What the Marquess Sees (4 page)

* * * *

Dansbury House

20 Minutes Later…

Dansbury was ready to bolt from his room.

He couldn’t get to St. George’s fast enough. He’d already dismissed his valet and was just leaving his dressing room when he noticed a man sitting in one of the chairs in front of his hearth. Fellow agent for the Crown, and a friend, Ciarán Kelly, waited for him, a glass of whisky in hand.

Cliff didn’t miss a step; he dipped his head as he passed. “Kelly.”

Kelly was another agent for the Crown and one of the men assisting with their current investigation.

“You appear to be in a hurry, Dansbury. On your way to a searing rendezvous?” Kelly waggled his brows. He was a known lothario. Of course, his mind would go there first.

Dansbury paused and looked down at his seated friend. “Actually, I have a wedding to catch.”

“Oh. Right. It’s today, is it?”

“Supposed to be.” He was deliberately cryptic, and Kelly didn’t ask what he’d meant by that ambiguous statement. The man seemed too preoccupied anyway.

Kelly and another agent, a Scot named MacLeod, were meant to be in the field, guarding their man in custody and questioning potential witnesses to the murder of the pervious Duke of Stonebridge, so Dansbury was surprised to find Kelly here, relaxing by the fire.

At the moment, they had two witnesses to corroborate their theories about the earl’s involvement in the murder—an Irish servant and the Irish assassin who’d been hired to murder the duke—but who hadn’t actually done the deed. Ironic, to be sure, seeing as how the Society wanted to rid England of Irishmen altogether.

But the assassin was a suspected supporter of the United Irishmen, a rebellious group who wanted to end the English monarchy’s rule in Ireland. So in reality, their purposes were aligned; shared goals make strange bedfellows and all that.

And the commoner was just in the wrong place at the right time and bore witness to the assassin’s attempted murder of then-Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger—while he was a guest at the Duke of Stonebridge’s house.

Since it didn’t appear that Kelly was going to be forthcoming about his unexpected presence in London, Cliff decided they needed to continue this discussion en route.

“Kelly, let us talk in my carriage, shall we? I’m in a hurry.”

“Aye, of course.” Kelly rose, after knocking back the remainder of his drink, and followed him out of the door.

After they settled in his carriage for the ride to the church, Dansbury decided to come right out and ask what was on his mind. “So what brings you to town?”

“Stonebridge has me following up on a new lead.”

Odd. Ambrose would usually handle that himself, especially since Kelly was supposed to be over one hundred miles away. Dansbury crossed his arms.

“I know that look. I agree; it’s odd. All I know is that MacLeod passed on the request from Stonebridge last week. So, here I am; though I haven’t actually seen the duke.”

Hmmm. Stranger still
. Why did Ambrose send his request through MacLeod? Out loud, he asked, “You just missed Stonebridge not thirty minutes ago.”

“Really?”

Kelly didn’t expound on his rhetorical question or whatever thoughts prompted it. He just shrugged his shoulders, a Gallic habit he picked up while sleuthing in France a few years ago. Kelly turned to look out the window, pensive.

“So what brings you to my door?”

Kelly continued to stare out the window. “Nothing, really. I guess I was curious to see if you knew anything more?”

“Stonebridge didn’t mention anything to me. But then his mind was one hundred percent on Grace this morning. He’s decided not to marry Lady Beatryce…”

Kelly jerked around in his seat. He gaped at Dansbury, surprise written clearly across his face.

Dansbury laughed. “I know. I was shocked, too, but he’s in love…”

Both men shuddered at the thought. They sat silent for a moment, each lost to their own contemplations.

A few minutes later, Kelly asked, “What would you do, Dansbury, to get your man? To get
this
man?”

Cliff assumed Kelly was referring to the earl. He didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

“Truly? Anything?”

“Yes. Anything. Justice must prevail. Otherwise? We’re not much better than animals. Civilization would eventually descend into chaos.”

“Glad to hear it.”

At that moment, Dansbury’s carriage pulled up in front of St. George’s Church and he all but forgot his friend’s odd behavior. His mind centered in on his current, delightful mission. He could not contain his grin. And, for now, he did not care that Kelly, MacLeod, and Stonebridge were behaving out of character. He’d puzzle it out later. Now, he had a witch to see.

Preoccupied with his task, he didn’t even say goodbye to his friend as he all but leapt out of his carriage.

“Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

St. George’s Church…

Hanover Square, London…

45 Minutes Later…

“Where the hell is he?”

Lady Beatryce Beckett paced the antechamber of St. George’s Church, alone. The chamber was made up of marble and stone and her footsteps echoed around the room. Surprisingly, the groom, Stonebridge, had yet to arrive, which made her nervous wandering quite understandable. All the guests were seated and waiting patiently in the pews. She could hear their muffled voices and the sounds of their shifting feet through the door.

“Good morning, Lady Beatryce.”

She whirled at the noise, startled, though she knew that voice. Sure enough Dansbury leaned against the doorframe, arms and legs crossed, a curious smile spread across his face. That smile did not bode well. He despised her and the entire idea of her marrying his best friend. As usual when looking at her, his smile did not reach his eyes, and a trace of sarcasm colored the edges of his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She asked the question though she dreaded the answer.

“Let’s just say I’m here to spread good tidings and cheer, and all that rot…though perhaps not for you.”

Yes. She had a really bad feeling about this. “So are you going to spread your good cheer or stand there staring at me all morning?”

He frowned at her a moment as if unable to understand her hostility. He was gorgeous in a devastating way, big and broad and blond with chocolate brown eyes, but she didn’t care. She wanted him out of here and the wedding over and done with. She had schemed too hard for too long to bring the duke up to scratch. She would not allow anything to stop this wedding from happening. Not now. Not at the midnight hour as it were.

His smile returned in force. Goodness. He could melt the coldest ice with that smile. She braced herself against its impact.

Yes, she had a very bad feeling about this.
Ha
. An understatement; she was downright scared. He was never nice to her. The man could flash a smile, quip, and stroll away with the crown jewels with no more effort than he put into his next breath. And the king and his guards would simply allow him to go on his way with a pat on the back and their blessings for his good fortune. But for her? He hated her, and she knew it well; not that she hadn’t earned his animosity. She supposed she had earned it. No, she had definitely earned it.

But right now was not the time to rekindle their hatred. She was supposed to be getting married fifteen minutes ago.

La, his smile bode ill, indeed.

“Yes. Well. I am here to inform you that there has been a slight change of plans. Stonebridge, you see, has finally, shall we say, come to his senses? You see, he won’t be joining us here today. He’s headed to Oxford, to marry Grace, his love.”

“Oh, God.” Beatryce was terrified. Her heart, which had started pounding at the words “slight change of plans” now thundered in her chest.

Dansbury watched her warily as her mind raced through the implications.

They will kill me. Father will kill me, beat me ‘til I’m blue. I know too much. Stonebridge was my last hope. What will I do? What will I do?

She ran to Dansbury, momentarily setting aside their mutual loathing. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket with both hands. “Please, Dansbury, please, you must take me with you. Please.”

She could see the doubt in his eyes. Her mind raced for something else to say.

Shite,
what can I say to change his mind?

“I’m sorry, Lady Beatryce, but you’re confusing me with someone who gives a damn.” And he turned his back on her.

He was leaving. God no, he couldn’t leave her here.

“Wait.”

He stopped just before he walked through the door. She didn’t know what he had heard in her voice to make him do it, but he did, so it didn’t matter. She had the result she wanted. He turned to face her; his hands on his hips, brow raised in question.

Beatryce wet her lips, her mouth turned dry and pasty. “I can help you, if you help me. I can…I can lead you to what you need to know…to solve your investigation.”

She paused to draw in a deep breath and brace herself for his reactions.

I have to tell him. I have no choice.

“I know where my father keeps his secret papers.”

That got his attention. He looked stunned, but only for a moment, before he burst into action. He ran toward her, anger blazing in his eyes, his arms outstretched, though whether to throttle her or shake her she couldn’t tell. “Tell me what you know. Tell me now!” he all but bellowed.

She held her hand up to stop him and to shut him up. “Shhh. Are you crazy? Lower your voice. First, get me out of here, safely, and without being seen, and then, I’ll tell you what I know. Not before. And be quick about it.”

He growled at her, literally growled at her, but she stood her ground. She crossed her arms and waited him out, seemingly at ease and in command of the situation, but fear kept her gaze flicking to the door while he weighed his options.

He stared at her as if seeking the truth in her soul before he frowned in resignation. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He held out his hand. She both feared and desired to accept it.

She took it without betraying her hesitation.

*

“Where are we going?” Beatryce hadn’t even allowed him to relax in his seat before she laid the question at his feet. Their carriage took off with a soft jerk, but her eyes never left him. She had not cared to know their destination when she was in the church, exposed and vulnerable. She’d only needed to get out of there. Now, she was decidedly curious as to where he thought to take her.

“I’m taking you to Stonebridge House. It seems the most obvious choice as it is the last place anyone would think to look for you.” He spoke without looking at her as he arranged himself on the rear-facing bench. When he was settled, he crossed his arms and glared at her, anger practically rolling off him in waves. She was sure he hated being forced to do anything, particularly for her.

He stretched out his legs and crossed his booted feet. Her eyes followed his actions. La, he was big; of a sudden, she felt dwarfed by his presence within the confines of his too-small carriage. The feeling was most unnerving.

Her own family’s carriage was rather small when Father was present as well, but this was a different feeling altogether. More tumultuous to her composure. She wasn’t sure she liked it, this disconcerting feeling inside her.

She shoved such concern aside, something she’d grown to excel at over the years.

“That sounds wise.” Nothing more need be said and by unspoken agreement, they each tended to their own internal thoughts. Hers returned to the man seated before her.

They’d never been alone together, nor had she ever sat this close to him before. He looked out the window, seemingly studying the view outside; though anger furrowed his brow. With his obvious distraction, she took the opportunity to study him; she’d never had the occasion before now.

His face was tanned, as if he spent a lot of time out of doors. He had a squared jaw and despite it being early in the day, it already showed signs of an afternoon shadow. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Was he aware of her regard?

He shifted forward at the same time as she looked up and into his eyes. He drew near, close enough for her to smell his cologne.

“Do you see something you like, Lady Beatryce?” He stared at her eyes as he said it. She managed to not lick her lips by sheer force of will.

When his words finally registered, she nearly snorted aloud. “Hardly.” She was an excellent liar if anything.

“You’ve been staring at me for the past twenty minutes. Hardly is not the word I would choose to describe your behavior at the moment.”

Beatryce smiled and batted her lashes; hers was a look of false innocence. “I was merely remembering just how many times I’ve wanted to…” She reached up and touched his cheek. “…punch you in the face…” Her hand slid down to his jaw. “…right about…” She tapped his jaw once. “…here.”

He simply smiled while her hand remained frozen in place; her touch coupled with her words did not appear to unsettle him in the least.

“Hmmm. That’s not what your eyes tell me, Lady Beatryce. But if what you say is true, I’d like to see you try as much. I’ve never hit a woman before, but I’m sure I would make an exception for you.”

He was close enough now, she could feel his breath. And despite their words, a strange…something…seemed to arch between them.

“Hmm…tempting, but…” She patted his cheek in time with her next words. “…perhaps some other time.”

She took pride in her steady voice, a convincing mask for the uneasiness stirring inside her.

“What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Stonebridge House…

London…

Day One of Torture…

He could have left her at the church to face the music. Alone. But he’d made the choice to help her. It was for the good of his investigation. Honest. He refused to examine the unspoken reasons behind his actions.