Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03]

by Something Wicked

  Innocent young ladies—French or English—didn’t go out for the evening with a blade tucked down their stays, nor did they sneak around the dark walks of Vauxhall.

  Innocent young ladies weren’t likely to cut themselves free at cost of some skin, either. They were even less likely to arm themselves with a dueling pistol and head off into the night streets of London.

  Therefore, despite appearances, Lisette was not an innocent young lady.

  Which raised two important questions.

  Who was she working for?

  And why had she not become his mistress when given the chance?

  Daylight had forced Kenny and Mack to move farther away from Walgrave House, but it didn’t prevent Kenny from seeing the earl ride off with a friend.

  He went to find his companion. “Nothin’?”

  Mack rubbed his gritty eyes. “Nae a scabby thing. I need some sleep.”

  “Aye, me too.” Kenny yawned. “Rum do, though, isna it? He’s gone off. So what’s he done wi’ her?”

  “If she really is his fancy piece, perhaps she’s lyin’ on silken sheets, sippin’ chocolate out of fine china.”

  Slowly, Kenny grinned. “Then perhaps she’ll come out later—go shoppin’ or some such—and we can scrag her then. I’m away back for a word wi’ Murray. I’ll send Jamie along to relieve ye. It’s definitely worth keepin’ an eye on this place.”

  Elf wasn’t lying on silken sheets but she was sipping chocolate out of fine china. She was in Amanda’s boudoir, wondering how to evade her friend’s persistent curiosity. Her hair was still damp from washing, so all outward trace of her adventure had disappeared. Except for some scabs on her wrists, of course.

  Those scabs were outward signs of inner turmoil and a restless night.

  “Well?” asked Amanda, buttering a bun. “Have you decided to tell all?”

  Elf focused her attention on the serious matter of stirring chocolate. “Why do you think I didn’t tell all?”

  “To begin with, you said nothing of how you escaped that captain.”

  Elf looked up, relieved to have a question she could answer. “Oh that! I merely took to the bushes. Amanda,” she added, leaning closer, “the shrubbery was alive with lovers!”

  She succeeded in distracting her friend for a while with a discussion of the scandalous nature of Vauxhall, and the possible identity of some of the people there. But eventually, of course, Amanda steered back to her questions.

  “So, how did you end up with Lord Walgrave? It looked to me almost as if he had taken you prisoner! If you hadn’t indicated otherwise, I would have sought help instanter.”

  “What a scandal that would have caused!” Elf decided that the best way to diffuse Amanda’s curiosity was by appearing to be honest. A mischievous childhood had taught her that a story should stay as close to the truth as possible.

  “Lord Walgrave saved me from the captain,” she said, “and then wanted to return me to my party. When I had to admit I had none, he came to the reasonable conclusion that I was a doxy and offered to buy the night.”

  “Elf!” Then Amanda put down her bun and whispered, “You didn’t!”

  “Of course I didn’t!” Elf knew her cheeks had turned bright red. She only hoped Amanda took it accurately as embarrassment and not as guilt over a lie. “But the captain was hovering, so I took up Walgrave’s offer so as to get away. I’m sorry for abandoning you, Amanda, but I thought you’d manage.”

  “Of course I managed. It was nothing to return home. But then how did you end up bound?”

  Elf rolled her eyes. “The man is no fool. When we arrived at his house, I said I’d changed my mind, expecting him to throw me out. He, however, said he’d not throw a silly little innocent onto the streets at night, but he’d not leave a chit like me to roam his house and steal the silver. So he tied me up. I managed to keep my mask, but I wasn’t sure I could keep it in the morning, and I’d no intention of being taken home in his coach. So I escaped.”

  Amanda had been listening to this mouth agape, and now she pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Elfled Malloren, you must have an angel watching over you!” But then she stopped her histrionics and a glint entered her eyes. “All in all, it sounds as if Lord Walgrave acted very well toward a silly young creature.”

  “Yes, I suppose he did.” That was one of the thoughts that had disturbed Elf through the night. It was disconcerting to have her opinion of a person so completely overturned.

  “But that doesn’t incline you to consider him as a potential husband?”

  The flashing image of a fine body, eyes full of tempting passions, had Elf’s cheeks fiery again. “Amanda, he hates all Mallorens!”

  “He hates your brothers. I doubt he hates you.” Amanda licked chocolate off her lips, staring into the distance with a silly smile. “I was right. It’s just like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “I do hope not,” Elf said tartly. “They ended up dead. Now, I need to visit Malloren House.”

  It took Elf some effort to visit her London home without Amanda, for her friend was bored and ready for any diversion. But by pleading she had family matters to discuss, she managed it. She knew Amanda was suspicious when she ensured that one of her footmen escorted Elf’s sedan chair to Marlborough Square.

  Amanda couldn’t suspect serious problems such as treason, so she probably thought Elf had planned a tryst with her dangerous earl. Her astute sense for such matters was quivering, but this time in a wrong direction.

  Despite his physical appeal and kindness to chance-met women, Walgrave was still arrogant, selfish, and an enemy. She would have nothing more to do with him, even in silly fantasies.

  All the same, she’d do her best to save him from his folly. After all, she’d promised Chastity not to let her brother end up on the block.

  The servant who sat in the niche outside the big double doors of Malloren House leaped up to open the door for his mistress. Elf walked into the large marble-floored hall with a pleasant sense of homecoming.

  Then it hit her. This wasn’t really her home. Her destiny was to marry and make some other house her home. Despite his declared intention not to marry, Rothgar might one day bring another woman to rule here.

  As she gave her hat, gloves, and pelerine into the care of a servant, she wondered why this thought had come to trouble her now. Perhaps because she’d never stayed anywhere else while in London. Visiting here from Amanda’s house made her feel as if she didn’t completely belong.

  She brushed her thoughts away as foolish. She was probably uneasy because none of her brothers was here just now to make this house a home, a place in which she could find the help she needed.

  Instead, she had to handle her problems alone, and she couldn’t deny a touch of excitement. After all, none of her brothers would blink at the idea of Cyn coping with such matters. Why should it be thought beyond her competence?

  Elf waved away a footman and headed down a corridor toward the back of the house. There, she opened a door and entered the main office of the marquessate’s business operations.

  Most people would have been astonished to realize just how businesslike the Mallorens were. Society assumed the family’s increasing wealth and power came about through some kind of luck or government patronage. In fact, it was the result of hard work by all the members.

  Well, nearly all the members. That was another thing that had started to rankle with Elf. She had the job of organizing the domestic affairs of her oldest brother’s estates, but any spinster sister would be expected to do that. She had never been offered any part in the real business here. Was she not capable of managing property, studying investments, or keeping an eye on impending legislation?

  She pushed such resentments aside for the moment and smiled at the four men working at paper-laden desks. Three of the clerks nodded and returned to their work. The fourth stood, prepared to help her.

  Elf waved him back to his seat and progressed to the next room, where two accountants an
d two computing clerks slaved away over ledgers. One of the accountants asked a silent question and again she indicated that it was not him she wanted. She opened the door to the next room, the office inhabited by Joseph Grainger, the family’s young but extremely competent man-of-law.

  Another room lay beyond this, but that was the preserve of her brothers and thus empty at the moment. Grainger was the highest level of help available to her, but he was a servant, and she must be cautious.

  “Lady Elfled,” said the wiry, dark-haired man, standing, “how may I help you?” He was dressed as always in a neat suit of plain dark cloth with the most moderate of lace at neck and cuffs.

  Elf sat in a chair. “In many ways, Mr. Grainger. I need to send messages to my brothers.”

  “All of them?” The man’s brows rose, but he said, “Of course, I will make the arrangements.”

  “Thank you. Not Cyn, of course, since he should be embarking about now. But I am hoping to catch the marquess before he crosses the Channel.”

  “That may not be possible, my lady. There is some problem?”

  “A minor one,” said Elf, knowing he wouldn’t believe her for a moment. “Bryght is at Candleford, I assume.”

  “I’m afraid not, my lady. I just received word that he has traveled into Worcestershire. Something to do with a Titian becoming available.”

  “Bother.” Elf had relied on the fact that one of her brothers was only a day away. “Do we know where he’s gone?”

  “To Sir Harry Parker’s, but he does say he might travel around the area.”

  “And Brand is wandering the north country. How very disobliging of them both, to be sure.”

  “Perhaps I can help you, my lady.”

  The suggestion tempted her, for he was a very clever man, but Elf knew it would not do. “Not at the moment, thank you.” With a coy smile, she added, “It is a personal matter.” There, that should diffuse his interest. “Please just send messages asking them to return with all speed, Mr. Grainger.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  His smile, however, was patronizing, and he clearly thought she was acting foolishly. She felt a strong urge to give him a thoroughly Malloren set-down, but restrained herself.

  “Is there anything else I can do, my lady?”

  “Yes.” Elf had reached the delicate point. The marquessate retained an excessive number of servants. People put it down to Rothgar’s insistence on excellent service at all times. He certainly did demand that, but the abundance of staff was also because some of them possessed special talents.

  “I want some people set to watch Lord Walgrave.”

  “Indeed, my lady?” His brows rose. “And what would they be watching for?”

  “Anything out of the ordinary.”

  His face twitched with suppressed derision. “I will see to it, of course. Do you wish to see the reports when they come in?”

  Teeth clenched, Elf did give him a Malloren look, though a mild one. “They will report only to me, Mr. Grainger. There is no need for you to be involved at all.”

  “My lady—”

  “Would you question one of my brothers’ orders?”

  Color touched his cheeks, and it was probably anger. “Your brothers will expect me to take care of you—”

  Elf stood, back very straight. “I do not need taking care of. I take full responsibility for this, Mr. Grainger, and will discuss it with my brothers when they return. Are you going to follow my orders, or do I have to discuss that with them as well?”

  He rose, too, tight-lipped and intensely disapproving. “I request that you put these orders in writing, my lady.”

  Elf sucked in a deep breath. “What do you expect? That I’ll lie and say you suggested all this?”

  Clearly, he thought just that.

  “Paper,” she snapped.

  He handed it over rather warily. Perhaps at last he saw the Malloren in her. About time too. She sat and hastily scrawled the outline of her instructions, signed, and dated it. “There, Mr. Grainger. Have the appropriate people sent to me in the inner office to receive their instructions.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Elf had reached the door when he said, “My lady . . .”

  She turned, braced for another battle. “Yes?”

  “We have two people in Walgrave House.”

  Elf’s anger simmered down a little. “How careless of the earl.”

  “They were there in the old earl’s time. Do you wish me to contact them?”

  For a panicked moment, Elf feared they’d know about her time there, but then she reminded herself that they’d only know about Lisette. “Ask them to report to me at Lady Lessington’s. I would like to talk to them.” Since he had made a concession, she made one too. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Grainger.”

  In the inner office—almost entirely the territory of Rothgar and Bryght—she paced around the ornate desk and circled big, comfortable chairs, walking out her irritation at Joseph Grainger and at herself.

  She had no real right to be angry. She’d never given him any reason to think she had interests beyond furnishings, food, and servants.

  As she calmed, she saw it in another light. Poor Grainger was doubtless terrified. If Rothgar came back and found his sister had come to harm, a lost position would be the least of Joseph Grainger’s problems.

  Elf couldn’t even feel outrage at that. Rothgar would feel just as deadly if disaster entangled one of her brothers. He was ferociously protective of all his siblings.

  She looked at the picture over the mantelpiece and smiled. It was the charcoal sketch done by the artist for the grand portrait of her brother that hung in the hall. He always said it had captured his worst features, and that the artist had flattered him in the final product.

  Elf wouldn’t say that, but the sketch captured Rothgar at his coolest. Dark and lean featured, he seemed to be looking out at the world as if he were an all-seeing and all-knowing creature. The spare charcoal lines failed to capture his soul and thus made him seem cold, almost devilish.

  But a damned handsome devil, as Cyn had remarked on first seeing it.

  Rothgar did sometimes seem all-seeing and all-knowing, even to his family, but they all knew a passionate devotion lay behind his powers. If he had become vigilant and powerful, it had been to protect them.

  In most noble families, the younger children had to make their own way in the world. Rothgar, however, on inheriting the marquessate at nineteen, had set about building power and wealth so as to provide magnificently for them all.

  Doubtless because of the tragedy of his mother.

  Elf turned to a side wall to study the portrait of a woman there, the only portrait of their father’s first wife.

  Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she looked very like her son except for an expression of confused intensity. It could be the first hint of the madness that had seized her after the birth of her second child. New or old, that madness had caused her to murder the baby despite the attempts of her young son to prevent it.

  Elf turned away. It had formed Rothgar, that moment. Perhaps it had caused the wildness that had marked his early years. It had certainly created his excessive protectiveness toward his half-siblings, especially Elf and Hilda. None of them would come to harm if he could help it. He had been driven almost beyond reason by Cyn’s determination to join the army.

  So, what would happen if Elf came to harm through this business?

  It would not be good, so she must be careful. But she couldn’t just let things lie until Rothgar returned. The king was in danger, and Walgrave’s involvement could not be ignored.

  Someone knocked on the door, and she turned as seven people filed in—a powdered footman, two maids, and four men who were either gardeners or grooms. They all had the proper demeanor, and yet they were not at all nervous at being summoned to this room. They also looked like people who could act on their own. She’d never doubted it. Her brother chose all his servants with great care.

  “Good m
orning,” she said. “I have some work for you. I wish a close watch kept on the Earl of Walgrave. I want to know where he goes, whom he meets, what he does. I don’t want him to know he’s being watched, however. Can you do this?”

  They all nodded as if it were the most common request.

  “I must warn you that some other people might be watching the earl as well, and I am particularly interested in them. One of them is a Scot called Murray. He’s in his mid-thirties, with mousy-blond hair and a stocky, average build. The others may be Scots, too. If you detect anyone watching the earl, I want their names and places of residence, all without raising their suspicions.”

  She had no idea whether this was possible or not, but their lack of alarm was promising.

  “My lady?” one of the men asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Should we be prepared for danger?”

  Elf hadn’t thought of that. “From the earl, probably not. From the others, yes.” After a moment she added, “Kill them if you have to, but try not to bring it back to us. I’d rather no one be aware of Malloren involvement until the marquess or one of my other brothers returns. Any other questions?”

  One of the maids said, “Who are we most interested in, my lady? The earl or the others?”

  Again Elf had to think about it. Her concerns were focused on Walgrave, but in truth, the Scots posed the true danger. “The others,” she said. “I need to know how to find them. Other questions?”

  After a silence, she added, “You are to report to me, and to no one else, at Lady Lessington’s house in Warwick Street. Keep away from this house. If you are detected, I’d rather you were traced to Lady Lessington than to here. Lord Lessington is away at the moment, and no one takes women seriously.” She accompanied the latter with a smile and saw the maids’ lips twitch.

  With a wink, one of them said, “Comes in useful at times, my lady.”

  One of the grooms scowled and said, “Watch your tongue, Sally.”

  But Elf shared a smile. “Indeed it does come in useful. Off you go, then. If you need funds, Mr. Grainger will provide them, but you are not to talk of the details of this matter, even to him.”