Regency 05 - Intrigue (19 page)

Malvina came awake to the feel of warm lips pressed to hers and warm hands stroking heat through her body. The bed dipped as her new husband slid in beside her, drawing her into his arms and making love to her until the wee hours of the morning. He told her as many times as she could ever dream and showed her in ways she never thought possible that he loved her. Daylight peeked through the curtains when they fell, exhausted, into peaceful slumber.

The honeymoon that had never really started was officially over less than three hours later. They were awakened by a distraught maid and informed that Wolf was missing.

So married life wasn’t progressing quite as happily as Gideon could have hoped. He grimaced slightly, urging his wife’s maid to rid the chamber of the fouled bed linens. His bride groaned, acutely embarrassed, no doubt, to have cast up her accounts all over the bed—and him.

The maid bobbed a curtsy, leaving the chamber with her unwanted burden.

Lord Holt glanced down at himself and quickly away, feeling a little sick. He swiped ineffectually at his chest with a damp cloth. It was not the most prodigious beginning to a new day.

Approaching the bed, he said consolingly, “It is of no account, my love. Under the circumstances, the like is to be expected.”

She twisted her beautiful face into a mask of disgust. “If that were the case, you and the servants would have stood ready with a chamberpot.”

Gideon smiled slightly. “I suggest we bathe and dress quickly. Unless I miss my guess, Hart will be arriving this morning. He’ll have heard by now, since the servants know.”

Malvina gasped and moved to throw back the blankets, heedless of her nakedness. She dived back under when the door opened, her maid returning to inform her of the bath awaiting her in her own chamber.

A short chuckle escaped her husband as she exited to refresh herself.

It was with a certain amount of surprise and dread that the newlyweds realized the Duke of Derringer was not coming. If he had already left the city, they may never know what was happening.

By afternoon, Gideon realized he had to take care of certain other matters, promising to look into the situation with Malvina’s son while he was out. He strongly suspected the boy was just spreading his wings, venturing into the many vices London life had to offer.

While Gideon could not condone such a thing, he also knew the futility of trying to hold down a sixteen-year-old boy who possessed the power of a mastiff when threatened.

Searching for dissipation or not, there were certain things that could not wait.

He had his carriage brought round and instructed the coachman to take him to the Home Office. Once there, he asked the assistant to see the Home Secretary and waited. Twenty minutes later, he was ushered into the Home Secretary’s presence. He greeted Lord Sidmouth briefly before coming to the material point.

“Brackney’s widow is innocent and I can find no evidence of Brackney’s guilt,” he said, taking the seat offered by his superior. He refrained from confiding the boy’s disappearance, a circumstance Gideon saw as irrelevant but Lord Sidmouth might find suspicious.

“What of the son?”

“Sir Beowulf? He is a hotheaded child, nothing more. At this date, I suspect he has little more than a guilty conscience for killing my horse.”
Although, there are certain other things alluded to by Derringer that bear looking into,
he thought.

The older man’s brows rose at this but Gideon did not feel compelled to explain his cryptic remark. Instead, he continued.

“I was intrigued to note, however, that her ladyship was being blackmailed. Considering she did not know of her husband’s activities but knew what he was capable of, it was only natural that she believe the incentive was legitimate.”

“What has that to do with your mission?”

Gideon smiled in his oddly lazy way. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Who’s to say?”

“Who is blackmailing her?”

Frowning, the earl’s reply was less than satisfactory. “I am working on that, my lord. He may or may not be the man we have been looking for. He is not in control, however.”

“There is someone above him? Brackney’s contact, no doubt.”

“If Brackney was involved, which I still doubt.”

The Home Secretary eyed him shrewdly. “Are you able to complete your mission, Holt?”

A spurt of annoyance lit in Gideon’s breast at the mild slur on his honor. “Of course, my lord. There is nothing preventing me from obtaining a satisfactory answer to your enigma.”

“Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

Lord Sidmouth grunted and waved his subordinate from the room.

As Gideon stood, he said, “Wish me happy, my lord. I am to but recently married.”

The other man smiled slightly, distractedly. “Who is she?”

“The former Lady Richard Brackney.”

A moment of stunned silence passed. “Dammit, Holt! Have you lost your wits? I cannot have my best man murdered in his bed by a treasonous female.”

Gideon’s sleepy expression slipped into place. “She is innocent, my lord,” was all he said in his own defense.

Lord Sidmouth’s lips tightened in annoyance. “What if it is proven that Brackney betrayed his country?”

“I am well aware of the law, my lord. But if I am the likely one to prove her late husband a traitor, the least I can do is help her in any way I can.”

“But marriage? You could have set her up as your mistress, man. That’s all she’d be good for after the gossipmongers sink their teeth into her.”

Gideon chose not to respond to his superior’s provoking suggestion. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, off with you. Catch your man and dam up this wellspring. I have other things to attend to.”

After Gideon left, Malvina paced.

She paced the drawing room floor endlessly, always moving to look to the street, eager for news.

She had sent servants out to inquire after her son and they soon returned, one by one, to shake their heads sadly at their new mistress and promise to try harder.

She was at her wit’s end. Something inside her would not let her rest. A sick gnawing in her stomach told her clearly that she did not believe her son had simply gone out on a lark, as her new husband had tried to reassure her.

What kind of reassurance was that, anyway, to a mother who did nothing but worry?

As she paced by the door, she was nearly knocked down as Jamieson entered to hand her a note. Praying it was from Gideon, informing her of her son’s safety, she was unprepared for the shock that traveled the length of her body.

The words seemed to jump out at her. Her body seemed to lose solidarity. She sank down, thankfully she was close enough to a chair that Jamieson could slide it beneath her.

“It can’t be,” she whispered, her words barely audible.

“My lady?”

Her face lifted to the butler’s, too shocked for tears. “He’s dead, Jamieson.”

Austere features crumpling into something more human and less servile, the butler so far forgot himself to ask, “Who?”

“Wolf, my son, my child—”

Darting panicked glances around a room that was empty of humanity except for Lady Holt and himself, Jamieson saw no alternative but to assist her in any way he could. He moved to the bellpull and then returned to his mistress’s side, handing her a glass of sherry, hoping to restore some color to her pale cheeks.

Malvina accepted it gratefully, downing it in a single swallow, barely conscious of her surroundings. She was then dimly aware of servants entering, maids clucking over her, bustling her from the room.

She went willingly enough. Indeed, she did not know what else she could do. Except…

“Jamieson,” she said, pausing in the doorway, “who delivered this?”

“A gentleman, madam.”

“A gentleman?”

“Yes, madam. The gentleman declined to enter, implying certain obligations elsewhere.”

“How very curious,” she murmured, her face not matching her words.

“My lord has been sent for, my lady,” Jamieson inserted, hoping to erase some of the blank expression from her face.

“Very good, Jamieson,” Malvina said dutifully, her mind a whirligig of ideas. She left the room, not revealing the insane idea that had crowded, foremost, in her mind.

Upon entering her room, she dismissed her maid. Maddy left reluctantly, her pleasant face revealing her concern for her mistress.

Malvina swiftly fetched outer clothing from her wardrobe, sufficient for hiding most of her appearance. She had some errands to run, one of which involved scouring certain parts of London where no lady had any business, nor did gentlemen for that matter.

She had to find him. If anyone knew the truth, it was him.

When Gideon received the summons to return home, he was shocked. Whatever he was expecting, it was not the insanity that greeted him upon his arrival.

The house was in an uproar. Servants ran hither and thither, seemingly without purpose, shouting to each other as if Bedlam had erupted within the confines of Berkeley Square.

“What in bloody hell!” he exclaimed when a footman nearly knocked him back into the street.

He quickly recovered, the footman alternately stammering out apologies and shouting for Mr. Jamieson.

The butler hurried out, his face drawn with worry. “Oh, my lord, thank God!”

“What has happened, Jamieson?” the earl inquired with deceptive mildness.

“Her ladyship received a note, my lord. She went to her chamber, we thought to lie down but she sent Maddy away. When Maddy went to check on her, she was gone!”

Gideon felt his heart stop. The good butler’s words tumbled out, one over the other, almost too fast for his master to comprehend. It was not much for Gideon to grasp the key point.

“Where is the note?”

It was handed to him immediately, Jamieson hovering, awaiting orders.

They were not long in coming. As Gideon strode through the heavy front door into the darkening street beyond, he issued orders with all the bearing of a general.

“Send a message round to Derringer’s residence. Determine if anyone has seen him. We need the duke’s expertise.”

The butler opened his mouth to call a footman but closed it abruptly, a look of utter shock crossing his features.

A carriage was stopped before the earl’s residence, a pair of demonic black horses stamping and pawing the ground in their unhappiness with their lot in life. A man in black leapt down, his saturnine features as bland as ever.

“That won’t be necessary, Witless.”

Gideon breathed a sigh of relief, for once giving little heed to the despised appellation that Derringer always employed.

“Hart, where is she?”

The duke turned, offering his hand to someone who still sat in the carriage behind him. “She is safe, Holt,” he said, almost kindly.

Lady Malvina stepped down, her face tear-stained and blotchy. Gideon stepped forward, lifting her into his arms.

Looking over her head at the duke, he asked, “It is true, then?”

Derringer nodded. “It is.”

They moved to enter the house, the duke following.

“Deverell?”

Derringer’s snort spoke volumes. “I do hope you told Sidmouth of his crimes?”

“I did not, in so many words.”

Reaching out, Derringer stopped his friend just outside the drawing room door. “You did not?”

“No. Why?”

“Why didn’t you?” the duke countered. “Did you not have the proof of his treachery? What stopped you?”

“Fear for Malvina and Wolf.”

Derringer gave him a long, probing look before firmly ushering them into the drawing room, quite as if he was the master, not Lord Holt.

Malvina was deposited on the settee, her husband gently brushing the hair back from her brow, murmuring some low words for her ears alone. He turned to ring for Maddy and was only mildly surprised to see her immediately behind him.

“Please tend to your mistress,” he said. “His grace and I will be in the study.”

A few minutes later, the gentlemen were deep in discussion.

Gideon held his head in his hands, deeply distressed and blaming himself. “I thought the boy was just out sowing his wild oats. I never believed Deverell would do something like this.”

“We don’t even know yet what he’s done,” Derringer pointed out unhelpfully.

Moving to a table in the corner, he filled two tumblers with brandy and took one back to his friend.

“Do you want me to find Deverell?”

Gideon looked at Derringer. “Of course I do. I want him dead for what he’s done.”

“Treason?”

Gideon swore fluently. “It is not my right, is it?”

The duke shrugged. He had little use for the monarchy, such as it was, and made no secret of that fact. “You did not hand over your proof yet. One could say that you do not have it at this moment and did away with a murderer before you discovered the proof you needed.”

“It won’t answer,” Gideon said reluctantly. He rose to his feet and proceeded to refill his glass. Tossing back the contents, he added, “I have already been instructed to investigate him. If he suddenly dies at my hand, it would cause too many questions.”

“Fatal mishap?”

The earl shook his head. “Too coincidental, Hart.”

The duke set aside his glass. “It is settled then.”

“What is?”

Derringer’s features creased into a smile that his friends knew meant trouble. “What is
what
, my dear sir?”

The feeling that assailed Gideon was relief mixed with frustration. As much as everything in him screamed out for Deverell to feel justice at his own hand, he knew it was much better for everyone if Lord Heartless took care of everything.

A visit to the Home Office the following day did little to solve Gideon’s family troubles. There had been no sign of Lord Delwyn Deverell in all the time the Holts had been resident in London. It was decidedly odd, to say the least.

And yet, he had been there. It was unlikely that he could elude everyone, but it seemed to be exactly what he had managed.

He had had to endure a blistering scold from Lord Sidmouth, ultimately resulting in Lord Holt’s resigning his position with the Home Office. The two gentlemen had agreed it was probably for the best, with the earl newly married.

The news he’d received just before leaving had almost made the visit worthwhile. But not quite.

Gideon returned home, disheartened. For the first time since he’d married, he did not want to see Malvina. He did not want to see her face again, see that expression that cut so deep it was indescribable.

And it was all his fault. If he had taken Deverell’s evil tendencies more seriously, he could have prevented this tragedy.

It was inconceivable that Deverell could be so lost to humanity. He had been a quiet boy, never drawing attention to himself, enduring Derringer’s overly cruel teasing with a calm that was extraordinary in one so young.

Gideon frowned, entering his study. Deverell had been an odd child. He had never seemed to care about anything, was always indifferent. He had watched but rarely participated; been a follower but rarely a doer.

Why had he associated with Derringer’s crowd in the first place?

Shaking his head at the futility of trying to determine why a killer and traitor would do the things he did, Gideon sat down at his desk. Sitting on top, in plain view, was a folded sheet of vellum.

The handwriting was a familiar memory from his school days.

He reached out to take it, his hand almost moving of its own accord. His mind screamed for him to stop, to avoid the news he was sure was contained within.

He swore. It was not what he had expected, neither was it good.

Derringer would arrive within hours.

Gideon met him at the door.

“Did you find him?”

“I did. He will not be killing anymore young men.” A hint of satisfaction brightened Derringer’s black eyes.

“What of Wolf?”

It was not a pleasant thing that Gideon saw reflected in the duke’s face. It was an expression of hopeless despair. It was a failure that Derringer couldn’t right, one that involved the death of a child, a child that he had secretly admired even while he pitied him.

“I do not know what to say, Holt. I have too many reports of a large young man of Wolf’s description meeting his untimely demise at the hands of robbers in the rookeries.”

Gideon swallowed hard. “What of his body?”

“Gone,” the duke replied succinctly. “Two men whose word I trust saw him tossed into the Thames.”

“What?”

The gentlemen turned to see Lady Holt, her face a mask of horror and dashed hope. Derringer’s response was to curse roundly and storm out, brushing roughly by her as he fled the room.

Gideon’s reaction was a little less dramatic but no less heartfelt.

He crossed the room to stand before her, framing her stricken face with his hands. Leaning forward until their heads touched, he whispered, “I am so sorry, my love.”