Unmasking the Spy (25 page)

That is, if he married her at
all.

Alicia glanced around the room
for the closest clock. It was nearing nine o’clock and he had not yet arrived.
What if he’d left to go back to wherever he came from, without a single thought
to her social ruin? Alicia straightened. What if he did come, but Papa revoked
her dowry as he’d threatened, thus changing Mr. Morrissey’s mind and leaving
her a spinster until the end of her days? Alicia banged the back of her head
against the chair. She’d mucked things up this time. Rogue wouldn’t want her
either if he thought for a moment she’d be just as free with her attentions to
any gentleman who squired her into an empty room.

She was bound to be alone for the
rest of her life.

The sharp sound of a brass
knocker rapping against the front door startled Alicia out of her
downward-spiraling reverie. Could it be Rogue, here to present himself to her
father? What luck that would be! Alicia sprang from her chair and half-ran,
half-skipped to the head of the stairs, where she stumbled against the
balustrade when she recognized the familiar face.

Ian Morrissey.

She wouldn’t be a scandal-cursed
spinster, then. Nor would she be marrying for love. From the looks of the
walking-through-hot-coals expression on his face, neither would he.

Alicia tripped down the stairs in
her hurry to reach her father’s office before Papa had a chance to shut the
door, sequestering himself and Mr. Morrissey inside. She sprinted down the
hall, skating into the doorjamb as she slid to a stop. Although Mr. Morrissey
seemed a little shocked at this unseemly behavior, Papa cast his gaze
heavenward and motioned her inside.

“You may as well hear this
conversation as not, daughter. Sit.”

Forcing a false, tremulous smile,
Alicia quickly sat in the nearest straight-backed chair, staring up at both men
with as much calm as she could muster.

Papa turned to Mr. Morrissey. “I
presume I know the reason for your visit this morning.”

Ian flicked a tortured glance
toward Alicia before nodding. “I have come to offer for your daughter.”

Chadwick drummed his fingers
together and gave him a considering look. “You are certain this is what you
want?”

Alicia twitched in her chair and
a flush of affront crept up Mr. Morrissey’s pale face.

“A gentleman can do nothing else,
my lord. The lady’s honor is at stake, and I have had my hand in that regrettable
turn of events. My offer stands.”

“Very well. I am glad to hear
it.”

She was glad to hear it, too.
What was Papa thinking, giving Mr. Morrissey a chance to retract his statement?
Did he still find it so unlikely that someone other than a cousin would deign
to marry his daughter, even in these unfortunate circumstances?

Mr. Morrissey shifted his weight,
looking even more uncomfortable than before. “Shall I publish the banns?”

“No.”

Alicia gaped at her father, who
returned her stare evenly.

“The wedding will be immediate.
This Monday, if you can procure a special license in time.”

Mr. Morrissey took a startled
step backward. “I suppose there is no sense postponing the inevitable,” he
conceded after a disconcerted pause. “I imagine I can visit the Archbishop’s
office yet this morning.”

Chadwick gave a sharp nod and
reached out to shake his hand. “Very well, then. Once that’s taken care of,
send over a note and we will finish our discussion. I’ll make arrangements for
the ceremony.”

Mr. Morrissey flashed another
uncertain glance in Alicia’s direction, made a little bow, and left the room,
seen to the door by a footman. Alicia rose from her chair to face her father.

“What do you mean with an
immediate wedding?” she cried. She had hoped to have weeks, months to plan the
wedding, to give herself an opportunity to make the best of her situation.

“I’ll not condone a celebrated
scandal,” her father replied, finality in his tone. “If Mr. Morrissey had
objected, we would have reached some sort of compromise. How lucky to find him
such an agreeable sort.”

“Lucky?” she gasped, her voice
hoarse with disbelief. “I need more time,” she stammered. “Time to think.”

“For someone who always asks for
time to think, daughter, you never seem to do any actual thinking,” he answered
coldly, exasperation in his eyes. “This state of affairs is your own doing,
Alicia. You are now Mr. Morrissey’s concern.”

*          *          *

Light from the single candle’s
flickering flame reflected in her mirror, casting an odd, fitful glow on
Alicia’s face. Trembling hands affixed another gaily-shaped patch to her cheek.
She’d thought night would never fall and was in high fidgets at the thought of
seeing Rogue. He was unlikely to be pleased at the thought of her marrying
elsewhere. She was less than pleased herself. If she had her way, it wouldn’t
come to that.

Alicia placed her palms flat to
the tabletop and stared into the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself – in more
ways than one.

It would be the height of
rudeness to call off with Mr. Morrissey at this late date. But if Rogue would
still have her, despite the fresh scandal attached to her name, then have her
he shall. He was her one opportunity to choose her own husband, if the offer
still remained. She had to admit, being “caught” alone with another man smacked
of inconstancy, and she hoped he believed her when she explained the
misunderstanding with Mr. Morrissey held nothing but utmost innocence.

One might think crying off from
Rogue would be far easier than doing so with Mr. Morrissey. After all, she
didn’t even know his true name, nor he hers, although she intended to rectify
that oversight this very night. And – pesky detail – he hadn’t yet proposed.

But he wanted her!

He truly, truly wanted her. Not
for her title, for he knew nothing of it. Not for her money, for he thought her
poor. Not for her looks, for she came to him as a silhouette in the darkness.
No, he chose her on nothing more than the merit of her character, and what
could be more seductive than that?

Her character, Alicia had to
admit, which would incur an ever-increasing amount of aspersions if she married
a rogue who was in all likelihood without fortune or connections to recommend
him, and in doing so spurned a very nice man who had only tried to help her, if
in a maladroit manner.

Alicia turned her face from the
mirror, no longer caring to see her image reflected in its glass. Poor Mr.
Morrissey was bound to feel quite ill-used. Oh, why couldn’t life be simpler?
Her one consolation was the knowledge that he’d had no inclination to marry her
without being forced by their unfortunate “discovery”. Perhaps he would be
grateful, or at least quite relieved, to have her remove the unwanted shackle
from ’round his leg.

Sighing, Alicia pushed herself to
her feet. She picked up the candle and set out from her room, heedless of the
light cast by the flame as she headed down the stairs to the library. Lips
curving in a joyless smile, she almost wished she
would
get caught with
Rogue.  Hopefully kissing. Perhaps then Papa and Mr. Morrissey both would be
glad to be rid of her, and at last she could marry for love.

*          *          *

Someone was watching her.

Rogue. Rogue! And she’d fallen
asleep in her chair, like a ninny. Alicia’s eyes flew open, and she lurched out
of her seat to greet him, lips pursed and arms out-flung.

When she saw her father’s
incredulous countenance frowning back at her, she tripped on her own toes and
pitched sideways. She saved herself from landing in an ignominious pile at his
feet by flailing into the nearest bookcase and clutching the shelves for
support.

Sad to say, Papa was not Rogue.
And the unwelcome roiling in her stomach at the angry scowl etched into his
face informed her that he was also Not Pleased.

With a gulp, she righted her weak
limbs in order to stand up straight before him, hyperaware of her disheveled
appearance and the myriad heart-shaped patches peeling from her face. The last
remnants of sleep vanished from her brain, leaving her terribly, horribly,
irrevocably awake.

And Rogue had not come.

“What in the name of the Devil
are you up to?” Chadwick thundered.

The staff members flanking him
cowered backwards, some even fleeing from the room. Alicia found herself
shrinking from his incredulous glare and completely at a loss for words. She
cast a desperate glance over her shoulder, hoping to discover some possible
path of escape, but it was not to be. She still stood in the center of the
library, with her father’s overpowering presence bearing down at her as if he
quite expected a reasonable accounting for her actions.

“Er, sleepwalking?” Alicia
responded, cringing when what she’d hoped was an ingenious answer trembled from
her mouth in question form.

Chadwick narrowed his eyes at her
for an interminable interval before stabbing a finger in her direction.

“Go to your room,” he ordered. “I
don’t even want to know what you think you’re about. What’s more, I don’t
believe I wish to see you at all today, daughter. I am quite at the end of my
patience with you. Go.”

When she stood motionless, unable
to breathe, he advanced further into the room and jabbed his accusative finger
inches from the tip of her nose.

“Now!” he roared.

Alicia jumped, skittered past him
and fled down the hall.

*          *          *

Ian plodded from one end of his
townhouse to the other and back again, feeling like the sorriest devil alive.
Applying for the special license had been a breeze. The only thing that might
have made it easier would’ve been the desire to wed his intended.

When a messenger arrived with a
missive bearing Chadwick’s seal, Ian harbored the foolish hope that Miss Kinsey
had called off the entire thing after all. Ripping the paper in his eagerness
to read the contents, he’d been disappointed to discover the terse message contained
nothing of the sort.

Instead, Chadwick had written to
inform him that he’d been able to procure a space in the church, and if Ian had
no objection, the marriage would take place Monday morning.

Ian, of course, had many
objections. None, however, would extricate him honorably from the undesirable
situation at hand, so a shockingly quick ceremony was just as good as any. Why
put off the inevitable?

Crossing to the fire, Ian
crumpled the paper in his palm and tossed it into the flames. No sense keeping
it handy to read again and again. He was unlikely to forget his impending
nuptials. When he turned from the blaze, Cobb hovered at the entrance to the
room, with a welcome sight standing in the doorway behind him.

“Caspian,” Ian breathed with
feeling. “You have just saved me from myself.”

Cobb bowed and left the room
while Caspian sauntered in to shake hands with Ian. “Why?” he asked, with an
arched eyebrow. “Were you about to hurl your body onto the burning logs?”

“The idea has its appeal,” Ian
answered with a grim smile. “You may be the first to offer me your
felicitations.”

Caspian settled himself in a
chaise longue and met Ian’s eyes. “I heard,” he confessed. “And you may have my
congratulations or my empathy, whichever you prefer. Although I admit I had
matchmaking on my mind when I first introduced you, I am not sure I imagined
the feat accomplished in quite so memorable a manner.”

Ian scowled at his friend. “I do
not,” he said with wounded dignity, “find the situation at all amusing.”

“Just so,” answered Caspian, his
grin dying on his face. “Nor were such tidings the cause for my call.”

With a frown, Ian strode across
the room to sit across from him. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“There has been another theft,”
Caspian replied. “As before, the trail led to London and ran cold.”

“When?”

“Wednesday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I did come to call yesterday,”
Caspian answered, “but was informed that the master was out.”

Ian flashed a brittle smile. “Ah,
yes. If you came in the morning, I was making my offer. If you came in the
afternoon, I was conversing with a clerk at the office for the Archbishop of
Canterbury. If you came in the evening, I was well into my cups and could
hardly have entertained company.”

“Morning,” replied Caspian,
“which is why I tried afternoon today. Although I daresay I would have been
quite entertained had I caught you three sheets to the wind. I don’t believe
I’ve ever seen you drunk.”

Ian rubbed his temples with both
hands. “Believe me,” he muttered. “I’ve got a headache that says I’ll never do
so again.”

He was now locked into matrimony,
and hoped he’d never see Elizabeth again so that his heart could heal and allow
him to make the best of being with Alicia Kinsey. Besides, Elizabeth wouldn’t
have married him anyway once she discovered that doing so would leave a young
woman ruined and unmarriageable, save by fortune hunters that cared only for
her wealth and not a whit for her sensibilities.