The Devereaux Affair: Ladies of the Order - Book 1

by Clee, Adele

  And in all likelihood, she was never coming back.

  Chapter 11

  “Are you going to tell me what happened with the marquess, or will you stare at the ceiling until your meeting with Mr Daventry? You’ve been abed since you crept into our chamber just after dawn, and Miss Trimble isn’t of a mind to pry.”

  Julianna glanced at Rachel Gambit, who sat perched on her own bed in the room they shared in Howland Street. Sunlight caught her golden hair, and she looked like an angel come to relieve sinners of their burdens.

  “If I speak I shall cry and I doubt you want me blubbering on your shoulder.”

  “Was it as you feared? Has the darling boy grown into an obnoxious oaf? Did he put paid to all those glorious memories?”

  A rush of emotion brought tears to Julianna’s eyes. “No. It was quite the opposite.”

  Their connection was as strong now as it had always been. And while the year she’d spent at Witherdeen had sustained her in the interim, the memory of making love to Bennet Devereaux would nourish her until the end of her days.

  “I see.” Rachel’s tone carried the weight of the problem. “Your love for the boy has become a fondness for the man.”

  More than a fondness, she feared.

  Rachel huffed. “I sometimes wonder if Mr Daventry is a devil in disguise. To send you there, knowing what happened all those years ago. It’s tantamount to cruelty.”

  Julianna could not think ill of the man who had rescued her from the gutter. She didn’t dare contemplate where she might be if Mr Daventry hadn’t offered a helping hand.

  “I believe it was an education in fortitude.” And by God, she’d been tested to the limit. “We’ll need emotional strength if we’re to tackle cases objectively.”

  “Mine must be an education in patience.”

  “Has Mr Daventry not given you an assignment?”

  “None of us have an assignment. That’s what I find so baffling. Mr Daventry is so cautious, yet threw you to the lions and hoped you’d return unscathed.”

  She had come close to being brutally savaged.

  Had returned with a few battle scars.

  Julianna recalled something Bennet had said. “The marquess swore to protect me. I believe that’s why Mr Daventry gave me the case.”

  Rachel arched a curious brow. “And yet something went terribly wrong. Why else would you spend hours crying into your pillow?”

  Because they had crossed a line. How could she be friends with a man who roused her passions? How could she ever look at him again without recalling how he moved deep inside her? By now, she should be used to pain, but that would be pure torture.

  “You may have to share this room with someone else soon.” Julianna’s heart grew heavy at the prospect of making her own way in the world. “Today, I must tell Mr Daventry I cannot work on Bennet Devereaux’s case.”

  “What? No!” Rachel shot to her feet and deposited herself on Julianna’s bed. “Cursed saints! Why? Are you in love with him?”

  Julianna sat bolt upright. “Hush. You’ll alert Miss Trimble. No, I’m not in love with him.” She cared about him in ways she couldn’t explain, and always would. “Let’s just say my mother would be proud of the way I behaved. After all, he is paying me a substantial fee.”

  Recognition dawned. Rachel was no fool. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew as round as saucers. “What was it like?”

  “Rachel!”

  “Sorry. I’m curious that’s all.”

  “Promise me you won’t breath a word about it to anyone. Promise me, Rachel. Please.”

  Her friend crossed her heart. “I know you find it hard to trust people, but you can trust me, Julianna.” She fell silent for a moment. “All the gentlemen of the Order married the ladies they worked with on cases. Mr Daventry must have sprinkled love potions into their tea. Maybe he has some for Bennet Devereaux.”

  Love potions? Rachel rarely suffered moments of fancy.

  “There’s more chance of Mr Sloane cutting his hair than me marrying a marquess.” If only Bennet were a simple man without wealth and title. “And you know how the agent loves his pirate locks.”

  Rachel laughed, but then her expression grew serious. “Could you not work on the case without returning to Witherdeen? Tell me what evidence you have so far and I might be able to help.”

  Julianna explained all that had happened during the two days spent at Bennet’s estate, including the terrifying incident with Mr Granger.

  “The blasted scoundrel!” Rachel gritted her teeth. “And I don’t care if Miss Trimble hears me cursing. He lives in Brighton, you say? Perhaps a brief trip to the coast is in order. You do realise Mr Daventry will skin him alive.”

  “Trust me, I have every intention of punishing the cretin.” He’d just caught her by surprise, and her fragile emotions had left her weak.

  “I don’t suppose the marquess will let the matter rest, either.” Rachel clapped her hands. “Back to the case. If it were me, I would visit Miss Winters and accuse her of sending the handbills. She has motive and opportunity.”

  “Does she have a motive? Do courtesans not expect their lovers to marry, eventually?” And her threats would not deter Bennet from doing his duty.

  Still, Julianna should have checked the trunks in the attic before leaving Witherdeen. She should have visited the innkeeper to enquire if Miss Winters had made other secret visits to Bramley.

  “Perhaps Miss Winters is unbalanced.”

  “She does strike me as the vindictive sort.”

  “You see.” Rachel gave Julianna a reassuring tap on the leg. “Focus on discovering if Miss Winters is guilty of threatening the marquess. I assume she returned to town.”

  Julianna silently groaned. The fact she hadn’t stayed at Witherdeen long enough to find out proved she lacked the skills required of an enquiry agent.

  Rachel must have read Julianna’s strained expression. “Never mind. Mr Daventry will know where the woman lives.”

  The thought of meeting Mr Daventry in Hart Street made her shudder. He would think her completely incompetent. When life threw obstacles in one’s path a de Lacy always bolted. Having spent a lifetime fleeing problems and misfortunes, perhaps it was time to stop and tackle what lay ahead.

  She had no issue hammering on Miss Winters’ door and demanding answers. But how would she fare when she saw Bennet Devereaux again? How would she ever feel whole when he owned a piece of her heart?

  Chapter 12

  Hart Street, London

  “Come in, Mrs Eden. Please sit down. I’ve asked Ashwood and Cole to join us.” Mr Daventry gestured to the two agents seated on the sofa, who both stood and inclined their heads respectfully. “With their wealth of experience, they may provide valuable insight on your case.”

  Julianna pushed her nerves aside. “I welcome their opinion, sir.”

  The men waited for her to sit in the chair before dropping into their seats. Mr Ashwood’s handsome countenance would leave any woman floundering, though she found Mr Cole’s dark, brooding features more disconcerting.

  “Perhaps you might begin by explaining what happened at Witherdeen.” Mr Daventry retrieved a notebook and pencil from the low table and met her gaze. “Only those incidents relevant to the investigation.”

  Good Lord! Did he know of her intimate liaison with the marquess? Was he a mystic from the Orient with the power to read minds?

  Julianna’s heart thundered faster than a horse at the Derby. She told her tale, informed them of the third note and the ghostly sightings.

  “There is still plenty to do at Witherdeen,” she said while the men listened, though twice Mr Ashwood and Mr Cole took to whispering between themselves. “It strikes me that the person sending the handbills and staging these alarming scenes is a frequent visitor to the estate.”

  Namely Isabella Winters, though she needed substantial evidence before voicing her suspicions.

  “Were the notes delivered to Witherdeen?” Mr Ashwood as
ked.

  Relieved she could answer at least one question, Julianna said, “The person left the first two notes at the gatekeeper’s lodge at Witherdeen. No one saw who delivered them. The marquess received the third note at his London address, delivered by a penny boy who ran off before anyone could question him.”

  “May we see the notes?” Mr Cole said.

  Julianna handed the gentleman her portfolio, and while both agents examined the documents, Mr Daventry probed her about her sudden departure.

  “Why return to town in the dead of night when you should have stayed to question Lord Devereaux’s friends?” Though he spoke bluntly, his tone held a hint of compassion. So much so, she suspected he already knew about the terrible incident with Mr Granger.

  Julianna raised her chin. “A guest mistook me for my mother and presumed I was as free with my affections. He refused to accept he’d made a mistake and so acted on his impulses. Thankfully, Lord Devereaux came to my rescue before the fellow followed through with his threat.”

  Mr Daventry’s jaw firmed. “Had I known Devereaux was expecting guests, I would have cautioned you about walking alone at night.”

  “It was my own foolish mistake.”

  “The mistake was Mr Granger’s. One that will cost him dearly.”

  So he did know! Had Mr Bower revealed the rogue’s name?

  “I trust the matter is in hand.” Mr Ashwood spoke like a protective brother, while Mr Cole looked ready to rip Mr Granger’s heart from his chest with his bare hands. “Should you need me to teach the man manners, just say the word.”

  “He will receive his education tonight,” came Mr Daventry’s sinister reply.

  The ringing of the doorbell caught everyone’s attention, as did the clip of booted footsteps in the hall. All the men pinned their gazes to the door and were evidently expecting someone.

  A flutter in Julianna’s stomach told her who that someone was before Mrs Gunning opened the drawing room door and presented the Marquess Devereaux.

  The men stood and exchanged greetings.

  Julianna gripped the chair to gain the strength to stand.

  Bennet was dressed impeccably in tan breeches and a dark blue coat, yet she saw rippling muscles and firm buttocks. He smiled at the agents, though she remembered his open-mouthed moans of pleasure.

  When he faced her, she dipped a curtsey and kept her gaze rooted to the floor. That didn’t stop her core muscles turning traitor, clenching in a desperate hope he’d come to fill the emptiness.

  Mr Daventry told everyone to sit.

  Bennet sat facing her, on the sofa occupied by the master of the Order.

  Heat pooled between her thighs when their eyes met. The corners of his mouth curled as he perused her slowly from head to toe. Was he imagining every naked curve? Was he remembering how she’d writhed beneath his hard body, gripped his sweat-soaked back and cried his name?

  “Sorry I’m late. It’s been an eventful few days.” Bennet rubbed his solid thigh the way he’d palmed his manhood.

  So, he must have visited Mr Daventry this morning, must have left Witherdeen before the cock’s crow. She envisioned him waking, stretching his strong limbs, dipping his hand beneath the coverlet to massage his erection, hoping he might tempt her to sin again. He must have rolled onto his side and suddenly realised she was gone.

  “Might we open a window?” Julianna was so hot her cheeks burned.

  Mr Cole obliged and raised the sash.

  A tense silence ensued.

  Was this how it felt to be Giselle de Lacy, to have every man’s eyes fixed intently on her person? She could cope with an inquisitive stare or two, but Bennet Devereaux’s gaze slid over her like a sensual caress.

  “Mrs Eden’s work at Witherdeen is incomplete.” Thank God for Mr Daventry’s comment, else she would likely combust. “Experience tells me one of your friends has a part to play in this, Devereaux. I presume they’ve all returned to town, bar Granger, who’d better be in Brighton.”

  “That’s why I’m late. To my knowledge, Granger journeyed south, though I cannot attest to the fact he reached the coast.”

  With luck, he’d broken his neck in a carriage accident en route.

  “Everyone else is in town,” Bennet confirmed. “I did what you asked and have spent the best part of two hours reluctantly making amends. I blamed Granger for my angry outburst and for banishing them from Witherdeen, though I begrudge entertaining any of them again.”

  “Sometimes, a man must accept he’s been living a lie.” Mr Cole sounded as if he’d once come to a similar conclusion. “Lowbridge is a self-serving prig. A man needs a friend who challenges him to be the best version of himself.”

  Bennet thought for a moment. “He wasn’t always that way. People change. Sadly, human nature leaves us clinging to what’s familiar.”

  Overcome by the urge to defend Bennet, she said, “Strong men admit their mistakes. What matters is how one moves forward. And I believe Lord Roxburgh is a good friend.”

  “Indeed,” Mr Cole agreed.

  “Did you call on Miss Winters?” Mr Daventry said.

  Hearing the woman’s name sent another rush of blood to Julianna’s cheeks. Miss Winters truly was the ex-mistress now, because Julianna had inadvertently taken her place.

  Bennet shifted in his seat. “No one seems to know if she is in town, though I’d rather suffer more threats than be seen in her company.”

  “Because you believe she is guilty of tormenting you?” Mr Daventry glanced at Julianna. “Or is there another reason you wish to avoid seeing your mistress?”

  “As you know, Miss Winters is no longer my mistress.”

  “May I ask what prompted the sudden change of heart?”

  Bennet’s brief look in her direction spoke volumes. “I meant to sever ties long ago. As Cole rightly pointed out, a man is often forced to accept he’s living a lie.”

  “No doubt it’s for the best,” Mr Daventry replied. “You’ll be looking to marry soon. Lady Perthshore said you can have the pick of the crop.”

  Jealousy twisted like knots in Julianna’s stomach. Oh, she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

  “How did you fare with Mr Mullholland in my absence?” she quickly blurted. “A man who lost a substantial sum at the races might well set fire to a stable block.”

  “Mullholland is not our man.”

  “What makes you sure?” Other than Miss Winters, Mr Mullholland was the only one with any real motive. Who else had a reason to hate Bennet Devereaux?

  Mr Ashwood snorted. “Are you sure you want to hear the details?”

  “I bumped into Mullholland in the alley behind the Blue Jade.” Mr Daventry’s eyes darkened. “He was extremely forthcoming with information.”

  “But you said he’s not our man.” Bennet seemed confused. “And even if he was guilty, the scoundrel would never confess.”

  “Oh, he confessed. He spilt his guts and piddled his trousers. While he despises the ground you walk on, Devereaux, he is not the person responsible for the cowardly attacks. Mullholland paid his jockey to lose the race. His brother thought there was more money to be had betting on your horse.”

  Bennet shook his head. “The threats, the fight, it was all a ruse?”

  “Indeed.”

  A sense of pride enveloped Julianna as she listened to Lucius Daventry’s escapade. The man carried himself with such confidence, was so skilled at gathering information, he must have seen something worthwhile in her when he offered her the position.

  That’s why she could no longer remain silent. The life of an enquiry agent was not for her. Having lived with liars and deceivers, she wanted an honest means of earning a crust. Manipulating people to get to the truth might have appealed to her mother, but Julianna had a conscience.

  She cleared her throat. “Sir, it has become apparent during the last few days that I am not equipped to work as an enquiry agent. I accepted the position in desperation, but it would be unfair
to deprive someone else of the opportunity. Miss Gambit is eager to prove her worth, and I’m sure she will be of great help to Lord Devereaux.”

  “I have other plans for Miss Gambit.”

  Bennet sat forward. “I hired you, Mrs Eden, not Miss Gambit. I’ll not waste time relaying the facts to a stranger.”

  Mr Daventry considered her through narrowed eyes. “Does this have anything to do with what happened at Witherdeen?”

  Oh, it had everything to do with her loose morals. Not that she regretted what happened. She would throw herself into Bennet’s arms in a heartbeat. But it was better to part now before she lost sight of reality altogether.

  “I refer to the incident with Mr Granger,” Lucius Daventry clarified.

  “In my case, men will always presume the worst, but I cannot bear the lies.”

  “And where will you go?”

  Far away from all temptation. “I have enough money to reach Paris and know someone who—”

  “Paris! Good God!” Bennet shot out of his seat as if the cushion were ablaze. “Don’t just sit there, Daventry. Put her mind at ease. Tell her she’s wrong.” He swung around to face her, confusion and panic warring in his handsome brown eyes. “They’re not lies in the normal sense.”

  Mr Cole came to Bennet’s defence. “We fight for the truth, for those who’ve suffered a great injustice. Lord Devereaux may be a man of power and means, but this deception is complex. I doubt he’ll uncover the culprit without you.”

  “Three days,” came Mr Daventry’s cryptic reply. “Assist Lord Devereaux for three days. Do what is needed to solve the case, and then you may leave the Order with money enough to cover a year’s rent in Paris.”

  Three days!

  Heaven help her! During the two days at Witherdeen, she’d gone from pretending indifference to gripping Bennet’s buttocks and panting his name.

  Three days would be a true test of her resolve.

  Like Mr Mullholland’s horse, she would likely fall at the first hurdle.

  * * *