The Sinister Spinster

by Joan Overfield

  Elizabeth wasn't certain she cared for the sound of that. She already had a house filled with demanding ladies tugging at her skirts like a pack of unruly children. A duke's daughter with a penchant for mayhem didn't sound like a particularly welcome addition to her.

  "Be that as it may," she replied truculently, her low-heeled shoes slipping on the cobblestones as she struggled for purchase, "I can hardly invite myself into their coach; it would be too forward by half. Adam!" She skittered to a halt and jerked her arm free, her face set in a furious scowl. "Let go of me!"

  He sent her a stunned look. "You called me Adam," he said, sounding faintly shocked.

  "And I suppose you think I am going to beg your pardon," she retorted, too defiant to be cautious, "but you may think again. When you behave like a marquess, I shall address you as such! If you persist in behaving like an ill-mannered schoolboy, then that is how I shall address you!" She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, daring him to protest.

  To her surprise he merely shrugged and availed himself of her arm once more. "You mistake me, ma'am," he said, shouldering open the inn's door and pulling her inside. "I've no objection to your using my Christian name. It will give me leave to call you by yours.

  "But," he admonished, topaz eyes dancing as he grinned down at her, "I am sure you'll understand if I insist you only do so when we are in private. I have my reputation to think of."

  She was still sputtering in indignation when he introduced her to the duke and his stunning daughter. Less than five minutes later she found herself being bundled into the coach, a warm lap robe draped across her knees.

  "And mind you stay there," he told her, his expression stern. He tipped his hat to the duke and Lady Elinore, and then slammed the carriage door closed.

  The carriage started with a jerk a few seconds later, and an embarrassed Elizabeth turned her head to study the other occupants of the coach. To her surprise, Lady Elinore was smiling at her, with a decided sparkle in her eyes.

  "Overbearing, isn't he?" she asked, her cultured voice rich with laughter.

  Too taken aback to prevaricate, Elizabeth said the first words to pop into her head. "Yes, my lady, he most assuredly is."

  "He means well, one may suppose," Lady Elinore observed, looking bored, "but I find it quite tiresome. Lord Falconer has always presumed far too much, if you want my opinion."

  "You are too hard on his lordship, Elinore," the duke said, sending his daughter a censorious frown. "I still say it's because the two of you are so alike. That is why I want you to rethink his offer of marriage; he is just the man to tame you. Do you not agree, Miss Mattingale?" He glanced at Elizabeth, his steely expression making it plain what he expected her answer to be.

  For a moment Elizabeth couldn't breathe; her breath lodged in her throat along with her heart. Despite the many years she'd spent away from England and the ton, she was well aware most marriages were contracted for reasons that had little to do with anything so tiresome as love. Lady Elinore was of the highest birth, a consideration certain to be a matter of great importance to a man like the marquess. In addition she was beautiful, unquestionably elegant, and possessed of a cool sangfroid that more than matched his own. To Society, it would be a match as brilliant as a diamond, and every bit as cold.

  "I am sure it would be a most advantageous marriage, your grace," she managed, ignoring the heart that now plummeted to the toes of her half boots.

  "Yes, if I were in want of taming, which I am not," Lady Elinore responded to her father's observation with a haughty sniff. "You don't hint I should tame his lord-ship, I note."

  "Of course not, m'dear." The duke gave his daughter's hand an indulgent pat. "A tame husband would bore you to tears within a sennight. Just remember your promise to me and consider the matter. That is all I ask."

  To Elizabeth's great relief the conversation turned general after that, and she spent the rest of the brief ride acquainting Lady Elinore and her father with the Hall's inhabitants. She wasn't surprised her ladyship was acquainted with most of them.

  "The Derrings must indeed be hard-pressed to fill their numbers to have allowed that lack-wit Derwent to put up there," she said, unfurling her fan with easy grace. "And if he is there, I suppose that worm Charles Colburt is not very far away."

  "He is also there, my lady," Elizabeth volunteered, relieved she wasn't the only woman to find the men's company objectionable. "I believe the two are good friends of Lord Derring's younger son, Mr. William Carling."

  It was the duke who responded. "Dashed loose screw, that one," he muttered, his blue eyes flashing with contempt. "Lad's been given free rein for too long, and it's been the ruin of him. He'll come to a bad end, mark me."

  Since she could not in all good conscience defend William, Elizabeth decided a change of topic was clearly in order and began describing last night's masquerade with a great deal more enthusiasm than she'd felt for the actual event. She was describing the various costumes worn by the guests as the carriage rolled up to the front doors.

  Judging from the army of footmen who swarmed out of the house to meet them, Elizabeth assumed Lord Falconer must have arrived ahead of them with news of their unexpected guests. Her assumption proved correct a few moments later when Lady Derring came scurrying forward to greet them.

  "Dear Lord Creshton, how wonderful to see you!" she exclaimed, holding out her hand for his kiss. "And Lady Elinore. I vow we are honored; one hears you so seldom leave the country these days!"

  Lady Elinore offered her cheek for a quick buzz. "How could I possibly resist the lure of one of your parties, my lady?" she asked, her smile as sweetly insincere as the countess's own. "And I hear you have been making quite merry without me. Last night's masquerade sounds most delightful."

  "You have heard of that?" Lady Derring preened with delight.

  "Miss Mattingale was kind enough to describe it to me," Lady Elinore said, including Elizabeth in the conversation. "She is full of praise for you, my lady, and says you worked like a Trojan to get everything done just so."

  As it happened Elizabeth had said nothing of the kind, and she was deeply grateful for the other woman's tact. It would seem Lady Elinore was as kind as she was beautiful, and she could understand why Falconer had offered for her. Perhaps there was more to the cool, self-possessed young beauty than she had first supposed.

  "I did work rather hard," Lady Derring allowed with a simper. "Indeed, I have been resting all day from my labors. I—" She broke off suddenly and frowned at Elizabeth.

  "Miss Mattingale, I quite forgot, but my husband has been asking for you all morning. He said you were to go directly to his study the very moment you returned."

  Sensing an escape, Elizabeth dropped a curtsy and hurried up the stairs to where the earl's private study was located. It had been pointed out to her shortly after her arrival, and she'd been admonished never to venture inside. This would be her first glimpse of the room, and she was more than a little curious to see if it resembled the rest of the house.

  "Enter." The earl's curt greeting made Elizabeth jump, and she stepped cautiously into the room.

  "I am sorry for disturbing you, my lord," she began, swallowing nervously at the harsh expression on the earl's face. "Is there something you wish?"

  In answer he rose from his chair behind the desk and placed his hands on the lapels of his dark jacket. "Come in, Miss Mattingale, if you would," he said, his voice as cold as his expression. "And close the door behind you."

  More alarmed than ever, Elizabeth did as instructed, crossing the room to stand nervously before the desk. The letter, she thought, her heart beating a frantic tattoo within her breast. He knows about the letter.

  The earl continued glowering at her. "Well?" he snapped out, his face reddening with temper.

  Elizabeth moistened her lips. "Well what, my lord?" she asked, genuinely puzzled by the clipped demand.

  "Well, what is this about you being a demmed Frenchie spy?"

 
; Seven

  "Who says Miss Mattingale is a spy?"

  Adam bit off the low command furiously, his jaw clenched as he struggled to gain control over his errant emotions. He'd only just reached his rooms, and learning that the earl's missing papers and Elizabeth's part in their disappearance was a matter of open speculation for the other guests had set fire to his temper.

  "Everyone, my lord," his valet replied, wringing his hands in his agitation. " 'Tis all the talk above- and belowstairs. Lord Trewby's valet says he overheard Mr. Colburt talking to his master, and he said he was going to suggest Lord Derring have the magistrate in to search her room."

  Adam's eyes flashed with deadly fury. "Did he, by gad?" he growled, and swung toward the door.

  "My lord!" His valet leapt in front of him, his arms spread out as he blocked Adam's path. "Where are you going?"

  Adam glared at him. "To speak with Lord Derring, of course. The sooner this nonsense is nipped in the bud, the better."

  "But you are still in your riding togs!" his valet wailed, indicating Adam's elegant attire with a wave of his hand. "You must know this will not do." He straightened with pride. "We have standards."

  Adam's lips thinned in a dangerous line. "Our standards be damned," he snarled, and stormed out of the room.

  He reached the top of the stairs when the door to one of the bedchambers opened and Lord Creshton stepped out into the hall.

  "Ah, there you are," he said, blue eyes bright with pleasure. "I was hoping someone would come along to show me the way to the drawing room. Place is a dashed rabbit warren." His smile faded when he noted the dark expression on Adam's face. "What is it?"

  Adam was in too much of a hurry for protracted explanations. "The word is out about the missing papers," he said, starting down the stairs. "And that devil Colburt is doing his best to lay the blame for it at Elizabeth's doorstep."

  To his surprise the duke laid a detaining hand on his arm. "A moment, Falconer, if you would," he said, his expression stern. "Before you go tearing off to defend your lady fair, might I suggest you at least consider the possibility he could be right?"

  Adam couldn't have been more stunned had the duke kicked him down the stairs. He wanted to shout curses at the older man for daring to cast aspersions on Elizabeth's name, and yet how could he, he wondered bitterly, when he had done the very same thing?

  "I have considered it," he said in a tight voice, hating himself for the fact. "And I rejected it. Elizabeth is no thief."

  "And if you are wrong?" the duke pressed, holding Adam's gaze with his own. "What then?"

  Adam stiffened in awareness. The duke had contacts everywhere, including the Home Office. What did he know? Adam wondered rawly. And what did it portend for Elizabeth?

  "What are you saying?" he asked, his fingers tightening on the rail until he feared the wood would splinter beneath his hand.

  "I am saying Miss Mattingale is a most interesting lady with some most interesting associates. As you yourself pointed out in your missive, she has only recently returned to England from an extended stay abroad, and she has a close relative living in a country hostile to our own. In my mind, she bears watching."

  Adam felt suddenly ill. He lowered his head, his eyes squeezing shut as he ground out, "Elizabeth would not betray her country. She could not. She doesn't have it in her to do something so vile."

  "I am sure she does not," the duke agreed. "But it is a possibility that cannot be discounted merely because we find it not to our liking."

  Adam's head snapped up in disbelief. "Then you're saying I should say nothing and let an innocent woman be taken up on charges I know to be false?" he demanded furiously.

  "Indeed not," Creshton assured him, his lips curving in a crafty smile. "Defend her by all means, if that is your wish. If she is innocent, it will do no harm, and should she be guilty, having her believe she has gulled us can only work to our advantage."

  Adam was appalled, both by the duke's icy pragmatism and by the realization he'd once been as coldly calculating. Emotionless as a block of stone. The words Elinore had flung at him along with his offer of marriage came back to taunt him, and he shuddered at the memories they invoked. The man he'd been had no room in his life for emotion, and so he'd shut it out, blockading his heart from any possible hurt. The realization that he was no longer that man occurred, but he brushed it ruthlessly aside. At the moment Elizabeth was all that mattered, and with that thought in mind he started back down the stairs again. But first—

  "Elizabeth is not a spy," he stated coldly, shooting the duke a warning glance over his shoulder. "And anyone who says otherwise had best be prepared for a fight."

  "Well, miss?" The earl glowered down at Elizabeth. "What is your answer? Or do you mean to stand there and tell me you have no idea what I am talking about?"

  Elizabeth fought the urge to swoon, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. The pain helped her concentrate, and she used it to beat off the waves of darkness swirling about her. This is a nightmare, she thought, clenching her hands tighter, and what made it more horrific was the knowledge that this was a nightmare from which there was no awakening.

  "But I don't know, my lord," she insisted, scrambling to organize her thoughts into some semblance of order. Clearly the letter from her father had been discovered and read, and the worst possible connotation put upon it. But who had found the letter? And more importantly, why had they been looking for it?

  Lord Derring's unprepossessing features twisted themselves into a sneer. "You will forgive me if I fail to be moved by your protestations of innocence," he said, the lash of the words as sharp and cruel as a whip. "Of course you took the papers."

  Now there was no need for Elizabeth to feign her confusion. "What papers?" she demanded, frowning. "Lord Derring, I truly have no notion what you are talking about!"

  "The papers from my dispatch box that have gone missing," he replied, smirking at her stunned expression. "And kindly spare me the look of wide-eyed horror, madam. You know full well what I mean. Those papers are vital to England's security, and if you do not surrender them at once I'll hand you over to the magistrate for the king's justice. We'll see how pert you are when you are dangling from the end of the rope," he added, gloating when she turned pale in horror.

  Despite her terror and confusion, Elizabeth's pride stirred to life. It was one thing to allow herself to be sneered at and accused of an unspeakable crime, she decided, but it was another to allow herself to be browbeaten by a pompous, self-important prig like the earl. She drew herself up, meeting his malevolent stare with what equanimity she could gather.

  "I know nothing of your missing papers, my lord, and that is the truth," she said coolly. "If you have proof otherwise, then let me see it. I will not allow you to slander me."

  The earl's jaw dropped, and his eyes flew so wide, Elizabeth expected them to pop. "You won't allow—" he began, sputtering in indignation. "By heavens, gel, do you know to whom you are speaking? I can have you hanged!"

  The door flew open behind Elizabeth and Adam strode in, his face set in a harsh mask of displeasure.

  "What is going on?" he demanded, glaring at the earl as he took his place beside Elizabeth. He didn't touch her, but his presence was vastly comforting as he smiled at her. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice gentle.

  "Is she all right?" Lord Derring all but shrieked the words, his face red with indignation. "What the devil ails you, sir? She stole my papers!"

  Adam glanced up, silencing the blustering earl with no more than a look. "Did she?" he asked coldly. "What proof have you?"

  "Proof?" Derring repeated, his voice as high-pitched as a cat's. "Proof?"

  "Proof," Adam repeated in accents of icy displeasure. "You may be an earl, but even an earl must have proof before having a person hanged. That is what you were threatening to do when I walked in, was it not?" he added, his eyes taking on a menacing sheen that had the earl turning pale in alarm.

  "Who else could it be
?" he protested, pointing an accusing finger at Elizabeth. "Speaks French, don't she? And is as close as you please to that Russian prince! Always chattering with him so no one understands a word of what is being said, and saying who knows what? I shouldn't be surprised if it was him who put her up to it!"

  Elizabeth opened her lips to leap to Alexi's defense only to have Adam silence her with a warning nudge.

  "His highness is a member of the Grand Duchess's retinue," he reminded Derring. "And as such he must be considered a foreign diplomat. If you accuse him without proof, it could cause a rift in the Alliance." His eyebrows arched in unmistakable challenge. "Are you accusing him, my lord?"

  "Certainly not!" the older man denied, appalled.

  "Then why do you mention him?" Adam was relentless.

  "I—well, because, that is why!" Derring exclaimed, clearly outgunned and realizing the futility of his position.

  "'Because' is not good enough," Adam told him, his smile decidedly wolfish. "This is England, sir, not France, where one may be shut in prison upon another's whim. Show me your proof against Miss Mattingale or it is you I shall have brought up on charges of gross incompetence and neglect. The papers disappeared while in your possession, if I may remind you, and it is you who must account for their whereabouts. You muddy the waters by casting aspersions upon her, and one is left to wonder why."

  "The papers!" the earl latched eagerly on to the words. "That is my proof! If we find the papers in her possession, that will prove she is a thief. And a traitor," he added, shooting her a gleeful smirk.

  Adam turned to Elizabeth, touching her for the first time as he took her hand in his. "Miss Mattingale," he began, the warm look in his eyes belying the formality of his words, "will you consent to having your rooms searched? Understand we cannot compel you to do so at this time," he continued, ignoring the earl's muttered imprecations, "but it would help resolve this unpleasantness as quickly as possible."