Dangerous Weakness

by Warfield, Caroline

  “I can see that he might prefer anonymity if he did,” another said.

  Lily’s head spun. “An anonymous author could be a woman,” she said without thinking.

  The countess beamed at her. “My point precisely!” She leaned over and lowered her voice in mock secrecy, “Perhaps even a lady of standing.”

  “Should I be shocked?” Lily asked, eyebrows high, hiding her smile.

  “Of course,” the countess lied to general laughter.

  “You walked over here with purpose,” Lady Chadbourn continued more softly. “Don’t tell me you plan to leave us so early.”

  The change in company tempted Lily to stay. She knew she ought to linger long enough to speak with Walter Stewart and continue her campaign to fix his attention. Tonight she couldn’t bear it, not with Glenaire nearby. Walter Stewart would keep for London.

  Lily opened her mouth to plead headache when a rustle of skirts around the pianoforte alerted her to an open door.

  “I fear I must,” she answered quickly. “We leave so early tomorrow, and I suspect a headache will keep me from sleep.” If she didn’t have one now, she would after an hour in the same room with Glenaire or Volkov, either one. She rose and accepted the countess’s sympathy.

  Lily reached the midpoint of the enormous salon when she saw Glenaire’s tall frame fill the doorway and linger there. A hunted look swept across his face; a mask of indifference quickly shuttered it. Lily hesitated, pretending interest in a Dresden figure on the Adam mantelpiece in the center of the wall. She waited for him to move away from the door.

  The duchess marched toward her son with a swish of skirts, and he moved forward from the doorway. He looks resigned to the inevitable.

  A crush of gentlemen entered behind Glenaire to seek their companions. Lily thought that if she stepped softly she could slip past the marquess and his mother and get to the door without being noticed. She paused her escape at the sound of her name.

  “I saw you staring at that Thornton woman,” Lily heard the duchess hiss.

  When she hesitated, one of the junior diplomats smiled at her hopefully and approached. He stood with his back to the duchess, blocking Lily from view. He began to complement her gown, a conversation that necessitated little beyond nods and blushes.

  “I did not stare at Lilias Thornton,” the marquess replied to his mother under his breath.

  Lily smiled up at her admirer, one ear cocked to the conversation behind him.

  “‘Lilias,’” the duchess sneered. “Her very name has the reek of Scotland, as if that hair weren’t enough. She is nobody and has pretensions above her station.”

  Lily’s smile wavered, but she kept her admirer talking. Eavesdropping seldom blessed the listener.

  “Her father is a well-regarded diplomat,” the marquess responded. “Hardly ‘nobody,’ but you needn’t fear. Miss Thornton has the least hope of becoming Marchioness of Glenaire, much less Duchess of Sudbury, of any woman here,” he said.

  Quite, Lilias thought. The very least hope. She made her excuses. One thought carried her up the stairs with unladylike speed. She needed to return to London, to begin her marriage quest anew, to regain her sanity.

  She pushed open the door, determined to leave at first light. A folded paper just inside the room where it had been slipped under the door made her stop abruptly and grab it up.

  She snapped the message open.

  Perhaps we will meet in London. I will certainly see you. Be careful what you do and say, Darling Lily.

  V

  Lily fought back rising bile. Volkov. How can I pursue respectable marriage with Volkov lurking in corners? She wished her papa home, she wished him safe, even as she knew wishes solved nothing.

  Panic flooded Lily’s imagination with desperate ideas in torrents that eddied and flowed until one idea began to shape itself in her head. Neither fear of reprisal nor thought of propriety shook it loose. Prone on her bed, she thrashed about for another solution and found none. Finally, weary, she rose and began to write.

  Moments later she dribbled hot wax to seal the missive.

  The Marble Marquess isn’t the only person who can be devious.

  Chapter 4

  Richard worked his way steadily through the contents of a bulging dispatch case the following morning. He had commandeered the Earl’s estate office and his desk. He was not alone.

  “You do this every morning?” Will asked, warming his hands on a cup of coffee. A dozen reports lay in organized array across the desk, with a pile of requests, forms, and other documents to be signed in front.

  “Most days. There will be more in London. These are the most pressing.” Richard spoke without looking up.

  “The Ottomans are gone, thank God.” Will sighed. “Now if I can just rid my house of the Foreign Office,” he added slyly, “I can get back to my estate.”

  Richard grunted. “Your estate didn’t suffer,” he said without looking up. “It is far too well run to require your daily attention.”

  “My hands haven’t been dirty in eight days,” Will complained. When Richard glanced at his own meticulous manicure, the Earl chuckled.

  Richard caught the grin and looked back at his work. “Only you would care,” he said. The fashionable world didn’t call Will the Farmer Earl for nothing. Family and fields made up his entire universe.

  “Perhaps my children will recognize me when they see me again,” Will went on, “now that the demands of King and country have been met.”

  “Your children weren’t neglected. I know you climbed the infernal stairs to the nursery at least twice a day all week. Catherine more often.”

  “Scandalous as it may seem, Catherine nurses Emma herself,” Will said. “It suits them both.”

  Richard had no comment on mothers and babies, the most foreign bodies on the planet in his estimation. He worked his way silently through a pile of papers.

  “It would do you good to set up a nursery of your own,” Will prodded.

  Richard looked up at that. “If you mean, it’s time I married, I’ve been considering it.”

  “Your mother certainly pushed a number of choices your way the past few days. Did one of them catch your attention?”

  “Lady Sarah Wharton merits additional attention,” Richard mused. He finished one pile and shifted another into its place.

  “Really? I had no idea you were attracted.”

  “Attraction isn’t relevant. She is a duke’s daughter and an earl’s granddaughter on her mother’s side. She has enough wit to maintain diplomatic dinner conversation and sufficient polish to show well at functions.”

  “‘Show well at functions?’” Will sputtered. “You aren’t hiring an ambassador.”

  “She looks healthy enough. I presume she could provide an heir with little trouble,” Richard went on, eyes firmly on his work.

  “You aren’t buying a brood mare either, Richard! Did she inspire any feeling in you at all?”

  “She possesses all the right attributes to make bedding her pleasant enough, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That is precisely not what I meant,” Will said. “Do you care for her at all? Why even marry?”

  “As you pointed out, it’s time, and it’s my duty. Marriage would also put an end to my mother’s interference. She can go back to making my sisters miserable.”

  Will looked as though he had more to say, but a discreet knock interrupted them.

  “Enter,” Richard commanded, ignoring the owner of the office who sat next to him.

  Roger Heaton, one of his operatives, entered.

  “She left, my lord,” he said.

  “Lilias Thornton? I would expect so,” Richard answered. “Most of the guests plan to leave today.”

  Heaton glanced at t
he earl; Richard motioned him to continue. “His lordship is trusted,” he said.

  “She borrowed a horse from the stables an hour ago,” Heaton explained, “And left.”

  “Without her luggage?” Richard asked.

  “Odd that. She ordered her luggage be delivered with her aunt to London. The aunt didn’t seem to know much.”

  Dotty old Marianne Thornton wouldn’t know anything, no matter how obvious to others, Richard thought.

  “The old lady said something about her wanting air and joining the carriage along the way,” Heaton went on.

  “Perhaps it’s true. Volkov?” Richard demanded.

  “That’s the thing. Left shortly before. On horseback, his one bag tied to his saddle. I thought you would want to know.”

  “A meeting?” Will asked.

  “An assignation more likely,” Heaton said. “Dalliance on the road. Volkov hardly took his eyes off her all week.”

  A vision of Lilias Thornton in Volkov’s arms, in his bed, exploded in Richard’s mind. Willing or unwilling, he found the idea disgusting. Cold fury, all the more potent for being controlled, took hold. He had warned her to stay away from Volkov.

  She knows something. I’m sure of it. And Volkov has some hold over her.

  “Do you want me to follow them? If so, I need to leave immediately,” Heaton asked.

  Richard had already risen. “No. I’ll take care of Miss Thornton myself.”

  Heaton bowed out.

  “I’ll need your fastest horse. I need Mercury,” Richard told Will.

  A knowing look came over Will’s face. “You’re mighty anxious to intercept this Thornton woman, if you dare ask for my favorite mount.”

  “I know he has your heart. I’ll bring him back safely.” Richard stuffed the papers into the dispatch case. “I’ll be back by late afternoon to finish this.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll care for my horse. It’s the Thornton woman’s fate that concerns me.”

  Chapter 5

  “What do you find so amusing, little one?” Sahin Pasha stretched his aging legs across the floor of a private parlor in an undistinguished inn, lifted a flagon of ale, and regarded Lily fondly.

  Away from Chadbourn’s manor and his official duties, the old man wore western clothes. Anyone observing the fit of his coat and his comfort would know them for his normal dress. If they ignored his dark skin, they might take him for a local squire. No one would identify him at first glance as the representative of his Sultan.

  “Hmm,” he repeated, “what amuses you?”

  “You, favored uncle. Sitting in this very English Inn sipping ale,” Lily replied. She had pestered him to teach her Turkish during long winter nights in Saint Petersburg when cards and conversation in her father’s apartment gave the Turks solace from the cold and dark. She spoke it well, but tonight they spoke English.

  “I like your English ale,” the old man said. He hefted the tankard to demonstrate.

  “I feel better just laughing with you,” Lily said.

  “You looked happy enough when I observed you with your court,” Sahin told her. “I thought it best not to scatter your admirers with attention from an elderly eastern potentate.”

  Lily acknowledged the truth of that with a sad nod. “I’ve taken your advice and entered the marriage stakes.”

  He shook his head. “Marriage stakes! Wretched term. My country has more civilized customs. We protect our young women so older, wiser heads can ensure the honor of their suitors. You English parade your young women like horses for auction.”

  “It feels that way some days,” she agreed. “So much posture and appearances and only my Aunt Marianne to look after me.”

  “The very neglectful aunt. It will not help your marriage prospect if people know you rode cross country alone for this very inappropriate meeting,” he chided.

  Lily’s face heated; she stared at her tankard.

  “Do you plan to tell me what troubles you, Lily? What drove you to this foolish undertaking?”

  She looked up into sympathetic eyes, but words didn’t come. Belatedly she remembered that Sahin’s loyalty to his country came before his concern for an insignificant foreign woman. A man in his position did not let kindness outweigh duty.

  “You know I fled Volkov,” she began.

  The old man nodded. “You remind me again why we Turks protect our women. The man should be shot.”

  “He did me no permanent harm!”

  Sahin’s implacable look did not soften. “So you tried to convince me. Did you speak with your father as I advised?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I couldn’t. If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it confidential?”

  “Something personal? Of course,” he replied.

  “There is more, things to do with politics.” She cleared the lump in her throat.

  “Ah. In that case, it will depend on what you say. I have duties to my office, you know that.”

  She clamped her jaw shut and stared into her ale. Volkov’s plans were vile; Lily knew rather too well that revolution always exploded on the backs of the poor. She looked at Sahin Pasha, who had been a true friend, and felt shame for keeping the information from him.

  “Perhaps I may help,” Sahin prodded. “Your father, good man but neglectful I fear, is far from here.”

  ‘If my man in Thessaloniki is compromised, your father will pay with his life.’ Lily’s stomach clenched. See what comes of letting fear rule you instead of reason? Use your head Lily.

  “Papa loves me,” she said defensively. And I love him.

  Sahin would see to it that Volkov’s agent in Thessaloniki, imbedded in the court of the Ottoman governor of the province, met a swift death if word got back to them. What will happen to Papa then?

  Sahin waited patiently, allowing silence to grow between them.

  “You rode recklessly to meet me, and now you will not speak. You need a protector, I think,” he said at last.

  Lily took breath to deny it, but words froze in her throat. She couldn’t deny the truth of his assertion. “I thought perhaps ally,” she mumbled.

  “Perhaps you should speak to your Marquess Glenaire,” Sahin said, pinning her with a knowing look. “One suspects he will have interest in what you have to say.”

  “I can’t!”

  “I have seen how that one looks at you,” Sahin said. He watched her closely. “I don’t believe he means you harm.”

  “He cares only for himself and for England,” she retorted.

  “I doubt if he knows the difference between the two,” the old man chuckled. He leaned forward and took her hand. “You need a protector, Lily. You are foolish to carry burdens alone.”

  Lily wondered if he understood how a London lady might take the meaning of “protection.” He must know Glenaire’s rank prevents him from viewing a minor diplomat’s daughter as marriage material.

  Before she could reply, a door slammed open behind Sahin. Its violent explosion echoed through the room.

  Sahin sat straight, instantly on guard; Lily looked up into the face of catastrophe.

  Rage, when it collides with evidence of misconception, shatters into pieces. Richard felt his anger crumple into shards and reassemble into alternating waves of bafflement and irritation. Nothing was as he expected.

  Lilias Thornton and Sahin Pasha? The old man could be her grandfather. Could she be Volkov’s messenger? Where was the damned man himself?

  The representative of the Sublime Porte, cousin and ambassador of the Sultan himself, sat looking like a dark-skinned version of an English gentleman at a rough table with Richard’s quarry.

  Lilias looks terrified. The blasted woman should be for leading me a merry chase.

  Two rather large
men he had passed in the taproom, who were, upon closer look, not the English farmers Richard had taken them for, moved to either side of him. At sharp words in Turkish from Sahin Pasha, they melted away.

  “Ah, my friend, we just spoke of you. Come and sit,” Sahin said.

  Richard looked from Sahin’s amused face to Lilias’s stricken one. He sat, muddy and haggard, with as much dignity as he could muster, growing more irritated every minute. How does this blasted woman undermine my common sense? I could throttle her.

  “Would one of you like to tell me what is going on here?” he demanded, with more heat than he intended. His famous sangfroid eluded him.

  “My good friend, Miss Thornton, sought out my advice,” Sahin told him.

  Good friend? Vienna, Saint Petersburg, of course! Damn it! Why can’t I reason properly where this woman is concerned? He chose not to examine his relief that whatever he interrupted was not a lover’s assignation.

  “You borrowed a horse, fed your aunt some nonsense, and rode like a mad woman cross country to ask for advice?” he demanded.

  Lilias raised her chin. “And why did you do the same?” she retorted.

  He sent her a glare that should have shriveled her.

  “You thought I came to meet Volkov!” she exclaimed.

  Heat rose up his neck. “I warned you . . .” He glanced at Sahin Pasha, who smirked back at him.

  “As you see, I did not,” she said primly.

  “The Russian wolf frightens your Lily,” Sahin said. “She is shockingly reluctant to tell me why.”