A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels (23 page)

"I don't know." Spencer stabbed his fingers through his hair. "Whatever he said, it was a warning to the other man to stop talking, no more than that. The entire tone of the meeting shifted from congenial to near-threatening and I pretended to storm out, telling them to contact me again when they could agree to talk plainly to me. I might have stayed at the hotel, seen what happened next, how the evening played out, but I had to get you out of there, out of danger. Little knowing, of course," he added, smiling weakly, "that you'd already seen the man without his hood, had even spoken to him. How in bloody hell am I going to explain any of this to Ainsley?"

But Mariah wasn't listening. "Lions and wolves, Spencer. And Renard? Renard means fox. Did you know that?"

"Isn't that wonderful," he said, far from pleased. "We'll soon have all the animals in the Tower Menagerie. What does it matter? Or did you think Renard was really this bastard's name?"

Mariah's optimism deflated quickly, but then she rallied. "Perhaps not, but Nicolette would still be Nico-lette, wouldn't she?"

"And?"

Mariah pulled out the chair across from his, dragging its weight across the wooden floor, and sat down heavily. "And I don't know what that means. In any event, you won't be traveling to Calais again. They won't be getting their fifty thousand pounds sterling. Perhaps that's the end of it. Without the funds you'd promised them, they might not be able to pay anyone to facilitate Bonaparte's escape or hire anyone to attack the Prince Regent and the others. When you first went to Calais it was to attract the attention of those who wished Bonaparte back in power, believing that someone might be Edmund Beales. Perhaps all you did was raise some dreamers and now their dream has died."

"Dreamers? Don't exclude yourself, Mariah, when you speak of dreamers. Because, if I'm right, they were about to eliminate me
before
I could give them their fifty thousand pounds, which tells me the plan is a serious one and will go forward no matter whether they have my money or not. And think about this, Mariah. What if they are only partially successful? What if they only mange to either wound or kill the Prince Regent, or only the czar? Does it matter? There'd still be chaos, especially with Bonaparte on the loose."

"I hadn't thought of that, but you're right. Someone is planning to turn the entire world on its head. What are we going to do?"

He helped her to her feet, bent to kiss her cheek. "You look tired. Why not try to sleep and I'll wake you when we arrive back at Becket Hall?"

"But.. .where will you be?"

He wanted nothing more than to stay down here with her, to hold her, to forget what he knew, to talk about his own dream—that of Virginia, of a new life, a very different life for his son than the one his father lived. But he was a Becket and that would never change. "Up on deck," he told her, turning for the door, ".. .where I bloody well belong."

'They're back, already making their way across the beach," Courtland said, walking into Ainsley's study, Rian and Jack behind him. Courtland shrugged completely into the jacket he'd carried into the room with him and then tried to smooth his hair. "Billy, too. They're back so soon, not even a full night and day gone. I wonder if that means good news or bad."

Ainsley motioned them all to chairs. "Perhaps I should ring for refreshments, a plate of cakes? Rian, tuck in your shirt, if you please. Are you hungry?"

Rian grinned as he perched himself on the wide wood of a window embrasure. "Only for adventure, Papa."

Ainsley gave an elaborate sigh. "This must be the price a man pays for having sons. Daughters wouldn't be so eager to expose themselves to danger."

"Fanny would. Morgan, too, if she wasn't a mother now," Rian said, then lost his grin as Courtland glared meaningfully at him. "Um...do you think Bonaparte will actually be able to escape Elba? That's why Spence went to Calais, right, to find out? There'd be war again with England, if that were to happen."

"Don't make me sorry I woke you, Rian. If all you can do is to point out the obvious," Courtland told him tightly, "perhaps you'd be wise to just sit there quietly, before you're sent back to the nursery."

"That will be enough, thank you, Courtland," Ainsley said placidly as he heard voices in the hallway and then got to his feet as Spencer stood back to allow Mariah to enter the study ahead of him. They might not have tarried long in Calais, but somehow she seemed to have acquired a new gown. "Miss Rutledge," he said, inclining his head slightly as they walked across the room to stand directly in front of his desk, "your son is upstairs."

"True enough, sir, and I'm anxious to see him, even as I know he's been in capable hands," Mariah said, her gaze sweeping the large room as she mentally toted up the number of occupants. "I've come here first, to apologize for what I've done. It was stupid of me, sir, and even selfish."

"Not to mention reckless. But you'd do it again, wouldn't you, Mariah?" Ainsley asked her kindly and Mariah's shoulders sagged with relief.

"Yes, sir, I would. If I'm to be a part of this family, I feel I should first prove myself worthy."

"By first, I'll assume, listening at keyholes, and then stowing away on the
Respite
—and giving Spencer here fits, I'm sure," Ainsley said drily, wondering if he'd ever been that young and impulsive. "So tell me, Mariah, did you prove yourself worthy?"

She opened her mouth just as Spencer put his hand on her arm and stepped half in front of her. "I locked her in my hotel room the moment we got to Calais. She didn't do any harm, I promise."

"Except to your pocketbook," Jack remarked from the couch across the room. "That gown's a French design, isn't it? I seem to remember Eleanor showing me a pattern much like it in one of her magazines. Did you even get a sniff of the man we're after or did you spend all your time in the shops?"

Mariah looked up at Spencer, watching the tic that had begun to work in his cheek. She'd made a fool of him, embarrassed him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as Rian laughed at Jack's comment. "Please, let me tell them about—"

"No," Spencer told her quietly. "I don't want you involved in this. Go tend to your son."

"Don't order me about like one of your crew.
You
go tend to him if you think he's been mistreated in the single day we've been gone."

"That's not the point"

"Well, then, what
is
the point?"

Ainsley had leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin in one hand as he watched the quick, terse exchange between his son and Mariah. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he was fairly certain they weren't whispering sweet words of love to each other, not if he could measure their feelings by the stubborn expressions on both their faces.

"Ahem," Ainsley said at last, when it appeared that the pair in front of him had lapsed into a staring match. "Why don't you two sit down. Spencer, you tell me what happened in Calais. As Mariah said, William is in good hands."

"Yes, Spence, you look ready to explode," Rian commented from his perch. "Will there be an attempt to free Bonaparte? Will there be war again? What have you learned?"

"More than any of us hoped to know, Rian, and if believable, none of it good," Spencer told his brother as he watched Mariah take the chair directly in front of Ainsley's desk.

The next half hour passed quickly in a round of explanations, questions, answers and yet more questions. Glasses of wine were passed around, a grumbling Rian was sent to the kitchens for meat and cheese and Mariah watched Ainsley Becket's face as often as possible, trying to gauge his reaction to the information they'd brought to him.

But his expression told her nothing, not until she told him about the few words of French Spencer had heard and her thoughts on them.

"Lions and wolves?" Ainsley repeated. "Being afraid of lions and wolves?" He sat back in his chair, rubbing at his chin. "Spencer. Your full attention if you please?
On doit donc être un renard pour identifier des pièges et un lion pour effrayer des hups.
Does that sound familiar?''

"Again, sir, please," Spencer said, aware that Ainsley's eyes had grown cold. When Ainsley repeated what he'd said, Spencer nodded. "Yes...yes, I think that's it. That's what I heard the man say. What is it? What does it mean?"

Mariah answered for Ainsley, who was now looking toward the dark beyond the window where Rian sat chewing on a thick slice of cheese. "I hope I have this correctly. What your father said is that one must be a fox to recognize traps and a lion to frighten wolves. Is.. .is that correct, sir?"

"It is. Very good, Mariah."

"Ainsley?" Jack Eastwood asked, getting to his feet. "I don't like the way you're looking, sir. What does this mean?"

Ainsley looked at Mariah, wondering how much she'd overheard the previous evening, how much else Spencer had told her. But what did it matter,
what did anything else matter, now?
"The quote is one I've heard before, Jack, many times, taken from Machiavelli's
The Prince.
'A prince being thus obliged to know well how to act as a beast must imitate the fox and the lion, for the lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves.'"

Mariah was fascinated. "So the one man was reminding the other to protect himself when Spencer's questions delved too deeply, worried that Spencer was setting some sort of trap for them?"

"Shh, Mariah, not now," Spencer said, laying his hand on her arm. He felt certain he knew what Ainsley was thinking the moment he'd said the name Machia-velli. "Papa?"

"It could have been Jules. He often sat with Edmund and myself on long nights, with Edmund reading to us, arguing that Machiavelli had the right
of it—that all that was needed to succeed were your own brains and the stupidity of others. And, of course, there's the plan itself as you've outlined it, Spencer. That, too, would appeal to Edmund. The sheer audacity of it. Cut off the head and the body has no power, leaving all that power for the man clever enough to gather it up. It's a shame you couldn't see their faces, Spencer."

Mariah leaned forward and laid her hands on the desktop. "Sir, I—"

Spencer's temper, held in check so long, finally broke free. "Damn it, Mariah, I said no!"

Once again Ainsley cupped his chin in his hand and watched as the two of them glared at each other and spoke to each other in hushed, hissing whispers, Spencer gesturing, Mariah stone-faced. Theirs was not going to be a placid marriage....