Love and the Shameless Lady (Scandalous Kisses Book 3)

by Barbara Monajem

  Daisy squeezed his hand, a gesture full of solidarity and trust. He squeezed a thank you in return.

  “The older Breton was Antoine’s uncle. Antoine aided and abetted in the original thefts. He was young and ignorant at the time. Later he concluded that stealing from the bourgeois was contrary to his code of honor. He was determined to restore those belongings to their rightful owners. We charged what we judged the previous owners could afford, and divided the proceeds as equal partners.”

  “So very reasonable,” Julian said again.

  “But of course. Equality was one of the goals of the Revolution, and as such he gloried in it. He truly was mad, in that respect. Liberty and equality mattered more to him than life itself.”

  “Particularly someone else’s life,” Daisy said. “Fraternity seems to have fallen by the wayside.”

  “Alas, yes.” Philippe sighed. “When he read The Lady’s Ruin, he panicked. I told him not to worry, that no one would connect the book with the thefts. I thought he believed me, but unbeknownst to me, he broke into the publisher’s office, obtained the address, and sent a threatening letter. Meanwhile, we continued with our plan, but once The Lady’s Revenge was published, he sought to kill you. Partly from fear, I believe, but also because he had vowed to do so.”

  “And perhaps because my aristocratic heritage meant I deserved to die,” Daisy said.

  “Quite possibly,” he said. “As I said, in some respects he was indeed insane.”

  “Poor man.” Typical Daisy, still feeling sorry for her would-be murderer.

  “The fool! If he’d left well enough alone, he would still be alive, and I would still carry out my plan. But now it is over. My secret has been exposed, and Antoine, who was an accomplished burglar, is now dead.” The marquis spread his hands. “I am now at your mercy. What will you do? Alert the Bow Street Runners? Advise me to flee the country?”

  “I would prefer to do neither,” Julian said, “but nor can I allow you to continue with the thefts. I’m not sure the absence of Antoine is enough to stop you.”

  “You overrate my abilities,” Philippe murmured. “I shall find another method of enlarging my coffers.” When Daisy bristled at this, he said, “If it is any comfort, my dear Daisy, the collectors we stole from could well afford to lose a few items. Also, if Lord Garrison’s father did indeed purchase something at that auction, I am unaware of it. In any event, I would not steal from a friend.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that, but it doesn’t excuse you,” Daisy said. “Do you promise that the new method of enlarging your coffers will be a legal one?”

  “Probably,” Philippe said. At her frown, he spread his hands. “I do not know what it is yet, so how can I make you a promise?”

  “That is not acceptable.”

  “It is better than breaking my word, non? I would of course prefer to find a legal method,” he said with one of his Gallic shrugs. “That is the best I can do, ma chère.” Charming and insouciant, and entirely French.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I have another question for you. Why did you tell me Sir Julian is not what he seems?”

  He glanced at Julian and back. His rueful expression seemed genuine. “A mistake, I confess. It was a clumsy attempt to make you believe that you had nothing to fear from me, and the easiest way to do that was to divert suspicion to Sir Julian.”

  “Oh.” Daisy hesitated.

  Would she accept this half-truth? Julian wondered. More to the point, did he want her to?

  “Entirely unsuccessful, I’m sure,” the marquis drawled. “I seem to be apologizing a great deal today.”

  The French doors from the billiard room burst open, and little Rebecca ran out carrying her pet dog. “Cousin Daisy! Cousin Daisy!”

  Daisy turned and smiled at the little girl. “What is it, darling?”

  “Virtuoso is hurt, and Mama says to tell you I let the cat out of the bag!”

  Which cat and which bag? With so many secrets jostling one another . . .

  “Heavens,” Daisy said, crouching beside the girl. “Is she vexed with you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rebecca said, “but Aunt Gloriana is, and Lord Hythwick is very angry.” She pondered. “Virtuoso bit him, but it was his own fault. He stepped on his tail.”

  “Poor Virtuoso! That must have hurt dreadfully. I’m sure his lordship tasted frightful, too.”

  Rebecca giggled.

  “Put him down, darling, so I can take a proper look.”

  Julian caught Philippe’s eye, and by common consent they moved away. “You are not the sort of man to make a clumsy attempt at anything. You meant exactly what you said.”

  “And now I regret my thoughtless words,” Philippe said.

  “Fine, but what prompted them?”

  Philippe did not try to pretend to misunderstand. “Perhaps it is because I know you well. You do advocate change, but you would never support radical methods of accomplishing it. Couple that with your melancholy air when you contemplate those who are in danger of arrest for sedition . . .” He spread his hands. “Then add your financial difficulties, et voilà.”

  Julian was relieved to know he hadn’t done anything stupid. “I don’t disagree with their aims and grievances, but . . . duty calls. What may perhaps be tolerated in peacetime is dealt with swiftly and brutally while we are at war.”

  “Believe me, I understand. As a Frenchman, I must be even more careful to give no cause for concern.”

  “Therefore you avoid associating with those who might be privy to government secrets, and present yourself as a rather tedious academic.” He grimaced. “You play that role very well.”

  “So well that you were appalled to find that I am a thief.”

  “Better than a spy,” Julian said.

  The terrier seemed unhurt. Daisy stroked the little creature and glanced over at Julian, deep in conversation with the marquis. She felt certain that last explanation of Philippe’s was a lie.

  Lord Hythwick erupted from the billiard room, Gloriana at his heels, with Melinda Garrison taking up the rear. Virtuoso growled, quivering under Daisy’s hand.

  “If you don’t order someone to shoot that damned dog, I’ll strangle it myself,” the earl bellowed, storming toward them. His torn right stocking revealed a bony ankle and a trickle of blood.

  Rebecca screamed. “No! Save him, Cousin Daisy.”

  Daisy snatched the little dog up. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t let him touch her.”

  “Damned right he won’t.” Julian was instantly at her side.

  The earl came to a halt. “Cousin . . . Daisy?” Realization dawned in his furious eyes, which now almost bugged out of his head. “This is the Daisy the brat referred to? Your wife is Daisy Warren?”

  “Daisy Kerr now,” Julian said placidly.

  “The Daisy Warren who famously bedded a smuggler?”

  Gloriana clutched his arm. “Dear Lord Hythwick, let me explain.”

  He shook her off. “That you acknowledge your relationship with that abandoned woman renders you entirely unacceptable.”

  “But we’re doing our best not to acknowledge it,” Gloriana pleaded. “That’s why we introduce her as Lady Kerr.”

  “We do so acknowledge her,” Melinda cried, “and I refuse to pretend anything else.”

  “I am affronted,” the earl pronounced. “And immeasurably distressed, to say the least.”

  “Rightly so, my lord,” Gloriana said. “I share your distress.”

  Lord Hythwick seemed a little mollified, but Virtuoso chose this worst possible moment to bark. The earl swerved again, advancing upon Daisy. “Give me that godforsaken mutt.”

  “I shall not,” Daisy said, clutching the dog against her breast and prudently getting out of Julian’s way.


  “Give it to me, you disgusting little whore!”

  Julian’s fist smashed into Lord Hythwick’s chin. He swayed and fell, landing square on a bush covered with lush, pink roses, then toppled ignominiously onto the path.

  “Thank you, Julian.” Daisy passed the dog to Rebecca. “Better take him indoors, love, and keep him safe until Lord Hythwick leaves.”

  “Which won’t be long, I trust.” Julian rubbed his knuckles. “My apologies, Lady Garrison. I didn’t mean to damage your roses.”

  “They’ll recover,” Melinda said. “With luck, we can send Lord Hythwick on his way today.”

  Gloriana heaved a huge, shuddering sob.

  “It’s for the best,” Melinda said. “You never would have been happy with him.”

  Her woeful face tore at Daisy’s heart. “I’m so sorry, Gloriana.” Impulsively, she opened her arms, and Gloriana ran to her. Daisy folded her arms around her cousin and held her close.

  Gloriana shook in Daisy’s embrace. “Thank you.” She buried her face against Daisy. “Thank you so much.”

  Daisy frowned down at her. “For what?”

  Gloriana shook her head violently and muttered into Daisy’s bosom, “Don’t let on.”

  What? She caressed Gloriana’s hair whilst thinking furiously. Don’t let on about what?

  “Pray . . . give me time to control myself,” Gloriana said a little more loudly. She rubbed her eyes. She heaved. She sniffled and dashed away tears.

  The marquis strolled forward. “Pray avail yourself of my handkerchief, Miss Warren.”

  She controlled herself on the instant, and slapped the proffered handkerchief away without as much as a glance at the Frenchman. She wrenched herself from Daisy’s arms and pointedly wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her eyes, Daisy saw, were not the slightest bit red.

  She whirled and stalked away.

  “My apologies,” Melinda said on a sigh. “She’s overwrought.”

  The marquis watched the departing Gloriana. “One becomes accustomed to her bad manners. Anything else would be a surprise.” But his eyes were sad.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Melinda said. “I’d better call a couple of footmen to carry the earl indoors.”

  Gloriana turned, far enough away now that people might not realize she hadn’t been crying. She had found her own handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes with it anyway. Daisy now thought she knew why. “How dare you talk of sending poor Hythwick away?” Her voice throbbed. “He is doubly injured now. Have him brought to the Dower House, where I can have him taken care of properly.”

  “Very well,” Melinda said. “We’ll be much happier without him. I’ll have a bedchamber prepared for you here. I hope that by this evening you will have recovered your manners.”

  Gloriana put her nose in the air and continued on her way.

  “I shall not hold my breath for an apology,” the marquis said with a laugh. He didn’t seem the least bit affronted, but he lingered in the rose garden, watching Gloriana cross the lawn and pass the summerhouse before he turned to go indoors.

  Daisy hooked her arm in Julian’s and bore him away toward the lake. “Julian,” she said softly, “is it possible that Philippe has a tendre for Gloriana?”

  “He did at one time,” Julian said. “I overheard him saying as much to Lord Garrison last night. He said he changed his mind when she proved to be a fool.”

  “I think he still loves her,” Daisy said. “What is even odder, I think she is in love with him.”

  “What?” He halted, glancing toward Gloriana’s distant figure. “I’d say she can’t get away from him fast enough.”

  “She wasn’t really crying just now. She was relieved. She thanked me! I think she wanted a way out of marrying Hythwick that wouldn’t be her fault.”

  “That makes no sense at all.”

  “It does with Gloriana,” Daisy said. They moved forward again toward the lake. “I don’t know what happened between her and Philippe in the past, but I’m willing to wager that her pride was hurt. She seems determined to show him and the entire world how much she loathes and despises him and everything he stands for.”

  “By marrying Hythwick? Because she loves Philippe? That makes no sense at all.”

  “Hell hath no fury, et cetera,” Daisy said. “I should have known she didn’t really intend to go through with the marriage. She wouldn’t sacrifice her entire future to prove a point.” She grimaced. “Perhaps she hoped Philippe would grovel and plead with her to marry him instead. When he didn’t, she needed another way out.”

  “If she loves him, which I seriously doubt, but if she knows him at all well, she should know that he is not the groveling sort.” A jackdaw rose from a nearby oak, calling loudly as if in agreement.

  “I believe his offer of a handkerchief was as close as he could come to a gesture of reconciliation, and she rejected that.” Daisy sighed. “I wonder what she’ll do now? He may not be the sort to grovel, but nor is she the sort to give up. She must be up to something.”

  “Such as what?”

  “How should I know? It will be something devious. That’s what she’s like.”

  “Philippe is the last person to put up with such stupidity.”

  She nodded. “Poor thing, I don’t think she stands much of a chance.”

  “Don’t you dare feel sorry for her, after the way she treated you.”

  “Oh, that was just an act. She didn’t mean it. She apologized to me the next day. I should have realized it from the first, but I hadn’t seen her for years, and I was expecting her to hate me.”

  Julian swore. “Why didn’t you tell me it was an act?”

  “Gloriana and I always shared secrets, and we never told anyone else. I’m sure she trusted me not to.”

  He let out his breath with a whoosh. “Fair enough. I suppose.”

  She let it go. It didn’t really matter, and it wouldn’t happen again. “I think she is better off without Philippe. He is very smooth but speaks in half-truths. I used to like him, but I don’t think I do anymore.”

  “No? I do. He did his best to save me from making an embarrassing confession. Maybe he truly regretted letting it slip that I am not quite what I seem.”

  Uneasiness suffused her, but she did not intend to start mistrusting Julian now.

  “I had hoped to avoid telling you this. It is for your ears alone, Daisy. You must swear not to tell anyone, not even Colin or his wife, or Miles or Melinda.”

  “What?”

  “I mean what I say. For your safety and mine, and for the sake of your country, you must reveal this to no one.”

  She shivered. What was he about to say?

  “I am a spy.”

  Chapter 16

  Doing his best to be stoic, Julian waited for the axe to fall. He couldn’t have confessed to anything much more lowly.

  She gave an appalled gasp and let go of his arm. “A spy?” she whispered, her eyes wide and astonished.

  “Unfortunately, yes. It’s an ungentlemanly profession, I know.”

  She clutched his arm. Not a reason for optimism, he told himself. She is probably about to faint from shock and distress.

  “A spy,” she breathed.

  “Yes. I quite understand if that means you cannot marry me.”

  She let go again and burst into laughter. “For heaven’s sake, Julian, I’m a fallen woman who sings obscene songs in a tavern. How could I possibly object to a spy?” She paused, as if a thought struck her. “As long as you’re spying for England.”

  “Of course,” he said, relief washing over him. “Oh, Daisy, I love you. Are you sure you can stomach marrying me, knowing what I am?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Tell me all about it. I would ask if it’s exciting, but I can tell
that you don’t like it much.”

  “No, but I need the income.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked beside her along the verge of the lake. A pair of swans floated lazily past. “I attend a great many meetings of radical thinkers, playing the role of a scholar whose area of interest is the secessio plebis—that is, the uprisings of the common people of Rome against their rulers. My mission is to sniff out those who pose a genuine threat, the sort who foment discord and rouse the common people to action. I sympathize with them. I don’t think they should suffer imprisonment or death for their views, and yet we cannot afford dissension and unrest during wartime.”

  “Conscience versus duty,” she said. “Now I see. Your conscience sides with them, but your duty requires you to inform on them.”

  He nodded. A duck quacked in the reeds. “I try to advise them to wait for a better moment to propose their reforms. I warn them that sooner or later the government will learn who they are and take severe measures against them. They rarely believe me.”

  “And if they don’t see sense, you report them to your employers.”

  “Yes.” A squabble of crows rose from a coppice across the lake.

  “And you greatly dislike doing that.”

  “I loathe it!” At last he turned to her. She was so very lovely, and she understood. “What if I judge wrongly? What if I send someone to prison or to his death, who wouldn’t have caused any real harm?”

  “I have a solution for this problem,” she said.

  “You do?”

  “When we marry, you will have the income from my dowry. You will be able to quit being a spy!”

  It should have been a relief. He should have welcomed her solution. And yet . . . “No,” he said. “I can’t do that.”

  Daisy took his arm again, and they strolled slowly around the lake. “It seemed like such a good idea. Your conscience won’t allow you to marry for money?”

  “There’s nothing dishonorable about marrying for money,” he said, “or for using the income from your dowry, but the fact remains that duty calls. I’m good at what I do. As far as I know, no one but Philippe has guessed what I am, although I admit that I’m a little unnerved by his perceptiveness. Fortunately, he is only a thief, not a French spy.”