A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels (30 page)

"Ainsley seems to think the most efficient way to eliminate everyone is with explosives."

Chance considered this. "Black powder? That's certainly one option. Enough of it, hidden beneath the reviewing stands, could cause considerable damage. Go wash up, get rid of your travel dirt, round up Rian, and we'll discuss this more over some bread and cheese."

Spencer made his way back to the front of the narrow house, where a footman directed him up the stairs to the third floor and to the last door at the end of the hallway. He knocked twice, then pushed open the door to see Mariah curled up on her right side in the bed, still dressed in her travel clothes, fast asleep, an untouched plate of meat, bread and cheese on the nightstand beside her. She had her fisted left hand lightly pressed to her mouth, just the way William did in his sleep, and Spencer felt his heart lurch at the sight.

What a maddening, stubborn woman. What a remarkable, courageous woman.

He spied a soft cashmere throw hanging over the back of a chair next to the fireplace and retrieved it, then laid it over Mariah before bending to smooth her hair back from her cheek and press a kiss against her temple.

Tomorrow, and the days after that, could be dangerous. Deadly dangerous.

What would he do with her, to keep her safe? What would he ever do without her, if he failed?
How, damn it all, had she become so important to him, to his happiness?
He was actually angry with her, angry with her that she'd become so necessary to him. Angry with himself for wanting to forget the world and just lie down beside her, hold her in his arms, listen to her breathe.

He closed the door behind him and made his way to Rian's chamber at the other end of the hall, to use his washbasin so as not to disturb Mariah, all the time thinking of Ainsley and his lost Isabella. How had the man survived her death? Why had he survived?

For his children. Yes, Spencer understood that now. You survive, for your children. But, perhaps, with your heart buried, lost to you.

"Spence? You're at the other end of the hall," Rian said as his brother walked into the bedchamber where Rian was standing at the window, inspecting the scenery outside his window; London, sliding into a misty, smoky dusk. "Uh-oh," he said, pulling a face. "I've seen that particular dark look before. Just remember, I'm your brother, and you're not really angry with me, don't really want to hit me, or at least I don't think you do. Go punch a pillow, or even that wall over there. There's a good fellow."

"Rian, I want you to promise me something," Spencer said, slipping out of his jacket, exposing the harness Courtland had made for the knife. "If we get into the thick of anything and it begins to look bad for us, I want you to grab Mariah and get her the hell away, get her to safety, straight back to Becket Hall. Are we agreed? Just leave us and go."

Rian hopped up onto the high tester bed, reclining against the tall headboard, his long legs stretched out, his arms crossed over his chest. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm not here to be your wife's nursemaid, Spence. Tie her to the bedpost, if you can't control her. She shouldn't be here, or Julia, either. I'll say this at least for Fanny. Much as she thinks she's responsible for me, she knows where she belongs."

Spencer rubbed at his aching head. "I don't remember asking your opinion, Rian."

The younger Becket grinned. "No, I suppose you don't. Just don't ask me to play nanny, Spence. And I still don't know what help Julia or Mariah could possibly be in any of this. War is a man's work."

"True, Rian, my grand and intelligent brother. But peace is everyone's work."

"Was that supposed to be profound? And if you and Chance want personal peace, you'll do whatever your wives say, correct? And you all ask me why I want a good war to run to? It's a great disappointment my brothers are, a grievous disappointment, and I wish to point out that you're not exactly shining examples for a impressionable young man such as myself."

"You know, Rian, you wouldn't look half so pretty
with your front teeth gone missing," Spencer warned, but his heart wasn't really in the threat. God, had marriage turned him mellow? That would be a hell of a thing, wouldn't it? "Let's go downstairs and feed our bellies. Then we can start planning just how we'll attack our problem in the morning. We'll begin by strolling out with the ladies, I think, to see what foolishness his royal highness is planning in the parks..."

Mariah woke slowly, reluctant to leave the dream that had brought a smile to her lips. Spencer was touching her, sliding his hand over her, not in a demanding way but the way a blind man might, trying to learn her.

She opened her eyes to a dark room and a dying fire and turned over onto her back, to see the outline of Spencer's head as he lay beside her, his head propped up on his hand.

"It's time you change out of your clothes and go under the covers, wife," he told her and then she saw the white of his teeth as he smiled. "I thought I could volunteer my assistance."

Mariah felt something begin to curl deliciously in her lower belly. "Oh, you did, did you? What time is it? And, by the way, you're
looming
again."

"It's my new mission in life. To loom over you. Do you hate it?"

She stifled a yawn. "I'm still deciding. Now tell me the time."

"It was past three when Rian and I left Chance. And, as you seem to have this obsession with the time, we'll all be leaving the house at ten to begin our re-connoiter of the parks."

Mariah's chest rose and fell in a sigh. "And this is what you woke me from a sound sleep to tell me?" She turned her back to him. "Go away."

Instead of obeying her, he began loosening the buttons on the back of her gown. Pressing his lips to the skin he revealed each time another button was eased free of its mooring.

"Spencer.. .no," Mariah half pleaded, and then sat up, knowing she couldn't go to sleep again. "I'm hungry."

He freed three more buttons, "Not shy, are you, wife?"

Mariah swung a fist behind her, hoping to connect with solid flesh, which she did. "For
food,
Spencer. For pity's sake."

"Ah," he said, jackknifing to a sitting position himself, "but you knew what I meant. Not being a gentleman, may I tell you how happy I am that you may be a lady but also a bit of a hellion?"

"Hellion?" Mariah slid to her feet on the carpet and grabbed the plate of food, taking it with her to one of the chairs in front of the low fire. "I traveled with my father, Spence, to some places where the only other female companionship were the women politely known as camp followers. I'm probably considerably more than a hellion, thank you. And
not
a lady at all."

Spencer followed her, taking the plate from her and breaking off a piece of cheese, which he promptly fed to her as he propped himself on the arm of the chair. "As I've admitted I'm no gentleman, I suppose that's only fair. Eleanor's our lady, you know—she can't seem to help herself. And now Morgan is
supposed
to be a lady, seeing as how she's Ethan's countess and they move in Society. But I don't think she'll ever be Society's idea of a lady."

"Julia told me Morgan and Ethan are traveling and won't know anything about what we're doing until it's all over. Until we've either succeeded or failed. And if we fail, the entire world will know."

Spencer put the dish in her lap and sat down in the facing chair. "But only we will know that we've personally failed. That's.. .that's..."

"Quite a burden," Mariah finished for him. "We have to tell someone, someone else, someone in a position of power."

Spencer opened the top two buttons of his shirt, his neck cloth long since discarded. He decided not to tell her what he and Chance and Rian had planned for early in the morning. "Chance told me that he'd hinted to several of his former colleagues at the War Office that the true head of the Red Men Gang was still at large. He told them that last year, when he helped Jack and Eleanor capture the nominal leader and turn him over to the authorities. According to Chance, a few people laughed at his warning, a few more dismissed the idea as nonsense and a few more were curiously silent. Two days later, while Chance was still in town, someone took a shot at him on his way home from his club. That was enough to get him back to his estate and to tell him that not everyone wanted him talking about Nathaniel Beatty."

Mariah ripped off a small piece of bread and held it in front of her mouth. "Who is Nathaniel Beatty?"

"If we're right, Edmund Beales. That was the name he used last year. He had begun to move in Society, only discreetly. We can only wonder who his friends are and who is in his pocket—how high in the government these new friends may be. So, you see, we're a little reluctant to share our suspicions with anyone."

"Leaving us with the responsibility to save the Prince Regent and the others." Mariah shook her head. "No, we can't do that, Spencer. It's too dangerous. Surely there's someone we can trust."

She was like a dog with a bone, his wife, and quite correct. "All right, I give up. We have thought of one person we're confident we can trust. Wellington."

Mariah put the plate on the table next to her and eagerly leaned forward in her chair. "Oh, yes. Wellington. He'd be perfect. The man is a true hero and a true patriot. How do you plan to contact him?"

"You?
Not
we?
You're a constant surprise, Mariah. I'd thought you'd demand to be a part of that plan, too." Spencer leaned over and took the small loaf from the plate, breaking off a piece for himself. "He supposedly rides in Hyde Park every morning just after daybreak. Hell, people line the streets every morning just to cheer him as he passes. At any rate, his charger, the famous Copenhagen, enjoys a good gallop from what we hear. Chance and I will be waiting for him this morning. If we can't approach him directly, Chance's own mount, Jacmel, will do the trick for him. Wellington admires fine horseflesh and when Chance gives Jacmel his head the Duke will notice, or so my brother hopes. After that it's up to Chance to convince the man of the truth of what we believe."

"So you're saying that the future of the world as we know it could possibly depend on a horse?"

Spencer smiled. "A horse and the way Chance rides him, which is fairly magnificent in itself. I agree, it sounds insane. But there's no other way to approach the man in relative privacy, not in these few days, and we've convinced Rian that kidnapping the fellow is out of the question. It would be easier if Ethan were here to throw around his title and consequence, but he isn't."