What must it be like to be so carefree and secure as to be able to laugh and drink with a roomful of strangers? He’d never known that kind of ease, and he doubted he ever would. Certainly not if he returned to the War Office. And yet the ability to get drunk in a crowd and find lewd stories amusing was little to lose in comparison to what he’d gained through service to his country. But would his work be enough? In ten years, or twenty, when he was no longer an agent and had inherited a duchy, would the memories be enough to sustain him, when he no longer had anything real to fill the void in his life?
Closing his eyes for a hard moment, he shook his head. Good God—twenty years…whom was he fooling? His work wouldn’t be enough to fight back the anxiousness he knew would come unbidden tomorrow night, and every lonely night after that, if he wasn’t with Josie.
He took a deep breath, knowing what he had to do, and turned toward the house to rejoin the party. In one hour the clock would strike eleven.
And the rest of his life would begin.
Chapter Twelve
The mantel clock’s hands reached midnight.
Standing with a group of men on the other side of the room, idly listening to their heated debate regarding the best birding dogs and not caring one whit, Thomas pretended to ignore the cling-clang of the clock’s tiny bells and raised his coffee cup to his lips.
His eyes swept around the room and took in the remaining guests. Most everyone was still there, enjoying the last night of the party and now freely delighting in both Royston’s hospitality and each other’s company, right down to old Lady Denton, who had cornered Lord Tinsdale with a rant about the tragic dearth of elegant hats on Bond Street this season. He smiled faintly at Miranda Hodgkins, whose spirit hadn’t been dampened by Robert’s departure with Josie an hour prior and who had turned her attention to Quinton. Someone had struck up a card game, and one of the women played softly on the pianoforte.
But Josie was gone, just as he’d asked her to be. As eleven o’clock had approached, Josie had played her part well. Her hand pressing to her forehead, her fingers rubbing at her temples—all the signs of a headache coming on gradually so that by the time the clock struck and she claimed to be ill enough that she needed to go home, everyone believed her. Her acting was utterly brilliant, and Thomas was proud of her, more than he had a right to be.
The butler entered the room.
Thomas’s eyes followed Greaves as he crossed to Royston and bowed his head apologetically for interrupting as he handed a folded note to his employer, then waited in case the earl wanted him to send a reply.
But Royston waved the man away as he read the note. Then his eyes met Thomas’s across the room. A smile spread across his face.
“Chesney!” Royston turned toward the door and motioned for him to follow. “A word with you.”
“Of course,” he muttered, setting down his coffee and nodding politely to the other guests as he made his way into the front hall after Royston.
“Ha!” Royston gleefully smacked the note with his hand, then held it up for Thomas to see as if it were a trophy. “Have my carriage brought round,” he barked at a footman.
“What’s the message?” Thomas’s attention shifted between the earl’s delighted face and the note.
“News from the constable.” Instead of simply handing the note over, he slapped it against Thomas’s chest and smiled arrogantly. “Cooper has decided to confess.”
Thomas frowned and pretended to read the note. “You’re going into the village tonight? At this hour?”
“We’re going,” Royston corrected. “I want you there. If Cooper changes his mind, you might have to be…persuasive.”
Thomas had no intention of interrogating John Cooper tonight, using harsh measures or not. Yet he nodded slowly. “I’d like to be there when this ends.”
Gleefully Royston slapped him on his shoulder, then stalked through the wide front doors when a black carriage pulled up to the steps. Thomas followed slowly after.
The footman shut the carriage door after the two men settled inside. Royston pounded his fist against the roof to signal to the coachman, and the vehicle lurched into motion, rumbling down the drive and into the night.
* * *
The bell of the village church finished striking midnight.
In the dark shadows falling along High Street, dressed in black clothing she’d stolen from Quinn’s room, Josie pressed against the wall of the cobbler’s shop and watched the gaol. Midnight. Thomas should have been here by now, but the street was quiet and still. She held her breath, waiting, listening intently but hearing nothing, not even the sound of horse hooves against the cobblestones. The minutes ticked on, yet there was no sign of Thomas.
Her heart thumped with worry. Something wasn’t right.
She moved away from the shadows and quickly crossed the street, then followed along the fronts of the old buildings to the stone gaol. To her surprise, the door wasn’t locked, and it opened with a loud creak. Slipping inside, she closed it behind her and pressed herself back against it to calm her rapid breathing and the pounding of her heart.
Inside, a lantern hanging on a peg dimly lit the little gaol, which also served as the constable’s office, the surveyor’s office, and the courtroom of the local magistrate. Two stone-and-bar cells sat side by side in the back of the building. A door closed off the left cell, its top half comprised of thick iron bars, its bottom of a solid sheet of metal, while the door to the cell on the right stood wide open. The main room was empty, with no sign of the constable nor any of his men. Nor of Thomas.
“Mr. Cooper?” she called out in hushed tones. Was she too late? Her heart ached, and she pressed her hand against her chest. Had Thomas already come and gone? Oh God, had she missed her last chance to ever see him again?
A rustle of movement came from behind the cell door, then a shadowy face appeared at the barred window. John Cooper answered, “Aye, miss.”
Her throat tightened with both relief and fear. Thomas hadn’t been here yet. Something was definitely wrong. “Are you…Did someone…?” Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself away from the door and stepped carefully across the room. Her body trembled with fear. Chasing after coaches in the dark while hidden safely behind a mask required a completely different sort of courage from boldly sneaking into the gaol itself. She was tempting fate again, and it terrified her. “Where are the constable and his men?”
“Gone a short while ago. A message arrived, an’ they all left in a hurry.”
“A message?” Could that have been Thomas, some trick to get the men to abandon the building so he could free Mr. Cooper? Yet he wasn’t there, and his absence stirred the little hairs on her arms with fear.
“Aye. Then a man arrived—”
Her hands grasped the bars, and she rose up on tiptoe to peer into the cell. Her heart thudded. “He did?”
“Said everything would be set to rights tonight.”
Thomas. “Then I haven’t missed him,” she murmured, hope warming her chest. One last chance to see him, to talk to him…
Mr. Cooper frowned at her. “Pardon?”
She shook her head. How could she ever explain to him how much Thomas meant to her? Then guilt replaced her relief, and her eyes burned with tears. “Mr. Cooper, I am so sorry about everything. The arrest, the questions—your family must be so upset.” She swallowed hard around the growing knot in her throat. “I never wanted this.”
“I knew when I agreed to help you what it could mean. I was a lucky one. I got out of that orphanage and found a good place on a farm with a decent family. I know other children weren’t so lucky.” His lips curled into a determined smile. “Once I learned what you were planning two years ago, miss, nothing could have stopped me from helping you. Like you, I wasn’t one of them children the earl put there, but we all have to watch out for each other’s backs, don’t we?”
“Yes,” she whispered, thinking of Thomas’s assurances that he would keep her safe and pro
tect her. Yet he was wrong. He couldn’t keep her safe from the consequences of her own actions; the time had come to face those. When the constable returned, she planned to confess to all the crimes and take responsibility for every last stolen penny.
“That man left something for you, miss. Said you’d need it tonight.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. He left it there in the other cell.”
What on earth did Thomas think she’d need for a gaolbreak? She couldn’t imagine, yet curiously she slipped into the adjoining cell and froze. A black book sat on the cot. That couldn’t be—it was impossible! She’d seen him toss it into the fire, watched it burn to ash…Oh, but she should have known. That man excelled at doing the impossible.
As she reached for it, a loud metal clank reverberated through the stone building. She gasped and pivoted on her heel as the cell door swung shut behind her.
“No!” she cried out fiercely and lunged forward, but she was too late. The door was locked.
A stranger peered inside the shadows of the dark cell at her, then folded his arms and leaned his shoulder easily against the doorframe. “Thank you for your help, Cooper,” he called into the adjoining cell.
“My pleasure, sir.” Then Mr. Cooper shuffled to the back of his cell, giving them privacy.
“So you’re the woman at the heart of all this,” he mused, holding her incredulous gaze for a moment before sweeping his eyes over her.
“Who are you?” she demanded as her hands clenched the bars tightly, anger and fear squeezing her chest at the amused gleam in his eyes. This was not amusing!
“Colonel Nathaniel Grey.” He flashed her an easy grin. “At your service.”
She was certain he was attempting to charm her with his smile, just as she was certain many ladies found him to be exactly that—charming. But she’d experienced the warmth of Thomas’s true charm, and for her, this man’s was nothing but hollow pretense in comparison.
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Chesney didn’t mention me?” He mocked a wounded look and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “Even during a gaolbreak he keeps me from getting all the glory with the ladies.”
Thomas. Her heart raced at the mention of his name, and her hands tightened on the bars. “Where is he?”
“Rather busy at the moment, so he sent me to tie up the loose ends in tonight’s plan.”
“Loose ends?”
He quirked a brow. “You.”
“Me?” The word popped out as a squeak. “But I’m not even supposed to be here!”
“No, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Chesney said you were too stubborn to do as you were told.” His expression softened. “You’ll fit in perfectly with the rest of the Matteson ladies.”
The blood drained from her face. This man knew Thomas, but he obviously didn’t know him as well as she did if he would suggest something as impossible as her becoming a Matteson lady. “You’re mistaken. Lord Chesney and I do not have any sort of understanding. We’re only acquaintances.”
He chuckled softly, amused at her protest. “No wonder you two are drawn to each other. You lie nearly as well as he does.”
“How dare you!” she chastised with as much force as possible given that she was locked behind bars. “I don’t know who you are, but I will not allow you to slander Lord Chesney. He is a hero who risked his life for his country.” She sniffed at him disdainfully, finding him lacking in comparison. “Which I’m certain is far more than can be said for someone like you!”
At that the colonel burst out laughing. “So you’re not upset that I accused you of lying, but that I accused Chesney?” He shook his head. “Oh, you two are perfect for each other!”
“I told you—” She swallowed hard as she willed her voice not to tremble. “He and I are only acquaintances.”
The colonel leaned toward her until his eyes were level with hers through the bars. “I know who you are, Josephine Carlisle.” All the teasing of just moments before had vanished. His expression was solemn, but affection laced his voice. “I know why Thomas came to Lincolnshire. And I know how you two have been spending your time.”
Her face flushed hot with mortification. Good heavens, he knew!
“From what I know of him, and from all I’ve seen and heard about you,” he told her quietly, “I’m not opposed to you joining the family.”
He’d meant to reassure her, but his words only cut deep into her heart. A sigh seeped from her like air from a deflating balloon, and her shoulders slumped heavily. Instead of clenching the bars in anger, she now held them to keep from falling away. “Thomas doesn’t want that,” she admitted softly, each word tearing from her.
“He doesn’t know yet what he wants.”
“He knows.” Hot tears of utter desolation filled her eyes. “He wants to be with the War Office, and I can’t compete with that.”
“You don’t have to.”
With a sad shake of her head, knowing he didn’t understand, she took a deep breath. “I’m not important enough for him.” She knew the truth. Even if Thomas hadn’t wanted to be an agent…“He’s going to be a duke, and I’m an or—” She bit off the word and choked out instead, “I’m no one.”
“The adopted daughter of a baron, you mean?” he asked gently. “An orphan.”
Her eyes shot up to his. There was no harsh judgment on his face and not a trace of pity.
“Trust me.” A hint of private amusement gleamed in his eyes. “The Matteson family likes orphans. And you are far from unimportant to him, or I wouldn’t be here making certain you’re safe.”
She desperately wanted to believe that Thomas cared for her, but if she couldn’t trust Thomas to tell her that, how could she trust this stranger?
She pointed at the book on the cot. “And that? Am I supposed to believe that’s real? I saw him toss it into the fire. I watched it burn with my own eyes. How am I now supposed to trust either him or you…or that book?”
“As soon as you look at it, you’ll understand. You can trust me because Chesney asked me to help you tonight, and I always keep my word. And you can trust him,” he assured her quietly, his face softening, “because he loves you.”
Her heart thumped so painfully that she pressed her hand against her chest as if she could physically will away the raw pain slicing inside her. No, impossible. Thomas didn’t love her. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have burned the book, and he certainly wouldn’t be leaving for London in the morning. And yet she was just foolish enough to hope…“He told you that?”
“Of course not. But he does. He just can’t admit it to himself yet.”
Closing her eyes against the stinging heat of her unshed tears, she drew a shuddering breath. He was mistaken. Although he seemed to know Thomas well, in this matter she knew him better than anyone, and she knew his heart was still his own, still set on returning to the War Office, no matter the cost.
And the cost was a future with her.
“We’re running out of time.” He pushed a sack through the bars. “Change into these,” he ordered, the concern and gentleness she’d seen in him just moments before replaced by a solemn, businesslike demeanor. “We’re due for visitors, and I can’t have you so obviously looking as if you were up to nefarious activities tonight. Give me those clothes you’re wearing before anyone suspects you might just be a lady bandit after all.”
Muttering to him to turn around to give her privacy, she took the sack and retreated to the dark shadows in the rear of the cell. She pulled the muslin dress from the bag, a blue-and-yellow floral print with white lace trim. One of her favorite dresses. She grimaced in irritation. Of course.
Thomas must have broken into her home and sneaked into her bedroom to retrieve her clothes, right down to stockings, shoes, and shawl. That, she realized, had been the real reason he’d been late to dinner. He hadn’t arranged a gaolbreak but a housebreak. She blew out a frustrated breath as she slipped out of the bla
ck clothes and into her dress. If Thomas loved her, he certainly had an odd way of showing it.
“I’m finished.” With her black clothes inside the sack, she pushed it through the bars. “Here.”
“And your pistol.” He leveled a hard gaze at her. “Wouldn’t want you shooting Chesney before you have the chance to marry him. After all, some things should be left for the honeymoon.”
She returned his stare for a moment, her lips parting at his audacity. Then, with a newfound appreciation for his observational skills, which were proving nearly as keen as Thomas’s, she lifted her skirt, pulling it up to the end of her stocking and to the small pistol she’d hidden there. To the man’s credit, he never looked away from her face.
She handed over the gun.
“Thank you.” He tucked the pistol beneath his coat, where she was certain he already carried at least one other pistol, and mumbled to himself, “Never trust a chit with a gun, I always say.”
“Never trust a spy, I always say,” she countered, with a knowing arch of her brow.
At that he hesitated and, without openly acknowledging that she was correct about him, he drawled, “Odd. I always say that the only person you can trust is a spy.” He shook his head knowingly. “A pretty woman who’s too smart for her own good—oh yes, you’ll fit perfectly into the Matteson family.”
Ignoring the foolish tickle of hope licking at her toes that he might be right, she leaned forward, pressing her face between the bars. “Let me out, please.”
“Apologies, but I can’t do that. Chesney’s orders.”
She stared, stunned. “Thomas asked you to lock me up?”
“It’s the only way to keep you safe.” He gave her a half grin of wry amusement. “Apparently you won’t stay where you’re told, and we can’t have you getting in the way.”
Leaving her to fume, he sketched a shallow bow, then tucked the sack beneath his arm and retreated toward the door.
How I Married a Marquess Page 26
