“You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I do not trust such beasts. Nor do I trust your papa.”
“Wise of you not too. You have but two choices. Marry me, leaving London and your family forever, or play along and have what your heart desires and the rule of the Foreign Office.” With a snap, Tobias released the curtain he had peeled back. “Well, what is it to be?”
Grace arranged her features into a pleasant mask of peace and happiness.
Similarly, Tobias’s features transformed from sharp intellect to that of a simpleton. “Perfect. You could have managed a successful stage career on Drury Lane, my dear.”
“And you, my lord, could have been master of the boards.”
Placing a hand on his winged arm, they marched to the door as if heading into battle. Just shy of the door threshold, Tobias halted and, in all seriousness, said, “It is imperative everyone, including Harrington, believes we are to wed. Ours is to be a tale of love at first sight. Do you understand?”
Her shoulders slumped forward. “I do.”
“I’m sorry for the pain you must temporarily endure. But if Harrington is half the man he is reported to be, and all accounts of how much he is in love with you are accurate, all will be as it should be in the end.” Tobias’s voice was filled with regret and sincerity.
Perhaps he spoke the truth and wanted no part in Lord Burke’s activities. However, it was one thing to avoid becoming involved in his sire’s misdeeds and an entirely different matter to scheme against the devil. Tobias was a conundrum.
Chapter Six
Matthew glanced over his shoulder as he escaped into Flarinton’s gardens, certain that no one would notice his absence for a short spell. How had he ever endured such trivial discussions like those of the weather? Captivity stripped a person bare. The cloak of society he once believed warm and inviting was now smothering and suffocating. All evening his attention had veered in Grace’s direction. There had been a time when she would instinctively return his looks, and they would commiserate in each other’s misery. But not tonight. Not once had Grace’s pretty molten chocolate eyes sought him out.
Avoiding the pebbled path that led to her private retreat, a gazebo well hidden within Flarinton’s gardens, Matthew weaved his way until he reached the lawn. His knees had threatened to buckle many a time during the past hour. Matthew collapsed to the ground. Forcing himself to sit upright, he slowly brought his knees up and rested his arms over them. He leaned back and ran his hands along the tops of his thighs and massaged the knots in his muscles. It wasn’t the physical demands of the evening that had him seeking out solitude. Matthew could have muddled through on willpower alone if that were the issue. No, it was the emotional toll of the event that had him creeping out into the night. Without the deep-seated connection he once believed to exist between himself and Grace, he was lost among the crowd he once thrived in.
To hell with following the rules. He removed his stockings and shoes and rolled to his feet. The blades of the grass tickled the soles of his feet, reminding him—he was alive and free. With his shoes and hose held tightly in his hands behind his back, he walked the perimeter of Lord Flarinton’s lawn. He glanced at the wall of windows to the garden room. Even from this distance, he could make out Grace’s slight form standing next to Ellingsworth’s. Matthew paused to study her. Grace’s body was slightly turned toward Ellingsworth, but her weight fell all to one side, away from her betrothed. She was nodding excessively, another indication of feigned interest. All throughout the engagement dinner, Matthew had observed Grace, hoping to see her rub her right wrist—Grace’s telltale sign of nervousness and uncertainty. But the meal had ended, and not once had she even come close to exhibiting anything that might have been interrupted as distaste for her betrothed.
The woman was a master of languages, especially in what people showed with their movements and not their words. She was always fully aware of her own actions and the effect they had on those about her. Her overexaggerated movements had Matthew desperately trying to deduce what Grace was trying to communicate. Fingers pressed to his temples; his head pounded as he shifted through the night’s events. He grumbled, “Damnation,” as nothing of note came to mind. Matthew wasn’t ready to rejoin the others and place himself within twelve feet of Lord Burke. The devil had preened about the room, cleverly avoiding all contact with Matthew, as if he didn’t exist. The cut direct had Matthew itching to do the man bodily harm, but Grace’s engagement dinner was not the location Matthew desired to deal with the coward who hid behind his title and position at court.
A woman’s raspy cough from the other side of the hedge caught Matthew’s attention. He turned, intending to leave.
“Sweetheart, the soot and smoke—it’s terrible for your lungs.” Blake’s deep baritone voice had Matthew halting his departure.
“Don’t sweetheart me! I’ll not return to Shalford Castle.” His sister coughed again. It had a terrible whooping quality to it. “Matthew needs us.”
Damnation. Lucy should know he would never put her safety or health at risk. Matthew was about to announce his presence when Blake said, “I’m asking you to take heed of the doctor’s advice. The London air is horrendous for you and the twins. While I do not care for the idea of being away from you, I shall remain in town.”
What? Blake hated being apart from his wife. The pair were inseparable. Matthew would simply adjust his plans.
Lucy responded, “Lord Burke will not be easy to defeat.”
Matthew wanted to reach through the prickly bush that separated him from his brother-in-law and wring Blake’s neck. He had expressly told Blake not to share his plans for Burke’s demise with anyone.
Interrupting his murderous thoughts, Lucy asked, “What if you need me?”
“I am always in need of you.” Blake’s husky answer was accompanied by the rustling of silk.
Matthew swiveled toward the house. About to leave and give the couple privacy, he halted at Lucy’s deep sigh.
“I won’t leave Matthew. He…” Lucy’s voice cracked. “The man who returned on the Quarter Moon is not my twin. Matthew would never let hate and vengeance rule him.”
“Sweetheart, your brother was held in captivity for an extended period, and in less-than-ideal conditions. It is only natural for him to want to take revenge against the man who left him to rot. Burke held the information for months before he shared it with Grace. Burke could have easily prevented Matthew’s suffering. Instead, the devil had remained silent. Don’t worry. Archbroke, and I will ensure your brother comes to no harm.”
Matthew could picture his twin’s reaction to Blake’s reassurances. He didn’t need to see her. Lucy would have her hands firmly planted on her hips; head cocked to one side. She said, “Hmm. You will need to find out what Theo and Archbroke have planned. There is more to this entire matter than what we have been told. I have an awful feeling.” A terrible fit of short breaths followed by coughs had Lucy wheezing the last few words. “I’m never wrong about these things.”
Lucy’s intuition was uncanny. Blake vocalized Matthew’s thoughts. “I am fully aware that your instincts are rarely wrong. But love, I must insist you take the children and return to Shalford Castle.”
The sound of lips kissing had Matthew striding toward the party. Blake’s gravely tone traveled the night air. “Trust me. I will take care of matters here, and I will send word as soon as the matter is dealt with.”
Matthew slowed his pace. Lucy hadn’t precisely agreed to leave town, which gave him pause. His twin could be extremely difficult and stubborn when she believed she was needed. He should turn around and demand Lucy give him her word to return to the country. Whirling about, he came face-to-face with a startled Grace. How long had she been trailing him? The blasted constant ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing others approach. His shoes dropped to the ground with a soft thud. A year or so ago, Grace would have laughed and teased him at the sight of his bare feet. Now his gaze met her befuddled eyes.
Grace lowered her gaze inch by inch until it rested upon his feet. The tip of her shoe peeked out from under her dress and slid across the grass to tap his little toe. “I see you have acquired a new habit.”
One of many he’d formed since his return from Continent. “Yes. The prickle against my soles reminds me I’m not dead.”
Grace pulled back her foot. Head bent, she said, “Oh, Matthew. I’m sorry…”
He tilted her chin up, knowing the words she needed to hear. “Don’t apologize. You did not fail. You did nothing wrong. It was I who made an unwise decision, and I paid the price.”
The small curve of her lips was hardly a grin, but a genuine reaction—in stark contrast to all the smiles she had given Ellingsworth. He had simply spoken the truth. It wasn’t her fault he had left London on a wild-goose chase and was captured by Spanish insurgents. No, he had fallen directly into Burke’s scheme.
He let his hand fall to his side.
Grace said, “I wish…”
What did she wish for? Why had she left the safety of the house—was it possible she still cared, had noticed his absence?
Her skin pebbled, and she tugged on her shawl as a cool breeze swept over them, reminding Matthew they were alone in the dark.
“It’s not wise for you to be out here. I’m certain Ellingsworth would not appreciate the possibility of his betrothed being seen with another man.”
Grace stiffened at the mention of her betrothed. “I informed Tobias that I was coming out here to look for Lucy.”
“Tobias, is it?” Matthew searched her features, looking for a tell.
Straight-faced, Grace answered, “My betrothed is not at all what I expected. He’s rather… charming.”
Her words speared his heart. For years, the ton had considered Matthew as one of their darlings—amiable, titled, handsome, and eligible. He was no longer that man. Charisma was not going to ensure Burke’s demise. No. Matthew needed to remain coldhearted and ruthless. If he could survive a year in horrid conditions as a prisoner, he could endure a season of heartbreak.
He bent to pick up his shoes and let them dangle from his fingers behind his back. He jutted out his chin and said, “I believe you will find my sister and her husband are farther along the path.” Standing within reach of Grace, the devil in him couldn’t resist touching her. He leaned forward and lightly brushed his cheek up against hers and whispered, “Be careful in the dark.” As he walked away toward the terrace doors, he heard the catch in her breath. Grace was not immune to him. The problem was she was no longer his to touch.
Chapter Seven
Matthew dropped his shoes to the ground and settled back on the grass. He wiggled his free toes before stuffing them into his stockings and shoes. He had anticipated his return to London would be difficult. Deliberately delaying his plans to allow himself time to heal. Five months and twenty-six days had apparently not been long enough. Emotions Matthew thought banished and sworn never to feel again returned in full force. After only being in Grace’s company twice, they were strangely stronger than ever before. Time had not lessened his love for her. Damnation, the woman was betrothed to another. How many times must he remind himself of the fact? Why could he not dismiss the useless desire to have Grace back in his arms?
As he rolled to his feet, candlelight glinting off the windows captured his attention—time to return to the party and come out of hiding. He ran a hand down his coat sleeve and tugged at his cuffs as he mentally prepared to be once again boxed in with the other guests.
Standing behind a potted plant, he peered through the glass. Ellingsworth is an absolute buffoon. Matthew’s jaw clenched as the man’s grating laugh floated across the room out onto the terrace. Good gracious—that is what Grace considered charming?
Ellingsworth stared at Lady Mary, now Countess Waterford, as she spoke, wearing a frown of pure confusion. His eyes darted to her décolletage and then to Waterford, as if to see if her husband had caught his errant gaze. What a dolt! Waterford would pound him to the ground. Instead of rage, Waterford wore an obsequious expression. The buzzing in Matthew’s brain triggered a slew of theorems to swirl about in his mind.
A rainbow of colors reflected off the glass and recaptured Matthew’s attention. Mr. Jones, who had endured months of imprisonment with Matthew, stood in the corner dressed as a guest this eve instead of his usual footman’s disguise. The man angled an empty glass Matthew’s way, signaling that he had been spotted.
With his mind awhirl, Matthew stepped back from view, observing the interesting byplay between Ellingsworth and Waterford. Eyes shut tight, Matthew tried to recall the complex line diagram that he and Grace had compiled during the past several years. It outlined the interconnections between those Matthew believed were PORFs and those who displayed the symbol of their support. The Burke family name had continuously emerged in Matthew’s investigations, which meant that Lord Burke was not only a danger to Matthew but also to the Crown. The air from his lungs left him as grief hit him square in the chest—he and Grace were no longer a team investigating matters. And specifically not the one that originally brought them together in the first place.
Seeking a glimpse of Grace, Matthew peeked around the bush. His gaze was caught by the sight of Mr. Jones staring intently at his sister. Lucy had always been a beauty, but marriage and parenthood had added an extra glow despite the dark circles under her eyes. Matthew had long considered Blake like a brother even before he married Lucy. He had missed their wedding, but he’d heard from multiple sources it was a rare occurrence for the pair to be separated.
Grace had always favored Blake. His unique skills to recall information and faces, along with his ability for illustration, was unmatched. An order from Grace was the only logical explanation for him to agree to be separated from Lucy. Didn’t Grace realize with twins Lucy would need her husband’s help? Blake would never disobey an order. The tightness in his chest eased a tad. He would send both Mama and Edward, his younger brother, to accompany Lucy to Shalford Castle. They could help Lucy and stay out of harm’s way. The perfect plan.
A light vanilla scent wafted on the breeze. Theo was nearby. Childhood memories of him chasing Theo and Lucy down the corridors of Halestone Hall flashed before him. One corner of his lips turned upward into a grin as he recalled threatening to pull their pigtails if they tattled. Matthew turned away from the glass windows and was confronted by sparkling, emerald-colored eyes.
Theo narrowed her gaze and said, “You look rather pleased with yourself. What mischief are you planning?”
As a boy, it had been Theo, not Lucy, who had thwarted all his childish pranks. The woman standing before him now was no longer the skinny little girl he grew up with. No, the lady staring back at him was in every way Archbroke’s match.
The smirk upon Theo’s face gave him pause about his plans. Both Archbroke and Grace possessed the inherent ability to convince others they were acting of their own accord when, in fact, the individual’s reactions were carefully devised by either the Home or Foreign Secretaries.
Perhaps Theo would provide the answer. Matthew replied, “My, my, Theo. How did you learn to sneak up upon a person without a sound?”
Theo shrugged. “One of the perks of marrying Archbroke.”
“Really, I wasn’t aware stealth was one of your husband’s stronger suits.”
“It’s not. However, Archbroke’s hearing is impeccable and hence the ultimate challenge.”
Matthew let out a chuckle. “I’m not sure what Baldwin would have thought of you marrying Archbroke.”
Theo’s eyebrow’s furrowed. “My brother would have been proud to call Archbroke brother-in-law. Just as you are to call Devonton so.”
The prickling sensation along the back of his neck returned. Theo’s modulated tone meant she was trying to hide something. Archbroke was one of the families Matthew had pegged as PORFs. It was the third family’s identity that alluded to him. If his theory was correct, Theo had become a PORF
upon her marriage to Archbroke.
Matthew’s eyes flickered back toward the party. Archbroke flanked Lord Flarinton as if he was guarding the man.
Matthew asked, “Why is that?”
“I believe you already know the answer.” Theo shivered. “I’ve not come out into the cold to discuss Archbroke.”
Matthew glanced down at Theo’s still flat stomach. “You should not risk your health, given your condition.”
“My condition.” She ran a hand along her midsection. “Can you tell?”
“No. Archbroke, let the information slip.”
Theo snorted. “Slip? Hardly. The man never divulges information until he wants to.” Matthew followed Theo’s gaze as she looked over her shoulder through the glass at her husband. Archbroke had taken a step forward but then promptly returned to his discussion with Grace’s papa. Interesting that Theo could command the Home Secretary, one of the most influential men in all of England, with a mere look.
He raised an eyebrow at Theo as she turned to face him once more. “Impressive.”
“Archbroke will be next to me within the count of twenty. I’ve not much time. I need your help.”
The twinkle in Theo’s eyes remained. She was up to no good. “Help? With what, exactly?”
Either Theo counted quickly, or her estimation was severely overoptimistic, for Archbroke was nearly upon them.
Grabbing his wrist, Theo pleaded. “Promise. Promise, you will assist me.”
She shifted her hand and tightened her grip. Surely Theo wasn’t about to inflict the childish punishment they had once given each other when they were younger. Although Theo probably hadn’t had cause to employ her unique technique to cause rub burns, he still clearly remembered how effective it was. His wrists burned despite Theo not having moved; they were still raw from being bound for months.
Confessions of Lady Grace Page 5
