What the Marquess Sees

by Amy Quinton

  Beckett House, the Earl of Swindon’s Study…

  At the Same Time…

  Bea closed her eyes and tried in vain to find some measure of serenity.

  Then, she knocked on the door to the earl’s study with a firm rap. She waited with more than a little trepidation for him to grant her permission to enter. He’d summoned her to his study, which was rarely a good thing. She fought harder to find peace, to steady her nerves.

  Bea tapped her fingers against her thighs as impatience won the battle over tranquility. She only just stopped herself from drumming her foot in nervous anticipation.

  “Come in, daughter.”

  It took a full minute for him to say the words. He liked to use the delay to intimidate visitors. Even if they were family. Even if he’d been the one to summon them.

  She entered the room walking on eggshells.

  Just a little bit longer; you can do this, woman.

  At the moment, she needed her little internal motivational talks like a fish needed water.

  “You wanted to see me, Father.” Her voice tangled with the word ‘father’. She hoped he didn’t noticed the hitch.

  “Good. You are prompt. Have a seat.”

  He didn’t bother to rise; the poor chair groaned a complaint as he leaned back to watch her. The earl was an enormous man in poor physical condition and turned to fat; the solid oak desk probably weighed a few stone less.

  As she crossed the room, she had to compel her eyes not to glance at the rug where she’d found his little secret compartment. She forced herself to be nonchalant as she walked directly over it and approached his desk. She pasted on a serene smile and looked him square in the eye with a firm, yet obedient look.

  He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk; his chair screamed again in protest. At least he didn’t force her to stand for this dressing down. And it would be a dressing down. It was always a dressing down.

  He mopped at his ever-perspiring brow with a dinner napkin as he waited for her to sit. He was sweating profusely from having to walk from the dining room all the way to his office. He had to traverse the width of an entire hallway to do so.

  He threw the napkin onto his desk, which was littered with loose papers and dirty dishes, mostly unclean dishes, all of them empty. Among a collection of half-finished cups of tea, she could just make out the silver hand bell he used to signal the servants; the nearby bell pull was too far away to reach from his chair.

  “I wanted to have this discussion so that I might advise you as to how today will proceed. I cannot seem to counsel you enough on the subject.” He held up both hands in a placating manner as if she were about to argue the point. Or cry. She wasn’t sure which. “Now, don’t be upset. It isn’t a surprise. Women, as a general rule, are rarely reasonable.”

  Bea clenched her teeth behind her composed smile.

  Keep calm. Must. Keep. Calm…

  “When we arrive at the church, you will proceed directly to the antechamber. Do not stop to talk to anyone. Don’t even make eye contact. And definitely do not seek out the duke. If he attempts to see you, I will step in and handle the situation.”

  The image was laughable. No one could deter the duke, least of all the earl.

  The earl handed her a frosty stare making her feel somewhat less than warm. As if she were wearing a blanket of snow. Downright chilled.

  “I will not have you ruining this in the last hour. There is always a chance that you could do so—and destroy all that I’ve worked for in the process.” His glare turned glacial. Even ice would have sought the sun. “Need I remind you what the consequences will be should you attempt to back out now?”

  “No, sir.”

  Normally, she’d be terrified at this point. Today, she was confident he would stay his hand. He wouldn’t do anything to risk this wedding. And after the wedding, she’d be free of him.

  Her demure smile threatened to widen to epic proportions. She tried her best to curtail it. Freedom wasn’t hers. Yet.

  The earl continued as if she hadn’t just agreed. As if she’d shown some sign of hesitation or rebellion. “You will do whatever it takes to make sure this marriage proceeds as planned. It is what we Becketts do. Even the women. We do what it takes to achieve our aims.”

  You’d better believe it.

  Bea nodded her agreement. She didn’t trust herself to speak. The newly formed lump in her throat made her neck ache, but she forced her small smile and held her head high. She tried to swallow without it being obvious.

  “Excellent. Then, come and give your father a kiss. And smile, girl. Today, you become a duchess. It is what any woman with sense would desire.”

  Bea dutifully rose, walked around his desk, and placed a kiss on his moist, ruddy cheek. His stench made her want to gag; she suppressed the instinct.

  And as she walked away, he added, “Oh, and fetch your maid. She has done a poor job of dressing your hair. Tell her she will be let go without a character reference if she does not do her best to make you reasonably presentable. We would not want the duke to run away in horror before the vows are spoken, would we?”

  She made it out the door.

  “And hurry or we’ll be late!” His voice chased her up the stairs.

  God, not much longer…

  * * * *

  Dansbury House

  20 Minutes Later…

  Dansbury was ready to bolt from his room.

  He couldn’t get to St. George’s fast enough. He’d already dismissed his valet and was just leaving his dressing room when he noticed a man sitting in one of the chairs in front of his hearth. Fellow agent for the Crown, and a friend, Ciarán Kelly, waited for him, a glass of whisky in hand.

  Cliff didn’t miss a step; he dipped his head as he passed. “Kelly.”

  Kelly was another agent for the Crown and one of the men assisting with their current investigation.

  “You appear to be in a hurry, Dansbury. On your way to a searing rendezvous?” Kelly waggled his brows. He was a known lothario. Of course, his mind would go there first.

  Dansbury paused and looked down at his seated friend. “Actually, I have a wedding to catch.”

  “Oh. Right. It’s today, is it?”

  “Supposed to be.” He was deliberately cryptic, and Kelly didn’t ask what he’d meant by that ambiguous statement. The man seemed too preoccupied anyway.

  Kelly and another agent, a Scot named MacLeod, were meant to be in the field, guarding their man in custody and questioning potential witnesses to the murder of the pervious Duke of Stonebridge, so Dansbury was surprised to find Kelly here, relaxing by the fire.

  At the moment, they had two witnesses to corroborate their theories about the earl’s involvement in the murder—an Irish servant and the Irish assassin who’d been hired to murder the duke—but who hadn’t actually done the deed. Ironic, to be sure, seeing as how the Society wanted to rid England of Irishmen altogether.

  But the assassin was a suspected supporter of the United Irishmen, a rebellious group who wanted to end the English monarchy’s rule in Ireland. So in reality, their purposes were aligned; shared goals make strange bedfellows and all that.

  And the commoner was just in the wrong place at the right time and bore witness to the assassin’s attempted murder of then-Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger—while he was a guest at the Duke of Stonebridge’s house.

  Since it didn’t appear that Kelly was going to be forthcoming about his unexpected presence in London, Cliff decided they needed to continue this discussion en route.

  “Kelly, let us talk in my carriage, shall we? I’m in a hurry.”

  “Aye, of course.” Kelly rose, after knocking back the remainder of his drink, and followed him out of the door.

  After they settled in his carriage for the ride to the church, Dansbury decided to come right out and ask what was on his mind. “So what brings you to town?”

  “Stonebridge has me following up on a new lead.”

&n
bsp; Odd. Ambrose would usually handle that himself, especially since Kelly was supposed to be over one hundred miles away. Dansbury crossed his arms.

  “I know that look. I agree; it’s odd. All I know is that MacLeod passed on the request from Stonebridge last week. So, here I am; though I haven’t actually seen the duke.”

  Hmmm. Stranger still. Why did Ambrose send his request through MacLeod? Out loud, he asked, “You just missed Stonebridge not thirty minutes ago.”

  “Really?”

  Kelly didn’t expound on his rhetorical question or whatever thoughts prompted it. He just shrugged his shoulders, a Gallic habit he picked up while sleuthing in France a few years ago. Kelly turned to look out the window, pensive.

  “So what brings you to my door?”

  Kelly continued to stare out the window. “Nothing, really. I guess I was curious to see if you knew anything more?”

  “Stonebridge didn’t mention anything to me. But then his mind was one hundred percent on Grace this morning. He’s decided not to marry Lady Beatryce…”

  Kelly jerked around in his seat. He gaped at Dansbury, surprise written clearly across his face.

  Dansbury laughed. “I know. I was shocked, too, but he’s in love…”

  Both men shuddered at the thought. They sat silent for a moment, each lost to their own contemplations.

  A few minutes later, Kelly asked, “What would you do, Dansbury, to get your man? To get this man?”

  Cliff assumed Kelly was referring to the earl. He didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

  “Truly? Anything?”

  “Yes. Anything. Justice must prevail. Otherwise? We’re not much better than animals. Civilization would eventually descend into chaos.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  At that moment, Dansbury’s carriage pulled up in front of St. George’s Church and he all but forgot his friend’s odd behavior. His mind centered in on his current, delightful mission. He could not contain his grin. And, for now, he did not care that Kelly, MacLeod, and Stonebridge were behaving out of character. He’d puzzle it out later. Now, he had a witch to see.

  Preoccupied with his task, he didn’t even say goodbye to his friend as he all but leapt out of his carriage.

  Chapter 4

  “Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

  ― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

  St. George’s Church…

  Hanover Square, London…

  45 Minutes Later…

  “Where the hell is he?”

  Lady Beatryce Beckett paced the antechamber of St. George’s Church, alone. The chamber was made up of marble and stone and her footsteps echoed around the room. Surprisingly, the groom, Stonebridge, had yet to arrive, which made her nervous wandering quite understandable. All the guests were seated and waiting patiently in the pews. She could hear their muffled voices and the sounds of their shifting feet through the door.

  “Good morning, Lady Beatryce.”

  She whirled at the noise, startled, though she knew that voice. Sure enough Dansbury leaned against the doorframe, arms and legs crossed, a curious smile spread across his face. That smile did not bode well. He despised her and the entire idea of her marrying his best friend. As usual when looking at her, his smile did not reach his eyes, and a trace of sarcasm colored the edges of his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked the question though she dreaded the answer.

  “Let’s just say I’m here to spread good tidings and cheer, and all that rot…though perhaps not for you.”

  Yes. She had a really bad feeling about this. “So are you going to spread your good cheer or stand there staring at me all morning?”

  He frowned at her a moment as if unable to understand her hostility. He was gorgeous in a devastating way, big and broad and blond with chocolate brown eyes, but she didn’t care. She wanted him out of here and the wedding over and done with. She had schemed too hard for too long to bring the duke up to scratch. She would not allow anything to stop this wedding from happening. Not now. Not at the midnight hour as it were.

  His smile returned in force. Goodness. He could melt the coldest ice with that smile. She braced herself against its impact.

  Yes, she had a very bad feeling about this. Ha. An understatement; she was downright scared. He was never nice to her. The man could flash a smile, quip, and stroll away with the crown jewels with no more effort than he put into his next breath. And the king and his guards would simply allow him to go on his way with a pat on the back and their blessings for his good fortune. But for her? He hated her, and she knew it well; not that she hadn’t earned his animosity. She supposed she had earned it. No, she had definitely earned it.

  But right now was not the time to rekindle their hatred. She was supposed to be getting married fifteen minutes ago.

  La, his smile bode ill, indeed.

  “Yes. Well. I am here to inform you that there has been a slight change of plans. Stonebridge, you see, has finally, shall we say, come to his senses? You see, he won’t be joining us here today. He’s headed to Oxford, to marry Grace, his love.”

  “Oh, God.” Beatryce was terrified. Her heart, which had started pounding at the words “slight change of plans” now thundered in her chest.

  Dansbury watched her warily as her mind raced through the implications.

  They will kill me. Father will kill me, beat me ‘til I’m blue. I know too much. Stonebridge was my last hope. What will I do? What will I do?

  She ran to Dansbury, momentarily setting aside their mutual loathing. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket with both hands. “Please, Dansbury, please, you must take me with you. Please.”

  She could see the doubt in his eyes. Her mind raced for something else to say.

  Shite, what can I say to change his mind?

  “I’m sorry, Lady Beatryce, but you’re confusing me with someone who gives a damn.” And he turned his back on her.

  He was leaving. God no, he couldn’t leave her here.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped just before he walked through the door. She didn’t know what he had heard in her voice to make him do it, but he did, so it didn’t matter. She had the result she wanted. He turned to face her; his hands on his hips, brow raised in question.

  Beatryce wet her lips, her mouth turned dry and pasty. “I can help you, if you help me. I can…I can lead you to what you need to know…to solve your investigation.”

  She paused to draw in a deep breath and brace herself for his reactions.

  I have to tell him. I have no choice.

  “I know where my father keeps his secret papers.”

  That got his attention. He looked stunned, but only for a moment, before he burst into action. He ran toward her, anger blazing in his eyes, his arms outstretched, though whether to throttle her or shake her she couldn’t tell. “Tell me what you know. Tell me now!” he all but bellowed.

  She held her hand up to stop him and to shut him up. “Shhh. Are you crazy? Lower your voice. First, get me out of here, safely, and without being seen, and then, I’ll tell you what I know. Not before. And be quick about it.”

  He growled at her, literally growled at her, but she stood her ground. She crossed her arms and waited him out, seemingly at ease and in command of the situation, but fear kept her gaze flicking to the door while he weighed his options.

  He stared at her as if seeking the truth in her soul before he frowned in resignation. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  He held out his hand. She both feared and desired to accept it.

  She took it without betraying her hesitation.

  *

  “Where are we going?” Beatryce hadn’t even allowed him to relax in his seat before she laid the question at his feet. Their carriage took off with a soft jerk, but her eyes never left him. She had not cared to know their destination when she was in the church, exposed and vulnerable. She’d only needed to get out of there. Now, she was decidedly curious as to
where he thought to take her.

  “I’m taking you to Stonebridge House. It seems the most obvious choice as it is the last place anyone would think to look for you.” He spoke without looking at her as he arranged himself on the rear-facing bench. When he was settled, he crossed his arms and glared at her, anger practically rolling off him in waves. She was sure he hated being forced to do anything, particularly for her.

  He stretched out his legs and crossed his booted feet. Her eyes followed his actions. La, he was big; of a sudden, she felt dwarfed by his presence within the confines of his too-small carriage. The feeling was most unnerving.

  Her own family’s carriage was rather small when Father was present as well, but this was a different feeling altogether. More tumultuous to her composure. She wasn’t sure she liked it, this disconcerting feeling inside her.

  She shoved such concern aside, something she’d grown to excel at over the years.

  “That sounds wise.” Nothing more need be said and by unspoken agreement, they each tended to their own internal thoughts. Hers returned to the man seated before her.

  They’d never been alone together, nor had she ever sat this close to him before. He looked out the window, seemingly studying the view outside; though anger furrowed his brow. With his obvious distraction, she took the opportunity to study him; she’d never had the occasion before now.

  His face was tanned, as if he spent a lot of time out of doors. He had a squared jaw and despite it being early in the day, it already showed signs of an afternoon shadow. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Was he aware of her regard?

  He shifted forward at the same time as she looked up and into his eyes. He drew near, close enough for her to smell his cologne.

  “Do you see something you like, Lady Beatryce?” He stared at her eyes as he said it. She managed to not lick her lips by sheer force of will.

  When his words finally registered, she nearly snorted aloud. “Hardly.” She was an excellent liar if anything.

  “You’ve been staring at me for the past twenty minutes. Hardly is not the word I would choose to describe your behavior at the moment.”

  Beatryce smiled and batted her lashes; hers was a look of false innocence. “I was merely remembering just how many times I’ve wanted to…” She reached up and touched his cheek. “…punch you in the face…” Her hand slid down to his jaw. “…right about…” She tapped his jaw once. “…here.”