His Sinful Secret (16 page)

“If he needs you, Antonia, he will ask. Every man has his limitations and he isn’t so arrogant to believe he is an exception.” Even as Lawrence murmured the assurance, he wondered if she wasn’t right. Part of the reason Longhaven hadn’t bowed out of his role was because at this stage of the aftermath of the war, transferring the power of his responsibilities would weaken a link that had become a very viable part of the British espionage system. Longhaven knew things no one else did, and though he no longer ran the operation on Spanish soil, he was invaluable to the war minister because he could interpret the information they received with the accuracy of one who understood the enemy and their tactics. Lawrence also suspected that because of who and what he had been—and still was—Longhaven was hesitant to be put in a position where he no longer had access to knowledge of what was happening as Europe struggled to recover from such a long conflict—Roget’s resurrection being a prime example.

Michael Hepburn would remain a French target until the animosity between their countries was over, whether he was still serving his king, or simply playing the elegant aristocrat. To protect himself, he needed to be aware of the machinations of his enemies, and he had many. To be aware, he needed to continue to do his job.

It was one devil of a quandary.

Lawrence would do the same exact thing in his position. In fact, he had taken the same precautions. Never would he completely resign. It wasn’t an option unless he left England. “I already told you I wanted you to stay out of this, but that was a futile hope, wasn’t it? Part of the problem is one gets addicted to danger . . . used to it. I do not miss the physical hardships of war, but pitting myself against our foes . . . yes. I think you suffer from the same malaise, love.”

“Yes,” she admitted, her dark eyes shadowed. “I am not done with my battles.”

He canted his head a little to the side and studied Antonia, letting a smile play across his lips. “So, I suppose, if you want to play nursemaid to the pretty marchioness, it can’t hurt. Because we are the good little spies we are, things are getting nicely convoluted, aren’t they? You will watch her, I’m having him watched, surely he’s having her followed, and out there somewhere, someone is probably stalking him. All very satisfactory, if you like things complicated. Toss in Roget and his wily evasion of capture and perhaps the situation will get interesting.”

 

This was a dratted nuisance and she had to tamp down a sense of chagrin over how to handle it. Julianne looked at her husband’s valet and said with credible calm, “I have my maid to accompany me, Fitzhugh. I’ll be fine.”

“His lordship requested most specifically I see you safely anywhere you wish to go, my lady.”

There was an implacable edge in his tone that said he wouldn’t be put off. He was one of those men whose age she couldn’t really gauge, his broad face eternally bronzed by the sun, his graying hair in wispy curls, and his very erect carriage like he was always at attention. The rich Irish brogue in his voice spoke volumes about his heritage, and her maid had mentioned Fitzhugh had served with Michael in Spain and elected to come back to England to take his present position.

“It isn’t necessary,” she insisted, having a sinking feeling that she was going to lose the battle.

“My orders were clear. Surely you do not wish for me to be reprimanded for dereliction of duty?” Dapper in smartly tailored clothes, Fitzhugh regarded her with unswerving observation as they stood in the circular drive in front of Southbrook House.

“Of course not.”

“Then you will allow me to accompany you.”

“I . . . I was thinking of visiting a friend,” she said lamely, trying to calculate how to work this sudden problem. “It might be hours.”

He opened the door to the carriage with a flourish. “I am a master at waiting. Shall we?”

So now she had the problem of both him and her maid. Julianne climbed into the carriage and thought furiously,
What should I do?
Being a married woman should bring more freedom, not less. She sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap over her reticule. . . . Skipping her intended visit was an option, but not a good one. It upset the very delicate equilibrium of the situation and she was trying hard to not do that, plus it carried an inherent danger of exposure.

So, she would go with her original plan, which had always worked well in the past, and hope no one noticed anything. Camille would probably not have been a problem, but Fitzhugh was a different matter. She had a sense he was extremely observant.

They arrived at Melanie’s right on time, and she was shown into the drawing room. Immediately her friend rose, her light brown hair caught up in ringlets around her face, a smile on her mouth. She crossed the room and caught Julianne in a quick hug. “I’ve been dying to see you. I’ll ring for tea.”

“I can’t stay but a moment,” Julianne confessed.

Melanie, pretty and sweet tempered, looked disappointed but resigned. “The worst part of all this is we now rarely get to really see each other. Everyone thinks we spend hours and hours in each other’s company, but—”

“I know.” Julianne felt the same loss. “But I really am not sure what else to do. Worse, it is getting more complicated rather than less. For whatever reason, my husband has decided his valet
and
my maid have to accompany me everywhere.”

“Oh, dear.” Melanie sank down in one of the chairs. Her fine brows knitted together. “Well, I suppose it isn’t like the servants can really question you.”

“My old maid didn’t,” Julianne observed wryly, “because she had a penchant for one of your father’s footmen. It was to her advantage for me to stay here as long as I liked. I just hope Fitzhugh and the girl the duke hired to tend to me don’t start to get suspicious. I am not as much worried about Camille as him. He and my husband don’t seem to have an ordinary employer-servant relationship.”

Melanie dimpled as a small smile curved her mouth and she adjusted her skirts, her eyes holding open curiosity. “I realize you have to rush off, but tell me, how is it being a married woman?”

Her friend was also engaged, and Julianne didn’t blame her for the personal question, but Melanie’s somewhat foppish, lighthearted fiancé was nothing like Michael. Lord Day was a good catch and had a respectable fortune, but marriage to him, she had a feeling, would be entirely different. Evasively she murmured, “It is . . . interesting.”

“Please, Jule. What kind of an answer is that? Interesting in a good way or a bad one?”

Julianne blushed. “A good way, mostly, though I don’t see a lot of him during the day. Most of our interaction is . . . later.”

“Oh, yes. I see.” Her friend looked embarrassed but intrigued. “The marquess is rather formidable. I did wonder how you got on.”

Julianne couldn’t help but think of all the intimate things he did to her naked body—and how much she liked it. Her cheeks grew hotter. She would have said they were getting to know each other, but that wasn’t exactly true. Instead she substituted, “We seem to have found some common ground.”

Or a common bed anyway.

Julianne still hated to think of it only in that way, but maybe over time . . . well, she wasn’t sure, but all she could do was try. At the moment, a more pressing issue was foremost in her mind. “Is it safe to use the servant’s entrance now? I don’t think I should be gone as long as usual, so expect me back a little early.”

“I’ll go first, as always, to make sure no one sees you leave.” Her friend rose and motioned her to follow.

Luckily it was done without mishap, and Julianne found the hired carriage in place, the driver waiting for her as arranged. She slipped inside the vehicle and they set off down the alley, rumbling out onto Curzon Street. The journey itself always took over an hour, which left her with maybe two for the visit itself, and as they rolled along, the neighborhoods becoming less and less fashionable, she wondered what would happen if she ended the subterfuge and simply told the truth. Though her motives were based on good intentions, she still wasn’t sure everyone would see it that way.

How would her husband feel about what she had done? Much less the duke and duchess? Would the entire Hepburn family condemn her?

She had no idea.

When they pulled up in front of the correct address, she alighted and nodded at a woman who passed by on the street. The elderly lady was thin and stooped and she held a loaf of bread. Her eyes took in Julianne’s fashionable gown with bright interest. While it wasn’t a disreputable area and at least not as dangerous as many places, it wasn’t a neighborhood where one found fine ladies in silk gowns either. Instructing the driver to please wait for her and promising a reward, Julianne climbed the small steps up to the discreet doorway and knocked.

Sharply. With purpose. The one time she’d panicked and worried that Leah had moved without telling her had been both shocking and horrible, leaving an indelible impression.

To her relief, the door was opened by the usual slatternly charwoman. The servant muttered, “ ’Tis you, milady, is it? Good. She’s been fair onto frantic awaitin’. They’re in the parlor now.”

The place smelled vaguely like boiled cabbage, but then again, Julianne already knew Leah didn’t spend much of the income she gave her on the household. She followed the elderly servant to the small room furnished with fraying settees and faded draperies. The woman hadn’t lied, for Leah was there, vibrant as ever in an emerald satin gown suited for a different time of day, a little stained and worn, but with her figure shown to advantage. She whirled as Julianne entered and sputtered, “Where the devil have you been?”

A long time ago she’d learned to not respond to that particular snarl in the woman’s voice. Julianne said calmly, “I’m here now.”

“Did you bring the money?”

“Don’t I always?” She flipped open her reticule and took out a small bag full of coins. “Here it is.”

The young woman fairly lunged for it, snatching it out of her hand. “I’ll take that.”

“I had no doubt you would,” Julianne murmured dryly, but she was uninterested in Leah’s obsession with drink. Her gaze went instead to the small child sitting on the floor, a doll clutched in her arms. Brown silken curls framed a cherubic face, but the rest of her was too thin, and her eyes too solemn for a child of not quite three.

Julianne had gone to quite a bit of trouble to select that doll. The perfect porcelain face was a contrast to the little girl’s grubby cheeks.

Leah muttered, “You’ll be wantin’ her alone, then?”

“For an hour or so. It is all I can spare.”

“Right,” the other woman spat. “You being the grand marchioness and all.”

If she deigned to answer there would be more unpleasant words, so she didn’t say a word. The other woman waited, her auburn hair piled up on her head, her lips tinted red by artifice, her eyes flashing dislike.

But Leah needed her, and they both knew it. After a moment she flounced out the door in a swirl of green, muttering a vulgar curse under her breath.

Julianne crossed to kneel in front of the child watching her with that so intent gaze. Julianne whispered, “Chloe.”

No response. There rarely was. Surely the child should be talking by now, but she seldom made more than a few small noises.

As always, when Julianne held out her arms, there was a moment of hesitation before Harry’s little daughter scrambled up and flung herself into the proffered embrace, doll and all.

T
he milling crowd swirled around them, the music vying for attention with the babble of hundreds of conversations. Michael shouldered his way through the crowd, the too-warm atmosphere of the ballroom stifling. He was never one to favor frivolous entertainments and this evening was no exception. The refusal of all invitations was not socially acceptable, so he settled for being very selective. Now that he was married, he should take Julianne’s wishes into account also, though there was no rule that said husbands and wives had to attend the same functions.

He didn’t know her thoughts on the matter, but maybe he should ask.

It was his impression she’d meant that very sincerely.

Case in point: his pretty young bride wasn’t like most of the superficial young ladies of fashionable society. The money and title she’d gained when they married didn’t seem to hold her interest as much as the merging of their lives. She wanted more from him than his sexual interest; that was clear enough.

God save him from idealistic and romantic young women with entrancing indigo eyes and skin like warm, smooth silk, because he wasn’t convinced he had more to give.

Julianne was more than stunning this evening in deep rose tulle embellished by small silver ribbons, the cut of the bodice showing the upper curves of her delicious breasts, her arms and shoulders bare. The dark silk of her hair was swept up into a simple style that suited her natural beauty, and the only other ornamentation, a pair of pearl earrings, drew attention to the graceful line of her neck. At least he’d had the sense to ask Fitzhugh for a description of the gifts and a record of what days they had been given so he wouldn’t trip up again. Usually he was very good at details, but he did have other things on his mind besides bottles of perfume and jewelry.

He was being followed. The surveillance was covert and professional, but he had still noticed and was debating on how to handle it. He could wait and see if there was another attack. Now he was very much on his guard and he was armed at all times, so he wasn’t going to be easy to kill. If he could capture his assailant, the odds of getting information were almost certain. Every man could be persuaded to divulge his motives if the interrogation was handled the right way.

The second problem was the usual one: locating Roget. Charles had sent a brief communiqué stating he had feelers out to see if there were whispers anywhere of his reappearance.