He must have allowed a bit too much emotion into his voice, for Raines cocked his head. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”
“You have no idea.” Swiftly, Niall changed the subject. “So, this game tonight. You’re Whiting’s partner?”
“Temporarily. While he’s been in town, his cousin has been his partner, though Pitford usually partners with Sir Oswald. Now that Whiting’s cousin abandoned him for Lyons’s ball, I told Whiting I’d step in, although I generally partner with Dunsleigh. You’ll have the advantage of me, since I assume you’ve played with your future father-in-law before.”
“Actually, no.”
That caught Raines’s attention. “Odd. He’s very clannish. Doesn’t let too many new fellows into our circle.”
“Then I consider myself lucky to be invited.”
Raines snorted. “Sir Oswald is the lucky one. I daresay he wants you for the same reason he wanted me: your deep pockets.”
“I suspect the reason is merely my new family connection to him, since my pockets aren’t as deep as I’d like. But I’m hoping to plump them up this evening.”
“Well, don’t hope too hard. Whiting is a terrific player. We both are.” Raines stated it as fact. “We’ll give you a run for your money.”
“I have a trick or two up my sleeve myself. No pun intended.”
The conversation then turned to other things. Niall itched to ask Raines about Whiting’s family connections, but aside from the fact that Raines probably didn’t know much, it was unwise to rouse the man’s curiosity, in case he had heard the gossip about Niall’s long-ago duel.
They were engaged in an amicable conversation about Spanish cuisine and where Niall might find a cook familiar with it when Raines trailed off. Niall followed the man’s gaze to see Fulkham entering the club.
Raines’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Do you know the undersecretary?”
“We’ve conversed a few times. Why?”
“What did you think of him?”
“That he’s good at what he does.”
If that alarmed Raines, he gave no sign. “No doubt he is,” he said blandly, then rose. “I’ll see you later at the game.”
The reason for the man’s abrupt departure became apparent when Fulkham approached Niall. As Raines disappeared into another room, Fulkham took the man’s seat and raised an eyebrow. “You see what I mean? Always flees when I come near him.”
“There might be any number of reasons for that. Could it have something to do with his mother’s being Spanish?”
“I doubt it. I was posted in Spain long after she married Raines’s father.” Fulkham tapped his fingers on the chair arm. “It’s odd. That’s all I’m saying.” He looked around the room, but for the moment, it was still empty. His gaze arrowed in on Niall. “So, how did it go with Sir Oswald?”
“I met him and his brother.”
“Ah, yes, Toby Payne.”
“You didn’t mention him.”
Fulkham shrugged. “He is as respectable a gentleman as his brother is not. To my knowledge, he’s never been accused of so much as one infraction, in business or otherwise. Besides, the counterfeit currency appeared weeks before he showed up in London. So I’d be very surprised if he were involved.”
“Ah. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look at him more closely.”
“By all means, keep an eye on him. I’ll see if my associates at the French embassy can tell me anything about his business affairs in Paris. After the debacle with Durand, they owe me a favor.” He drew out a cigar and lit it. “Have you had any luck in your attempt to get chummy with Sir Oswald and the rest?”
“I have. Sir Oswald invited me to their card game tonight, but it’s just four of us—him, me, Raines, and a man named Sir Kenneth Whiting.”
Fulkham started. “Where did he come from?”
“Apparently, he’s Pitford’s cousin.” Though Fulkham looked genuinely surprised, Niall fixed him with a hard glance. “Is he Joseph Whiting’s relation as well?”
“If he is, it’s a distant connection. I’ve never heard of him. But I can find out. I’m sure he’s in Debrett’s.” He gazed uneasily at Niall. “If he is connected to Whiting, you’re not going to have a problem with that, are you?”
“Not if he doesn’t. Which he may, if they were close and he’s heard that I killed his relation. Though if the latter is the case, I’m sure he’ll make that quite clear tonight.”
“Perhaps you should cancel. Wait until he’s not one of the cardplayers. Or until I can find out more about him and why he’s in town.”
“I can handle it. Besides, he’s as much a suspect as the rest. And tonight might be my only chance to play, anyway.”
A scowl knit Fulkham’s brow. “Why?”
Blast, how he hated admitting this. “I have somehow managed to . . . infuriate Mrs. Trevor. She refuses to go on with our faux engagement.”
Fulkham’s face cleared. “That was quick.”
His reaction took Niall aback. “You don’t seem upset.”
The arse had the audacity to chuckle. “I’m sure you can turn her up sweet again. As the bard said, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ ”
Fulkham’s mention of true love gave Niall pause. “Exactly how much do you know about my connection to Bree?”
“Bree?”
Damnation. “Just answer the question.”
Fulkham shrugged. “I know that you first met her in Bath, that you courted her secretly for months . . . that after the duel you asked her to run away with you and were refused. Temporarily, anyway.”
Niall blinked. “How the blazes did you—”
“I told you, I talked to her maid, Gilly. Though the poor woman was turned off shortly after you left England—the family couldn’t afford her anymore—she eventually married. But her husband had lost his post, so once she learned I’d be willing to get him another in exchange for her information, she was more than happy to chat away.”
His heart pounding, Niall leaned forward. “Did she happen to tell you how Bree ended up married to Reynold Trevor?”
“I didn’t ask. It wasn’t relevant. I only wanted to know about you and her.”
“God rot you, Fulkham, what good are you?” Niall muttered.
“Don’t you know?”
“No. And Bree won’t talk about it.”
“Well, you can’t blame her. Her idiot husband gambled away the family’s money, and then stumbled into a river drunk. Probably purposely.”
His blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it he committed suicide. Can’t be sure, though. You ought to ask Warren. He might know.”
“He might, but he’s on his honeymoon and inaccessible.” Niall swore under his breath. “What else does rumor say about her marriage?”
“You know, old chap, I was only joking about the course of true love,” Fulkham drawled, “but given your surprising interest in everything about Mrs. Trevor, perhaps I shouldn’t have been.”
“Damn you, I need to know. For the mission.”
“Right. For the mission.” Fulkham tapped his chin. “Well, it’s not widely acknowledged, but I did hear from one of my . . . er . . . lackeys that Trevor courted her for weeks. Yet she only married him after her father lost a huge amount of money to his father, Captain Mace Trevor, in a high-stakes card game. Make of that what you will.”
Niall’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “Are you saying that her father sold her to Trevor? To pay his gambling debts?”
“No. I’m only stating what I heard.”
Still, what Fulkham had heard was damning. What was more, it made perfect sense. And cast an entirely different light on her marriage. What had she said to her father, something about fulfilling her duty to the family long ago?
That scurrilous bastard. If his debts had been so massive that paying them would have crippled the family financially, and he’d forced her to . . .
Oh, God. A chill coursed down h
is spine. What if that had been the subject of the letter Father had refused to send for her? A plea for his help? To save her family, to save her from an arranged marriage?
No—surely she would have said something to him today, if that were the case.
Right. After he’d called her an adventuress. While she thought him a rogue who kept a mistress while begging her to run away with him. She believed he hadn’t truly intended to marry her.
At least she claimed to have believed it, based on things his father supposedly had told her. Blast it all to hell. What was he to think?
He rose. “I have to go.”
Fulkham glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s a bit early still for a card game, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It doesn’t start for three more hours.” But that wasn’t where he was going. He had plenty of time for that later. He had to talk to her. Had to find out the truth. Had to make her tell him.
“If you’re going to see Mrs. Trevor, I would advise you to tread lightly. We still need her.”
Deuce take the man for always reading his mind. “I know. That’s why I intend to, as you say, turn her up sweet. If I can.”
And if she would even see him. And talk to him.
He frowned. That might be difficult to manage. She was damned angry. And though he might deserve some of that anger, she might not let him close enough to admit it.
Then an idea came to him. “Fulkham, I need one more favor.” Picking up a sheet of St. George’s Club stationery from a nearby writing desk, he handed it to the spymaster, along with a quill. “Here’s what I want you to write. . . .”
Nine
Brilliana stood in her aunt’s drawing room, staring down at the sealed note a liveried footboy had been ordered to put directly into her hand. Fortunately, that was easy, since Aunt Agatha had been taken with a horrible headache and had been resting in her bedchamber since before Brilliana’s return. Thank heaven. She hadn’t been looking forward to explaining why she’d gone to see Papa.
Now she had something else to deal with. And this dratted note had better not be from Niall, or she’d throw it in the fire.
But it wasn’t; it was from his cursed friend, Lord Fulkham. Apparently Niall had wasted no time in asking the man to intercede.
Dear Mrs. Trevor,
I gather that Lord Margrave has behaved in a less than gentlemanly manner and managed to set you against him. While I understand how that could happen, given his strong opinions, I assure you I do not condone such behavior.
There is still the matter of your father. So I hope you will do me the courtesy of meeting me in Bedford Square garden as soon as you receive this to discuss how to handle the situation. As I emphasized upon our last meeting, it is imperative that we not be seen together, and since it is dusk and the trees are thick, meeting in the park seems the wisest course.
If you cannot meet with me, please send a note to that effect with my emissary and arrange some other time or place.
Yours sincerely,
Lord Fulkham
She glanced at the waiting footboy, who was dressed in a livery unfamiliar to her, probably the baron’s. She’d hoped to have more time to consider what to say to his lordship. Now that the full heat of her anger at Niall had dimmed, she wasn’t as sure of her position.
She was still furious at him for calling her an adventuress, but Niall’s reaction to her remarks about his mistress put everything in a new light. Because his father had been relatively kind, she’d believed him when he’d told her of Niall’s mistress. Had she been too hasty, perhaps? Her accusations had clearly shocked Niall.
It was true he’d once been a spy and was clearly good at lying when necessary, so perhaps he was equally good at hiding his feelings. But somehow she thought there was more to it than that. He’d seemed genuinely horrified by her claim—she’d seen it in his eyes.
And surely her instincts about him hadn’t been as bad as all that back then, had they? Although she’d seen evidence of the rogue in him, she’d also truly believed him when he’d claimed to love her. What if that had been the real Niall after all?
She sighed. And what if it had not?
“Mrs. Trevor?” the footboy prodded. “Do you have an answer for the master? I’m either to bring you with me to the park or carry back a response.”
Might as well get this discussion over with. Perhaps Lord Fulkham knew the truth about the duel. If he did he might not tell her, but even a lack of response would tell her something.
“Let’s go,” she told the footboy.
With a nod, he preceded her to the door.
On the way out, she told her aunt’s footman that she was going for a stroll in the park. He wouldn’t find that unusual since she walked there often, and today it was lovely, with the sun setting over the houses in shades of vermilion, lavender, and citron, the vivid emerald-green plane trees standing in stark contrast below.
Perhaps when she was done with Lord Fulkham, she would return to the house for her watercolor box and attempt to capture all that beauty. The prospect of that calmed her nerves—until she entered the gates of the private park and caught sight of a gentleman dressed in evening attire with his back to her. Then her stomach knotted once again.
Because the man had sun-kissed hair and a familiar build and—
“Here she is, my lord,” the footboy said.
“Thank you, Pip. That will be all.”
Curse Niall to the devil. Pip was his servant, clearly.
As the lad disappeared out the gate and Niall faced her, her nervousness twisted into pique. “I should have known. I suppose you wrote that note.”
“No.” Niall stalked toward her. “Fulkham wrote it at my behest.”
“Of course.” Bitterness sharpened her tone. “He doesn’t want to lose my help, so he sent his lackey to argue on his behalf.”
At the word lackey, Niall gave a faint smile, which made her turn on her heel to head back to the gate. “Don’t go, Bree,” he called after her. “I’ve come to apologize.”
She slanted a suspicious glance back at him. “Because Lord Fulkham requires it.”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
That he could be so flippant about their earlier argument really sparked her temper. Without another word, she marched for the gate.
“I’ve learned what caused the rift with your father!” he cried behind her.
As her heart dropped, she paused with her hand on the latch. “Have you?” she said shakily. Oh, Lord, what had he heard? Because if he’d heard the truth . . .
He came up beside her and turned her toward him. “Although I don’t know all the details, I learned enough to piece things together. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you married Reynold Trevor to keep your father and mother out of debt, didn’t you?”
His pitying expression was almost as awful as his earlier insults about her being an adventuress. Feeling suddenly small and defenseless, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose Fulkham told you all about it. Lord only knows how he found out.”
“He’s a spymaster. He hears things . . . like the fact that you only agreed to marry the man after your father lost a great deal of money to Trevor’s father. So I could only think—”
“I know exactly what you think.” Her throat tightened until it felt raw. “That I was forced into it. That I’m some . . . some pathetic female who couldn’t see her way out of a marriage she didn’t want.” She lifted her chin. “But that’s not true. I went into it knowing exactly what I was getting into. So if you intend to stand there feeling sorry for me—”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, so fiercely that someone passing by on the street cast them a curious glance. With a low curse, he drew her deep into a secluded part of the garden. “But you should have told me.”
“I did! At least, I tried to.” Her emotions had veered so wildly all day that she could no longer resist the tears burning her e
yes. Brushing away the few that leaked out, she said, “I put it all in the l-letter that you’re sure I never wr-wrote—”
Tugging her into his arms, he held her close. “Shh, shh, sweeting. Forget everything I said in a temper. I’m an arse. I admit it.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, trying not to sniffle. She hated crying in front of him, especially after this afternoon.
“Tell me about Trevor,” he said in a voice infinitely kind. “Please?”
It was the “please” that did her in. “What do you . . . want to know?” she muttered into his shirt.
He rubbed her back. “Fulkham said he courted you for weeks.” A fractured breath escaped him. “So . . . you did care about him?”
“Of course I cared about him. He was my husband. I had his child.”
His arms went slack. “So you were in love with him.”
Oh, how she wanted to say that she had been. But even if he wouldn’t be truthful with her, she couldn’t lie to him. Not anymore. “I didn’t say that.”
Niall drew back to fix her with a hard look. “So you never loved him.”
“He . . . he was my friend. And he did love me, poor man. He actually proposed marriage twice. The first time was a month after you left. I refused him as gently as I could. I was still hoping that once Mama had . . . passed on, I could be with you.” Her voice hardened. “I hadn’t yet heard the rumors about your fighting over a woman.”
“They were rumors, Bree, nothing more,” he said hoarsely, dragging her close again. “As I told you years ago, the truth was . . . is complicated.”
Fighting to ignore her desire to believe him, she pushed free of his embrace. “Your father didn’t seem to think so.”
Pain slashed across his face. “My father—right.” He thrust his hands into his greatcoat pockets. “Let’s assume for the moment that I’m telling the truth about not having a mistress, and that you’re telling the truth about what my father said. Why did you believe him?”
“He was your father. Why wouldn’t I?”
He raked his hand through his hair. “Because he might have had another motive for blackening my reputation? You may recall I was initially reluctant to introduce you.”
The Pleasures of Passion: Sinful Suitors 4 Page 13