The Sinister Spinster (8 page)

Adam remained silent for several seconds, digesting the enormity of what he had heard. "Are you saying these papers are missing?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.

In light of his response the earl abandoned all pretense and slumped in his chair like a broken puppet. "If you don't have them, then aye, I would have to say that," he said, rubbing a hand across his ruddy face. "When I went into my study this morning to catch up on my correspondence, they were nowhere to be found. They weren't in my dispatch box, which is where I am certain I left 'em. Even checked the shelves, just to be certain, but they weren't there. Suppose this means I shall have to write the Secretary after all. Not looking forward to it, I can tell you," he added glumly.

Envisioning Viscount Castlereigh's probable reaction to discovering one of his dispatches had gone missing, Adam could well imagine the trepidation the earl was experiencing, but at the moment he had far greater concerns. "Who has access to these papers?" he demanded, deciding to send off a letter to the duke without delay. His grace had several highly placed friends in Whitehall, and they would know better what ought to be done.

"No one. I keep them locked in my dispatch box,"
Derring answered, frowning at Adam. "Weren't you listening?"

"Where?"

"Eh?" The earl blinked at Adam's snarled demand. "Oh, in my study. Locked in my desk, to be exact."

"Then why the devil did you think I had them?"

In answer the earl drew himself upright. "Well, stands to reason, doesn't it?" he replied with a sniff. "The world knows the Regent and the Secretary don't get on, and are always keeping secrets from one another. You're the Prince's man; thought perhaps you wanted a look at the papers so you could see what was what. Besides, who else but you would be interested?"

Adam didn't bother cursing the earl for his appalling stupidity, any more than he bothered answering the accusation that he was the Regent's man. He was England's man, pure and simple, and he could think of several groups who'd do murder and more for a glimpse of the Foreign Secretary's correspondence.

"Have you told anyone the papers are missing?" he asked, shifting his mind to the matter at hand.

"Of course not!" the earl retorted indignantly. "Ain't a dashed loose screw, you know! I told no one other than my wife and Leeds, my valet. And I suppose I may have mentioned it in passing to my idiot of a son," he added, scowling. "Not that that dolt knows anything of value, mind."

In other words, Adam thought, bitterly, he had told the whole bloody world. He was about to make a caustic remark when he remembered the conversation he'd had with William the day he'd encountered Miss Mattingale in town. The young dandy had taken him to one side, asking if his father had seemed distracted to him. He recalled thinking at the time that the action had seemed deliberate, but he'd never pursued the matter. Now he could kick himself for his carelessness.

"When did you have this conversation with your son?" he asked, taking care to keep suspicion out of his voice.

"Not long ago, after the lot of you returned from the trip to the meadow," the earl provided. "Why?"

"No reason," Adam answered. So, the son mentioned his father's unease before the papers had been discovered missing, he brooded, tapping his fingers on the arms of the chair. It might be a coincidence, or perhaps something a trifle less innocent. In any case it might be worth his time to have a word with the younger man, and with his malicious friends as well. As near as he could tell they traveled about like a pack of jackals, one seeming incapable of acting without the goading of the other.

"What's to be done, do you think?" The earl's plaintive question interrupted Adam's reverie.

Adam took a few minutes to plan. The storm was still raging, but with luck it would have moved on by morning. A messenger traveling by coach could be in London late tomorrow evening, if he left at first light, but a good rider supplied with fresh horses along the way could make the same trip several hours faster.

"First we must get immediate word to Lord Castlereigh," he said, meeting the earl's gaze with stern authority. "If the missing papers contained sensitive information, the sooner it is known, the better. Send your most trusted servant to London with word tomorrow morning, and since speed is of the essence, send him by your fastest coach."

Derring nodded, clearly relieved to have someone other than himself in command of the situation. "Yes, my lord. What else?"

"Speak with your wife, valet, and son. Threaten to divorce the first, dismiss the second, and murder the third if they so much as breathe a word of this to a single soul. Our best hope is that our thief thinks his crime to be undetected; that will give us time to plan and then time to move."

"Eh?" The earl gave a disapproving frown. "Are you quite certain, Falconer? I think we ought to do the opposite
. Sound a hue and cry, by heaven, and drive the devil out into the open, and then hand him over to the gallows."

"And if we drive him to ground instead? What then, my lord?" Adam inquired, taking cold satisfaction in the distressed look that flashed across the older man's face.

"Just so," he said softly. "We say nothing. We appear to do nothing. We let our friend think us as ignorant as babes, and then when he thinks himself safe enough, we spring our trap."

"What trap?"

Adam's smile took on a decidedly wolfish quality. "I will let you know."

Exhausted, Elizabeth trudged up the stairs to her room. She'd just come from Lady Cossinley's room, where she'd spent the past two hours rubbing the elderly lady's temples with eau de cologne. The poor woman was afflicted with the megrims, and she was so pathetically grateful for Elizabeth's assistance, she couldn't find it in her heart to be angry. But as strong scents gave
her
a headache, her own head was now pounding like a native's drum, and she much doubted anyone would offer to rub it for her. She pushed open the door to her room, coming to a startled halt at the sight of Alexi lounging uncomfortably on her chair.

"Alexi!" she exclaimed, quickly closing the door behind her and casting him a furious glare. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, little queen," he replied, rising coolly to his feet. "You did not come to dinner and no one would tell me where you were, so I came to find you myself.

"And look at you," he added accusingly, striding across the small room to gently cup her face in his large hands. "So tired, so pale. What have you done to yourself, little
rebyonuk?"

The tender endearment was almost Elizabeth's undoing
. It annoyed and frightened her to feel her eyes filling with tears, and she hastily blinked them back.

"I am not a child, Alexi," she said, turning away from his obvious concern. "I was attending the dowager Countess of Cossinley, who had taken ill. Now you really must leave my room," she added, casting him a stern look over her shoulder. "You must know this will not do."

As she feared, Alexi remained where he was standing, his arms folded across his chest and a resolute expression upon his face. "You . . . what is phrase . . . ah"—he nodded—"you refine upon nothing, my Elizabeth. I was but assuring myself a friend was all right. Who but your fierce lord could find fault in this? And if anyone else should find fault, what do I care? I am a prince. It is for me to say where I will go."

His imperiousness had her longing to bash a bed warmer over his skull. "And I am a companion, your highness," she reminded him, rubbing her head and wishing desperately for the dinner she had missed. "I care very much what people may think. I've no desire to lose this position, and my reputation along with it, if you do not mind." She stopped rubbing her head as the middle part of what he had said penetrated the pain in her temples.

"Which fierce lord are you talking about?" she demanded, her hand dropping to her side as a terrible suspicion dawned.

"Falconer, but of course," came Alexi's easy reply as he beamed at her. "He was as displeased as I to see these parasites treat you like the lowliest of serfs. I know I promised you to behave,
karalyevak
, but I will not see you worked to death."

"Alexi. . ." she warned, refusing to be diverted even as he reached out to capture her hand in his.

"Elizabeth." To her surprise, he carried her hand to his lips for a tender kiss, his expression abruptly solemn. "When my sweet sister died, you took her place in my heart. I love you. I will not see you hurt, even if it means I must displease you. Now come, say you will do the
sensible thing and marry this marquess and make me uncle to your children."

"Alexi!"

"What?" Alexi's pale blue eyes widened in innocent surprise at her strangled shriek. "It is the best answer, yes? He must have a care for you to be so angry with the others. It means he wishes to marry you, for if he wishes anything else, I will have to kill him. Honorably in a duel, of course." He added this last part with an aristocratic lift of his chin.

"His lordship is a peer of England, you dolt." Elizabeth was so tired as to forget herself. "You cannot kill him without risking an international scandal. And he might kill you, you know," she reminded him, remembering several conversations she'd overheard regarding the hard-faced marquess. "I've heard talk, and he is said to be the deadliest shot in England."

"In a shooting gallery, killing little birds in the meadows." Alexi dismissed the danger with an arrogant wave of his hand. "I have hunted wolves in the snows of Russia,
syestra
, and survived in the thick of battle. Who should fear whom, hmm?"

Elizabeth opened her lips to protest, and then closed them in feminine frustration. "This is foolish beyond all bearing," she told him, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at him in reproach. "No one is killing anyone, do you hear me? I am pleased his lordship is concerned, but you must understand it implies nothing; it is simply his way. He told me that he considers it his duty to protect those weaker than himself. Rather like another thick-headed male I could name." She gave a meaningful sniff should he fail to take her meaning.

Instead of taking offense, Alexi looked thoughtful. "This is so," he said, rubbing his jaw with his hand. "A man's duty, a prince's duty, must always be to the people who have need of his strength. I had not the thought
angleechankas
would feel as this. I find this interesting."
He gazed off into space for a few moments, and then sent Elizabeth a disapproving frown.

"But why are you standing there arguing with me,
kooreestachka? "
he demanded, hurrying forward to drape a protective arm about her shoulder. "You should be in bed!"

Elizabeth didn't know if she should laugh or scream. "And so I should be, sir, if you'd be so good as to leave!" she said as he guided her toward the narrow bed shoved against the room's sloping walls. "Go away, do, Alexi, and don't call me a little chicken!"

"As you wish," he agreed, shoving her gently onto the sagging mattress. "But perhaps it is a little chicken I shall have the servants fetch you, hmm? And some bread and cheese as well?"

The thought of food had her mouth watering. "That would be wonderful, Alexi, thank you," she said, hoping she could stay awake long enough to eat it. It was past midnight, and she'd been up and about her duties since early that morning.

"It is my pleasure, little queen," he assured her, brushing a brotherly kiss over her curls. "Into bed with you, now. I will send one of the servants up to have a care for you."

After he'd gone Elizabeth got up and wearily saw to her night's ablutions. She'd donned her nightgown and robe by the time the maid arrived with her food. Too exhausted to care what damage might have been done to her reputation by Alexi's stubbornly protective nature, she devoured every morsel of food on the tray before climbing back into bed.

She was about to blow out the candle when she remembered her father's letter. The milliner had sent word through one of the footmen that her brother would be making another run at high tide, which meant she had two days' time in which to draft her response. With the masked ball tomorrow night the house would be in utter chaos, and it was unlikely she'd have a moment to herself.
If she wanted the letter to reach her papa within the month, she'd have to write it now. She thought about closing her eyes and saying to the devil with it all, but her sense of duty was too strong. Muttering heartfelt imprecations beneath her breath, she tossed back the heavy covers and scrambled out of bed.

She kept her writing desk in the bottom of the wardrobe, and after dragging it out she retrieved her father's letter from the hidden compartment. She was about to unfold it when she noticed something amiss; something so small and insignificant, it took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. When she'd tucked the letter away she'd carefully pressed the small circle of wax back into place, sealing it closed. The letter was still closed, but the circle of wax was no longer quite as it had been. A small red stain showed the wax had been disturbed, and she could think of only one way such a thing might have happened. Someone had opened the letter.

Five

Elizabeth stared at the wax seal in horror, her heart pounding and the breath lodged painfully in her throat. She tried to think, but her mind refused to function, and for a mortifying moment she feared she would disgrace herself by succumbing to the vapors. In the next moment her usual sense of logic asserted itself, and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Idiot!
She scolded herself silently, her hands shaking as she returned the letter to the case. Of course no one had read her letter. Why should they? The only person in the household aware she was writing to her father was Alexi, and she knew he would sooner die than betray her trust. Still, the thought of the letter and its contents being revealed didn't bear contemplating, and she resolved to find a safer hiding place at the first opportunity. In the meanwhile, she had a letter of her own to write.

The next day was a repeat of the previous one, and once more Elizabeth was kept running from cock's crow to sunset. But if the day's labors were arduous, they also contained an unexpected benefit. A guest had demanded a book, and while she was searching for the wretched thing, it occurred to Elizabeth how little used the library was. The books at the very top, coated as they were with a discreet layer of dust, were apparently used even less, and it occurred to Elizabeth that they were the perfect
place in which to hide her illicit correspondence. Who would think to look for such a thing in the earl's own library? All she needed was a few free moments to secret them away, and she would be safe.