Her Ladyship's Man

by Joan Overfield

  "What?" Drew was on his feet again, gazing down at Melanie in astonishment. "When? What did he say?"

  Much as she would have liked to have him beg for every tidbit of information she possessed, Melanie knew the situation was too important for such antics. But that did not mean she didn't take pleasure in drawing out her tale as long as possible. By the time she had concluded, Drew was pacing back and forth angrily.

  "Then it was Parkinson who sent Barrymore to your father?" he asked, coming to a halt beside her chair. "He had access to the duke's diplomatic pouch?"

  "So it would seem," she answered, studying his shuttered expression thoughtfully. "Papa thinks it was because Lord Parkinson wished to avoid scandal by shipping Mr. Barrymore to us, but I think it has to be more than that, especially since we know him to be a traitor."

  "A traitor who likes to play both ends against the middle," Drew answered grimly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Well, at least we know now how he came to be in America. All that remains now is to learn whether he knew of the dispatches' existence before or after he came to your father. If it was before . . . "

  "Then that would implicate Lord Parkinson," Melanie finished for him, her eyes beginning to sparkle. "Now that I think of it, he served in his father's absence while His Grace was called home for an emergency. Do you think Mr. Barrymore was blackmailing him?"

  "It's a possibility," Drew admitted, the gambling markers again uppermost in his mind. The total was well over fifty thousand pounds, a rather steep amount even for a young lord who would one day inherit a wealthy dukedom. If Barrymore brought pressure to bear, it wasn't inconceivable that Parkinson might have crumpled, although he hoped such was not the case. From what Sir had said, the lad had much to recommend him, and it would be a great pity that he should have to pay for his half brother's greed.

  "More than a possibility if you ask me," Melanie sniffed, annoyed by Drew's lack of enthusiasm. Then she remembered the other thing of import she had to relay to him, but before she could speak, a sudden noise from behind the drapes brought them both whirling around.

  "Well, a fine Bow Street runner you turned out to be!" Lady Charlotte said, stepping out from the hidden door.

  "G-Grandmother!" Melanie stammered, pressing both hands to her chest in order to calm her wildly beating heart. "Where did you come from?"

  "From the secret passage, of course," the marchioness replied, casting Drew a haughty look. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?" she asked querulously, indicating the pistol he held leveled at her. "Had I been a real villain, the two of you would have been as dead as a pair of mackerel by now!"

  "Did you tell her about the secret passage?" Drew demanded as he stuffed the pistol back into the waistband of his trousers. The shock of the countess's sudden appearance coupled with the anger he was still feeling left him spoiling for a fight, and he was just looking for a reason to explode.

  "Of course not," Melanie snapped back, as ready for battle as was he. "How could I? I didn't even know about it till now!" She turned to face her grandmother. "How did you learn of it?"

  The countess gave a loud sniff. "Don't be absurd, Melanie," she said in her most dampening manner. "Where there are jewel thieves and Bow Street runners there are always secret passages. We simply looked until we found it. Which reminds me, Davies, or whatever your name may be, you really must speak to Lord Marchfield about that passage. It is quite deplorable. Not a skeleton or a cobweb to be found. We were most disappointed."

  "We?" Drew managed, a sense of inevitability overwhelming his anger.

  As if in answer to his question, Miss Evingale appeared in the opening, her cheek adorned with a smear of dirt. "You were quite right about his hat box, my lady," she said, rushing forward to offer the items she held cupped in her hands to the marchioness. "I found these in the lining." She poured a glittering array of jewels into Lady Abbington's hands.

  "Ha! Well, you have him now, Davies!" she gloated, picking out the gold ring Drew had already examined. "Do you see this? That is the Duke of Marlehope's crest, I'd know it anywhere! And I know full well he would never willingly part with it. Well, what are you waiting for? Go clap him in irons and take him off to Newgate! That is your job, is it not?" A gray eyebrow was raised haughtily.

  "So it is, my lady." Drew was horrified to find himself choking back laughter. The situation was about as grim a one as he had ever faced; with his whole mission threatening to explode about him, and yet . . .

  "That is excellent proof, Grandmother, and I quite applaud the bravery with which you and Miss Evingale have gathered the evidence!" Melanie said, leaping to Drew's rescue. She could well understand his dilemma, for it was all she could do not to burst out laughing at the absurdness of their situation. She was willing to bet it was the first time he had ever been routed by a dowager and a spinster, she thought, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

  "Yes, it was rather brave of us, wasn't it?" Lady Charlotte preened at Melanie's words. "Not that we ever wavered in our duty, mind. Which brings us back to you, sir." She swung around on Drew. "I insist you arrest that blackguard before he robs us all blind!"

  "That is easier said than done, my lady," Drew began, calling upon his training to regain control. "For you must know that I am a . . . er . . . junior operative, and I really cannot make an actual arrest without my superior's permission. But with this kind of evidence"—he indicated the jewels still clasped in the marchioness's hands—"I dare say that permission will soon be forthcoming. My thanks to you both. England is in your debt."

  Judging from the grins on both women's faces, Drew realized he must have said the right thing, and his shoulders sagged in relief. Sir was right, he decided, mentally wiping his brow. These Gothics definitely contained valuable information, and the first chance he had, he meant to read a shelf full of them. But he was not out of danger yet, and assuming a conspiratorial smile, he leaned forward.

  "Naturally we must return these to our suspect," he said with a confiding smile. "We would not wish our rat to know we are on to him and smell the trap, now, would we?"

  "Yes, quite right," the marchioness agreed with a cool nod. "There is more than enough time to recover our property, I suppose, for some of these rings look rather familiar now that I think of it. Come, Edwina." She turned toward the door still hidden behind the drapes. "Time to go skulking about again!"

  "Oh, yes, your ladyship!" Miss Evingale gushed, hurrying forward to join Lady Abbington in the passage. "And this time perhaps we might investigate the library? I'm sure there must be treasure hidden in there as well." And the door swung shut behind them.

  It wasn't a moment too soon, for Drew and Melanie exchanged glances and then broke into laughter. "My God, was ever an agent so bedeviled?" Drew asked when he could finally draw breath. "I never thought the day would come when a woman in her eighties would take me by surprise!"

  "And what of me?" Melanie demanded, laughter lighting her jewel-colored eyes. "You told me about the hidden door, sir, but you neglected to mention it was connected to a secret passage. Does it run the entire length of the house?"

  "Most of it," he admitted, still chuckling. "And as for not telling you, my lady, might I remind you that I am an agent? We must have our secrets, you know."

  "Mmm, and you seem to have more than most," she said, tossing back her head and smiling up at him. A tendril of hair fell across her flushed cheek, but before she could brush it aside, Drew's hand was already there, his fingers warm on her face.

  The witticism he was about to utter withered on Drew's lips as his eyes met Melanie's. They were as deep a purple as a summer's twilight, and as warm and inviting as a roaring fire. Her cheeks were pink with laughter, and her soft lips warm and moist. As if acting on their own accord, his fingers moved from her cheek to her lips, brushing them with reverent care.

  Melanie trembled at his touch, and at the fire she saw burning bright in his light hazel eyes. Emotions she had never experienced tore at her,
and she was unable to resist their power. She slowly lifted her arms, her eyes never leaving Drew's as she circled them around his neck. "Drew," she whispered softly, and it was all the invitation he needed.

  His lips met hers in the most fiery of kisses, his mouth warm and demanding as it moved against hers. She responded with eager passion, her lips parting to accept the delicate touch of his tongue. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and she cried out against the rapture.

  "Melanie, oh, God, Melanie, how I have longed for this," Drew groaned, pressing ardent kisses on the curve of her cheek. "You are so beautiful, so very beautiful. You make me burn from wanting you!"

  His words inflamed the desire burning in Melanie, and she tightened her hold, pressing against him until she could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with her own. "Drew, you make me feel so alive!" she said, burying her fingers in his soft brown hair. "What am I going to do?"

  He closed his eyes at her words, a sharp thrust of anguish momentarily killing his passion. At that moment he knew he loved her, and knew, too, that he could never have her. Shuddering at what the effort cost him, he put her firmly away from him.

  "I will have to go to Sir and tell him about Barrymore," he said, his voice still husky from unslaked desire. He prayed she was too innocent to recognize it, or the other signs of his arousal, although there was little he could do about it. For now it was taking everything he possessed to even think in a rational manner.

  "I want your promise that you will give Barrymore as wide a berth as you can," he continued roughly, turning away from her. "Our trap is set to be sprung tomorrow at the Prince Regent's, and nothing must interfere. Barrymore may become dangerous when he realizes he has been caught, and I don't want you getting in the way. Is that understood?"

  "Y-yes," Melanie stammered, stunned by the abrupt change that had come over Drew. He had been as ardent as she had dreamed he would be, and she found it difficult to understand how he could go from a passionate lover one moment to a cold-blooded spy the next, unless the embrace had meant less to him than it had to her, she thought, the lowering realization making her pale in distress.

  "I'll do all that I can, Captain," she said, forcing her voice to remain as cool as his. "But it might be rather difficult considering we will be sharing a coach. My father won't be in any danger, will he?" she added as the thought suddenly occurred to her.

  "No." Drew heard the coldness in her voice and knew he had hurt her. He longed to take her back in his arms and bring the light back to her eyes, but for now the demands of duty were more pressing. Even if he could never call her his own, he was determined to clear her father's name once and for all. "We've arranged for Martinez to slip him a false message out on one of the terraces, and then the moment he is alone we will move in on him. It will all be done very discreetly, believe me."

  Melanie believed him. If she had learned anything of Drew, it was that he always did what he set out to do. There was an air of ruthlessness about him that was unmistakable, but dangerous as he was, he lacked Sir's deadly aura. It was an odd realization, and one she dismissed at once. A discreet glance at the clock on the mantel showed that she and Drew had been closeted alone for almost twenty minutes, and she imagined her father would be chomping at the bit to get at his papers.

  "I suppose we should give Papa back his study," she said with commendable calm. "And besides, we wouldn't want to raise any suspicions. Good night, Davies, and kindly give Sir my best. Will he be there for tomorrow's festivities?"

  "Perhaps," Drew edged, relieved she was making it easy for him to leave, but annoyed at the same time. "But I wouldn't look for him if I were you. He will doubtlessly be in disguise."

  "Of course." She inclined her head mockingly. "I might have expected as much. Good evening, then." She strode past him, her head held proudly in the air. She had almost made it to the door when she stopped.

  "Davies?"

  "Yes, my lady?" He regarded her cautiously.

  "Be careful."

  Chapter Twelve

  "Are you certain this will work?" Drew asked, studying Sir worriedly. "It all sounds too damned easy; I don't like it."

  "Things need not always be as complicated as we make them," Sir answered after considering Drew's objections. "And often the simple approach is the best. We know that Martinez has acted as a courier for Barrymore in the past, so there is no reason to think he will suspect him now. Relax, Merrick, it will all turn out in the end."

  "Maybe," Drew conceded, lifting the snifter of brandy to his lips, "but I still don't like it. There's too much that can go wrong, and there would be Melanie and her father caught in the middle. You and I both know how desperate a man can be when there is no way out."

  "But Barrymore is not an agent," Sir reminded him, his mouth twisting with derision. "He is nothing more than an opportunist and a thief who would doubtlessly steal the shillings off a dead man's eyes. We have taken down bigger and more dangerous men, Merrick, so rest assured that your employer and her father will come to no harm."

  Drew said nothing, allowing himself to be convinced by Sir's unwavering faith in himself. And he was right, Drew decided, shifting back in his chair and crossing his feet as he studied the flames in the fireplace. Barrymore would be too busy smacking his lips in anticipation of the French gold he was expecting to sense a trap. And by the time he had, it would be too late. He smiled grimly at the pleasure he would derive from placing the manacles on the bastard's wrists.

  Sir saw the cold smile on Drew's lips and wondered if the time had come to pull him out of the investigation. It was obvious he was personally involved with Lady Melanie, and he had already learned at a terrible cost what came of mixing emotion with espionage. The pretty little French aristocrat who he had been so foolish as to fall in love with had betrayed him to the enemy, and he had almost died before he was able to affect his escape.

  After that he had vowed never to allow himself or any of his men to become emotionally or romantically involved while on assignment. He had broken that vow in Marchfield's case, and although everything had worked out for the better, he was not so foolish as to think it might happen again. If Merrick was so in love with Lady Melanie that he would put her safety above the safety of the mission, then he would have no qualms about replacing him.

  "Actually, I should think the earl and his daughter are already amply protected," Sir drawled, his casual tone belying the sharp interest in his blue eyes. "From what you have told me, the marchioness and that companion make a formidable team. If you like, we can arrange to have them followed when the earl and the others dine at Carlton House. Lord knows the marchioness is almost old enough to be one of Prinny's flirts."

  "That's a thought." Despite the seriousness of the matter, Drew chuckled softly. "She could certainly lead His Highness on a merry chase." Then as abruptly as it came, his light mood turned grim. "Are you quite certain they will be safe?"

  "As certain as one can ever be in this business," Sir replied bluntly. "There are no guarantees, Merrick, you know that. And what of you? Will you be all right?"

  Drew considered the question, knowing Sir would pull him from the mission without a moment's hesitation if he thought him incapable of carrying it through. In the end, however, he knew he had no choice but to do his duty. Not just for his own sake, or even England's, but because it was the only way he could think of to protect his beloved. Until Barrymore was safely locked up, he would not rest.

  "I will be fine, Sir," he answered, his voice cool as he met Sir's assessing gaze. "You may depend on me."

  Sir hesitated, reading Drew's determined expression before reaching his own conclusion. "Very well, Merrick," he said softly, "then we shall let matters stand as they are. By this time tomorrow evening, it will all be over."

  "Yes, Sir," Drew agreed, fighting off a black wave of despair. "It will all be over."

  "But, Grandmother, you cannot possibly want to stay home this evening!" Melanie exclaimed, staring at Lady Abbington in dismay
. "The prince is expecting us! Whatever shall I tell him?"

  "You may tell him anything you demmed well please," the marchioness retorted, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin. "I have the ague, and I'm not stirring from this bed."

  Melanie eyed the elderly lady suspiciously, wondering what she should do. To the best of her knowledge, her grandmother had never feigned illness before, and yet she looked rather hardy to be as sick as she claimed. "Are you quite certain you couldn't come just to the dinner?" she asked with a cajoling smile. "I dare say no one would object if you were to make an early evening of it."

  "Please, Melanie, the very thought of all that rich French food is enough to make me quite green," Lady Charlotte replied with a shudder. "To say nothing of the stifling heat. One would think Prinny to be as delicate as one of his orchids, as overheated as he keeps Carlton House. No, I would get as sick as a cat, I am sure of it. You and your father go on without us, my dear. It is all for the best."

  "Yes, do go on," Miss Evingale urged, assuming a martyred expression. "I shall be more than happy to remain here and bear Her Ladyship company. Pray do not give us another thought."

  In the face of such opposition Melanie knew there was little she could do. She could hardly insist that they accompany her without revealing Drew's plans. Besides, she decided, brightening at the thought, given both ladies' love of intrigue, it was probably better for them to remain at home. At least then she needn't worry that they would pop up at some inopportune moment and ruin everything.

  "Very well, Grandmother," she said with a heavy sigh. "If you are so ill, then certainly I won't insist that you accompany us. Would you like me to send for the physician? Perhaps you need a tonic."

  "Oh, no." The haste with which she refused the offer convinced Melanie her suspicions were well founded. "I'm not so ill as all that! Besides, you must know that I cannot abide having those simpering quacks poking at me. I'm sure it's just something I ate for luncheon."