by Ann Chaney
Moreham remained silent until they were once more alone.
“Well done, wife. You have the good sense to see beyond the obvious. I must agree with Philly. Our union has been most beneficial for the Crown.”
Moreham’s words inflamed Gillian’s temper. “Our marriage’s success remains a question. I married you to be able to investigate at your side in order to clear my uncle’s name. All we have done so far is ascertain my uncle is about to be killed and accused of multiple murders.”
“Not very romantic when you think about it, is it?”
Gillian fought the need to roll her eyes at the insufferable man before heading for the doors. “We should return to our bedchamber. How Aunt Isadora has slept through all the comings and goings tonight is beyond me. At least, our bedchamber is on the far side of the house so we can work without fear of being overheard.”
“Lead the way, oh wise analytical one.”
“That bothered you?” she asked.
“Of course not, I knew all along you are my perfect companion. I’m pleased Philly agrees since she is also a keen analytical minded lady.”
Moments later, Gillian entered their sitting room then sank down on the settee in front of the fireplace. The fire burned low with only a faint glow. To her surprise, Moreham placed another log on the fire. Immediate warmth assaulted her face. Moreham saw to the fire screen then joined her on the settee.
Moreham watched the fire for a moment before turning toward her. “This is nice. I find myself wishing the circumstances of our union were more traditional. Do you agree?”
“Here we are. Two strangers working to bring down a French plot against the Crown, and you want to have a discussion about our rather unconventional marriage?”
“No, I was trying to have a romantic moment with a woman I am most delighted to have as my wife. You will find in my line of work one must seize each moment as it comes. As you so pointedly stated, we have work to do. We may not get an opportunity to voice our feelings.”
“You have feelings for me? I find that incredulous.” Gillian almost laughed at the thought. She couldn’t fathom Moreham ever having feelings for anyone save his mother. She was surprised to find herself more than a little jealous of the affection mother and son shared. Not that she would ever admit such. She wished her husband of less than a sennight would look at her with the affection he bestowed on his mother at her most outrageous moments.
Moreham touched her cheek. “Believe me, I am as surprised as you are. You are the most enterprising woman I have ever met. No simpering or whining for you. At this moment, I am enjoying the glint of impatience in your eyes. You look ready to burst. You, my darling, have passion. I am a lucky man to witness such emotion.”
Moreham slowly lowered his head then rested his forehead against hers. Gillian gave in, tilted her head upward and captured his lips with her own. All thoughts flew from her head as Moreham moaned and drew her body against his. She eased her arms around his neck and held on. There was no way she would let go of this man. Ever.
Moreham pulled back from her. “I will always regret our unconventional marriage. You deserve to be courted. Dancing every dance to the horror of the gossips, stolen kisses in hidden corners of ballrooms and horridly written love notes. I am most apologetic that we subverted those moments. I wish I could say once we are through here, I will make amends, but unfortunately, there will be another assignment. There always is.”
“Oh, Moreham, don’t worry about such. We will be together.”
He frowned and pushed himself back even further from her. The loss of his warmth chilled her.
“What do you mean we will be together? Why would you think that? The only reason you are with me now is due to your uncle’s troubles and your obstinate insistence in coming with me. Once this assignment is over and your uncle is safe, you will be moving into your own house wherever you choose to live. I will be in residence long enough to stop the gossip.”
Coldness seeped into her bones. She looked at the fireplace to see if the flames had died down to find the fire blazing. Confused by Moreham’s words, she tried to make sense of them. Why wouldn’t he live in the same house as she? Nothing had changed.
“I don’t understand.”
“Gillian, my work is far too dangerous. I keep my distance from society to protect my mother. Now, I must also protect you. My distance will keep both of you safe. You understand what I am saying, don’t you?”
She tried to find the warmth she had seen in his eyes moments earlier. That dear man was gone, replaced by an agent of the Crown. The reality of her marriage sunk into her soul. Moreham would not allow himself to love her. Respect her yes, but love her, never. All she would have would be mere stolen moments never hours or days.
Gillian forced a smile to her lips. Now was not the time to fall apart. Her uncle’s life was at stake. They must devise a plan.
“Of course, I understand. You are most correct in your need to see to our safety.” The mantel clock struck two chimes. “Oh my, we must get busy.”
To her relief, Moreham nodded in agreement. Gillian tucked her tattered heart away once more. She would deal with the pain of not being loved later. First, she had to save her uncle.
Gillian rose from the settee and rummaged through a desk by the door to their bedchamber. The woman had not said one word of argument about his intent to leave her.
How could a woman kiss as she did and not want to enjoy that bit of affection at every opportunity?
Did she care? Maybe a small bit?
He had seen her looking at him with what he thought was affection. Not that any woman had ever gazed at him thusly.
His last years had been spent playing cat and mouse with turncoats. No time for Society’s entertainments unless attending such evenings that garnered clues to assist him in unraveling whatever sinister puzzle he had been assigned.
Gillian returned to the settee with a lap desk. She pulled out a pen and ink well from the bowels of the portable desk along with a piece of paper.
“We have at least three gentlemen who we believe will be killed and one gentleman who we believe to be our assassin. The stranger cannot do away with three men alone. He must have others to help him. The abbey is too close to the village for pistols to be used. Firing a gun would bring villagers to investigate. The intention must be to ambush the men and spirit them away from the abbey for execution.”
Moreham shook himself and forced the thoughts of kissing Gillian again from his mind. She was right of course. It was time to deal with the issue at hand.
“Whitney and his friends won’t have a chance against trained assassins.”
Gillian grabbed his hands. “What if Uncle and his friends were not the men at the abbey? What if we traded places with the gentlemen? Uncle and his friends could leave the house for the abbey. We could meet them at the fork in the road and take their places. We could overpower the attackers.”
Moreham couldn’t believe his ears.
The woman was completely mad!
He took a deep breath before speaking. He forced himself to speak softly. Shouting would only bring some curious or well-meaning soul to investigate.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by Gillian’s intention to be at the abbey. She had been adamant about being a part of the investigation from the beginning. He was the one who had thought he could nudge her into the background. A nice safe place where there was no fear of bullets or knives being utilized.
He had known her long enough to know she would not acquiesce to his wishes and remain at the manor with Isadora. He had to convince her. She was invaluable in keeping Isadora from following Whitney to the abbey. For now, he would let her think she had been successful in convincing him to allow her to accompany them to the abbey. He raised his hands in surrender.
Gillian clapped her hands and laughed. “Moreham, I will be good, I promise. I will do exactly what you and Cross tell me to do. There is a trunk of old clothes in the attic. I’ll go up
in the morning and find a pair of buckskins for me to wear. You won’t regret taking me along.”
With her nestled in his arms and her warm breath tickling his neck, Moreham tightened his hold on Gillian. “Dearest, you are forgetting your aunt. She could be a target as well. Someone must stay behind and protect her. Your aunt has kept to her rooms today. While we both know she cares little for Lady Philly, she is still the hostess and should have joined her guests. It falls to you to remain behind to keep an eye on her. You said so yourself, there are new faces among the household staff. Any one of those new servants could be an inside man for the conspirators.”
Moreham mentally patted himself on the back. He may have only known his unconventional bride for less than a sennight, but he knew she would not refuse him. She would see the logic in remaining behind to guard her aunt. At least, he hoped she would.
Gillian bit down on her lip and frowned. He rather enjoyed the sight of her ferreting out the error of his logic. Gillian grunted and nodded.
“Very well, you win. I will remain behind. You are correct. We must see to Aunt Isadora’s safety. And yes, keeping to her rooms is very unlike her. Even when she joined us for dinner tonight, she was far too quiet for my liking.”
With Gillian’s agreement, Moreham felt some of the weight of their dilemma lift from his shoulders.
He reached for Gillian and held her tight. “My dearest, you are so precious to me. You cannot appreciate how much I value you. Once we run these fiends to ground, we must talk.”
Before Gillian could reply, the doors swung open and Cross entered.
“Whitney has sought his bed. The man is exhausted.”
“Well, what is your plan?” Cross inquired.
“We will take the places of Colchester and Roberts and go to the abbey in their place with Whitney.”
“What if the gentlemen are known to one of the traitors?”
“Whitney will depart the manor with his guests, and we will rendezvous with them at the old gatekeeper’s cottage between here and the abbey.”
“Your countess?” Cross questioned with a nod to Gillian.
“I have agreed to remain behind. My husband is correct in someone must stay behind to watch over my aunt.”
“Gillian will guide us to the gatekeeper’s cottage in the morning. It would not do to lose our way. Once we return, we will stay to ourselves until dinner.”
Cross moaned. “Dinner with a group of sycophants? I’d hoped to avoid such.”
“We must continue as if nothing is amiss. Colchester and Roberts will not be appraised of the situation until we meet at the cottage. To do otherwise could tip off our enemies, especially if one of the gentlemen is one of their number.”
Cross agreed then retired for the night. Moreham remained by the fire. With Gillian still with her uncle, he appreciated a few moments alone to deal with the myriad of emotions Gillian, their marriage and their mission created.
Prior to Gillian entering his life, he’d received assignments from Philly and orchestrated plans his friends had assisted him in executing. All had been so simple then. Now, nothing was certain for any of them. At every turn they’d been thwarted from success. It was time to turn the tables and end this.
Chapter 17
“Your Grace, dinner is served.”
Perkins’ voice broke through the drone of conversation in the drawing room. Everyone moved to pair up for the processional into the dining room. Aunt Isadora turned to take the Earl of Colchester’s arm.
Gillian braced herself for her aunt’s reaction to the sight of her standing with her husband. A glaring breach of protocol. Moreham should have been escorting Roberts’ wife into dinner but refused to release Gillian’s hand. Cross ever the gentleman stepped forward and escorted the viscountess. Gillian smothered a chuckle at the ferocious look her husband cast in his best friend’s direction. A definitive faux pas, but Moreham was a law unto himself.
The duchess favored both Gillian and Moreham with a somber look. Aunt was still most upset by their marriage. What would the woman think if she learned of Gillian’s French blood? It was rather amusing. Aunt Isadora disliked Moreham who she claimed was a scoundrel when it was Gillian or Uncle Whitney who could rain ruin down on her aunt’s head. Uncle Whitney oblivious to the drama going on gave his arm to the Countess of Colchester. No chance of drama with his choice of partner. Everyone knew the lady’s husband would rather appreciate someone taking the horse-faced woman off his hands.
Moreham assisted Gillian into her seat. He should have left her to sit to Aunt Isadora’s right. Once more, Moreham flaunted convention and took the chair next to her at the middle of the table. He whispered, “Rather interesting guest list, wouldn’t you say?”
To Gillian’s surprise, she enjoyed the dinner. Isadora kept Colchester and Roberts to herself. Uncle Whitney ignored his friends’ wives and spent most of the meal staring at his plate or draining his wine glass. Cross engaged the baron and viscount in a conversation about the upcoming racing season. The wives of the two men gossiped, not the least bothered by the duke’s or their husbands’ blatant disregard for their company. No one commented on the absence of Lady Sylvia and Philly. No doubt, the ladies’ absence was welcomed by one and all.
Moreham saved the day by relating a humorous accounting about Philly and her penchant for feather adorned hats and an amorous goose in Hyde Park when he was a lad. To her surprise and delight, Moreham mimicked Philly’s high-pitched voice to perfection. She had never laughed so heartily. Even Aunt Isadora chuckled at Moreham’s tale.
She found the playful side of her husband enchanting. Who was she jesting? She adored every facet of his personality, even when James was his most irascible.
Time seemed to crawl by once the ladies retired to the drawing room and the gentlemen remained in the dining room for port and cigars. Never one to enjoy idle chatter, Gillian sipped her tea and listened to the other ladies’ conversations. Once the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Aunt Isadora organized the group to play whist for the evening. After several rounds of cards, the ladies pleaded tiredness and retired for the evening. Even the men voiced a readiness for their beds.
Moreham escorted her above stairs. Gillian stepped away from him as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Well, I think that went well. I didn’t detect anyone acting anything other than a bored peer this evening. Colchester and Roberts comported themselves much as you and the other gentlemen did.” Gillian asked as she removed her jewelry.
“No, I quite agree with you. No one seemed to be contemplating overthrowing the government this evening
Moreham took off his black formal jacket then tugged at his cravat. “I think I will lay down for an hour or so until the manor quiets down.”
“I will change into a day gown so I can move around more easily. This gown is far too heavy.”
Moreham tossed his cravat aside then pulled her into his arms. When she looked away from him, he lifted her chin. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Gillian. You are only to keep an eye on the duchess.”
“I understand fully. I know this pretense of watching the duchess is more about keeping me away from the abbey. All I can promise is to stay close to Aunt Isadora’s rooms. As to my actions while doing so, you will have to trust me.”
A knock on the door stopped him from replying. She knew she had only gained a momentary reprieve. He cracked the door and a hand passed through the opening slipping a piece of paper. He closed the door then read the paper before folding it and stuffing it in the pocket of his waistcoat.
“Who sent the note? What does it say?”
“Cross’ man. Just a bit of below stairs gossip. Nothing of import.”
He nodded in the direction of their dressing room. “I must change into riding clothes.”
“I thought you were going to rest.”
Gillian wanted to know what was in that note. More than tiddle taddle from the servants’ dinner table she surmised. Why else would Moreha
m change his mind about resting?
Just as he started through the door, he looked back at her. “Please dearest, you must be careful. I can’t do what I must if I am worried about your welfare.”
Gillian tossed her necklace on her dressing table before giving him her full attention. “You must trust me, Moreham. Undo my gown, please.” She gave him her back.
Moreham moved over behind her and made short work of undoing her gown and unlacing her stays. She held her breath, hoping he would linger—she hungered for his touch.
His hands slid inside her gown, around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. She melted into him. How she loved this man. His quiet regard filled her with an inner peace she never knew existed. How she wished she could convince him their marriage was a boon rather than a burden.
She knew trusting others was not his strong suit. Far too used to being in command of his little band of spies, Moreham would not be happy until he caged her in one of his homes where no one could harm her. Unfortunately for her husband, she had no intention of being locked away on this night or any other.
Once, he had changed into his riding clothes, Moreham left through the servant’s door of his dressing room without bidding Gillian good night. He hated lying to her and did not trust himself to lie a second time. He winced at the memory of the trust he had witnessed in his wife’s eyes.
The first lie had been about the contents of the note in his pocket. He grimaced as he eased his way past the door to their sitting room. His guilt over not being forthcoming with Gillian ate at his gut. Moreham kept to the side of the wall to avoid discovery. Servants would be seeing to their duties before seeking their beds. He froze in place as a door down the corridor opened and a maid headed in his direction. He uttered a prayer of thanks as he slipped into a shadowed alcove.
The woman muttered something about uppity class women before turning in the opposite direction. Moreham looked up to find himself the target of a pair of sharp eyes of a Whitney ancestor. Whoever painted the lady’s portrait deserved every cent he earned. Moreham had never seen a more fearsome lady.
