“I’ve heard the same. Merely an old wives’ tale told to children.” Archbroke’s gaze continued to search their surroundings.
Archbroke wiped a napkin across his lips, avoided eye contact, and shifted his weight away from her—all signs he was definitely lying. Perhaps a different tact was needed.
“Shame that Theo and you did not venture abroad after your wedding.”
Straightening, Archbroke said, “Theo would not have missed the birth of our godchildren. But now that the twins have arrived, perhaps I might yet still be able to convince her to go on an adventure.”
Grace pulled back as Archbroke shifted closer, peering from his empty bowl to hers. “I would highly recommend it.”
Archbroke eyed her bowl once again. “For any specific reason?”
She waited for his gaze to return to her. “The conditions are safe now upon the Continent. Why not take advantage?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Grace licked the spoon and placed the bowl on the railing that Archbroke was so casually leaning against. “Why would I want that?”
Archbroke crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I was merely suggesting a short trip now that I’ve ensured it is safe.”
“I’ll admit Britain has benefited from all your hard work. But in consideration of Theo’s condition, I believe we shall remain on home soil.”
Fustian! The man had an answer for everything. Their conversation went around in circles. Archbroke manipulated their discussion like Tobias had used riddles the night prior, appearing befuddled when, in fact, it was his audience who was left confused. It proved her point. They were similar.
Rose-pink silk caught Grace’s attention. Theo’s signature color appeared as if from thin air. “Lady Grace, I hope my dear husband has been fine company while you awaited my arrival?”
Grace hadn’t been waiting for Theo—what was she about? Going along with her friend’s scheme, Grace replied, “He has indeed.”
Archbroke scanned the area before stepping forward to confront his wife. “Where is your maid, or any of the three footmen I’ve employed to accompany you?”
Ah. Archbroke knew of the dangers and had increased protection for Theo. Wise man. Their meeting only provided more items for her to discuss with Matthew. A giddiness brought a smile to her face. Not only was she eager to see Matthew, but the opportunity to once again work as a team had her pulse racing.
Energy and tension filled the air between the pair. Theo gave Archbroke a peck on the cheek. “Stop your worrying. I’ve sent all of them round to enjoy some ices. I can assure you they carried out your orders not to let me out of their sight until I was safely within two feet of you.”
Archbroke seemed mollified. “And you, my dear, do you wish for an ice?”
“Not today. I’ve got a message for you, dear husband, from Matthew. He hopes you will join him for supper this evening at White’s.”
“I’d prefer to spend the evening with you.”
“Oh, I won’t be home tonight. I’ll be accompanying Grace to Hereford’s dinner party since her dear aunt, Lady Emily Allensworth has come down with a cold.”
Grace’s aunt, her chaperone for all social engagements, was never ill. Deciding it best to play along with Theo’s scheme, she remained silent. Theo hooked her arm in Grace’s. “Ready to depart? I’ll have Jack bring round the carriage.”
Blast. She had discussed attending Hereford’s dinner earlier with Tobias, but in her eagerness to see Matthew, she had forgotten about the bloody event. No, not forgotten. Merely wishful thinking she wouldn’t have to attend. Why in the world had Matthew requested to meet with Archbroke this eve? Everyone was aware that the Home Secretary had a propensity to hold lengthy meetings. He was also known to have sequestered agents until dawn on more than one occasion. It could be hours before either of them would be able to finally return to the gazebo. Grace released a deep breath. Duties first and then Matthew. She prayed she wasn’t wrong, and that Matthew still cared for her.
Chapter Twelve
Matthew sat slumped in his preferred chair, facing the fire in his study. His head pounded after hours of poring through reports, journals, and notes that both he and Grace had made over the years. Matthew lost count of how many attempts he’d made at re-creating the interconnected schematic of the various individuals and their association with one another—an agonizing reminder that he needed Grace.
She had a brilliant, agile, and tactical mind that worked in parallel with his. She would plot and draw out tables and charts while he would isolate key data points and patterns. Matthew’s knuckles cracked as he crumpled the parchment in his hand, his last attempt at updating the convoluted diagram, and threw it into the fire. The small burst of flames fizzled out just as his hope of regaining Grace’s attention once more had as the afternoon wore on.
The shuffle of boots upon the plush carpet had him straightening. Blake must have returned. But it wasn’t Blake who appeared. It was Archbroke, who promptly said, “I detest having to track down my agents.”
Matthew rubbed his temples in a circular motion with the pads of his forefingers. “How many times must I repeat myself? I no longer wish to be an agent of the Home Office.” He had sent missive after missive informing Archbroke of his decision. Yet, each time they returned with one word boldly scribed across the parchment—DECLINED.
“You will remain an agent of the Crown until either one of us is taken from this world. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” Archbroke had not shared specifics as to why he insisted Matthew remain a part of the organization, but Matthew suspected the man wanted to keep tabs on him and his investigations related to the PORFs. He hated to admit it, but Archbroke’s refusal to accept his resignation provided Matthew with a sense of being needed.
Sliding into the chair that Blake usually occupied to his right, Archbroke stretched his long legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles as if he intended to stay awhile. “Now, Theo would not have had me hunt you down unless there was a purpose—out with it.”
Theo. The woman had transformed from the sweet, mischievous girl of his childhood into a merciless strategist right before his eyes. She had prodded, poking holes in Matthew’s plan to take down Burke until they were both satisfied it would ultimately reveal Burke for the devil he was. Why had she not simply shared the scheme with her husband? Why send Archbroke here?
Before delving into the details, Matthew needed a drink. Placing his quaking hands, palms down, on the arms of the chair, he pushed himself up to stand. Stars appeared. He wavered slightly before he took a steadying step forward. Certain Archbroke had noticed, he stomped over to the sideboard and grabbed the decanter of French brandy. Narrowing his eyes on the two empty glasses, he poured a large portion into each glass. This morn he had declared he’d get through the entire day without seeking relief from the pain and misery by drowning himself in spirits. His determination had doubled upon finding out Grace’s betrothal was a sham, but as the day wore on frustration at his inability to hold his quill steady, his failure to muddle through the information and document his new findings only reinforced the conclusion he had reached during his time at Halestone Hall. Grace was better off without him. She didn’t need to care for another man who was damaged and incapable of caring for himself in her life.
Without hesitation, he raised a glass to his mouth and consumed the liquor in one swallow before quickly refilling it. A flash of bright orange in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Archbroke had removed his jacket and was now unbuttoning his atrocious gamboge waistcoat. With an inward groan, Matthew resolved to spending the rest of the evening in Archbroke’s company. Eyeing his glass, he sighed and picked up the two tumblers and returned to his seat.
Handing Archbroke his drink, Matthew said, “The location of the remaining stolen artifacts is common knowledge. Burke has ensured others are aware. It may be a trap.”
“Might be, but I care little about those particular items.” Archbroke raised his glass in the air before taking a healthy gulp. “I preferred it when you were working with the Foreign Secretary rather than alongside her. It would save me from enduring multiple meetings regarding the same matter.”
Archbroke was not the only one who had a preference for how things were before, but Matthew ignored the comment. “If you allow Burke to succeed in selling the artifacts, he will…”
Silencing Matthew with a hand in the air, Archbroke countered, “I’ll be reassigning Jones to the docks in the morn as a precaution. But even if Burke does manage to sell the goods, Hereford has replaced Burke’s ally within the court.”
So Grace had already met with Archbroke. The woman was efficient as ever. The news of Hereford’s appointment came to Matthew as a surprise. Hereford was an agent of the Foreign Office, not under Archbroke’s rule. Neither Grace nor Lord Flarinton wielded enough influence within the court to see to his appointment. A critical link or piece of information was missing. Matthew leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and rolled his empty glass between his palms. “Tell me why Hereford.”
Archbroke narrowed his gaze. “Do you not remember? You were the one who recommended him for the position.”
Oh, he remembered the discussion. Clearly. It had occurred two years ago at Grace’s insistence that Matthew be the one to convince Archbroke that Burke’s collaborator be removed from the court. At the time, Matthew had argued Hereford, the most honorable of men, was mature enough to balance the conflicting nature of matters dealt with at court and more than capable of simultaneously dealing with multiple objectives. He also recalled his recommendations had fallen upon deaf ears. Archbroke had simply disregarded the issue, stating a man of Hereford’s years, at the time, only two and thirty, would never be respected at court.
Matthew should have worded his question differently. Archbroke was a master of evasion. Who had power and influence over court appointments? Matthew closed his eyes, and the image of the PORF design appeared. He must be hallucinating, or the effects of too much drink were beginning to affect his mental well-being. If only he’d had an opportunity this morn to meet with Grace. She would have detangled his thoughts.
Returning the conversation to simpler matters, Matthew asked, “Do you not care that the items will be sold?”
After he emptied his glass, Archbroke answered, “Not particularly, since my sources believe they are French artifacts, not British. The most pressing dilemma I currently face is you.”
An unreasonable chill raced down Matthew’s spine. “Me?” He endeavored to feign innocence. He probably failed. Perhaps his investigations into the PORFs and his attaching the Archbroke name to the triad of families had reached the Home Secretary’s ears.
“Indeed. You and Grace.”
“What are you babbling on about?”
Archbroke handed Matthew his empty glass. “Grace—the woman whom you have pined over for years. The lady you had hoped to marry before you went and got yourself captured.”
Slowly rolling to his feet, intending to refill their empty glasses, Matthew paused before the fire. Ellingsworth’s earlier warnings that no one was to suspect that his engagement to Grace was a farce came back in a flash. He continued to the sideboard. Both glasses hit the wood surface with a crash. “Grace has agreed to marry another. You saw yourself last eve she appears quite happy with the arrangement.” It grated on his nerves to have to reiterate the lie, but he’d do or say whatever necessary to keep her safe.
“What is the matter with you?” Archbroke asked. “Them brutes must have damaged your brain and your eyesight. That is not at all what I surmise.”
His body tensed and momentarily froze at the mention of the beatings he had received. Forcing his arm to move, Matthew grabbed the neck of the decanter with one trembling hand and splashed the dark amber liquid into their tumblers. Steadying his breathing, he choked out the words that had his stomach recoiling. “Grace is no longer my concern. Ellingsworth, as Mr. Jones assessed, is quite capable and despite the rumors is rather shrewd.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Seizing his glass, he quickly downed the contents and refilled it before returning to his seat.
Archbroke eyed the glass presented to him before accepting it with a nod. “Ellingsworth is much like his papa. No one really knows the real man behind the facade. Both are unpredictable, and I have serious concerns regarding Grace’s safety.”
“As she is your counterpart and is currently on home soil, you should be concerned.”
The Home Secretary’s response was to level Matthew with a glacial glare. The growl of Archbroke’s stomach was probably no louder than a cat’s purr, but to Matthew, it was a roar. Unwanted memories came flooding back. Days upon days he had lain curled on his side, clutching his stomach. The ache of having food and water withheld was one he never wanted to experience again, nor the taste of putrid scraps they had been fed. But a starving man filled with rage will eat anything to ensure he brought justice against those who had dared to threaten him and his loved ones.
The click of the door latch broke through Matthew’s thoughts.
Blake’s gravelly baritone voice filled the silent room. “Archbroke, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at Hereford’s celebration dinner?”
“My wife is in attendance. No need to suffer through another tedious dinner party.”
The grumble of Archbroke’s stomach was louder this time. Matthew clutched the armrest. He wanted to be rid of Archbroke and find out if Blake had managed to obtain the resources they needed for the next stage of his plan. But the Home Secretary sat calmly, eyeing them both. Clearly, the man wasn’t going anywhere. Blake disappeared from sight. The clink of glass and splash of liquid had Matthew wishing for another drink.
Blake reappeared and said, “Perhaps we should adjourn to White’s for a delicious beefsteak.”
Simultaneously both Archbroke and Matthew hauled themselves to their feet and replied, “Grand idea.”
As the three of them made their way out, Archbroke turned to address both Matthew and Blake. “Whatever the pair of you are up to, do not tell me. I’m certain I’ll not want to be involved. However, should you need my assistance, please ask.”
Matthew stared at Archbroke. Why would his superior of over a decade make such an absurd statement? Archbroke was always the first to insist he be informed of any activity that was even rumored to occur on home soil. As Home Secretary, Archbroke had always made it his business to know the exact comings and goings of his agents. Matthew searched the man’s features for a clue. The small upturn at the corner of his lips was a new facial tell that Archbroke must have adopted since marriage. Theo. His wife was a master chess player and could predict her opponent’s move three turns before you even thought of it yourself. Theo must have succeeded where Matthew had failed in convincing Archbroke to see to Hereford’s appointment.
A sharp stabbing pain at his temples momentarily blurred his vision and thoughts. Matthew shook his head. No, not Theo. Someone else, but who? He would have to lay off the liquor tonight. He needed his wits about him in order to visit Grace. The irritating ringing in his ear silenced as his heart skipped a few beats at the thought of seeing her.
Chapter Thirteen
Seated at Hereford’s dinner table, Grace ran a finger along the edge of the handle of her knife. It was of the finest quality, sharp and precise.
Lord Burke, seated across from her, boasted, “Don’t they make a fine couple?”
She contemplated the potential risks and benefits of hurling the blade into the heart of her fiancé’s sire. The pink tip of Tobias’s tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth, distracting her. She reluctantly shifted her narrowed gaze from Lord Burke to his son. Tobias’s ridiculous smile was gone, and the man was indeed sticking his tongue out at her. It reminded her of when the girls from her childhood would stick their tongues out at her when she would quote a passage fr
om one of the many etiquette books her mama had made her read. Grace was a rule follower. Life was much simpler that way. But the rules of the game were changing. The players were changing. Matthew was not in attendance, and Tobias, who was usually never seen at such events, occupied the seat next to her.
Her betrothed said, “You’ll hang at Newgate if you kill him in front of witnesses.” The man’s idiotic smile returned.
Grace prayed; Lord, grant me the patience to endure this evening of torture. Every muscle in her neck and back ached. The tension of having Tobias a stranger so close two evenings in a row took a toll on her body, the same body that longed for Matthew’s reassuring touches at these arduous events. Matthew would skillfully set her at ease with a slight brush against the back of her hand as he reached for a glass or utensil or by merely shifting his booted foot next to hers. Thoughts of Matthew helped her focus on relaxing her grip on the knife.
Grace glanced at Theo, who sat next to her on her left, and laid the weapon on the table before turning her attention back to Tobias. “I’m not certain anyone present would report me. Would you?”
He tilted his head to capture her gaze. “I would…” Tobias paused as he lifted his knife and deftly sliced through a piece of chicken upon his plate. His eyes remained on her the entire time. “I’d prefer that you gave me the honor of taking care of the matter.”
Of course, he would. He’d already said as much that morning. But Grace placed little trust in those she was not well acquainted with. Reaching for her glass of watered-down wine, Grace said, “You have many who are competing for the pleasure.”
“That is why I will act first.” He stabbed the piece of meat with his fork. “With your assistance.”
Grace stared at her betrothed. He hadn’t made a request, nor were his words phrased as a statement. It was an order. She did not take direction from strangers. Grace only took orders from her papa. She released a sigh. That was not true; there was one other person she used to take instruction from willingly—Matthew.
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