The Marquess Meets His Match Read online

  Alice waved a hand. “With Lord Wolverton at your side, you have no cause to fret. He’ll protect you.” This time Christian was able to stifle a scowl, but he clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder he didn’t break a tooth. Alice couldn’t suppress her grin. “We’re all so lucky to have him in our midst.”

  “Aren’t you doing it a bit brown, my lady?” Christian could barely paste his society smile on.

  “Not at all.” She gave him her most wide-eyed, innocent look. “But I’m afraid I must hurry back in case my mother needs my assistance.” Normally, the duchess was quite organized and prepared, but since Lady Elizabeth had to bow out of the party so suddenly, the numbers were uneven and her mother had been in a dither all morning. Alice might very well be the calming influence she needed.

  “But I was hoping we could stay a little longer and finish our conversation.” Lord Pembroke kept his voice low, though there was no doubt Christian and Miss Beasley could easily hear him.

  “And I wanted to stay and enjoy the folly as well,” Miss Beasley put in, her lips forming a little pout for Christian’s benefit.

  “Oh, how perfect.” Alice clapped her hands together. “Lord Pembroke, you can stay with Miss Beasley at the folly, so she doesn’t miss out on any of the afternoon's entertainments. Lord Wolverton can row me to shore and escort me to the abbey ruins. We’ll have plenty of time to finish our conversation when you join us.”

  Pembroke started to protest, but Christian immediately stood up. “As you wish, my lady.” He offered his hand to help her stand, which Alice immediately took.

  “Thank you for your assistance, my lord.” She took his arm and turned back to Pembroke. “And for yours.”

  They took their leave and started to move up the path. Christian didn’t say anything at all, as Alice knew he wouldn't, not until they were out of Pembroke’s hearing. As they made their way to the boats, he bent his head toward her. “Have you changed your opinions about his innocence?”

  “Not at all. He confessed to me that his final conversation with Thomas was about an investment they were both involved in, not anything sinister at all. Oh!” She stumbled on the path and Christian caught her, sweeping her to his side and holding her there.

  “Is your ankle paining you?” His eyes searched hers, wanting the truth.

  She closed her eyes and indulged herself by inhaling his familiar scent before she opened them. “A little. But it's nothing.”

  “You ought to be home in bed.” He shook his head. “But I understand why you are out here. Digging for the truth, protecting the Crown. It’s more of a calling than a choice, isn't it?”

  Alice’s mouth fell open. No one had ever articulated what she felt in her heart so clearly. “Exactly.”

  Christian touched her shoulder. “Would it help if I carried you to the boat? You should probably sit as much as possible.”

  Her heart fluttered a bit at the thought of him holding her. She had felt quite safe in his arms when he’d carried her to the horse last night. But she couldn’t be distracted by his closeness. “I’m fine. If we could just slow our pace.”

  He agreed and took her arm once again. She leaned on him, and it did feel good to have that support. “I know you are convinced of Pembroke’s guilt, but once he confessed the whole of his association with Thomas, I am more convinced that he is innocent.”

  “Since it is widely known their conversation was angry and intense, it is only reasonable to suspect that their investment didn’t go well.” Christian spoke slowly, as if he was making connections in his mind.

  Alice’s stomach twisted. “The ship was lost at sea and the cargo sank with it. But Pembroke assured me that Thomas was alive and hiring a hackney when he left. He showed no signs of telling a falsehood through his breathing, tone, or eye movement.”

  “Anyone who betrays his country will be an accomplished liar. And the failed investment gives him a motive for killing, as well as a motive for selling the names of the agents. He must be desperate for funds.” Christian slowed his pace even more. “Do you want him to be innocent because you’ve developed an affection for him?”

  His voice was steady, though his eyes were unreadable. Alice shook her head. “I don’t have to have a tendre for someone to want their name cleared if they are innocent.”

  “Ah, but that very thing could cloud your judgment.” He sounded so sure of himself. It was maddening. Why did men think that a woman couldn’t be in an eligible gentleman’s company without losing her head? Thankfully, they had arrived at the boat, and her need for his support had come to an end.

  “You have no need to worry, my lord. I am well aware of how to do my job.” Alice carefully moved past him and seated herself in the boat.

  What she needed was solid evidence to bring to Christian and her father to prove Lord Pembroke’s innocence once and for all. And to do that, she would have to search his rooms.

  But time was running out. She'd have to do it tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  CHRISTIAN WATCHED ALICE leave the dining room and adjourn to the parlor with the other women. She was listening intently to something Miss Beasley was saying, her hair swept up with little curls framing her face. She was smiling, and her cheeks were pink. He couldn’t stop thinking of how good she’d felt at his side when he’d escorted her to the boat, supporting her so she didn’t put much weight on her injured ankle.

  She fit so well against him. Her show of pique when he’d pressed to know about her feelings for Pembroke had reassured him somewhat, though it was possible her judgment could still possibly be obscured by Pembroke’s attempts to dazzle her. That was why he needed to search Pembroke’s rooms tonight. Alice was so sure of his innocence, and Christian was just as sure of his guilt. Tonight, he was going to prove it one way or the other.

  Pulling his gaze away as the door shut behind her, he went to stand next to the duke. After he’d accepted a glass of port from the footman, he took a small sip. He was going to need his wits about him tonight. The duke acknowledged him, but didn’t stop his conversation with the vicar about attending Sunday services. The duke wore the same expression Alice had, listening intently to the person they were with as if there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Yet, with the duke’s reputation for attention to detail, he had no doubt Alice had also been trained in being aware of everyone around them. Fascinated, Christian watched the duke’s fingers tighten on his drink as his glance flicked toward a man approaching him.

  Pembroke.

  “Your Grace, may I have a private audience with you? I have a matter of importance I’d like to discuss.” Pembroke was clutching his tumbler as if it were a life preserver, but his eyes were wide and hopeful, like an eager hound dog expecting a bone.

  “What is it concerning?” the duke asked carefully, sipping his drink and taking Pembroke’s measure with a practiced stare.

  Pembroke visibly swallowed. “Your Grace, it's concerning your daughter.”

  The room quieted as the men around them moved closer at the sudden tension in the air. The duke glanced at them, then put his drink on a tray. “Let’s take this conversation to my study.”

  An iron band seemed to be squeezing the air out of Christian's lungs. Pembroke having an audience with the duke about Alice was wrong, all wrong. There was no doubt he would ask for permission to formally court her. With the charges being leveled against Pembroke, the duke would likely decline, but Christian couldn’t be sure. Alice was convinced of Pembroke’s innocence. Did the duke share her opinion?

  His hand clenched and unclenched. He had to focus. No matter what Pembroke was planning for Alice, he would be occupied in the duke’s study for a time. This was Christian’s chance to search Pembroke’s rooms. Getting evidence against him was more important then ever.

  Christian ground his teeth and deliberately spilled port on his cravat. “Oh, bother,” he said to Lord Stafford and the vicar, who were still standing nearby. “Excuse me a moment while I go change. It wouldn’t do
to have a stain for the evening entertainment.”

  The men agreed and Christian took his leave. Quietly opening the door the duke and Pembroke had just passed through, he walked down the hallway toward the guest wing. Christian looked at the closed parlor door, where he could hear a murmur of higher-pitched voices and laughter. Had Alice thought of him this evening? Shaking his head, he sternly put away all thoughts of Alice and turned the corner toward the staircase. He should be thinking of Pembroke’s rooms and devising a search plan. He wouldn't have much time.

  As he walked down the hall with the eyes of the Huntingdon ancestors staring at him from their portraits and moved toward the central marble staircase, a sense of belonging washed over him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d had plenty of experience being in situations where he didn’t belong. Like the time he’d spied on enemy troop movements when a French scout had caught him by surprise. Christian had been hustled back to the scout’s superior. Luckily, he hadn’t been in uniform. His stained and torn clothing had helped convince the man that Christian was merely an impoverished Spanish farmer who was too afraid to speak. The little Spanish he knew had solidified his ruse, and they’d let him go.

  Tonight, however, he was a marquess in a duke’s home. He belonged. If he was discovered searching a gentleman’s room, he could say he had business with Pembroke and was merely looking for him. Still, adrenaline pumped through his veins as he climbed the staircase, like a familiar friend he’d thought he left in Spain, but had suddenly joined him again.

  Putting on the mantle of a marquess that he’d learned from his father and brother― both powerful men that no one had dared to trifle with― he strode down the hall to the wing where the guest rooms were, passing his own bedchamber. Pembroke’s was only four doors down. As Christian got closer, however, he noted the lamps near Pembroke’s door were out. Something was wrong. Christian stopped and cautiously moved forward, his senses on alert. Pembroke’s door swung open, and his valet stepped into the hall, startling him. Christian quickly moved back to his own door, as if he were about to go in.

  He turned and met the valet’s gaze, but the man deferentially ducked his head. “My lord.”

  Christian acknowledged the gesture with a quick nod, and the man kept walking. The valet didn’t look back or seem suspicious as he walked toward the servants’ stairs. That had been too close. Christian decided to wait a few moments more before approaching Pembroke’s room again. He unlocked his own bedchamber door and walked in. After pacing the length of the small sitting room half a dozen times, he couldn't wait any longer. Pembroke’s plea to the duke shouldn’t take long. Christian took a deep breath and moved into the corridor, closing his door behind him.

  This was his chance.

  Walking through the darkened corridor, he stood in front of Pembroke’s door and tried the handle. As expected, it was locked. He slipped his lock-picking tools out of his jacket pocket and went to work. He bent close as he manipulated the tumblers until he heard the satisfying click of the lock giving way. After one last look to make sure the hallway was empty, he went inside.

  The chamber was nearly identical to his own, with a small sitting area that led into the sleeping chamber and dressing room. A low fire was burning in Pembroke’s sitting room, though the lamps were lit and the setting sun provided plenty of light. He didn’t give the sitting room much thought. If he were planning to betray his country, he wouldn't leave evidence lying about the sitting room. He’d definitely keep such things close in the bedchamber. If there was time, and he hadn’t found anything in the bedchamber, he’d come back and search here.

  Christian headed for the archway that led to the sleeping area, when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He knew that feeling well and had learned to heed it during the war.

  Someone was watching him.

  Positioning the dagger in his hand, he quickly turned the corner, crouched and ready to pounce.

  “Oh!” Alice was in the corner next to the dressing room, in nearly an identical posture, her dagger at the ready. “It’s you.”

  “What are you doing here?” The sight of her in the room, armed, yet calm, sent a sudden awareness through him, as if he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. She was magnificent. He could hardly tear his gaze away from her bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and her lithe form in a fighting stance.

  But she was taking chances with her safety that drove all his protective impulses forward. He took a few extra seconds putting his dagger back into its sheath to gather his thoughts and calm his pounding heart.

  “What am I doing here?” She arched a brow. “I’m searching for evidence, which I assume you are doing as well.”

  Her knife disappeared into the folds of her skirt. Was the sheath attached to her waist? How did she secure it? Christian was curious, but there wasn’t time to pursue an answer.

  Alice had promptly gone back to searching the room, opening the writing desk drawer in the corner. Christian came up behind her and peered over her shoulder at the contents. “Have you found anything?”

  She shook her head, her curls tickling his nose. “Not yet, but I haven't been here long.” She bent and opened another drawer.

  And she wouldn’t be here a moment longer than she had to, if Christian had anything to say about it. “What excuse did you give to take your leave?”

  She straightened and held out her skirt with a grin. “A torn flounce. It shouldn’t take long to repair.”

  “Clever. Especially since there isn’t much time. If we’re not careful, Pembroke could retire early or want a change of clothes before the entertainment begins, and find us here.” She was in close proximity again, and Christian couldn't help taking a deep breath. Her rosewater scent was intoxicating.

  Steeling himself, he moved away. He’d never had distractions like this on a mission before. He wasn’t a green lad who’d never been in the same room with a beautiful woman, but he couldn’t stop feeling that way when Alice was near. He had to put distance between them.

  “I’ll search the trunk near the bed,” he said, a little too curt.

  Alice barely acknowledged his words with a nod and leaned down to search the very back of the desk drawers with a sweep of her arm. “Fine.” She obviously wasn’t having any trouble concentrating.

  Christian bent to his task, willing to prove that he hadn’t lost the skills required to search a room and leave it exactly the way he’d found it. He opened the trunk lid and set aside Pembroke’s clothes that had been stored inside, careful not to disturb the order or folds, looking for a false bottom. He didn’t find one.

  He had to ask her. “What was your plan if Pembroke came back early? It wouldn’t do for you to be caught in his bedchamber. Your father would have no choice but to give his consent to the marriage. You’d be ruined.” He could hardly bear the thought of her being forced to marry Pembroke. No, he wouldn’t allow it to ever come to that. He pushed the beastly thought away.

  “I won’t be caught. My maid is watching the study and will come and warn me as soon as he leaves.” Her tone was so confident and collected. This obviously wasn’t her first time searching a room. That small fact fascinated him.

  She opened the last drawer and held up a packet of letters. Turning it toward the light, she read the name of the sender. “He writes his mother regularly.”

  “He’s probably hoping to give her good news after his audience with your father.” Christian looked up to see her reaction. Was she anticipating Pembroke’s addresses?

  “I’m sure he is.” She blew a stray hair off of her cheek. “As much as I enjoy our scintillating conversation, perhaps we should focus on dividing the room to search more effectively.”

  “Of course.” Her words felt like he’d jumped into a cold lake. He was an experienced agent acting like this was his first assignment. Pulling his mind to the task at hand, Christian closed the trunk and moved to the bed. His back was to Alice, though no matter what he did, he was still very much aware
of her movements.

  Lifting the mattress, he looked underneath each corner. Nothing. There wasn't anything underneath the bed, either, though he observed how meticulous the duke’s servants were in their work. There wasn’t even any dust. Christian was impressed.

  Alice moved to the small dressing room next to the fireplace. Christian hadn’t found anything in the trunk or mattress, so he joined her. She was already searching Pembroke’s jacket pockets, so he started at the other end of the wardrobe and worked toward her. Most of Pembroke’s jackets were black, cut with fine material. Some were more worn than others, the buttons dull rather than bright, but all were in good condition. His valet was very good at his job.

  When they were through searching all the jacket pockets, all they had to show for their efforts was some loose threads and a few shillings. Perhaps they wouldn’t get the evidence they were looking for after all. Alice stooped down to look inside a pair of riding boots, moving them closer to her and revealing a bundle hidden behind them.

  “Alice.”

  She saw it, too, and met his eyes, the air around them suddenly heavy. This was what they’d been looking for. Alice bent down to pick up the cloth that had been tightly knotted at each end. They both worked to undo the careful ties. When the fabric fell away, they both stared at the black clothing inside as if frozen.

  Alice was the first to move. She pulled the black fabric into her hands and shook it out. It was a man’s shirt. One that was streaked with dirt, with a large bloodstain on the shoulder.

  “I believed him,” she murmured, staring at the fabric as if willing it to disappear. When she raised her eyes to his, they were stricken.

  Christian’s heart sank, knowing how it felt to have misplaced one’s trust. A hard lesson, to be sure, but necessary for agents. Christian wished he could soften the blow for her.

  She pulled the other item from the bundle he still held in his hands. It was a pair of breeches that boasted a torn piece roughly the same shape as the one they found on the bush this morning. Her lips formed a thin line. “I made excuses for him. When he told me his story, he gave every indication he was telling the truth.” She crumpled the clothing into a ball and shoved it back into the bundle. “He’s a very good liar.”