A Dangerous Madness (3 page)

“My apologies, Your Grace, but Lord Sheldrake is not actually here. He left for a hunting party on Sunday evening, and I only expect him back in two weeks’ time.”

“Where did he go?” James leaned against the door-jamb, and the butler opened the door wider still and took a step back.

“He didn’t say.” The man pursed his lips.

“That’s very disappointing.” There was something about this situation that was off. James could almost smell the rot in the air.

The butler seemed to be struggling with something. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then looked down at his shoes. “You might ask his betrothed, Miss Hillier. She may know where he’s gone. She lives in Portman Square.”

James felt a stir of excitement. “I will. Thank you.”

The butler looked up, and there was something calculating in his expression. “Her address is Home House.”

James tipped his hat and took his leave. He felt the butler’s eyes on him until he turned the corner and was no longer in sight.

Miss Hillier’s address was only a fifteen minute walk away, and James spent it trying to remember if he’d ever met her.

Sheldrake, he knew; from his club and from places like The Scarlet Rose, but he hadn’t attended a ball or polite dinner for many years.

Home House, on Portman Square, was large, and spoke of money and taste. And when the butler admitted him and he stepped into the hall, even he, with one of the finest houses in London, stood entranced by the staircase.

It was golden and bright, rising up to midway and then splitting to curve right and left, and frame the pale gold marble and white of the classically rendered wall behind it.

The butler cleared his throat and brought James back to himself. He followed him into a warm, sun-filled drawing room in pale gold and cream. While he waited, he looked out the window to the gardens of Portman Square, and wondered if he would be able to buy this place.

The door opened, and a woman stepped through. She was in her early twenties, five years or more past her coming out.

Her hair was the color of moonlight, almost silver it was so blonde, and she was slight and fair-skinned. Her eyes were a dark blue and her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d been out in the garden in the warm sun.

He smelled fresh-cut rosemary and the clean green scent of crushed leaves as she stopped in front of him, and guessed that was exactly where she had been.

“Your Grace.” She curtseyed and flicked a nervous look at the open door. “I’m afraid my aunt is out, and she is my only companion. I’m not sure…”

James saw her quandary. She was alone in the house but for her servants, and propriety demanded a chaperone.

“My apologies, Miss Hillier. I would have made an appointment, but I urgently need to speak to your betrothed, Lord Sheldrake, and his staff directed me here, as they don’t know where he is. If you could give me his current address, I will be immediately on my way.”

Her reaction was not what he was expecting.

She took a step back and lifted an ungloved hand to her lips, pressing her fingers against them.

His eyes jerked to hers, and they stood, staring at each other for a long beat.

Then she turned away, her arms tight across her chest, and walked to the small arrangement of chairs at the center of the room.

She half-turned to him, checked herself, and then braced both hands on the back of an armchair, her head bowed. “I am uncomfortable telling you this, but it will be common knowledge soon enough.” She straightened and finally turned to him again, her face composed, although James could see her cheeks were no longer flushed and pink. “Sheldrake broke our betrothal on Sunday. His plan was to leave England. He left London for Dover on Sunday evening, and his intention was to take a boat to the Continent,.” She hunched her body. “That he hasn’t told his staff is despicable, even for him. They will wait for him in vain, and with no salary. I will have to make it right.”

She sounded so desolate, he took a step toward her and then had to force himself to stop when her eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “Do you know why he left?”

She shook her head.

He read genuine frustration in her face, but there was something else there, as well.

“All he told me was that he was in debt and couldn’t get his hands on my dowry in time to save himself from his creditors.”

“Did you believe him?”

She started. “What do you mean?”

“Did you believe that was why he was leaving? His debts?”

“What else could it be?” Her voice wavered, and she turned away again.

“Have you had any word from him since he left?”

James watched her closely, and she went very still at the question. Seemed to take longer than necessary to answer.

“I received a quick note from him, from an inn called The King’s Arms in Kent.”

He knew it. It was a popular staging post for the mail coaches and travelling coaches heading for the coast.

“What did it say?”

She looked up, and now he could see anger sparking in those blue eyes. “I don’t mean to be rude, Your Grace, but why do you want to know the contents of my private correspondence with my former betrothed? What is your interest in Sheldrake?”

She stared boldly at him, and again they stood, looking into each other’s eyes for longer than was polite.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.” James shrugged. “It’s a private matter.”

She kept her gaze on his face for another beat, and then looked away. “Well, I don’t suppose it makes a difference. Sheldrake said nothing in that note.” She looked down at her hands, and unclenched them. “Absolutely nothing.”

“What do you mean by nothing?”

“I mean he wrote the address of the inn, and nothing more.” She crossed her arms under her breasts again, and drew his attention to her pale blue dress with sprigs of green posies embroidered on its scoop-necked bodice.

It seemed incredible that Sheldrake would have done something like that. Sent a blank letter. But James could not doubt her genuine anger at it.

“Thank you. My apologies for disturbing you.” He moved to the door, and when he looked at her again, her face was more composed. “I’m sorry to hear that your engagement is broken and I look forward to meeting you again under more pleasant circumstances.”

She gave a nod and another curtsey, and the butler was suddenly there to show him out, as if he’d been waiting nearby. Even though it annoyed him to be watched, James was glad for the man’s protective instincts.

As he stepped through the gleaming black door and down the stairs, he reflected both Miss Hillier and he had done little but lie to each other for the last five minutes.

Miss Hillier was hiding something, and he, well, he wasn’t sorry Sheldrake was no longer her betrothed. Not at all.

Chapter Five

H
e was dangerous. Phoebe watched the Duke of Wittaker walk down her front path and turn in the direction of Grosvenor Square.

She wondered where his coach was. The Duke of Wittaker didn’t have to make his way on foot anywhere, but the way he strode down the street told her that he not only enjoyed it, but did it often.

When Sheldrake said people would be looking for him, she’d imagined rough-edged Bow Street runners, or hard-eyed businessmen with IOUs. Not the Duke of Wittaker, with his beautifully cut clothes, and his dark, sartorial looks.

He was at least head and shoulders taller than Sheldrake, with a long, lean body and a way of moving that suggested if he wanted to, he could be very, very fast.

She’d heard whispers about him. That he was a rake and gambler, a disaffected nobleman with a grudge against the government.

Just the sort of person Sheldrake would be in league with, if he were involved in the death of the prime minister—

She didn’t want to even touch the thought. Wanted it out of her mind. But it was too late.

And when she’d been looking, too long and too deep, into the Duke of Wittaker’s dark gray eyes, she’d had the uncomfortable sense that he had seen too much. Had picked up on her disquiet.

And yet she hadn’t looked away. She was still trying to work out why.

She pulled back from the window.

The duke was long gone, had turned the corner and was no doubt already on his way home in his carriage. But Phoebe knew he’d be back.

There was a steely certainty about him.

Yes. He was most certainly dangerous.

She walked out of the room, to the small withdrawing room containing her writing desk, and removed the petition Sheldrake had sent her, still folded within his strange, blank letter.

She should burn it.

She rolled it up into a tight cylinder, and tapped it against her open palm.

There was no question that it was better to be rid of it.

But, better for who?

For herself, certainly.

She’d never thought herself a coward, or selfish. Sheldrake had sent this to her for a reason, and while she no longer cared about what was safe and good for him, perhaps she owed the family and friends of Spencer Perceval the respect of preserving it.

Just for a while.

Until she could work out what was going on.

* * *

James stepped from the upstairs landing of the exclusive St. James club into the common room. It was only the fifth time he’d been here, although he’d been a member since his father signed him up at seventeen, ten years ago.

He hadn’t come originally because it was his father’s domain, and then later because it hadn’t suited the image of himself he’d needed to portray.

Over the last few weeks he’d made up for that, though, and the few servants in attendance recognized him and bowed as he made his way to the isolated grouping of chairs at the far end of the room.

Dervish had invited him to meet here, but he wasn’t alone. James slowed his steps as he saw Durnham and Aldridge with him. He knew them both, and had occasion earlier in the year to get to know them a little better.

He’d had a sense then that they were more than just friends. Now he had his answer.

The way they sat, talking quietly, was more than a meeting. It had the whiff of a council of war about it.

This early in the afternoon, the club was relatively quiet and as James approached the group, they looked up from their conversation and Dervish indicated the fourth chair for him.

“Afternoon, gentlemen.” James was struck by the easy way they sat together, none trying to show his superiority or assert himself as leader.

It was calming.

He lowered himself into the chair with less tension than he would usually feel, but it made no sense to completely drop his guard.

Dervish waited until he was seated. “You must be acquainted with Aldridge and Durnham?”

James inclined his head. “Yes. And I count Aldridge’s betrothed, Miss Barrington, to be a friend.”

Dervish gave him a quick, hard look, and a frown, then tugged a little on his bright blue cravat, an item of clothing that seemed incongruous with his personality, yet suited him perfectly. “I thought we could discuss our findings together, in case there’s an overlap. Aldridge?”

Aldridge had been watching James intently, but now he was all business, and gave a shake of his head. “I can’t find any evidence of an organized group of former soldiers beyond the smallish groups that put themselves out as watchmen or labourers. Some of them are living rough, or in such squalid circumstance, I wouldn’t blame them if they had got it into their heads to kill Perceval off, but if they had a hand in it, they’ve kept it very quiet. More quiet than I think they’re capable of, given what a diverse and ragtag bunch they are.”

Dervish steepled his fingers. “Durnham?”

Durnham leaned forward. “My contacts among the Luddites tell me they’re getting more organized, and more violent, but they know killing Perceval isn’t going to change things. The switch to more machinery in factories is being pushed in by the business owners, not the government, although the government is certainly taking the businessmen’s side.”

“And the Catholics?”

Durnham grimaced. “Perceval is loathed by the Catholics, especially in Northern Ireland, but they also know killing him won’t change anything. Things were bad enough before he got in to power, and they won’t change if he’s removed. And if they were found to be behind it, things would get even worse for them. They can barely manage as it is. I don’t think they would have risked this.”

“That still leaves a very large field of suspects.” James tapped his fingers on the smooth, glossy oak armrest of his chair.

“I know.” Dervish rubbed his temple, looked across at James with eyes that were blood-shot and dark-ringed. He hesitated a moment, and then looked at Durnham. “And your wife?”

Durnham’s face hardened. “She’s still making enquiries.”

James was surprised at how he’d gone from amenable to stone cold in a moment. Whatever Dervish was asking of him, asking him to confirm, was something he would rather not discuss.

He slid a glance at Aldridge and saw him frowning, and then the frown cleared, as if he had worked out what was going on. “The common agitators, you mean?”