If the shape outside her window was Davies, then that meant he had only just now returned from seeing Sir, and she did not think he would thank her if she sounded the alarm. Hadn't he told her repeatedly that secrecy was vital to his mission? On the other hand, she reasoned quickly, if it was not Davies, then it meant someone was definitely up to no good. The balcony that was just outside her window ran the length of the second floor, connecting the various suites. Anyone out on the balcony had only to slide open one of the French doors, and he would find himself safely inside.
Her heart pounding with trepidation, Melanie knew she could not waste another moment on useless speculation. The intruder had already moved past her window and was continuing down the balcony. The knowledge that the rest of her family was sleeping peacefully and unprotected was all it took to send her flying out of her bed, her feet fumbling frantically for her slippers. If some villain thought he could come sneaking into her house unchallenged, then he was about to learn differently.
Slipping her arms into her nightrobe, she padded toward the door, her one thought to reach Davies and warn him of the danger. There was no one about as she cracked open the door and peered cautiously around. She could hear faint noises coming from below, and for a brief moment the terrifying possibility that the man's confederate might already be inside sent a rush of terror through her. Drawing a deep breath, she inched toward the wooden rail and was peering down when a sudden shape appeared out of the darkness.
Despite her best efforts, a small gasp of fright escaped her parted lips, and she snapped them shut. But it was already too late, for the intruder had stopped and was gazing up into the darkness. She was gathering herself for a blood-curdling scream when a harsh voice called out, "Who is up there? Identify yourself or I will fire!"
Davies! Melanie collapsed against the rail in relief. In the next moment she was pulling herself erect, furious that he should have frightened her so. "It is Lady Melanie," she whispered back, careful to keep her voice from shaking. "I thought I saw something outside my window and was coming to find you. How dare you give me such a fright!"
Drew took the stairs two at a time, the displeasure on his face obvious even in the poor light. "It wasn't me," he hissed, glaring down into her white face. "I was just about to drift off when I thought I heard something up here. How long ago did you see this intruder?" He turned toward her bedroom, the pistol in his hand glinting in the moonlight.
"Not long, less than two minutes ago, I think," Melanie whispered, crowding close to him as he pushed open the door with the palm of his hand. "At first I thought it was a thief, then I thought it might be you, which is why I didn't scream. I didn't think you . . . what are you doing?" She gasped as he crossed the room and opened the door leading out to the balcony. "You can't go out there!"
He cast her an impatient look over his shoulder. "How else do you propose I catch the scoundrel?" he asked sarcastically. "Sit patiently and wait for him to come creeping back? Now, stay here, I can't catch a thief and manage you at the same time." And with that he was gone.
Melanie ran to the door, peeking out into the darkness. She followed Drew's progress as he inched his way along the stone balcony, clutching the gun in his hand. He paused at each door, apparently checking the lock before moving on to the next. Less than two minutes later he was back.
"Nothing," he said grimly, securing the door behind him. "There is no sign of anyone trying to break in."
"But I saw him, Davies," Melanie insisted. "And you said yourself that you thought you heard something!"
"I did," Drew answered, lighting the candle with a flint. "But just because no one was trying to break in, it doesn't mean someone wasn't trying to break out." He turned to face her, his eyes widening in appreciation as he took in her dishabille.
Hair as dark as jet tumbled to her shoulders in a profusion of glistening waves, while deep-violet-colored eyes gazed up at him from an alabaster face. Lips as pink and delicate as a fresh rose trembled with emotion, tempting him to taste their sweetness. His eyes moved lower, taking in the gentle curves revealed by her diaphanous robe. He clenched his teeth, biting back a low groan as desire spread through his veins.
Everything in him was screaming an urgent demand that he take her in his arms and lower her to the tumbled sheets. As a man he had wanted many women, but never with such burning passion, such overwhelming need. He squeezed his eyes shut and swung away from her before his carnal longings overcame his good sense.
"Mr. Barrymore, do you mean?" Melanie asked, trembling with the sweetest of tensions. She was woman enough to see the masculine hunger in Drew's eyes, and wise enough to know there was nothing to be done about it. Despite the pose he was forced to maintain, she knew he was a gentleman, and she knew he would never take advantage of her or the situation. An odd sense of disappointment filled her at the knowledge.
"Yes, I've had a man following him," Drew said, grateful for Melanie's cool handling of the awkward moment that had passed between them. "He may have guessed he was being watched, and thought to slip out undetected. I'd best see if I can pick up his trail."
"You're going after him?" Melanie asked, taking in his disheveled appearance worriedly. He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat hanging loosely at his throat, and instead of his usual breeches, his legs were encased in a pair of tight buckskins. Dressed like this he looked lean and dangerous, much more like a spy than a butler. She shook her head silently, wondering that she could have been taken in so easily by his deception.
"I have no other choice," Drew said, his heart racing at her warm perusal. He opened the door leading out into the hallway, and after a quick glance to make sure no one was about, he turned back to face her. "I want you to lock this behind me," he instructed her firmly, forcing himself to concentrate on the problem at hand. "If you see or hear anything at all, I want you to scream the house down. Is that understood?"
"Believe me, I will have no trouble on that score," Melanie assured him fervently. "As I said, the only reason I didn't cry out earlier is that I thought it might be you. I didn't think you wanted the whole household to witness your homecoming."
"No, that would have been most awkward," Drew agreed. He knew he was drawing out his departure; more than anything in this world he wanted to stay, and that was why he knew he had to go. "Lock it," he instructed her, departing swiftly before his baser nature got the best of him.
After he had gone, Melanie rechecked the door and then returned to her bed. The candle Drew had lit still flickered brightly in the darkened room, and she cast it a considering look before deciding to leave it burning. It was doubtful she would get any sleep after the fright she had just had, and gazing at the tiny flame gave her an odd sense of security. The flame was still blazing when she fell into an uneasy sleep.
The earl and Mr. Barrymore were gone when Melanie went down to the breakfast table late the following morning. Her grandmother and Miss Evingale had already dined and were waiting for her, their faces both wearing the most somber of expressions.
"Well, the pair of you are certainly looking Friday-faced for such a lovely morning," Melanie said, slipping onto her chair and placing her napkin on her lap. "I do hope no one has died." Drew was nowhere about, and she wondered if it would arouse suspicion if she were to ask after him.
"I would like a word with you following breakfast, Melanie," Lady Abbington informed her coolly, her lips thinning at Melanie's lighthearted mood.
"All right," Melanie answered, not unduly alarmed by her grandmother's apparent anger. The marchioness was often out of sorts in the morning, and she had learned it was best to ignore her sullen moods.
Despite her lack of sleep, Melanie was surprisingly hungry, and she soon made short work of the food brought to her by the attentive footman. She lingered over her coffee, hoping for a glimpse of Drew, but there was no sign of him. Just as she was about to throw caution to the wind and ask that the footman fetch him, her grandmother rose to her feet.
"If yo
u are quite finished now, Melanie, I will see you in the drawing room. There are some things I need to discuss with you. Now, if you please," she added when Melanie hadn't moved fast enough to please her.
"Of course, my lady." Melanie pushed her just-filled coffee cup away and rose to follow the marchioness. Much to her surprise, Miss Evingale accompanied them, a look of grim reproof on her pinched features. She wondered what she could have done to set her mercurial grandmother up in the boughs, and hoped the elderly lady would not ring too great a peal over her head. After last night's alarums, her equanimity was not all that it should be.
As it was, she hadn't long to wonder, for the moment the door had closed behind them her grandmother rounded on her with a vengeance.
"All right, missy," she said, fixing Melanie in an icy violet glare, "I want an explanation, and I want it now. What the devil do you think you are doing dallying with that butler? And don't bother denying it," she added when Melanie's mouth dropped open, "for I saw him creeping from your bedchamber myself!"
Melanie's knees gave way beneath her and she collapsed onto one of the Sheraton chairs. She had been so caught up in her own dreams and desires last night that it had never occurred to her someone might see Drew's departure and draw their own conclusions. What on earth was she to do now?
"I . . . there is a satisfactory explanation for what you saw, ma'am," she began, trying to force her frozen mind to work. If only Drew were here, she thought somewhat wildly, he would know what to do.
The marchioness gave a disbelieving snort. "Oh, I am sure there is an explanation," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "But I sincerely doubt I will find it 'satisfactory.' Well? I am waiting."
"There . . . there was a man outside my balcony last night," she began, nervously moistening her lips with her tongue. "I thought he might be a murderer or some such thing and went to get help. Davies had already heard the noises and was up and prowling around. I told him what I had seen, and he came to see what he could find."
"Really?" Lady Charlotte's smile could have curdled milk. "And did he find any sign of this intruder?"
"N-no," Melanie admitted, her usual spirit deserting her in the face of her grandmother's displeasure. "He vanished without a trace. Mr. Davies thought it might be one of the footmen sneaking in after the door was locked."
That was basically the truth, she thought thankfully, or at least as much of the truth as she dared to tell without Drew's express permission. She could only hope that her sincerity would convince her grandmother, otherwise she shuddered to think of what might happen. If her papa learned of this, Drew would be dismissed . . . if not worse, and then they would never trap Mr. Barrymore.
"A footman trying to sneak back into the house through one of our suites?" the marchioness sneered, her graying eyebrows descending in a ferocious scowl. "Oh, cut line, Melanie, how foolish do you think I am? I ain't in my dotage yet, and I would have to be to believe such a Banbury tale! Why, it sounds like something out of one of our novels!"
"Oh, yes, just like Dark Moor," Miss Evingale volunteered, pale eyes sparkling with sudden interest. "You remember, Lady Abbington, poor Lady Belinda was stalked by that mad curate who was after Hadrian's treasure. He was right outside her bedroom window, and would surely have killed her if she hadn't screamed for help."
Melanie remembered the book as well, and a bold plot began forming in her mind. It might work, she thought with mounting excitement, and in any case she really had no other choice. If she didn't do something and soon, then all was lost.
"Yes, it is exactly like Dark Moor," she agreed, turning to face the marchioness. "Grandmother, do you recall who Cedric is?"
"What? Do you mean that rascally groom who was always in his cups?" Lady Charlotte scowled at her. "Well, of course I do, but I fail to see what some smelly Irishman with a fondness for the grape has to do with all of this. You're trying to distract me, young lady"—an accusing finger was waggled under Melanie's nose—"but don't think I shall be so easily dissuaded! You are risking scandal, and I will not—"
"But Cedric wasn't really a drunkard, was he?" Melanie pressed, leaning forward in her chair to study her grandmother.
"No, he was a Bow Street runner as I recall, but I still don't see what that has to do with anything."
"Well." This was the sticky part. As her grandmother said, she wasn't in her dotage yet, and she would have to be careful not to overplay her hand. "What would you say if I were to tell you, in strictest confidence, mind, that Mr. Davies is not precisely a butler?"
"I knew it!" Miss Evingale cried, leaping to her feet and clapping her hands with pleasure. "I knew it! Did I not say he was far too handsome and noble to be a mere butler?"
"So you did, Edwina." Lady Charlotte was studying her granddaughter's face for any hint of prevarication. "Are you trying to tell us that Davies is a runner, Melanie?" she asked, still clearly skeptical. "And that he is here on some sort of mission?"
"I know he is acting with full authority of the Crown," Melanie assured her quietly. "But that is all I can say on the matter. You must realize that it could mean his life if anyone were to learn the truth."
"A Bow Street runner, here in our own home." Miss Evingale's eyes were alight with Gothic fervor. "Can you imagine anything so romantic?"
"But why is he here?" Lady Charlotte's eyes were beginning to take on a similar glow, although she was still somewhat uncertain. "And even if he is a runner, it does not explain what he was doing in your bedchamber."
"I told you, I saw someone on the balcony and he was investigating," Melanie said, meeting her grandmother's stare. "As to the other, I am afraid I really am not at liberty to say other than it involves some missing jewels." She stole a bit of a plot from another book, deciding she had nothing to lose at this point. The marchioness and Miss Evingale both seemed to accept her preposterous tale, at least for the moment, and that was all she could hope for.
"Jewels!" Both of the older women echoed, exchanging excited glances. "Do you mean Davies thinks there may be a jewel thief under our roof?" Lady Charlotte sat down, her anger at Melanie forgotten. "I'll bet it's that snake of a Barrymore. I never did trust that fellow; he smiles far too much, and as Shakespeare said, such men are dangerous."
"Er . . . actually, Barrymore is suspected," Melanie said, praying she was not cutting it too close. "But of course, we mustn't say a thing to anyone. He could have confederates anywhere, and we wouldn't wish to imperil Mr. Davies."
"Oh, you may count upon Edwina and me," Lady Charlotte said, straightening her turban with an eager hand. "We know enough to keep our lips buttoned. "Don't we, Edwina?"
"Indeed we do, your ladyship," Miss Evingale answered with alacrity. "And pray tell Mr. Davies that he may rely upon us to render him whatever aid he may require! But there is only one thing I do not understand."
"What is that?" Melanie asked warily.
"How did you learn he was a runner?" Miss Evingale queried with a puzzled frown. "If he was operating sub rosa, however did you learn the truth? I'm certain he wouldn't have simply confided in you."
Of all the times for her witless companion to ask an intelligent question, Melanie seethed, searching her brain for some answer with which to fob her off.
"Goose!" Lady Charlotte gave Miss Evingale an offended glare. "She deduced it! As you say, he is far too handsome and mysterious to be an ordinary servant. What else would he be but a runner?"
"That is so," Miss Evingale agreed with a sigh. "He is the veriest hero; I have always said so."
"And I knew something was amiss the moment I clapped eyes on him," Lady Charlotte said smugly. "We Abbingtons are nothing if not observant. I dare say I would have tumbled to the truth any day now if I had thought about it."
"I am sure you would have, Grandmother," Melanie said soothingly, almost drooping with relief. "And now that I have your word that you will tell no one, not even Papa, what you know, I believe I shall go up to my rooms. We are dining with the Hampfie
lds this evening, are we not, ma'am?"
"What?" Lady Charlotte blinked at the sudden change in conversation. "Oh, yes, so we are. But really, Melanie, I have dozens of questions to ask you about Davies. You cannot expect us to go blithely about our way as if nothing has happened."
"Ah, but that is precisely what we must do," Melanie was quick to reply. "Davies was most emphatic on that point. He says that it is imperative that we all behave as normally as possible. We wouldn't wish Mr. Barrymore to become suspicious, would we?"
"No, we would not," Lady Charlotte declared decisively. "Davies is quite right; we shan't alert the wretch that we are on to him. You may inform Davies that we shall be the souls of discretion."
"Thank you, my lady," Melanie said, careful to keep any hint of irony out of her voice. "I am sure he will be pleased to hear it."
"You did what?" Drew stared at Melanie as if she had taken leave of her senses. "My God, Melanie, please tell me you are joking!"
"I only wish I were," she replied, slumping lower in her chair. She and Davies were sitting in her father's study, where she had arranged to meet him before the family was to leave for the evening. He had entered the room through the hidden door, a secret she had found most intriguing.
"But a Bow Street runner?" He ran a hand through his dark hair, his hazel eyes shimmering with frustration as he glared at her. "Why didn't you just tell them I was a spy and be done with it?"
"I told you, there was nothing else to be done!" Melanie snapped, her chin coming up defiantly. She was feeling hard pressed by the events of the past two days, and Drew's cold criticism made her burn with resentment. "I had to do something," she continued in a bellicose voice. "Grandmother had seen you leaving my room and was fit to do murder. She would have gone to Papa, and then where do you think you would have been? Saying you were a Bow Street runner may not have been the most clever thing I could have done, but it was all I could think of at the moment."
Her Ladyship's Man Page 13