Be My Bride (22 page)

“The sarcasm is unamusing,” Allister informed him. “Need I remind you that I can still beat you with either sword or pistol?”

Davis’ eyes lighted, and he leaned forward eagerly. “No reminder necessary. You are the best. And you could prove that if you’d only come back to the Service.”

Allister shook his head but before he could refuse again, the temporary man-of-all-work he had hired coughed in the doorway. A tall man with a long face, he had struck Allister as the type who would do his work and ask no questions. 

“Yes, Patterson?” he asked.

“There’s a lady to see you sir,” he intoned, keeping his eyes humbly downcast. Only the severe set to his wide mouth told of his disapproval at this state of affairs.

Davis hopped to his feet. “You old fraud, you! And I was worried you’d collapsed into propriety. Who is she, old chap? And does she have a friend?”

“I haven’t had a woman since I started courting Joanna,” Allister told him icily. He returned his gaze to his servant. “Does this lady have a name, Patterson?”

“A Miss Joanna Lindby,” the man replied with no more enthusiasm.

Allister leapt to his feet, pulse roaring in his ears. “Joanna? Something must be wrong.”

Davis stepped to his side and put a hand on his arm as if to keep him from running from the room. “Easy lad. She probably just wants to confirm the flowers for the wedding or some such frippery. Tell the lady to come in, my man.”

Allister managed a shaky laugh as Patterson hurried from the room. Why had he reacted that way? He’d been cooler two years ago when Lord Hastings had informed him that Davis had been shot. Besides, his friend was no doubt right. If something had happened to Joanna, it would have been her mother who would have contacted him, and probably by note. The fact that Joanna felt comfortable enough to approach him in residence should reassure him that they were becoming closer.

One look at her face had the opposite effect. She was flushed, her jaw set, and her eyes sparked fire.

He met her just inside the door. “Joanna, what is it?”

She raised a haughty eyebrow. “Didn’t you expect me to ask for an explanation?” she demanded. “Do you think so little of me?”

“What are you talking about?” He frowned. “An explanation for what?”

“Perhaps I should go,” Davis muttered, picking up his top hat from the side table between the two chairs.

“Forgive my manners,” Allister apologized to them both. “Miss Joanna Lindby, may I present my friend, Mr. Davis Laughton.”

Davis bowed. “Your servant, madam.”

Joanna glared at him, offering no more than a nod. “Good day, sir.”

His friend swallowed. “Yes, well, as I said. I should go.”

“Don’t leave on my account,” she clipped out. “This should only take a moment.” She faced Allister again, and he could only marvel at the fire in her. He had thought her passionate but had never suspected she could be so intense. He was not a little surprised to find it intrigued him.

“I only want to know why,” she said to him. “Why did you break off our engagement?”

Allister stared at her. “Break off our engagement? Why would you think I’d do a thing like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sneered. “Perhaps because of this?” She flung a note at him, and he caught it against the chest of his white lawn shirt. Instinct told him not to take his eyes off her, but he had to know what had so incensed her. He scanned the contents of the note and felt his blood run cold.

“What is it?” Davis asked at his elbow.

“Here,” Allister said, thrusting it at him. “Read it.” As Davis glanced at the paper, Allister returned his gaze to his intended. “Joanna, I assure you, I didn’t send that note. I want nothing more than to be your husband.”

Her eyes probed his as if seeking the truth. He returned her gaze steadfastly. He’d made viscounts and villains believe him when needed. Surely now that he spoke the truth he would be even more convincing. Joanna held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.

“I wish I could believe that,” she murmured.

Could she see inside him to his doubts of his adequacy? He had to convince them both. Allister caught her hands. “Believe it, for it is the truth,” he told her fervently. “I would never hurt you like this. If we had a disagreement, I’d like to think we could discuss it. I would never simply send a note dismissing you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and he reached up a hand to stroke them away from her soft skin. She swallowed.

“Oh, Allister, I’m so glad. When I saw that horrid note, all I could think was that you didn’t care.”

He felt his jaw tighten as her pain pierced his heart. “That’s exactly what someone wanted you to think.”

“But why?” she asked with a frown. “Who’d want to hurt us?”

Allister exchanged glances with Davis. The grim set to his friend’s mouth told Allister Davis had similar thoughts. Despite the fact that he should be worried about the matter, he felt the familiar tingle of excitement that always came with a mystery.

“I have no idea,” he said to Joanna. “But I intend to find out.”

Chapter Three

Joanna should have felt nothing but relief. Allister still wanted to marry her. His murmured reassurances and protective caresses as he escorted her home in her carriage should have soothed her fears. When he took her in his arms and kissed away the last of her tears, she could only melt against him in bliss.

But something was wrong. Someone was trying to pull them apart. By the way he had exchanged looks with his friend, he knew more than he wanted to tell her. She had a feeling she was about to confront his supposedly dangerous past, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He was diplomacy itself, coming in to placate and reassure her mother, then inviting them both to the opera the next evening to make up for their difficult afternoon. As Joanna walked him to the door, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss into her palm.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,” he promised.

“Can you tell me what you suspect?” she pleaded. “I can’t think of anyone who would be so vindictive.”

“I’m sure it’s no one you know,” he replied.

“But you suspect it’s someone you know, don’t you?”

He did not accept her challenge. “I don’t want you to worry. I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this. It may take me some time, so don’t be concerned if you don’t see me before tomorrow.”

The fact that he seemed rather excited about the matter did nothing to reassure her.

She tried, however, to put the incident from her mind as she went about her wedding preparations the rest of the day. Her mother’s spirits were fully restored, and she threw herself back into the work. They had a number of critical decisions to make, chief among them who would act as her father since her own had been dead for many years. After a lengthy discussion, they decided to ask her Uncle Milton who had always been close. They then spent the evening addressing invitations from the lengthy list her mother had compiled. It was when they finished with her family and friends and prepared to do Allister’s that she felt the uneasiness return.

“He still hasn’t given me a list,” her mother complained. “Think, dearest. He must have told you someone to invite besides his cousins in Somerset. Was he found under a cabbage leaf?”

Joanna smiled. “Most likely not. However, he told me his parents are dead. I believe he has an uncle somewhere.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve at least invited his cousins the Darbys,” her mother replied. “I remember him mentioning them. Was he directly related to the old earl or the new earl? Or is it the newer earl? That family changes its mind so quickly.”

“I’m not certain,” Joanna replied, realizing again how little she knew about her intended. “But we should add a Mr. Davis Laughton to the list. I met him today. He appears to be a particular friend of Allister’s.”

“Davis Laughton,” her mother mused. “Where have I heard that name?”

“Have you heard it?” Joanna asked eagerly.

Her mother shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so. Which does seem odd, for I know everyone, even if I can’t remember their names at a given moment.”

Joanna nodded. For all her mother’s eccentricities, she was well-liked among the ton. An interesting person was always welcome, and her mother had never lacked for acquaintances. If Davis Laughton had lived in London for any length of time, it would have been surprising that her mother had never heard of him.

“Perhaps he’s up from the country,” Joanna suggested.

“Yes, of course,” her mother agreed. “In which case you must ask him when he’s returning. What’s the postage to Africa?”

“Uncle Milton will be back from Africa before you need to send the invitation,” Joanna assured her, once again interpreting her mother’s remark. She promised her mother to check into the matter of Mr. Laughton’s address, although in truth she wasn’t certain she’d have an opportunity to talk to Mr. Laughton again. Allister generally didn’t make a party of their outings, seeming to prefer to keep her all to himself. She resolved to ask him about his friend when they went to the opera the next evening. And she would ask him about who else to invite as well.

* * * *

If Joanna had a difficult afternoon, Allister’s was far worse.

“That’s the lot of them, my friend,” Harold Petersborough, Marquis of Hastings, informed him as they sat in his spacious private suite at the War Office. “Every assassin, spy, or miscreant you ever went after is either in prison or dead, except one.”

“Daremier,” Allister spat.

“Daremier,” Lord Hastings agreed. “A slippery fellow, that one. We still haven’t learned how he manages to return to England undetected. One would think that face of his would give him away.”

Allister glanced down at Lord Hastings’ claw-footed desk, on which lay the charcoal sketch that was all most of his lordship’s operatives had to go on. He didn’t need it. He’d seen the face too often, right before losing it again. France’s top spy was called the Skull for good reason. Deep-set nearly black eyes looked out over prominent cheekbones and a hooked nose. Coupled with a bald pate and a cruel mouth, the face was one to give nightmares. It was also one easily disguised. That was one of the reasons Daremier was difficult to catch. The other was that he was cunningly ruthless. Nothing and no one stood in the way of his target. If the Skull had sent the note, Joanna was in danger.

“Do you think he’ll hurt her?” Allister asked with a mouth gone suddenly dry.

“Your bride-to-be?” Hastings returned, stroking his walrus mustache. “Doubtful. He generally hasn’t gone for revenge. The dastard’s too busy with his next operation.”

Allister glanced at his former supervisor. Hastings had been a senior agent at the time he had recruited Allister and Davis ten years ago. The offer had been made in this very office, as Allister stood on the same thick blue carpet, gazing across the heavy desk at the man behind it. Hastings had been trim and wiry then, an intense light burning behind his deep-set brown eyes. Now his thick short-cropped hair was a solid iron gray, as was his mustache. Lines etched his eyes and mobile mouth. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his energy. Hastings was efficient to a fault. Allister had never before had cause to question him. He felt a little guilty doing so now, but he had to know the worst of it.

“Do we know where Daremier is?” he pressed, unwilling to accept an easy solution to the problem of the note. He’d followed the Skull too long; there were too many grudges, on both sides. “Has he been sighted in England?”

“Not recently,” Hastings confirmed. “But that means nothing. We seldom know where the fellow is going to strike until he’s gone and struck.”

Allister’s eyes narrowed. “True. So, instead of trying to find him, why don’t we get him to come to us?”

“A trap?” Hastings shrugged in his well-fitted blue coat. “We’ve tried before. He wasn’t interested in those counterfeit battle plans we hid so well. Lady de Renard wouldn’t let us use the Sebastien diamonds.”

“Ah,” Allister said, “but we have something he wants far more than Wellington’s battle plans or the biggest diamonds in France.”

Hastings frowned. “What?”

Allister smiled tightly. “Me.”

Hastings’ frown deepened, and he eyed Allister thoughtfully. “You love her that much, do you?”

Allister paused. Only the previous day he had been thinking his love was not deep enough for a true marriage. Even now, he could not deny that his reasons for wanting to catch the French spy had just as much to do with their long history as his devotion to Joanna.

Hastings obviously took his silence for agreement. “He won’t spare you if you go in unarmed,” he warned. “We may catch him, but we’d certainly lose you. I can’t take that chance with your life. Let’s give the lads a few more days. We don’t even know he’s in England.”

“Someone sent that note,” Allister reminded him. “And I won’t rest until he’s uncovered and stopped.”

He was soon to know the truth of that statement. He had always been a light sleeper, a fact that had saved his life more than once. Yet, despite his sometimes dangerous circumstances, he had never had nightmares. Dreams, certainly, but nothing that made him wake up at all concerned. It was as if his mind knew, even asleep, that he had done the best he could.

That night was horrifying. In dream after dream he tried for something he could not attain. Once it was Davis who had fallen out the smuggler’s boat they used to cross to France. He watched, helpless, as his friend was swept away by an angry sea. Another time it was his father and mother, who had died of the influenza when he was in college. In the dream they stood behind bars and pleaded with him to release them. But the worst dream involved Joanna. In it, he saw the Skull holding her at knife-point and laughing as he plunged the dagger into her heart. The betrayal in her eyes haunted Allister even after he jerked awake, crying her name.

He barreled into the War Office the next day, ready to battle anyone who disagreed with his ideas about capturing the Skull. He was disappointed to find that Lord Hastings was out, and Davis was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, he poured over the reports of the last few encounters with Daremier, groaning aloud when he saw how easily the fellow evaded them. Why had he thought he could simply retire from all this? Even if he could have quelled the pounding of his pulse, he could not deny that Daremier had to be stopped.