Her Ladyship's Man (19 page)

"I know, Grandmother." Melanie gave the marchioness a soothing smile. "But you have done so much already that I do hate to bother you with what is really a trifling matter. Besides, did you not say you and Miss Evingale meant to finish
Dark Moor
tonight?" She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Eh?
Dark Moor?
" Lady Abbington blinked in confusion. "But haven't we already . . . oh!" Her brow cleared as if by magic.
Dark Moor!
"Yes, you are quite right, my dear. Edwina and I are longing to finish that book. Is that not so?" She addressed the question to the companion, who was looking on with wide-eyed eagerness.

"Indeed we are, your ladyship, indeed we are,"
she replied, all but rubbing her hands in glee. "There is nothing like a good Gothic, I have always said."

"Well, mind you, don't tie up my study too long, my dear," her father said, finishing the last of his mutton. "There are some new dispatches I am to examine before they are released to the House of Lords."

"Would you like any assistance, my lord?" Mr. Barrymore inquired, his manner solicitous. "I have hardly had a thing to do in these last weeks, and I am beginning to feel I am not earning my keep."

"What nonsense, my boy," the earl replied with a hearty laugh. Despite what he knew of the lad's birth, it was obvious he was determined not to hold it against him, and the smile he gave him was a genuine one. "You have been of more help than you realize. Besides, did you not tell me you were invited for cards at a friend's club?"

"Yes, but my plans can always be changed if you should have need of me," Mr. Barrymore said with a fawning smile. "And as I am a poor card player, I dare say it might be better for my pocket if I did stay at home."

"Nonsense, Mr. Barrymore, a good game of chance never hurt anyone," Lord Terrington assured him with a low chuckle. "Just mind you are in at a decent hour, as we will have a full day ahead of us what with the debating session and then the ball at His Highness's house."

Drew poured the earl fresh coffee as the two men continued discussing politics in an animated fashion. He found Barrymore's remarks about his lack of card skill to be most interesting in the light of what Sir had learned. It seemed that the man was a cardsharp who had won enough markers from
Lord Parkinson to place the earl firmly in his pocket. That was one hold over Marlehope's head, which doubtlessly explained why the duke had been so eager to fob him off on Terrington. The other hold was his illegitimacy, which although yet to be proven, was unquestionable. As Melanie had said, Parkinson and Barrymore could easily be taken for brothers.

Thinking of Melanie brought to mind her bold demand to see him in the study. What maggot did the little hellcat have in her brain this time, he wondered, shooting her a thoughtful glance. From looking at her now, dressed in a demure gown of soft cream-colored satin trimmed with bunches of violets, one would think her innocent as a lamb. But he knew better, of course. Melanie was about as innocent as a loaded musket!

After dinner Melanie sailed grandly into the study, her heart beating with eagerness. She had barely settled in her chair when there was a knock at the door and Drew stepped inside the room.

"Yes, your ladyship, what is it I can do for you?" he asked, bowing stiffly.

Melanie leapt up from her chair and hurried to his side. "Drew! You are never going to believe what I . . . umph!" She gasped as he clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Quiet, you little fool!" he instructed her harshly, pulling her away from the door. "Hasn't it occurred to you that Barrymore might be listening?" He pushed her none too gently back onto her chair and went to press his ear against the door. Satisfied there was no one there, he turned away, his eyes icy with displeasure as he studied Melanie sitting stiffly in her chair.

"I want to know what the devil you think you
are doing," he said, folding his arms across his chest as he confronted her. "How are we to keep my identity a secret if you persist upon arranging these little assignations?"

"Assignations?" she gasped, her eyes narrowing with indignation. "How dare you, sir! And how else am I to arrange to speak with you, I should like to know!"

"There is no reason at all you should need to speak with me," Drew answered harshly as he took a chair facing hers. He had just come from seeing Sir, and the knowledge that this would be all over in a matter of days had left him feeling decidedly raw. In the few weeks he had come to know Melanie, he had grown surprisingly close to her, and the thought of never seeing her again filled him with grim despair.

"Really?" She gave him her sweetest smile. "Not even the news that Marlehope admitted to my father that Barrymore is his illegitimate son?"

"What?" Drew was on his feet again, gazing down at Melanie in astonishment. "When? What did he say?"

Much as she would have liked to have him beg for every tidbit of information she possessed, Melanie knew the situation was too important for such antics. But that did not mean she didn't take pleasure in drawing out her tale as long as possible. By the time she had concluded, Drew was pacing back and forth angrily.

"Then it was Parkinson who sent Barrymore to your father?" he asked, coming to a halt beside her chair. "He had access to the duke's diplomatic pouch?"

"So it would seem," she answered, studying his shuttered expression thoughtfully. "Papa thinks it
was because Lord Parkinson wished to avoid scandal by shipping Mr. Barrymore to us, but I think it has to be more than that, especially since we know him to be a traitor."

"A traitor who likes to play both ends against the middle," Drew answered grimly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Well, at least we know now how he came to be in America. All that remains now is to learn whether he knew of the dispatches' existence before or after he came to your father. If it was before . . . "

"Then that would implicate Lord Parkinson," Melanie finished for him, her eyes beginning to sparkle. "Now that I think of it, he served in his father's absence while His Grace was called home for an emergency. Do you think Mr. Barrymore was blackmailing him?"

"It's a possibility," Drew admitted, the gambling markers again uppermost in his mind. The total was well over fifty thousand pounds, a rather steep amount even for a young lord who would one day inherit a wealthy dukedom. If Barrymore brought pressure to bear, it wasn't inconceivable that Parkinson might have crumpled, although he hoped such was not the case. From what Sir had said, the lad had much to recommend him, and it would be a great pity that he should have to pay for his half brother's greed.

"More than a possibility if you ask me," Melanie sniffed, annoyed by Drew's lack of enthusiasm. Then she remembered the other thing of import she had to relay to him, but before she could speak, a sudden noise from behind the drapes brought them both whirling around.

"Well, a fine Bow Street runner you turned out
to be!" Lady Charlotte said, stepping out from the hidden door.

"G-Grandmother!" Melanie stammered, pressing both hands to her chest in order to calm her wildly beating heart. "Where did you come from?"

"From the secret passage, of course," the marchioness replied, casting Drew a haughty look. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?" she asked querulously, indicating the pistol he held leveled at her. "Had I been a real villain, the two of you would have been as dead as a pair of mackerel by now!"

"Did you tell her about the secret passage?" Drew demanded as he stuffed the pistol back into the waistband of his trousers. The shock of the countess's sudden appearance coupled with the anger he was still feeling left him spoiling for a fight, and he was just looking for a reason to explode.

"Of course not," Melanie snapped back, as ready for battle as was he. "How could I? I didn't even know about it till now!" She turned to face her grandmother. "How did
you
learn of it?"

The countess gave a loud sniff. "Don't be absurd, Melanie," she said in her most dampening manner. "Where there are jewel thieves and Bow Street runners there are always secret passages. We simply looked until we found it. Which reminds me, Davies, or whatever your name may be, you really must speak to Lord Marchfield about that passage. It is quite deplorable. Not a skeleton or a cobweb to be found. We were most disappointed."

"We?" Drew managed, a sense of inevitability overwhelming his anger.

As if in answer to his question, Miss Evingale appeared in the opening, her cheek adorned with a smear of dirt. "You were quite right about his hat box, my lady," she said, rushing forward to offer
the items she held cupped in her hands to the marchioness. "I found these in the lining." She poured a glittering array of jewels into Lady Abbington's hands.

"Ha! Well, you have him now, Davies!" she gloated, picking out the gold ring Drew had already examined. "Do you see this? That is the Duke of Marlehope's crest, I'd know it anywhere! And I know full well he would never willingly part with it. Well, what are you waiting for? Go clap him in irons and take him off to Newgate! That is your job, is it not?" A gray eyebrow was raised haughtily.

"So it is, my lady." Drew was horrified to find himself choking back laughter. The situation was about as grim a one as he had ever faced; with his whole mission threatening to explode about him, and yet . . .

"That is excellent proof, Grandmother, and I quite applaud the bravery with which you and Miss Evingale have gathered the evidence!" Melanie said, leaping to Drew's rescue. She could well understand his dilemma, for it was all she could do not to burst out laughing at the absurdness of their situation. She was willing to bet it was the first time he had ever been routed by a dowager and a spinster, she thought, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

"Yes, it was rather brave of us, wasn't it?" Lady Charlotte preened at Melanie's words. "Not that we ever wavered in our duty, mind. Which brings us back to you, sir." She swung around on Drew. "I insist you arrest that blackguard before he robs us all blind!"

"That is easier said than done, my lady," Drew began, calling upon his training to regain control. "For you must know that I am a . . . er . . . junior
operative, and I really cannot make an actual arrest without my superior's permission. But with this kind of evidence"—he indicated the jewels still clasped in the marchioness's hands—"I dare say that permission will soon be forthcoming. My thanks to you both. England is in your debt."

Judging from the grins on both women's faces, Drew realized he must have said the right thing, and his shoulders sagged in relief. Sir was right, he decided, mentally wiping his brow. These Gothics definitely contained valuable information, and the first chance he had, he meant to read a shelf full of them. But he was not out of danger yet, and assuming a conspiratorial smile, he leaned forward.

"Naturally we must return these to our suspect," he said with a confiding smile. "We would not wish our rat to know we are on to him and smell the trap, now, would we?"

"Yes, quite right," the marchioness agreed with a cool nod. "There is more than enough time to recover our property, I suppose, for some of these rings look rather familiar now that I think of it. Come, Edwina." She turned toward the door still hidden behind the drapes. "Time to go skulking about again!"

"Oh, yes, your ladyship!" Miss Evingale gushed, hurrying forward to join Lady Abbington in the passage. "And this time perhaps we might investigate the library? I'm sure there must be treasure hidden in there as well." And the door swung shut behind them.

It wasn't a moment too soon, for Drew and Melanie exchanged glances and then broke into laughter. "My God, was ever an agent so bedeviled?" Drew asked when he could finally draw breath. "I
never thought the day would come when a woman in her eighties would take me by surprise!"

"And what of me?" Melanie demanded, laughter lighting her jewel-colored eyes. "You told me about the hidden door, sir, but you neglected to mention it was connected to a secret passage. Does it run the entire length of the house?"

"Most of it," he admitted, still chuckling. "And as for not telling you, my lady, might I remind you that I am an agent? We must have our secrets, you know."

"Mmm, and you seem to have more than most," she said, tossing back her head and smiling up at him. A tendril of hair fell across her flushed cheek, but before she could brush it aside, Drew's hand was already there, his fingers warm on her face.

The witticism he was about to utter withered on Drew's lips as his eyes met Melanie's. They were as deep a purple as a summer's twilight, and as warm and inviting as a roaring fire. Her cheeks were pink with laughter, and her soft lips warm and moist. As if acting on their own accord, his fingers moved from her cheek to her lips, brushing them with reverent care.

Melanie trembled at his touch, and at the fire she saw burning bright in his light hazel eyes. Emotions she had never experienced tore at her, and she was unable to resist their power. She slowly lifted her arms, her eyes never leaving Drew's as she circled them around his neck. "Drew," she whispered softly, and it was all the invitation he needed.

His lips met hers in the most fiery of kisses, his mouth warm and demanding as it moved against hers. She responded with eager passion, her lips parting to accept the delicate touch of his tongue.
The sensation was almost overwhelming, and she cried out against the rapture.

"Melanie, oh, God, Melanie, how I have longed for this," Drew groaned, pressing ardent kisses on the curve of her cheek. "You are so beautiful, so very beautiful. You make me burn from wanting you!"

His words inflamed the desire burning in Melanie, and she tightened her hold, pressing against him until she could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with her own. "Drew, you make me feel so alive!" she said, burying her fingers in his soft brown hair. "What am I going to do?"

He closed his eyes at her words, a sharp thrust of anguish momentarily killing his passion. At that moment he knew he loved her, and knew, too, that he could never have her. Shuddering at what the effort cost him, he put her firmly away from him.