“Such language.” He tsked. “It’s unbecoming of a lady.”
She eyed him carefully. “You know I’m no lady.”
“Yes, it’s particularly amusing to me that this latest mission of yours involves being a lady’s maid. I’d pay a pretty penny to see you plaiting braids and sticking pins in a coiffure.”
“I’ve learned my trade well. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
Grimaldi knew she’d spent the last fortnight being trained by one of London’s best lady’s maids, one paid well enough to keep her mouth shut and ask no questions.
“I’ve no doubt. I’ve never seen you not fully committed to any task you’ve undertaken,” Grimaldi replied.
“No more delays, General. What’s the mission? I need to get back. My lady is attending a ball tonight and she’ll miss me before long.”
He sighed and the smile dissipated from his face. “Very well. Point taken.”
There was no file. No words. Nothing written. It was the way this branch of the Home Office worked. They weren’t even having this conversation. She’d be tortured and killed before she admitted she so much as knew Mark Grimaldi’s name, let alone his identity as chancellor of this nonexistent office.
“The subject isn’t Rafe Cavendish at all,” Grimaldi said.
Danielle’s brow furrowed. “Don’t tell me it’s Lady Daphne?”
“No. The Swift family has been nothing but loyal to the Crown.”
“Then who?” Danielle furrowed her brow.
“It’s the brother. Mr. Cavendish.”
“Cade,” she breathed.
“You’ve met him?”
“Last night.”
“And?”
“He seems like a rogue and a charmer but not dangerous. Except…” She tapped her cheek.
Grimaldi raised a brow. “Except what?”
“Except he did get into a fight with someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He came home foxed with a bloody fist.”
“Hmm. See if you can find out more about that.”
“His brother seemed to think the man has a penchant for getting into drunken fights.”
“He has a penchant for more than that. He’s been out of the country for years. The fact that he’s returned means he’s up to something. We’ve been watching him for a while now but haven’t been able to learn anything. Having you in the house so close to him may finally help us find something.”
“What?”
Grimaldi grinned at her. “That is precisely what we need you to discover, Mademoiselle LaCrosse.”
CHAPTER NINE
Blast and damnation. Cade had spent the better part of an hour this morning going about his morning ablutions while trying to remember what the hell had happened last night with Mademoiselle LaCrosse in his bedchamber. Obviously nothing too untoward. He’d been completely dressed when he awoke. And Daphne had been there with Rafe, according to Danielle.
Cade was annoyed with himself for doing exactly what his brother and sister-in-law had warned him against only hours before. Apparently he didn’t have it in him to act appropriately even for the span of one evening. He sighed. On the other hand, his misstep with the mademoiselle last night just might prove useful in furthering his guise as a drunken lout. The more useless Rafe assumed he was, the better.
However, getting so foxed that he didn’t remember everything that had happened was poorly done of him. Losing control was a dangerous mistake in his position. People like him who lost control ended up dead. He needed to buckle down and focus on his plan. The sooner he could find the answers he needed, the sooner he could leave. Leaving here was preferable for many reasons, including distancing himself from a deucedly tempting and distracting lady’s maid.
She’d surprised him. People never surprised him. She’d attracted him. He preferred tall, curvy blondes, but something about this small, dark-haired, willowy woman was alluring. Perhaps it was her confidence. She’d been at ease trading words with him and had marched into his room this morning, bold as you please, demanding he drink a glass of green elixir and examining his hand without so much as a how do you do.
The French were bold, but something about this woman was especially intriguing. She certainly was beautiful. Breathtaking even. More beautiful than he’d guessed, even after Rafe had warned him so strictly away from her. Perhaps Cade would do the right thing and apologize to her for his behavior last night. Perhaps he’d ask her to have a drink with him. One drink couldn’t hurt.
He scrubbed his face and winced when he touched the bruise on his cheek. People said they couldn’t tell the difference between him and Rafe. He had longer hair. Now he had a shiner to boot. It would be damn easy for anyone to tell the difference.
He shook his head and wiped a towel over his face. Despite being warned away by his brother and sister-in-law, he’d already decided a flirtation with Mademoiselle LaCrosse wouldn’t hurt anyone. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken a tumble with a maid, but pretty maids were a shilling a dozen, and he had more important things to worry about. Like how the hell he was going to explain his black eye to Tomlinson.
Cade dressed himself. He’d never understood how Rafe got used to a bloody valet. He couldn’t imagine himself living with a picky little man hovering about, worrying about every wrinkle or (God forbid) bloodstain he got on his clothing. Though a valet would not be an affectation Cade ever acquired, he certainly admired his sister-in-law’s lady’s maid. Blast. There he went again, his mind drifting to Mademoiselle LaCrosse.
He’d been too damn long without a woman. That was all. He needed to get laid and he needed to get laid tonight. He’d stop by Madame Turlington’s this evening after he met Rafe at the club.
He took the stairs two at a time, left the house, and walked halfway across Mayfair before hiring a hack to take him to a less respectable part of town. It had become his habit with Tomlinson to meet at the Curious Goat Inn. The tavern was out of the way enough that they weren’t likely to see anyone they knew, but respectable enough to explain what they were doing there if they did come across a stray acquaintance.
The tavern never changed. In all the years Cade had been coming here (and he hadn’t been here in more than ten), it remained the same dingy gray and brown interior, with the same worn wooden tables and chairs that had once been painted the reds and blues of the English flag but were now just faint, aging flecks on the nondescript wood. The patronage was usually more tired than rowdy and today was not unlike any other.
A buxom middle-aged waitress served him ale in a giant wooden mug. She leered at him and smiled a crooked smile. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet. A younger, slim barmaid walked past. He actually considered taking her up on her obvious offer, but decided Madame Turlington’s would be less complicated. Barmaids tended to do things like remember you. And expect you to return. The last thing he needed on this particular trip to London was a complication. He’d made no promises to anyone and he fully intended to keep it that way.
He didn’t have long to wait for Tomlinson. The man always hurried off the street as if he had a score of errands to run. He pushed open the door to the tavern, shut it behind him, and carefully doffed his hat. The man was shorter and older than Cade, with a wreath of graying hair and a cane he carried merely for affectation. The minute he looked up and recognized Cade sitting at a table near the back, he nodded and headed toward him.
“Eversby,” he said in his upper-crust accent, nodding at Cade.
Like nearly everyone Cade associated with outside of Mayfair, Tomlinson didn’t know Cade’s real name. Tomlinson also didn’t run in the same circles as his twin and therefore didn’t know the Viscount Spy. Of course Cade suspected Tomlinson wasn’t the real name of the man across from him, either. They were even.
“Tomlinson,” Cade replied, nodding at the man, who quickly took a seat and was offered his own mug of ale by the slim barmaid. He ogled the woman for a moment before she flounced off.
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Tomlinson spent a few moments propping his cane against the wall, then he turned to face Cade. “I was going to punch you myself but it seems someone already got to it. What happened to your eye?”
“I was paid a visit by someone who is obviously not an admirer of mine.” Cade grinned and the bruise ached. He touched it gingerly and winced.
“I see that,” Tomlinson replied.
“Why were you going to punch me?” Cade ventured.
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because I thought you were dead for the last several years and you never lifted a finger to disabuse me of that notion until sending a letter yesterday asking me to meet you here.”
Cade winced again but this time for an entirely different reason. “A lot of people thought I was dead.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” Tomlinson thanked the barmaid who’d returned with his ale.
Cade tapped his foot against the dirty floor. “Look, I don’t have much time.”
Tomlinson pursed his lips. “Of course not. You never do. What are you looking for now?”
That’s what Cade liked about Tomlinson, the man was always direct. Cade settled back into his chair and took a deep breath. “What do you know about the Black Fox?”
Tomlinson cracked a smile. “Isn’t that a kick in the arse? I was about to ask you the same question.”
Cade narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know anything?”
“Not much.” Tomlinson shrugged.
“You must know something,” Cade prodded, his foot tapping again.
“The papers have the right of it. He has struck again,” Tomlinson said, shaking his head.
“What else have you learned about him?” Cade asked.
“All too little, I’m afraid. The rumors are everywhere. He is French. He is English. He is Russian. He’s a pirate. No one knows.”
“He robbed The French Secret two nights ago,” Cade prodded.
“Yes. Among other crimes.”
“Why is The French Secret in London?”
Tomlinson took a swig of ale. “We don’t know.”
“But what are the rumors, Tomlinson? Come now, you always know the rumors.” Nine times out of ten the rumors were exactly right.
Tomlinson sighed. “Very well. Rumor has it there’s a group of English turncoats working with the French. They’re in port to finalize their plans.”
Cade’s grin was wide. “And the Black Fox isn’t making it easy for them?”
Tomlinson’s eyes narrowed to dark slits. “Why are you so interested in the Black Fox?”
“That’s my business.” Cade sat back and took a long draught from his mug.
“Be that as it may, if you want to know what I know about the chap, you’d best tell me.”
Cade rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to discern how much British Intelligence knows about him.”
“And why would you want to know that?” Tomlinson’s eyes were barely visible through the suspicious slits.
This time Cade shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in the matter.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be the Black Fox, would you?” Tomlinson met his gaze.
Cade was prepared for this question. He had perfected his card-playing face over many, many hands of cards with men who were a sight better at spotting lies than Ernest Tomlinson ever would be. Cade cleared his throat. “If I were, you couldn’t possibly believe I’d tell you.”
Tomlinson grinned, exposing crooked teeth. “Aye, that’s a certain bet, there.”
“What else have you heard?” Cade asked, his patience wearing thin.
Tomlinson took another long drink. “He’s being hunted. But they can’t find him.”
Cade leaned forward. “They know nothing?”
“Not much. They’re certain there was something he was after on the French ship but definitely not jewels as the papers would have you believe.”
Cade nodded grimly. “They know nothing else?”
“Nothing I’ve been able to discern.”
Cade stood, tossed some coins on the table, and turned for the door.
Tomlinson’s voice stopped him. “Who do you think busted your eye, Eversby?”
“No way to tell, but if I don’t mistake my guess, it was someone else who is looking for the Black Fox.”
CHAPTER TEN
Danielle’s skirts skimmed over the back staircase that led down to the kitchens. It was dinnertime for the servants. They ate early, before the rest of the house. She thought about Mr. Cavendish. Cade. He hadn’t given her permission to call him Cade despite the fact that she’d ended up in his lap last night.
She considered what she knew about him. He was a twin. His brother was a viscount. Both his brother and sister-in-law seemed to expect the worst of him. Why? What had he done? Why was he living with them? For General Grimaldi to be keeping an eye on him, Cade must be up to something important. But what?
Grimaldi had asked her to leave a note under the flowerpot at the side of the mews each night letting him know if she’d learned of any appointments Mr. Cavendish kept. They were to be written in code, of course. The problem was, she had nothing to write so far. She hadn’t learned much about him. She’d asked Trevor, the footman, a few innocuous questions and was only able to verify the man didn’t have a valet, a fact she already knew. If she wanted to know more about him, the only alternative would be to ask the man himself.
She was sitting in the kitchens mending one of Lady Daphne’s handkerchiefs. Dieu merci Aunt Madeline had taught her to sew.
She stuck the needle through the fine, soft cloth. What else did she know about Cade Cavendish? He thought nothing of getting foxed and bleeding on expensive rugs and bedding. He was a man who came home with a wound almost certainly caused by a blow to another person’s face. Not that she was judging. She herself had had to participate in hand-to-hand combat upon occasion. Perhaps it was the nonchalant bleeding that seemed off. The man had surprised her. People rarely surprised her. Especially men.
She smiled to herself, remembering him saying she had the most enticing backside he’d ever seen. She wasn’t about to tell him he had a fine-looking backside himself. The man was arrogant enough without her adding to his enormous opinion of himself. It had been foolish of her to assume he didn’t understand French.
“Are you truly from France?” a small voice asked.
Danielle turned to see the housemaid, Mary, peeking at her from a corridor in the kitchens.
She turned toward the younger girl and smiled. “I used to live there. Oui.”
“How did ye get here? Ta London?” Mary asked, her hazel eyes inquisitive.
Danielle had learned not to answer too many personal questions. “How did you come to work here?” she asked instead.
The girl took a tentative step toward Danielle’s seat. “Me mum’s worked for the Earl of Swifdon for years and when Lady Daphne made her own household, why, she said she’d be sure ta hold a position for me.”
Danielle smiled at that. “That was kind of Lady Daphne.”
“Oh, yes. Me lady is one of the kindest, most generous people I’ve ever met.”
“How long have you been in service to Lady Daphne?” Danielle studied her face. The girl couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen.
“I only just began last month. Right after the wedding.”
“The wedding?” Danielle blinked at her.
“Yes. My lord and my lady only just married last month.” The maid dropped her voice to a whisper. “I ought not to say it but there’s a rumor wot they were actually married last autumn.”
“Last autumn?” Danielle blinked more. “If they were already married, why would they marry again?”
The maid glanced over her shoulder. Then she gestured for Danielle to follow her. Danielle stood and set the mending on the chair. They made their way down the corridor to a small antechamber just off the housekeeper’s office. Wine bottles and kegs of beer sat stacked on tables in the corners. An as
sortment of spices and bags of sugar and salt sat propped upon shelves. Otherwise, the room was empty save for two wooden chairs and a small table. Mary sat on one of the chairs and motioned to Danielle to sit on the other. They were alone, even in the busy servants’ wing.
“They ran off together, so the story goes,” Mary said as soon as they were both seated.
Danielle leaned forward, fascinated.
“Lady Daphne was missing for near a week and on account of Lord Rafe being a spy and wot not.”
“He’s a spy?” Of course Danielle already knew that, but she couldn’t allow Mary to realize it. How unfortunate it was for Lord Cavendish to have such a loose-lipped maid in his employ. But Danielle couldn’t help but like Mary. She seemed like the friendly, helpful sort.
“Ah, I should not say any more.” Mary blushed. “If Mrs. Huckleberry catches me gossiping…”
“She’ll be angry?” Danielle prompted.
“Oh no, knowing Mrs. Huckleberry, she’d probably join right in on the conversation. I just would hate ta make her feel as if she should hafta scold me. On account of her being so very unhappy about havin’ ta deliver scoldings.”
Danielle pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. This was a strange group of servants indeed. Not that she’d been around a great many servants, but she expected the staff of a proper English lord to be refined and appropriate. Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry seemed anything but. However, the girl might prove valuable. “Tell me, what do you know about Mr. Cavendish, the viscount’s brother?”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Gor. He’s a handsome one, ain’t he? Why, I about fell off me seat when I saw him the first time and realized there were two of them.”
Danielle nearly snorted at that. “I had nearly the same reaction myself. Tell me, Mary, has he ever … made any untoward advances on you?” She assumed the man had tried to charm every female servant in the house down to the scullery maid.
Mary shook her head. “Sadly, no. And it’s a shame, fer if that man were ta make an untoward advance upon me I can’t say I’d refuse.”
Danielle had barely stopped laughing when Mrs. Huckleberry came bustling in. Danielle winced. Had the housekeeper heard that last part?
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