Masquerading the Marquess (27 page)

Calliope mulled this information but the
Salisbury
connection kept intruding.

"What . . . when did you meet my father?"

"He took Stephen and me under his wing when we finished
Oxford
."

"What was it like? Working with him, I mean."

"He was very intelligent.
Very dedicated.
Never did anything half measure. I see a lot of him in you. He earned all of our respect and loyalty. "

"That’s why you were so angry last night when we were speaking of him."

James nodded. His eyes softened as he looked at her. "We’ll sort the mess when we find Stephen." He seemed to consider his words and then nodded to himself, as if emphasizing the when in the statement.

The old feelings for her father resurfaced, but not as strongly this time. She felt a little better, wound a little less tightly than usual.
"All right.
I agree."

His shoulders relaxed a bit.

"We should talk to Ternberry’s servants," Calliope said.

The clock struck five.

"We can discuss our plans in the morning."

"It’s nearly dawn. This is the morning."

James grimaced. “I know. It will be a long day. "

"Are we going to stay here for the day?"

"No, I think we should return to
London
quickly. I don’t think there is much to uncover here."

Calliope nodded and padded over to the bed, snuggling into the covers, which were beginning to cool again.

James took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He put the full glass of brandy on the table.

He grabbed the blanket, which was folded on the settee, and shook it.

Calliope bit her lip. "James, why don’t you sleep here?"

He stilled and looked at her.

"Just to sleep," she added quickly.

He didn’t move for a long moment. He started undressing and her breath caught. Couldn’t he sleep in his eveningwear?

He left his undershirt and trousers on and slipped in beside her. Her heart was racing so fast it nearly popped out of her chest and smacked against the wall.

The bed, which had seemed ample before, now felt tiny. She didn’t dare move or she’d be plastered against him. She spent a few fretful moments trying to decide how to sleep.

What position to lie in? She settled on her side near the edge of the bed. What to do if he turned toward her?

The feelings he had stirred in the garden returned. She had never expected anything remotely like what she had experienced for the brief moments on the bench. No wonder the women whispered and giggled. Calliope had thought them mad.

She peeked over her shoulder, but he was still lying on his back, one knee in the air. His breathing was even.

·

He was asleep!

The rotter.

A number of guests had wandered downstairs dressed for an early morning ride to examine the scene at the lake. Many couples had already left for
London
, eager to be among the first to town with the news of Ternberry’s death. James found Calliope waiting near the front entrance conversing with Lady Willoughby. Rogers and Betsy had finished loading the baggage and would follow behind them.

After saying their farewells, he helped Calliope into the carriage.

The coach bumped and swayed as his driver negotiated the ruts that had become more rough and dangerous with the spring rains. They had been on the road for more than five minutes and Calliope sat quietly, fiddling with her hands and staring out the window. James kept silent waiting for her to compose herself.

She finally turned toward him. "Thank you."

He raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"

She shook her head and said, "Just thank you."

He nodded, and she sagged against the cushions. "I need to get to the theater. I’m worried about my family."

"Will they leave?"

She paused and then slumped fully into the seat. "No. Both of my adoptive parents are performing this evening, and regardless of threats, they would never leave the show. "

She absently moved her fingers across her brow. "They’re unaware of the potential danger. I’m frightened for their safety. They may be caught unawares."

James reached over and patted her knee. "They will be fine. I have men watching the theater. When we get back to the city, I’ll see what they have to report."

James had stationed a man at the theater as soon as he had learned of her ties there. The connection between Calliope and
Salisbury
was still too strange to be a coincidence. There were twists and links in the puzzle and everything seemed to point to Calliope.

"We’ll return to Stephen’s townhouse for the night and have another look through his files and belongings."

The effort would probably be pointless. They had searched thoroughly before. But she must have felt a bit better because she shifted her position and relaxed her shoulders.

James figured it was as good a time as any to catch up on missed sleep. Leaning back, he allowed his eyes to close. Calliope squirmed, attempting to make
herself
more comfortable against the plush seat. He cracked open an eye, watching her shift positions. After several minutes of fidgeting, he leaned forward, plucked her off the seat and deposited her next to him.

"What are you
--
"

Her mild shriek was cut off as he wrapped her in his arms.

Calliope’s mind went blank. She was nestled against him, and he had never once opened his eyes. For some reason, that irritated her.

She tried escaping by pulling toward the opposite seat. His arm was like a vise. But other than tightening his arm, he didn’t move.

His head lay against the seat. She peered around at him. She had been feeling out of sorts ever since finding herself curled against his side this morning. "My lord, I really don’t think this is dignified."

He gave no indication of having heard her.

"My lord?”

Nothing.

"Angelford?"

Silence.

"James!"

One eye opened.

"Don’t you think I should return to my own seat?"

"Shh, get some rest. You didn’t sleep last night any more than I."

For some reason, that made her feel infinitely better. She was exhausted. And it was more comfortable on this side of the carriage. Yes, if he was going to get the better side of the coach, it was only fair that he share. She closed her eyes and her head lolled onto his shoulder. The motion of the carriage was soothing. Warm and cozy dreams enveloped her and the nightmares ceased for once.

It was a brilliant summer day and she was strolling in a meadow. Flowers were blooming as far as the eye could see. James came toward her, a bright blue flower in his hand. She took it and inhaled the heavenly fragrance. It was like that spicy scent that clung to him.
Strange, for a flower to smell that way.

But it was a beautiful bloom and the scent was manly, much better than the common fragrance of roses. He looked down at her with tenderness and bent his head. She would delude herself no longer. This was what she had been yearning for; every part of her said this was right. Her body thrummed and her breath caught as he leaned closer.

She sighed happily.

Unexpectedly, he jerked away.

"No!"

Calliope jolted awake as James moved his shoulder. He looked down at her.
"No, what?"

The coach had stopped.

"Uh, nothing, just, uh, I was surprised we were there already."

How incredibly stupid.

He stared at her for a second and then exited the coach. He held up a hand to help her down.

The return to
London
was a jolt to her system.
An ending almost.
Quickly moving toward the door, she saw that her burly footmen were still in place. Thank goodness.

She frowned.

She had ceased to consider James the enemy and started thinking of him as her savior. Around the same time she had stopped thinking of him as Angelford.

More Angelford, less James.
Now that they were back in
London
, that would be best.

They entered the library and he walked to her favorite chair. For once that was fine with Calliope. She sprawled on the brocade settee and shut her eyes.

"I thought we were going to search through Stephen’s things."

She opened an eye to see him staring at her superciliously.
"Right.
I’m just resting my eyes. How about ten minutes from now?"

He shook his head and she swore a smile flitted across his features.

"Fine, we’ll do it now instead."

A smile lit his eyes.

Calliope looked at the magnificent bookcases and sighed.

* * *

Twenty minutes later she was still sighing. James felt frustrated himself. Not only was he certain the object they were searching for was here in this room, but his response to Calliope was reaching a fever pitch.

She had removed her wig, and her soft curls caressed her shoulders.

He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, and spied a walking stick resting against the wall. He picked up the smart mahogany and gold cane, recognizing it from the night she tried to brain him with it.

"A slight step up from the one you abandoned at the Killroys’ ball."

She looked up from a stack of papers and eyed the cane. "Did you find my cane at the Killroys’?"

"Yes. Imagine my surprise when you sailed back into the ballroom, graceful as can be."

Calliope flushed. "I don’t know what caused me to forget it."

"
l
thought we had determined you missed me."

She looked disgruntled. "You are a menace."

James smiled. "Do you need to use a cane at all?"

"Not often, just sometimes when I get tired--it makes it easier to move around."

She walked over and reluctantly plucked the stick from his hand. Her eyes were intense. "My mother left this with me. It was the last time I saw her. She thought she had enough time to run back into the burning house."

Sadness and pain darkened her face. The expression tore at him.

"Why did she run back?"

"She tried to save the documents my father left with her. I’ve always blamed him for her death."

She said it nonchalantly. They could have been discussing the weather, but her eyes were anything but calm.

"You’ve saved the cane all these years."

"Yes, I generally keep it close at hand, although I don’t use it. It’s a reminder. "

"Maybe it would ease the pain if you started thinking of the cane as just another object."

She was silent for a long minute.

James wasn’t sure what to do or say; the lost look on her face was making him crazy. He was about to take the offending object away from her when she became a whirlwind of motion.

She struck a fencing pose. A rather good fencing pose.

Astonishment pierced him. "You fence?"

"I was once a pirate at the Adelphi when one of the actors fell ill. I practiced other stances after that. It is rather a fun hobby. "

A pirate?
"How many other roles have you played?"

She shrugged and jabbed toward his stomach with the blunt end of the cane. "I’ve filled in as needed.
Small roles.
Chorus parts, mainly. If one of the stars falls ill, an understudy steps in and sometimes I assume the smaller part. It’s actually rather fun. Performing is quite exhilarating. One doesn’t get noticed much in the chorus, so no stage fright."

Calliope was thrusting and parrying across the room. She lifted her left leg at the knee, balancing on her right leg. The cane was gripped in her right hand and perched horizontally over her head.

Two fingers on her left hand were pointed upward at the end of the cane. She then dropped the raised lingers to her right wrist and thrust her left hand and the cane away from each other in diagonal directions.

"What posture is that?" He was considered an expert swordsman, but he had never seen that particular move.

She looked at him in surprise. "I don’t know. An extra who returned from the
Far East
taught me that maneuver." She coughed discreetly. "Well, not exactly taught, but I secretly watched him practice enough times to learn."

James was intrigued. He moved toward her. "Do it again."

She repeated the movement.

He studied the move, trying to think of ways to incorporate the technique. "Shouldn’t the sword be pointed more at an angle for better entry?"

She sent him a dark look as he came closer. "Look here, I know what I saw
. "

Calliope jabbed him in the side with the cane to emphasize her point. He scowled and pushed it aside. She twisted the handle to yank it back and it made a clicking noise.

"What the—" James stared down at his midsection.

Calliope followed his gaze and gasped when she saw bright red blossoming across his stark white shirt. The cane dropped to her side and she rushed to him.
"My God, James, your shirt!"

James frowned at the cane and picked up the end. A sharp blade protruded from its tip. Calliope gasped and lifted his shirt. Blood seeped from the wound.

""Stand still. You’re hurt," she said, blanching as she inspected the wound.