Masquerading the Marquess (17 page)

He felt the first inkling of fear.

James turned and saw Terrence Smith, a man he had seen with Calliope at ton functions, standing in the hallway. Smith tried to appear as if he
were
waiting for someone, but he wasn’t doing a very fine job of it.

James decided to ignore him and proceed toward the first floor. He turned the corner leading to the steps and nearly collided with a group of people in the otherwise deserted hall. Calliope was in the center, surrounded by admirers. One man was grabbing her waist, trying to draw her in for a kiss. She raised a knee to unman him, but James was quicker. He sent the man flying neatly into the banister. The man swayed before sagging to the ground. James thought he should be commended on not launching the man over the railing and dirtying the floor below.

"Gentlemen," he said, removing his neckcloth.

The group quickly
dispersed,
hurried apologies and forgotten meetings spewing from their lips.

The man on the ground stumbled after them.

"What were you doing?" James demanded after the men disappeared.

She shot him a malevolent look and attempted to sweep past. He took her by the arm and started to question her again when a couple emerged from a box. He loosened his grip but firmly pulled her toward the stairs and theater exit.

"Release me," she gritted.

He did so only after they had moved into the brisk night air. He motioned her forward, and though she visibly bristled, she stepped inside the ever-ready carriage. Once there she slid less than gracefully into her seat and focused her gaze on the wall. He took the seat across from her.

"Do I have to remind you we were not there for you to actually solicit a new protector?"

She turned and her eyes shot daggers so sharp he had to resist the urge to check
himself
for wounds.

"No, my lord, I think I am quite capable of figuring that out myself."

·

"So, what were you doing?"

Her lips tightened and her hands balled in her lap, "I was attempting to gather information concerning our problem and to fend off my so-called new prospects at the same time."

"What did you learn?"

She gave him a fulminating glare. "
That
men are animals, just like I’ve always known."

Amusement swept through him, washing away some of the tension. "Dear, you have chosen to deal with males for a living. In a way that brings out our worst manners and qualities, I should add. Did you expect anything else?"

She sighed and dissolved into the seat. "I keep hoping, for some reason."

He frowned but she continued, "I conversed with four people on the list during intermission. Lord Roth, the only gentleman in the bunch, asked far too many questions about Stephen. Mr. Ternberry has developed quite an interest in our relationship. Lord Pettigrew is a lecherous bulldog, and there is something guarded in his eyes. I’m sure he is searching for something. Lord Holt asked enigmatic questions as usual, but none of them were explicitly about Stephen. And there are about ten others who aren’t on the list who were extremely nosy and pushy." She ticked them off on her fingers in quick succession.

James was a bit taken aback. "Quite a good start, actually."

She must have heard the surprise in his voice because she shot him a long-suffering look. "You will find I am a decent observer, my lord. I’ve had if a great deal of experience."

James nodded, already thinking about phase two of their plan. "By the way, Terrence Smith was standing near the box. Is he privy to your disguise?"

"No.
" She
paused. "But I found it unnerving to see Terrence at the opera tonight. I don’t think he recognized me as Margaret Stafford, but he was one of the few members of the ton with whom I regularly spoke. Put me off my game a little bit to see him."

The last part sidetracked him. "Not too well treated in the ton, were you? Is that the reason you switched venues?"

She didn’t look at him, but answered, "You should know, my lord. You were one of the worst."

His conscience reared, but he firmly repressed it. "I still question your purpose in being the dowdy Margaret Stafford. If I had known what a gorgeous mistress I could have made of
you,
be assured I would have swooped in long before Stephen."

Outrage bloomed on her face and angry spots of color appeared. "You have some nerve. I cannot fathom why I continue to waste my time speaking with you. We can conduct this investigation with limited conversation. In fact, I mean to not talk--" Her voice broke off abruptly as he grabbed her right leg and hoisted it on his lap.

" Stop
that. Put my leg down."

He ignored her and pulled off her slipper, massaging the sole of her foot, her ankle and calf.

"This is totally improper.
Stop."
She reached forward, trying to pull her leg down, but he casually pushed her back into her seat. She sputtered. He smiled.

"Relax, Miss Minton."

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He continued to massage her foot. The rhythm of the carriage was lulling. He felt the change in her body as she eased into the cushion. He picked up her other foot and gave it the same treatment. She closed her eyes and a slight sigh escaped from her lips.

Her blissful sigh caused him to stop his ministrations. The air was feeling a tad warm. It was time to get control of the situation again.

"Calliope—"

The coach hit a bump and because of the precarious way she was positioned she bounced right off the seat. He leaned forward and caught her before she landed on the floor.

She gave a startled laugh and looked up at him.

He looked into her intense eyes and lowered his lips to hers. All thought of gaining control of the situation was gone.

She tasted like mint and smelled like lavender. Lavender and what else? Without breaking the kiss, he pulled her onto his lap and ran his right hand along the nape of her neck, tugging off her wig. He moved his fingers through her hair, releasing the pins and pulling her closer. She shivered but returned the embrace and kiss wholeheartedly.

He deepened the kiss and was lost.

She was lost. All rational thoughts had flown from Calliope’s mind the minute their lips touched. The pleasant feeling that had imbued her during the massage turned into a raging inferno. His hands stroked her scalp until her hair tumbled over her shoulders. His fingers trailed down the tendrils, skimming her bodice.

"My god, you’re beautiful."

A small but sharp voice in her brain sounded an alarm, but she ignored it. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. James reclined in the seat and drew her on top of him. Heat radiated from him and she was suffused with it.

Her body screamed for more. She pressed herself against him, pushing him back farther, and felt his body’s hard response. His hands moved to her legs and began a slow ascent, bunching the wispy blue material of her dress as they progressed.
The heat, oh, the heat.
She thought she might expire from it.

His caress reached her thighs and the coach slowed.

She lifted her head. There was hunger in his eyes.
Desire and something more.
Her breath released in a whoosh. "Oh, lord." Reality came crashing down on Calliope.

She pushed away from him and awkwardly fell back to her seat, cursing her folly. What had possessed her to act with such abandon? Head low and trying to conceal her mortification and regain a semblance of dignity, she gathered her wig and several hairpins and straightened her gown. Angelford sat motionless, his face inscrutable, as he watched her right herself.

The coach stopped and just as Calliope stuck the last pin in her hair, the door opened.

The footman assisted Calliope from the carriage and she fled toward the townhouse without a backward glance. Only after she was safely inside did she peek out the window. The carriage disappeared down the street.

What must he be thinking? What had she been thinking?

"
Cal
?"

Calliope let out a small shriek and turned to see Deirdre staring at her.

"
Dee
! You nearly scared me to death. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that sending a note with a bunch of mishmash doesn’t equal a visit. You said you were coming over, need I remind you?"

Calliope smoothed her mussed skirts.

"Oh,
Dee
,..
I’m sorry. I got caught up in work after making sure you all were safe."

Dee
frowned. "That we were all safe?"

Damn him for not letting her tell the family. "I heard there was a sickness going around. I wanted to make sure that none of you had caught it."

"Sickness?
So where did you go tonight?"

"Oh, to the opera."

"And where’s Stephen?" Deirdre peeked out the window. Stephen usually came inside after evening events. "Did he explain his absence last night?"

"He sent his apologies for not attending the masquerade and was unable to make it this evening. He sent Angelford to accompany me." Lie upon lie piled upon her already heavy heart.

Deirdre looked her over and a satisfied smile appeared on her face.
"Angelford?
How interesting. I see you’re having fun with this endeavor. "

Calliope frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Deirdre’s smile increased but she said nothing.

Calliope shrugged and moved toward the stairs, eager to rid herself of the night’s raiment. She could hear Deirdre following behind her. Something about the cat-ate-the-cream smile that adorned her sister’s
face
spelled trouble. "Stephen was unavailable and I needed an escort. That’s all there is to it."

There was a significant pause before her sister replied, "Yes, and I suppose that explains why your wig is on backwards."

The cheery morning sun sprayed the disaster area with golden light.

Now, where was her hairbrush?

It had been here only a moment ago.

Calliope tossed some of the clothes that littered the floor into the air. No brush. She tried another pile.
Still no brush.

Deirdre must have hidden it somewhere before she left.

Grumbling, Calliope got down on her knees and looked under the bed. Empty.

Closet floor?
Only clothes.

Well, she might as well dress before he arrived.

Her face felt warm. Of course she should dress before he arrived; that wasn’t what she had meant.

Calliope stepped over a pile of garments and reached for an enticing sapphire morning dress, one of the only ones that had been spared in her frenzy. She touched the delicate material and then snapped her hand back as if scalded. The fine-spun cloth fluttered to the floor with the pillaged masses.

No, she had better wear the dowdy gray dress, the one with the really high neck and demure lines.

Before she could change her mind, she stepped into the staid dress.

Now, where was her brush?

A brisk knock resounded through the house and Grimmond’s voice at the front door announced the arrival of Angelford. Calliope checked the clock. It had just turned
noon
, and she had whittled the morning away.

She ran to the mirror for one last check. Her hairbrush was lying on top of the dressing table, mocking her. Calliope snatched it up and dragged it through her locks, wondering for the thousandth time what was wrong with her.

What would he say? She descended the stairs at an admirably calm clip and headed for the library.

Angelford was sitting behind
her
desk. The uncertainty was replaced with irritation.

"Good day, my lord. Please, make yourself right at home."

He looked up and grimaced at her frumpy dress. His eyes then surveyed her face and he paused for a moment, his face as inscrutable as it had been in the carriage the night before. And then he smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Minton. I intend to. Please be seated." He motioned to the guest chair and she resisted the urge to stab him with her letter opener, which was opportunistically placed on the edge of her desk. He must have followed her gaze because he picked up the opener, whispered something that sounded like
touché
and moved it out of reach.

"Your eyes look a bit glazed. Didn’t you sleep well?" His voice was low and lazy.

.

"I slept fine. Why shouldn’t I have?"

"I won’t apologize for what happened last night in the coach, because I enjoyed our interlude and so did you. My only regret is that the ride was over too fast. One day soon that won’t be the case."

All available rejoinders scattered in her head and she blushed.

In the blink of an eye, he switched from seductive lover to businessman. In front of Angelford lay a stack of papers. He selected the top sheet and pushed it toward her. She perused it, noting that it was a duplicate of the list they had found last evening, with additional names added to the bottom.

James reached into his pocket and donned spectacles. "It’s the word
Unknown
on that list that bothers me."

Calliope gazed at the spectacles covering his thick lashes and was surprised to see how much more approachable he looked.

"I never knew you needed glasses."

He looked up from the page.
"Only for reading.
My eyes tend to get tired after looking at the illegible scrawl of most of my acquaintances."

She harrumphed. "I thought that men of your station employed little old men as secretaries so they didn’t have to dirty their hands with correspondence."

A faint smile appeared.
" Feeling
better, are we?"

She crossed her arms.

He shuffled through more papers and alternately pulled out sheets to add to her pile. "Consider this research material.
A little background on some of our prime suspects."

She looked at his elegantly rugged profile,
then
peered at the mound before her, making no move to touch it.

"Well, Miss Minton, if you are not up to the task of reading through a couple of background briefs . . ."

The challenge was apparent in his chiding tone.

"Your backhanded challenges don’t work on me, my lord." She belied her words by reaching forward and lifting the pile. He smiled victoriously and she merely raised an eyebrow. "Someone has to be mature around here."

His smile widened and she resisted the urge to hurl the papers. What was it about him that made her want to do him bodily harm?

"Wool-gathering?"

She shot him a dark look and began reading a brief on Mr. Merriweather.

"Merriweather died three years ago. An untimely death, so we may want to inspect him more closely. I thought we should leave no stone unturned," he said.

Calliope agreed absently, something on the sheet catching her attention. "Why would a part-time wrecker get involved with the French?"

He looked up with interest. "Well, it’s like this ...."

They continued discussing the documents into the late afternoon. They were making only a small dent in the piles and they still needed to go over Stephen’s extensive collecting and business interests.

·

Calliope swallowed a yawn. She needed to stretch, but there was so much more to do and she had vowed to be the last to quit.

James stood. "Why don’t we take some air? Do us both some good. Do you like Gunter’s?"

Her interest perked and she looked up. "Yes, I love ices."

"Good. Grab a wrap and let’s go."

"I’ll be back shortly," Calliope called as she sprinted up the stairs. She quickly changed out of the unflattering dress, donned a light blue day dress that was draped over a chair and added a light gray pelisse. Makeup and wig in place, she skipped down the stairs to where James was waiting in the entryway. He looked at her wig in distaste, but offered her his arm.

They set off at a quick pace toward
Berkeley Square
in James’s curricle. The light breeze felt cool on her cheeks and she was glad she had chosen to wear the pelisse. It was not the fashionable hour to be out, but there were a number of vehicles whose occupants paused to converse. Calliope sighed inwardly as she forced herself to flirt and dissemble with the various men they encountered.

After what seemed an inordinately long period of time, they arrived at Gunter’s Tea Shop, on the east side of the square. James stopped the bays under a spreading maple tree across the street. As Calliope stood, James put a restraining hand on her arm.

"There’s no need to rise, my dear
. "

Calliope sank back into the seat, embarrassed for forgetting etiquette. In the past she had strolled into Gunter’s to buy an ice, whereas the beau monde did not find this necessary. Ices were brought to them. It was considered de rigueur.

The square was busy as usual. Vehicles of all styles and speeds occupied the lanes. Participants were sightseeing or vying to be seen. Gossiping matrons in slowly plodding chaises were passed by young bucks in high-seated phaetons weaving precariously through the traffic. Smartly dressed couples lounging in. landaus yielded to spirited horsemen who raced irreverently down the path. It was a wonderful spectator sport.