Read My Wicked Little Lies Online
Authors: Victoria Alexander
My Wicked Little Lies (4 page)
Chapter 4
T
his was absurd.
his was absurd.
Adrian sat in a hired carriage a discreet distance from the entrance of the British Museum and watched. And waited.
It was, as well, somewhat dishonorable and definitely beneath him. One did not spy on one’s wife. Especially when the wife in question had done nothing to arouse suspicion. Oh, certainly, her manner last night had been unusual, and there had been that comment about how she would have married an adventurous man if she had wished. A comment that still rankled. He, no doubt, just imagined a hint of longing in her voice. Why, he could be adventurous if he wished. She had no idea just how adventurous he could be.
And this morning, when he had asked about her day, she had listed all she intended to do but hadn’t said a word about visiting the museum. Then later, when he had queried Miss DeRochette, she hadn’t mentioned the museum either. Evie lived by her schedule although this could simply have slipped her mind and more than likely did. Admittedly his own mood was such that he could be reading things into her words and behavior that were not present. He would like nothing so much as he would like to be wrong. Pity he was rarely, if ever, wrong.
Regardless, he was behaving like a jealous idiot. He drummed his fingers impatiently on his knee and stared at the broad steps leading to the museum doors. In a rational part of his mind he knew and understood his behavior was ridiculous but knowing did not make it any better. Bloody hell, he’d never imagined he would ever feel jealousy. Now he wondered if it hadn’t been there all along, just below the surface, waiting for the right opportunity to raise its wicked head. Regardless, he didn’t like this one bit. Not the way he felt, nor his reaction to his unfounded suspicions.
It didn’t help matters any that the first time Evie and he had spoken without being in the midst of a crowd of people at a ball or another event, the first time they had spoken alone, had been at the British Museum. They’d arranged to meet here, the one place one could be alone and not be the least bit improper. They had strolled past the remnants of ancient civilizations, the glories of Greece and Rome and Egypt. And surrounded by the past, he’d confirmed what he had already known about his future. About her. They’d talked and laughed and, indeed, joked about any number of younger couples obviously taking advantage of the respectable nature of the museum for relatively private assignations. Not that she was having an assignation now.
Damnation, he wished his father were still alive. He could certainly use some advice regarding women. His valet—Vincent—had always been something of a sounding board about women and any number of things when Adrian had been unmarried. But Adrian was reluctant to discuss the subject of his wife’s possible infidelity with his valet.
Richard, of course, was gone and had never been married anyway. His brother Hugh was a widower, and it seemed somewhat insensitive to speak to Hugh about marital problems. Adrian’s youngest brother Sebastian had only recently married and had mucked up the courtship so badly, Adrian couldn’t think of a worse person to ask for advice.
One would think growing up in a household with a mother, three sisters, and a female cousin would have made him wise to the ways of women. And he’d always thought he was, with the exception perhaps of mothers and sisters and female cousins. And now wives.
No, he did know his wife. And he was being ridiculous. Whatever was bothering her, she would confide in him eventually. He clenched his jaw, and determination coursed through him. He’d wasted enough time sitting here. And what if Evie should discover him? How on earth would he explain this? She would be offended and hurt and furious and would have every right to be. No, enough was enough.
Whatever the problem was, and indeed, there might not be a problem at all that spring and improved weather wouldn’t solve, it would no doubt work itself out. It was only his own boredom that made him think otherwise. Past time to turn his attention to very real problems. He had work of his own to attend to, and he would be late for a meeting if he did not stop this nonsense now. He called an address to the driver and settled back in the seat.
And even if something in the pit of his stomach or the back of his mind screamed all was not right, he would ignore it. His life was far different now than it had been before he’d inherited his title, before he had married. Obviously, his instincts were impaired from lack of use.
And obviously, for once, he was wrong.
This was most annoying.
Evelyn absently toyed with the book-shaped locket at her throat and feigned interest in the sculptures from the ancient Parthenon displayed in the Elgin Room. Not that they weren’t magnificent. She never failed to marvel at the remarkable skill of the artists who had breathed life into cold marble centuries ago. Regardless of where one stood politically or artistically or historically on the question of where these masterpieces should be housed, there was no disputing their beauty. Usually, Evelyn lost herself in admiration and appreciation of marble so expertly sculpted one could almost see the movement of fabric on bodies frozen between one heartbeat and the next. Today, however, she barely noticed. Besides, Celeste was waiting in her carriage. Both women thought caution being the better part of valor, while Evelyn would go to this meeting alone, Celeste would be nearby, as would Davies, her driver, in the event help was needed.
It had been two years since she’d played this game, and she quite resented having to play it at all. This morning a note had arrived from Max along with a small package containing the locket she was now wearing. The locket would identify her to a courier who would bring her further instructions. It was absurd. Max could have simply sent her instructions directly but it wasn’t the manner in which he worked, nor was it the way in which the department worked. It had always seemed rather unnecessary to her, but the philosophy was that the more layers added to contact, the better and safer it was for all concerned. It often meant as well that one hand rarely knew what the other was doing. Such, apparently, was the nature of a clandestine organization run by men. If women had run the department, or the government for that matter, things would no doubt be much more forthright and efficient.
She kept her gaze focused on the frieze depicting the procession of Athenian citizens but, through the corner of her eye, observed the other museum visitors milling about the room, speculating on which one would approach her. It was gratifying to realize she hadn’t lost that particular skill. Indeed it did prove useful on occasion at a social event when one was avoiding an overenthusiastic gossip bent on sharing the latest on-dit or an amorous gentleman who refused to accept she had no interest in betraying her husband with any man let alone one who was obnoxious, overbearing, and old enough to be her grandfather.
She resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently. Now that she was here, she’d prefer to have this over and done with. She would recover the missing file and then, finally and forever, this would be at an end. It wasn’t going to be as easy as she had first assumed. Already today she had committed another of those lies of omission. Which weren’t really lies, regardless of what anyone said. Still, when Adrian had asked about her day and she had failed to mention a stop at the museum, it had felt uncomfortably like a lie.
“I beg your pardon,” a voice behind her said and she turned. An older gentleman held out a small book. “A young man at the door said you had dropped this.”
She glanced at the entry.
“He was on his way out and asked if I would give this to you.”
The book cover was precisely the same design as that on the locket. How clever and overly complicated. Layers, of course. “It is mine. How silly of me not to have noticed that I had dropped it.” She accepted the book with a smile. “I fear I was absorbed in admiration of the sculptures.”
The older man smiled. “Great art will have that effect.”
“Indeed it will. You have my gratitude. I would hate to have lost this.” She paused. “The gentleman who gave it to you, could you tell me what he looked like? I should like to thank him as well.”
“Oh, young, light hair.” The man shook his head. “Rather nondescript really.”
“Of course he would be,” she said under her breath.
“He seemed in somewhat of a hurry. I doubt that you can catch him.”
“Then I shall have to be content with giving you alone my thanks.” She cast him her brightest smile.
“It was entirely my pleasure.” He chuckled. “I do not have the opportunity to do a good deed for a lovely stranger these days. But in my youth ...” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Good day, miss.” He nodded and took his leave.
She resisted the urge to open the book and instead slipped it into her bag. It would not do to let her impatience show. After all, one never knew who might be observing her. Apparently, there was much about playing this game she had not forgotten. She forced herself to circle the room in a leisurely manner, stopping to more closely examine one frieze or another and pausing for several minutes, as she always did, at the now headless depiction of the three Fates. Perhaps it was their majesty in spite of their destruction that appealed to her; there was certainly no debating their beauty. Or more likely, it was their mystery that called to something deep inside her. Now, however, another mystery beckoned. She turned and made her way through the museum to the street.
“Well?” Celeste said as soon as Evelyn had settled in her seat and the carriage had started off.
“Well, I was given this.” She pulled the book out of her bag.
“The cover ...” Her gaze slipped to Evelyn’s locket. “It matches the locket. How very clever.”
“Men do like their toys.”
Celeste nodded. “Indeed, but this particular toy identifies you to the courier and the book to you. And it is a lovely locket.”
“If you like it ...” Evelyn put the book on her lap, unfastened the chain around her neck, and handed the necklace to her friend. “You may have it.”
“Are you sure?” Celeste took the locket. “You may need it again, for another meeting perhaps.”
“Then I shall borrow it from you if necessary. I don’t want it.” She shook her head. “Besides, I should have a difficult time explaining to Adrian a new piece of jewelry that is as personal as a locket.”
“It is personal, isn’t it?”
“Max, no doubt, found that amusing.”
Celeste turned the locket over in her hand. “Did you open it?”
“I tried but it’s either jammed or not designed to open. Regardless, it’s served its purpose.” Evelyn picked up the book. “Oddly enough, the courier didn’t give this to me. An older gentleman said a young man, on his way out of the museum, asked him to deliver the book, saying I had dropped it.”
“Couldn’t the older man have been the courier?”
“Possibly but he never once looked at the locket.”
“You noticed.” Celeste grinned. “I have never been prouder.”
“I wasn’t bad at this, you know.” Irritation sounded in Evelyn’s voice. “I did learn a few helpful things.”
“Of course you did.” Celeste’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. Celeste had worked for the department far longer than Evelyn did and was far more experienced.
Evelyn ignored her. “For whatever reason, the man entrusted with this decided not to approach me directly.”
“How very interesting,” Celeste murmured. “One has to wonder why.”
“Or not read anything of significance into it,” Evelyn said pointedly. “Both answers are tempting. But for now ...” She blew a resigned breath and opened the book.
“What is the title?”
Evelyn leafed through the book one page at a time. “
The Three Musketeers
.”
The Three Musketeers
.”
Celeste snorted. “How original of Sir Maxwell.”
Evelyn paged through the first six chapters. On the seat opposite her, Celeste fiddled with the locket. Midway through the seventh chapter, Evelyn found a piece of paper, neatly folded and tucked tightly against the spine. “This is it.”
She pulled the paper free, opened it, and read.
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What does it say?”
“It’s very brief.” There were only a few lines written in Max’s precise hand. “According to Max’s information, he suspects Lord Dunwell to be in possession of the file.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t say.”
“I mean, why did he have to arrange for the theft, as I assume a viscount wouldn’t hit a man over the head, take something from him, and leave him in a brothel.” Celeste shrugged. “He’s a member of Parliament. Wouldn’t he just ask for the information?”
“One would think, but I doubt a mere request would provide the names he wants. Besides, it would make his interest known.” Evelyn considered the question. “Its illicit acquisition would indicate his motives are not entirely aboveboard.” Her gaze returned to the note. “It says here, if Dunwell has the file, it’s likely to be among his personal papers in his library.”
“I’m not sure I like his use of the word
if
.”
if
.”
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