by Ann Chaney
“–my lord, you are jesting at my expense which I do not appreciate. Mr. Arnold is a lowly clerk bent on gaining my dowry. That man cares more for the lay of his cravat than he does for intrigue,” she scoffed.
Moreham ignored her and continued on.
“Some say your uncle encouraged Arnold’s attentions in your direction. I must warn you, Arnold’s public wooing for your hand also implicates you.” He held up his hand. “If you’re going to suggest this is all a random coincidence, don’t. I have worked behind the scenes on behalf of Whitehall for over a decade and can tell you emphatically, your uncle’s connection with Arnold and the man’s pursuit of you are not coincidences.”
Mr. Arnold arrested? Escaped?
A twinge of unease traveled through her body. She had no idea. Did Uncle Whitney know of this? Her uncle never discussed politics or his business with her. He considered both subjects to be beyond her understanding. Her aunt agreed with him that Gillian should remain innocent of the vagaries of the world beyond Mayfair society Moreham’s recitation of events did cause her unease. No, she would not entertain the outlandish notion that Uncle Whitney was a traitor.
Gillian attempted to understand Moreham’ words. Her heart raced at the thought of Uncle Whitney being involved in any business directed against the government and his king. The notion was simply unfathomable. She must control her emotions. Now was not the time to lose her temper and say something that could harm her uncle.
“My lord, I know in my heart, Uncle Whitney isn’t a traitor. I’m willing to risk everything I hold dear to prove my uncle’s innocence.”
Moreham jerked backward. “Miss Browning, I do not see how you can be of assistance, and I’m most certain Lady Philly told you the same as well. I will admit you have surprised me. Your presence here is proof you are made of stern stuff.”
“You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of.”
The man had the audacity to laugh. “No, you are right on that score and I intend to keep it that way.”
Her stomach flipped. She refused to return home empty-handed. Good thing she’d thought through the possible outcomes of their conversation beforehand. Time to make the earl a proposition he could not refuse. At least, she prayed her offer of assistance would be far too appealing to the spymaster.
Gillian shifted so she faced Moreham. She wanted to watch his face as she spoke. She was convinced the gentleman had no notion how much she really knew about his activities. She leaned forward. “One of your agents is masquerading as a footman in my uncle’s home. Don’t ask how I know this. I won’t tell you. I also know that footman has searched the house, but he has been unable to breech my uncle’s private sanctum, his bookroom. I can get you, not him, into that room.”
To her delight, Moreham looked completely flummoxed. A fissure of delight raced through her at the notion she had caught Philly’s agent off-guard not once but twice.
“My lord, say something. I’m offering to help you because I know you’ll find nothing. I will have your word as a gentleman and a peer when your search yields nothing to incriminate my uncle, you’ll declare him no longer under suspicion. We both know my offer is in your best interest. The sooner you clear his name, you will be able to turn your attention to the others on that list of yours.”
Moreham shook his head. “Only a woman would devise a plan based on that logic. What if you are wrong? What if I’m the one in the right and I find the proof I seek? I will not hesitate to hand over any evidence of guilt. I don’t concoct tales. I present the truth and all supporting documentation. Ask yourself, will you be able to live with yourself should your actions prove instrumental in Whitney’s conviction and hanging?”
“I refuse to acknowledge that possibility. Will you accept my offer?”
Before her eyes, he changed. His ever so proper gentlemanly façade vanished. Fear gnawed at her insides as he leaned forward closing the meager distance between them. She’d never encountered such fierceness so close at hand.
Gillian had thought herself prepared to deal with this man. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Even so, she found his demeanor fascinating. Moreham was no fool.
Why she reached for his hand, she’d never know. All she knew was she had to say or do something, or the earl would send her packing. “My lord, your answer?” She shuddered at the needy sound in her voice. Now was not the time to turn missish. “All I ask of you is to allow me to help. With me at your side, your search will go much quicker. My uncle like so many of his age is having eyesight problems. I’ve been I have been helping him with his ledgers for the last year or so. My assistance will make your search go much quicker.”
He quirked one eyebrow and gave her hand a pointed look. “Miss Browning, it is not the files you know about that I will be looking for in my search.”
Gillian jerked her hand back. “I have keys. I’ll open the room and help you search his private papers.” She waited for him to agree to her insane proposition. For him to do otherwise was unthinkable.
“You will arrange for me to search the duke’s private study?” he asked.
“Yes, because I know you’ll find nothing.”
“No, you do not know such is true. Hope makes all of us fools, but I’ll own, I’m a desperate man. Searching Whitney’s bookroom will make short work of my investigation…I’ll accept your offer. Have no doubt, should I discover proof of your uncle’s guilt, I’ll arrest him.”
Moreham looked over her shoulder. “’Tis three o’clock and I must either seek my bed or collapse on this woefully short settee. My exhaustion will provide you with more time to reconsider your offer”
“I won’t change my mind,” Gillian replied.
Moreham continued as if she had not spoken, “You ride in the park every morning. If you are still resolute in your intent, meet me on Rotten Row tomorrow…um…rather this morning. We will discuss your proposal further.” Moreham stood, bowed to her, then headed for the library doors before she could reply. “If you do not appear, I’ll assume you have come to your senses and will remain out of the fray. Regardless of your decision, this encounter never happened.”
At the door, he turned back to face her. “Miss Browning, please know I’ll not stop until I have the truth. Thousands of British lives depend on unearthing anyone who has decided to throw their lot in with the French. I’ll be watching you closely. Of that, have no doubt.”
The earl disappeared from sight. Gillian fell back on to the settee. The encounter had taken every bit of energy and resolve she’d possessed.
“Well done, my dear. You do have a backbone. I have known gentlemen who cowered like babes when face-to-face with Moreham and his displeasure.”
Gillian laughed at the sound of Philly’s voice. “I should have known you would be listening. Did you hear everything?”
The lady came around the end of the settee and joined her. “Yes, the third panel on the right side of the fireplace is my hidey hole.” She motioned over her shoulder. “Don’t look at me that way. I’ll use whatever means necessary to protect the Crown.” Philly leaned closer to pat Gillian’s hand. “Which brings us to the reason you are doing this…your uncle’s honor. I must agree with Moreham and advise you once again to allow those of us skilled in subterfuge to discover the truth.”
“Uncle Whitney is innocent,” she declared.
Philly grimaced. “Oh, Gillian, I hope you are right. For all our sakes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Unthinkable is what it is. Imagine the uproar if a close advisor to the King, a king who is known to be addle-brained most of the time, is found to be a traitor. Such a revelation would throw the government into crisis.”
Gillian had no reply. What had seemed like a quest for justice for her sweet uncle had turned far more dangerous. Was she willing to risk it all? The sad truth was she had no choice.
Chapter 2
Four hours later
Rotten Row, Hyde Park
* * *
> “Paladin, easy boy.” Moreham patted his horse’s neck. This morning, Paladin possessed as little patience as he did. He didn’t need to consult his pocket watch to know Gillian was late.
Gillian.
He winced. When had he started thinking of her so? She was a duke’s ward. Thinking of her in such a familiar manner did not bode well for his peace of mind. Better to think of her as a means to an end rather than the shy, but resolute, woman who had occupied his thoughts since their early morning rendezvous, hours earlier.
His disappointment in Gillian’s failure to appear brought home how much the woman interested him. That realization alone should have told him what a horrid idea this was. With her help, he’d be trespassing and stealing from a duke. Though he’d been quite the rogue in times past, he’d never crossed the entrenched boundary of honor. He’d mulled the situation over when he should have been sleeping. His only explanation was his attraction to the woman. Her offer was too enticing to refuse. A fact she well understood, or she would not have risked ruination of her name to seek him out in the dead of night. The genteel lady was too enticing and had robbed him of all good sense.
Moreham resigned himself to one more circuit down Rotten Row and back before returning to his townhouse and his breakfast. He’d had a near miss. Had Gillian appeared and they’d ridden together, every gossip in London would have feasted on that snippet for weeks.
“My lord, dare I hope your look of impatience is because of me?” Gillian laughed as she eased her horse alongside. “My groom’s horse threw a shoe and we returned his mount to my uncle’s stable. My apology for not arriving punctually for our appointment.”
“Many of my friends would say I’m far too patient. As for my facial expression, I was relishing the thought of you not joining me. Unlike some of our class, I do not enjoy being fodder for the gossips. The mere act of speaking to each other will be spoken of often over the coming days.”
Deciding enough had been said about their current predicament, he forced a smile. Time for the farce to begin. Moreham dipped his head in greeting. “Miss Browning, what a treat to see you this morning. I’m enjoying the air. I hope you will join me.”
“My lord, how gallant of you to offer your company. I will be equally as engaging and accept.” Gillian dismissively flicked her hand toward her groom. “Stay as you are.”
Gillian turned back to him. “Shall we?”
Moreham nodded but said nothing. He motioned for her to take the lead and directed Paladin to fall in beside her mare. They made their way sedately along Rotten Row while at least three of Moreham’s acquaintances rode past at a canter. He had a ribbing coming when he showed up at White’s later. No doubt, he’d find a wager in the betting book as to his chances of winning Gillian’s hand. The worst of it was he could say nothing. If anything, being romantically linked to her, would save their necks should they be discovered in Whitney’s bookroom.
“Moreham, shall we discuss our plan?” Her soft voice broke through his woolgathering.
“Our plan? My dear, I regard your offer of assistance as your plan. You are risking your reputation by meeting me this morning. What sort of lady desires to take that gamble even further by breeching her uncle’s privacy? If we are caught, we’ll be forced to marry with all haste. My mother and Whitney will see to it.”
Gillian laughed. She leaned closer and whispered. “Your mother? You, an agent of the Crown, caving to your mother’s demands? I find that hard to believe.”
“My mother I can handle. ’Tis your uncle I’m more concerned with. Whitney can call me out. I’m not fond of duels at dawn.”
“No worries there. Uncle Whitney is a horrible shot. Doesn’t own a pair of pistols. Aunt Isadora forbids it.”
“None of what you say makes me feel better. Best if we avoid both discovery and marriage.”
“My lord, to that end, my aunt has accepted invitations to three balls Friday evening. I’ll feign a megrim and remain home. Neither will remark on my absence. I’m known to be sickly.” The lady waved a hand in front of her face, transforming her countenance into a pained grimace then gave a delicate cough. “Have your agent meet you in the mews. Tell him to escort you to the garden door off the ballroom. I’ll be there waiting at ten o’clock.”
Moreham decided to try one more time. “Your presence is not required. All you have to do is hand me the keys. I can search much more quickly without you underfoot.”
Gillian halted her horse and glared at him with eyes the color of climbing ivy. The lady had a temper. He’d never seen a more tantalizing sight. Moreham wondered if that emotion translated into passion.
She pulled back on the reins. “My presence for the duration of your time in the duke’s home is non-negotiable. If you cannot accept that condition, then our ride is over. Return me to my groom.”
An unladylike growl caught him by surprise. Gillian clucked at her horse. Before the animal could turn around, Moreham reached out and took hold of her reins to stop her from leaving. “Stay. I agree to all you have said. You can’t blame me for attempting to save you, can you?”
To his surprise the lady didn’t claim victory but remained stoic. Any other lady would have preened at getting the better of him.
She nodded. “No one will see you enter. I’ll be the one to open the door.” Her voice called to him in a sing song cadence. He could listen to her all day long. Gillian didn’t pause but continued. “I do not trust you anymore than you trust me. You’ve said you are suspicious of my reasons. I’m equally concerned. You refuse to entertain the possibility that my uncle is not guilty. Surely, you can understand why I worry about your insistence on destroying Uncle Whitney. You see, my lord, we are two sides of the same coin. Can’t have one without the other. Now, shall we continue our ride?”
Two sides of a coin? Where did she come up with such? Gillian was unlike any lady he’d ever encountered. Her loyalty and trust in her uncle while she fearlessly confronted him whom she distrusted spoke of her courage. Though he was wary of her, Moreham found his esteem for her increasing the more time he spent in her company.
Lady Gillian reined in her mount and headed in the direction of her groom at the other end of the riding track before continuing, “Uncle Whitney conducts all his business in the bookroom. His strong box is where you’ll find his most confidential papers. I have a key for that lock as well.”
Moreham pulled on Paladin’s reins, stopping in the middle of Rotten Row. He didn’t care who saw him glaring at the chit. “I’m in charge of this endeavor. You will do as I say. I’ll take possession of the keys, otherwise we end this folly now.”
She shrugged, not giving any sign she was intimidated by his demand. “Very well, I’ll return home and tell my uncle all. You won’t be finished with your breakfast before the summons will come from Whitehall. You’ll be chastised for harassing a duke and his family. Removed from your precious investigation post haste. I doubt if that is how you want your morning to go.”
Moreham wanted to tell her he had no need of her, but she wasn’t bluffing. He had no doubt she’d tell all. This one time, he’d have to give control to another.
Moreham would require his agent swear an oath not to reveal Miss Browning’s role. Should his fellow agents ever learn of a mere lady leading him around by the nose, he’d never hear the end of the jesting.
The sooner Whitney was in Newgate, the closer he’d be to finding the leader of the 1804 Social Club. Moreham had sworn to protect the Crown and Great Britain. He fully intended to make whatever sacrifice that vow required of him, including forming an alliance with Gillian.
He flashed her his most charming smile or so his mother declared when he beamed the same toothsome grin in her direction. To his surprise, Gillian laughed.
“Does that smile work with other ladies?” Her laughter faded and her eyes hardened. “I assume you’re attempting to charm me. After wading through the social quagmire of four seasons, I’m well beyond succumbing to such a blatant flirt
ation.”
Speechless, Moreham had nothing to say or do in response. Gillian’s blunt talk had caught him off guard. Men spoke so, not ladies. No wonder the girl remained unmarried if she confronted every gentleman thusly.
He threw his hands up in the air in a sign of surrender. “I have tried to protect you at every turn while you continue to reject my efforts. In all good conscience, if we are found together in that room, please know we shall marry as soon as the archbishop signs a special license.”
Gillian’s glare intensified. “I hardly think threatening me with marriage is necessary. All will be well. What could possibly go wrong? You are a trained agent of the Crown. One night’s work and we’ll be well rid of each other.”
“Do not promise that which you cannot deliver.” Moreham motioned for her to urge her mount to return to Rotten Row. “We are attracting too much attention. Race you to the other end. First one there gets a boon of their choosing from the loser.”
Gillian, with a twitch of her whip, sent her horse into a full gallop. He sat back in the saddle and watched as she leaned over and became one with her horse. He waited for a minute then gave Paladin his head. He wanted her to have a fair chance of winning.
For the first time, in what seemed like a very long time, he wanted to win. For a single moment, coming in first was about more than doing his duty for king and country. He refused to examine his motive. He pulled even with Gillian and stayed with her until the last second when he urged Paladin ahead to beat her by a nose.
Breathless and smiling, Gillian shook her head. “My compliments. I am always ready for a ripping ride. Well played. Allowing me a head start so I could harbor a hope I would prevail, only to overtake me at the last minute. Now, you have me in your debt. What boon will you demand from me?”
“Shall we delay the payment until this business is behind us?”
“Very well, once I have cleared my uncle of any wrongdoing, I shall honor my debt.”
A vision of Gillian lying on his bed with his sheets draped over her body, barely covering her lovely breasts filled his mind. Suddenly, he wanted this business done. He wanted to be free to indulge all his senses in discovering the many layers of Gillian Browning—which was truly the worst idea he’d ever entertained.
