Vapors! Melanie's brows lowered at what she considered a blatant insult. But before she could give voice to her indignation, Davies was bending over her, taking her hand in his as he knelt beside the couch.
"Are you feeling better, Lady Melanie?" he asked, noting her angry expression with an odd sense of relief. If she could look that annoyed, then he knew she was well on her way to recovery. "I don't think you're badly hurt. The wretch didn't have time to do much more than paw you, thank God, but if you'd like we could summon a—"
"You had best think of summoning the constable, you—you murderer!" Melanie exclaimed, flinging aside the comforting touch of his hand. "For you and your fine friend! The pair of you are nothing more than traitors, and I shall see that you hang for your crimes!"
"Indeed?" The other man seemed more amused than cowed by her threats as he sat in the chair facing her. "I'm afraid you might find that a trifle difficult, Lady Melanie, considering your present circumstances."
Melanie's chin came up a notch. It had dawned on her earlier that her position was not a good one. As a woman alone, she knew she stood little chance against two men, especially against a man who had already proven his willingness to commit murder, but she refused to give in. Judging from the sounds coming from the other side of the door, she knew they had to be in some sort of public place, an inn, perhaps, and the knowledge that there were others about bolstered her courage.
"I see nothing wrong with my present circumstances," she replied haughtily, masking her nervousness with an air of disdain. "This is a public inn, after all, and if I were to call out for help, I am sure someone would come to my aid."
"Did anyone come bursting through the door when you screamed?" he asked in a falsely solicitous manner, smiling at her silent glare. "As you can see, I am master of the situation here, and I can assure you that no one will come through that door without my permission, including the constable, should you actually succeed in summoning one.
Melanie hesitated at the arrogant assurance in his voice before turning to confront Davies. "You can't hope to get away with this, you know," she told him angrily, deciding that she was wasting her time trying to reason with the other man. "Mr. Barrymore will know where I am, and you may be very sure both he and my father will not rest until you are tracked down!"
"And how will he know that, my lady?" Drew asked, recognizing a bluff when he heard one. "Are you trying to tell us you left a note?"
"Yes!" Melanie snapped, realizing now that that was precisely what she should have done. In most of the Gothics she'd read the heroines always left some sort of note behind for the hero to find. Unfortunately for her, she had neither a note nor a hero to extract her from her current dilemma, a prospect she found decidedly discouraging. Not that she would let her captors know that, of course.
Drew saw the fear and the bravery in Melanie's brilliant eyes, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms. He longed to reassure her, but until Sir gave his permission he could not. He would have to cling to his façade until the very end if need be.
"Lady Melanie"—he tried reasoning with her one final time—"I realize this all looks rather bad, but I can assure you that neither Sir nor I mean you any harm. If you—"
"No harm? When you are attempting to ruin my father?" Melanie scrambled to her feet, her small hands closing into tight fists as she bravely faced both men. "Don't take me for that big of a pea goose, Davies . . . or whatever your name may be! You are a traitor to the Crown, and if it is the last thing I do, I will see that you and Sir"—she cast the other man a fulminating look—"pay for your treason!"
"His real name is Captain Andrew Merrick, lately of the Fourth Mounted Regiment." Sir spoke unexpectedly, regarding Melanie with what Drew now recognized as respect. "And I am his commander. I quite agree with you that there is a traitor on the loose, my lady, but I can assure you it is not Merrick or myself."
"Why should I trust you?" Melanie demanded, bending a suspicious frown on him.
"There is no reason," Sir admitted calmly, folding his arms across his chest. "I have no proof to offer you, no name I can give that would reassure you. Only believe me when I tell you that I act with the highest authority, and that I am just as eager as you to catch the man responsible for the disappearance of those papers from your father's diplomatic pouch."
Melanie slowly lowered her hands. She had no reason to trust either man, and every reason to fear them. Granted they hadn't harmed her, and certainly Merrick's intervention had saved her from a hideous fate, but when all was said and done, she didn't really know either one. And yet . . . she studied the features of the man she knew only as "Sir," noting the unflinching honesty in his sea-blue eyes. The same sincerity was mirrored in Davies's dark hazel eyes, and Melanie knew what her decision would be.
"Very well, Sir," she said majestically, smoothing her muddied skirts about her ankles as she resumed her seat. "I believe you. Now, what are we going to do about it?"
"What do you know of Barrymore?" Drew asked, joining Melanie on the small couch. "How did he come to be in your father's employ?"
"He was recommended to Papa by the Duke of Marlehope," Melanie replied carefully, recalling the day Mr. Barrymore had arrived at their Georgetown home, the letter of introduction from Marlehope in his hand. "His Grace and Papa were old friends, and Papa had mentioned to the duke in a letter that he was in need of an assistant. Mr. Barrymore arrived some seven months later."
"Where had he been before that?" Sir asked, leaning forward to study Melanie's face intently. "Did he ever speak of his past or his family?"
"N-no," Melanie admitted reluctantly, her cheeks paling as a terrible suspicion dawned. "You think it's him, don't you? You think Mr. Barrymore is the one who stole those papers and sold them to the French!"
"As the man himself admits, he is the most logical suspect," Drew answered for Sir. "He had access to those papers, and there are several discrepancies in his story that warrant closer investigation."
"Like what?"
"Like the expensive wardrobe he keeps in his closet and the fortune in jewels he keeps hidden in his traveling box," Drew replied bluntly, determined to convince her of the other man's guilt. "There is nothing in his background that would account for such affluence, which means he must have a hidden source of income." His eyes narrowed at the sudden start she gave. "What is it? What are you thinking?"
"When we first arrived in London, he, Papa, and I were sitting in the drawing room discussing the growing hostilities between the Americans and ourselves," Melanie began, nervously moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I remember I said that I could not understand why anyone should want another war, and Mr. Barrymore said it was for profit. He said there were fortunes to be made, and that a man could easily line his pockets if he was of a mind."
"Profiteering." Sir nodded as he considered the matter. "And the scoundrel wouldn't be the first to take advantage of the situation. Yet, if starting a war was his intention, then why didn't he simply give the letter to someone . . . say Calhoun, who would know how to make the best use of it?"
"It was too much of a risk," Drew said after a thoughtful pause. "He would profit only if war actually broke out, whereas the French were probably willing to pay him any price he asked, and in fine English gold." His lips twisted bitterly. "It would seem our Mr. Barrymore is the consummate opportunist."
"Then why are you just sitting here?" Melanie exclaimed, highly vexed by their inactivity. "Go out and arrest him, or whatever it is one does with traitors!"
"Because what we know, and what we can prove, Lady Melanie, are not always one and the same thing," Sir answered calmly. "If we blunder in before we have the proper proof, then Barrymore will go free, and I do not think I need tell you what that would mean for your father."
Melanie bit her lip. Sir was right. If Barrymore was eliminated as a suspect, then that would leave only her father to take the blame. The thought of her proud father standing so accused was anathe
ma to her, and she squared her shoulders proudly. "Very well, then," she said, her violet eyes meeting Sir's steady gaze, "in that case we shall have to get the proof. What can I do to help?"
Drew stirred uneasily at Melanie's words. "I think it might be best if you leave that to Sir and me," he said, exchanging frantic glances with his superior. "We are experts, while you are unskilled in such matters."
"I am not unskilled!" Melanie exclaimed indignantly, casting Drew an angry glare. "I followed you here, didn't I?"
"And were almost raped for your pains!" Drew shot back, his cheeks flushing with annoyance at the smile he saw forming on Sir's lips. "You might have gotten lucky in deceiving me this time, but if you try the same thing with Barrymore, you may find yourself in a very uncomfortable position."
"Actually, I think the lady has a point, Merrick," Sir said suddenly, a dimple flashing in his lean cheek. "She did follow you here, after all. My congratulations, ma'am. It was a rather brave and clever thing to do, to pretend to be asleep and then follow Merrick here. However did you think of it?"
Melanie was unable to resist shooting Drew a smug look. "Thank you, Sir," she said, wondering if he ever meant to tell her his real name. "But it really wasn't my idea, you know. I got it out of one of Miss Evingale's books."
"Ah." Sir ignored Drew's muttered imprecations. "I have already had some experience in gleaning useful information from such sources," he said, recalling the havoc Jacinda Malvern had wreaked with the scandalous journals she had penned as Lady X. "You have read many of these books, I take it?"
"Dozens," Melanie admitted happily, delighted that Sir appreciated her value. "And I have several ideas I would be more than happy to share with you if you'd like. What do you think our next step should be?"
There was a moment of awkward silence as Sir and Drew exchanged horrified looks. Drew was the first to recover, his expression forbidding as he studied Melanie.
"Our next step is to see you safely home," he said in a most dampening tone. "It should be obvious that you cannot remain here without risking your reputation."
Melanie considered that, then shrugged her shoulders. "I should think having my father tried for treason would be far more ruinous to my reputation than if I should be discovered here," she informed him tartly. "I prefer to stay."
"Your devotion to your father is most commendable, Lady Melanie," Sir began, shooting Drew a silencing look. "But in this case I fear it is sadly misplaced. It would be better for all concerned if you do as Captain Merrick has suggested."
"As he has ordered, you mean," Melanie retorted, her small jaw thrusting forward pugnaciously. "Well, let me tell him and you both that I will not be dictated to by a glorified tin soldier! You forget we are speaking of my father, and I will do whatever it takes to prove him innocent of these ridiculous charges!"
Another uncomfortable silence filled the small room, and again Drew was the first to break it. "Will you?" he asked in a dangerously soft voice, his hazel eyes intent as they rested on her mutinous expression.
"I shall do anything," she reiterated, meeting him glare for glare.
"Including following the orders of a 'glorified tin soldier'?"
A soft flush stole across Melanie's cheeks at the taunting words. She had spoken out of anger, and she found it more than a little disconcerting to have those same words flung back in her face. "I'm not certain I take your meaning," she muttered, shifting uneasily on her chair.
"I mean," he responded with cool deliberation, "that I cannot help but wonder what matters most to you, your father's good name, or your cursed independence."
"How dare you!" she gasped, leaping angrily to her feet. "Who do you think you—"
"Because if it is your father," Drew continued as if she hadn't spoken, "then you'll swallow that aristocratic pride of yours and allow Sir and myself to continue with our investigation. If he is innocent, we are his only hope."
Melanie sat back down with an unladylike plop. He was right, curse him, she thought, chewing worriedly on her bottom lip. The evidence against her father was damning, and if he hoped to avoid disgrace, then she had no choice but to do as she was told. The knowledge was far from pleasing, and she made no effort to hide her resentment as she returned his cold gaze. "Very well, Captain," she said, lifting her head with unconscious pride. "What is it you want me to do?"
Chapter Eight
"Nothing."
Melanie blinked at the terse command. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said I wish you to do nothing," Drew repeated, his firm voice revealing no hint of his inner trepidation. He knew Melanie's recalcitrant nature only too well, and he knew if they hoped for her cooperation, he would have to proceed with the utmost caution. "That is to say," he added when it looked as if she might protest, "I don't want you to do anything which might arouse Barrymore's suspicions."
"Yes, that would be disastrous." Sir, who had remained silent during most of their exchange, spoke suddenly, content to follow Drew's lead. "We have been working covertly to trap the scoundrel, but we dare not expose our operation by moving openly against him. At least not at this time. Do you understand?"
"I suppose," Melanie agreed with visible reluctance, "but I still want to help my father. Surely there is something I can do to be of assistance?"
Drew's brows snapped together at her continued obstinacy. It was obvious Melanie was as stubborn as ever. He opened his mouth, about to administer a blistering set down, when a sudden thought occurred to him.
"Actually," he began, striving for a neutral tone, "there is a way you might be of use to us."
"What is it?" She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with eagerness.
"Despite our best efforts, we've been unable to learn anything of a personal nature about Barrymore," Drew said, taking a chair facing Melanie. "The man is as enigmatic as a sphinx. I was hoping you might be able to remedy that for us."
"But how?" Melanie's brows puckered anxiously. "I have already told you all I know of him."
"Yes, but you could learn more, couldn't you?" he pressed, leaning closer. "You could become better acquainted with him?"
"I could try," she agreed, her mind spinning with possibilities. She had secretly suspected that Mr. Barrymore had a tendre for her, and she had always been careful to maintain a discreet distance between them. Yes, she thought, a slow smile touching her lips, it was the very thing. She would set up a flirtation with him and seduce him into revealing himself to her. It was precisely the sort of thing one of the heroines in a novel might do!
Drew saw only her angelic smile and felt some of the tenseness draining out of him. Thank God the chit was finally seeing the sweet light of reason, he thought, flashing Sir a secret look of male superiority. He was beginning to fear they would have to place her under house arrest in order to carry out the mission.
"Thank you for your help, Lady Melanie," Sir said, rising to his feet. "With luck, we should have this unpleasantness resolved before your father's reputation suffers any irreparable harm. Now, I think we should see about getting you home. It is grown rather late, and we wouldn't want your family to arrive first, would we?"
"Oh . . . no, of course not," Melanie stammered, her cheeks flushing at such a possibility. She stood and faced Sir, uncertain of what her next move should be. The notion of leaving the tiny room and facing a tavern of leering men filled her with fear. The horror of her recent attack was still fresh in her mind, and she dreaded the thought of the darkness that waited beyond the tavern's doors.
Drew saw the uncertainty in her eyes and knew she was remembering what had almost happened in the alleyway. He stepped forward and took her chilled hands in his. "Allow me to escort you home, Lady Melanie," he said softly, his smile reassuring as he gazed down at her. "It would not do for the butler to miss his master's homecoming, you know."
"No, I suppose that would not be at all the thing," she agreed, her trembling lips parting in a brave smile. "We wouldn't want Papa to turn you off without a character
."
"I'll see about hiring you a carriage," Sir said, his blue eyes flicking toward Drew. "Shall we say the back door in ten minutes?"
Drew nodded, not taking his eyes from Melanie's face. Unshed tears glittered in her violet eyes, reminding him of the necklace she had worn to Almacks. He remembered how beautiful he had thought her, and how he had longed to voice his appreciation of that beauty. Without being aware of his actions, he lifted his hand and brushed back a tendril of black hair from her cheek.
"Are you all right, Melanie, I mean really all right?" he asked in a husky voice, his fingertips gently caressing the curve of her cheek. "You've been through a horrifying experience tonight."
A tremor shook Melanie, but she wasn't certain if the trembling was caused by the memory of the brutal attack or by the gentleness of his touch. His eyes gleamed down into hers, the topaz highlights catching and reflecting the golden glow of the fire. For a moment she forgot everything: the threat to her father, the terror she had just passed through, even her promise to help trap Barrymore; nothing mattered. Nothing save the wild emotion that flooded her body with liquid warmth.
"I am fine, Captain," she said, her soft voice slightly breathless as she stepped back from him. "Although I shudder to think what might have happened had you not been there to save me. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Drew replied, fighting the urge to pull her back into his arms. "But I pray you would not call me by my rank, even in private. My name is Davies, and that is how you must think of me. It could mean my life if you were to slip and call me by any other name."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" she gasped, clapping one hand over her mouth as she stared up at him. "But you're quite right . . . Davies. You may rely upon me."
"I know." A tender smile touched his lips. "And if it is any consolation to you, Davies is my middle name."
Her Ladyship's Man Page 10