Unmasking the Spy (21 page)

“Shh,” he said in a desperate
voice. “Calm down. He’s gone. Why are you crying? You don’t really have to
dance with me. I made that up.”

Miss Kinsey hiccupped and dropped
her hands from her face, gracing him with a wavering smile. “Thank you,” she
whispered. “I don’t know what – no, I do know. That louse.”

For a moment, Ian was sure the
sobs were about to start anew, but she bit her lip, fisted her hands in her
lap, and stared over his shoulder without making eye contact. He reached out to
pat her shoulder but dropped his hand back to his side without touching her. He
was never sure how women would react to empathy.

Take his sisters, for example. Mavis
would slug him in the chest if he tried to comfort her. Julia would start
crying copious tears all over again, Carlotta would turn up her nose and affect
a stoic demeanor, and Poppy would launch herself into his arms and use his
cravat as a handkerchief. Ian couldn’t be certain in which manner Miss Kinsey
was more prone to react, but he wasn’t sure he preferred any of them.

He shifted his weight from foot
to foot, not wanting to stare at her but also not wanting to appear as though
he were ignoring her, should curious eyes be watching them. Hoping his next
words didn’t set her off on a fresh bout of weeping, Ian murmured, “Try to stay
calm, Alicia. It wasn’t your fault.”

Big hazel eyes stared at him,
framed with thick brown lashes and glimmering with unshed tears. For the first
time, Ian realized she wasn’t trembling due to shock or fear. She was furious.
“Yes it is,” she answered, her fists still balled in her lap. “It
is
my
fault.”

Ian offered a gentle smile. “It didn’t look to me
like you were the aggressor. You appeared the victim, fiancée or not. I’m sorry
I didn’t arrive sooner.”

A moue crossed her face but she
didn’t look away. “He’s not my fiancé. He just wants to be. And if you hadn’t
been there, I… I think he’d have gotten his wish.”

Ian blinked. That explained the
ill-bred attempt at a forced kiss in a public area. Ian shook his head. Just
when he thought his opinion of Larouche couldn’t sink any lower.

“Well… although it may be your
fault that you won’t promise yourself to him, I for one find such a decision
commendable. I wouldn’t marry him either.”

Her face twitched in a
half-smile, half-sniffle. “Who would?”

“What makes you think you’re in
any way to blame?”

“Because I
know
him. As
soon as I realized we were alone in the garden, I should have punched him in
his fat face and screamed my bloody head off,” she muttered.

Her reactions were much like his
sister Mavis, then. Thank God he hadn’t patted her shoulder.

*          *          *

It wasn’t until the next morning
that Ian realized he’d first-named Alicia Kinsey during their heart-to-heart in
the garden. Against all odds, despite the undeniable truth that she was in fact
a London lady, somewhere during the past two weeks he’d come to think of her as
a friend.

In fact, he was softening toward
the entire family. He’d already arranged to meet Elizabeth again tonight,
despite his better judgment. Or, perhaps, because of it. The more he thought
about Elizabeth, the more he felt Fate had brought them together for a reason.
Once the investigation concluded, he hoped to find some way to make himself
known to her. Perhaps she and a companion would be willing to come to
Heatherley for a time, to see if they might suit.

His damsel in distress would no
doubt be delighted to discover he was a respectable gentleman after all. True,
he was half Irish and without even the wispiest connections to a title, but
nonetheless presentable, of means, family-oriented, and in no desire to embroil
himself in the dizzying whirlwind of London society. With luck, Elizabeth would feel the same, decide he had much to offer and agree to marry him.

Wouldn’t his sisters be surprised
if he really did return from London with a bride! What fun that would be.

A wry expression wrinkled Ian’s
face. The trick, of course, would be in how he explained his misrepresentation
to Elizabeth. If living with four women taught him anything about the female
disposition, Ian knew without a doubt that women did not think well of men’s
deceptions – regardless of the good intent behind the falsehood.

He couldn’t very well just say,
“Oh, and that sick sister? Healthy as a horse. Just needed a little lie in
order to get on your good side. You understand.” No, he would have to tread
carefully with his explanations or risk losing her forever.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” Ian looked up from his
writing desk to see Cobb standing in the doorway.

“You have a caller, sir.”

There could only be one caller.
Ian nodded to Cobb, straightened his desk, and strode down the steps. His
common sense took him directly to the dining room, where he found his friend
seated at one end of the long table, drinking tea and munching biscuits.

“It’s too early for sweets,” Ian
called.

“And a good morning to you, too.
Sit down, sit down. There’s still a few left.”

Ian pulled up a chair and helped
himself to a biscuit while he still could. The way Caspian attacked the serving
dish, he’d be amazed if any crumbs remained.

Once he’d exhausted the supply of
treats, Caspian turned to Ian. “Any news on the Chadwick investigation?”

 “Nothing, nothing, and more
nothing.” Ian brought Caspian up-to-date on the his search for the items
mentioned in the anonymous note. “The only article I’ve yet to discover is the
alleged vase filled with jewels – and I’m not sure I could find such an item
even if it did exist. Chadwick House is brimming with vases, pottery,
antiquities of every kind.”

Caspian nodded. “As I imagined.
Well done, nonetheless. All clues must be investigated.” He gave a little
shrug. “No sense going back, then.”

Hm. Unless one planned to meet a
passionate, barefoot sprite for an early-hours rendezvous. Ian looked away and
poured himself some tea. “I did find,” he said finally, “someone else in the
house. An aunt.”

“Beatrix Kinsey?”

“No. Someone named Elizabeth. I believe she’s visiting from out of town.”

Caspian shrugged. “Probably from
the Holsworth side of the family.”

“Holsworth?”

“I’m guessing. Nobody knows
anything about them, except that they deal with the world through their
solicitor. Or did.”

“They used to have a solicitor?”

“Mm. This goes back, oh,
twenty-five years or so. Chadwick – then just plain Michael Kinsey, as he
hadn’t yet inherited – brought home a bride. He’d been on some trip, I don’t
remember why, now. Maybe his Grand Tour. Maybe not. In any case, he never did
say where he found Anna Holsworth, just came back from Gretna Green one day
with her on his arm.”

“Chadwick eloped to Scotland?”

Caspian nodded. “And was his
father ever angry! Probably wanted him to marry up. By the time Chadwick became
Baron, rumor had it that the coffers were almost dry. Rumors also circulated
that Anna Holsworth was an orphan, or a runaway, or a woman of questionable
morality, or somesuch. Nothing was ever proven, and since she was as sweet as
could be, she eventually won over most of Society, although she didn’t venture
out much. Little blonde creature. Just as pretty as her daughter.”

“And the relative living in
Chadwick House?”

“I said I don’t know. Let me
finish the story.” Caspian took a large bite from the last biscuit.

“Then finish the story, man! I
know Miss Kinsey is pretty. Now I know her mother was pretty. You said you were
done matchmaking. What does their beauty have to do with anything?”

Grinning, Caspian took a sip of
tea before responding. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but Chadwick
could be a jealous man. Even though they lived in town, he let her out less and
less, until years passed and we didn’t see her at all. Some thought she was
dead. And then, one day, she was.”

“How?”

“Carriage accident. A wheel
popped off and the horses spooked and the next thing anyone knew, there they
were, lying on the ground underneath the twisted wreckage.”

“She and Chadwick?”

“No, she and the solicitor. Both
of them were dead the second they hit the ground. If it weren’t for papers he
was carrying, Chadwick wouldn’t have had the first clue who the man was with
his wife.  Could’ve knocked us all over with a feather when we found out he was
a family solicitor. To
her
family. Her very, very rich family.”

“Did Chadwick inherit a fortune
when she died?”

“Not a cent. There wasn’t a shred
of an address anywhere on the solicitor, and the only name he had to go by was
‘Holsworth’. Wouldn’t it be ironic if after all this time, he finally found one
of the Holsworths, but due to a reversal of fortune, he was now the rich one?”

Ian considered. “I did get the
impression that Elizabeth was a poor relation. She spoke like a lady, but I
haven’t seen her chaperoning Alicia Kinsey anywhere.”

“They’re an odd bunch,” Caspian
said and stood. “And I’ve got another appointment to keep. Thanks for the
biscuits.”

“Anytime. Oh, and Caspian?”

The operative paused halfway to
the door. “Yes?”

Ian walked to the door to see him
out. “Do keep me informed. If you find the thief.”

“Will do.” Caspian gave a sharp
nod.

“And drop in sometime. Even if
there’s no mystery to solve. I’ve always got biscuits – even at Heatherley.”

Caspian flashed a crooked grin
and disappeared out the door without another word.

Alicia crumpled her embroidery in
her lap and threw the ball of cloth into the basket by the side of her chair.
It floated down to drape the rim, lacking any satisfying thuds. Her tense
muscles were trembling far too much to facilitate sewing straight lines. Curse
Louis! If not for Mr. Morrissey, Papa’s permission might have become
irrelevant.

Thank heavens for Mr. Morrissey.
Just as the situation seemed to be spiraling into hell, he’d shown up to save
her. No man had ever rushed to her aid before he’d shown up in London. Of course, she’d never been in quite such a position. He’d certainly been her hero
last night – leaping to her defense and staying with her long after Louis slunk
back under his rock.

Forcing herself into some
semblance of calm, Alicia glanced across the room at Beatrix. Her great-aunt
lounged in a cushiony window seat, ignoring the needle in her hand and gazing
out the window at the bright morning sun.

Oh, why did Louis have to be such
a scabby louse? If all went according to his plan, he’d have had his official
permission to wed her in just three more days, anyway. There was no call for
such a drastic ploy. Alicia slammed her fist on the arm of her chair. Beyond
reprehensible!

The worst of it was the sneaking
suspicion that Papa would side with Louis if she dared to broach the subject.
He’d brush off the entire horrifying scene as harmless stolen kisses from a
future husband. Alicia crossed her arms and glared at the wall. Louis could
think again. She wasn’t going to kiss him and she wasn’t going to marry him.
No, no, no.

Too bad he hadn’t been open to
the thought of finding some other woman to replace her. That had seemed the
best solution all around. Of course, men didn’t take well to ideas they hadn’t
thought up themselves. Perhaps she had erred by suggesting she help, rather
than intimating he could discover a different match on his own.

Lord knew, she’d welcome an
alternative with open arms. She’d hoped Mr. Morrissey might be brought to point
in time, but he seemed uninterested in a romantic relationship. She’d mucked up
that prospect herself, with her silly antics and quick temper. The only man
whose blatant interest and potent desire were strong and unflagging was the one
man she couldn’t even consider.

Rogue.

Now, those were some kisses she’d
welcome with open arms. Alicia sighed and settled further in her chair. He’d
promised to come again tonight, and she couldn’t stand the anticipation. A few
more stolen moments wouldn’t hurt. In fact, if anything could make her forget about
Louis, being in Rogue’s arms ought to do nicely.

Oh, why couldn’t she marry
someone like him? He spoke like a gentleman, but she could hardly drag him
upstairs, masked and mysterious, to meet her father in the middle of the night.
She wished he were a bit more respectable, someone she could meet out in
Society. He need not have a title or money or even lodgings in the City – all
she needed was some way for him to press his suit in a legitimate fashion.
Well, and to do so before Saturday. Alicia let out a little mirthless laugh.

Two weeks ago, she hadn’t had a
suitor in her life. Today, she had one she didn’t want, one she wanted but
couldn’t have, and one who would do but didn’t want her. Dame Fortune was a
strange, capricious force.