by Cheryl Bolen
"We aren't going to let that happen."
How naive she was! Did she think they could just wish away the fiend? Though Lady Daphne Chalmers was excessively intelligent, she had no experience with murder or murderers. Memories of Edwards' brutal death slammed into him. Even when the vivid recollection of his friend's waning hours had faded into a painful blur, the gnawing hurt was replaced by a deep emptiness that never went away. To this day, Jack had difficulty accepting that he would never again see the man who had been his greatest friend.
As flawed as the regent was, Jack did not like to think of his zestfulness being extinguished.
Especially if Jack could prevent such a crime from occurring.
But how in the hell was he to thwart the threat when every trail butted into a brick wall? Ten days ago he would never have believed that he wouldn't have apprehended the culprit by now. But after ten days he was no closer to revealing the suspect than he was that first afternoon at Carlton House. Bloody damn hell!
He gave a bitter laugh. "I've never felt so powerless."
"That's because you've always been so successful. And you'll be successful now. I know it."
He glared at her. "And upon what do you base that assumption?"
She put her hands to her hips and boldly matched his glare. "It's my belief that our collective intelligence exceeds that of our opponent." Her voice softened. "We also have the advantage of knowing of his existence without him knowing of ours."
There was some logic in her words. "But the regent cannot spend the rest of his life in his bedchamber while we exonerate every man in the kingdom."
"You mustn't be so pessimistic."
"You, my lady, mustn't be so bloody optimistic! We've not made a single stride in this investigation."
"You're putting too much pressure on yourself. Though you've not uncovered the culprit, you've met many people, you've eliminated many suspects, and you've ingratiated yourself with persons of consequence, persons who may be responsible for the threats to the regent."
Could someone he had already met be the elusive person they sought? His thoughts flashed back to the men whose wives had been the Prince of Wales' lovers. Lord Jersey was dead. What about Lord Melbourne? Could resentment over his wife's infidelities have been festering all these years? And perhaps Jack needed to get to know Lord Hertford better. He recalled Reginald St. Ryse's geniality toward the regent. Could that have been a ruse? Jack looked at Daphne and offered a wan smile. "You are making me feel less a failure."
She directed a beaming smile at him.
He finally realized what he had been fuzzily aware of since she had stepped into his chambers. Though she (thankfully) wore her spectacles, she was still wearing the pretty gowns and well-dressed hair. He liked the way her pensive face looked in the spectacles and thought her altogether a pretty little thing. Not that she was little in terms of height. But next to him, she was petite, and in his arms she was delicately exquisite.
He could not allow himself to go there.
"How did you find my lodgings?" he asked by way of changing the direction of his thoughts. "Did you follow me after Green Park?"
She flashed a brilliant smile. "I have far too much respect for you than to do that. You're obviously an expert at detecting someone tailing you."
"I wish you'd quit--"
"Bragging about your expertise?"
Despite his foul mood, a smile eased across his face. "Yes, by Jove!"
"Well, you are an expert or you wouldn't have been selected for this vastly important mission." She gave him a reproachful look. "As it happens, I used deductive powers to track you here."
"But I didn't use my name--or Mr. Rich's."
"Of course you didn't. I knew that."
"Then how did you find me?" He noticed that the neckline of her green dress dipped rather low. Why in the devil did she have to traipse around London in broad daylight dressed so fetchingly? And in this cold! Could the lady not at least cover herself in a multi-layered greatcoat?
"I knew you wouldn't be staying at places inhabited by other officers because you wouldn't wish your true identity to be revealed."
"So that left thirty other London boroughs."
"But you are a gentleman. That eliminated roughly twenty-five other boroughs."
"And?"
She frowned. "I cheated. I found the newspapers that dated to two days before I made your acquaintance and looked for advertisements for gentlemen's quarters in respectable neighborhoods."
It occurred to him that her methods and deductions were exactly those he would have used. "There were several."
"But I know you, Jack," she said in a far-too-soft voice. "As soon as I saw Mrs. Pope's advertisement, I knew you'd be here."
Would that she didn't know him so well--and would that he knew her less intimately.
He could not allow the conversation to continue in this vein. "You, my lady, have won my respect." She'd won much more than his respect. Though his feelings for her were altogether different than his feelings toward Edwards, Lady Daphne Chalmers's competence equaled that of his dead friend, and her partnership with Jack had the potential of becoming as successful as his and Edwards' had been.
She beamed at him.
"Now you must tell me a bit more about George Lamb," he said.
"Mr. Lamb--Mr. George Lamb--does not precisely look like the regent, nor does he look like his mother, Lady Melbourne. You haven't met her, have you?"
He shook his head. "She must be quite old now."
Daphne shrugged. "She's somewhat older than the regent."
Sooner or later he was bound to come across her at one of the ton functions. Sooner he hoped. "I should like to meet her husband," he said.
"Perhaps you will tonight."
"What's tonight?"
"The Duke and Duchess of Glenweil's ball."
He hoped like hell Melbourne would be there. And George Lamb, too.
"About George Lamb. . . is he stout?"
She considered this a moment before she spoke. "He's stouter than he was ten years ago, but I wouldn't say he's built like his father, if that's what you're asking."
"A pity I can't take you with me to Boodles."
"I don't want you going near that place until we dispatch Mr. Bennington!"
He had to laugh. She was far too cocky, too assured that her silly plan would work. "Why do you not go to Sir Ronald's this afternoon?" he suggested. "I hate to waste another day. We've wasted too many already."
She leaped to her feet. "Indeed I will."
"Daphne." He got up and moved to her. He started to settle his hands upon her slim shoulders but stopped himself. They were too close--dangerously close--to his bedchamber. "Be careful."
"I will." A wistful gaze softened her face as she gave him one last look before moving toward the door.
He had kept an eye peeled at the window for Mrs. Pope's return. "The coast is clear," he added. "My landlady hasn't come back yet."
After Daphne left, he kicked his row of boots, sending them scattering. Why could she not have worn the faded, high-necked gown today? He did not like that she'd have every man at the Foreign Office gaping at her.
* * *
If she asked Sir Ronald for his seal, he would have given it to her. He was that indebted to Daphne for not telling her sister she had seen him in his tilbury with a heavily plumed and heavily painted lady bird. But where would be the fun in asking for the seal? Lady Daphne Chalmers' recently discovered aptitude for deception was rather like learning a foreign language. The more she used it, the more proficient she became--and the more she hungered to use it again.
Besides, she and Jack had made a pact that no one else was to help their investigation in any way. As loyal as Sir Ronald was to the monarch, he could still inadvertently let some comment slip that would jeopardize their work.
She eyed her squirming brother-in-law across his broad desk in the Foreign Office. Was he afraid she had come here to lecture him about his
propensity for philandering? Or to threaten to tell Virginia about said propensity? As much as Daphne enjoyed his discomfort, she decided to put him at ease. "I've come to ask your advice," she began.
His slender shoulders relaxed as his face dimpled with a smile.
"I've been screening potential suitors for the sister of a friend of mine," she said, "and since your circle of associates is so vast I thought you the perfect person to ask." She needn't worry that her brother-in-law would be suspicious over her rare curiosity. Sir Ronald's opinion of his own importance blinded him to Daphne's superior connections within the ton.
Light that flooded the room caught at the metallic glints in his blond hair. He was disgustingly handsome. A pity he knew it. "I'm flattered, my lady."
She would start by tossing out the names of some of London's most sociable bachelors to throw suspicion away from the one man she had to make sure was not acquainted with Sir Ronald. "Do you know anything negative about Mr. Michael Beresford?"
He shook his head. "Beresford's a fine man."
"That's good to know," she said with a sigh. "And what of Lord Penworth?"
"Another good man," he confirmed. "Though I daresay he's not looking to wed."
"Men, my dear sir, are never looking to wed!" She directed a coy smile at Sir Ronald. Now was the time to throw in the name of a known rake. "What of Paul Stanfield?"
Sir Ronald's brows dipped. "I'm sure he's not looking for a bride--unless the lady's an heiress."
She gave him an innocent stare. "Know you anything derogatory about him?"
He hesitated before he answered. "I don't like to speak ill of a man with whom I enjoy social intercourse, but I would not wish Stanfield to court my sister."
"Exactly the information I'm seeking," she said, "and I assure you I shall never reveal you as the source of my information."
She drew in a breath and tried to sound casual. "What of Captain Bennington. Randolph Bennington?"
After puckering his lips in thought, he said, "Afraid I don't know the fellow."
Thank goodness! For all Bennington knew, then, Sir Ronald could be Castlereagh's right-hand man.
In the past, whenever she and Virginia had dropped in on Sir Ronald, underlings swept in and out of his office like patrons at a lending library. Unfortunately, that was not the case today.
She would have to keep him engaged until a colleague clamored for him. Which they always did. "Don't let me keep you from your important work," she said as she got up, set her reticule on her chair, then wandered toward the window, where she directed a great deal attention to the busy Strand below. There were so many horses and hay carts and hackneys and gigs packed into the narrow street that traffic had come almost to a stop.
"Is there anything else I can assist you with?" Sir Ronald asked as he got to his feet.
"No. You've been enormously helpful."
He moved to her. "Is something wrong?"
She did not remove her gaze from the crush of conveyances below as he came to stand beside her and flicked a gaze at the traffic below. "What, my lady, are you staring at with such interest?"
"I was just wishing that the view from my own bedchamber window was as interesting as what you've got here." She turned to gaze at him. "But I suppose you're always so dreadfully busy that you don't take the opportunity for window gazing." The poor man likely thought she had attics to let.
"Well, as a matter of fact I'm inundated with work at present."
"Please don't let me keep you. I'll just gaze here for a few more moments." That she was the eccentric Chalmers sister would hopefully explain her current peculiarity.
To her relief, he mumbled his farewell and swept from his office.
She cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure he had closed the door behind him, then she scurried to his desk and yanked open the middle drawer.
Just as the door to the room swung open.
Her heart hammering, she flew to the chair where she had left her reticule and grabbed it, only then allowing herself to look up. Thank God it was not Sir Ronald who came strolling into the room. Especially since she had neglected to close his desk drawer.
"Forgive me for barging in on you," said a young bespectacled clerk whose gaze lazily traveled over her. "There are some maps here I must procure for Lord Elden." He went to a table near Sir Ronald's desk and rifled through a stack of folded maps until he found what he was looking for.
"There's nothing to forgive," she said sweetly as she opened her reticule and appeared to be searching for something. And searching. Would the man never leave? She looked up and caught him gawking at her. Men never gawked at her. Her gaze moved to the map in his hand. "I trust you found what you were looking for?" she asked.
"Yes, my lady," he said, then strode toward the door.
When he was gone and the door once more closed, she circled the desk and peered into the open drawer. Sir Ronald's seal was there, in the first drawer she checked, just as she knew it would be. She whisked it out, dropped it into her reticule, and hurried from the room.
Chapter 17
Daphne had obviously been waiting for him when he arrived that night for she swung open the front door before he could tap the knocker. "Quick," she said in a husky whisper, "to Papa's library."
Jack's stomach plummeted. Had Lord Sidworth found him out?
He followed her swishing saffron skirts along the broad foyer to her father's sanctuary and drew in his breath as they entered, bracing himself to face Lord Sidworth. But the earl was not at his desk. Jack's gaze circled the firelit chamber. The room was empty.
"You need to read my letter to Captain Bennington before my parents finish dressing," she said as she closed the door. "I didn't want to send it before you saw it."
Relief washed over him. "I gather you procured the seal?"
She handed him a folded sheet of vellum. "You doubted my abilities?"
"Not for a moment." A smile broke across his face as he took the letter.
"Come over by the fire where the light's better." She wove her arm through his with the air of a seasoned wife.
When they came to stand in front of the blazing hearth he unfolded the letter and began to read.
To: Captain Randolph Bennington
From: Sir Ronald Johnson, Undersecretary to Lord Castlereagh
Dear Captain Bennington,
Your distinguished leadership has not gone unnoticed by Commander Wellesley, who has been in communication with Lord Castlereagh on the matter. In those communications the commander has asked Lord Castlereagh to convey to you his urgent need for you to serve as his attache in the Peninsula. In such a capacity you will serve as a liaison between the Foreign Office and Lord Wellesley.
Lord Castlereagh requests that you deliver the enclosed sealed documents to the commander at your earliest convenience. He has arranged your passage to Portugal by way of the HMS Cadiz, departing from Portsmouth on Thursday.
With sincerest wishes for your success,
Sir Ronald Johnson's signature was a bold, masculine script. But, of course, it couldn't be Sir Ronald's. Jack turned to her. "You can't send this!"
"Why?" she demanded.
"Bennington's no idiot. He's bound to have contacts who know where the Cadiz really is."
"My dear captain," she said with only barely controlled anger, "I would not have used the Cadiz had I not been certain it would be in Portsmouth Thursday."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"My cousin--the one whose naval uniform you borrowed--commands the Cadiz."
"But you told me he was out of the country."
She glared. "And so he was."
"He's home?"
"Until Thursday."
His eyes rounded. "As in day after tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"How do you know this?" he asked, his brows drawn low.
"I had the good fortune of running into my aunt this afternoon, and she told me. And the truly wonderful thing is he departs Th
ursday for Lisbon!"
His gaze fell again to the letter in his hands. "But you're only giving Bennington one day."
Her voice was that of an impatient governess. "Was it not our intent to rid London of his presence at the earliest possible opportunity?"
Why did she always have to be so bloody right? "You truly expect Bennington to be persuaded by a letter from a stranger?"
"It's my belief that officers of his majesty's army are groomed to not question authority." She looked up at him. "Are you not?"
He caught a whiff of her spearmint scent, which to him had become more sensual than the finest French perfumes. His gaze drifted over her. Firelight flickered in her neatly dressed golden tresses, and the soft yellow silk of her fashionable gown draped elegantly over her slender body and scooped low at the neckline. Only the fiery glints off the spectacles propped on her nose brought him back to the purpose of the conversation. "As a matter of fact, officers are schooled to take orders." How could a woman know that? Of course, Lady Daphne Chalmers wasn't just any woman. Her body of knowledge exceeded that of any man he had ever known.
"I also thought," she added, "that his elation at being so singularly honored would overrule any possible skepticism."
He recalled the years he and Bennington had served together in India. Bennington's quest for power guided him to pounce on every possible opportunity to ingratiate himself with his superiors. He never missed an officers' ball, never failed to share his latest book with a senior officer, never passed up the opportunity to compliment his commander. Jack smiled at the bespectacled woman who stood beside him. Damned if he understood how she could know Bennington so well when she'd never met the fellow, but her knowledge of the captain was an arrow to the bull's-eye. A deep smile crinkled Jack's face. "I have more respect for the regent each day I'm with you."
She launched herself at him, both her arms wrapping around his neck. "Because he suggested me as your partner?" she asked in a laughing voice, smiling up at him.
At that moment the door swung open, and Lord and Lady Sidworth--exchanging smug smiles with one another--strolled into the room.
