Most Eagerly Yours (37 page)

“And how in God’s name are you connected to the queen?”

“Actually, I have known her nearly her entire life.” Laurel couldn’t help smiling at a quick memory of the toddler Victoria, and at the way Aidan’s features grew taut as he took in her words.

“You see, my father was once an officer under the Duke of Kent in Canada and Gibraltar,” she explained. “My uncle Edward as well. They remained friends afterward, and after their deaths Victoria’s mother and her uncle Leopold were frequent visitors to Thorn Grove, usually the only visitors we saw for months on end. Uncle Edward was a decidedly reclusive gentleman and—”

“
Why
, Laurel? Why the devil would the queen send you to investigate when she might simply have made her suspicions known to her ministers or the Home Office or the police or, for heaven’s sake, any number of individuals who would have made a great deal more sense than sending
you
?”

“I beg your pardon. I believe I’ve made a rather first-rate job of things. We have the documents, do we not? And happily enough, they do seem to exonerate Lord Munster of treason, if not of some odd and perhaps illegal behavior.”

His lips thinning, Aidan grabbed a decanter off the table beside him, pulled the stopper, and poured a generous measure of spirits into his tea. He drank and then ran a hand through his hair.

“What was the queen thinking, sending you into a potential powder keg? Does she not realize that she has armies at her command? It so happens
I
have been investigating Fitz, and I must tell you, your interference might well have compromised my position.” He tugged at his open collar. “In fact, once or twice it did.”

“I’m sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. Victoria wished this matter handled as quietly as possible. The scandals surrounding her grandfather’s and uncles’ reigns have left a bitter taste in many mouths. There are those who would end the monarchy once and for all, and another disgrace to the Hanover name might be just the thing to tip the scales against her. In a way, although her cousin might not have been plotting overt acts of treason, his involvement in fraud and . . . and
this
”—she pointed to the documents—“could still prove damaging to Victoria’s standing.”

She reached for his hand. “Oh, Aidan, she is so young and so determined to lead this country to the best of her ability. She deserves the chance to do so.”

He brought her fingers to his lips, kissed them, and held them there for a moment. “I agree, even if I heartily protest her methods.”

Silence fell. Laurel drained her tea and resolutely set the cup aside. “Now that you are privy to all of my secrets, isn’t there something you should like to tell me?”

“Not particularly, no.”

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Home Office. I work for the Home Office and have ever since I recognized a diamond- mine scam a few years back that would have fleeced a good number of England’s distinguished citizens out of their life’s savings, including some of those you’ve met right here in Bath.”

“Well. I cannot say this comes as a shock. I figured out quite a while ago that you were no ordinary nobleman.”

“And you, madam, are no ordinary lady.” His arm snaking around her, he pulled her to him for a kiss.

She couldn’t help grinning when he broke away. Savoring the lingering heat of his lips on her own, she leaned across him to retrieve the map.

“We need to focus. So far we’ve learned that André Rousseau and the dukes of Clarence and Kent knew one another before the wars, and that together they explored the properties of alchemy as they pertain to the legend of a life-renewing elixir.” She raised her brows and shook her head. “It seems more of a hobby to fill their leisure time than an act of treason, to be sure.”

“That depends on their intentions. Were they merely dabbling for sport? Were they foolish enough to believe in the promise of an ancient alchemist recipe? Or were they planning to separate a number of wealthy individuals from their fortunes, as their sons appear to be doing?”

“A pity Uncle Edward is no longer with us. As a friend to both dukes, he might have been able to shed light on the matter. Now we may never know the truth.”

“Not the truth of decades ago, perhaps, but I won’t rest until I discover what Fitz and Claude Rousseau are cooking up together.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“At his demonstration, Rousseau claimed his laboratory is hidden deep beneath the city. At the time I took the assertion as mere dramatic folderol to entertain his audience, but . . .” He took the map from between her fingers. “If these lines represent a tunnel system beneath the Lower Town, they might lead me to the answers I’ve been seeking.”

“Good. When shall we go?”

“Oh, no, my dear. I am returning you to Abbey Green posthaste.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I want you out of harm’s way. That is an order.”

Laurel paused to gather her courage and a convincing veneer of bravado. She had promised Victoria to investigate George Fitzclarence’s actions, and she would not be left behind at such a critical juncture in her mission. She possessed a pistol, and as she had discovered that night by the bridge, she had no qualms about firing the weapon when necessary. “You say you work for the Home Office?” she asked lightly.

“Yes.”

“Then you cannot issue orders to me.”

Scowling, he pressed his face close to hers until it was all she could do not to flinch away. “You think not?”

“Oh, I know not. My orders come straight from the queen, and the queen’s authority supersedes that of the Home Office. You, sir, are now working for
me
.” She gave his cheek a little tap, then held her hand there, enjoying the scrape of his evening whiskers against her palm. “We either do this my way or you shall find yourself in a great deal of hot water. Scalding, in fact.”

His mouth opened and then closed. In his indignation he glowered, until the greater portion of her bluster began to falter and she fully doubted he would let her have her way. Without visibly moving, he became taller, broader, a virtual wall of defiance. He would flat-out refuse and there would be nothing she could do about it.

The release of an audible breath robbed the steel from his posture. “Damn.”

She smiled. A mistake.

“You impossible minx.” Catching her hand and sliding it to his lips, he traced a heated trail from the base of her forefinger to the pulse in her wrist.

Then he pulled her closer and dipped his head. The hungry suckle of his mouth on her neck evoked instant ripples of desire, and the respectability of sipping tea in a downstairs parlor spiraled into oblivion. She could not resist the strength of his arms as he turned her and tilted her face up. His exploration of her flesh continued as his lips traveled over the expanse of bosom bared by the low cut of her evening gown. He reduced her to shivers when his tongue delved between her breasts.

His head came up a fraction and, as he spoke, the motion of his lips tickled her skin. “A trickster does not relish being tricked, my dear. If I cannot command you, I will nonetheless ask you to listen to reason and remain somewhere safe while I follow the map.”

“No, Aidan.” Her breath came in gasps while her heart threatened to burst through her stays. He seemed well aware of his effect on her, adding the caress of his fingertips along her calf for good measure. “Victoria . . . sent me to do a job,” she insisted, “and I must see it through. She is counting on me.”

“And you may count on me.”

His wondrous touch tempted her to give in, to yield her royal obligations to him. Only the knowledge that together they had learned more than either would have managed alone kept her resolute. “You know I am right. You need me—you have all along. If not for me, you would never have discovered the map. I am coming with you, and there is an end to it.”

His lips returned to her bosom. Through her dress and chemise, his teeth closed over her nipple, the sharp pleasure of it prompting her to cry out in helpless delight. It was his turn to smile. “That, madam, is a promise for later, when I am no longer bound by the queen’s authority.”

T
he mud of the riverbank sharp in Aidan’s nostrils, he proceeded alone across Bridge Street to the top of the steps that led down to the boat slips. Because of the map he had discovered, he now suspected that Fitz and Rousseau hadn’t boarded a boat and traveled downriver the night of the Guildhall concert.

Back at the entrance to the Grand Parade, Laurel waited with Phelps in the cabriolet. Aidan had left his manservant with a pistol and strict orders to shoot should a pair of ruffians holding clubs or any other weapons leap out of the shadows.

A fine mist drifted off the river, but for the most part the air remained clear and sharp and provided nowhere for a footpad to hide. Besides, Aidan suspected the henchmen were hired only on nights when Fitz and Rousseau intended venturing down to their subterranean lair. He doubted they would do so tonight. When he and Laurel left the fete, Fitz had already been too inebriated to go anywhere.

Still, with a pistol of his own ready in one hand and a lantern in the other, he made his way down the steps. From the boat slips he was able to peer beneath the closest of the bridge’s arched supports to where the massive struts met the river’s high walls. As pictured on the map, a rectangular opening in the wall emitted a thin stream of water, part of the old drainage system for the thermal baths.

A narrow ledge ran the length of the wall. Heedful of the muck and slime, he stepped up onto it and made his way to the drainage duct. It stood some three feet high and about six inches wide. He set down his lantern, tucked his pistol into his waistband, and placed his hands on the stonework.

The map had told them what to do. Press the third and fifth stones from the top on either side, then the second and fourth. He had only to apply the slightest pressure before he heard a clink and a grind. Like the mechanism of a puzzle box, the framework slid inward and opened to either side. A waft of musty air hit him full in the face. The opening now granted access to a culvert that was large enough to accommodate him if he bent over slightly.

His heart picked up its pace. Stepping in, he examined the system of gears and pulleys on either side of the opening. The arrangement was ingenious, and he wondered who had originally engineered it and why. Perhaps merely to facilitate the draining of the bathhouses. But such questions were of little concern to him tonight. His job was to proceed to wherever the map led and gather his evidence.

Should he go on without Laurel, and leave her waiting in the cabriolet with Phelps to protect her? Every instinct but one told him he should. It would be safer for her and perhaps even for him, for should he meet with any form of trouble, it would be easier to fight his way clear if he was alone.

But within a chorus of common sense, mutiny cried out. He wanted her with him. It had nothing to do with her being invested with the queen’s authority. She was smart and quick on her feet, and if tonight had proved anything, it was that they worked well together, operating like a single agent capable of being in two places at one time.

He needed her. . . .

The thought wrapped itself around his throat and nearly choked him. With something approaching desperation he amended the sentiment. He needed her perspective, her unique point of view, in order to complete his assignment.

Beyond this mission there would be others, leaving him no time to devote to a wife or family, no chance to surrender his heart to circumstances that came without guarantees, where each day he ran the risk of losing everything,
everything
that mattered. . . .

“Aidan?”

Laurel’s whisper echoed against the underbelly of the bridge and brought him up sharp. Wrapped from head to toe in the black velvet cape she had mended following her attack, she appeared phantomlike at the base of the steps.

“I thought I asked you to wait in the carriage.”

“You were taking so long, I became concerned.”

And to think he had considered proceeding without her, as if she would have stood for that. “Where’s Phelps?”

“Just there.” She pointed to the top of the steps.

“Signal him to go.”

The manservant knew where to meet them later. Aidan only hoped he and Laurel would emerge at the appointed place. Moving back to the end of the ledge, he helped her step up, holding the lantern to guide her footing. “Careful, it’s slippery.”

At the mouth of the culvert her eyes shut tight and her hand flew up to cover her nose, an understandable reaction to the stale reek of more than a thousand years’ worth of subterranean decay. At his prompting, she hesitated another fraction of an instant, then braved a stride inside. Aidan followed her in and closed the framework of the aperture, in effect sealing them in.

“Ready?”

“I
loathe
dank places.”

“You should have thought of that earlier.”

The fear in her eyes made him realize her remark had not been a complaint, but a show of distress.

“Do you wish to leave?” It would compromise his plans, perhaps even put off his investigation for another night. He also would run the risk of Fitz discovering that the documents were missing and raising the alert.

But if Laurel wanted out of here, he would take her home.

She shook her head.

His relief mingled with pride in her courage. By God, they did make a damn good team. Grinning, he pressed his lips to her cheek in a kiss of camaraderie that somehow meant as much to him as all the others they had shared. “I’ll be right here beside you.”

He held the lantern out in front of him. The culvert, constructed of cemented stones, sloped upward and wound out of sight. Shallow water ran its length, at least at the moment. If any of the baths in town were being drained, the water would engulf them. But he had no intention of pointing that out to Laurel.