The Devil In Disguise (12 page)

Will looked at Carmichael, then looked at his arm, still frozen in space, hovering over the table.

He looked like a damn fool.

“Sit,” Will said, motioning to the chair near him.

“What were you doing?” Carmichael inquired, settling in.

Will lifted the heavy crystal glass to his lips and swallowed, the liquor burning pleasantly down his throat. “Thinking, Carmichael. I can’t recommend it highly enough.”

Carmichael lifted a brow. “Work or pleasure?”

“Both, actually,” Will replied, then half heartedly retrieved the day’s paper from the mahogany side table next to his chair.

“I trust you’re not mixing the two.”

Will took the paper in both hands and opened it wide.

Carmichael called to a footman to bring him a brandy. “You don’t read the paper, Will.”

“I do,” Will replied gruffly.

The liveried servant set Carmichael’s drink on the table and disappeared.

“Give me a moment,” Carmichael said, then took a hearty sip of his brandy, swallowed, paused to consider, and shook his head decisively. “No, you still do not.”

“Bloody hell.”

“You know where we stand on such things. Personal interest has no place in Corinthian business.”

Will dropped the
Times
in his lap and reached for Carmichael’s brandy. “Just a moment, won’t you,” he said before throwing his head back and draining the glass. “Yes, I still do. Now, shall we talk about something else?”

“As you wish.”

Will appreciated Carmichael’s concern, but he could not bring himself to discuss the problem that was Lady Lucinda. Not only would Carmichael likely tell him in great detail why Will’s interest in her was forbidden to an agent, but Will feared he would be disappointed in him. To engage in anything other than what the mission demanded with any asset—which clearly defined Lady Lucinda—was forbidden, but to contemplate relinquishing one’s position in the Corinthians for a woman? The mere thought of surrendering his significant role within the brotherhood for something as inconsequential as love was simply too ridiculous for words. Such things had always mystified Will.

Northrop’s choice of Amelia over his field position was beginning to make some sort of odd sense to Will—and this scared the hell out of him.

Regardless, he knew his duty and all that he owed to the Corinthians, and to Carmichael. To fall short in the eyes of his mentor was too much to risk.

Will roughly folded the paper and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The incident in the park, then.”

“Anything of particular interest?” Carmichael asked.

“No, though he’s doing what I’d expected of him, I’ll give him that,” Will answered. “One attempt and nothing more. Garenne can’t abide failure of any kind.”

Carmichael nodded in acknowledgment. “His next move?”

“He prefers to work alone. He won’t want to hire associates, but considering the mark, he may have to.” Will paused to rub his temples. “Kidnapping a well-protected, prominent member of society is a far different proposition than assassinating an agent in the field. If he chooses to hire assistants, depending upon their number and skill, he could strike at any time. And my guess would be that he’ll choose somewhere less public.”

Carmichael toyed with his gold watch, the engraved head of a lion catching the candle’s light. “You’re comfortable with the number of our men assigned to the situation?”

“He’s not human, old man, so no, not even a thousand agents would put my mind at ease,” Will answered. “But we’ll catch him, that I know for sure.”

“Alive, Will,” Carmichael’s low murmur cautioned. “He’s no good to us dead.”

Will resisted the urge to argue the point, methodically rubbing his temples once more in an attempt to dispel vivid thoughts of just what he would do to Garenne if given half the chance. “Yes, alive. If possible.” He dropped his hand, fixing Carmichael with a hard stare. “If I have to kill him to save Lady Lucinda, I will.”

Carmichael shrugged. “Of course.”

A sudden burst of laughter erupted from the gaming room, the volume and intensity signaling the late hour.

“Now come with me,” Carmichael said in a lighter tone. “I believe there’s a five pound note I’ve need to win back.”

Will stood up from his chair and stretched. “Ever the optimist, Carmichael.”

“Hardly. But I know a thing or two about odds, and you’re bound to hit upon a losing streak one day,” Carmichael answered, making his way to the gaming room just beyond.

“As I said, ever the optimist.”

Lucinda had never dreamed that he would accept her invitation. Iron Will agreeing to attend an assembly at Almack’s? Inconceivable.

But he had. Lucinda now stood with the duke just inside the assembly’s upper rooms within the King Street building that housed Almack’s. They faced Lady Jersey, as she eyed him skeptically from head to toe. No visitors to Almack’s would be admitted tonight without Lady Jersey’s approval.

Lucinda offered the woman a sweet smile when the patroness flicked her a sharp glance before returning her narrowed gaze to the duke. Clearly her perusal was an attempt to find fault with His Grace’s appearance. In truth, his reputation alone should have barred him from the assembly.

But he was obviously escorting Lucinda, a fact that Lady Jersey could not overlook. Lucinda also knew Aunt Victoria had tortured the woman’s mother for years with a particularly juicy bit of gossip involving the countess and an Italian opera singer from their youth. So Lucinda was not terribly surprised that the woman was having a difficult time of it.

Still, Lucinda had demanded that he play by the rules. Which meant he had to comply with the sartorial regulations, which had led to him donning the knee breeches that he currently wore. Trousers would never do at Almack’s and she was beginning to understand why. The cream breeches molded to his legs in a most appealing way,
to say nothing of his—

“Lady Lucinda?”

Lucinda pulled her thoughts from such an inappropriate path and focused on Lady Jersey. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Jersey. Would you be so kind as to repeat your question?”

“I said,” the birdlike woman began, flicking her fingers dismissively in a distinct air of irritation, “that the duke is granted a Stranger’s Ticket for the evening.”

The duke offered Lady Jersey a dazzling smile and bowed. “Lady Jersey, always a pleasure.”

“Hmph,” the woman replied, gesturing for the two to remove themselves.

Lucinda curtsied with just the right mix of deference and serene confidence, then allowed the duke to escort her into the main assembly room, crowded with the cream of society.

“Was it the breeches?” he whispered in her ear. “I’m told I look especially fetching in breeches.” His warm breath brushed her neck as he spoke and her skin prickled, her pulse racing.

Lucinda reined in her shivering nerves, relieved to spot her aunts not far away. She seized the distraction, lifting her fan to gain their attention. “I warn you, Your Grace,” she said as she drew him with her through the throng, “you’d do well to be on your best behavior within the hallowed halls of Almack’s.”

He flashed her a wicked grin. “Must I? Even as pertains to you, Lady Lucinda?”

Her mouth formed an O of surprise. The shocking and, to be perfectly honest, delicious nature of his comment was outrageously pleasing. “Your Grace …” she whispered repressively, trying to restrain the rush of excited curiosity as to his meaning.

“I do adore the way you say that,” he replied huskily, pasting a bored look on his face as they came to stand with her aunts.

“Well, well, Lady Jersey is wiser than I believed her to be,” Victoria said in greeting, eyeing the duke with amusement. “And you, Your Grace, polish up quite well, I must say.”

Will bowed before the aunts then flashed a charming smile. “High praise, indeed, especially from you.”

“Do not become too used to it,” Victoria replied, slyly winking at Lucinda before turning to her sisters. “Ladies, tepid lemonade and abysmal cake first, or straight to the tables?”

Charlotte gave Victoria a chiding look before answering. “The tables, I believe. Bessie, do you have a preference?”

Bessie was far too engrossed in admiring the duke’s breeches to hear Charlotte’s query. The slight smile of appreciation on her face made Lucinda swallow her laughter. She knew just how her aunt felt.

“Aunt Bessie,” Lucinda said a bit more loudly, waving her fan as unobtrusively as possible to gain her aunt’s attention. “Shall we,” she asked, holding out her arm for her aunt.

Bessie pulled her gaze from the duke and took Lucinda’s arm, the entire group moving towards the card room with its gaming tables. “Yes, quite,” she said, then added, “I’m sorry, where are we going?”

“To the tables,” Lucinda replied, then whispered, “Do try to keep up, Aunt.”

“It’s hardly my fault, dear. You are the one that insisted he wear those breeches,” Bessie answered in a hushed tone, the smile returning to her lips.

“Fair enough.”

They were, in a word, dangerous. Will now knew what the Furies did to pass the time. No sewing or needlepoint, painting or reading for this trio. No, clearly the three habitually played cards well into the wee hours, if their current individual winning streaks were any indication. Will looked out at his fellow five-card loo players and sighed. “Poor bastards,” he said under his breath, watching the Marquess of Billingham accept his loss and Charlotte’s latest win with as much grace as he could muster.

“Did you say something?” Lady Lucinda asked softly, her eyebrow arched in a most attractive way.

“You knew, and yet you did not warn me,” he murmured, bending his head toward her, the intoxicating scent of her skin mingling with the heated air.

She merely smiled in response. Will existed in a simmering state of arousal in her presence and the wicked curve of her lips badly threatened his control.

“You brought me here for this very reason, didn’t you?” he asked, leaning in closer. He was much taller than she was, and seated this close, the sight of her breasts as they rose and fell more rapidly in time with her quickened breathing did little to ease his current state. The faster flutter of her pulse beating at the base of her throat only heightened his desire. “It wasn’t enough to watch poor Billingham fall to the Furies. You wanted to embarrass Iron Will.”

Across the table, Billingham’s wife tapped him on the shoulder and the marquess reluctantly stood, vacating his chair to stroll off with his spouse.

Lady Lucinda gently blew out a breath, then folded her hands in her lap. “Come now, it’s all in good fun,” she responded, her teasing tone laced with desire.

“Is it fun you’re after, then?” Will asked softly, resting his hand on the curve of her knee beneath cover of the table. “Be careful what you wish for.”

She turned toward him and licked her lips before speaking, the sight of her tongue urging Will on. “Are you warning me?”

“Good evening, all.”

Will turned abruptly to see Lady Northrop slipping into the marquess’s abandoned chair, Northrop standing just behind.

Lady Lucinda smiled in welcome and greeted her friend. “Amelia, Lord Northrop, how lovely to see you this evening.”

Will nodded to Northrop, rolling his eyes when his fellow Corinthian asked whether this was the duke’s first trip to Almack’s. “Surprisingly, yes,” he answered sarcastically.

“Better late than never, I always say,” came a sultry voice behind Will, the look of distaste on Lady Northrop’s face telling him what he already knew.

“Lady Swindon,” he replied before pushing back his chair and standing. “I hardly expected to see you here this evening.”

She adjusted a glove slowly, eyeing Will with a predatory stare. “You’re not the only one with friends in high places, Your Grace,” she answered, peering down at Lucinda with a disingenuous smile. “Lady Lucinda, you look lovely this evening. I do adore the country influence we’re seeing this year.”

Lady Lucinda acknowledged the thinly veiled insult with a cool glance and brief smile. “You are too kind, Lady Swindon.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She turned her attention to Will, her catlike eyes gleaming with malicious enjoyment. “Perhaps we should query the duke on such matters. We are, after all, particular friends, are we not, Your Grace?”

“Lady Swindon,” Will’s voice was lethal. “I believe it’s time for you to go.” He took hold of her arm and turned her around. “I’ll just deliver Lady Swindon to her carriage and return directly.”

Lady Lucinda nodded in agreement, her face devoid of emotion. “Of course. Good evening, Lady Swindon.”

Will did not bother allowing time for the woman to respond. Arm in arm, he moved her inexorably toward the edge of the room and the exit beyond. “Just what do you think you’re up to, Sarah?” he growled.

She pressed her shoulder against him and leaned in. “Perhaps I should be asking you the same question. Lady Lucinda Grey, really? She’s hardly a match for your particular tastes.”

He marched her down the hall toward the exit, the gilt-edged mirrors lining the walls reflecting their forms. “I hardly think it’s any of your concern.”

She stopped abruptly, taking him by surprise as she yanked him into an alcove, nearly toppling a potted palm in her haste. “You are wrong on that point, Clairemont. And I shall prove it.” Her lips pressed hard against his, her hands reaching beneath his coat to clutch, gripping his waistcoat.

He heard a gasp of dismay just as he savagely wrenched his mouth from hers and pushed Lady Swindon away from him. He turned and nearly cursed aloud.

Lady Lucinda stood in the empty hall, only feet away, her mouth covered with her hand, her eyes filled with emotion.

“Lady Lucinda, this is not what it seems.”

Lady Swindon’s low, satisfied chuckle sent Lady Lucinda running down the hall, toward the other end of the building.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Will growled to Lady Swindon. “Leave. You won’t like what happens if you disobey.”

He saw her eyes widen in sudden fear. Assured she’d not linger, he hastened to catch up with Lady Lucinda. He saw her approach the staircase leading to the upper floor and hesitated, hoping she would slow if she thought he was not in pursuit.