“It wasn’t.” She ran her fingers through her hair once more. “The wig itched. Schooling my emotions took time, practice, and concentration. After a while, though, I was merely numb from everything accumulating, so it was easier to show that when feeling dead inside.” Her eyes welled with tears and he handed her his handkerchief. Not only did she mop at her face, but she also scrubbed at her eyes, erasing any trace of the heavy kohl she’d worn before that had given her an exotic appearance.
“Rathesborne suggested you do this.” It wasn’t a question. And it rankled.
Juliana shrugged. “Yes. It was part of the job. After my... mistake, I didn’t argue. Couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry.” What else was there to say?
“So am I, for many things.” She lapsed into silence for a bit, then, “The Earl of Archewyne cannot keep me here.”
“He can, since we both work for him.” Uncomfortable while she stood, poised for flight, Crispin scrambled to his feet. “What did Archewyne say to upset you?” Would she trust him enough to share?
The tendons in her throat worked with a hard swallow and she shook her head, her blue eyes luminous with sudden tears. “I cannot tell you.”
Apparently, she did not. He frowned, unsure of how to comfort her. “If it means anything, I still maintain that you can learn from your mistakes and move forward in better clarity and courage.”
“Oh, Crispin, you are sometimes too optimistic for your own good.” She dabbed at her tears.
“I’d rather be this way than let life jade me or make me hard, or worse, not feel anything.” When he took a few steps toward her to close the distance, intending to embrace her, Miles shouted from the corridor beyond.
“Herrick!”
Crispin started. Had the man been eavesdropping on their conversation this whole time? With a murmured apology, he hurried out of the room where Archewyne waited. “Is there an issue?”
“Not at all.” His grin was rather toothier than Crispin remembered. “Lord Ramsay is at the museum, no doubt looking for Miss Barrington. I’ve demanded he attend me here.”
“Is that wise?”
“I suppose we’ll find out together, but it should prove interesting.”
Crispin narrowed his eyes and laid a hand on the earl’s arm. “Go easy on her, Miles. She is not hiding any longer and is no doubt feeling vulnerable. I rather doubt she’s worked through her grief or her anger.” Briefly, he explained about the wig and her training.
“Fascinating. I had no knowledge Rathesborne treated female agents differently. It is not how I intend to do things.” Then he nodded. “Well, there’s no better way to bait the trap than with a pretty English miss, is there?”
“How dare you.” Hot anger surged through Crispin’s chest. “Not even you would risk it.” He wasn’t treating her any differently at all.
“Like I said, we’ll see what happens.” He grinned. “As an agent, you must learn to anticipate a crisis or movements of people you perceive as threats. In a way, Miss Barrington was correct; an agent uses the people around them to best advantage.”
“Do you consider Juliana a threat?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Not when it comes to the relic.” Then he handed Crispin the leather folio. “You know what this is.”
“Yes.” He could scarcely breathe. Inside the folder was everything he’d wished to know about Juliana and her mission, and it would give him an insight into her thought processes.
“Read it or not, but it might change your mind about her. That’s why I hesitated in telling you before.” His eyes softened. “If she is to be your partner on this mission, you’ll need to trust her. Only you can decide if you’ll come by that reading what’s in the dossier or by letting the knowledge come organically... if at all.”
“You trust me with a case?”
“Absolutely. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, and I think this one is perfectly suited to your skill set. Perhaps it was fated.”
“Thank you.” He tucked the folder beneath his arm. Mayhap he’d been wrong about the earl’s pompousness. “Shall I fetch Lord Ramsay?”
“No need. I’m sure he’ll pop by any minute now. I was rather insistent.”
Crispin looked at his friend with new respect. There was still much he needed to learn about being a King’s agent, but at least he was now officially on his first mission. And a joint one at that. He glanced at the leather folio in his hand and then back at Archewyne. “How did you do it all these years?”
“Do what, Herrick?”
“Conduct yourself as an agent while attempting to maintain a social calendar and tend to the title, or...” He searched for words that wouldn’t paint him in a bad light. “...pursuing the possibility of romance. It seems all of these things work at cross purposes.”
One of the earl’s eyebrows rose. “That is why the number one rule of being a King’s agent is to never involve yourself in love or personal causes while working for the Crown.”
Crispin snorted. “As if you’ve ever followed that rule,” he said softly.
“That is quite beside the point.” A hint of a grin tugged at the earl’s lips. “Also, it’s not supposed to be easy, Your Grace. If it was, everyone would do it.”
The words were sound. “I suppose you’re right.” He held up the folio. “Well, then. I’ll just stow this in my room and return downstairs straightaway.”
“Good.” Archewyne nodded. “This little drama will continue in the drawing room. My study has been rather sullied with the first act, wouldn’t you say?”
Chapter Eight
Juliana peered at her reflection in a small compact mirror she’d pulled from her reticule. Outside the study, the men talked in low tones; the sound carried to her but not the words. Did they speak of her, have a quick and whispered consultation regarding her last mission—her failure? If they did, she couldn’t blame them. She frowned, and in the mirror, fine lines crinkled about the corners of her mouth and eyes.
It didn’t matter, not really. The past had happened, and she couldn’t change it. Those mistakes were her own, and she would atone for them with time, not that she could ever forget or forgive herself. She raked her fingers through her mass of golden hair, hoping to put it into some semblance of order. After fussing with it, she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t wipe away the look of general dishevelment, so she retrieved a handful of pins and secured the locks into a loose chignon at the back of her neck.
By the time she replaced the mirror into her reticule, a maid entered the study with a broom and bin pan. She murmured an apology and then set to work cleaning up the evidence of the broken statuette.
Minutes passed as Juliana wondered if she should leave the study, but then the earl returned with a bit of gold glimmering over his fingers. The maid finished her task and departed the room. Archewyne nodded at her. “Quickly, Miss Barrington. Affix your trinket to the chain and then tuck the thing beneath your bodice. Lord Ramsay will arrive soon.”
She gawked at him as he poured the delicate golden chain into her palm. “I’m intrigued as to why you have superfluous jewelry apparently lying about the house that you can lend me.”
“Never lose your curiosity, for life is, at times, quite strange.” But he didn’t offer an explanation and she didn’t push. Gone was all trace of the earlier animosity he’d shown when discussing her previous mission.
Instead of pursuing any of the questions that sat on the tip of her tongue, she slipped the chain through the loops of the staff ornament and then secured the chain about her neck, making sure the clasp caught and held. “Perhaps we could order tea? This morning has been rather trying, and I neglected to have breakfast before reporting in at the archives this morning.”
“Excellent idea.” He nodded. “Let us adjourn to the drawing room and I’ll ask Alfred to bring some straightaway.”
“Why the change in venue?” she asked as they exited the study. She had to trot to keep up with his long strides.
“Meaning?”
“Our friend is not as easy going as he sometimes wishes us to believe.” Archewyne snickered. “I always wondered what would cause his armor to crack. Now I know what did the trick.”
“And?”
“Time will tell.”
Why must the man always be so damned mysterious?
When they reached the drawing room, the earl stood at the door and waved a hand, indicating that she precede him. But she paused. “Lord Archewyne, there is no need to have Lord Ramsay attend us. This is my mess, and I intend to clean it up the best that I can.” She straightened her spine and raised her chin a fraction. “You might not think so, but I am quite capable of unraveling this knot given enough time.”
“Miss Barrington.” He removed her fingers from his sleeve, but when she assumed he’d set her away, he held her hand between both of his. His eyes were kind as he looked at her, and she could finally see the man that Crispin admired. “Despite the reception that Rathesborne gave you after your last mission ended, his sentiments were his own, which showed him as very much a human after all. That being said, you are still part of the King’s agent network, and that means you have family around you. You are not alone any longer, and most assuredly not while I’m at the helm.”
“I...” Surprise tightened her chest and she gawked at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you will suffice for the moment.” Then he released her hand. “Please, settle yourself. I’ll ring for tea.”
Bemused, Juliana wandered about the drawing room. Done in pleasing shades of green with wide shutters at the windows to keep out the morning sun, if she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back in London in her father’s townhouse. But no good had ever come of losing oneself into fancy, so she chose a low, crushed velvet sofa and sat, arranging her skirting about her legs.
By the time tea arrived, so did Lord Archewyne, hard on the heels of Crispin and Lord Ramsay. The two men were clearly in the middle of an argument, and they bickered as they crossed the floor. When they caught sight of her, both men stumbled to immediate halts with varying degrees of shock and admiration in their expressions.
Do I look so different than I did before? Or worse yet, did I look so horrible in disguise?
Andrew was the first to break the silence. He closed the distance and quickly took possession of her hand. “Perhaps I was hasty in not offering a protest when you broke off our relationship. You look good enough to eat,” he murmured as he carried her hand to his lips, where he lingered a few seconds too long. “Which begs the question: why were you pretending to look like another?”
As if I’ll ever tell you.
“Bastard.” Crispin shot across the Aubusson carpet, yanked Andrew away with a hand on the other man’s shoulder and then delivered a splendid uppercut to Lord Ramsay’s jaw that had the peer reeling backward. “Apologize to the lady at once.” His chest heaved with the force of his exertions.
“What the devil is wrong with you, Litton? Talking with a woman is not a crime.” Andrew rubbed his jaw and then moved it back and forth, presumably to check for breakage. He sank into a delicate gilt-painted chair.
“You besmirched the lady’s character,” Crispin replied.
“I think I rather paid her a compliment.” Andrew coughed. “I really don’t understand your animosity for me, Your Grace. I am merely a peer wintering in Cairo and chasing a lifelong dream, and that hobby happened to crash into this woman’s path.”
“I have a sense about people,” Crispin drawled. His eyes flashed brown fire, and Juliana stared with a slightly opened mouth, one of her hands paused midway toward the teapot. “I demand that you apologize.”
The earl cleared his throat, and the sound did little to improve the animosity building in the room. “Sit down, Herrick. We all know what sort of a man Lord Ramsay is, and you’ve already landed him a facer. I think he realizes your point.”
“But...” The duke sputtered yet he sank onto the sofa beside Juliana. Even with a cushion between them, the heat from his body seeped toward her.
“Enough.” Archewyne glanced at her. “Do you wish to hear an apology, and an empty one at that, from Lord Ramsay?”
She glanced between Andrew and Crispin and then finally at the earl. “No. I’d rather have this meeting over with.”
“Excellent suggestion.” He looked at the ceramic teapot and then lifted an eyebrow in question, which had her pouring out a cup for him with haste. Once he had the beverage in hand, he rested an ankle on one knee and looked at Crispin. “Did you wish to handle this meeting as well?” There was no mistaking the challenge in his tone.
“Quite.” The duke nodded, but before he could speak, Andrew cut in.
“Why, exactly, am I here?” he asked with an air of injured dignity. Already, a purpling bruise was forming on his skin.
While Juliana prepared tea, which Crispin accepted but Andrew declined, the duke took the lead in the conversation. “We have recently become aware of a clandestine, underground group that moves illegal goods and artifacts through Cairo to all points around the world. Beyond that, we suspect some nefarious members have more than relics on their minds.”
Andrew snorted. “For what purpose? If a man wishes to buy antiquities, he need not belong to such an organization. There are merchants enough to be found in the marketplaces. And if he wishes to become dangerous, that is his right, but again, such a place isn’t needed.”
Juliana kept her own counsel. For once, she wouldn’t go charging in without facts and preparation. As she sipped her tea, she listened to the men talk. Lines of strain appeared on all three’s expressions. Was Andrew one of the people who filtered money through the secret group, which would then be used by operatives to fund acts against the Crown?
“Again, why am I here?” Andrew demanded. He sat forward and rested his forearms on his knees, which put him closer to her position.
Crispin narrowed his eyes. “We need your help to gain entry.”
The man hooted with apparent glee. “You assume I’m connected, Your Grace? I’m quite flattered, but you’re wrong.”
“No.” Time to act like the agent she was instead of a woman scared of her own shadow... or of committing another egregious mistake. Quickly, she drained her cup and wished heartily it was laced with something stronger than milk. “I know you have access. Perhaps not how, but I know you do.” A snake like him would find a way to slither with his own kind.
The earl laid his teacup on a small table at his elbow. “If you do this, Lord Ramsay, I won’t ask more questions of you. Neither will I summon the Cairo police.”
“For what?” His jaw was set at a stubborn angle she knew too well.
“Pick a crime.” Archewyne waved a hand. “I’m sure you’ve committed many.”
Andrew’s face flushed with anger. “What’s in it for me?”
“Once a bottom feeder, always a bottom feeder, eh Ramsay?” A mischievous twinkle appeared in the earl’s eye. “I’m willing to broker you a deal.”
“Such as?”
“I’ll let you take Miss Barrington on a drive or to dinner in Cairo if you can grant us access to the underground group.”
“The devil you say!” Crispin shot to his feet. “Are you daft?”
Heat of outrage blazed in Juliana’s own cheeks, but she couldn’t find words to protest.
“Sit down, Herrick.” Archewyne’s tone brooked no argument, but he kept his gaze on Andrew while Juliana clutched her empty teacup in her hands as if her life depended on it. Once Crispin regained his seat, the earl continued, “Despite the duke’s outburst, I will give you this boon.” He glanced at Crispin with amusement clear in his expression. “Either myself or Lord Litton will play chaperone.”
Both she and Crispin protested, but the other two
men ignored them.
“Interesting.” Andrew’s blatant regard of her sent heat burning into her cheeks. “Such a prize cannot be considered lightly.” His grin was positively lascivious. “But, despite the high risk to myself, I agree to your terms.”
“Buggar this,” Crispin muttered. He launched from the sofa and threw himself bodily at Lord Ramsay. Andrew’s chair tipped backward and both men tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The sound of flesh connecting with flesh rang in the air while the peers pounded into each other.
“Oh, this is becoming wildly ridiculous.” If it was a play at Covent Gardens, no one would believe the outrageousness of the plot. Though her heart trembled at Crispin’s willingness to defend her honor. No one since her husband had done such a thing. And she’d definitely not had such from anyone in the King’s agent network.
“I quite agree, Miss Barrington.” Archewyne rose. “That will be enough,” he yelled over the noise of the fight. When the men didn’t heed the warning, he cursed and then fisted a hand into Crispin’s collar, physically dragging him from Andrew. He gave the duke a shake. “I said enough, and you are embarrassing yourself. Have some respect.”
“I’ll apologize to her, but never to him.” Crispin yanked himself from the earl’s hold. Then he set about straightening his clothing. A trace of blood decorated one cheek. He eyed the earl askance. “I cannot believe you’re negotiating with this riffraff.”
“You’ll learn sometimes you must do whatever it takes.”
When Andrew gained his footing, he looked at Lord Archewyne. “I’ll get you access, but I want that outing with...” He narrowed his eyes as he glanced at her. “What did you say your name was?”
“Miss Barrington,” she managed to eke out from a tight throat.
He nodded. “I want that outing with Miss Barrington post haste. I don’t trust you fellows by half. After all, I’m the affronted party here, being bullied by the two of you.”
The earl grinned as if he found the whole thing a huge joke. “Excellent! Then set up a meeting for tonight. I, too, would rather not delay.”
What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3) Page 10
