Shirley Kerr (25 page)

“Merde,”
Gauthier muttered.

“Bloody hell,” Steven echoed.

The clerk drew the sheet over the body, and the four living souls filed out into the hall.

“What now?” Charlotte concentrated on keeping her hands perfectly still at her sides, kept forcing air in and out of her lungs, and tried not to think about Kolenka. Had he left behind a wife and children? Or a mother? Sister?

“We have to make a report to Lord Q.”

“Vraiment.”

Charlotte looked up. “We’re going to see him, at his office?” Though they’d made many reports to Lord Q
over the years, she’d never actually seen him. Steven had always left her behind if there was a chance to deliver his report in person.

Steven shook his head. “We still can’t risk being seen with him in the City. But an old friend of the family can certainly pay a call on us at home without drawing any attention. That was the other part of the message that arrived this morning—to expect him.”

The ride home in the carriage seemed to take considerably longer than the ride to the City just an hour before. Aunt Hermione’s town coach was better sprung than most hackneys, and the velvet squabs thickly padded, but having to sit back on the bench was less than comfortable, even after all of the poultices. Squirming only made it worse.

She stared out the window, searching for a tree, birds, flowers—anything living to replace the image of death that seemed etched into her mind.

She tried to analyze the situation dispassionately, the way she knew Lord Q would. Toussaint had identified the man breaking into his study, and either had him killed or killed him personally. He had personally wielded the knife that almost claimed Steven’s life, and had escaped unscathed.

As a weeping girl of seventeen, Charlotte had been no threat to him.

Now, she was a woman of twenty, with a decade’s worth of experience and training crammed into the intervening three years. She would wrest the snuffbox from Toussaint, see the letter restored to its rightful owner, avert the scandal that threatened to shake the foundations
of the government, and prevent Toussaint from killing again.

Once home, the three adjourned to the drawing room. Steven retrieved parchment and ink from the desk, while Gauthier sharpened a quill pen, and Charlotte gazed out the window, watching children playing tag in the square’s park, overflowing with trees and shrubs and chirping birds.

They went through the report carefully, each contributing the details they were most familiar with. Charlotte leaned over Gauthier’s shoulder to read the final draft, and noted the embellishments their scribe had added. “
Mon ami
, you should write novels.”

“But I already do,
ma petite
. You do not think this is my only secret life?” He winked at her.

They all looked up at the sound of a knock on the door.

Farnham entered and bowed. “A gentleman to see you, sir. He declined to give me his card.” His intonation remained perfectly polite, but when he straightened from his bow, his nose was just a few degrees higher than usual.

Charlotte couldn’t help a small smile. Since they were so unaccustomed to having servants available, perhaps they should have insisted Aunt Hermione engage the services of someone a little less highly recommended.

“Show him in,” Steven said. “And please send up refreshments.”

“Very good, sir.” He clicked his heels and left.

“That poor man,” Charlotte said. “I hate to think of all the times we have failed to live up to his expectations.”

Her stomach fluttered with nervousness at finally meeting Lord Q. Perhaps she should have gone upstairs and freshened up when they returned home. But surely a man like Lord Q would be more concerned with actions and results than neatly combed hair? She tried not to think about the fact that her whole future could depend on the next few minutes.

Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hall and there was a bit of shuffling as the guest preceded the butler into the room.

Lord Q was much shorter than she expected. In fact, she and he could probably see eye-to-eye, a detail that she hoped boded well for her future. He looked the grandfatherly sort, with deep lines on his cherubic face that showed he smiled often. His white hair poked up in tufts, contrasting with his pink cheeks. She almost expected him to offer her a sweet.

Many men must have been caught off guard over the years, underestimating him.

He handed his hat and walking stick to the butler and said, “That will be all.”

Farnham looked at Steven for confirmation before he bowed and left.

Lord Q glanced at Steven and Gauthier, then strode directly toward Charlotte, his hand held out. “You must be Charlie. I have been dying to meet you, my dear.”

C
harlotte remained frozen for a moment, then curtsied and shook Lord Q’s proffered hand. His grip was firm. Unlike most men she’d ever shaken hands with, he did not treat her as a delicate creature. Her estimation of him rose a notch.

She made sure her own grip was equally firm and confident in return. “To be honest, my lord, I wasn’t even certain you were aware of my existence.”

Steven made a small choking sound in the back of his throat.

Lord Q gave Steven a
tsk tsk
, and patted her on the shoulder. “The safety of our operatives is always our top concern.” Still with his hand on her shoulder, he led her to the sofa and gestured for her to be seated. “We list in our reports only the names that are absolutely essential, but be assured we have long been aware of your contributions.”

She couldn’t be rude, so she perched on the edge of the sofa as gracefully as she could. She wished she knew him well enough to know if he was using
we
in the royal
we
sense, or referring to his associates at the Home Office.

With his compliment, she couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I’m so happy to hear that, my lord. That is precisely what I wish to discuss with you—my ongoing contributions.”

“The end of them, you mean,” Steven said from his chair by the desk.

By force of will, Charlotte resisted the urge to shoot her brother a dirty look.

“Your fiancé, he was none too happy the other night, I’m thinking.” Gauthier had assumed his usual position by the fireplace, where he could keep an eye on both the door and window.

“You are engaged, my dear? My felicitations.” Lord Q patted her knee. “I must admit I’m disappointed to lose an agent with such promise so soon, but it is to be expected. Young women such as yourself tend not to remain in the field for long.”

Charlotte wanted to grind her teeth. This was not going at all according to plan. She glanced between her dear brother, whom she currently wanted to strangle, and dear Gauthier, who had been like an uncle. Regardless of their expectations for her future, she wanted to work for Lord Q. “Thank you, but felicitations are not called for. I am not truly engaged.”

Lord Q’s brows knitted. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“What the hell do you mean, you’re not engaged?”

“Mon dieu!”

Charlotte ignored the outbursts and kept her attention focused on Lord Q, who thankfully maintained the attitude of polite interest in whatever she had to say. Some of the trepidation about revealing her plans evaporated. “Steven has changed since we came to London, and for some reason expects me to forget all about what I’ve been doing for the last five years. I, however, have no intention of giving up the work. My so-called engagement is simply a cover that has enabled me to continue my efforts to recover the snuffbox.”

Lord Q did not seem taken aback by this astounding revelation. “And your fiancé is aware of your activities? Aware that your relationship is a sham?”

That made it sound…sordid. There was nothing dishonorable in what they’d done. “Alistair was only too happy to enter into our subterfuge, and has benefited just as much as I have.”

“But you spent the night with him!”

“He was there when you broke into the
cochon’s
study.”

She pressed her hands flat against her skirts to keep from balling them into fists. Lord Q was also ignoring the interruption, his attention still patiently focused on her. Bless him.

“I took Alistair into my confidence early on in our acquaintance. He has shown himself to be a worthy partner. He is also a school chum of the captain of the
Wind Dancer
, where we sought refuge for the night.”

She noted the flare of understanding in Q’s eyes, and
felt a surge of confidence. “He is well-suited to our work, my lord. He is fast on his feet, both mentally and physically, and most importantly has no wish to dissuade me from completing this task.” She spared a glare for Steven. “Unlike others in this room.”

Q nodded. “It goes without saying, you find him trustworthy.”

She’d certainly trusted Alistair last night, when he’d held her in his hands. His magnificent, talented hands…She turned the direction of her thoughts before they betrayed her with a blush. “He is a gentleman who can play the rogue when needed.”

Q nodded gravely. “I do prefer that my operatives work in pairs when possible, or threes, as you all have done so successfully over the years. Pairs tend to be more productive, have fewer casualties. The cover of a false betrothal, however, cannot be maintained indefinitely.”

A maid knocked and entered just then, and deposited the tea tray on the table in front of Charlotte. After she left, several minutes were taken up by the ritual of passing the plate of cakes and making sure that everyone had a cup of tea to their liking.

Her mood was boosted by the fact that Lord Q had not dismissed her intentions out of hand. She need only decide what to do when her engagement with Alistair ended, as it must inevitably.

She paused, the teacup halfway to her mouth. End her engagement to Alistair.

That had been the plan all along, of course. Nothing had changed. There was no reason to follow it through to the conclusion Alistair envisioned—their marriage. He
did not truly want to be a spy, and she did not truly want to be a wife.

Not even Alistair’s wife.

Not even with the potential for a lifetime of heaven-shattering experiences like last night. Not even to an open-minded man brave enough to let her drive his phaeton, someone charming enough to make her and Hermione giggle like silly schoolgirls.

She resolutely ignored the lump that formed in the pit of her stomach.

Steven gave their report to Lord Q to read while they were all munching on cakes and sipping tea.

From the thunderous expression on her brother’s face, she knew he would try to continue the conversation again later, in private. She determinedly concentrated on the delicious pastry in her hand. At least, she assumed it was delicious. It may as well have been made of ash.

Lord Q set aside the report. “The first question we must address, gentlemen, and Miss Parnell, is how to proceed in regards to the snuffbox and letter.” He refilled his teacup. “You are confident the items are not at Toussaint’s gaming hell?”

“Oui.”

“We managed a rather thorough search, even before the altercation in the alley.”

Charlotte set down her unfinished cake. “If I were Toussaint, I would now take the item from wherever it was hidden last night and move it to the gaming hell.”

Steven shook his head. “He thinks he’s got rid of the only outsider who knew it was at his town house. He’d believe the town house is the safest place to keep it.”

“But someone has tried to break in there already,” Gauthier said. “The one place no one has disturbed so far is the home of his partner. What is the little rat’s name?”

“Sir Nigel,” Charlotte offered. “I don’t think Toussaint would trust him enough to let him keep it. If I were Toussaint, I would want such a valuable item on my property, perhaps even on my person, where I could keep a close eye on it.”

Steven shook his head. “No, I agree with Gauthier. Our best option now is to search Sir Nigel’s lodgings. No one would expect such a valuable item to be kept there.” He looked to Gauthier. “I think we should do a bit of exploring this evening, don’t you?”

“Certainement.”

Charlotte folded her arms. “Guineas to green beans it’s not there. I still say it’s at Lost Wages.”

“Both theories have merit,” Lord Q interjected, before the conversation could degenerate into a sibling squall. If he was about to take sides, they were prevented from learning his choice when the drawing room door opened.

“Ah, there you are, Steven.” Aunt Hermione bustled in, untying the ribbons to her bonnet as she walked. “Mrs. Higginbotham was so disappointed you were not in attendance at the Grishams’ ball last night. Please say you’ll—” Now that her bonnet was off she noticed the other men in the room and came to a halt, her expression frozen. The men jumped to their feet.

“Good afternoon, Aunt. Do you remember—”

“Lady Marwood, may I say you look just as ravishing as the last time I saw you.”

“William!” She patted her hair into place and hurried toward Lord Q with a seraphic smile lighting her face such as Charlotte had never before seen. She half expected her aunt to fling herself into the old gent’s arms. “Yes, you may, and there’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

Lord Q raised Hermione’s hand for a courtly kiss.

Steven’s jaw worked several times before he managed to get out a syllable. “I wasn’t aware you two were so well acquainted. Indeed, I wasn’t even sure you would remember him.”

Hermione sat on the sofa and patted the spot beside her. Lord Q obediently sat down. Everyone else shifted until they were seated also. Charlotte gratefully moved to a straight-back chair, where it was easier to perch on the edge of the seat. “True, our first meeting was not an auspicious occasion, God rest your father.”

Charlotte’s puzzlement must have shown.

“I’m afraid I’m the one who was charged with the task of bearing bad news when Sir Blakeney’s ship went down and all hands were lost,” Lord Q explained.

“William’s been such a dear, keeping in contact with me and your mother, Charlotte, seeing how we got on. Until she remarried, of course. He paid several calls on Marianne and me after Helena passed on, but alas, you’d already left to live with Steven in Scotland.”

“Yes. Glasgow was marvelous.” Since she’d only spent a week there in her entire life, she turned her attention to Lord Q before Aunt Hermione could ask any questions about her supposed five-year stay there. “I wasn’t aware
your association went as far back as Steven’s childhood.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank goodness I was visiting Helena that fateful day, or she’d have had no one to comfort her but her baby boy.”

Steven cleared his throat.

“I do believe you are embarrassing the boy,” Lord Q said, looking not the least apologetic.

Charlotte bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning. If she had a laugh at Steven’s expense, he would make her pay for it later. There was already plenty of retribution in store for her deception.

“Madame Marwood, are you enjoying the season’s entertainment?”

Charlotte sent a silent thank-you to Gauthier for steering the subject back to a more neutral topic.

“I must say, it is an entirely different experience now that my little Marianne has been successfully launched. There is but one task left for me, and that is to see my niece blissfully settled. Fortunately, we are already well on our way to that happy ending.” She beamed a smile at Charlotte.

“How nice for you.” Lord Q shifted his adoring gaze from Hermione to raise an eyebrow at Charlotte.

She gave a slight shake of her head. Hermione knew nothing about Steven’s true vocation, or Charlotte’s, and she intended to keep it that way. Forever, if possible.

Distantly, she registered the sound of the door knocker. Should she lay the groundwork for the end of her engagement now, give some hint that the ending in store was not the one Hermione envisioned?

Steven had included her in the most recent developments in the investigation, but only because he’d had no choice. His thoughts on the subject of marriage—specifically hers—had not changed. But as long as they were all gathered like this, he could not express his displeasure at her deception.

Farnham tapped on the open door. “Excuse me, madam, sir.” He turned to Charlotte. “A gentleman caller for you, miss.”

Hermione practically clapped her hands together. “Oh, show him in, show him in!” She gave Charlotte a guilty glance. “Do forgive me, dear, I got carried away. Such a charming young man. I can hardly wait until he’s officially part of the family.”

For the second day in a row, as though thoughts of him had conjured him, Alistair stood in the doorway. Hermione hustled forward and drew him into the room.

“Sir William, may I make known to you Alistair, Viscount Moncreiffe. My future nephew-in-law.”

The men exchanged bows.

“William has been a friend of the family since Steven was in leading strings,” Hermione confided to Alistair sotto voce. “I believe you already know Steven and his friend Monsieur Gauthier,” she continued, louder. Alistair nodded a greeting to Steven and Gauthier.

“This is your Alistair?” Lord Q threw Charlotte a glance before he strode forward, hand extended. “I haven’t seen you since before you went off to Cambridge, lad. How are you?”

“Quite well, sir, thank you.” He looked a bit perplexed to have his hand pumped so enthusiastically.

“I was just sharing a bottle with your father last week, and he was telling me about a paper you presented to The Royal Society. He’s quite proud of you, you know.”

Alistair closed his jaw with an audible click. “To be honest, I didn’t think he was listening when I mentioned the presentation. I was discussing it with my grandfather.”

Charlotte was extremely thankful she was already sitting down. Never in a million years would she have guessed Alistair and Lord Q were already acquainted.

Then again, it shouldn’t be that surprising that Lord Q was acquainted with the family of a duke, given the relatively small size of the ton.

This could work in her favor. Since Q was already acquainted with Alistair’s family…On second thought, his father, the Marquess of Penrith, was an unreliable sot, being primarily concerned with lifting skirts and emptying bottles. Surely Lord Q wouldn’t paint Alistair with the same brush as his father?

Lord Q sat back down on the sofa, obligingly beside Hermione, leaving only the chair next to Charlotte for Alistair. “Ah, yes, the old feud between Penrith and Keswick. The way you’ve managed to keep the two from throttling each other all these years, you could have a promising career in diplomacy.”

Alistair ducked his chin in a charming display of modesty. “I completely understand their urge to throttle each other, sir, since I often share it.” He smiled at Charlotte, looking at her through his lashes. She fought the sudden urge to throw her arms around him and ask if they could go somewhere private and share a repeat of last night.