Her Ladyship's Man (16 page)

"And good day to you, Lady Melanie," he drawled, his lips twitching at the stormy defiance sparkling in her dark eyes. "I trust you will have a pleasant evening at Court. Pray give my respects to their Royal Highnesses." He was still smiling
when she stalked out, her small nose held high in the air.

"You were right to come to me," Sir said, his expression serious as Drew concluded his tale. "This is the link we have been searching for. My congratulations, Merrick."

"Thank you, Sir, although the credit is due largely to Lady Melanie's efforts," Drew answered, more than willing to give his imperious lady her due. "She did a first-rate job of reconnoitering."

"So she did," Sir agreed, leaning forward to study his reflection in the cracked mirror as he added the final touches to his disguise. "Although I am sure that was never your intention when you asked her to make up to Barrymore. I gathered you were merely attempting to keep the lady out of harm's way."

"For all the good it did me," came the answering grumble as Drew helped Sir into the scarlet and gold jacket of a Captain of the Guards. "The first thing this morning she was throwing herself at his head like a desperate spinster and insisting that he take her for a ride. It's a wonder he didn't tumble to her at once, for she has certainly never behaved in such a fashion before."

"It may have roused his suspicions, but a man is often vulnerable to women in ways he is never vulnerable to men," Sir said, stroking the luxuriant black mustache that adorned his upper lip. "I have often observed that such men are intolerably vain; he probably accepted Lady Melanie's marked attentions as his due, and thought no more of the matter. There, how do I look?" He turned to Drew for his approval.

The man who stood before Drew was a complete
stranger to him. Sir's dark blond hair and eyebrows had been covered with black dye, giving him the appearance of a dashing brigand, an image that was enhanced by the dueling scar that graced his high cheekbone. Had he not witnessed the transformation firsthand, Drew would never have known this handsome officer for his superior and his friend.

"Like a character out of one of those damned novels," Drew answered, a reluctant smile lighting his eyes. "Am I permitted to ask who you are supposed to be? I hope you have not reenlisted behind our backs."

"Only temporarily," Sir assured him, strapping on the large ceremonial sword that accompanied his uniform. The small stiletto he slipped into his jacket sleeve was far less attractive, but far more deadly. "Allow me to present Captain Stuart Critchley of the Guards, deeply in debt and always eager for a hand of cards." He bowed stiffly.

"Ah, you are going off in search of Lord Parkinson." Drew nodded in understanding. "Do you know where he games?"

"No, but there cannot be that many places where a young lord and his officer friend might go. You did say he was with a Major Dalmire, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall just look until I find Major Dalmire. If Parkinson isn't with him, I am sure I can worm his location out of the major with a glass of brandy and a few judiciously lost games. In the meanwhile, I want you to work on a trap for our friend. Have you any ideas?"

"I've been thinking about our Portuguese friend, the one Lady Abbington mentioned Barrymore had been chatting with at some ball or another."

"Senhor José Martinez," Sir supplied, bending to
tuck a small pistol into his shiny Hessians. "My sources tell me he has some interesting acquaintances in the French quarter."

"Yes, and now he is linked to Barrymore, who would doubtlessly accept anything the senhor slips to him with unquestioning gratitude," Drew said with grim satisfaction. "We must make certain it is sufficiently tempting to get Barrymore to lead us to his French contact, and then I shall make it my personal duty to clap the bastard in irons."

Sir glanced up sharply at his words. "Just mind you don't make this
too
personal," he cautioned. "Revenge is a luxury men in our profession can ill afford, and I should hate to see you hurt because you were too blinded by emotion to take proper care."

"You may count upon me to take every precaution, Sir," Drew assured him with an easy smile. "I am too fond of this hide of mine to risk it unnecessarily. But might I advise that you also take care? It would be a great pity if you were to die all rigged out like a play soldier."

"Yes, I dare say I would find it quite embarrassing," Sir answered with a slight smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, 'tis time I was making my rounds. Besides, I am sure you will be wanting to get home before the Terringtons. Tonight is Lady Melanie's presentation, is it not?"

"Yes," Drew replied, a vision of Melanie in her Court dress of white silk with flowers and ribbons decorating the hooped skirts filling his mind. She had never looked lovelier to him, and never more inaccessible.

"Did Barrymore accompany them?"

"To Court? No, but I believe he was planning to
meet some friends elsewhere. Needless to say, I have a man following him," he added sardonically.

"I never had any doubts on that score," Sir told him quietly. "You are almost as cautious as me. But what of the companion? Is there any danger she might be about?"

"No, thank heavens." Drew's reply was heartfelt. "Lady Abbington has arranged for the coach to take her to the palace, so at least I needn't worry that I'll encounter her roaming the halls in search of heroes from her damned Gothics."

Sir chuckled softly. "I think I may have erred in overlooking this particular form of literature," he said, sweeping a cape over his broad shoulders. "It appears to have much to recommend if the quick way Miss Evingale saw through both you and Mr. Barrymore is any indication. Perhaps I should make them required reading for all my agents."

"Or you could start recruiting females with overly active imaginations," Drew agreed, shuddering at the prospect.

"An interesting suggestion, Merrick," Sir said, the look in his eyes frankly speculative as he held open the door for Drew. "Do you think Lady Melanie might be interested in entering my employ? My instincts tell me she would make an excellent operative."

"My God, she would volunteer at once and then demand your most dangerous assignment," Drew muttered feelingly. "You must not even suggest such a thing to her!"

"Oh, your employer is safe enough from me," Sir said, making no effort to hide his amusement. "For the moment."

Melanie woke with a start, stirring sleepily in her bed. She cast a bleary eye around her, wondering what could have awakened her. She knew it had to be quite late, as it had been well after two when she had finally retired. Supressing a groan, she fell back on the pillows and covered her head. Despite her exhaustion, she knew it would be hours yet before she would be able to close her eyes.

Sighing heavily, she turned on her side, tucking her hand beneath her cheek as she studied the play of light on the wall. Her drapes were partially open and the silver light of the full moon cast an unearthly glow in the room. The presentation had gone well, she mused, smiling as she recalled the events of the past several hours. Much as she had resented the need for such a useless ritual, she had enjoyed herself, and meeting the prince had been a definite treat. He seemed to have singled her out for flirting, something he seldom did with any lady under the age of fifty, and she was aware of the jealous glances being shot her by several of her fellow debutantes.

At the ball afterward she had been swamped with suitors, but even as she had flirted and smiled at them, she found herself wishing that Davies had been there. With his natural grace and power he would make a wonderful dancer, she thought dreamily, picturing herself floating across the floor held tightly in his arms. She wondered if he had ever served with Wellington, for she had heard it rumored that he chose his officers as much for their dancing skills as for their abilities as fighters.

Sir had said he once served with the Fourth Mounted Regiment, which meant that he might have been stationed in Alexandria while she and Papa were there. If he had, she was positive they
had never met. Something told her she would not have forgotten his bright hazel eyes, or the unexpected way a smile could light up his face.

Listen to yourself, she thought ruefully, you sound as lovesick as one of Miss Evingale's heroines. Not that she was in love with Drew . . . Davies, by any means, she assured herself anxiously. She admired him for his dedication to his duty, and as he was a handsome man, it was not out of the ordinary that she should find him attractive. But she most definitely did not love him. He was far too autocratic for her tastes, and for all she knew of him he could easily be promised to another.

That bit of speculation brought a swift stab of pain to Melanie's heart, and she swiftly swept the thought aside. No, she was fairly convinced he was neither married nor engaged. Not that it mattered a whit to her, of course, she brooded, tugging the bedclothes about her chin. It was the principle of the matter, and she knew that if she were married, she wouldn't care to have her husband serving in another woman's household. In fact . . . the thought was never completed as Melanie suddenly became aware of the changing pattern of moonlight on the bedroom wall.

Where before there was only the soft glowing light and the shadows cast by the trees in the gardens, she could now see a larger shape moving slowly past. It took a moment for the shape to register in her mind, but when it did, she put a hand over her mouth to cover her scream. The figure creeping stealthily past her window was definitely a man.

Chapter Ten

F
ear held Melanie immobile as a thousand possibilities raced through her head. Her first thought was that a thief was trying to break into the house. The recent murders in Wapping Docks, where two families and their servants had been brutally slain in their own homes, were uppermost in her mind, but even as she lowered her hand to scream, another thought occurred to her. What if it were Davies?

He had been waiting up for them upon their return as befitted a proper butler, his manner all that it should be as he took their cloaks and inquired about the presentation. She had studied his face curiously, wondering if he had managed to slip out and see Sir, but with her papa and Lady Charlotte standing in the hallway, there was no way she could ask him. Mr. Barrymore had come in a short time later, and after sharing a small glass of sherry with him and her father, she and her grandmother had retired to their rooms. It had been almost an hour
after that before she heard the others coming up the stairs.

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."