Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (23 page)

“Because you are welcome there, and if you don’t do it, someone else will. Someone who would do whatever it takes.”

It was a clear threat, and Nick knew it. Lives were at stake.

“That drawer will be locked.”

“A lock never stopped you before,” Matthews said before turning toward the door.

“Have you read it?” Nick asked as he tucked it into his waistcoat.

Matthews didn’t even turn around to answer. “No, and neither will you. Just do as you are told, and this will be the end of it.”

Nick followed Matthews out of the study and hastily left the house.

With every step he took, he told himself it was almost over. And with every step he took, he hated himself that much more.

* * *

P
embridge sat
outside Ainsley Place for what felt like hours. His hands were fisted in his lap, and his jaw was so tight it ached. He took one last deep breath before exiting the carriage and bounding up the steps to tap with the doorknocker.

“Lord Ainsley is out, my lord.”

“When is he expected back?” Pembridge asked as he removed his gloves in the entry hall.

“I am afraid he didn’t say. May I give him a message, or would you rather wait for him, my lord?”

“I shall write him a note then see myself out, thank you.”

When the servant bowed and left, Nick stepped into the study and closed the door behind him. He walked behind the desk and removed the letter, holding it in his hands, examining the paper for anything that might allude to its originator.

He rubbed it between his fingers and held it to his nose. Nothing. It was plain paper that could be purchased at any shop: cheap, unmarked, and unscented. The wax that sealed it was the same.

He sat in Grey’s chair and bent down to try the drawer. Locked, as he knew it would be. The only key would be either on Grey’s person, well hidden, or in a safe. Either way, Nick was not getting that key.

He pulled out a crooked pin from his sleeve and pushed it into the lock, twisting, turning, and wiggling until the drawer popped open. It was the first time Nick wished the skill didn’t come so easily to him.

The papers inside were what he would have expected. They were the sort of papers he had in his own desk at Pembridge House: estate titles and other legal documents, some ledgers, and some personal letters of some sort.

He placed the letter on top of the pile of documents and shut the drawer, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, puffing out his cheeks.

If that last stunt had ruined Kathryn, then this letter could mean trouble for Grey.

Ever since Eton, the two of them had been fighting to keep each other out of trouble. They had always found it well enough without needing any outside forces getting them into tight spots. It seemed like they had drifted between hell and high water ever since they had met.

He looked back down at the drawer. He nearly stared a hole through it before he bent down and opened it again.

He owed it to Grey at least to read it. If it was something serious, he could warn him. At the least, if it was nothing to worry about, he could have a clear conscience. Somehow, he didn’t think he would have been put through the trouble if it weren’t anything to worry about.

Using a letter opener from the desk, he peeled back the wax carefully and unfolded the letter. It wasn’t more than three paragraphs, and he read it rather quickly, twice.

“Well, bloody hell,” he muttered.

It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to smooth over. Someone was setting Grey up for treason. In fact, the whole story sounded similar to one Pembridge knew all too well. It was a common story, really.

The letter detailed the successful escape of certain French spies that had been kept in Newgate. He remembered the break because he had followed the bastards all the way to France where he and Grey had finally met up and taken care of them permanently.

It went on to imply the Marquess of Ainsley had orchestrated the escape and paid for safe passage. It also thanked him for his years of service to the French revolutionaries in aiding them with intelligence from the Home Office.

Even with the war being over, the Ainsley name would be smeared throughout history as a line of traitors, and Grey would be tried and hanged for it. Nick could not live with himself if he sacrificed Grey’s life and honor for his own—an innocent man’s life to hide a family skeleton.

Nick held up the letter to the flame of a candle sitting on the desk as the study door swung open.

“Hell’s teeth, Nick! You scared the life out of me, standing as you are, burning— What have you there?” Grey narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his open desk drawer and the folded paper beginning to blacken over the flame.

He walked briskly to the desk and snatched it from Nick’s hands.

It didn’t take long for Grey to read it, either, and he looked much angrier than Nick did.

“What the hell is this?” he ground out.

Nick cleared his throat in an attempt to lighten his tone. “That, my good fellow, is a letter our mutual friend and—may I assume,
previous
—director at the Home Office has entrusted me with. The intention would be to have it found among your documents, I believe.”

Grey stared at Nick with painful incredulity. “The devil, Nick! Are you that furious with me?”

“No, Grey,” Nick answered, meeting his friend’s stare and the full force of his accusation. “I did not know what it said until I read it just now. I swear to you. That’s why I was burning it when you came in.”

Grey balled up the letter in his fist and threw it into the hearth. The fire was dying, but it was hot enough to catch the paper immediately. Within seconds, there was no evidence left of the incriminating script.

“I told you I had spoken with Matthews,” Nick added, determined to get it all out. “What I left unsaid was he enlisted me to run a few errands for him. I thought them harmless enough at the time. But this, after the library—”

“What about the library?” Grey’s eyes fixed on Nick warily.

“I enticed her to go,” Nick admitted, utterly ashamed and sickened with himself. “I was told it was imperative she be there. After the way
that
turned out, I realized I couldn’t trust Matthews any further than I could throw him. I should have known from the beginning, but the snake had me.”

“Matthews,” Grey muttered. “He’s the turncoat.”

“I cannot help feeling I have been settled smack dab in the middle of a conspiracy with you as the pigeon. What’s going on?” Nick studied Grey as Grey stared at the glowing embers.

“Bexley must have gotten to Matthews.”

“All of this is Bexley?” Nick massaged his forehead with his fingers.

Grey stalked back to his desk. “You said Matthews gave this to you?”

“Yes,” Nick replied. “Do you think it’s time for the two of us to pay him a visit perhaps?”

“I think precisely that, Nick,” Grey answered darkly.

G
rey stepped
past the housekeeper with Nick hot on his heels. “Is Matthews in his study?” he directed at the large woman.

“Yes, my lord. Shall I tell him you are here?”

“Ah, no thank you. I am expected, and I shall show myself in.”

Grey stopped just inside the doorway and watched as Matthews poured over some papers on his terribly disorganized desk. It was a familiar sight.

Cold, gray eyes focused on the man behind the desk as each step brought Grey farther into the room, shrinking the distance that was keeping him from murder and a hangman’s noose.

Matthews hadn’t so much as glanced up, though he must have noticed them by now.

Nick helped himself to the port from the sideboard and lounged in a comfortable chair off to the side, ready to jump in should things get out of hand.

“Matthews, I think you and I have a few things we need to discuss.” Grey forced a light tone to keep himself in check. Although Nick was standing by, he wasn’t sure there was any force alive that could stop him if he really wanted to kill Matthews.

The older man looked up for only a moment with an irritated expression before he focused back down on the pile of papers under his nose. “I think not, Grey. There’s nothing that requires immediate attention. If your lordship should see fit to make an appointment once in a while, perhaps I could be more accommodating.”

Grey’s hands fisted at his sides. Nick must have noticed, because he finished off his port and stood.

“I believe it does require immediate attention. If you don’t, I would be most willing to change your mind for you,” he said with a grim smile. There was nothing he wanted better than to rearrange Matthews’s face at that moment.

“Very well,” Matthews looked up, as a father would indulging a child. “What is it?”

Grey was disappointed. That he would be deprived of beating Matthews senseless was somehow terribly unacceptable at the moment. He grabbed Matthews’s cravat from across the desk and drove his fist hard into the man’s jaw.

“I say!” Nick sounded a bit surprised by the outburst, but he soon relaxed into his comfortable smile and added, “I do believe he’s ready for words now, Grey. You can’t let your fists do all the talking, much as we would enjoy it.”

Grey wanted to kill the good for nothing, but he let go of the cravat, and Matthews fell back into his chair, immediately grabbing a pistol from a drawer in his desk.

“Gun, Grey!” Nick called out.

Half a second later, Grey was aiming it at Matthews’s left eye, having fluidly whipped it out of the older man’s hand and spun it around.

“Grey?” Nick said hesitantly. “The gun, please?”

Grey smiled grimly at the beads of sweat popping out across Matthews’s forehead. Then he tossed the firearm to Nick.

“Thank you. Please continue,” Nick said in mock seriousness as he watched his friend turn back toward Matthews with obvious intentions.

When Grey did, he caught a powerful right hook from across the desk. He recovered quickly enough to dodge the follow up and drive a fist into Matthews’s gut, sending the older man into a coughing fit until Grey’s other fist pounded into his eye.

Suddenly, Nick was beside him, catching his arm when Grey would have landed another blinding blow to Matthews’s temple.

“He looks like he might be ready to have that chat now. Any more of this and he won’t be able to do much talking.”

“Pity,” Grey murmured as he looked back at Matthews bleeding into a large handkerchief.

“Quite,” Nick agreed disdainfully.

“Well, Matthews? Is it true? Are you ready to talk?” He leaned on the desk to bring himself to Matthews’s eye level.

“Go to hell,” Matthews spat out, but when Grey eagerly prepared for more convincing, the older man cowered. “Yes, yes! All right!”

“You never cease to disappoint.” Grey took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, let us start with what the hell you have been up to, shall we?”

Matthews glared up and snarled, “Ungrateful! Ever since I found you both! If I hadn’t taken you under my wing, you would both be—”

“Never mind where we would both be,” Grey said with a wave of his hand as he half sat on the desk. “I have no doubt we would be much better off than we are now. So tell me, what were you about with trying to get me hanged?”

“
Hanged?
” Matthews blanched.

He ought to be on the stage. Grey wasn’t surprised. The man had to have some skills to get to where he was now. After all, he had known this whole charade was about Grey from the beginning, yet he’d had everyone convinced it was for Kathryn’s safety. Even Steel Breeches, the keeper of all knowledge, didn’t suspect.

“Yes, hanged.” He didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Even a man as powerful as me with the devil’s own luck cannot escape punishment for a crime that serious.”

“
Treason?
” What color was left in his face vanished. If Grey hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have thought it possible.

“You are asking me?” Grey asked on a grim chuckle. “What else?”

Matthews’s face turned bright crimson. “I did not read the letter.”

A crooked smile spread across Grey’s face. “You did not read the letter? Well, then that settles it. Nick, Matthews here is innocent. He didn’t read the letter before he sent you to leave it in my private documents.”

Nick followed suit. “Oh, is that right? I daresay, Grey, you must let the man go straight away.”

“Indeed.” Grey paused, rubbing his chin then resting a finger on his bottom lip as he continued. “Then again, why would someone as experienced as Matthews here send a letter to be planted without first reading it?”

“That is a quandary, Grey,” Nick answered.

Grey turned to Matthews with lifted brows. “Well, Matthews, what have you to say for yourself?”

“I was told no one would be harmed,” Matthews sputtered. “This was not supposed to happen. I was deceived.”

“By criminals? No!” Grey’s look of mock horror was replaced by open amusement. “But then you must have thought that was a possibility, and so I find myself back to the question of why did you not read it before you commissioned Nick?”

Nick burst out from behind Grey, obviously unable to hold back any longer. The man did not like being used; that much was certain.

“He would have done it, regardless, but thought to spare himself the guilt. Swine!”

Grey raised an eyebrow at Matthews, glad he had been able to let out his rage on him earlier. Nick was obviously itching to do the same.

“Is that so, Matthews? Would you have done it, regardless?”

“Does it matter?” Matthews grumbled.

“If you are lucky, you won’t live long enough to find out,” Nick muttered bitterly.

“Who put you up to this?” Grey asked, ignoring Nick’s comment.

“Who do you suppose?” Matthews asked irritably. “Bexley, of course. He threatened to expose some dealings of mine, and I couldn’t risk it.”

“Extortion? Surely, you could have asked us to take care of it,” Nick said incredulously.

“Then what would you think of me?” Matthews slumped in his chair. “I have been so proud of you both. I couldn’t tell you I had been dishonest, dishonorable in my post.”

“You could have asked for help, Matthews,” Grey said impassively. “You know we would have helped you, set you up with a position elsewhere.”

“How could I ask that? Me, your superior officer.”

Grey watched as Matthews prickled with hurt pride. Something had to be done now that Grey knew Matthews had been abusing his position.

“You are leaving the Home Office this week. I shall arrange for you to be set up at my Oxford estate.” Grey began to turn to leave. “I hope you like to hunt. I have been short a game keeper for some time now.”

“I can’t leave now!” Matthews spat out. “Not with everything that’s—”

“Oh, yes, you will!” Grey leveled him with a coldly amused stare. “You will leave on your own, or I shall have you thrown into Newgate. You just remember.”

“But what will I say?” Matthews asked with open hands.

“You will think of something. You always do.” Grey sent a quick nod to Nick before he turned and strode from the study.

Nick glanced at Matthews with reluctant pity before he followed Ainsley out, leaving an exasperated Matthews behind the desk.

As they stepped out onto the street, Nick casually put on his hat, tapping the top and swinging his cane at his side before regarding Grey.

“Think the old fox will do it?”

“Hm?” Grey glanced sideways at Nick before registering the question. “Oh. Yes, he will. I shall see to that personally.” Grey would walk him to Saint Brides’s office himself if he had to.

“I assume we are making another house call,” Nick said casually.

“You assume correctly.”

Grey wasn’t just walking aimlessly. They were on their way to Bexley’s residence. He thought it best to walk. It gave him time to think and compose his thoughts before he barged in.

A witness like Matthews couldn’t be brought to court without embarrassing the entire Home Office. Grey needed a strategy using the
threat
of confession alone. He couldn’t simply pop in for a visit and say, “
Oh by the way, you have been accused of extortion. I don’t assume there’s any truth to that, is there?”

Bloody hell.

“Any particular plan of action?”

“Er, not yet.” Grey scowled.

“That doesn’t sound like you.” Nick whistled a short, cheerful tune. “This is going to be messy.”

“I know,” Grey muttered.

“As long as you know,” Nick said casually, swinging his quizzing glass. “This ominous, ending-in-sight feeling has got me wondering, not that it’s any of my business—”

“It probably isn’t, so why don’t you just—”

“—but once all of this nonsense is cleared up, do you plan to redress this estrangement you have with your wife?” Nick must have recently gone blind because he had faced Grey’s black scowl head on and continued, anyway, unaffected.

“There’s nothing more to be done. She will take Derbyshire, eventually. Probably wreak havoc on all the unsuspecting country folk, incite riots, social unrest…” His voice faded, and he realized he was almost smiling at the thought of the trouble she would cause. His chest squeezed painfully, and he fell into a scowl. “We need never plague each other again.”

“That would sound like an acceptable course of action if you didn’t love her, but you do. So—”

“She never wants to see me again, Nick. I would say that’s the best decision the woman has ever made. Let that be the end of it.”

“Let’s hope you can come up with a better strategy for Bexley, or we shall be toast,” Nick muttered under his breath.

Grey pretended he hadn’t heard. This would not be a good time to pummel his only friend on the streets of London. He really ought to wait until after said friend had helped him eradicate the villain. Afterward, he could work on destroying the only meaningful relationship he had left and pounding the final nail into his coffin.

To his relief, the rest of the walk was spent in silence. To his chagrin, he still hadn’t formulated a decent plan by the time they ascended Bexley’s steps. His scowl deepened if that were even possible.

He glanced over at his friend as they waited for the door to open. The man looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He always looked like that, even at Eton after he had taken a beating by William Harper, a boy nearly twice his size. He had been whistling through bruised lips with swollen eyes all the way to class. Nick had certainly sprung up and filled out a bit since then, but it was a black day, indeed, to see the man truly down in the mouth.

Nick turned to him and flashed an encouragingly eager grin. Grey returned a secretive smile of his own. They were comrades in action, always had been, and they were at it again. For that moment, it felt like old times. Before France. Before the war. Then he knew what he was going to do or thought he did, until he heard a familiar scream.

They exchanged knowing glances, all high spirits vanishing, replaced by dread.

Bloody hell, not again!

Grey broke through the door, and they both darted into the entry hall, pausing just long enough to hear it a second time, pinpoint the origin, and run full-force down the hall.

* * *

I
t felt
like Kathryn had been waiting hours for Nick to return home. She wanted to tell him good-bye before she left London. She wanted to explain to him in person instead of leaving a note on his desk. She wanted his friendly face to give her the courage she needed to see Bexley, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She couldn’t risk losing her nerve.

The sooner she could get out of London, the better. She could start over in Italy. She could study art, enjoy the opera where people actually went to enjoy the opera, and she might even find a lover.

The thought soured before she had even finished it. Falling in love with another man was difficult to imagine. She would try to forget Grey and move on eventually.

Foolish, foolish heart.

In Kathryn’s opinion, Nick lived far too close to Bexley. It took less than five minutes to arrive.