Nothing like putting a chap on the spot. “The truth is, I’m not sure.” Sometimes the anger welled up in him so powerfully that he thought he might strangle on it. In those moments, he had to get away somewhere, be alone, read a book . . . punch a wall.
“Ah.” Fitzgerald steepled his fingers. “At least you’re honest about it.” He mused a moment. “I will be equally honest. I know why you’re in London and for whom.”
“How the devil—”
“The Duke of Thornstock is a friend of mine. When he was at Brooks’s last night, Thorn confided in me about Lionel Malet and needing you to keep the fellow away from Lady Gwyn.”
Damnation. If the duke had said this morning that he knew the undersecretary, Joshua would have asked him for an introduction. “What does the post you wish to fill have to do with Malet?”
“I’m looking for someone to spy on the man.”
That caught Joshua entirely off guard. “You think Malet is involved with other crimes than just attempting to kidnap Lady Gwyn?”
“Possibly. The man is desperate for money. That’s why he’s trying to kidnap an heiress to marry. And to hedge his bets, he may also be selling information to the French.”
“I’ll be damned.” Joshua sat back hard. “What kind of information?”
“To be truthful, we’re not sure. But we already suspected he was asking around about our troops in the Peninsula. And he’s probably finding out quite a bit because he’s been questioning soldiers, who see him as a comrade, not as the cashiered and disgraced traitor he is.”
“I suppose the news of his being cashiered hasn’t filtered down to soldiers in London yet.”
“No. And it’s the only reason he might get somewhere with his plans. We fear he’s trying to gain a copy of Lieutenant-General Wellesley’s memorandum to Castlereagh, which proposes that Wellesley use the Portuguese to help lead a campaign against the French. Wellesley is even now on his way to Portugal, but what city he means to set up as his base and how he plans to proceed are secret. If anyone gets their hands on that memorandum—”
“The French could attack Wellesley and his men before they even touch ground. Or right after.”
“That’s our fear, yes.”
Joshua saw Fitzgerald through new eyes. Clever and astute, he was clearly the man behind the throne, who did the hard work while Castlereagh shook hands and brought Fitzgerald’s proposals to Parliament.
“That is also where you come in,” Fitzgerald said. “We want you to find out who Malet is meeting and what he’s trying to sell.”
“Why me?”
“Two reasons. One, you still seek to serve your country, despite your battle wounds. That’s rare, and—despite what Castlereagh thinks—commendable.”
“Ah,” Joshua said. “And the other reason?”
“You are still a marine officer with, I’ve been told, experience in reconnaissance. So you have the skills to shadow Malet without being seen.”
“But not if I am ‘exploding into a fit of temper.’”
Fitzgerald smiled. “Precisely.”
Rubbing his chin, Joshua mused over what the man was proposing.
“And forgive me for being blunt,” Fitzgerald went on, “but your lameness is also an asset.”
“How do you figure that?” Joshua said with a snort.
“Would you say that people avoid looking at you, acknowledging you?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s because we are uncomfortable with our wounded soldiers. The sight of them rouses a deep-seated guilt that we don’t do enough to help them. So we tend to look away, to pretend that none of you exist. In many respects, your cane—and your limp—make you invisible to the world.”
“But not invisible to Malet,” Joshua pointed out. “He knows my face.”
“You met him, what, twice? Or so Thorn says.”
Joshua blinked. “Perhaps you should hire the duke as a spy. He’s clearly good at it.”
“Or it may just be that your family—Thornstock’s family—tend to talk about things no one else would.”
“That’s true, too.” Joshua eyed him closely. “Still, both times I saw Malet I was confronting him or his lackey directly. He will not forget my face.”
“But he won’t expect to see you following him. I daresay he doesn’t even realize you’re in London.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong. He found out from Lady Gwyn’s servant that I was with her yesterday.”
“That doesn’t mean he knows you’re serving as her bodyguard. You could be courting her.”
In my dreams, perhaps.
“In any case,” Fitzgerald went on, “the point is moot. As you well know, a soldier skilled at reconnaissance is quite capable of hiding from the enemy, even one who recognizes him. I have utter faith in your ability to shadow Malet without his realizing it. After all, he wasn’t the best of soldiers. And now that he’s desperate for funds, he’ll take reckless chances that a more prudent man might not.”
“You could be right.”
“Speaking of men needing funds, if you do this for us, we’re willing to put you back on full pay, but secretly. And with the condition that you serve as a spy here in London, not a combatant on board a ship.”
Joshua mulled that over. It was a good offer. “Does Thornstock know you intend to pay me to follow Malet?”
“No. As I said, this is to be kept secret.”
“I understand. But my work for the duke has to come first, because I have already agreed to it.”
“I’m sure if I spoke to him, Thorn would be willing to—”
“No.” When the undersecretary raised a brow, Joshua said, “I made a promise. I keep my promises. And if breaking this one is what it takes to work for you, I will have to respectfully decline.”
Because once he broke his promise to Thornstock, he’d have to move his London lodgings from Armitage House to somewhere else, and he couldn’t be sure he could keep an eye on Malet well enough to prevent the arse from getting at Gwyn. He wouldn’t risk that.
“Fine,” Fitzgerald said, with respect glinting in his eyes. “Do you have any other objections to taking this position? Anything else that might be a hindrance to your doing it adequately?”
Joshua knew he should tell Fitzgerald about his reaction to loud noises. But the man was giving him a rare opportunity to do what he wanted: serve his country. He didn’t want to lose this chance.
Besides, ever since he’d been in London, loud noises hadn’t seemed to trouble him as much. The clamor in the streets day and night blended into a soothing cacophony, like the roar of ocean waves or the steady sounds of sailors working on board ship.
What’s more, in the two nights he’d spent in the City, he’d slept much better than at home. If he proved a real asset to Fitzgerald, he might be able to live here instead of in Lincolnshire. That meant he could see Beatrice often.
And not see Gwyn once the Season was over. That alone made it worth doing. Because seeing her when he couldn’t touch her or talk to her was a pain he did not want to endure forever. But if she was in Lincolnshire and he wasn’t, or if she was married and in an entirely different part of England . . .
That did not sit well with him either. And the fact that it didn’t alarmed him. It also pushed him to make up his mind about one part of Fitzgerald’s offer at least.
“I have no other objections. Indeed, I’m happy to spy on a blackguard like Malet if it means getting him locked up in gaol where he belongs.” Joshua drew in a deep breath. “But I need time to consider making the post permanent.”
“Of course,” Fitzgerald said, looking as if he’d expected the answer. “That’s probably best anyway. We can determine if you’ll meet our requirements.”
“And whether I can control my temper,” Joshua drawled, fingering the pieces of the shattered sword cane he held in his hand.
Fitzgerald chuckled. “That, too.” Without warning, the gentleman took the pieces from Joshua and shoved t
hem under his seat.
“Now see here,” Joshua protested, “I was hoping someone could repair that, or perhaps use the blade in a new stick.”
“No need.” Fitzgerald opened the panel and told the coachman to go back to the office of the War Secretary, then take Joshua to a certain address on Threadneedle Street. “Bennett and Lacy, a sword cutler and gunmaker establishment, will provide you with whatever you need. Just tell them to put it on the War Secretary’s account.”
Fitzgerald reached under the seat again and pulled out a knobby walking stick. “You can use this for the time being, but Bennett and Lacy can make you a sword cane to your specifications if you find nothing to your liking that’s ready-made.”
The carriage halted where it had picked them up.
“If you don’t mind waiting,” Fitzgerald continued, “I’ll go inside and write a letter of credit for you.”
Well, now. This was something he could get used to. “Sounds as if I’m going to like this post a great deal.”
“Good. Because I believe you’re perfectly suited to it.” Fitzgerald reached inside his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “Oh, and before I forget, I tracked Malet to this address, planning to follow him myself, but Castlereagh prefers I work on other things. With England at war—”
“I understand.” Joshua took the slip of paper and read it. The address was in Chelsea. Which confirmed that Gwyn had written the note to Malet, damn her. How was he to handle this? “I’ll see what I can learn.”
“Excellent.” Fitzgerald held out his hand. “Glad to have you on board, Major.”
Joshua shook his hand. “Glad to be on board, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”
That was a promise to Fitzgerald and to himself. And he intended to keep it, no matter the cost.
Which meant that he must be more careful with Gwyn. If she was indeed involved with Malet, she might be trying to “manage” Joshua’s guarding of her the way she seemed to manage everyone else’s lives in her orbit. For all Joshua knew, she might even be using him to hide her association with the man she really wanted. The thought of her and Malet laughing at him behind his back—
Bloody hell. Joshua didn’t want to believe she would do that, but the only way to be sure of her connection to Malet was to go along with her plans until he could figure out exactly what that connection was. Once he did, however, he must be prepared to reveal what he learned not only to her twin, but possibly to Fitzgerald. And that meant not succumbing to his mad urges for her.
Chapter Twelve
When Gwyn first entered the ballroom of the Greycourt town house, she should have been ecstatic. Her presentation at court had gone better than expected. She hadn’t tripped on her train, hadn’t said anything stupid to Her Majesty, and had even managed to enjoy her conversations with Thorn.
What’s more, Grey had spared no expense for her and Beatrice tonight. His newly purchased Argand lamp chandeliers cast a warm glow about the room, and the scent of fifty or more branches of orange blossoms reminded everyone that it was spring—and that the room was filled with young women hoping to meet their future husbands. A fine orchestra had been hired for the occasion, which was playing exquisitely.
But all she could think of was the note Lionel had sent—right to her home! He’d asked for his money. Again. And he’d said that if she didn’t meet with him on the morrow to give it to him, he would go straight to the nearest gossip rag to lay out everything he knew about her. It would mortify her family. Ruin her.
He’d given her no choice but to set up a meeting. That had been risky in itself. She didn’t want to meet him anywhere near Mayfair, where her family or their servants might see her. But she’d worked out a plan. She and Mama had already intended to go shopping tomorrow afternoon, so she’d told Lionel to meet her around three o’clock in the alley next to her favorite glover’s shop. There she would pay Lionel his pound of flesh and pray that it sufficed to keep him away from her forever.
Now all she had to do was get a hundred pounds from Thorn. And escape Joshua long enough to give it to Lionel tomorrow.
“Are you having fun yet?”
She jumped, sure that the major had read her mind. But it was just Thorn.
“You scared me half to death!” she cried, slapping her twin’s hand lightly with her fan. “Don’t sneak up on a woman like that!”
Typical of a brother, he merely laughed. “I came to tell you I’m leaving.”
“But you just got here,” she said.
“And I’m already bored to tears.” When she lifted a brow at him, he said, “Come now, Sis, you know I’m not the marriage mart sort. Besides, didn’t I do my duty once today by squiring you through your presentation?”
She softened. “Yes, you did. And I thank you.” It dawned on her that perhaps now was the time to beg him for money, while he felt marginally guilty for leaving and while Joshua was halfway across the room talking to Beatrice. “By the way, Mama and I are going shopping tomorrow, and I need a hundred pounds.”
“For what?” He frowned. “I have a line of credit with every bloody merchant in Bond Street. Just use that. And it’s dangerous for you to be walking around with that much blunt anyway.”
“Isn’t that what Joshua is for? In any case, Mama’s birthday is next week. It’s been a difficult year for her, what with Papa dying and her worries about the estate and her not being able to attend my debut activities. So I wish to buy her a very nice gift to cheer her up. But she’s shopping with me, so I’ll have to be sneaky about it. Which means slipping the merchant some pound notes rather than waiting for him to record the purchase, etcetera, etcetera.”
A look of horror crossed Thorn’s face. “Oh, God, Mother’s birthday. I completely forgot about it.”
“Yes, but it’s all right. I have it handled. I’ll purchase something and say it’s from both of us.” And she’d use credit for it, so she could give the hundred pounds to Lionel. By the time Thorn learned of it, Lionel would be out of her life for good.
Or that was her plan anyway.
“Thank you, Sis! I’ll send the money over first thing tomorrow.”
“You’re a dear,” she said, stretching up to kiss his cheek. When he eyed her suspiciously, she realized she’d done it up a bit brown. “Now go on to whatever house of debauchery you frequent, before I start introducing you to all the young, unattached ladies here.”
He didn’t wait to see if she really would. He fled.
As soon as he had vanished from her side, a gentleman approached to ask for the first dance. The ball had clearly officially begun. And now that she had the money arranged for Lionel—and an idea for how to escape Joshua tomorrow was forming in her mind—she might as well enjoy herself. Where better to have fun than at a ball in her honor?
But after hours of dancing with scarcely a chance to breathe, she had changed her opinion. She did love the dancing, but the men . . . Well, she’d had quite enough of their empty compliments about her eyes being stars and her cheeks peaches. Honestly, did any of these fellows have a single genuine thought in their heads?
What made it worse was, they weren’t remotely sincere. She could tell that by how they quizzed her about her family connections and why she’d waited so long to marry. They merely wanted her fortune. She’d expected that, but it still hurt. Not to mention that it made it harder for her to put up with the arses.
A pity she couldn’t take her brothers as partners, but that wasn’t allowed. Besides, this was, after all, her debut. She was expected to dance with eligible gentlemen. But surely she’d met her quota by now.
Good Lord, but she would never marry a one of them, even if she could. After a while, she fled to the refreshments room to avoid them.
In there, a footman offered her a glass of champagne, which she took readily, then sipped as she surveyed the fare. In addition to the champagne, there was fruit punch and tea and negus to drink. All manner of delicious hors d’oeuvres were spread across one table: scotch eggs, bra
wn, white soup, sliced cold meats and cheeses, and sandwiches, among others. And if sweets were more to one’s liking, another table was filled with apricot cakes, lavender shortbread, lemon tarts, Naples biscuits, and such. There were even pyramids of grapes, peaches, and other spring fruits. And this was all to stave off hunger before everyone went in to supper! Grey did nothing by halves.
Still, she wasn’t about to eat a peach and risk ruining her debut ball gown, which she’d changed into the second she’d arrived home from the Palace. And where was her bodyguard? She went to stand in the doorway to look. Had she managed to evade Joshua by coming in here? Apparently not, for as soon as the question had entered her mind it was answered by the sight of him leaving his post across the ballroom and making his way through the crowd toward her.
Lord, but he was handsome in his uniform. From his gold epaulettes to his sparkling white trousers and his shining Hessian boots, he was a fine picture of a man. Gold braid lavishly adorned his red coat and a white cross belt showed him to be an officer, along with the gold officer’s gorget that hung about his neck. But as usual he wore a grim expression. The man simply did not know how to enjoy himself properly.
Feeling mischievous, she grabbed another glass of champagne and met him at the door.
“Something bubbly to drink, Joshua?” she asked as she offered him the glass. “Or are you not allowed to imbibe?”
“I don’t know why I wouldn’t be.” He took the glass from her and drank deeply of it. “I may have to drink just to endure this night of horrors.”
“How wonderful to see Major Grumbler make his debut at my debut,” she said with a laugh. “Just out of curiosity, what makes it a night of horrors?”
He eyed her askance. “There are too many people of too little intelligence, for one. I daresay none of them has read a book in the past month.”
“I read a book in the past month,” she said teasingly.
“What kind? Wait, don’t tell me. A novel. Or some compilation of sentimental poetry about love.”
“I’ll have you know it was neither. I read Essays on Gothic Architecture.”
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