Danger Wears White (30 page)

He was right. That period of inaction followed by five minutes of action had exhausted her. Not that she’d admit that to anyone. She wanted to see that right to the end. She was at the center of this mess, and she would remain there until they’d concluded it.

Oh, but she longed for home! She wanted so much to walk along the creaking corridors with the curved walls and twisted timbers. She missed them, the marks she’d made on the walls, the places she’d hidden to cry or to read or just to sit and look out over the rose garden.

It was home, and it was hers. Thanks to the man at her side, it was still hers. Her kingdom. The only one she wanted.

Fury simmered low in Tony, and it had since someone had dared shoot at him again. He’d let some of his frustration loose when he’d made love to his wife the night before, but he had kept his lovemaking as restrained and gentlemanly as he could. She needed soothing and reassuring; she didn’t need him to fall on her like a madman.

Now he could let go. He would discover who was doing this. He’d kill him. A rage suffused him like he’d never experienced before because it concerned the person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

Ivan and Val took the man into the small parlor at the front. It had one window that overlooked the street, but had a fall that could well kill a man. If he jumped and fell straight, he’d fall into the area below, in front of the kitchen, where the staff would take him back. With any luck he’d break a leg. If he jumped out, he’d fall on to the spiked railing meant to protect passersby from the plunge.

Either would suit him. When he’d finished with the bastard.

Val and Ivan were the more reckless of his cousins, Val with a sense of humor his parents were trying to allay by betrothing him to one of the most staid women in London, and Ivan by reining him in when he went too wild. His father was none too steady, and until recently his older brother Alex was a reprobate of some magnitude.

Tony could trust his two cousins to back him up and not force caution on him. He had until the restraining force that was Julius got there.

They tied the prisoner to a chair, and Tony got to work. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t kill the man. Not until he discovered what he needed to know.

Forcing calm on himself, he considered the situation, assessing it swiftly and decisively. Later he’d let his anger loose, but for now he caged it.

“Who?” he demanded.

Predictably, the man said nothing.

Tony backhanded him, careful not to damage his mouth too much. He wanted the man to talk. “Who sent you?”

The man’s upper lip twitched, as if he were trying to sneer. A trickle of blood slid out of the corner of his mouth.

Tony tried a little reason. “We can hand you over to the authorities, in which case you’ll hang, you can let us beat you to a pulp, or you can take a hundred guineas for the information. It’s your choice.”

The man stared. So Tony broke his fingers, one by one. At least by the end, the man who would have killed his wife was screaming. And eventually, they had a name. More for personal satisfaction than because he doubted in any way who’d done it.

“Northwich! Long live the true King!”

“Lock him up.” Tony spun on his heel and left his friends to patch up the man. He was no longer interested in him. He had more important things to do.

* * * *

An hour later Tony had tracked down his quarry. In the middle of the day, Lord William Dankworth was still abed, or rather, as the superior being at his house informed him, preparing for the day ahead. “Tell him I’m here.” Tony took a seat on the maroon leather chair by the window, crossing his legs and showing no inclination to leave. “I would appreciate a prompt appearance, but I understand why not. His early morning exertions have probably exhausted him.”

The room was comfortable enough, certainly not a den of iniquity. Still, he held himself together with effort, tension snapping in his gut. On edge, ready for battle, he waited.

But not for long. The Duke of Northwich entered the drawing-room, his long face glibly welcoming and his eyes snapping with curiosity. They exchanged courteous bows.

“I must admit seeing you here is somewhat a surprise, your lordship.” He pronounced Tony’s new title without a sneer, but he didn’t need to, really.

Tony ignored the veiled insult and forbore to use any title. “Why? Did you expect to find me dead?”

The duke turned around and addressed the servant who’d slipped in behind them. “Please ensure we’re not interrupted.”

The man bowed, murmured, “Your grace,” and left.

It was far too civilized for Tony’s liking. He retook his seat and watched the duke. Not a twitch marked his reaction. The duke settled himself on the sofa opposite, taking his time to flick the skirts of his brown coat into place and arrange them to his satisfaction. Although the duke was older than his cousin, both men exuded urbane sophistication, something he had little patience with or wished to aspire to. Impatience filled him with annoyance because a dance lay ahead where he wanted plain speaking. “I expected to see Lord William.”

“My son is unfortunately from home.”

“Your man said he was still abed.”

“He’s mistaken. I will speak with him.”

Tony smiled. “Send him to me. I’ll find a post for him. Perhaps pig man on one of my farms would suffice.”

The duke returned the smile, though thinly. He swung his foot, the brilliants on his shoe buckles catching the light. “I do not envy the pigs. My son generally performs his role adequately.” He paused, watching Tony, his eyes sharp.

Tony waited.

The duke shrugged. “We may as well get to the point. My son made an error. It will not be repeated.”

“What error?”

“Twice.” That was no answer but Tony understood. The duke hadn’t known Tony’s intentions. He could have had Lord William taken up for attempted murder. Since he’d captured the man who’d attacked him the second time, and perhaps the first, too, he could put him in court as proof. The duke must get his son out of the way, and sending him abroad was an expedient way of doing so.

“The holes in my chest and arms?”

The duke nodded, his eyes closing. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Indeed. You will accept my apology.” It wasn’t a request. “And his, naturally. I believe he will not return to town this season.”

“He won’t appreciate that.” Not that Tony cared. But he did want to know where the man was, so he could keep an eye on him. But he felt a profound sense of relief that the man had left London.

“Indeed, but he will find some solace in Rome.”

If that was where he had really gone. Northwich was so devious he would beat a corkscrew for twists and turns. Unlike Tony. Straightforward honesty. “I don’t want a repetition. I don’t care what you or my cousin or anyone else is up to, my wife is not to be put in danger.”

The duke’s foot stopped swinging. “Your wife?” He sighed. “When did that happen? I should really keep an eye on the newspapers, but chasing after my family took all my time this last week.”

Tony didn’t believe that for a minute. The duke wanted to appear as if he’d taken his eye off the target. Tony knew better. He’d wager the duke knew everything his son had done and had probably sent him to Lancashire in the first place. But he humored the duke and told him what he already knew. “We married recently. Did you send your son to court my wife?” He did not expect a straight answer now. He doubted the duke was capable of one.

“She wasn’t your wife then.”

Not an answer. Tony cocked a brow in query.

The duke sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I found it reprehensible in the extreme that my son put the lady who is now your wife into any kind of peril. She is a precious commodity, not to be harmed in any way.”

He, on the other hand, was expendable. Even more so now he’d married the woman the duke wanted for his son. “I have no intention of doing so. Do you?”

“No. You must keep her safe. I depend on you to do so.”

So the duke knew what Imogen was, who her parents were. That came as no surprise to Tony, but he appreciated the confirmation. “On that we agree. I wish her safe because I care for her. Why do
you
wish her kept safe?”

The duke dug a hand in the large outer pocket of his coat and drew out a bundle of papers. Old but not grimy, although the edges had become somewhat tattered, they seemed innocuous enough. But then, general’s orders often had that deceptive appearance too and frequently carried explosive information.

Tony got to his feet to take the papers and strolled over to the window. He opened the first and froze. “Where did you get these?”

“Lady Hollinhead brought them to me yesterday. Oh, not your wife. Her mother. You may retain them if you wish, but I would prefer to keep the letter. I have copies.”

The official documents weren’t originals, but they were certified copies, which froze his blood to the marrow. “Presumably the originals were destroyed in the fire,” the duke said.

He was holding his wife’s birth certificate. The true one. Another document, a copy of marriage lines. And a letter, the spidery writing difficult to interpret, even more so because it was in Italian.

Something clicked in Tony’s mind. “And Lord William has gone to Rome to try to find it?”

A smile insinuated itself across the duke’s features. “Indeed. Into the lion’s den, so to speak.” He shrugged. “I assure you that while my family’s sympathies may be with the Pretender, we intend to do nothing treasonable. If my son encounters the court at the Palazzo Muti, he will not offer them a royal bow and he will remind them where his loyalties lie. Personally, I doubt the original exists. I believe Maria had it with her when her house caught fire. However, there will be an official copy somewhere. Knowing the propensity of the papacy to collect useful documents, it’s probably resting in the Vatican. In that case, we may have a more difficult task.”

Tony regarded the duke through narrowed eyes. “You will let me leave the house today without a fight?”

The duke shrugged. “You are a member of a family that could cause me endless trouble. Why should I murder a much-loved member of it? However, accidents happen, and I cannot prevent them.”

His heavy-lidded gaze swept over Tony with a contemptuousness only the wealthy aristocrat could manage. It sent a shiver over Tony’s body. He ignored it. “If they do, I’ll leave instructions. I have people who will carry them out without compunction. Suffice it to say that they don’t involve the law or wrangling in court. My wife will be left in peace, and because she cares for me, so will I.” He meant that. As an ex-soldier, he had access to people who would count their loyalty to him. Several owed him favors that he had no intention of collecting, except in this case. Nobody knew, least of all his family. That way they could genuinely claim they knew nothing.

“You understand that while you are married to her, she is of little use to me.”

Of course. The duke wanted Imogen married to a member of his own clan. Hence sending his son to court her. “I’m glad to hear it. She is out of the game. There are others where she came from, we both know that. Look for them.”

“I fully intend to.”

Tony folded the documents, careful to keep to their original creases, and tucked them in his pocket. “These belong to my wife, not my mother.”

The duke gave him a considering stare, his eyes unblinking. But Tony had met snakes before and knew better than to break the connection. He met the duke’s dark eyes.

Eventually the duke shrugged. “No matter. I will find more. The important thing is that I know.”

Cold swept over Tony at the realization. He had to get out of this poisonous place.

* * * *

Imogen was enjoying the luxury of a lazy and late breakfast in her room when Tony found her. He tossed a bundle of worn papers down by her plate. “I retrieved these from the Duke of Northwich this morning. I’ll send copies to Julius for his information, but as far as I’m concerned, this closes the matter. He won’t bother us again.”

She saw her birth certificate, the real one. Then another document, a letter. “I don’t read Italian,” she confessed.

Gently, he took the document for her and read it, translating it as he went.

“I, Maria Rubiero, on the tenth of March, 1730, do declare that seven days ago I gave birth to a baby daughter. She is the child of James Stuart, James the Third of Great Britain, and my husband. James Francis Stuart and I were married on the 20th September, 1717, at the Chapel of the Virgin, in Fontaine Square, Rome. This letter is to accompany a copy of her birth certificate and my marriage certificate. I am sending her away with a person I can trust, for her own safety, Lady Hollinhead, who has sworn to bring her up as her own, and keep her from danger. I swear this by the Virgin Mary and all the Saints. May God give me mercy.”

“So these are my birth certificate and her marriage lines.”

She perused the other two documents. They were easier to follow. Dazed, she stared at them, absorbing the information before lifting her troubled gaze to his face. Once she’d seen the papers, she’d understood at once why her husband had put himself in danger. “Northwich wanted me married to his son. He wanted a pawn.”

Tony took her hand. “He wanted a legitimate daughter of the Old Pretender to challenge the authorities. That would give him the power he’s lusted after for years.”

“I don’t want it, Tony.” She shivered.

He kissed her wrist. “You think I don’t know that?”

Imogen shivered, arousal still working its magic. But shock added to her reaction. “The Old Pretender won’t acknowledge me, will he?”

“He might. His two sons are disappointments to him. His oldest is rash, and these days he drinks too much. His younger is a cardinal and never like to bear heirs for the Cause. Women can inherit the throne just as well as men.”

“But I don’t want it,” she repeated.

“You need not have it. We will never be completely out of danger, but you aren’t Maria’s only child.” He flicked a contemptuous glance at the papers. “We’ll lock these up and never think on them again. We will claim the certificate you’ve had all your life is the true one. The one that says you’re a daughter of the Earl of Hollinhead and his wife.”