by Jaimey Grant
He leaned back slightly, sliding down a little in his chair, lazy and indolent, allowing his mind to dwell on the puzzle.
His focus began with young Sir Beowulf Brackney, baronet.
The young man had a violent streak, a ready temper that was likely to explode over the smallest wrongs, real or imagined. He seemed to have little control over his emotions. It was dangerous in one so large and yet so young.
Derringer’s note had been blunt. Gideon knew the duke’s sources were uncannily accurate and he hated that in implying the boy had murdered his own father, Derringer had practically convicted him of the crime.
Although, if Gideon’s superiors were correct, the late baronet was better off murdered by his son than standing trial for treason.
Allowing his eyelids to droop, he turned to study his bride.
She steadily ate course after course, as if she hadn’t eaten in quite some time. Gideon bit back a grin. He suspected his wife was more nervous than her expression let on.
He supposed he’d be nervous, too, if his only experience in the bedchamber had been with a selfish partner with whom he could not connect on an emotional level.
Firmly putting that thought in the back of his mind, he drained his wineglass again and held it out to be refilled. He nodded absently at something the loquacious reverend had to say—indeed, he’d nearly forgotten the man was even there—and continued to stare quite rudely at the new Lady Holt.
She looked up, meeting his eyes. Hers widened a little. He could only imagine what she saw in his expression. She had the eerie ability to see through him, even while he was at his most opaque.
Looking from him to her son, her face flushed with every appearance of guilt and she looked away.
Gideon’s face froze. She knew something. Or at least suspected. He would wager his life on it. Unfortunately, Lord Holt was very much afraid he might be doing just that.
“Well,” the reverend said, complacently replete. “I must be going, my lord, my lady, sir.” He smiled at each in turn, completely oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.
The room’s occupants rose as one to see the man out. He refused to be seen to the door, assuring them all he knew the way. Seconds later, he was gone.
Gideon turned to Malvina. “Well, my dear. Perhaps you are ready to retire?”
She seemed surprised by the request but nodded her head, trying to prevent the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks. Her embarrassment died a sudden death with her husband’s next words.
“I need to speak with Wolf.”
Her head snapped up. “No!”
Hiding his surprise at her vehemence, he mildly offered, “I have no intention of harming him, my love.”
“Yes, you do,” she said defiantly. “I know why you wish to speak to him and I won’t allow it.”
One blond brow arched and he opened his mouth to reply. The subject of their argument, however, decided he didn’t care to be spoken of as though he wasn’t there.
“I am not afraid to speak with him, Mother, if you would dare to loosen the apron strings long enough. Bloody hell, you’d think I was still in shortcoats!”
“Language!”
Wolf scowled at them both. “My language is probably not what your husband wants to discuss,” he remarked with obvious aversion.
Malvina’s mouth opened and closed. “Very well,” she finally said. Fixing her new husband with a minatory glare, she told her son, “If he hurts you, we will leave.”
The wolfish smirk that Gideon was treated to for this piece of wifely disloyalty made the earl bite back a curse. How the devil was he to get the son to trust him if the mother refused?
“I will walk you to your chamber,” he told Malvina firmly.
She felt a sinking in her midsection. The statement had slipped off her tongue without thought. Reflecting on the implications of her words—and viewing the smug look on her son’s face—she realized the enormity of the mistake she had made.
Giving Wolf as stern a look as she was capable, she meekly followed her new husband from the room. She was pleased to note the shamefaced look that came over Wolf’s countenance as she left. He was not entirely lost to sensitivity.
It was with only a little surprise that she found herself escorted almost roughly into a small salon that she realized with a start she’d never entered.
Upon entering, Gideon moved away, setting the candle he carried on a small table to the left of the door. Malvina used the opportunity to take a deep breath, preparing to explain her remark.
He turned and stared at her for a long moment, his expression completely unreadable. She opened her mouth to give some excuse, any excuse. The words that slipped out were not at all what either one of them expected.
“I love you.”
The look of stupefied shock that crossed his dimly lit face must have been a direct reflection of her own.
He recovered quickly, however, saying, “If that is true—which at the moment, I give leave to doubt—you would trust me.” He stepped closer. “You would trust me with your life and your son’s.” One more step and he was nearly touching her. His face was in heavy shadow, flecks of candle glow dancing in his brown eyes, the color a molten gold in the candle’s flame.
He raised one hand to her face, his fingers curling over her cheek in an oddly possessive caress that made her skin tingle. She fought the sensations, knowing how important it was to stay in control.
He leaned down, bringing their faces level. His words feathered across her lips. “If you know me well enough to have fallen in love with me, you would know I could do nothing to willingly hurt a child, even one as hardheaded and vexing as your son.”
“I do trust you. I am frightened.”
She moved her head the required inch that was needed for their lips to meet. He hesitated only briefly, such a small amount of time that it mattered little. Then his free hand curved around her waist and she was pressed full-length against him. Heat touched her from chest to thigh, flames licking her skin and curling into her middle. She couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers found his neckcloth, working the knot until she slid the starched linen from around his throat.
Both of his hands speared her hair, holding her head still as he ravished her mouth. Her hands slid over his bare throat, the accelerated beat of his heart fluttering against her fingertips. Moving down his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist.
A low growl rumbled in Gideon’s throat. He pulled away, his breathing labored, a look of true regret on his face.
“As enticing as it is at this moment to forget you even have a son, and simply make love to you for the next year or two, I cannot.”
Malvina stepped away, her sigh echoing his. Part of her had hoped to do just that, distract him away from his original purpose. She sighed again, nodding her head in defeat.
He pulled her chin up, forcing her to meet his shadowed eyes. “I will not hurt him, love. I want to help him.”
His fingers stroked her jaw, his eyes searching hers for she knew not what. She was unsure how he could see anything in the light from only one candle anyway.
He kissed her lightly, and pointed to a door she hadn’t noticed. “Your new room is through there. Maddy is waiting for you.”
As he turned to leave, his voice floated back to her, but she couldn’t be sure what he said. She thought she heard him say the one thing she longed to hear, but never believed she would.
It took everything in her not to chase after him and demand he repeat himself. Or explain. Or both.
Malvina came awake to the feel of warm lips pressed to hers and warm hands stroking heat through her body. The bed dipped as her new husband slid in beside her, drawing her into his arms and making love to her until the wee hours of the morning. He told her as many times as she could ever dream and showed her in ways she never thought possible that he loved her. Daylight peeked through the curtains when they fell, exhausted, into peaceful slumber.
The honeymoon tha
t had never really started was officially over less than three hours later. They were awakened by a distraught maid and informed that Wolf was missing.
So married life wasn’t progressing quite as happily as Gideon could have hoped. He grimaced slightly, urging his wife’s maid to rid the chamber of the fouled bed linens. His bride groaned, acutely embarrassed, no doubt, to have cast up her accounts all over the bed—and him.
The maid bobbed a curtsy, leaving the chamber with her unwanted burden.
Lord Holt glanced down at himself and quickly away, feeling a little sick. He swiped ineffectually at his chest with a damp cloth. It was not the most prodigious beginning to a new day.
Approaching the bed, he said consolingly, “It is of no account, my love. Under the circumstances, the like is to be expected.”
She twisted her beautiful face into a mask of disgust. “If that were the case, you and the servants would have stood ready with a chamberpot.”
Gideon smiled slightly. “I suggest we bathe and dress quickly. Unless I miss my guess, Hart will be arriving this morning. He’ll have heard by now, since the servants know.”
Malvina gasped and moved to throw back the blankets, heedless of her nakedness. She dived back under when the door opened, her maid returning to inform her of the bath awaiting her in her own chamber.
A short chuckle escaped her husband as she exited to refresh herself.
It was with a certain amount of surprise and dread that the newlyweds realized the Duke of Derringer was not coming. If he had already left the city, they may never know what was happening.
By afternoon, Gideon realized he had to take care of certain other matters, promising to look into the situation with Malvina’s son while he was out. He strongly suspected the boy was just spreading his wings, venturing into the many vices London life had to offer.
While Gideon could not condone such a thing, he also knew the futility of trying to hold down a sixteen-year-old boy who possessed the power of a mastiff when threatened.
Searching for dissipation or not, there were certain things that could not wait.
He had his carriage brought round and instructed the coachman to take him to the Home Office. Once there, he asked the assistant to see the Home Secretary and waited. Twenty minutes later, he was ushered into the Home Secretary’s presence. He greeted Lord Sidmouth briefly before coming to the material point.
“Brackney’s widow is innocent and I can find no evidence of Brackney’s guilt,” he said, taking the seat offered by his superior. He refrained from confiding the boy’s disappearance, a circumstance Gideon saw as irrelevant but Lord Sidmouth might find suspicious.
“What of the son?”
“Sir Beowulf? He is a hotheaded child, nothing more. At this date, I suspect he has little more than a guilty conscience for killing my horse.” Although, there are certain other things alluded to by Derringer that bear looking into, he thought.
The older man’s brows rose at this but Gideon did not feel compelled to explain his cryptic remark. Instead, he continued.
“I was intrigued to note, however, that her ladyship was being blackmailed. Considering she did not know of her husband’s activities but knew what he was capable of, it was only natural that she believe the incentive was legitimate.”
“What has that to do with your mission?”
Gideon smiled in his oddly lazy way. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Who’s to say?”
“Who is blackmailing her?”
Frowning, the earl’s reply was less than satisfactory. “I am working on that, my lord. He may or may not be the man we have been looking for. He is not in control, however.”
“There is someone above him? Brackney’s contact, no doubt.”
“If Brackney was involved, which I still doubt.”
The Home Secretary eyed him shrewdly. “Are you able to complete your mission, Holt?”
A spurt of annoyance lit in Gideon’s breast at the mild slur on his honor. “Of course, my lord. There is nothing preventing me from obtaining a satisfactory answer to your enigma.”
“Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
Lord Sidmouth grunted and waved his subordinate from the room.
As Gideon stood, he said, “Wish me happy, my lord. I am to but recently married.”
The other man smiled slightly, distractedly. “Who is she?”
“The former Lady Richard Brackney.”
A moment of stunned silence passed. “Dammit, Holt! Have you lost your wits? I cannot have my best man murdered in his bed by a treasonous female.”
Gideon’s sleepy expression slipped into place. “She is innocent, my lord,” was all he said in his own defense.
Lord Sidmouth’s lips tightened in annoyance. “What if it is proven that Brackney betrayed his country?”
“I am well aware of the law, my lord. But if I am the likely one to prove her late husband a traitor, the least I can do is help her in any way I can.”
“But marriage? You could have set her up as your mistress, man. That’s all she’d be good for after the gossipmongers sink their teeth into her.”
Gideon chose not to respond to his superior’s provoking suggestion. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“No, off with you. Catch your man and dam up this wellspring. I have other things to attend to.”
After Gideon left, Malvina paced.
She paced the drawing room floor endlessly, always moving to look to the street, eager for news.
She had sent servants out to inquire after her son and they soon returned, one by one, to shake their heads sadly at their new mistress and promise to try harder.
She was at her wit’s end. Something inside her would not let her rest. A sick gnawing in her stomach told her clearly that she did not believe her son had simply gone out on a lark, as her new husband had tried to reassure her.
What kind of reassurance was that, anyway, to a mother who did nothing but worry?
As she paced by the door, she was nearly knocked down as Jamieson entered to hand her a note. Praying it was from Gideon, informing her of her son’s safety, she was unprepared for the shock that traveled the length of her body.
The words seemed to jump out at her. Her body seemed to lose solidarity. She sank down, thankfully she was close enough to a chair that Jamieson could slide it beneath her.
“It can’t be,” she whispered, her words barely audible.
“My lady?”
Her face lifted to the butler’s, too shocked for tears. “He’s dead, Jamieson.”
Austere features crumpling into something more human and less servile, the butler so far forgot himself to ask, “Who?”
“Wolf, my son, my child—”
Darting panicked glances around a room that was empty of humanity except for Lady Holt and himself, Jamieson saw no alternative but to assist her in any way he could. He moved to the bellpull and then returned to his mistress’s side, handing her a glass of sherry, hoping to restore some color to her pale cheeks.
Malvina accepted it gratefully, downing it in a single swallow, barely conscious of her surroundings. She was then dimly aware of servants entering, maids clucking over her, bustling her from the room.
She went willingly enough. Indeed, she did not know what else she could do. Except...
“Jamieson,” she said, pausing in the doorway, “who delivered this?”
“A gentleman, madam.”
“A gentleman?”
“Yes, madam. The gentleman declined to enter, implying certain obligations elsewhere.”
“How very curious,” she murmured, her face not matching her words.
“My lord has been sent for, my lady,” Jamieson inserted, hoping to erase some of the blank expression from her face.
“Very good, Jamieson,” Malvina said dutifully, her mind a whirligig of ideas. She left the room, not revealing the insane idea that had crowded, foremost, in her mind.
Upon entering her room, she dismissed
her maid. Maddy left reluctantly, her pleasant face revealing her concern for her mistress.
Malvina swiftly fetched outer clothing from her wardrobe, sufficient for hiding most of her appearance. She had some errands to run, one of which involved scouring certain parts of London where no lady had any business, nor did gentlemen for that matter.
She had to find him. If anyone knew the truth, it was him.
When Gideon received the summons to return home, he was shocked. Whatever he was expecting, it was not the insanity that greeted him upon his arrival.
The house was in an uproar. Servants ran hither and thither, seemingly without purpose, shouting to each other as if Bedlam had erupted within the confines of Berkeley Square.
“What in bloody hell!” he exclaimed when a footman nearly knocked him back into the street.
He quickly recovered, the footman alternately stammering out apologies and shouting for Mr. Jamieson.
The butler hurried out, his face drawn with worry. “Oh, my lord, thank God!”
“What has happened, Jamieson?” the earl inquired with deceptive mildness.
“Her ladyship received a note, my lord. She went to her chamber, we thought to lie down but she sent Maddy away. When Maddy went to check on her, she was gone!”
Gideon felt his heart stop. The good butler’s words tumbled out, one over the other, almost too fast for his master to comprehend. It was not much for Gideon to grasp the key point.
“Where is the note?”
It was handed to him immediately, Jamieson hovering, awaiting orders.
They were not long in coming. As Gideon strode through the heavy front door into the darkening street beyond, he issued orders with all the bearing of a general.
“Send a message round to Derringer’s residence. Determine if anyone has seen him. We need the duke’s expertise.”
The butler opened his mouth to call a footman but closed it abruptly, a look of utter shock crossing his features.
