The Lady In Question (39 page)

“That remains to be seen,” she snapped. “I want the truth now. All of it.”

“Perhaps if you would calm —”

“Calm? You wish me to be calm? Bloody hell, my housekeeper has killed my husband! I’ve married my butler, and all of my servants are spies! Spies!” Fury shot from her eyes. “I shall never be calm again!”

“Perhaps a glass of brandy will help —” He started toward the door. At once, a hand holding a decanter shot into view in the doorway and Tony grabbed it. Mac stayed discreetly out of sight. And range.

“Brandy? You think brandy will help? A bottle would not be enough to calm me down! I would have to be completely inebriated and unconscious, and even then my lifeless body would still be twitching in anger!”

Mac’s disembodied hand offered two glasses. Tony took them gratefully, moved to a table and poured a glass. “It’s been my experience, in times of great turmoil, brandy helps promote a certain amount of rational thinking, even clarity.”

He cautiously held out a glass. She snatched it from his hand, downed it one swallow and clenched her teeth. “I am
rational.”

Tony carefully took her glass, refilled it and passed it back to her. He had never in his life deliberately tried to get a woman foxed before, but this seemed like a good time to start.

“I am rational,” she said again, emphasizing each word. “And now, my lord viscount-butler-spy, I expect answers. Now!”

“Very well.” He drew a deep breath. He should have rehearsed this, but he had hoped never to have to say it. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“All right, then don’t.” The only way to get through it was just to begin at the beginning. “Last year, eight or so months ago now, my department was involved in an investigation regarding papers —

correspondence, actually — that allegedly detailed dealings during the war between the French and members of an influential British family.”

“I gather you’re talking about my family?”

He nodded. “Specifically about the duke or your father or one of your uncles. At any rate, the papers were offered for purchase. We intended to buy them, but we also needed to learn if they were legitimate. It was decided that one way to do that was to become well acquainted with the family and thereby be welcomed at Effington Hall and elsewhere to be able to investigate without suspicion.”

“This is the most inane thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Admittedly it was not our finest moment, but it did seem to make sense at the time.”

Delia snorted and tossed back the rest of her brandy. “And by
acquainted,
do you mean flirt?

Court?
Seduce?”

“No! Not seduce. Good God, what do you take us for?”

Her eyes widened in outrage.

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “That was a stupid question, but you should know Wilmont was never suppose to go as far as he did. We still don’t know why he married you.”

“Your flattery will quite turn my head, my lord.” She gritted her teeth “Go on.”

“When the packet wrecked, we assumed Wilmont was dead and the papers were lost with him. He was supposed to purchase them while on the boat.”

“You
assumed
he was dead?” Her face paled and she sank down on the sofa. “You
assumed?
Is he then —”

“No, he is dead.” Tony thought it best to omit the suspicion that had briefly arisen that Wilmont was alive. “Mrs. Miller killed him.”

“I still don’t —”

“Wilmont uncovered something else. We didn’t learn of that until recently. We believe he was in possession of a notebook that had nothing to do with the Effington Papers.” He drew his brows together.

“I think now it might have led us to Mrs. Miller and God knows who else.

“Regardless, we believed both the Effington Papers and the notebook were lost in the wreck of the packet. Then we learned Wilmont had been seen with a woman on the docks before the packet sailed, and furthermore that woman had returned to London about the same time you did. We feared she might believe you to un-knowingly or knowingly be in possession of the notebook and thought you might be in danger.”

“So, to protect me, you became my butler and filled my house with spies.” She eyed him coldly and a chill ran up his spine. “Of course, one of them killed my husband and was set, no doubt, to kill me as well.”

“Yes, well, that was unfortunate.” He cringed as he said the words. Even to his ears this whole thing sounded ill-conceived and completely bungled.

“Unfortunate?
Unfortunate?”
Delia laughed, a wrenching sort of mirthless sound. “Is there anything about this that was not unfortunate?”

“Well, yes, I think so,” he said quietly.

“Do you, my Lord Mysterious?” She looked at him for a long moment. Disgust and betrayal shone in her eyes. His heart sank. “I trusted you. I confided in you. I took you into my home. No, I took a dear, sweet old man who doesn’t bloody exist. What were you going to do about him anyway?”

“He was going to die while we were in Italy.”

“How convenient.”

“It seemed like a good idea,” he murmured. “He’d had a good, full life and was going to pass on peacefully, in his sleep.”

“Damned decent of you. I’m surprised you didn’t just throw him off the top of a blasted church.”

Delia shook her head. “I should have known. I should have figured this all out. There were all sorts of clues, weren’t there?”

“Actually, I thought I was rather circumspect.”

She ignored him. “But I did see it, although I disregarded it. I noted a similarity in your eyes despite your spectacles. Your hands were not the hands of an old man, I noticed that as well. And in both guises you referred to yourself as stuffy and narrow-minded. I thought it nothing more than a coincidence. All that should have given you away, but I failed to see it.”

“People never look for what they don’t expect to see.”

“How very
astute
of you, my lord.” Her voice was hard, her words more accusation than observation. “Have you any more words of wisdom you care to share? As viscount or butler or spy?”

“Yes.” He sat down beside her and took her hand. She snatched it away. “I love you, Delia, and I would give my very life if all this had not happened to you. If it would change things, but it won’t. You should know, as well, I have always intended that this be my final assignment. I have a position and responsibilities that I now have to attend to and I want you by my side. As Lady St. Stephens. As my wife.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?” She stared in disbelief. “You have just told me everything I have believed about Charles, about you, about
Gordon,
was a lie. How can I be your wife now? How can I trust you ever again? God help me, how can I trust myself?

“As for love…” She studied him for a moment, and he thought his heart would break at the pain that colored her blue eyes. “I fear it’s as much an illusion as any other appearance of perfection.” She thrust her glass into his hand, got to her feet and started toward the door. He stood at once and followed her. “Delia.”

“I know where your bloody notebook is.”

Chapter 22

“Obviously, I am a better spy than you are.” Disdain rang in Delia’s voice. “But then, from what I’ve seen thus far, that would not take a great deal.”

Delia crossed the hall, snatched an offered candlestick from Mac, gave him a scathing look and went into the library. She moved directly to a section of bookshelves, holding the candle close to scan the titles, then selected a book. She stepped to the desk, set the candle down and flipped the book open. She turned a page or two, then stilled.

“Delia?”

She stared at the book in her hand. “I had quite wanted to be wrong. I think I harbored an odd hope that if I was mistaken about this, then perhaps the rest of the night was a mistake as well and not…real, I suppose. Nothing more than a bad dream, and I could wake up and…” She snapped the book closed and tossed it on the desk. “Here. Take it.”

He picked up the book. It was a volume of Byron’s poems. “This is the book you gave me, isn’t it?”

“No. If you recall, I told you I had another copy. This is
my
copy.” She drew a deep breath.

“Charles gave it to me.”

Tony opened the book and paged through it. A few pages were indeed the works of Byron, but the center section of the volume had been carefully removed and replaced with pages covered with tight lines of handwriting.

“Charles obviously did that
after
we were married. I know it was simply a book of poetry when he gave it to me. I took it with me to the Lake District, but I never opened it again.”

“It’s definitely what Mrs. Miller was looking for,” Tony murmured, his gaze skimming over the script.

“I’m not entirely certain, but it appears to be a list of prominent lords and politicians with notations as to information that can be used to extort money from them or the crown. Apparently the Effingtons weren’t the only targets of this scheme. It will be interesting to see how much of this is legitimate and how much is as fraudulent as the Effington Papers. Regardless, it’s damnably clever.”

“I put the book on the shelf when I came back to London.”

“And as Mrs. Miller had already searched in here, she did not think to search again. Hopefully this will also lead us to whoever Mrs. Miller was working with as well.”

“You have what you want, my lord, I suggest now —”

“Wait, Delia, there’s something else here.” Tony pulled free a folded piece of paper. He read it quickly and regretted doing so. “It’s from Wilmont. Addressed to me, actually.” His stomach clenched and he forced himself to meet her gaze. “In the case of his death.”

“I don’t really care at this point.” Her voice was weary and resigned and caught at his soul.

“Nonetheless, you should hear this. He details Mrs. Miller’s involvement and explains how he came by the notebook —”

“I said I don’t care.”

“And he talks about you.”

She stared at him. “Do I really want to know this?”

“Yes.” It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to say. He knew without question this admission of Wilmont’s might well change everything between himself and the woman he loved. And knew as well she deserved to know what Wilmont had written.

Tony drew a steadying breath and read.

“ ‘As for my wife, she was a mistake I should never have made but would make again. A grand mistake. Or in her words a grand adventure. All too brief and the best of my life. She touched something inside me I thought was long dead.’ ”

Tony forced himself to continue. “ ‘
I
know you wondered why I married her, what had gone awry in our plans. The answer is overwhelming in its very simplicity. I loved her. Pity, I neither told her nor showed her. Indeed, I have not touched her since our first night together. I felt it was imperative to finish this last investigation so I might put this work behind me and start a new life with her, and my thoughts and time were fully occupied to that end. I could not be the husband she should have until then.

“ ‘I leave her my fortune and I leave her you, my friend. See to it she is taken care of. She deserved far better than I gave her.’ ”

Delia stared, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Shock sounded in her voice. “He loved me?”

“So it would seem,” Tony said softly, placing the letter and the book on the desk.

“And his actions were because of me?”

“Delia…” Tony moved toward her.

“Don’t.” She thrust out her hand and stepped back. “Don’t come near me.”

“You are not to blame for what happened to him.”

“I am entirely to blame.” Her voice rose. “He would not have been where he was if not for me. She would not have killed him if it were not for me.”

“No. She killed him because he had found her out.”

“She killed him because he had married me. Because he loved me.” Her voice cracked. “And I did not love him.”

“Delia…” A sense of helplessness swept over him. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do.

“My God, he was so wrong. I did not deserve better than he.” She bit back a sob. “He deserved better than me.”

“Delia, it’s over. The past cannot be undone. Wilmont’s death was a tragedy, but it was not your fault. There was no need for him to finish what he’d been working on. He could have passed it off to someone else. To me, for that matter. He knew that and he knew as well the risks of his work. He died doing what he believed in.”

“He would be alive if not for me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do. I know it here.” She clasped her hand against her heart. “I have never known anything so much as I know this.”

Tony wanted to take her in his arms and console her, assure her that all would be well, but he knew without question she wouldn’t accept his offer of comfort. He feared she would never accept anything from him ever again.

“You have to go on with your life. We have to go on.”

“We?” Anger rang in her voice. “There is no we !
We
are as much a masquerade, as much a deception, as…as Gordon!”

“I’m your husband.”

“Charles was my husband too. And he was your friend.” She clenched her fists by her side and drew a deep shuddering breath. At last she met his gaze. A cold hand squeezed his heart. Her voice was deceptively calm, her eyes cold. “It’s nearly dawn. I want you, and your gang of spies or agents or henchmen or whatever you call them, out of my house with the sunrise.”

His gaze searched hers. “What if I refuse to go?”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll leave.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “For how long?”

“I never want to see you again.” Her voice was steady, her gaze level. Not a touch of emotion showed in her blue eyes. “I want you out of my life.”