Masquerading the Marquess

by Anne Mallory

"Sorry, Margaret, you cannot have one without the other."

  From the look she was now giving him he wouldn’t have been surprised if she launched herself across the desk, fingernails aimed toward his eyes.

  "First, I have not given you permission to call me Margaret. Second, you can go to hell, my lord." She grated the " my lord" between her teeth and he wondered if she might choke on it.

  As she rose, her deep blue eyes flashed in rage. "Good day, my lord."

  She turned her back on him and started for the door, wobbling for a second before gaining her footing. James was around the desk in a flash. He firmly took her left arm and escorted her to the door of the study, ignoring her angry gasp. He let go at the door, allowing her to find her own way out.

  James pulled the cord moments after she stalked out of the room, and Templeton’s face appeared in the doorway scant seconds later. He must have run.

  "Have one of the footmen follow the lady and report back to me."

  Templeton nodded and closed the door behind him.

  James leaned against his desk. He had handled that poorly. Women usually fell over themselves trying vainly to please him. It was quite a novel experience to find one so disagreeable. She hadn’t softened any since their first meeting.

  Actually she had felt remarkably soft leaning into him last night. James shook his head.

  He had been unable to glean any hard information from last night’s attacker. After putting the ladies in the coach, he had returned to the maze to interrogate the hoodlum and relieve a bit of frustration. The man admitted under duress that he had been hired by a bloke to do a few jobs. He had received money to scare the girl and inquire about an object. When given the job he had not asked any questions.

  After receiving a bit more abuse from a frustrated James, the man revealed he only heard the man’s voice once and that further instructions and payoffs were given through a third party, a man named Curdle. The only real information James had gathered about the leader’s identity was, "He sounded real uppity, like you."

  James had sent Finn to find Curdle. Hopefully, Curdle would lead them to the unknown man and eventually to Stephen.

  James unfolded the threatening note, which he had removed from her left pocket. She was hard-headed and stubborn. He needed to discover if she was scheming as well.

  * * *

  Calliope waited until she had closed the door to Stephen’s study before audibly giving in to her rage. She didn’t feel any better afterward. She collapsed against the door and a wave of despair drowned her anger. She had been living from one emotion to another for the past two days. And she seemed to be making one bad choice after another. Had she hoped he would help her without any information in return?

  Calliope walked to the desk and dropped wearily into her chair, putting her head on her arms. She was ready to give in to a well-deserved cry when she heard a rap on the front door. Calliope heard Grimmond greet the interloper and wished she had told him she was unavailable. She would remedy that when he came to inform her of the guest.

  .

  The door opened but she didn’t look up. "Grimmond, I’m unavailable. Please inform whomever it is to leave a card."

  "I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that."

  Her head popped up as Angelford walked toward her desk.

  "I have a proposition for you."

  Chapter 6

  Calliope rallied her last defenses. She thrust back her head and gazed at him scornfully.

  "How dare you be so insensitive? Your so-called friend is missing, my lord. There’s no funeral for him, yet you poach on his territory."

  His eyes narrowed dangerously and a shiver of fear sliced through her. Perhaps she had gone too far.

  "I’ll make allowances for your state of mind, but make a similar mistake again, and you will not enjoy the consequences."

  Angelford didn’t wait for her response, but continued in a deceptively mild tone of voice, "Threatening notes? You obviously have something they value. I propose we work together to figure out what they want and who they are. With luck it will lead us to Stephen."

  He looked her over. "At the very least it would get you out of your present predicament."

  Calliope gritted her teeth and enunciated succinctly and deliberately, "I don’t want your help anymore. Please leave."

  Angelford ignored the demand, deposited himself lazily in a chair in front of her desk and crossed his ankle over his leg.

  He was examining her so carefully she began to feel like one of the animals in the menagerie.

  "But what about your family at the Adelphi—would they want my help?"

  Cold dread descended upon her shoulders. The lilies in the room smelled funereal.

  He pulled a paper from his pocket. "I read the note."

  She stared at the vellum he held. It was the same note she had received earlier. "How?"

  He shrugged unapologetically. "I lifted it from your pocket."

  "What do you want?"

  "First of all, Margaret Stafford doesn’t quite convert to 'Callie,' and neither does Esmerelda. What is your real name?"

  Calliope’s shoulders stiffened. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  He folded his hands. "Do you really think it would take me long to ascertain your true identity? All I need to do is make a trip to the theater."

  "I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. My name is Calliope Minton." She gritted her name out.

  "Calliope. Yes, that’s more fitting," he said with a relish that confused her.

  "Are we finished here, my lord?"

  Angelford’s tone softened. "I want to find Stephen, regardless of what you may believe. He is a very close friend and I need your assistance. In return, I promise to protect you and yours."

  It was one of the reasons she had visited him. She needed his help. She felt her shoulders droop and she nodded. She’d do anything to save her family.

  If it were anyone else, she would have sworn a look of relief fleetingly crossed his features. But this was James Trenton, the great Marquess of Angelford. Did anything not go his way?

  A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes. He pushed it back. "Let’s put aside personal questions for now, shall we, Miss Minton?"

  The lock of hair looked like it might disobey. Angelford suddenly seemed a bit more human, a bit less like a gorgeous avenging demon.

  Calliope felt some of the tension drain from her muscles. "Yes."

  "Good. Pardon me for a minute and I will have Finn set up some security at the Adelphi. Who would be targeted in particular?"

  The admission was hard. "The Daly family. "

  He nodded and walked to the door. Finn must have been standing just outside, because Angelford whispered something around the corner and then shut the door once more.

  "Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

  He was in her study, offering her refreshment?

  "Black tea would be wonderful." Calliope crossed her ankles and waited.

  Angelford didn’t disappoint. He pulled the cord and waited for her butler to appear. "Grimmond? Black tea, please, and Cook’s lemon squares."

  "Very well, my lord." Grimmond turned and quit the room.

  "Do you always demand service in other people’s houses?" she asked.

  "Ah, but Grimmond has known me since I was in britches."

  That would make sense. But even if they hadn’t been acquainted, Calliope didn’t think any self-respecting butler would ignore him.

  "Grimmond is Stephen’s personal butler. I’m shocked he moved him here," Angelford said.

  "Who did you expect?"

  "I expected Johnson. I must assume he was traded to Stephen’s primary residence. Actually, it’s a blessing Grimmond is here. I’ll have a talk with him later today. He will help."

  Angelford walked back toward the desk. He was looking intently at the papers scattered in front of her. Her hair stood on end. A sketch was partially visible. All it would take w
as a mere flick of his wrist and he’d discover her secret.

  Her impulse was to snatch the papers aside, but she couldn’t seize the drawing without elevating his already high suspicions. Under the circumstances, he would undoubtedly pounce on her the second she fingered them.

  Angelford reached the desk. Calliope’s calves tensed for flight.

  The door opened opportunely and Angelford looked to the entrance. Calliope brushed a blank paper over the sketch. She hid the action by standing and walking to the settee.

  To her immense relief Angelford followed and tea was served. They munched on the lemon squares in silence. She convinced herself he wouldn’t have taken a seat if he had seen the sketch.

  He broke her musings. "I think I know what’s going on."

  Her head involuntarily jerked up. "You do?"

  He nodded.

  Her stomach knotted.

  "You have lived here for several weeks, correct? "

  She was flustered, but nodded.

  "What do you do to occupy your time?"

  "I go to the park frequently. And to the parties, of course."

  "So you are out of the house regularly?"

  "I suppose. Although we dine here and sometimes spend the evening playing chess or backgammon."

  He raised his brows, causing her nerves to jitter. Damn. She was supposed to be a courtesan. She needed to be coy. Calliope prepared some lines, but he didn’t give her the chance to utter them.

  "When Stephen placed you here, did he bring in many new furnishings?"

  Where was he leading her? "No, I believe the staff cleaned only what was here, and of course I brought several items with me."

  Angelford frowned. "To your knowledge has Stephen purchased anything recently?"

  "No."

  "Hmmmm . . ."

  Calliope tried to relax. Her concern over her family’s safety and Stephen’s welfare warred with protecting her true identity. But, Angelford wasn’t asking questions as if he knew she was the caricaturist who had vilified him. She fought to control her breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. She redoubled her efforts to concentrate.

  "What we have so far is one missing nobleman, one attempted kidnapping, one threatening note and one unknown object. All of these are connected." He paused. "To you."

  A small knot of fear recurled in her stomach.

  Angelford reread the threat. "But you aren’t the one missing. Stephen is."

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Stephen is definitely a figure in this mystery, but what part does he play?"

  Calliope had no answer, so she remained silent.

  He ran a hand through his dark hair. She wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. "The whole matter is disjointed. Why attempt a kidnapping one night and then send you a threatening note the next day? It seems a little backwards."

  "Maybe due to your interference last night they revised their plan."

  "Perhaps." Angelford didn’t sound convinced. He leaned forward. "I’ve analyzed the situation from several angles, but I always return to the object. Whoever the person or persons are, we need to figure out what they are looking for."

  "It makes sense, I agree. But what could they be seeking? What could Stephen or I have that someone wants so badly to go to such lengths?" She barely owned the clothes on her back. No, she didn’t even own those, they were Stephen’s.

  He perused her for a long moment before speaking. "Stephen works for the government. As a cousin to both a duke and a powerful earl he has many contacts. He is also an avid collector of art. The object in question could be an artifact from his collection or a certificate in his possession."

  "Are you implying that Stephen might have sensitive government documents?" she asked cautiously. "The man last night asked me where 'it' was. He obviously thought I knew what he was talking about."

  "Do you?"

  "No. I thought we’d already discussed this. If I knew, I definitely wouldn’t be sipping tea and talking to you about it."

  He watched her closely for a moment. "It could be a slip of paper. It could be a sculpture. It could be anything. So we’ll have to start with things familiar to you. And that means here."

  Calliope looked around the library. Stephen’s gorgeous low library writing table suddenly appeared like a large puzzle, with its undoubtedly vest array of unknown hidden compartments and secret drawers. Large rococo carved mahogany bookcases and trinkets of all sizes and shapes loomed. "Like Psyche starting one of Aphrodite’s labors."

  The corners of his mouth creased upward at her muttering. "Since I don’t sense any divine intervention, might I suggest we limit ourselves to documents first? lf we are unsuccessful here, we can search his suite upstairs."

  ˜

  Angelford gestured to the bookcases. They held an extensive library of bound volumes and foreign knickknacks. "It makes more sense for the item to be small, otherwise they would have already discovered it."

  The thought of assailants in the house left her cold.

  Angelford headed for the desk.

  She hurried to intercept him. "These are my papers. Just private correspondence. Nothing out of the ordinary."

  He raised a brow.

  Calliope was sure he would demand to see them, but she called his bluff. "Listen, if you really suspect me, then go through my things. But until then, I’d like to keep my correspondence private."

  "I have no reason to suspect you of anything other than feathering your own nest, so for the time being you can keep your things."

  Relief washed through her even as the words grated. She swept up her papers, afraid he would change his mind, but she left them stacked on the desk. It was an act of good faith. The instinctive act shocked her. She had no reason to trust him. For several hours they methodically examined the room, searching the desk’s contents, the secret compartments Angelford was aware of and the bookcases filled with expensively bound books by authors such as Chaucer, Moliere, Voltaire, Rousseau, Milton and Pope. They found nothing out of the ordinary.

  It was well into the afternoon, and they were looking through Stephen’s suite, when Calliope realized they hadn’t sniped at one another since starting the search.

  Calliope lifted a leather volume off the dresser and smiled appreciatively. “I had hoped to read this. It’s the sequel to the novel Stephen is so fond of. I swear he totes that book everywhere."

  "The Red Signet?"

  "Yes, that’s the one."

  His gaze was intent. "Do you know where it is?"

  "In my room. Stephen thought I might enjoy reading it."

  Angelford looked energized.

  "Show me."

  Calliope led the way to her room.

  She entered the beautifully adorned room and lifted the book from the rosewood dresser. Angelford’s eyes were brimming with excitement.

  "Here, let me see."

  Angelford sat on the bed and took the book from her. He felt the spine, then the covers. He paused and then carefully slid his fingers between the two.

  "In the past, Stephen has used this book before to stow important documents. It’s an innocuous-looking thing."

  Slowly he withdrew two folded pieces of paper. Mindless of the impropriety, Calliope perched beside him and leaned over his shoulder. On one paper was the word Salisbury and a list of names: Angelford, Chalmers, Seagrove, Pettigrew, Tornberry, Roth, Holt, Castlereagh, Hampton, Merriweather, Unknown. The first three--Angelford, Chalmers and Seagrove--had been crossed out. Castlereagh and Merriweather had been crossed off twice.

  Salisbury? Calliope’s heart missed a beat. Her mind screamed to flee; her heart froze her in place. A little voice urged her to grab the list and run to Bow Street

  .

  She folded her hands together. "Your name is on the list, my lord. As is Stephen’s."

  "This is Stephen’s handwriting. Salisbury . . ." Angelford’s voice trailed off.

  Calliope gripped her hands tightly together. She wanted to scream, Sal
isbury, what?

  "Do you know what the list represents?"

  "Many years ago, a mission went sour. A traitor was suspected and a man was murdered. The investigation was dropped under pressure from the Foreign Office because of the turmoil in France and lack of evidence."

  Calliope’s heart pounded as Angelford continued his explanation. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice the change in her demeanor. He looked lost in thought; his voice had taken on a distant tone. Absently, almost to himself, he said, "Each person listed here had something to do with that mission."