The Earl with the Secret Tattoo

by Kieran Kramer

  “No,” she said fiercely, and wiped at the tears brimming over. “It was not too much. Tell me everything, and I mean, everything.” She felt angry now. “Don’t dare hold a single fact back. Papa would want me to know.”

  The earl kept smoothing back her hair, over and over, his gaze troubled and fixed on the wall behind her.

  “My lord?”

  He finally looked down at her.

  “You can stop now,” she said, not really wanting him to but needing him to—so she could think clearly.

  “Very well.” Lord Tumbridge’s eyes were sad. He dropped his hand but not before gently fixing a loop of hair back behind her ear.

  “I’m grateful for your sympathy,” she said, “but I need to hear more about my father.”

  “You’re his daughter,” the earl replied softly, “his legacy to the world. So I’ll be glad to speak with you about him.”

  He resumed his seat on the floor in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling more collected. “What do you mean, Papa was doing his duty to the Crown? Who killed him? And why?”

  Over the next few minutes, it was as if Eleanor had entered another world, a world she never dreamed existed. She couldn’t believe that her sweet, docile father had founded an organization whose mission was to track down any threats to the security of the those who served the Crown in the diplomatic corps.

  She felt pale and shaken. But the longer she thought of it, the more she realized it would have been very like her father. He was a man of principle—and action, when he felt the need.

  He was a hero, not only to her but also to their country.

  That thought brought her tremendous comfort. And pride.

  “And you’re in this clandestine organization?” she asked the earl.

  “Yes, I am. Although if you asked the English government, they’d say we didn’t exist.”

  “Goodness. So you’re a hero, too.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” His modest rebuttal sounded perfectly sincere. “I’m only doing my duty. Your father was the visionary, the one who uncovered the enemy within our ranks, and the one who sacrificed his life.”

  “One who does his duty is a hero, whether he makes the ultimate sacrifice or not.”

  Lord Tumbridge began to speak, but she laid a finger on his mouth. “I must beg you not to contradict me on that point.” Her tone was firm, even as he grabbed her finger and placed a soft, sweet kiss on it. She blushed and pulled her hand back. “Now, please tell me more about my father’s heroics. I shall bask in them, as it is only right that a daughter should.”

  “I’ll be happy to,” the earl said kindly. “Ever thorough, your father left behind two matching talismans with codes that when put together would lead to documents implicating a high-ranking peer as a double agent during the war with Napoléon. One of them he gave to me to hold until he was sure of his case. When he realized he was in serious danger, he wrote me a letter alerting me to the location of the other talisman, but it was too late on all counts. The double agent managed to kill him, and the Sherwood boy found the other talisman first.”

  “Yes, in the cave by my stepfather’s house. It was before he was my stepfather, of course.” Eleanor was getting a very bad feeling. “Why ever would Papa have hid it there?” She leaned forward. “Who, pray tell, is this double agent and murderer?”

  Although she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  The earl’s mouth thinned. “Pritchard.”

  There was a long stretch of silence.

  Eleanor swallowed. “Heaven save us,” she finally managed to say. “Mother and I—Clare—have been living with a traitor and…a murderer? And not only that, he killed Papa?” It seemed incomprehensible. “I’ve been sitting at a table with him. And Mama shares his bed—”

  She put her knuckles to her mouth. Perhaps all this horrible news was too much. It was terrible, ghastly, so devastating that Eleanor wasn’t sure she knew up from down anymore, black from white—

  Good from evil.

  Yes, you do, a voice in her head told her. You do know. When she’d had to decide whether Lord Tumbridge was good or bad, she’d made the right decision, hadn’t she? And hadn’t she known in her heart that there was something very, very wrong with Lord Pritchard?

  And as a result of her stepfather’s diabolical actions, Papa wasn’t here to speak for himself.

  She would have to be his voice.

  “Are you all right?” the earl asked, his eyes filled with concern.

  She dug her nails into the cushion she sat upon. “I’ve always hated my stepfather, long before he married Mother. I sensed something was off about him—but no one would listen.”

  “You can’t go back to that house.”

  “I have to.”

  “You can’t. You were safe as long as you didn’t ask questions. The thug who came to your room tonight was no doubt from him. If Pritchard knows you’ve left the house, and if he finds out you’ve been here, he’ll kill you.”

  “But if I don’t go back, he’ll know I found out too much. He’ll figure out that I had the talisman, after all. And then he’ll flee.” She stood.

  Lord Tumbridge stood, too.

  “I want you to get him,” she said.

  “We will. I’m going to wake up the right people, and we’ll have those damning documents by morning. He probably won’t even be aware you’re not there. Do you sleep late?”

  “No,” she said miserably. “We’re both early risers and are usually at breakfast together.”

  The thought of ever sharing breakfast again with that wicked man made her ill. But she would if she had to, if it helped the earl and his colleagues snare him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lord Tumbridge said. “You’ll stay with me. We’ll get the documents. If for some reason it takes longer than expected, if he notices your absence in the morning and decides to flee, he won’t get away. Whatever port town he intends to escape to, we’ll follow.”

  “That’s too risky. I have to act as if nothing has happened. It’s not too late. I can go back tonight and wake up and pretend everything’s all right in the morning. That will give you the time you need.”

  “Lady Eleanor, I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”

  “You’ll have to,” she said, brooking no argument. “I won’t leave my mother. Vain as she is, there’s no way she’d condone the murder of my father. She must be completely unaware. Nor can I leave Clare. It’s not her fault her father is a villain. I want to be with them in case he’s arrested later today. I need to be with them. And if for some reason, the arrest is delayed and life goes on as usual until justice can be done, I’ll have done my duty by my father, which is to watch over our family.”

  “You’re already done your duty—by him and your country,” Lord Tumbridge insisted.

  “You brought us the talisman.” He took her by the shoulders. “Your mother and stepsister will be fine. They’ve been fine all along. They’re not the ones asking questions.”

  Lady Eleanor sighed. “I appreciate your concern, but you know what I advise is the best move. You don’t know for sure you can get those documents this morning. It might be more involved than you thought. And if he decides to run, you don’t know who might help him get away.”

  “But I promised your father to keep you safe.” The earl’s voice was low.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You wonder why I’ve interfered in your life.” He told her about her former suitor Rupert Hawthorne and how he beat women; about the baron in Yorkshire who wanted to hire her as a governess. “He was fond of seducing governesses, actually.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Eleanor said, feeling utterly overwhelmed. “And I was so angry at you.”

  “Understandably.”

  “If only I’d known.” She wanted to kiss him again. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. There were too many important matters to discuss, too many shocking pieces of news swirling in her head. She picked up her r
eticule, wrapped it around her wrist, then reached for her cape on the sofa and put it on.

  “Thank you,” she told the earl, and meant it from the bottom of her heart. “I’m sure my father would have appreciated all your efforts to keep me safe, too. But you left out the robbery. You started there.”

  “Yes,” Lord Tumbridge said, “but I was still after that talisman. Don’t give me too much credit.”

  “I give you all the credit,” she said with a smile. “You were after that talisman to unmask my father’s killer. But what about Lord Andrew? You know you set him up to reveal his own foolishness to me. But he was in no way dangerous.”

  “I agree there was nothing terribly wrong with Wells.” Lord Tumbridge managed to appear abashed, which was difficult, Eleanor thought with wry amusement, when one had such a commanding presence. The pucker in his brow and the slightest softening around his eyes gave him away. “I intervened where I shouldn’t have, but I don’t regret it.”

  She felt herself blush at the look he was sending her: half heat, half boyish yearning. “You—you don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to keep you safe”—he cupped her jaw with a strong, warm hand—“for me.”

  There was complete and utter silence.

  “Really?” she whispered.

  He nodded, and then he kissed her again, her body pressed to his, and his to hers. They turned in a slow circle, balancing each other as the kiss deepened.

  “Eleanor,” he whispered.

  She felt that frightening feeling again. “Lord Tumbridge—”

  “James,” he whispered in her ear, and kissed the nape of her neck. “Please call me James.”

  “James,” she said, and that was all it took for the floodgates to open between them.

  He picked her up, kissed her openmouthed, hungrily, and she twisted her arms about his neck and kissed him back.

  She pulled back. “I had no idea I’m the type who lifted like a sack of potatoes and spun about. Not until this evening.”

  “Damn your bloody cape,” he said back. “And you’re more like a sack of feathers. Definitely not potatoes.”

  They returned to kissing.

  A few heady moments later, he said, “I want you with me. In my life. In my bed. At my side. And you’re never going to wear a cape again.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “I want the same.” But she felt her eyes begin to sting.

  “What is it?” His tone was so concerned, a tear came out.

  He kissed it away.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “So many things are happening. Frightening things, too, things that could knock me off my feet—even kill me—if I’m not careful. But it all seems to fade away when I’m with you. There you are, standing in the middle of the chaos, strong and sure and…and there.”

  His mouth tipped up. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  She chuckled, and the fear retreated. “I’m a writer, you know.”

  “Are you? Was that supposed to be poetic?”

  She winced. “I’ve never been good at poetry, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree.” He grinned and dropped her to the floor in a quick move that required her to find her feet right away. “But I like everything about you, Lady Eleanor Gibbs. Even your bad poetry.”

  “Thank you.” Her whole face burned with pleasure. “I’m going back now, and you know I should. So please, simply wish me well. And I have total faith that you’ll be arriving at the house sometime after breakfast—before my wretched, hideous stepfather leaves for Whitehall. I’ll delay him as long as I can.”

  “But—”

  She put two fingers on his lips. “You’ve fulfilled your promise to my father. Now let me show him that I am my own protector, thanks to everything he taught me about bravery and about taking chances. And everything he didn’t. There was one time, I’m sorry to say, that I observed him rolling over and playing coward—not that I judge him ill for it. In his own way, he was trying to protect me even then.”

  “Was he?”

  “Yes. He was trying to hold his family together. Mother, I believe, was infatuated with Lord Pritchard. Papa knew this, I’m guessing, and did what he could to maintain family harmony.”

  “He deserved better,” James said grimly.

  “Life’s not fair, is it?” Eleanor sighed. “But we still need to fight for what’s right. Give me a chance to prove to myself—and not to anyone else—that my intuition is my best guide. It brought me to you, didn’t it?”

  “So it did.” James leaned his forehead against hers. “All right, then. You go. I’ll follow at a distance, of course, until the very last minute. And when this is over, I intend to continue this discussion,” he added softly, and kissed her temple.

  “I’d be happy to, my lord. But only—”

  “Only what?”

  “Only if I’m allowed to get a closer look at your tattoo,” she said, feeling bolder than she ever had before.

  Which led to another long kiss and numerous assurances that the tattoo was hers to peruse at her leisure.

  “Signal me when I can come see you,” he said. “I’ll be watching.”

  So she told him exactly which window was hers facing the front street—she had a corner room—and said she’d put a blue vase with a flower in it on the sill at the right moment. “That will be when I have Mother and Clare settled. This will come as quite a shock to them.”

  Eleanor took one last kiss back with her, but she left her heart in Lord Tumbridge’s house that night.

  <#>

  James could hardly stand it. His lady love was at risk. Every minute he delayed in getting those documents could be the minute in which Lord Pritchard harmed or even killed Eleanor.

  So he roused everyone who could expedite matters, including the Brotherhood’s code master, whose fine work on Lord Kersey’s instructions on the talismans led James to awaken Meryl, his friend in the diplomatic corps, and Charlie, his contact at Scotland Yard, who served as his envoy in matters of procedure.

  At seven in the morning, Charlie was forced to visit an exhausted madam who, unbeknownst to her, held a secret key to a bank vault behind a mirror in her house of ill repute. As a consequence, Charlie then had to knock upon the residence of the president of a bank—with a formal letter of request and apology from the government, written by Meryl—to open his bank early. Charlie then had to track down a very harried security guard, who was forced to come in an hour and a half before regular opening time with his keys to give Charlie access to the bank vaults and total privacy to explore them.

  James entered at this point, his cape wrapped around him, his hat brim down.

  By eight o’clock in the morning, the damning documents containing Lord Pritchard’s correspondence with a French agent—stolen by Lord Kersey himself from Pritchard’s desk—had been retrieved from a locked deposit box, and Prinny himself had been alerted.

  By nine o’clock, the arresting officers had been assembled and had converged on the home of Lord Pritchard. They were inside now, making the arrest.

  Eleanor was there, too, James knew, but where? In the same room as the villain? Or hidden away with her mother and stepsister?

  Everything in him ached to abandon procedure and go after her. But he didn’t. He was still a member of the Brotherhood, at least for the nonce. He wondered when he’d tell Stubing he was going to resign.

  Later, he thought. But it would be done, and he felt at perfect peace about it.

  Nevertheless, he was on edge as he watched from a café across the street with his Brotherhood friends. Reeves sat at another table, reading. Stubing was with his wife, Mary, arguing at the counter over what confection to buy. And Patrick sat with James. Their being together wouldn’t be remarked upon. They were both idle gentlemen with nothing better to do than sit about a café, half-drunk, weren’t they?

  The front door of the Pr
itchard house burst open.

  “James Dawbry, Earl of Tumbridge—you bastard!” shrieked Lord Pritchard, his hands bound behind his back.

  “There goes your cover,” murmured Patrick.

  James shrugged. “It was the right time, actually.” And it was.

  “But why you and not us?” Patrick didn’t look at him.

  “Lord Kersey was like a father to me,” murmured James. “Pritchard knew it. It’s his last chance to hurt him, through me. But he still doesn’t understand that Gibbs didn’t need any of this. Nor do I. Nor does anyone doing it for the right reasons.”

  “And his were always wrong,” said Patrick. “Sorry the game’s up for you.”

  James’s heart rather broke. “I’ll miss you, friend.”

  “And I, you. See you around Town. From afar, of course.” Without any hesitation, Patrick got up and left the café without looking back at him.

  Ah, well. At least, if James had to go, he’d go out well. He’d made amazing friends in the Brotherhood he’d never forget, and he’d completed his last mission before being thrust back into the ordinary—yet extraordinary—world of the beau monde.

  He fully intended to take up life as a new, improved earl who’d seemingly grown up overnight, a transformation that could happen to the merriest partygoers, everyone knew, particularly ones who fell in love.

  But he would relish these next few minutes—his last as a member of the Brotherhood—as the highlight of his career.

  It was with great relief and deep satisfaction that he watched Lord Pritchard put into an open wagon and surrounded by officials ensuring he wouldn’t go anywhere. The vehicle rumbled down the street and around the corner, its wicked captive sitting with bowed head and shoulders.

  And it was over.

  Finally.

  James looked over at Reeves for the briefest moment. Reeves nodded his own farewell, his expression entirely neutral, except for the lines of sadness around his eyes, which he quickly erased by yawning.

  Stubing and his wife walked to the door with a box of baked goods—the last thing the sharpshooter-turned-baker needed. He looked over his wife’s head a second too long, but it was long enough for James to read thank you in his gaze.