She was suddenly grateful that she had not mentioned how much she missed him. From his face it was clear that he would not have welcomed such a declaration. Instead she merely said, “Very well. I will continue this charade. For the while.”
Alexander nodded, as if her decision had been a foregone conclusion. He was so certain that he knew what was best for everyone, she realized.
“There may be a problem,” she said. “Le Duc d’Aiguillon was at the performance tonight. He had met me at Lady Burnett-Hodgkins’s and recognized me immediately.”
“We knew this would happen. I trust Lady Stanthorpe was able to provide a satisfactory explanation.”
He was right but she still couldn’t shake the sense of unease that the Frenchman had inspired. “D’Aiguillon knew my mother. How well I am not sure, but he made a point of offering his assistance should I ever be in need.”
“Interesting,” Alexander said. “Do you remember him? Was he indeed a friend of your mother’s?”
“I don’t remember him,” she said. “But my mother had many friends in the émigré community. It is more than likely that he was among them. Yet there is something about him that I do not like. I can not say why, but I do not trust him. I know it sounds foolish.” She could not bring herself to mention her growing suspicion that her mother and d’Aiguillon had shared a closer connection than mere friendship. There was something proprietary about the way he had looked at her…
“Sometimes all we have to go on is our instincts,” Alexander said. “It may be nothing, but I will take a closer look at this d’Aiguillon.”
“Thank you.”
Alexander rose. “I had best disappear before we are discovered. I may not see you for a day or two, but Luke will know where I am if you need me. And don’t worry, there are several of my men around. You are well protected.”
She didn’t want him to leave. But she was too proud to beg him to stay, like a child afraid of the dark.
“Be careful,” she said.
“I am always careful.” Taking two quick steps toward the head of the bed, he bent down and brushed his lips against hers. She closed her eyes to savor the sensation, but it was over all too quickly.
“Sleep well,” he whispered, and when she opened her eyes he had already disappeared.
Chapter 9
Going to see Magda last night had been the act of a madman. There had been no real need for him to see her. There was nothing to say that could not have waited till this morning. Yet he had felt compelled to go there, to see her, to assure himself that they still shared the closeness they could no longer display in public.
But it had been a mistake. He had known that from the moment he saw her, wearing a cotton nightgown, its very modesty only serving to enhance her desirability. The intimate setting was in itself a form of torture. It was all too easy for him to imagine how she would react if he took her in his arms and began to make love to her.
In the end his sense of honor came to the rescue. He reminded himself that Magda was dependent on him for protection. He could not in good conscience take advantage of her vulnerability. And he did not want to spend their time together wondering if she truly cared for him, or if she was only trying to please him out of gratitude. Or worse yet, out of fear that she would be cast off if she did not please him.
Not that he had any intention of giving her up. He wanted her. It was not her beauty that drew him, although indeed she had turned out to be an exotic jewel. But what drew him to her was the sense that she was a kindred spirit, someone who had learned the harsh lessons that adversity teaches. Magda was all courage and stubborn independence, insisting on confronting the danger to her head-on. He admired her essential honesty, how she faced her past squarely and made no attempt to elicit his pity.
And she possessed one other quality that made her unique among the females of his acquaintance. Pursued by women since he had returned to England, Alexander was all too familiar with women who measured him by the size of his purse and the length of his pedigree. But Magda was different. She treated him with respect, but was not overawed by his lineage. Rather than begging for lavish gifts, she argued over every guinea spent on her behalf. Her friendship was for Alexander Maxwell, not for the much sought-after Lord Kerrigan, and he sensed that she would have been far happier if he had simply been a gentleman of no particular wealth or fame.
It was not love he felt for her. He did not think he was capable of the romantic love that poets wrote about. He felt friendship for her, yes, and physical attraction. And something more, something that made him unwilling to relinquish her to anyone. Coming from such disparate backgrounds, it was difficult to imagine what form their relationship would take. But there could be no thinking of the future until he had made sure the danger to her was in the past. Once she was safe, and free to make a choice, then he would ask her to stay with him for as long as she chose.
Alexander spent another frustrating day combing London for information. He had told Magda that the attacks on her might still be tied to the plot to interfere with Foolish Pride, but in his heart he doubted it. That riddle had already been solved with the discovery of the crooked trainer. Whoever was after Magda wanted her out of the way for another reason, and the trail was pointing straight back to the mysterious death of her mother.
It was late in the afternoon when he arrived at the foreign office to meet with William Archer. He had first met Archer when he was with the East India Company in Bombay. Recently returned to England, Archer now used his talents for gathering information in service of the government.
Entering Archer’s office, Alexander was not surprised to find him working at his desk, nearly buried under stacks of paper that covered every surface and filled the rows of shelves that lined the walls. Scrolls, manuscripts, printed books, and filthy scraps of paper all competed for space.
“Come in, come in, my lord. I have been expecting you,” Archer said, putting down the document that he had been scrutinizing. Rising from his seat, he motioned to the only other chair in the room. “Just put those anywhere and make yourself comfortable.”
Alexander removed the stack of papers from the chair and placed them on top of a nearby bookcase. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he said, hesitating a moment before committing his weight to the battered wooden chair. To his surprise it creaked only faintly as he seated himself.
“Not at all. It is the least I can do, after your kindness toward my son. Dick said you were of great service to him.”
With all the excitement of the last weeks, Alexander had nearly forgotten about his meeting with Dick Archer, the young man he had encountered at Lady Stanthorpe’s fête. Although initially he had dismissed Dick Archer as having more fashion sense than brains, Alexander had changed his opinion after he had an opportunity to speak with him privately.
“It was nothing,” he said. “I merely wrote him a few letters of introduction to acquaintances that may prove useful when he arrives in India.”
“You may see it as a trifle, but you have my gratitude all the same. Now, what brings you to my humble offices? You wouldn’t believe the rumors that are swirling around London.”
“I doubt they are anywhere near as fantastic as the truth,” Alexander said. “It is a long story, but I think you will find it interesting.”
William Archer listened attentively as Alexander sketched out the events of the past weeks. He showed little reaction, not even surprise, as Alexander related how the death of the crooked horse trainer had solved one mystery, but then the attempted poisoning made it clear that they were dealing with not one villain but two.
“So now I have come to you for help,” Alexander concluded. “I know that Mademoiselle Beaumont is in danger, but do now know why or who would have a grudge against her.”
William Archer rubbed his chin with one hand, a sign that he was considering what he had heard. “This Mademoiselle Beaumont. Do you trust her? Are you sure she has told you everything?”
<
br /> “Yes, and yes.”
“I will trust your judgment there. You’re too canny a man to be swayed by a sad story and a pretty face,” Archer said bluntly. “So what do you need from me?”
“I need as much information as you can gather on Madame Katerina Beaumont. Magda was too young to remember much, but I can’t help feeling that these attacks are somehow linked to the murder of her mother. The method of the first attack is strikingly similar, not to mention the fact that Magda was in no danger until she began her public career as a fortune teller.”
“Poison is a very different method from the attempted kidnapping. It implies someone who wants silence rather than information,” William Archer pointed out. “Still, you may be right. If Madame Beaumont was a refugee from France, we should still have a file on her somewhere. The government kept track of all those who might have been spies posing as émigrés.” Picking up his pen, he dipped it into the inkwell then scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper. “You say she came over in 1797?”
“Yes, give or take a year,” Alexander said. “Magda’s memories are a little hazy.”
“And Madame Beaumont worked with Bow Street? Hmm, they should have a record on her as well.”
It was a thought that had already occurred to him. “I checked on that this morning. If they had a file, it has long since vanished in the clutter. All they have left is a few notations on cases she may have helped them with, plus the recollections of the runners who knew her. They appear to have taken her story at face value.”
“Bungling incompetents,” William Archer grumbled. “They’d be hard pressed to find their heads with both hands. But do not worry. The Foreign Office prides itself on saving every scrap of paper that comes through our doors. While I can’t give out any state secrets, I promise you that if I find anything that could prove useful I will send it on to you at once.”
Alexander wondered what the records said about his own activities. There were definitely things in his past that he preferred not be common knowledge, particularly some of his wilder adventures in India.
“Any information you can find will be most welcome,” Alexander said, rising from his chair and preparing to leave.
This time William Archer did not get up. His attention had already turned away from Alexander and toward the piece of paper where he continued to scribble notes.
“One more thing. If, in your wanderings through the files, you should happen to run across any mention of Le Duc d’Aiguillon, I would be most interested in that as well.” Alexander hadn’t intended to mention the Frenchman, but some of Magda’s uneasiness must have rubbed off on him as well.
William Archer paused in his writing and glanced up. “Is this a whim? Or is there some connection here?”
“He claims to have been an acquaintance of Madame Beaumont,” Alexander said. “How close an acquaintance I do not know, but he seems to have taken an interest in Magda’s affairs…”
William Archer tapped his pen against his teeth. “D’Aiguillon,” he said musingly. “Why does that name seem familiar? No matter, I am sure it will come to me in time. Now I am afraid you must leave me to my work. The minister is waiting for his report and I must get it finished before evening.”
“Of course,” Alexander said. “Thank you again for your consideration.”
He did not know if the Foreign Office files would yield anything useful, but Alexander was leaving no stone unturned. Eventually the pieces of the puzzle would fall into place, and he would take his revenge on the wretch who had tried to kill Magda.
Magda had been a guest of the Stanthorpe’s for over two weeks now, and there was little sign that Alexander’s plan was working. Since the first outing to the opera, she had accompanied Lady Stanthorpe on a dizzying round of social events. Morning calls on her ladyship’s acquaintances, sedate carriage rides in the park, evenings spent at musicales and routs. Everywhere they went they were accompanied by Luke or Alexander, not to mention one or more of the new footmen and grooms that Alexander had “loaned” to the Stanthorpes’ household.
She’d even had the unusual experience of seeing her own name printed in the newspaper. “Lady S—and her protégé, the mysterious and charming Mademoiselle B—were among the guests at the Duchess of Y—’s musicale last evening. Also in attendance was a certain Scottish lord who has finally emerged from his long seclusion to take part in this season’s social whirl.”
If the man they were after was anywhere in London, he would have to be deaf and blind not to know of her presence. So why did he hold his hand? Why didn’t he strike? Her nerves were stretched taut with anticipation. Each time a stranger approached her, her heart raced as she waited to see if he was the one, and if he would finally make his move.
It was a wonder she hadn’t run mad with the tension. Yet it helped to have Alexander’s steady support, although there had been few opportunities for a tête-à-tête since that night he’d visited her in her bedroom. But that gave her a new puzzle to ponder. When she wasn’t thinking of her faceless attacker, she found herself wondering what he’d meant by that unexpected kiss. Had he formed a tendre for her?
It would be wrong of her to encourage him, for they could have no future together. She had too much self-respect to agree to be his mistress, and only a naive fool would dream that Lord Kerrigan had marriage on his mind.
She knew this, yet from time to time she found herself wishing that she was indeed Lady Stanthorpe’s ward, and that Alexander’s constant presence was a sign that he was courting her. But she knew better than to indulge herself in such fancies. Once she had been filled with daydreams, but such dreams had died along with her mother. And the pain of her mother’s death was equalled by the pain of realizing that there was no noble family coming to her rescue, and that everything her mother had told her had been a lie.
Now Magda kept a firm rein on her hopes for the future. There was no sense in sitting around, waiting for a long-lost relative or infatuated nobleman to rescue her. No, if she was going to escape poverty it would be through her own efforts. Magda sighed as she realized that she might never know what was truly in Alexander’s heart.
“Tired, my dear? I own it is no wonder, with the busy scheduled we’ve been keeping,” Lady Stanthorpe remarked.
Magda looked up from her embroidery. Lady Stanthorpe had decreed that mending was not a suitable occupation for a lady, but genteel embroidery had been deemed acceptable. Despite her words, Lady Stanthorpe looked full of energy. Her eyes were bright and her face always seemed to be wearing a smile these days. It appeared Lady Stanthorpe was one of those lucky people who could ignore anything which they found disturbing. In this case she’d chosen to ignore the fact that they were setting a trap for a killer. Instead she was enjoying the social whirl, caught up in the pleasure of introducing Magda to society.
“I am a trifle fatigued,” Magda admitted. Each night her rest was interrupted by nightmares, filled with terrifying visions in which she was captured and brought face-to-face with an evil figure who raised a knife and prepared to strike her down. Fortunately, she always woke before the dream ended.
“You do seem a bit peaked,” Lady Stanthorpe said. “You had best rest this afternoon. I will send a note round to Alexander and tell him that you are indisposed.”
“No.” At least if she went out she could feel like she was doing something. Staying home idle only made the waiting worse, despite all of Lady Stanthorpe’s kindnesses. “It is nothing, and I wouldn’t want to miss a chance to see Mr. Lawson’s studio.”
This afternoon Alexander had arranged for them to attend the unveiling of Mr. Lawson’s latest portrait. It was certain to be a crowded affair, as society came to pay homage to the master painter. Alexander had announced their intention to attend two days ago, in order to give their enemy plenty of time to discover their destination. The trap had been carefully laid, and with any luck today would see the end of the matter.
In the end it was Lady Stanthorpe who felt too unw
ell to attend the unveiling. “I am certain it was the salmon at luncheon,” she confided to Magda. “I could never abide a richly sauced dish.”
Magda made sympathetic noises, forbearing to point out that virtually every dish at the Stanthorpes’ table was so richly sauced that it was impossible to tell if one was eating fish or fowl. “I am so sorry that you are not feeling quite the thing, but I am certain some rest will put you right.”
“I hope Lord Kerrigan is not too disappointed by my absence.”
On the contrary, Magda was sure Alexander would be overjoyed at having one less person to worry over and keep safe. Despite his prompting, Lady Stanthorpe had demonstrated a regrettable tendency to treat the whole affair as a delicious intrigue rather than a potentially deadly situation.
“I will give your regrets to Lord Kerrigan, and I know he will understand. Now you must rest, and I will be certain to tell you everything that occurs when I return.” With that promise, Magda made her escape.
When Alexander arrived he found her waiting for him in the front parlor. He displayed seeming regret that Lady Stanthorpe would be unable to join them and asked a servant to convey his regards to her. Then, without further ceremony, he escorted Magda to the waiting carriage, remarking that the horses were too fresh to be kept standing.
The carriage was not particularly high, but Magda’s experience of phaetons was limited; she hesitated a moment, wondering how she could climb the step without exposing an unseemly amount of petticoat. Alexander solved her dilemma by simply placing both hands around her waist and lifting her into the carriage seat with ease. Climbing aboard himself, he accepted the reins from a groom and then drove off.
“You should not take such liberties,” Magda protested. “What if someone was watching?”
Alexander gave her a conspiratorial grin. “I thought it best to make a speedy departure before Lady Stanthorpe remembered to send a maid along to protect your reputation.”
An Unlikely Alliance Page 12
