by Karen Ranney
They would be free to spend as much time together as they wanted. They could discuss anything they wished for as long as they wished without worry as to appearance or staff gossip. She could share her life with him and he could confide in her. They would laugh about silly things and counter the sadness that had enveloped both of them for so long.
She could hold him and tell him how sorry she was about Rebecca. She would tell him that her death wasn’t his fault. He’d never said, but she knew he felt that way. People like Adam took on the responsibility that others sometimes shirked.
Adam, with his military background, had been pressed into a mold as rigid as the one used to form her. If they stepped outside of the person they had been reared and trained to be, would the world collapse? Would society take a deep breath and suddenly vanish? Would London crumble around them?
No one would notice. No one had noted the death of an innocent child and an unwise duke. The world had gone on as if nothing had happened, as if there hadn’t been a rending in the fabric of her life. The world had barely noticed when hundreds of women and children had been killed in a senseless massacre.
Now she pressed her hand against the library door. The last time she’d entered this room she’d encountered someone who wished her harm. Perhaps it had been a stranger. Or even worse, it had been someone living at Marsley House.
Until now she’d never been all that brave. Or perhaps she’d never been in circumstances in which she needed courage. The double library doors loomed as a test.
Pushing open one of the doors, she stepped inside. The moonlit night was the only illumination as she made her way to the desk and lit the hanging lamp. The silence surrounding her should have been absolute, but it was accompanied by memories.
She could almost hear George pontificating on some subject, correcting a member of the staff guilty of an infraction, or commanding the servants as if they were a battalion. Georgie’s laughter sounded faintly from those times when she’d brought him to see his father. George had always spared the time to hold his son, bounce him on one knee, and admire how fast Georgie was growing.
The faint light from the lamp illuminated only the surface of the desk. She glanced up to the third floor. Again, her courage was being tested. All her life she’d been protected, guarded, and cosseted. Even her grief had been sheltered.
Until Adam. Until she was forced to realize that her loss wasn’t special or unique, that there were other people who had suffered in their lives, too.
She took one step up the curved iron staircase and then another, her hand clamped to the banister. At the second floor landing she hesitated. The shadows were deeper here, the darkness absolute. The faint light from the desk surrendered to the moonlight for dominance.
One more flight and she was on the third floor. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. If she recalled correctly, a small reading nook was at the end of this row of shelves. Beside the love seat was a table and lamp. She reached out with her right hand against the books, her breath shallow as she made her way even farther into the darkness.
When she lit the lamp, she blew out a breath filled with relief. Nothing greeted her but rows and rows of books. No, not books. Journals. George’s journals that he’d kept since he was a child. She walked to the end of the row. Each one was marked with a notation, but it wasn’t a date. She selected one of the journals at random and took it with her to the love seat.
Did she really want to read George’s words? She never had before. Even this afternoon she’d given Adam the journal, unwilling to learn about George’s children.
Courage again, that’s what she needed.
Sitting, she opened the journal to the first page, beginning to read.
Chapter Forty-Three
“What are you doing here?” Adam asked, his head appearing as he climbed the circular iron stairs.
Suzanne looked up. A month ago she would have responded with a very cold and rather autocratic remark. Who are you to question me, Drummond? However, a great deal had happened since then, and Adam had been involved in most of it. He’d kissed her, held her while she cried, saved her life, and been her lover.
For that reason and even a greater one—that she wished to be a better person than she had been—she gave him the truth.
“I came looking for you,” she said. “Then I dared myself to come up here. I don’t like feeling afraid and I didn’t want to feel that way every time I came into the library.”
She was prepared for him to lecture her, but he didn’t. Instead, he came to her side and sat down on the love seat beside her. Only then did she realize that he carried the journal Sankara had given them.
“We were both reading George’s journals,” she said, glancing down at the book on her lap. “I was reading about the time before he was sent to India. It was startling to see his handwriting.”
Adam held her hand and squeezed it gently.
She opened the journal to the part that had almost made her cry.
“‘I am hoping to be given a commission, one that will allow me to place the Whitcomb name in glory again. I have not done a good job of it to date and would have shamed my father and grandfather by my inaction. Yet I believe I am destined for greatness, a feeling that has been in my heart since my boyhood. As duke I will lead men to valor and be the epitome of all that is good and right and just about England.’”
She slowly closed the book and put it on the table.
“But he didn’t, did he? I think he knew what a failure he was. I think he didn’t want to come out and say the words, but I think he knew.”
Adam only squeezed her hand again.
“Perhaps he was a traitor, after all,” she said. “If he thought it might bring him glory or respect or fame, it’s possible that he might have done something terrible for a good reason.”
“He wasn’t a traitor, Suzanne,” he said.
She turned her head to look at him. “Did you find something?”
He nodded.
“What?”
He looked like he was debating with himself.
“Do you know who it was?” she asked.
He nodded.
If he thought she was content to remain in ignorance, he was badly mistaken.
“Who is it, Adam?”
“Roger,” he said. “Roger Mount.”
“Your friend at the War Office?”
“Hardly that,” he said dryly. “Roger doesn’t have any friends, just people he uses.”
“And he’s the traitor?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Why does anyone betray his country? Maybe money, for one. The rebel leader was the adopted son of a prince. He had a fortune at his disposal. Enough to pay any amount of money for information. Revenge? Roger was sent to Lucknow because he didn’t get along with the commander at Manipora. He always thought rules and regulations applied to everyone else, but not him.”
He handed her the journal. “I think you should read it.”
She took the book but didn’t open it. “I really don’t want to read about George’s women,” she said. She tried to give him back the journal, but he wouldn’t take it.
“That’s not what he wrote. You need to read it, Suzanne.”
She studied him for a moment. He didn’t look away.
Biting back a sigh, she opened the book.
From time to time he glanced over at Suzanne. He knew what she was reading. Part of him wanted to spare her any hurt those pages might cause. Yet it wouldn’t have been right to hide the information from her.
He wanted to ask her forgiveness for a great many things, none of which she’d had any part in, but for which he’d judged her. She hadn’t known that his sister had been taken advantage of by a young lord who’d only laughed at her excited announcement that she was going to have his child. Adam hadn’t bothered to let the man know that Mary had died in childbirth and that his son had perished as well. At least the Duke of Marsley had
cared for his bastards. Mary’s lover hadn’t been interested in anything beyond taking her innocence.
Nor did Suzanne know that the tenement in which he’d been born and reared was a slapdash of three-story buildings leaning against each other, owned by a peer who’d raised the rents every year with careless disregard for any of his tenants.
Whatever contempt he felt for the aristocracy, it was not fair to visit it upon Suzanne.
She turned the pages quickly, evidently more familiar with Sankara’s formal handwriting than he had been.
He glanced toward the rows of journals. Something didn’t look right. He knew these books well since he’d haunted the library in the past months.
“Did you mix up the journals?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“The middle section is out of place,” he said.
He went and stood in front of the bookcase in question, fingering the volumes that had been moved. He’d come to the library after Suzanne had been injured. The books weren’t out of place then. Nor were they out of order two days ago.
“Someone was in the library last night,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Because this book,” he said, pulling it out, “should be in that section.” He pointed to the journals on the next shelf.
“It might’ve been one of the maids,” she said.
“No. I think it was the same person who pushed you down the stairs.” He glanced at her. “You should go back to your suite, Suzanne.”
“Why?”
“Because I think someone is going to come to the library tonight to look for the journal.”
She folded her arms and frowned at him, an expression he’d seen on Edward Hackney’s face. He had a feeling he was about to encounter the same obstinacy in his daughter.
“I’m not moving, Adam. I should very much like to push him down the stairs myself and see how he likes it.”
He bit back his smile. The situation wasn’t amusing.
“I’m going to sit in the dark and wait for him, Suzanne. I assure you it will be exceedingly boring.”
“I have nothing more pressing to do, Adam. I shall enjoy the experience.”
From the look on her face, lips tight, eyes narrowed, it didn’t seem that she was going to descend the stairs and leave the library.
“Then I’m going to extinguish the light,” he said. “I don’t want our visitor to know that we’re here.”
He went down the stairs, turning the key on the lamp before making his way back up to the third floor. Once he sat beside her again he blew out the lamp on the table next to the love seat, plunging them into darkness.
“Do you really think someone is still looking for this journal?” she asked.
He turned to her. “If we’re lying in wait for someone, it’s important that we’re quiet.”
“Not until you tell me who you think it is.”
Yes, she was most definitely stubborn.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said. “Only that he was assigned here by Roger.”
He sat in the darkness holding her hand. A month ago, no more than that, he’d been a different person. His world had narrowed to become his work and only that. When he thought about those things that mattered in his life there was a huge black spot where the smiling faces of loved ones used to be. His mother, Mary, Rebecca, and long lost friends. Whatever the reason, he’d been left alone and he’d adjusted in his way.
He hadn’t expected Suzanne. Nor had he anticipated that she’d make him feel whole again.
Passion linked them, true. He desired her right at the moment. Something else, however, formed a bridge between them. Not mutual loss as much as trust, a growing friendship, and more. He knew that he could tell her almost anything and she would accept it. If she judged him it would be fairly. She was also loyal, somewhat to a fault in the case of the Duke of Marsley.
The fact was that their time together was coming to an end. Now that he had the journal, there was no need for him to remain at Marsley House. His assignment was over. He didn’t even need to discover the identity of the second operative. The man would be recalled to the War Office soon enough, but Adam wanted the pleasure of punching the idiot in the nose first for hurting Suzanne.
Reaching over, he put his arm behind her back. She leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder.
She would never be the Duchess of Marsley to him again. Instead, when he allowed himself to think of Suzanne, it would be with a surprising amount of regret. Not for what had happened between them, but for a future that would never be theirs.
Chapter Forty-Four
The minutes ticked by uneventfully. About an hour later, from Adam’s estimation, he heard a noise, a muffled click. He knew that sound. He’d made it himself, entering the library in the darkest hours of the night. He withdrew his arm from Suzanne, his body tensing.
He stood and walked halfway to the stairs, then pressed himself back against the bookcases. None of the lamps were lit, which made Adam think that the intruder was familiar with the library. No doubt he knew there was another lamp next to the love seat.
He could hear steps on the metal stairs.
A black shape appeared at the landing. Adam forced himself to wait. The shadow began walking toward the bookcase.
Suzanne gasped, the sound faint but enough to stop the man in his tracks.
So much for the element of surprise. Adam launched himself, only to encounter a softer form than he’d expected, one that felt pillowy.
“What the . . . ?”
He didn’t have a chance to say anything further before he was bitten on the wrist. It was one thing to restrain a man, but he’d never encountered one who used his teeth as a weapon.
Suddenly, the light blazed in the corner. He stared at the person he’d pinned to the shelf.
Ella glared back at him. The hood of the black cloak she wore tumbled from her head, revealing hair frizzing about her face.
He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before all the pieces of the puzzle fit into place.
He’d been right in thinking that Roger had placed an operative at Marsley House before him. He hadn’t gone back far enough. Ella had been here four months before he arrived. Another mistake he’d made and one he wouldn’t make again—not considering that Roger would use a woman. Female agents were new to the War Office.
“What are you doing here?” Suzanne said, standing and approaching them.
“She’s Roger’s other operative,” he said. “And the person who threw you down the stairs.”
“That was an accident,” Ella said, spitting the words out.
“You failed,” he said. “We found the journal.”
She stopped struggling in his grip. “Then I haven’t failed,” she said. “The assignment was to find the journal. It didn’t matter who accomplished it.”
He would’ve thought the same thing a while ago, at least until he’d discovered the identity of the traitor.
“How did you get in?” Suzanne asked.
Ella didn’t answer. If the look she sent Suzanne was any indication, Ella detested her former employer.
“I believe Ella is playing coy, Your Grace,” he said, smiling at Suzanne. “If you would precede me down the stairs, and inform the footman on duty to summon the authorities, we’ll rid ourselves of her.”
“You can’t do that,” Ella said when Suzanne edged past them for the stairs. “You know I was working for the War Office.”
“I know that you’re guilty of burglary. Not to mention bodily harm.”
She twisted in his grasp. “You can’t do this, Drummond.”
Her face was contorted with barely controlled rage. Perhaps in another circumstance he could have ignored her actions, knowing that she was a member of the Silent Service. But she’d harmed Suzanne and for that she needed to be held accountable. Let the War Office explain her actions. He wasn’t going to shield her.
Ella tried to free he
rself again. It must have infuriated her that he could keep her pinned with his hands. Just in case, he kept himself carefully out of range of her teeth.
He held her wrists tight as they descended the steps. If she fell it would be because of her own behavior. She seemed to realize that, and didn’t try to pull away from him.
“Roger isn’t going to be happy,” she said.
“Strangely enough, that isn’t one of my concerns.”
By the time he and Ella got to the front door, a crowd had gathered. Thomas had evidently not retired for the night, and as the head footman he’d summoned an additional man. Mrs. Thigpen was there, attired in a dressing gown with her hair done up in rags. The night maid stood beside her, eyes wide as she looked at him holding Ella. He didn’t doubt that stories would fly around Marsley House by morning.
Suzanne stood apart from the rest, the duke’s journal clutched to her chest.
He wanted to go to her. Instead, he spoke to Thomas, explaining that Ella had entered Marsley House in order to steal. She’d been here before, at least twice, he suspected, after she’d been dismissed. When the authorities arrived, she was to be surrendered to them.
Thomas nodded, looking as fierce as a young man could. “Yes, Mr. Drummond. I’ll see that it’s done.”
He didn’t have any doubt that Thomas would do exactly as he said. “I would take the precaution of tying her hands and perhaps her feet,” he added.
Although Thomas looked surprised, he nodded. The footman glanced over at Mrs. Thigpen, who immediately sent the night maid after some sturdy rope.
“Roger will hear about this,” Ella said.
He didn’t bother telling her that Roger was going to face his own justice shortly.
“He’s not a fancy majordomo,” Ella said, addressing Thomas, then glancing at the housekeeper. “He’s not a servant at all. He’s a member of the Silent Service. A spy.”
Mrs. Thigpen glanced at him, but instead of wearing an expression of shock on her face, she looked pleased. Almost satisfied, as if Ella had proven her right about something.
