Lord Margrave's Secret Desire

by Samantha Grace

  His throat squeezed as the truth of how close his fears had come to being realized closed in on him. If he lost Sophia, he would lose his laughter, his joy, his ability to breathe.

  “I love you,” he murmured.

  “I know, and I love you.”

  “No, darling, you do not understand.”

  He cradled her hand between his larger ones and struggled to find the words to explain the depth of his sentiment. It defied definition. It was vast and ever expanding. He was drowning in it and yet, its power over him no longer frightened him.

  Loving Sophia did not make him weaker, more vulnerable. His determination to reach her tonight had been forged in iron. He was stronger—unstoppable—because he was in possession of something of value that he’d never had in the past. He had someone to lose.

  “I am finished with the Regent’s Consul,” he said. “Your uncle was right; I was too hasty, but I never anticipated having you in my life. Now I cannot imagine how my heart could keep beating if you were gone.”

  She leaned her forehead against his. “I will never leave you, Crispin.” Her breath—mint-tinted from her tooth powder—whispered across his heated skin. “I will never stop loving you.”

  He closed his eyes and inhaled. Her promises were a balm to his heart, a slow cure for an old injury he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

  “I wish we were home,” he murmured. “I would strip you bare and show you how much I love you.”

  “Law, now I will not sleep a wink tonight.” She drew back; her breathy laugh caused him to smile. “I wish we could follow Aunt Beatrice’s suggestion and run off to Gretna Green, but duty calls. You cannot leave the Regent’s Consul until England’s future is secured.”

  He cleared his throat and put distance between them. “You deciphered the letters.”

  “Yes, the letters.” She propped her arm on the back of the sofa, still facing him. “From what I was able to piece together from Lord Geoffrey’s diary, his association with Farrin began after a chance meeting at a gaming hell. Lord Geoffrey found him insufferable, but he also recognized an opportunity.

  “I know from Claudine that Farrin began to dine regularly with Lord Geoffrey and the duke at Claudine’s town house shortly after the men met. Claudine remembered the men barricading themselves after dinner while the Duke of Stanhurst retreated to his study. I imagine the plotting began during these meetings.”

  “Are you sure Old Stanhurst was not involved?”

  “Lord Geoffrey took pains to keep his father in the dark. He wanted to become a man on his own terms and break free of his father’s control.” She pursed her lips. “Of course, he intended to break free at the expense of his country, so I have no sympathy for him. The letters are from an old school chum living in America—a supporter of Napoleon. Apparently, there are still a number of Bonapartist followers in America, although his brother does not appear to be involved in the scheme.”

  “From all reports, Joseph Bonaparte is content providing counsel to politicians and entertaining dignitaries and Philadelphia’s upper class,” Crispin said. “Restoring his younger brother to power could disrupt his new life. I imagine he is keen to keep the peace.”

  “I hope for all of our sakes we are able to keep the peace. It seems Farrin provided the solution for rescuing Napoleon since his brother was taking no action.”

  Crispin frowned. “The Consul has been aware of the Black Death’s existence for ten years, but the mission has been to keep the warriors as far from England as possible. Not even Farrin could want them descending on the country. When he murdered Lord Geoffrey, he couldn’t have known a man had already been sent to engage the group.”

  “Perhaps that is true, but he provided Lord Geoffrey with a map of St. Helena with details about the guards’ locations and indicating where there are vulnerabilities. Farrin was looking for this map at Wedmore House, I am certain of it. I cannot figure out how Uncle Charles came to be in possession of it, though. Aunt Beatrice thinks he might have discovered the plot and stolen the map before it could be delivered to the warriors.” Sophia puffed her chest, appearing quite proud. “Auntie says Uncle Charles is an excellent spy. I cannot wait to tell Regina and Evangeline.”

  “I did not realize Beatrice knew.”

  “Of course she did. She said Uncle Charles couldn’t keep his involvement a secret. He required her help in keeping my sisters and me safe. I wish you had told me.”

  “It was not my place to tell.”

  “No, that should have been Uncle Charles’s doing. It does explain his frequent absences from home.” She nibbled her bottom lip as if considering this new information she had in her possession. “Without the letters, we cannot prove any of this, can we?”

  “It would be your word only. Perhaps Stanhurst’s testimony would add weight to the accusation, but it would not be to his benefit to come forward. With Farrin free, I cannot allow you to assume the risk. Your uncle would not allow it if he were here. I intend to take you and Beatrice away from England as soon as possible, to Athens to reunite with your family.”

  “I will be happy to see them.” Sophia sighed. “I am relieved for Stanhurst if I am being truthful. I would not like to see him suffer for his brother’s actions. He is a good man.”

  Crispin agreed. The Duke of Stanhurst was more than he had seemed, which His Grace proved late the next morning.

  Thirty

  The Duke of Stanhurst slapped a piece of paper on the low table placed in front of the sofa where Crispin was seated, waiting for Sophia and her aunt to come below stairs so they could depart for London. His newfound partner, Benny, would accompany on horseback, helping Crispin keep guard on the journey.

  “The letters were lost, but we have this,” Stanhurst said. He paced the carpet as if his life depended on remaining in motion.

  Crispin eyed the paper and bent forward to retrieve it. “What is this?”

  “Read it.”

  Crispin read the words aloud while the duke continued to pace. “I, Cyrus Finlay James Jacobson Van Middleburg, do hereby confess to being under the influence of my treacherous wife, Lady Margaret Ida Carolyn Van Middleburg, and her deceased cousin, Lord Geoffrey, son of the late Duke of Stanhurst, and unknowingly participating in a plot to rescue the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte from exile.” Crispin glanced up from the page. “How did you come by Van Middleburg’s confession?”

  “I borrowed a horse and rode to the village at dawn. Van Middleburg is eager to be released and believes testifying against Ida will allow him to escape culpability.”

  Crispin frowned. “Farrin and Wolfe might not have made an appearance last night, but I believe my orders were for everyone to remain watchful. You should not have ventured out alone.”

  “The only danger posed to me comes from my cousin and her husband. Van Middleburg has no contact with Farrin. Geoffrey never shared his name. As far as I have been able to deduce, Farrin’s involvement was limited to suggesting Geoffrey hire the Black Death and providing information about St. Helena security. He has no connection to Geoffrey’s American conspirators, the Van Middleburgs, or the merchants funding the venture.”

  Crispin considered Stanhurst’s hypothesis. It made sense. If Farrin could be linked to the Van Middleburgs or the merchants, he would have targeted them as well. He was fastidious when it came to covering his crimes, and he would not allow anyone to live who could implicate him.

  “Does Van Middleburg believe claiming ignorance and casting blame onto his wife will excuse him from charges of treason?”

  The duke smiled grimly. “I may have hinted he would be shown leniency on the charge of attempted murder and his other crimes if he confessed. He chose to betray his wife to save himself.”

  “He is a fool and a coward.”

  Crispin returned to the confession, skimming over the parts he already knew to gather missing pieces of the story. Van Middleburg’s testimony confirmed Farrin’s map had been stolen soon after he had delivered it to Lord Geof
frey, but Lord Geoffrey was able to reproduce it for the emissary hired to negotiate with the Black Death.

  Lord Geoffrey hadn’t wanted to alert Farrin, and since he knew the thief’s identity, he had tried to handle the matter himself. The thugs he had hired to kill the thief did not fare well in the encounter, and the man fled England on a ship sailing to the Mediterranean the next day.

  Crispin suspected the thief in question had been Charles Wedmore. It seemed likely Wedmore left England to stop the emissary before he could engage the Black Death. He was not the sort to abandon his family to save his own skin. Wedmore hadn’t mentioned his mission to Crispin, however, which was puzzling. Crispin would have a chance to ask for an explanation once he, Sophia, and Beatrice arrived in Athens.

  After Wedmore left the country, Lord Geoffrey had gone to Farrin to admit what had happened and asked for his assistance in cleaning up the mess.

  “Security on the island is a well-guarded secret,” Crispin said. “Farrin and high-ranking military officers are the only men with knowledge of the island’s vulnerabilities and the strategies put in place to defend it. If Wedmore has possession of the map, he can prove Farrin’s part in the scheme.”

  The duke dropped into a chair across from Crispin and rested his head in his hands. “Telling Farrin about the stolen map was a mistake, wasn’t it? Geoffrey condemned himself to death.”

  Crispin did not point out that Geoffrey’s treasonous actions could have only come to one end.

  At the conclusion of Lord Van Middleburg’s confession, he named every British merchant involved. There was no mention of Old Stanhurst or the current duke in the confession, and therefore, did not clear either duke of any wrongdoing, which Crispin found concerning.

  He folded the confession and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “The evidence was destroyed in the fire—nothing to incriminate your family. Why did you urge Van Middleburg to confess? Why do you risk having your title and lands stripped away?”

  Stanhurst lifted his head; his gaze was direct, fierce. “Without loyalty to country, one is not fit to call himself a duke.”

  Crispin inclined his head. “I will vouch for your honor when I present the confession to the Lord Chamberlain.”

  “I intend to be present for the audience, but your testament to my character is appreciated.” The duke’s hard face lost its sharp angles. “Thank you, Margrave—for everything. I will never forget you saved my life.”

  “Thank my protégé when you return to your sisters at the end of this all. Kane is the hero.” Yet, he was no match for Farrin and Wolfe alone, and Crispin could not delay his, Sophia’s, and Beatrice’s departure. The sooner they were on their way to reunite with Sophia’s family, the easier he would breathe.

  Crispin cleared his throat, hesitating a beat. “May I ask a favor, Your Grace?

  “Whatever favor you ask, I will grant it.”

  “Would you take Kane under your employ while I am away? Mind you, I will insist on having him back when I return. I am fond of the whelp.”

  “I understand.” Stanhurst smiled. “You have my word. Kane will be looked after in your absence, assuming I am not locked away at the conclusion of this mess. Shall we convene at the carriage when the ladies come below stairs?”

  The duke had no hat and his borrowed attire was ill fitting at best, but he was every inch the aristocrat as he walked toward the door with his head held high. Crispin called to him; Stanhurst turned.

  “Thank you for what you did last night.” His throat constricted, and he couldn’t utter another word. Dwelling on what could have happened last night would overwhelm him. Sophia was alive. Nothing else mattered.

  “You are welcome, Margrave.”

  Sophia never would have thought to look for anything beneath the floorboards in Uncle Charles’s study, especially with his heavy oak bureau bookshelf sitting atop the hiding spot.

  The shelves had been cleared of Uncle Charles’s treasures, and they were crowding the top of his desk. Crispin eyed the behemoth piece of furniture, his head moving up and down as he surveyed the situation. “Is Beatrice certain this is the location?”

  “She insists it is. Uncle Charles showed her the safe after she came to care for my sisters and me.”

  Sophia could go above stairs to ask again, but she didn’t wish to disturb Aunt Beatrice. Her poor aunt had fallen asleep on the chaise in her chambers after Dr. Portier treated her arm. Fortunately, the injury was a sprain and not a broken bone, and the doctor had cleared Auntie to travel as soon as she felt up to it.

  Cupid, content to have his owner back in residence, had curled up on her lap while Joy packed Aunt Beatrice’s trunks. Crispin said it was best to be prepared, even though he could not predict when they might be allowed to leave.

  “Would you like me to summon footmen to move the bureau?” she asked.

  “Thank you, but I can manage on my own.”

  With a fabricated huff of annoyance, she moved to the other side of the bureau and grabbed the edges. She and Crispin locked gazes. She raised her eyebrows. “You do realize you mustn’t do everything alone. I am helping.”

  His hazel eyes appeared greener this afternoon, sparkling with what she assumed was delight. “Need I remind you that I provide the brawn and you the brains in this partnership?”

  She sniffed. “I am not a weakling, Lord Impertinent.”

  “You have proven you are far from weak, darling, and you do realize you will be Lady Impertinent soon. Are you certain you do not wish to bestow another moniker on me?”

  “Hmm... You do raise an interesting argument. I shall give it more thought.”

  Crispin counted to three before tugging the furniture toward him while Sophia pushed. The bureau resisted with a groan of protest, but they were able to move it together. Sophia was stronger than she realized.

  Once the area was clear, she and Crispin knelt on the floor while he wedged a knife blade between the boards. The first gave way with no resistance, and he lifted the others out of the way. Just as Aunt Beatrice had reported, a small safe was sunken into the hollow between the floor of his study and the ceiling of the lower level. Sophia dangled the key between them that Aunt Beatrice had provided. Crispin trapped it in his fist and kissed her cheek.

  “To new beginnings,” he said.

  She echoed his sentiment as he inserted the key into the lock. It turned with a clank. Crispin grabbed the handle and lifted the door, allowing it to rest against the opening. Inside, among Uncle Charles’s treasures was a single scroll. Sophia retrieved it and rolled it out on her lap, smoothing and holding the edges. Crispin’s hand was hot on the small of her back. Her breath caught and her heart fluttered as the markings came together on the page.

  “We have found it,” she murmured. “This is the proof we need to rid ourselves of Farrin, isn’t it?”

  He leaned closer to inspect their find. “This is it.” He stroked her hair and leaned close to place a lingering kiss at her temple. “This map is my freedom, my chance to start over and give you what you deserve.”

  She slanted a glance at him. “I do not understand.”

  He took the map, rolled it into a tube, and stood, offering her a hand up. “No one has ever resigned from the Regent’s Consul. Farrin made certain everyone knew the commitment was for life. Those who attempted to leave met with mysterious ends.”

  Sophia frowned. Membership in one of Lord Seabrook’s silly clubs looked more appealing all of a sudden.

  Crispin placed the map on Uncle Charles’s desk. “I thought I only had one way out. Can you understand I did not want that sort of life for you? Why I pushed you away?”

  “Oh, Crispin.” Tears misted her eyes; she cupped his cheek. The horror of his situation cut her deeply. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “It no longer mattered, because I had already made a decision.” He captured her hand where it rested on his cheek. Hooking her around the waist, he urged her closer. “Nothing will ever tear us apart,”
he said with the fiercest gleam in his eyes. “I will not allow it.”

  “Do you know what I have decided?” She slipped her arms around his neck, toying with the blond locks brushing his collar, and aimed a flirtatious glance at him from beneath her lashes. “Your commanding side is most attractive.”

  A wicked smile spread across his face. “Is it now?”

  She nodded, widening her eyes and attempting to appear most solemn.

  “In that case, I demand a kiss, darling.”

  “With pleasure, Lord Margrave—as many as you wish.”

  Sophia was more than delighted he did not limit himself to one.

  Epilogue

  The soldiers in their red coats with rifles propped on their shoulders created quite the spectacle at the London docks. A drumbeat rose over the din of the crowd and heads swung around in confusion as the soldiers marched in formation. The sea of people scrambled out of their path. When the armed men reached the Cecily, they formed a wall in front of the ship. No one who didn’t belong would be stowing away onboard.

  “If our departure was printed in the morning newssheet,” Crispin grumbled to his old school chum where they stood at the bottom of the gangplank, “it would draw less attention.”

  “Fireworks would have been a nice touch,” Ben Hillary teased. “I must admit their presence eases my mind.”

  “It is an unnecessary precaution, I assure you.”

  Farrin and Wolfe were not foolish enough to launch an attack in daylight, but even if they were, neither man was in the vicinity. A new leader had been named to the Regent’s Consul, and every man was under orders to bring in Farrin and Wolfe, dead or alive.

  Three days ago, the Consul received a report two men meeting Farrin’s and Wolfe’s descriptions were spotted on the Great North Road en route to Scotland. That had been before Garrick’s appearance at the Seabrook estate. It seemed the great leader of the Regent’s Consul had abandoned his man and was running with his tail tucked between his legs.