Masquerading the Marquess (11 page)

A door opened down the hallway and closed half a minute later. Another door was opened and closed. Her door was next.

Calliope raised the heavy rod above her head as the door to her room slowly opened. A man’s boot was thrust into the doorway, and the rest of his body followed.

She pulled the cane down with all the strength she could muster, but the rod was easily caught in his hand. She pulled the cane back to jab the intruder in the side, but he yanked her forward.

Calliope found herself hauled unceremoniously against the hard chest of the Marquess of Angelford. He looked down at her, expressionless. Her mouth hung open, she panted slightly. His eyes turned molten and suddenly she was brilliantly aware of every place where his body pressed against her. He continued to melt her with his eyes and for a wild moment she thought he might kiss her. Instead he roughly picked her up and dumped her on the bed.

Her voice came out a little more shrill than usual. "What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to frighten me to death?"

"The next time you want to do harm, might I suggest you employ the second technique first? Sidestepping an unseen jab is more difficult than catching a falling object."

Her heart started to beat at regular intervals again and her initial relief gave way to anger. "And might I suggest that simply calling out
a
 
greeting
or knocking at the door, which is the proper way to enter one’s house, might save us both the trouble?" She caught her breath and puckered her brow. "Why are you here in the first place?"

He ignored her question and looked around her room. "Going somewhere?"

She resisted the urge to bean him with the cane, not that she would succeed in inflicting any damage to his stone head. "That is none of your business. I repeat, why are you here?"

"Where is Stephen?"

She threw out her hands. "I don’t know. He’s not here."

Angelford remained silent, but his narrowed eyes continued to scan the room. Her emotions were so riled she couldn’t quite separate all the feelings, but she recognized irritation. She jerked the coverlet on the bed. "Not here." She stomped over to the closet and yanked it open. Sarcasm dripped from her voice. "Not here either
. "

He walked over to a chair and sat. She couldn’t credit his gall but decided humoring him a bit might speed up his late, uninvited visit.

"Would you like some tea, my lord?
Crumpets, cakes, sandwiches?"

She thought she might have seen the beginnings of a smile, but it was a fleeting impression.

"I need to find Stephen as quickly as possible. Your help would be greatly appreciated." His voice was soft but direct, a voice used to being obeyed.

Calliope was suddenly weary. "My lord, Stephen was supposed to arrive here at nine but hasn’t shown.
l
don’t know where he is, and quite frankly I’m worried."

James surveyed the room. "Why are you packing?"

Calliope couldn’t explain the irrational drive to leave the house as soon as possible. "It seemed a good idea."

James strode to the window and looked out at the street. "Have you had any other visitors tonight?"

.

"No, you are the only unwanted guest this evening."

This time she was sure she caught a brief glimpse of a smile.

"Where is your
staff
?"

"I gave them the evening off
. "

He frowned. "Then I will leave my man with you. Don’t be so foolish again."

He strode from the room, forcing her to run to catch him. "Excuse me? I didn’t ask for your assistance or advice. So you can take 'your man' with you."

He ignored her, and she felt like a small dog nipping at the heels of a mastiff. They reached the front hall. A giant of a man with a scar running down the left side of his face stood at the entrance.

"Finn, stay with—" He looked back at her."—Miss Esmerelda tonight."

She sputtered as he walked out the door.

Calliope looked at the burly man who strongly resembled a tree trunk. "I don’t suppose I can convince you to leave?"

Finn’s only response was a raised brow.

The weight she had carried since
nine o’clock
lifted from her shoulders. Damn Angelford. She shook her head. "Well, might as well get you settled. Would you like something to eat?"

Curdle swore.

He had just managed to melt back into the shadows when the carriage arrived. A fancy and a bruiser had gone inside. Only the fancy had come out. He decided to leave the bruiser unchallenged for the lady and the ring. Patience was not his strong suit, but he would not be able to secure help tonight.

There would be another time.

Soon.

James poured two fingers of scotch and settled into his favorite leather chair. He frowned and took a drink. He had been vaguely uneasy all night, sensing something was wrong. He had been at the club half-heartedly taking money from the other card players when Stephen’s cryptic note appeared. James’s senses had gone on alert.

James had quit the table and headed straight for Stephen’s townhouse. The butler had reported that Stephen had left at
noon
and had not returned. James then headed to Stephen’s second townhouse, the one currently inhabited by that exasperating girl. The frantic look on her features had inflamed
his own
alarm.

James examined Stephen’s note. Unlike his usual small, neat script, the handwriting was large and appeared hastily scrawled:

Come to the house.
Matter of utmost urgency.

It was common for Stephen to disappear into the night; as one of
England
’s best spies he was often called to action. But never like this. Not after leaving a note calling to meet. James was worried. The two of them had fought back-to-back day after day as new recruits in the Peninsular Campaign, saved one another on several occasions and developed a sixth sense when something wasn’t quite right with the other. Although the last few years had seen them in separate assignments, the sense had never faltered.

Where did the girl fit into this mess? An image of her with her hands on her hips, staring at him defiantly in naught but her shift flashed in his mind. His body responded and he ruthlessly pushed the image aside.

She had shown up with Stephen right after he returned from his last mission. James knew she had haunted the ton as a lady’s companion, but why? What secrets did she possess? What did she know?

And where in hell was Stephen?

He hadn’t talked to Stephen as much as usual in the past few weeks because of the girl. He was alternately trying to avoid and nettle her and it was hard to do either when Stephen was around. It was a damn inconvenient time to need information from him.

The girl appeared as concerned and agitated as he. She was a hell of an actress if she was directly involved. His instincts told him her distress was real.

James had left Finn with her as much for her protection as to make sure she didn’t escape.

Tomorrow he would have answers.

Calliope woke at daybreak. Gray light sifted around the drapery panels, casting ghostly patterns on the floor and walls. She pulled the heavy damask fabric aside, and peered across the manicured lawn and into the street. The neighborhood was silent. No birds chirped. The street seemed ominously empty.

Determined to reverse the uneasiness of the gloomy morning and her lingering thoughts from the night before, Calliope donned a bright morning dress and warm shawl. She arranged her wig, applied makeup and finished her toilette.

She headed downstairs to check on her new guard. Finn was in the sitting room to the left of the front door, his posture upright and alert, just as she had left him. Somehow Calliope wasn’t surprised.

"Good morning, Mr. Finn.
Must have been tiring to maintain that position all night."

"Good morning, miss. You’re up rather early. "

"I don’t require much sleep and rather enjoy puttering around in the morning. You look like you could use something with a bit of a warm bite." Calliope nodded to him and left to fix breakfast. The servants had trickled in throughout the late evening and early morning hours, but they had taken her offer to sleep late.

Calliope rubbed her cold hands together. Baking was a treat for her, one she hadn’t been able to indulge in since moving into Stephen’s townhouse. The servants were suspicious enough without her usurping their duties.

She made her selections easily from the well-stocked larder. She laid a fire in the oven, brightening the room, but as she worked with the dough, an uncomfortable silence permeated the kitchen. Every sound echoed and was magnified.

Calliope forced a whistle, but it was nothing like the melodic tunes that came readily when the sun was shining and the air a cheery temperature.

She wished she had invited Finn to join her. She finished quickly. Relieved to vacate the empty kitchen, she carried a tray of warm scones, jam and hot tea into the sitting room. Finn helped himself. His greedy consumption left little doubt her fare was satisfactory.

"What is your position in the Marquess of Angelford’s household, Mr. Finn?"

Finn popped another piece of scone in his mouth and washed it down with some tea. He was stalling.

"Just the odd job here and there, ma’am."

"What type of odd job?"

"Oh, this and that."
He started in on a third scone.

"Your explanation is somewhat vague."

Finn winked. The gesture was odd and softened his scarred and forbidding face. "So are my duties."

The back door opened to the sound of thumping feet and soft voices. Finn set down his cup, rose and stood behind one of Stephen’s large plants near the door. There was a rap on the panel.

"Yes?" Calliope asked.

The door slowly opened and Grimmond appeared.

"The
staff have
returned to their posts, miss. I trust everything went well in our absence? Cook noticed someone had warmed the ovens, and may I say the smell is divine." His gaze encompassed the tray on the table.
"Would you care for anything more?"

"Everything is fine, Grimmond, much as I said it would be."

"Very well, miss. I will be in the front parlor should you need me. I will have one of the maids come in a bit later to clear the dishes."

He had seen the two plates but hadn’t
flickered
as much as an eyelash in response. Stephen had confessed their ruse to Grimmond and she was suddenly glad. "Thank you, Grimmond."

He retreated, closing the door behind him.

Finn emerged from behind the door and snatched the last scone. "I will leave as soon as I have a last look around the property, miss."

He patted her on the shoulder before exiting the room. It was an unexpected but reassuring gesture.

The bustle of the servants sounded through the house and Calliope walked to the library, her sanctuary. Soft, luxurious sofas were placed on either side of the fireplace and small tables and comfortable upholstered chairs in deep crimson and green velvet were drawn into the room to accommodate conversation circles. Stephen’s multitude of plants enhanced the ambience.

A ray of sunshine peeked through the diamond-paned windows. The street had begun to fill with vendors and early strollers. Soft rays stroked Calliope’s cheek as she pressed it against the cool glass. The world once again seemed normal.

Calliope shook her head, feeling foolish about her frightened thoughts from the previous night.

Grimmond appeared in the open doorway. "A card for you, miss."

Calliope accepted the card. "Grimmond, were things well at the other townhouse? Did you speak with Stephen?"

"The house was not up to its usual standard, but the
staff
has promised to do better. I was unable to speak with Mr. Chalmers."

"He was in residence?"

"Not while I was present. However, he had been there earlier in the day. "

Calliope nodded and Grimmond shut the door. She opened the note.

Calliope,

I apologize for missing you last night. I will make it up to you this eve.

Stephen

The words were written in a careless script. He must have been in a hurry.

She didn’t know what had occupied him last night, but at the masquerade tonight they would share a good laugh at her misgivings. She smiled softly yet couldn’t shrug the lingering unease.

Calliope had been looking forward to the masquerade. The affair was bound to provide countless opportunities for her pen to fly.

Stephen had suggested they attend separately, and in the spirit of the event attempt to discern each other’s identity.

Perhaps she would even see Angelford. An image of him pulling her into his arms popped into her head. Her skin tingled. Calliope shook her head to clear the thought and sternly reminded herself that she didn’t even like the man.

James was ushered into Holt’s townhouse as Mr. Ronald Ternberry was exiting.

"Good morning, Angelford," Ternberry said, "I wasn’t aware you had scheduled an appointment with Lord Holt today."

"I wasn’t under the impression I was required to go through you to visit
. "

James stepped past Holt’s banal secretary, not waiting for a response. Ternberry had an exaggerated notion of his own importance and probably assumed James would consult him next time.

Holt was seated at his desk and rose when James entered his study. The older man didn’t appear surprised to see James, although his words belied it.

"
Angelford,
didn’t expect to see you here until our meeting next week."

"Thought I’d stop by to see how the debriefing went yesterday."

"Nothing out of the ordinary.
Chalmers said he filled you in on the details this past week."

"Yes, we discussed it the other night, although I would like to have been present at the meeting."

Holt stroked his chin and sat. "I figured as much, but needed you to look into the trouble we are having in the north with the smugglers. Ternberry will send you the notes from Chalmers’s debrief."

"Have you put Stephen onto something new?"

Holt nodded. "Chalmers is doing some extended work and Roth is nosing into another matter for me. Otherwise, we’re in a bit of a lull."

Lull?
If there were ever a lull, Holt would probably shoot himself like Castlereagh had. The man thrived on intrigue and titanic schemes, and where there were none, he created them.

"Stephen didn’t mention he was leaving again so soon," James said.

"He wasn’t supposed to." Holt smiled.

Holt had been in charge of the unit for fifteen years and was a tight-lipped soul. James was the same way, but found it an annoying trait in others. He didn’t expect Holt to elaborate, although if he pushed, Holt would probably relent. But something still didn’t feel right. The hesitation held him back from mentioning Stephen’s note or pushing the matter.

"Well, then, good day. I will see you next week."

Holt nodded, returning his attention to the papers on his desk as James let himself out.

"How invigorating.
I swear the new play has made me a hermit. It’s time I had a little fun."

Calliope smiled. Deirdre had been chattering for the past hour.

"I’m glad you are going,
Dee
. Someday I will l get you to quit the stage and collaborate with me."

"La, if it means being squired about by men who look and act like Stephen, count me in."

Calliope chuckled as she slid the final pin into the mass of raven hair piled on top of Deirdre’s head.

Stephen had procured an invitation for Deirdre to attend the masquerade as well. Only Robert would be missing from their foursome. Regrettably, he had accepted an invitation to the country for two days of hunting.

It was a shame Robert would not be present. A masquerade made it easy to conceal one’s identity, and the four of them would have been able to converse and gallivant quite freely with no one the wiser.

"Mother met Father at a masquerade, you know. It was love at first sight.
Or first masked sight, at least.
"
Dee
laughed. "He swept her out of there before any of the young bucks claimed her. It was quite a daring feat too." Deirdre’s voice rose excitedly as the tale progressed. "Why, he . . ."

Her voice became a pleasant hum in Calliope’s head. Calliope didn’t need to listen to recite the story back in detail. She had heard it many times. In an acting family, storytelling was a beloved pastime.
The more theatrical the yarn, the better.

Calliope’s own adventure at the Killroys’ ball had proven a hit with the family. The story was deemed a "classic" directly after its first telling. She had been asked to retell it more than once in the last few weeks. The seal of approval, which was given when someone else in the family retold a story, had come just last week when the youngest Daly boy decided to embellish the tale.

". . . and then she slapped him for taking liberties. Ah, but she was really hoping he would take them again. And so he . . ." Deirdre blithely continued.

Calliope arranged Deirdre’s mask and perched a jaunty feather in her upswept hair. She glanced critically in the mirror, trying to see if she had missed anything. Deirdre was gowned in green and gold, a devastating combination with her dark hair, dark eyes and fair skin. She looked gorgeous. Calliope couldn’t wait for the reaction.

Her own outfit consisted of a smartly cut black and red costume with a domino. Deirdre and she had dressed differently, but with the goal to attract attention together. She was confident they would succeed.

Deirdre heaved a dramatic sigh. Always the performer, she placed a hand upon her chest. ". . . And then they were married.
Such a splendid ending to a wonderful tale."

"Marriage is always a nice way to end such tales."

Deirdre tried to hide her face in a powder puff, but Calliope saw the abashed look spread on her face and was immediately contrite. It wasn’t Deirdre’s fault that Calliope’s parents had never married.