The June Bride Conspiracy

by Regina Scott

  Joanna and Allister spent the next hour and a half opening presents. She was amazed and delighted with the variety and thoughtfulness of the gifts sent by friends and family. Aunt Seralyn had sent an ormolu clock that had belonged to their grandmother. Cousin Charles offered an enameled box lined in velvet for her rings. Her old friend Katherine, now Lady Borin, sent a charming ceramic figure. Allister’s cousin Justinian Darby, who studied literature at Oxford, provided a book of poetry.

  “Love poetry,” Allister said with a saucy grin. “Just the thing for cold winter nights.”

  Joanna wanted to return his teases, but her heart quailed. So many lovely gifts, so many heart-felt sentiments for her future. Would she have to send them back?

  At last all that remained was a single white box, about four inches square.

  “Oh, dear,” her mother said with a frown. “We seem to have misplaced the card.”

  Joanna glanced at the pile of crumpled wrapping at their feet. “In all this mess, it’s not surprising. Let me open it, Mother. Perhaps we’ll know who sent it by the contents.”

  Her mother held out the box to her, but Allister neatly intercepted it.

  “No, allow me,” he insisted quietly.

  Joanna frowned at him. “Is something wrong, Allister?”

  His smile was all charm, but she seemed to sense a tension in him. “No, not at all,” he assured her. “I’d simply like to open this one. Would you mind?”

  “Of course not.” She sat back, and he pulled the box to him. But, instead of opening it, he stood and carried it to the window.

  “Allister?” Joanna asked.

  “I need a little more light,” he explained.

  She exchanged glances with her mother. Lady Lindby shrugged indulgently, as if it were only to be expected for a prospective groom to act strangely. Joanna glanced at Allister, standing in profile to her. He stared down at the box, brow wrinkled, as if he could see the contents simply by examining it thoroughly. He must have caught her puzzled frown, for he turned his back on her. The faintest of ripples in his well-tailored coat told her he had flung off the lid. He stiffened. Before she could ask what it was, he whirled.

  “This is from one of my relatives,” he announced. “A personal gift. I’ll acknowledge it myself. Were there any others, Lady Lindby?”

  “No, that’s the lot,” her mother replied with a sigh of relief. “Though I expect to see quite a few more before the big day.”

  “I’d like to help open those as well,” Allister told her. “It’s very important to me to be part of these preparations.”

  Her mother blinked at his firm tone. “Well, certainly. You are the groom.”

  Something was wrong. Joanna could feel it. “Mother,” she said, “may I have a few moments alone with Allister?”

  Her mother rose gracefully. “Of course, dear. My mother made the arrangements for my wedding once. I remember how it feels. See you tomorrow, my lord.”

  Allister bowed. “Good day, Lady Lindby.”

  As soon as her mother was out of the room, Joanna rounded on him. “What happened, Allister? What’s in that box?”

  He glanced down at the now-closed box as if surprised he still held it. “This? I told you, it’s a personal gift from my family.”

  “I certainly hope you lied better than that when you worked in the War Office.”

  He raised a brow. “My dear Joanna, whatever makes you think I’m lying?”

  “Is it a game you want?” she demanded, fury rising at his unwillingness to be honest with her. “Very well, I can play this, I believe. I think you are lying, my lord, for several reasons. First, you didn’t care about who opened what until we reached that box. Second, you have precious few family members, and we’ve already opened the presents from the Darbys, so that excuse doesn’t wash either. Third, I can feel the tension in you. Now, will you just confess so we can get on with this?”

  He frowned. “I can see how you might have been misled. I wanted to open the package because I thought you might be tiring. And I have other family members outside the Darbys. I’ve told some of them about the wedding, so it isn’t surprising they might want to send a gift before receiving the invitation. And the only tension you feel is embarrassment that I continually forget to give your mother the names of those family members so she can send an official announcement. You should have more faith in me, Joanna.”

  “No, Allister,” she replied, stung. “You should have more faith in me. I think it bodes little good for our marriage if you insist on hiding things from me.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Am I not allowed to protect you?” he murmured.

  “Where I cannot do so myself, certainly. But please do me the courtesy of letting me determine when that is needed.”

  He nodded. “Very well.”

  “Good,” she said, rising. She held out her hand. “Now, show me what’s in the box, Allister.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Allister held the box to his chest. His beautiful, courageous, headstrong bride-to-be gazed up at him in challenge. Every fiber of his being cried out to protect her.

  “I’d rather not,” he murmured.

  She bristled.

  “I’ll simply tell you,” he continued quickly. “It’s a dead bug.”

  She blinked. “A dead bug?”

  “Yes.” He watched for her reaction, expecting cries of alarm, demands for smelling salts. She merely frowned.

  “I don’t understand. Why would someone send us a dead bug for our wedding?”

  He shoved the box behind him. “I have no idea.”

  “Incredibly poor taste,” she went on. “Quite tacky. One could almost take it as a bad omen. Oh!”

  Her startled gaze met his, and he knew she had reached the same conclusion. He stepped to her side.

  “Don’t let it upset you,” he cautioned. “Perhaps it’s simply poor taste, as you said.”

  “Let me see it,” she demanded. “And we’ll determine exactly how poor this taste is.”

  “I’d rather not,” he repeated. “I’d like to take it to the War Office, see if anyone there can make sense of it.”

  She paled. “You think it’s from the person who’s been troubling us?”

  “Possibly,” he replied. “Let me handle this, Joanna.”

  Her chin came up. “I believe we agreed you would not protect me unless I requested your aid.”

  “But surely…”

  “No.” He had never seen her face so implacable. “This is our wedding, Allister. You told my mother it was important that you be part of the preparations. This person threatens our future. It is important that I assist you in removing the threat.”

  She had no idea what she was asking. “Be reasonable. You have no experience in this role.”

  “Perhaps not, but no one can have more interest in seeing the matter resolved.”

  He met her gaze. “Are you prepared to lie to your mother, your friends, perhaps turn your back on every scruple you hold dear?”

  Her eyes widened. “Is that what you had to do?”

  At times. But admitting it to her would only diminish her respect for him. “We all know what we must do to protect England.”

  She touched his hand, hesitant, as if she feared what she might discover. “How very lonely.”

  Having never lived as he’d lived, having grown up sheltered from so many of the things he’d seen, how could she peg the feeling so accurately? “Now can you understand why I want to leave it behind?”

  She pulled back her hand. “I can see why you believe you want to leave it behind. But I can only feel as if it’s a wall standing between us. All I’m asking is that you open a door, Allister. Let me catch a glimpse of this world you’ve lived in, so I can understand it and you.”

  For a moment, he was tempted. To lay bare his soul, to allow her in where no other had ever entered. What rest, what peace—to be loved as he was, not for the façade he so often had to erect. Yet could she love such a m
an?

  “You’ve seen enough,” he promised her. “The unwelcome surprises, the doubt, the worry.”

  “The excitement,” she countered.

  “I assure you the excitement pales with time. We will get through this, Joanna. The best thing you can do is go about the wedding preparations as if nothing has happened.” He offered her an encouraging smile, but her gaze when it met his was hard.

  “Nothing has happened,” she answered him. “I don’t like this business Allister, but I won’t let it come between us.”

  “That’s my girl,” he replied heartily.

  He drew her into his embrace, but she rested stiffly in his arms. For all her brave words, she had to be concerned. He wished he could be as confident as she was that nothing could come between them. But, in truth, finding the insect in the box had unnerved him. This made three times Daremier had gotten too close to Joanna. Allister refused to spend the rest of their lives looking over his shoulder. There had to be something he could do to stop the villain.

  There was only one person who had claimed knowledge of the Skull. Perhaps it was time he had another chat with Lydia Montgomery.

  –

  There had to be something she could do to stop this madness. Joanna watched Allister from the sitting room window as he left the town house. For a moment she’d thought he would relent and let her in. But no, she was not to be given the key to the inner sanctum.

  It appeared she’d have to pick the lock.

  She rushed into the entryway, where Dames stood on duty. “Go to the kitchen,” she told the footman. “Bring me Mary’s cloak.”

  “Miss?” he asked with a frown, but she pointed imperiously toward the servant’s stair, and he hurried to do as she’d bid. It wasn’t much of a disguise. Certainly people might wonder why a maid would venture out with her hood pulled up over her hair on such a sunny day. But it was the best she could do on short notice.

  As it was, she made herself slump so that she might appear shorter and allowed the brown wool cloak to billow just a bit as if her figure was stouter. Even then, she had to nearly run to catch sight of Allister again.

  He’d said he was going to the War Office with that detestable bug of a wedding present. Surely the War Office was in Whitehall, south of Mayfair. Yet Allister headed unrelentingly east. Was even the office of his superior in a secret location?

  Or was he deliberately leading her astray?

  She almost turned back. What right did she have to intrude on national affairs? For all she knew, she might be reprimanded for discovering the lair of England’s spymaster. Surely Allister would not allow them to imprison her. Or, given the ultimate choice between her and his profession, would he denounce her for a fool and let them carry her away?

  She rounded a corner in time to see him climb the stairs to a neat brick apartment building. An odd place for spies to gather. Wouldn’t the other residents question people coming and going at all hours? She ventured closer, noting the lacy curtain at a window, the pot of flowers on a ledge. It was a terribly convincing apartment building.

  “Lovely day for a stroll,” Allister said beside her.

  Joanna jumped, and the hood fell back from her face. The lift of his brow and the lilt of his mouth told her he was amused. She smiled at him. “I thought so.”

  He plucked at the voluminous cloak. “Interesting choice for spring. A new style?”

  Joanna shook her head. “You can stop teasing me. I admit it. I followed you.” She lowered her voice. “This cannot be part of the War Office.”

  As if he thought otherwise, he reached out and replaced the hood over her hair. “Quite right. And neither is it a place for a lady.”

  Joanna eyed the building. “It seems respectable.”

  “The person I intend to question is not. Go home, Joanna.”

  Pride stiffened her spine. “The law may give a husband certain rights, my lord, but we aren’t married yet. You cannot compel me to obey you.”

  He leaned closer, peering into the depths of her hood. “I could throw you over my shoulder and carry you home.”

  “Oh, and that would make a pretty picture!”

  He straightened. “You’re determined, then, to see this through, no matter the cost?”

  He was concerned for her reputation. The cost was so much higher—her wedding, her future, his love. How could she walk away? “Yes, Allister, I am determined.”

  He took her hand. “In that case, madam, allow me to introduce to you one of London’s most infamous temptresses.”

  –

  He thought she might quail. Very likely chasing him across London had held a certain appeal. She obviously saw the hooded cloak as a disguise. He’d recognized her the moment he’d spotted her at the end of her row of town houses. She’d kept trying to slump, but nothing disguised that elegant walk for long.

  But to brave the presence of a fallen woman? Most ladies on the ton would have fled.

  Not his Joanna. She actually tugged on his hand to encourage him to lead her to the door and up the stairs to the flat. He was only glad she had the hood firmly in place when the maid answered his knock.

  As it was, the hood turned from side to side as Joanna must have gazed about the actress’s apartment. Lush crimson furnishings, expensive fabrics, the scent of roses—the entire place was designed to set a fellow to dreaming. With such a stage, Lydia Montgomery could only float out of her boudoir, smile welcoming and lacy wrapper fluttering about her curves.

  At the sight of the hooded figure beside him, she raised a brow. “It seems you are not as devoted to your little Society sweetheart as you claimed, my lord.”

  Joanna stiffened, but Allister gave her hand a squeeze in warning.

  “A witness to this conversation seemed prudent,” he told the actress.

  “A witness?” She did not offer them a seat and wandered to the chaise and draped herself along it. “What did you have in mind?”

  Not what the gap in her gown suggested.

  “Have you received any more plum comfits?” he asked.

  The squeak from inside the hood made Lydia raise her brow once more.

  “No, my lord. Though I’m sure I need not say how much such a gift might mean from a gentleman of your stature.”

  He ignored her engaging look. “And has there been no other attention from your admirer?”

  She stretched out a well-turned limb. “Alas, none. Thus you find me all alone this afternoon.” She pouted.

  “How tragic.”

  Allister started to hear the commiserating voice coming from the hood. Joanna took a step forward. Lydia Montgomery went so far as to frown as she straightened on the chaise.

  “It certainly is,” she agreed, watching Joanna.

  “You must care a great deal for the gentleman to allow him to treat you so.”

  Now Allister watched the actress. She waved a hand. “The passion is entirely on his side, I assure you.”

  “Then why not divulge his location?” Joanna pressed. “I’m certain Lord Trevithan can do better than plum comfits.”

  Did she know what she suggested? Lydia certainly thought so. She rose to stand in full majesty, as if determined to make him see her. She could not know Joanna was worth ten of her.

  “Can you, my lord?” she purred, strolling closer to lay a hand on his lapel. “What would you do to ease my loneliness?”

  “Provide you with the income to indulge any wish,” he said, stepping back so that her hand fell. “There is a considerable reward for the information leading to the fellow’s capture.”

  She glanced between him and the figure beside him. “Then he must be dangerous. Why should I put myself at risk from his wrath?”

  Again, Joanna spoke first. “If you know enough to implicate him, then you are already at risk.”

  She was right, and Lydia knew it. Concern flickered across the actress’ face. Allister pressed their case.

  “If he has been captured, you need have no more concern.”
>
  She licked her ruby-tinted lips. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement. I’ll tell you what I know, and you provide sufficient compensation.” She tipped her head toward Joanna. “Including the identity of your witness.”

  “No,” Allister said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Joanna put a hand on his arm. “This is my choice, my lord.”

  He dropped his arms. “Your reputation. Your safety.”

  “Neither is worth allowing the fellow to escape.” She reached up and folded back the hood, revealing flushed cheeks. “Joanna Lindby, Miss Montgomery. I quite admired your performance in Collette.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was rather satisfying watching the woman’s eyes widen. Had she been expecting a maid as the cloak suggested? An actress such as herself? A lady who gathered intelligence? Miss Montgomery could not hide her surprise. A shame her gown hid as little, displaying a distressing amount of flesh. Joanna was only glad Allister seemed immune to the activities it suggested.

  “Out with it,” he ordered the actress. “You have your answer. Where is your admirer?”

  Her gaze flitted from Joanna to him, and some of the fire went out of her. “I never know when he’ll arrive or where he stays while he’s in town. But Gunter’s isn’t the only establishment he favors. There’s a bakery off the Strand. It specializes in a honeyed roll. He’s addicted. If he’s in London, he’ll go there sooner or later.”

  Allister nodded. “Good enough. If we catch him, you’ll have your reward. And if he should contact you in the meantime…”

  “I’ll send word,” she promised. “I’m certain Miss Lindby would be delighted to have me call on her.”

  It seemed the actress had recovered her composure, for the look shot Joanna’s way was all malice.

  “If you have something important to tell me,” Joanna said, “I would be glad to receive you.”

  She shook her head. “She is remarkably cool. Whatever did you see in her, my lord?”