Be My Bride (24 page)

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” she replied with a smile. Why was it that one look from those deep blue eyes could send the worries flying from her mind, and another brought them crowding back? Before she could say more, her mother bustled back in, followed by their maid, footman, and butler, each carrying an armload of packages.

Joanna and Allister spent the next hour and a half opening presents. She was amazed and delighted with the variety and thoughtfulness of the gifts sent by friends and family. Aunt Seralyn had sent an ormolu clock that had belonged to their grandmother. Cousin Charles sent an enameled box lined in velvet for her rings. Allister’s cousin Justinian Darby, who studied literature at Oxford, sent a book of poetry.

“Love poetry,” Allister said with a wicked grin. “Just the thing for cold winter nights.”

Joanna wanted to return his teases, but her heart quailed. So many lovely gifts, so many heart-felt sentiments for her future. Would she have to send them all back?

At last all that remained was a single white box, about four inches square.

“Oh, dear,” her mother said with a frown. “We seem to have misplaced the card.”

Joanna glanced at the pile of crumpled wrapping at their feet. “In all this mess, it’s not surprising. Let me open it, Mother. Perhaps we’ll know who sent it by the contents.”

Her mother held out the box to her, but Allister neatly intercepted it.

“No, allow me,” he insisted quietly.

Joanna frowned at him. “Is something wrong, Allister?”

His smile was once more strained, though she thought someone else might not notice the tension. “No, not at all,” he assured her. “I’d simply like to open this one. Would you mind?”

“No, of course not,” she replied. She sat back, and he pulled the box to him. But, instead of opening it, he stood and carried it to the window.

“Allister?” Joanna asked.

“I need a little more light,” he explained.

She exchanged glances with her mother. Lady Lindby shrugged indulgently, as if it were only to be expected for a prospective groom to act strangely. Joanna glanced back at Allister. He stood staring down at the box, brow wrinkled, as if he could see the contents simply by staring hard enough. He must have caught her puzzled frown, for he turned his back on her. The faintest of ripples in his well-tailored coat told her he had flung off the lid. He stiffened. Before she could ask what it was, he whirled.

“This is from one of my relatives,” he announced. “A personal gift. I’ll acknowledge it myself. Were there any others, Lady Lindby?”

“No, that’s the lot,” her mother replied with a sigh of relief. “Though I expect to see quite a few more before the big day.”

“I’d like to help open those as well,” Allister told her. “It’s very important to me to be part of these preparations.”

Her mother blinked at his firm tone. “Well, certainly. You are the groom.”

Something was wrong. Joanna could feel it. “Mother,” she interrupted, “may I have a few moments alone with Allister?”

Her mother rose gracefully. “Of course, dear. My mother arranged my wedding once. I remember how it feels. See you tomorrow, my lord.”

Allister bowed. “Good day, Lady Lindby.”

As soon as her mother was out of the room, Joanna rounded on him. “What happened, Allister?” she demanded. “What’s in that box?”

He glanced down at the relidded box as if surprised he still held it. “This? I told you, it is a personal gift from my family.”

“I certainly hope you lied better than that when you worked in the War Office,” Joanna informed him.

He raised an eyebrow. “My dear Joanna, whatever makes you think I’m lying?”

“Is it a game you want?” she demanded, fury rising at his unwillingness to be honest with her. “Very well, I can play this, I believe. I think you are lying, my lord, for several reasons. First, you didn’t care about who opened what until we reached that box. Second, you have precious few family members and we’ve already opened the presents from the Darbys, so that excuse doesn’t wash either. Third, I can feel the tension in you. Now, will you just confess so we can get on with this?”

He frowned. “I can see how you might have been misled. I wanted to open the package because I thought you might be tiring. And I have other family members outside the Darbys. I’ve told some of them about the wedding, so it isn’t surprising they might want to send a gift before receiving the invitation. And the only tension you feel is embarrassment that I continually forget to give your mother the names of those family members so she can send an official announcement. You should have more faith in me, Joanna.”

“No, Allister,” she replied, stung. “You should have more faith in me. I think it bodes little good for our marriage if you are hiding things from me.”

He was silent for a moment. “Am I not allowed to protect you?” he asked quietly.

“Where I cannot do so myself, certainly. But please do me the courtesy of letting me determine when that is needed.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

“Good,” she said, rising. She held out her hand. “Now, show me what’s in the box, Allister.”

Chapter Six

Allister held the box to his chest. His beautiful courageous, headstrong bride-to-be gazed up at him in challenge. Every fiber of his being cried out to protect her.

“I’d rather not,” he murmured.

She bristled.

“I’ll simply tell you,” he continued quickly. “It’s a dead bug.”

She blinked. “A dead bug?”

“Yes.” He watched for her reaction, expecting cries of alarm, demands for smelling salts. She merely frowned.

“I don’t understand. Why would someone send us a dead bug for our wedding?”

He shoved the box behind him. “I have no idea.”

“Incredibly poor taste,” she went on. “Quite tacky. One could almost take it as a bad omen. Oh!”

Her startled gaze met his, and he knew she had reached the same conclusion. He stepped to her side.

“Don’t let it upset you,” he cautioned. “Perhaps it’s simply poor taste, as you said.”

“Let me see it,” she demanded. “And we’ll see exactly how bad this taste is.”

“I’d rather not,” he repeated. “I’d like to take it to the War Office, see if anyone there can make sense of it.”

She paled. “You think it’s from the one who wrote the note?”

“Possibly,” he replied. “Let me handle this, Joanna. Just go about the wedding preparations as if nothing happened.” He offered her an encouraging smile, but her gaze when it met his was implacable.

“Nothing
has
happened,” she answered him. “I don’t like this business Allister, but I don’t intend to let it come between us.”

“That’s my girl,” he replied heartily.

* * * *

Allister only wished he felt so confident as he took a hack back to the War Office that afternoon. In truth, finding the insect in the box had unnerved him. That Daremier could get so close to Joanna undetected was unthinkable. There had to be something he could do to stop the villain.

To his surprise, Lord Hastings had other ideas.

“You’re not thinking clearly, my lad,” his superior maintained when Allister proposed flushing out the French spy again. “You’re entirely too involved.”

“When have you known me to lack in judgment?” Allister countered. “You all keep saying I’m the best man you have. For God’s sake, put me to work!”

Lord Hastings shook his head from where he sat behind the walnut desk. “You
were
the best man I had. Two things changed that. One – you retired. I know from experience that when a chap feels it’s time to quit the Service, he’s generally right. Two – you can’t see beyond Joanna Lindby’s pretty face. Sorry, Trevithan. Let the other fellows handle this one.”

“But they aren’t handling it,” Allister protested. He yanked the box from his pocket and threw it on the desk. “Look at that.”

Frowning, Hastings drew the box to him. He smoothed his palms down his bottle green coat, then carefully lifted the lid and peered in. His short nose wrinkled in obvious distaste.

“Nasty looking thing,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

“That was delivered to Joanna Lindby,” Allister told him, “as a wedding present.”

Hastings glanced up at him and back down at the insect. “I take it you see something evil in that?”

“Don’t you?” Allister demanded. “A bug with a jeweled pin through its back? Doesn’t that strike you as a rather menacing wedding present?”

“Strikes me as a damn queer wedding present,” the marquis replied. He leaned back in his chair and eyed Allister. “However, it also strikes me as just the sort of creepy joke the Skull would pull.”

“Exactly,” Allister proclaimed. “If he can bring this to Joanna’s house, she can’t be safe.”

Hastings stroked his mustache. “I could give her a bodyguard. Would that help?”

“Frankly, old man,” Allister replied with relief, “I’d be indebted to you.”

Hastings rose. “Good enough then. I’ll have someone at the house day and night. I take it you’ll clear that with Lady Lindby and your intended?”

Allister paused. “Must I? I’d prefer they didn’t know. I don’t want to worry them.”

“Dashed hard to protect someone who doesn’t know they need protecting,” Hastings complained. “What do you want the fellows to do, loiter in the street? Won’t that just tip off the Skull nicely?”

“You have a point,” Allister acknowledged. He thought for a moment. Joanna had been through enough already. He hated to see her locked into having a strange man follow her about. But perhaps it didn’t need to be a stranger. He met Hastings’ frown.

“I have it. Davis can be your man during the day, and I’ll watch at night.”

“I’ve already told you you’re disqualified,” Hastings replied. “Besides, I can’t imagine Lady Lindby liking having her future son-in-law staying the night. People will talk.”

Before Allister could counter, someone knocked at the door. Hastings barked a command to enter, and Allister stepped aside and turned. The thick walnut door opened to admit Davis. Seeing Allister in front of the desk, he hesitated, then he squared the shoulders of his brown coat and moved into the room.

“Lord Hastings,” he greeted with a bow. “Lord Trevithan. I didn’t intend to interrupt.”

“Quite timely, actually,” their employer replied. “Seems the Skull has contacted Joanna Lindby.”

“What!” Davis cried, rushing forward. “When? Where? Is she all right?”

Allister eyed his friend. After working with Davis for ten years, he knew his temper and responses well. Davis was cool under fire. Little rattled him. That he would so explode now could only mean something was up. Hastings must have wondered at the outburst as well, for he raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair again.

“Do you have something to contribute to this discussion, Mr. Laughton?” he asked.

Davis glanced between the two of them. He stood a little taller. “Yes, sir, I do. I was making my usual rounds in London, checking my sources . . .”.

“And how is that new opera dancer at the Garden?” Hastings inquired dryly.

Davis had obviously regained his composure for he did not so much as flinch. “Ready to do her duty for England, my lord. May I continue?”

“Certainly.” Hastings waved him on expansively.

“Thank you. As I was saying, I checked my sources to see whether any of them had heard about the Skull being in England.”

“And what did you learn?” Allister demanded.

Davis met his frustrated gaze. “Brace yourself, old man. He got in two days ago.”

Allister stiffened. Some part of him had hoped he was wrong, that he’d somehow inflated the events of the last two days all out of proportion. But it was true. The Skull was in London.

He waited for the shiver of anticipation to snake down his spine as it usually did when he had to match wits with the master spy. Instead, a heavy cold settled in his chest.

Joanna was in danger.

He could lose her.

“Did you hear me, Trev?” Davis probed. “I said you were right – The Skull is in London. We must stop him before he acts.”

“Bit late for that, I’m afraid,” Hastings put in. He poked the box across his desk with a thick finger. “Look at this, Laughton. Tell me what you make of it.”

Davis frowned, glancing into the box. Then he looked up first at his employer and then at Allister, eyes clouded in obvious confusion.

“It appears to be a scarab beetle,” he replied. “Late Egyptian period, if I remember correctly from my studies at Oxford. Lord Elgin has several in his collection, as does Eugennia Welch. Someone steal one?”

Allister stepped forward to peer into the box even as Lord Hastings bent nearer as well.

“Egyptian, you say?” the marquis asked with a frown.

“In your opinion, Davy,” Allister murmured, mind sifting through possibilities, “would someone give this as a wedding present?”

Davis shrugged. “Bit pricey and somewhat fussy, but I believe the creatures were considered good luck, so it is possible.” He stiffened. “Good God, are you saying someone sent this to Miss Lindby?”

Allister nodded. “It was in with the other wedding gifts. There was no tag.”

Davis pursed his lips. “And you think it was from the Skull?”

“It is rather like his usual tricks,” Hastings reminded him. “Remember the funeral wreath he sent to Lord Michman the day before he assassinated the fellow? Devilish sense of humor. But if the ugly thing is valuable, it does seem less likely. Still want to go through with your bodyguard idea, Trevithan?”

Allister shook his head. “No, my lord. Given Mr. Laughton’s report, I return to my earlier suggestion. We should try to capture the blackguard.”

“Let’s not start that again,” Hastings grumbled. “I will not use you as bait.”

“I agree,” Davis put in even as Allister opened his mouth to protest. “Sorry, old man, but if you’re right, I’m not sure you’d make such a good target. And I’d prefer to have you at my side.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Allister asked.

“I think we should use something flashier.”

“What would that be?” Hastings demanded.

“I suggest,” Davis said, widening the distance between himself and Allister, “that the best bait would be Joanna Lindby.”