Hours later, Edward let himself into Clybourne House. Covering a yawn with a hand, he started up the stairs, glad to be home after spending half the night in the Seven Dials neighbourhood, one of London’s most notorious and dangerous slums.
Earlier, he’d received a report about fresh activity going on in the row house on St. Giles Street, the one known to have once hidden French operatives. For months it had remained abandoned. But all that had changed two nights before when the bored team set to watch the place had suddenly noticed candlelight coming from within, and the shape of shadowy figures moving behind the ragged curtains.
Before notifying him, they’d made sure the individuals going in and out of the property weren’t simply vagrants or prostitutes who’d decided to use the space without the bother of paying rent. Assured the house was indeed being employed as a rendezvous point once again, they had sent word Edward’s way.
Hoping he might see something—or someone—of interest, Edward had made the trip across Town. Seated this evening with one of the men in an upstairs room across the bleak street that stank of refuse and other unmentionables, he’d watched for renewed signs of life. But to his frustration, no one came. Only desperate, hollow-eyed doxies walked the streets and alleys, along with drunks, thieves and other unsavoury types, who weren’t up to anything good at that time of night.
At four in the morning, Edward decided to give up and come home.
Yet his gut told him he’d been close tonight and that the revived activity in the house had something to do with his search for the mysterious Wolf.
And the mole?
With persistence and a bit of luck, perhaps he would soon find them both.
Inside his bedchamber, Edward stripped off his clothes, then washed with the water his valet had left out for him. Towelling his face and hands dry, he pulled on his robe and walked barefoot and silent to Claire’s room.
Slipping into bed beside her, he tugged the covers over them both before easing an arm around her to pull her close.
“You’re home,” she murmured, rousing slightly.
“Shh, go back to sleep.” Brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead, he stroked a hand along her arm.
She rested her head on his chest and snuggled closer. “How was your meeting?”
“Long and boring. How was the opera?”
“Long and boring too, without you there.”
“I’m sorry I was away,” he said.
And Edward realized that he genuinely was sorry. Always before when he’d returned from conducting surveillance and hunting spies, he’d been left with a deep sense of excitement and satisfaction. He was doing something worthwhile for his country. But more, he was doing something for himself, the game and the chase providing a kind of thrill he’d never found anywhere else.
Yet tonight, he realized he would rather have spent the evening with his wife at the opera than sit in that lonely room in a depressing section of London, watching for potential French spies.
Of course, he wasn’t about to give up this assignment; he’d invested far too much of himself in it to quit now. He wanted to see it through with as much haste as possible.
But if there was no assignment, if he was free to leave Town, he knew he would close up the house tomorrow and take Claire away. They’d go to one of his estates in the north to enjoy the rest of the honeymoon he’d had to cut short. Then he would take her to Braebourne and let her enjoy the beauty of her new home.
Their home.
Needing her with a sudden, almost violent ache, he rolled her to her back, his hands sliding beneath her nightgown to pull it up and off her body. She gave a murmur of surprise, then pleasure, sighing as he caressed her with ardent strokes and frenzied kisses that quickly roused her desire to a fevered pitch. Sheathing himself inside her with a deep, penetrating thrust, he wrapped her securely in his arms. Then to his delight and hers, he proceeded to make up for every moment he’d been gone.
The final days of the Season arrived with a wave of oppressive early August heat that persuaded many of the Ton to pack their bags and depart for their country estates.
Claire and Edward remained at Clybourne House, however—Edward’s continuing business concerns keeping him in the city.
Far too frequently for Claire’s taste, Edward would excuse himself from whatever evening entertainment had been scheduled and be gone late into the night. When she pressed him for more details, his answers were often vague and unsatisfying.
Even when he did attend a ball with her, as he had this evening, he seemed distracted, as if his thoughts and interests lay elsewhere. At first, she hadn’t let his absences trouble her, but now she was beginning to wonder, and worry.
Where was he going?
Worse, with whom?
She waved a fan over her face, savouring the small breeze the painted silk-covered staves made. She ought not to have come tonight, since she was feeling less than her usual robust self. Of course, she suspected the cause, and if the advice she’d ended up seeking from Grace and her own calculations proved true, then she was with child.
She’d missed her menses this month and her breasts were unusually tender, both signs, Grace assured her, of early pregnancy. Bursting with excitement over the news, she’d wanted to tell Edward. But he’d been away again the evening she’d realized she might be enceinte, and in the couple of days that followed there never seemed a good time to share her thoughts. So she hugged her speculation to herself, even as she concealed her increasing worry over Edward and his night time sojourns.
Gazing at him where he stood across the room, conversing with a trio of gentlemen, she wondered if tonight might be the right time to try again. He’d been in a good humour on the carriage ride over. Maybe she would tell him on the way back.
Accepting a drink from a passing servant, she took a sip and was instantly sorry. The beverage was far too sweet, almost sickeningly so. Turning to set the punch aside, she noticed a footman approach Edward and hand him a note. Excusing himself, Edward moved away to read the missive. Without a change in expression, which oddly enough she found disconcerting, he tucked the note inside his coat, then re-joined the others.
When the time for supper arrived, Edward approached her to ask if she would very much mind leaving early.
“No, of course not,” she said. Actually, she would be relieved, since a few extra hours’ sleep sounded wonderful.
Inside the coach, she thought again about telling Edward her news, but each time she opened her mouth to speak, she closed it again. Edward’s mood was quiet and preoccupied, as if he was deeply lost in his own thoughts. Unsure what sort of reception she might get, she decided to wait a bit longer.
Rather than stop in the family drawing room for a dish of tea for her and a glass of port for Edward, as was their usual custom, they instead each went to their respective bedchambers. She half expected not to see him again that night, but he came to her right after she’d climbed into bed.
Moments after he joined her, he pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. “I don’t know why you bother with these, since I just take them right back off,” he murmured.
Then, before she had time to respond, he was kissing her, his hands and mouth moving over her body with a skill that made everything but him fade away. Breathless and floating on a surfeit of pleasure a while later, he spooned in behind her so they could both go to sleep.
She’d just drifted off, when she awakened again to the sensation of him easing slowly from the bed. Her lips parted to call out, but she held back, listening as he gathered up his robe and left the room.
Getting to her feet moments later, she pulled on her nightgown, robe and slippers, then moved silently across the room. Cracking the door open just enough to see into the hallway beyond, she waited. She was beginning to feel like a complete simpleton and was about to return to bed, when Edward appeared, exiting his bedchamber dressed in dark trousers and coat.
So he is g
oing out! she thought with a lump in her throat.
Waiting until he was far enough ahead that he wouldn’t notice her, she followed, tiptoeing after him on silent, slippered feet. Her pursuit led her to a quiet side entrance that went out to the mews. Watching him through a small window, she saw him stride into the stable. A few minutes later, he rode out, Jupiter’s hooves clattering against the bricks.
Whirling, she pressed a hand between her breasts and drew in a ragged breath.
Where has he gone?
And who is he meeting?
Two questions whose answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Trembling, she returned upstairs.
A short while before dawn, Edward let himself into his bedroom. Striding into his dressing room, he peeled off his clothes and washed, bathing away all traces of horseflesh that might linger from his evening ride. Flinging his used towel into a corner, he reached for his robe and pulled it back on.
Yawning, he walked barefoot toward Claire’s room.
At least the night had proven productive.
Earlier at the ball, he’d received word that his men had intercepted an operative coming out of the row house on St. Giles. In the agent’s possession, they’d discovered a leather pouch containing a thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, instructions that appeared to be a wish list of sorts requesting intelligence on British troop strengths and officers’ lists, and the partial coordinates to a rendezvous point.
A bit of forceful persuasion yielded the fact that the rest of the coordinates were scheduled to appear in code in tomorrow’s Morning Chronicle, and that once they were retrieved, the operative was to ride to the meeting place for an agreed-upon exchange.
His contact’s name was Wolf!
Finally, the break they’d been seeking, Edward thought, as he opened the door to Claire’s bedchamber. Right now, though, he didn’t have time to indulge in further speculation. Instead, he needed a few hours’ sleep, since tomorrow—today now—was sure to be a busy one.
Claire was lying on her side, turned away from him. Taking care not to disturb her, he slid into the bed.
“Edward?” she asked in a thick, quiet voice.
“Sorry to awaken you.”
A small silence fell. “Where have you been?”
He paused for a long moment. “Just downstairs. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the library to read.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
When she said no more, he assumed she’d fallen back to sleep. Curling up behind her, he did the same.
Claire pressed a fist to her mouth to keep from making any sound. A pair of tears slid over her cheeks, but she refused to let herself cry in earnest. Later, she would give way, but not now, not with Edward sleeping only at her back.
He lied to me, she thought, pain wedged like a knife between her ribs.
She’d always thought Edward told only the truth, but apparently she’d been mistaken. Not only did he lie, he did it with a smooth and confident ease. And if he’d lied to her about leaving the house tonight, what other tales had he spun? What other deceptions had she so trustingly believed?
She could confront him, shake him awake and demand to know where he’d gone and with whom. But he would probably just lie again. And even if he didn’t, did she really want to hear the truth?
For in spite of his previous assurances, she couldn’t help but wonder if he did keep a mistress here in Town.
Was it Philipa Stockton?
Or another woman?
Yet even if he’d been honest in that regard and he wasn’t having an affair, it didn’t take back his false words. Or fix her broken faith in him—and their marriage.
Choking back a sob, she bit her lip to keep from crying aloud. Fearing she might wake him, she curled in upon herself and held as still as she could.
Why had she ever let herself weaken? Why had she married him when she’d known where it could lead?
I always knew he’d break my heart, she thought.
And now he has.
Chapter 27
Without pausing long enough to do more than take a cup of coffee, Edward dressed the next morning, then went in search of the newspaper.
He’d left Claire sleeping, her winsome face pressed with a kind of weary peace against the pillows. He told her maid not to wake Claire and to let her sleep as long as she liked.
Carrying the Morning Chronicle into his study, he closed the door, then took a seat at his desk. Methodically, he began scanning each page, looking for an announcement or other likely item that might contain the encrypted message.
Finding one, he unlocked his top desk drawer and withdrew a small black book, which contained the cipher key Drake had created. Opening it, he set to work.
His first try proved useless and his second as well. But then he used the key on an advertisement for ladies’ skin lightener—guaranteed to erase blemishes and freckles in only five applications—and he had something viable. When he put his new find together with the decoded message obtained from the agent, the date, time and location of the rendezvous suddenly came clear, along with a great deal more.
For long seconds, he stared, his mind racing over what he’d revealed. Puzzle pieces began clicking into place, new possibilities taking shape as a flood of answers sped through his mind.
And suddenly he knew.
Suddenly he felt sure that tonight he would catch more than a Wolf, he would catch a mole!
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Edward told Claire later that afternoon, as she sat on the drawing room sofa, “but another matter of business has come up. I’m afraid I shall have to beg off from our dinner at the Mortons this evening.”
Without glancing up, Claire drew a length of blue silk thread through her sewing. “Oh, that’s a shame. Especially since I hear they are going to be serving fresh peach ices, the best of the Season.”
He smiled. “Then I shall be doubly sorry to have missed such a treat. Mayhap Cook can make some ice cream for us one evening when we are at home?”
She pulled another stitch through her embroidery. “I’ll be certain to add the sweet to next week’s menu.”
“I cannot wait until then. Well, I have a few matters I must see to before I leave. I may be very late tonight, so don’t wait up.”
She sent him a smile. “All right. I hope your meeting isn’t dreadfully dull.”
He laughed. “I’m sure it shall be both dreadful and dull.”
Walking to her, he bent down for a kiss. Her mouth was stiff at first, but then she closed her eyes and kissed him back. He was considering the pleasure of indulging in a second buss when he decided he’d better stop while he still had the willpower. “Have a good evening,” he said, “and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Turning, he strode from the room.
Claire stabbed her needle deep into the cloth, her jaw clenched with anger, as she shot a narrow-eyed glare after him.
Mendacious cur!
How dare he lie to her again, and with such an affable smile on his face while he did it. There wasn’t any meeting tonight, she knew that much. At least not one that had aught to do with business. As for his real destination, the possibilities made her stomach flip over with a sick twist.
How dare he kiss her as well, as though everything between them was fine. Although she supposed it was for him. When he’d bent down and covered her lips with his, she’d wanted to give him a good, hard slap across the face. Instead, she’d held still. Then she’d turned weak and wanting, responding to the undeniable pleasure of his touch in spite of her fury and despair. Even aware of his lies, she still wanted him, still loved him too.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt and furious. Nor did it mean she had to sit quietly and accept the situation as meekly as a lamb. Suddenly she realized that no matter how much pain it might cause, she had to know where he was going tonight.
Assuming she could find out, that was.
She waited patiently for Edward to depart, using t
he time between to pen her excuses for the Mortons’ dinner. He wasn’t the only one who could change his plans.
At a few minutes past six, she saw Edward leave, watching through the window as he drove away. Only then did she ring for Croft.
“There is something I forgot to mention to His Grace,” she told the butler with a casual smile. “He’s meeting on business tonight. Did he happen to mention where?”
“No, Your Grace. I can try sending a man after him, but I’m not sure if it will serve.”
She kept the smile on her face despite her disappointment. “No matter. It can wait after all, I’m sure. Would you see that this note is delivered immediately?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Taking the missive, Croft bowed and withdrew.
Hands tightened into fists at her sides, she considered what to do next. There had to be some other means of discovering where he’d gone. Suddenly she thought of his study. Mayhap she would find something there. Letters perhaps, or a bill.
The idea made her cringe, but she decided she had to know the truth.
Striding quickly downstairs, she moved along the hallway to Edward’s office. Closing the door behind her, she didn’t waste any time crossing to his desk. If he’d left anything behind, it was sure to be there.
She searched the papers and books on the top of his desk first, but found nothing of interest. Next she moved on to the drawers, or tried to, a tug proving them all to be locked. Knowing Edward was far too careful to leave the keys out in the open, she decided to take a more direct approach.
Sliding a hairpin from her short curls, which her maid had only just started putting up for her again, she twisted the metal into a new shape. Growing up, she’d learned how to put a hairpin to good use, since Marsden Manor had any number of stubborn old locks in it. Those skills came in handy now as she angled the pin just so and inserted it into the lock.
As she began to work the tumblers, her gaze fell on a framed miniature she hadn’t noticed in her earlier search. Staring, she realized a painting was of herself as a girl. She even vaguely remembered sitting for the work. How unexpected that he would have such an item. Even more, that he would keep it here on his desk as though it was something to cherish.
At The Duke's Pleasure Page 32
