And why—”
“Not here,” Marc said, staring down at her and cursing himself for putting her even remotely in harm’s way. “Just act like everything is normal, at least until we leave.”
Thankfully, she nodded in agreement. Then they headed directly for the supper boxes.
Damn it all. Sebastian stared after Haversham and Lady Staveley from his hidden spot near the hedgerow. He could hardly believe his eyes, honestly. He didn’t care for Haversham. Who did, really? But Sebastian had never imagined that the man would ever throw his lot in with Kenneth St. George. The radical had, after all, stabbed the marquess’s cousin, quite literally, in the back.
But he had seen them together, just now, with his very eyes. Sebastian couldn’t hear them, of course, not from his position, but they’d seemed quite amicable, which was more than disheartening, especially considering how close the marquess seemed to be with Lady Staveley of late.
And that meant Sebastian needed to put his hands on that deciphered code, and he needed to do so immediately. What if Haversham found it first and destroyed the thing?
Staveley’s library, he sighed. How the devil was he going to find that code amongst all those books? He wished he’d known the man somewhat, that he had some idea of a favorite volume or subject with which to start his search. But there was nothing for it. His search began tonight and with great haste. There was no other choice.
Chapter 18
In all the time Caroline had known Marc, she’d never seen any real fear in his eyes, not even when that madman Brookfield had leveled his pistol on Marc and shot him in the shoulder. But she’d seen a flash of fear in Marc’s expression just moments ago, back along the Grand South Walk, once they were away from the mysterious man, but it had vanished a moment later.
Who in the world was the man from the darkened walk? And what could he possibly want with Marc?
She couldn’t help but scan the gardens from their supper box, looking for the puzzling fellow. On her life, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him before. And Marc hadn’t seen him for at least a decade either as he’d first referred to him as Kirkburn. So someone Marc had known before he’d come into the marquessate, someone she would vow he’d prefer to never see again.
What did the man mean that Marc had been revolutionary-minded? Caroline was willing to concede that she didn’t know everything there was to know about Marcus Gray, but she would bet her own life he’d never been some incendiary radical. He’d have to care, in some way, about something for that to be true; but he never had…well, with the exception of her, perhaps. Marc had, after all, said he loved her.
“…without Ben next time,” Emma was saying something and Caroline had missed the vast majority of it.
“Without Ben?” she echoed.
“Well, Uncle Luke said we couldn’t go up in the balloon with Ben.”
So her daughter wanted to return to Vauxhall and do the balloon ascent without her cousin? Caroline thought that was the gist of the conversation, though she wasn’t entirely certain. “We’ll have to see,” she said noncommittally.
“Oh!” Emma continued and reached her hand out to Marc, who sat in the seat next to Caroline. “When we come back. You could go up in the balloon with us, my lord.”
Marc quirked her a slight grin. “Are you not afraid in the least to be so high in the air?”
“No.” Emma giggled as she shook her head, sending her dark curls bobbing up and down. “Are you afraid?”
“Me?” Marc sounded incredulous.
“Lord Haversham isn’t afraid of anything,” Caroline said evenly, glancing at Marc to see if there was any sign of the crack in his unshakable façade she’d spotted along the south walk.
But his usual devil-may-care expression seemed quite in place at the moment. And then he winked at Emma as the waiter returned to their box with a tray of food. “I might be afraid that Emma Benton may try to steal my ham.”
“Oh, be afraid of that,” Luke chimed in from the other side of the table. “That little piece of baggage is quite the thief.”
“Uncle Luke!” Emma laughed, and the sound of her joy lifted Caroline’s heart just a bit. What she wouldn’t do to hear that sound always, for Emma to be as happy and content from this day forward until her last.
Contrarily, Rachel seemed beyond bored with the entire event, as though she couldn’t wait for the family excursion to come to an end. Caroline sighed as her gaze landed on her eldest. She supposed a very tame outing at Vauxhall was a far cry from the dagger-throwing criminal she’d set out in search of the night before. That whole thing still seemed so very strange. Even in the wilder days of Caroline’s youth, she couldn’t imagine ever having done something like that.
“I am simply saying,” Luke continued, “that there is a cinnamon biscuit thief who resides at Staveley House and she looks very much like you.”
“Cook made them for me,” Emma protested as she plucked a piece of cheese off the tray in the middle of the table.
“Aye,” Luke agreed. “But you still took it off my plate.”
Beside Caroline, Marc stiffened in his chair, and her gaze immediately went back out across the expanse of the gardens. Had the mysterious man from the walk returned? Was he coming toward them? Or…
Mr. Winslett? Was that who Marc was scowling at? The young man was certainly one of the more pleasant of his generation. Charming, intelligent, second in line to the Chatham dukedom. In fact, Caroline had never heard an unpleasant thing about the fellow. But Marc was definitely scowling at him. How very odd…then she realized that Chase Winslett was looking in their direction as well, or most specifically in Rachel’s direction.
Well, that was interesting. She didn’t think the young man even knew her daughte
r. But he must from the look on his face. Not that Rachel noticed. She was gazing out toward the musicians and sighing rather dramatically, not realizing at all that she apparently had an admirer.
Of course, Marc had noticed. But then he knew the thoughts in men’s minds better than Caroline did. And he truly did mean to involve himself in all aspects of their lives, apparently. Even assuming the role of protective guardian for Rachel. Oddly, Caroline found a bit of comfort in that. For the last while, she’d felt so incapable of doing everything alone, but…Marc was fitting into their lives rather well. He seemed to adore Emma as much as Emma did him; and after Rachel’s ill-advised journey into Covent Garden, he definitely seemed to be keeping a much-needed eye on her too.
She tipped her head toward Marc and whispered, “What’s wrong with Winslett?”
“He’s an idiot,” Marc replied softly.
“Indeed?”
“One of the biggest in London.”
“His mother is pleasant,” Caroline said.
“Pleasant people can bear idiots.”
She bit back a smile. “I suppose that’s true.”
His hand landed on her knee beneath the table and he squeezed her gently, making her belly flip. “Do we have to stay through the fireworks?”
Was he serious? Leaving before then was not even an option. Caroline glanced in Emma’s direction. “Do you want to tell her we’re leaving early?”
“All right.” He blew out a breath and said, “Fireworks, it is.”
Who would have ever thought Marcus Gray could have a soft spot for anyone? Especially a child? The fact that he appeared to have one for Emma made happiness course through Caroline and made her fall even deeper for him. Perhaps all her fears had been for naught. What if they really could be a happy little family? Marc was so very different from David, though he seemed to be equally effective with her children. Actually, she wasn’t certain if David would have been able to find Rachel as deftly as Marc had done. They were two very different men with very different methods, and she was quite fortunate to have had both in her life. Quite fortunate to have had the love of both of them. And quite fortunate to love them both as well.
There was nothing Marc hated more than feeling trapped. And as he spotted St. George across the way, glancing toward him, Marc knew he was definitely trapped. Even worse, he feared he’d sealed Caroline’s fate along with his.
He had the urge to say something truly awful to her, to have one enormous fight, with everyone at Vauxhall as a captive witness. And he would do so in a heartbeat to protect her, to put some very real distance between them in the eyes of society, and even in reality, if that would keep her safe. But he suspected St. George would see through such a stunt, and it would put an even bigger target on her very lovely back in the process.
He was quite clearly damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. There was no way around it.
It seemed as though he’d lived an entire lifetime waiting for those bloody fireworks. And when the last bit of color exploded in the sky, Marc grabbed Emma’s hand and whispered to Caroline, “Hold on to Rachel and stay close to me.”
Her brow creased in concern, but she nodded in agreement.
They said a rather hasty farewell to Luke, Lady Juliet, and their son before quickly starting for the Vauxhall Stairs and to the awaiting ferries on the Thames. Emma didn’t seem to notice their rushed pace as she chatted endlessly about the fireworks and the hot air balloon and the assortment of desserts that she’d sampled. Rachel seemed just as anxious to have the evening end as Marc was, which was a blessing. It would probably be the first and last time that he and Rachel Benton would ever be of the same mind about anything. Meanwhile Caroline, very quietly, seemed to study him, first aboard the ferry and then in the hack all the way back to Staveley House.
He watched from the window of the hack as Caroline and her daughters bounded up the steps and into their home, then he had the hack drop him off on Queen Street before he doubled back to Staveley House, taking his time to ensure that no one followed him. Marc went around the back and then into the house through the servants’ entrance, but this time the place was dark as pitch and Caroline’s cook was nowhere to be found.
Actually, the entire house was completely silent except for the ticking of a clock in the parlor as he passed it. But he spotted Simmons, dedicated servant that he was, illuminated by candlelight, near the front door. The butler nodded a greeting to Marc.
“They’re already abed?” Marc asked quietly.
“As soon as they retuned, milord.” Simmons nodded again, offering Marc a candle from the table in the hallway. “I’ll lock the servants’ entrance and head to bed myself unless you think you’ll have need of me.”
“No, no,” Marc assured him. “Do get some sleep.”
Then he climbed the steps, with the candle illuminating his way and started down the corridor toward Caroline’s bedchamber. He swallowed a little nervously, still not certain what he was going to tell her or how he would do so. Perhaps he could distract her from asking questions. That was a valid thought. He did excel at distractions, but he—
A dog growled low in its throat and then sent out a loud bark right from the middle of the corridor.
Oh, for the love of God.
“Shh!” Marc hissed. The damn thing was going to drive both of Caroline’s daughters from their beds if it didn’t shut up.
“Nelson!” Caroline’s door flew open, and she was already in her nightrail. The light from her chambers outlined her form against the thin silk, and Marc’s mouth went a little dry at the sight. “Go somewhere else!” She waved her hands in the air to shoo the dog along.
Nelson whimpered a bit in response, and Marc almost felt for the little beast. Almost.
“Mama?” came Rachel’s voice from one of the doors Marc had already passed.
He didn’t dare move an inch for fear that any sound would send Rachel into the corridor. Thankfully, Caroline called to her, “It’s just Nelson, Rachel. Go to sleep, sweetheart.” Then she shooed the dog again with her arms. “Go on. Go downstairs, Nelson.”
Thoroughly chastised, the dog slunk toward the staircase. As soon as he was out of sight, Marc strode straight for Caroline’s bedchamber.
“That thing is a menace,” he complained softly as she closed the door behind him.
“I wouldn’t have known Rachel was gone last night if it wasn’t for him.”
Marc supposed that was true. One could only be so annoyed with the dog even if he had nearly given Marc away just then.
But now that he was alone with Caroline, how had he decided to handle her? Oh, yes, he was going to distract her. Or give it his best damned try. Caroline took the candle from him and placed it on a table near her bed before she turned back around to face him. And with the outline of her lithe form before his eyes, he thought it quite certain she was going to distract him just as easily.
“You know,” he drawled, letting his gaze drift over her from top to bottom. “I do think you should only wear nightrails from now on, love.”
Caroline folded her arms over her tempting breasts and frowned at him. “Is that the best you can do?”
Damn it. So much for that attempt. He’d have to try again. “Not flowery enough?” He grinned as he drew her into his arms. “Should I be more poetic? What, my dear, do you long to hear?”
“The truth, Marc,” she said evenly. “I want you to tell me everything.”
Well, she’d never get everything from him. No one had ever gotten that. And she wouldn’t want it either. She only thought she did. If he ever told her everything, she’d be sick to her stomach, and she’d never look at him the same again. It had taken a while for him to look himself in the mirror, after all. “The man at Vauxhall?” Perhaps there was a way to limit everything to just St. George. She didn’t need to know every detail of every mission, every awful thing he’d ever done, did she? God, he hoped not.
“You looked afraid tonight,” she said, looking u
p at him with such concern, his heart ached. “I’ve never seen you look afraid. Not even when Brookfield shot you.”
“Brookfield had a terrible aim. He’s fortunate he hit me at all.”
“You’re fortunate you’re alive,” she countered, her brow furrowing once again. “You said you’re always honest with me. So tell me what’s going on.”
Marc breathed out a breath and shook his head. “It’s not something I’ve ever talked about, Caroline.”
“Why?”
“Because I wish I could forget, and talking about it makes me remember.”
“Is it so awful?” she asked, the softness of her voice swirling around him like an embrace.
Some of it was. “In my idealistic youth, I surrounded myself with people I shouldn’t have.”
“He knew you a long time ago,” she said. “He said you were revolutionary-minded.”
That had been the operation, up until Max ended up dead. “At the time, it was better that those in France thought I was.”
She shook her head as though none of that made any sense, and then her hazel eyes lit against the candlelight filling her chambers. “The rapier in Le Havre?”
“No, not that time.” The rapier incident had been an earlier mission when he was much more green and knew even less about the world. It would probably be better to lie, though. To do what he’d been trained to do in order to survive behind enemy lines. But he had never lied to her. There weren’t a ton of things for him to be proud of in life, but that was certainly one of the few. “This was Paris, and I was uninjured,” he told her the truth.
Caroline looked up at him, waiting for him to say more, to say something.
“He killed my cousin.” Marc closed his eyes as the memory of Max’s lifeless form, lying in the middle of that dirty alley, flashed in his mind. “Maxime was more like a little brother, though.” His voice cracked just a bit. Dear God, he hadn’t said his cousin’s name aloud in forever. “He looked up to me, trusted me, and I got him killed.”