A Husband's Wicked Ways (21 page)

The man was light as air on his feet and covered the distance between them in two leaps. Greville sidestepped the jabbing fingers not an instant too soon and dropped into a defensive crouch, the club hanging loosely from his right hand. He circled his quarry and the Spaniard followed his movement, turning on the balls of his feet, his fingers still outstretched.

He would have another weapon, Greville thought. This was no secretary. Knife or pistol? His gaze ran over the figure looking for a telltale bulge, anything that would tell him what to prepare for. He guessed it would be a knife. The man had the air of a knife fighter, a man
who liked to get up close to his quarry, a man who liked to attack in silence.

Greville saw the flash of silver and jumped sideways in almost the same moment. The Spaniard muttered an imprecation and spun around, the hilt of the stiletto blade between his fingers. Greville recognized his way of holding the blade, which was particular to a certain group of people, and he had heard and recognized the imprecation. He knew who and what he was dealing with now, and exactly how the man would attack.

The Spaniard raised his knife hand, and in the instant before the knife flew towards him, Greville threw the weighted club. It hit the Spaniard square in the forehead. He teetered, his eyes glazing, and the knife fell to the cobbles, but amazingly he remained upright. Greville swooped low, picking up the club as he dodged behind the man. He brought the club down with cracking force across his skull, and slowly his opponent crumpled to the ground.

Greville stood quite still for a second, catching his breath. The yard was still deserted, and now in near darkness. Little enough light penetrated at high noon, and it was now well past sunset. He bent to pick up the knife, turning it slowly in his hands, looking for the mark he was certain he would find. It was there, just inside the carved hilt. The insignia of the Inquisition.

That put a different complexion altogether onto this enterprise. They would not send an agent of the
Inquisition on a mission to set up an intelligence network. His usefulness lay in quite other arenas. So what
was
he here for?

He bent down again and felt for the pulse in the man’s neck. It was faint but still there. It would take more than a blow on the head to finish one of the Inquisition’s own. He ran his hands through the man’s pockets. If this was to look like a robbery, he needed to steal something. He took the fob watch and a purse containing three silver sovereigns. Then he walked quickly out of the yard, leaving the scene of the crime behind. No one would think it had been anything but one of the many footpad attacks that plagued the alleys and dark corners of the city.

He returned home and changed his clothes, resuming once again his customary persona. Then he went out again, hailed a cab to the ministry, and went directly to Simon Grant.

“Back so soon, Greville?” The chief looked up in surprise from a pile of papers. “I could have sworn you were here not three hours past.”

Greville acknowledged the witticism with a faint smile. “I wasn’t sure I’d still find you here at this hour, Simon.”

“Oh, I live here.” Simon sighed and leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head. “So, why the return visit?” His eyes, although tired, were shrewd.

“An interesting encounter.” Greville swung a wooden chair around and straddled it, resting his folded arms
along the back. “It would seem that the Inquisition has something to do with our Spanish friends’ arrival in this fair city.”

Simon sat up abruptly, his hands falling to his desk. “How d’you know?”

Grimly Greville related the events of the last hour. “We have to assume that there’s more to their enterprise than the simple establishment of a network. Why else bring the Inquisition?”

“Troubling,” Simon said, pulling at his chin. “We might know more when we hear from our man in Madrid. In the meantime, we shall have to play a watch-and-wait game. Keep a close eye on them.” He regarded Greville thoughtfully. “How does this affect Lady Farnham’s involvement in this enterprise?”

Greville frowned. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said slowly. “I see no alternative to changing the plan. I’m not prepared to take any risks with her safety with the Inquisition around.”

“No…no, I can see not. Well, do what you think best, Greville.”

“I shall, have no fear, Simon.” Greville swung off the chair, shook hands, and left. He hailed another cab to take him to Cavendish Square.

He banged the knocker vigorously, tapping his foot on the top step, unable to conceal his impatience. But the door opened quickly, and Aurelia stood looking up at him in surprise. “Greville…Isn’t it a little late for an afternoon visit?”

“I need to talk with you.” He stepped adroitly past her into the hall. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, but I have to go up to Franny in a moment. I always sit with her while she has supper.”

“Can she wait for a few minutes?” He couldn’t hide his impatience, his gaze flicking around the hall.

“Yes, of course,” Aurelia said quickly, puzzled. Greville was never impatient. “Come into the salon.” She led the way, then turned to face him as he closed the door behind him. “What is it, Greville?”

He went to the window, where the curtains were already drawn against the encroaching dark. He moved to one aside, looking out onto the street before letting it fall back. “We have to modify our situation, Aurelia,” he said directly, turning to face her. “I want you and Franny under my roof for the duration of this enterprise.”

Her jaw dropped. “Under your roof? Whatever do you mean?”

“I have learned some new details about this Spanish network that make me think they might find my fiancée interesting,” he said bluntly. “I cannot protect you adequately if you’re here and I’m more than half a mile away.”

She paled, looking at him, her hands clasped against her skirt. “You said you expected no danger to me and certainly not to Franny.”

“I did not. But that was before some new information was brought to my notice.” He came towards her, taking her hands in his, turning his penetrating gaze onto
her upturned countenance. “I swore I would protect you and your child, and I will do so. But you must accept that I know best how to do that.”

“How serious is this threat?” she asked, withdrawing her hands and turning away to the fire.

“I don’t know. But I do know that the very possibility of there being a threat of any kind is enough to make me act. So, our engagement needs to become a marriage without delay.”

She turned back to him. “And how do we break a marriage after three months? It’s a very different matter from an engagement.”

“I shall be sent on a mission abroad, and my death shall be reported soon after. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“But then you could never come back, never be Greville Falconer again.”

He gave a short laugh. “My dear Aurelia, that would be no great loss to me. I have had many aliases and will have many more. There’s nothing here to keep me. I have no interest in London’s social scene. No family, no ties of any description. This is the first time in fifteen years that I’ve been back for more than a fleeting visit. I can slip in and out of England for my work as and when necessary with no one being any the wiser. I will leave the country, and you will be free within a matter of months, once the news of my death is verified by the ministry.”

His words fell like a cold stone into the pit of her stomach.
Nothing here to keep me.
It was such a negative
statement, and it seemed to underscore the temporary nature of their relationship. The times he’d looked at her in a certain way, said things in a certain tone, and the way he made love to her, had made her fancy that perhaps there could be more to their romantic interest than a game to be played for the public eye. She stared down at the emerald ring on her finger, twisting it around so that it caught the candlelight.

“This was your mother’s ring?” To her it was not a non sequitur.

“Not exactly. The emerald was part of a set that had belonged to my grandmother. My mother to my knowledge never wore any of it. That ring itself was made specifically for you. Your fingers are far too slender and dainty for the original setting.” He looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

Such a matter-of-fact explanation of what could have had some significance. It was pointless to deceive herself, to imagine he might feel some inkling of what she felt herself. “No particular reason, just curiosity,” she said with a dismissive gesture, bending to poke the fire. “Wouldn’t it be better if I just withdrew now? If our engagement is broken, I would no longer be of interest to whoever these people are, and Franny and I would no longer be in danger.”

He shook his head. “Apart from the fact that I need you in this work, Aurelia, now more than ever, until I have dealt with this threat, and completed our enterprise, they will still find you of interest, even just as a way to get to me.”

“I see.” She felt chilled all over, as if she’d just stepped out of an ice bath. “But how are we to accomplish a wedding so swiftly? We’ve only just become engaged.”

“At least we
are
engaged,” he said, moving to his customary position by the fire. “And very publicly. Everyone expects a wedding. If it takes place sooner rather than later, there might a little talk but not much. We’re both past the age of discretion.”

Aurelia said nothing for a moment. She’d already invested so much time and emotional energy in this enterprise; she’d learned so much, and she loved what she’d learned. It excited her. This change of plan was merely a tweak of the original. And she couldn’t deny the little frisson that the prospect of sharing a roof with Greville for the duration of this enterprise gave her. She had never denied to herself his attraction, or the amazing pleasure he gave her in bed. Why not embrace the opportunity to explore both further in the most natural of circumstances? There was nothing to stop her, and she’d deal with the eventual parting one way or another. She was used to dealing with hurt.

She went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of sherry. She handed him one, then sipped her own, still standing in the middle of the room. “We could pretend to elope, I suppose,” she said. “As you say, it won’t come as a complete surprise since people are used to the idea of our marriage, eventually. I could say I didn’t want any ceremony. I didn’t want to be reminded of my first wedding, perhaps…”

She looked into the amber liquid in her glass, wondering if she could persuade Cornelia and Livia that she’d succumbed to the wildly romantic notion of an elopement out of impatient passion. She’d certainly gone out of her way to imply that she found Greville thrillingly attractive, that she’d fallen in love with him almost at first sight, and the emerald ring had only proclaimed with public emphasis the idea of a passionate attachment between them. She could probably pull it off. It wouldn’t be that difficult to be convincing, she recognized wryly.

She became aware of Greville’s silent scrutiny and looked up to meet his steady gaze. “When?” she asked simply.

“Can you and Franny be ready to move to South Audley Street in two days?”

“As soon as that?”

“Sooner if it were possible.”

I
N THE PARLOR OF A SUITE
of rooms at 14 Adam’s Row, Don Antonio Vasquez stared at the battered figure standing in front of him. A bandage was wound around his head and his swarthy complexion had a yellowish tinge to it.

“You were robbed?” Don Antonio said in disbelief. “By a mere street felon? How could that happen?”

Miguel winced. The light in the room hurt his eyes, and a full marine band seem to be clashing cymbals and banging drums behind them. He swayed a little, nausea swamping him, and with a murmur of apology sank into a chair. “It was no mere street felon, Don Antonio,” he croaked. “The man fought like a soldier. He knew all the tricks.”

His master gave a snort of derision. “Have you seen how many soldiers are on the streets of this godforsaken city? Deserters, pressed men on leave, wounded on furlough. The lucky ones are on half pay, the rest destitute,
fleeing the authorities. Of course they know a trick or two when it comes to robbery. They’re desperate and they learned the tricks of survival in His Majesty’s armed forces. You were robbed by one of them, make no mistake. You must have been half-asleep to let such a one get the better of you.”

Miguel put his head in his hands. Don Antonio was mistaken, he knew it in his bones. His opponent had been a trained fighter, not just a disaffected, desperate soldier on the lookout for easy prey. But he couldn’t summon the energy to argue with Don Antonio, who was looking at him with a snarl of derision on his well-bred mouth.

“I need to rest, Don Antonio,” he muttered, fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. “I am concussed.”

“Well, you’re certainly no good to me in your present state,” Don Antonio declared with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Get to your bed.”

Miguel staggered to his feet and stumbled to the door, his hand over his mouth.

“Is she in bed?” Greville looked up from his book as Aurelia entered the drawing room of the house in South Audley Street three days later.

“Yes, and almost asleep,” Aurelia said, settling into a chair opposite him. “Franny’s not a creature of habit.”
Her smile was fond. “It can be a nuisance on occasion, but sometimes, like now, it can be very useful. A new house, new nursery, new furniture…she’s happy as a clam.”

“And you?” He set down his book.

“Relieved, now that everything’s all right with Cornelia and I’ve written to Livia. It was surprisingly easy actually. Cornelia just accepted the fact with a murmur of annoyance that she hadn’t been a witness, and that was it.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t like you to fall out with your friends over this.”

“It would take more than this for a real rupture. But I’m glad it’s over nevertheless.”

Greville crooked a finger at her, his eyes narrowed. She rose, iron filings to his magnet, and went to him, allowing him to pull her down into his lap. He slipped a hand around to caress her breasts, lightly flicking at the nipples beneath the fine cambric of her gown. They rose instantly to his touch, and he chuckled, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “So wonderfully responsive. I could spend all day touching you.”

She leaned back against him, thinking that she could probably spend all day being touched by him in a world of sensual fantasy. She could feel him growing hard beneath her and mischievously shifted her hips a little, grinning at his groan of mingled pleasure and protest. Then she jumped up.

“Dinner, sir, will be served in half an hour.”

“Oh, God,” he moaned. “Look what you’ve done to me. I won’t be able to move for ten minutes.”

Aurelia laughed. “A glass of claret will cool your ardor.” She poured him a glass and brought it over to him. “You will not wish to miss dinner, I promise you. Our Mavis has prepared scalloped oysters, followed by roast duck with apple sauce, and Ada’s prepared a Rhenish cream and a gooseberry fool.”

Greville sipped his wine, eyes half-closed. “I still don’t know how it happened that in the space of twenty-four hours, in addition to young Jemmy, Daisy, and Hester, we have acquired two formidable identical twins in charge in the kitchen and a doddering gentleman failing to answer our door.”

“They decided it for themselves. When Liv and Alex return to Cavendish Square, it’s inevitable that the old friction will arise again between Morecombe and the twins and Alex’s rather stuffy household staff. But Morecombe and the twins don’t want to leave their apartment there; it’s their home, they’ve lived there for decades, but they do want to work. They won’t take payment from anyone because they have Aunt Sophia’s pension and their own apartment in Cavendish Square. They just like to do what suits them. And when I told them I was married and moving here, they didn’t bat an eyelid, simply decided it would suit them to follow me. So, they’ll come here in the morning and leave in the evening. Jemmy will answer the door at Morecombe’s bidding.”

She poured herself a glass of sherry and sat down again. “The arrangement will suit everyone very well, and I know Liv will be relieved that she doesn’t have to negotiate anymore between Boris and Alphonse, the chef, and the old guard.”

“Well, I have no objections.” Greville raised his glass in a toast. Then a glimmer of humor appeared in his gray eyes. “I have a wedding present for you.” He left the drawing room, a spring in his step.

Aurelia leaned her head against the chair back and closed her eyes, wondering what on earth he was going to give her. Something presumably that would facilitate the part she had to play.

She heard the door open again and kept her eyes tight shut, a smile dancing over her lips. She felt his approach across the room, felt his presence in front of her. “Should I open my eyes?”

“It might help,” he said drily.

She opened her eyes. At first she saw only Greville, but then her gaze moved to the door and she gasped. It was the most beautiful animal she had ever seen. Huge, like a small pony, powerful shoulders a perfect match for Greville’s, she thought with a long exhalation. “He…she…?”

“She,” he said, clicking his fingers at the animal, which padded gracefully towards them and sat down at Greville’s feet. “She’s called Lyra, after the constellation. And she will be with you everywhere you go, and most particularly when I cannot.”

So she hadn’t been far wrong after all,
Aurelia reflected,
reaching a hand to touch the dog’s magnificent head. But even a useful present could be as beautiful as it was welcome. “Lyra,” she greeted softly. The dog lifted her head beneath her caressing hand, and the great brown eyes met hers. “Oh, you beauty. What is she, Greville?”

“An Irish wolfhound,” he said, radiating his pleasure in her reaction to his gift. “Cornelia told me that you loved dogs…
real
dogs, she specified.”

Aurelia laughed. “Oh, Liv’s silly pink dogs…of course.”

He looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“You will when you meet them.” She moved her hand beneath the wolfhound’s chin. “She’s beautiful, Greville, and I thank you.”

He pulled the hound’s ears. “She’s beautiful, but she’s also been trained to protect. I can’t be at your side always, and I’m not very confident that you’ll use a pistol if you have to. Lyra is gentle as a lamb most of the time, but there are words she understands. When you and she know how to work with those words together, then you’ll be as safe as I can make you when I’m not beside you.”

Aurelia felt a familiar shiver cross her scalp. The chill of reality crept into the warm, lamplit drawing room. “You haven’t told me exactly where this danger is coming from.”

“I don’t know exactly. And quite probably it will not touch you at all. But I’m not prepared to take any chances.”

“No,” she agreed, caressing the wolfhound’s neck in
long strokes. She looked up at Greville. “I understand the risks.”

He drew her to her feet, holding her hips, his expression grave. “And do you trust me to protect you, Aurelia?”

“Oh, yes,” she said softly. “In as far as you are able.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I
am
able,” he promised. “I will not put you in the way of danger, understand that, Aurelia.”

She kissed him, relaxing into his embrace. It was impossible to imagine the kind of danger that had killed Frederick, here in this house in this quiet London street, among the well-regulated households, the social conventions and rigid rules of Mayfair society. And that was where her contribution to her country’s cause would lie.

“Dinner is served, Lady Far—Lady Falconer,” Jemmy announced from the doorway, averting his eyes from the embracing couple.

They moved apart. “Thank you, Jemmy.” Aurelia took Greville’s arm and they went as sedate as any married couple into the dining room.

Midmorning a few days later, Aurelia left the house on South Audley Street, Lyra padding at her side. On this beautiful April morning, the sun had some warmth and the air a spring freshness.

Aurelia was dressed for walking in an olive green pelisse over a gown of tawny gold silk with a deep flounced hem, and a pair of rich brown leather half boots. She
wore a close-fitting brown velvet hat with an ostrich plume curling over the brim, and her hands, one of which held Lyra’s lead, were buried in a sable muff.

She walked briskly, aware of her own pleasure in a costume that was fresh from the dressmaker rather than in the latest manifestation of a series of refurbishments. No one looking at this fashionably dressed lady walking her dog towards Green Park would guess that beneath the smiling, assured surface her heart was beating fast and every sense was stretched. Tucked into the muff was a sealed paper that Greville had given her with the instruction that she was to deliver it to a certain point in Green Park. It was her first courier job, and excitement warred with the apprehension that she might somehow fail to complete the mission.

The man polishing the iron railings of a house opposite watched her go. When she turned the corner of the street into Audley Square, he shoved his polishing cloth into a deep pocket of his greatcoat and set off, whistling carelessly to himself. She had left the square when he got there, but he could just make her out along Charles Street. He quickened his step, anxious to keep his quarry in sight without coming too close to her. The
asp
’s newly acquired wife was a matter of considerable interest in 14 Adam’s Row.

Aurelia wasn’t certain when she first felt the prickle on the nape of her neck. It was before she reached the gate into Green Park. She paused, bending to adjust the lace of her boot while Lyra sat patiently beside her.
Aurelia glanced behind her as she busied herself with her boot, but could see nothing and no one out of the ordinary. But of course, as Greville had told her many times, she wouldn’t see anything suspicious. If she was being followed, her pursuer would be too experienced to give himself away.

However, she knew a trick or two of her own. She straightened, turned completely full circle, and raised a hand in enthusiastic greeting to someone behind her. She waved more vigorously, standing on tiptoe, as if trying to attract the attention of someone who hadn’t seen her yet. And a man turned around and looked behind him. A man in an ordinary, rather scruffy greatcoat, with a muffler around his neck, and a cap with a brim pulled low over his forehead. A man indistinguishable from many others on the street, strolling past the park railings. But no one else paid any attention to her vigorous gesticulations.

Why should they if they had no interest in
her
?

“Well, well, Lyra,” she murmured. “We have company it seems.” She bent as if to adjust the dog’s collar and whispered, “On guard.” The dog’s ears pricked for a second, then the hound stood and pressed herself against Aurelia’s legs.

They walked into the park and Aurelia made no attempt to look behind her. She knew she was being followed, there was no need to confirm it. She took one of the winding promenades that led to the reservoir in a corner of the park and walked in leisurely fashion
around the lake. It was bounded by shrubberies, and off to one side lay a small copse dominated by a copper beech in its center.

The copper beech was Aurelia’s destination, or, most particularly, a small hole in the trunk that made a perfect poste restante for unorthodox mail. However, she ignored the copse and continued on her way around the lake towards the Ranger’s Lodge. Lyra kept close to her legs and every now and again emitted a low-throated growl, which told Aurelia that the hound had now picked up the follower on their tracks. Presumably he was closer now, but she made no attempt to check.

Her mind was working fast now. She could abort the mission, and no one, least of all Greville, would blame her. Caution was always the first watchword. But the idea of being balked of success on this her first time out made her furious, as disappointed as she’d been in the country when she had been so certain she’d evaded Greville, only to find him waiting for her at the stile.

She would find a way to elude her present follower. As she rounded the lodge at the end of the lake, she came upon the broad swath of grass where grazed a herd of cows tended by a group of milkmaids, who would, for a small sum, provide a cup of milk fresh from the cow to a thirsty pedestrian.

Aurelia smiled suddenly, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She strolled casually onto the grass and into the middle of the herd of cows, Lyra at her side. She whispered softly to the wolfhound, and instantly Lyra
put back her head and howled, a long, mournful howl that lifted scalps, sent shivers down backs, and threw the herd into a milling, lowing panic.

The milkmaids and the cowman rushed into the herd to try to calm them. Lyra continued to howl, and the cows blundered about, lowing and bumping into each other. Aurelia took a firm grip of Lyra’s lead and darted through the warm and heaving flanks and out the other side of the herd, which effectively blocked both a view of her and any possibility of pursuit. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, and she had a clear path to double back to the copse.