How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (24 page)

He didn't answer because he had trouble believing it. She knew it, too, and her gaze grew so bleak that his heart seemed to stutter.

“But you didn't trust me—again,” she said in that same lifeless tone.

“Evie—”

“Tell me something,” she ruthlessly cut in. “Is what is happening between us simply a means to an end? A way to complete your mission and gain your dear father's support? Because if you succeed, you'll be a hero, and that should greatly advance you in his good graces—perhaps even win you a knighthood.”

The cynical question, which seemed so wrong coming from her sweet lips, made something inside Will twist into a dark, ugly shape. He stalked over to her chair and gripped her shoulders, lifting her straight out of her seat.

“You couldn't be more wrong,” he growled. “Marrying you will not help gain my father's patronage or advance my career. You are—or were—involved with a man suspected of treason, which is hardly a point in your favor. And as you so trenchantly noted yourself only a few days ago, your dowry is merely adequate, and you have no social influence to speak of. My father specifically warned me away from you, so if you want to know why I'm marrying you, it certainly has nothing to do with currying favor with him or anyone else.”

By the time he finished his tirade, her face had flushed a healthy pink and her eyes were sparking with fury. He belatedly realized that he'd done nothing but insult her rather than convince her that his mission had nothing to do with their impending marriage.

She stood as rigid as a block of stone under his hands. “How unfortunate for you, then, that we were discovered the other night in such embarrassing circumstances. But not to worry, William, since I release you from any obligation to me. God knows we wouldn't want to disappoint your esteemed father.”

Her words were caustic, but he could see the anguish in her eyes. He'd failed her in every way possible, and likely destroyed his mission, too.

“Evie, that's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Then perhaps you'd better clearly explain why you want to marry me.”

He pressed his fingertips into her shoulders, willing her with all his might to understand. “Why do you think, my sweet goose? Because I want to take care of you, and protect you. You're the most important thing in the world to me, and—”

She whipped her hands up to his chest and shoved him hard. He wasn't expecting it, so he staggered a bit, losing his grip on her shoulders.

“Oh, get off me, you big oaf,” she yelled. “I don't want to hear any more of your empty promises.”

Then she twisted sideways, escaping from his grasp. She darted from the room and clattered into the hall, running at full speed.

“Goddamn it, Evie,” he yelled. “Wait for me.”

Knowing she wouldn't, Will snatched up the packet of letters and raced after her.

Will jogged down the steps of the Reese town house and climbed into Alec's waiting curricle with a muttered oath. It seemed he'd been cursing nonstop since his argument with Evie, and the stream appeared likely to continue unabated today.

“Let me guess,” Alec said as he started the horses down Hereford Street. “Miss Whitney declined to wait for you and has already departed for St. Margaret's.”

“Along with her devil twin. I'd like to lock them in their rooms for a month.” Will pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, which felt like they'd been scrubbed with sand. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent night's sleep. “I suppose it was entirely predictable.”

After catching up with his reluctant fiancée halfway down Monmouth Street last night, Will had hailed a hackney and hustled her into it, crowding her so thoroughly she had no chance to escape.

Naturally, their argument had continued, since she'd truly wound herself up in the two minutes it had taken him to run her to ground. She'd shredded his manners, his morals, and his intentions toward her, one moment threatening to box his ears and the next bursting into tears. That had been the worst part, but when he'd put his arms around her to console her, she'd kicked him in the shins. It had hurt, too, because she'd worn a sturdy pair of boots. The hackney driver had clearly thought they were killing each other, since he'd stopped the coach, pulled open the door, and threatened to throw them out into the middle of Oxford Street.

Fortunately, that had taken some of the wind out of her sails, after which Will had done his best to talk sense into her. He'd told her that he had no intention of turning over the evidence against Beaumont until he'd had a chance to speak with him. He'd also invited her to join him when he questioned Beaumont, which calmed her even more.

By that point, he'd concluded he had no choice but to speak with the man. Short of locking Evie in her room—and Will was tempted to do so—there was simply no way he could prevent her from telling Beaumont everything. She believed in the man's innocence and would consider herself duty-bound to warn him. It stuck in Will's craw that she didn't trust him enough to let him handle the situation, but he supposed he couldn't blame her. He couldn't help reflecting that it had been a poor start to a life of wedded bliss.

Provided that Evie still intended to marry him.

After Will extracted her unwilling cooperation, Evie had fallen into resentful silence for the remainder of the carriage ride. He'd tried again to apologize for not telling the truth to begin with, but she'd stuck her fingers in her ears and refused to listen to him. Though he'd been tempted to laugh, he'd known that would be ill-received, too.

When they'd finally reached their destination, she'd allowed him to hand her down from the hackney. She'd then stalked up the steps to her parents' house, used her key to open the door, and tried to slam it in his face. He'd barely managed to insert his foot before the door shut.

“Evie,” he'd said in a stern voice as she glared back at him. “I will pick you up tomorrow morning. Do not leave the house until I arrive, or I will be forced to tell your father about our suspicions regarding the Hibernian Association.”

He'd had no intention of doing that, of course, but figured the threat would keep her in line. Evie had turned her back on him and marched off, leaving a startled footman to scurry forward to shut the door. Wondering how he'd managed to create such a cock-up, Will had returned to his apartments and downed an exceedingly large brandy, which no doubt accounted for his headache this morning.

“Entirely predictable,” Alec replied in a loathsomely cheerful voice. “And no doubt the Whitney girls have apprised Beaumont of everything, and with a high degree of exaggeration and color. I foresee an entertaining meeting.”

“It won't be very entertaining if we don't manage to snuff out this plot,” Will said. “Aden sent me a message this morning. My father is growing impatient.”

Alec grimaced as he wheeled his pair onto Park Lane. “You're right about that, laddie. I can't decide whether to wish for Beaumont's guilt so we can finally nail down a promising lead or hope for his innocence.”

Will crossed his arms over his chest and simply grunted in reply. He'd finally come to the conclusion that he, too, hoped Beaumont was innocent, for Evie's sake. If he was guilty she would be devastated by his betrayal, and by the fact that she'd been unwittingly used to foment sedition.

Of course, if Beaumont was innocent, Evie's anger would land squarely on Will, and he worried that their relationship would never recover. She'd probably break their engagement and do her level best to talk Beaumont into forgiving her. After last night, Will had no intention of allowing that to happen. Evie now belonged to him, and he'd make that fact abundantly clear to Beaumont, her family, the duke, and anyone else who needed to have the situation explained.

First things first, though. Aden's note this morning had outlined that it wasn't simply the Duke of York's impatience they needed to be concerned about. All indications from their Dublin sources were that the assassination attempt was imminent, possibly even within the next week. Time was running out and frustrations within the Intelligence Service and the government were rising. Agents were scouring the stews of London for information, particularly in the immigrant communities of St. Giles and Whitechapel. But without more concrete information, the search was all but useless.

After all, it wasn't called
intelligence work
by chance. One needed specifics, and guesswork rarely sufficed.

They took Oxford Street to Broad, and a short time later pulled into the yard behind St. Margaret's. Someone had obviously been keeping an eye out for them, because the carriage had barely pulled to a halt before the two young lads who'd taken care of the curricle a few days ago came dashing out the door.

Only this time they weren't smiling. The boys gave respectful tugs of their caps—and of course took Alec's money—but their little faces were grimly set and they looked much older than their years.

Alec glanced over his shoulder as he and Will headed to the door. “Are they trustworthy? They look none too happy to see us.”

Will nodded. “I expect no one will be happy to see us, but your cattle will be fine.”

But at this point, he wouldn't care if the urchins took the horses out for a joyride around the city. He needed to see Evie and prove to her that he wasn't the bastard—figuratively—that she thought he was. Never had he taken less satisfaction in a mission, and he mentally cursed his father for putting him in so untenable a situation.

Silence greeted them when they entered the building, and no one waited to escort them. Will led the way to the parlor, taking the half-open door as an invitation to enter.

He paused for a moment at the threshold, taking in the sight of the neat, empty room where he and Evie had made love only a few hours ago. His gaze jumped to the low chaise by the empty fireplace grate, and the image of her luscious body straddling him, arched in passion, made his teeth clench.

He forced his mind to focus. There were already too many emotional distractions on this mission, and having sex with Evie was the last thing he should be thinking about now.

When Beaumont appeared in the doorway of his office, it killed any lingering effects of last night's sensual encounter.

“Gentlemen,” he said in a somber tone, “please come in.”

Will nodded but didn't waste time on social pleasantries. He had to give Beaumont credit. He looked pale and tired and his brow was creased with worry, but he still nodded graciously to both Will and Alec as he ushered them into the room.

Beaumont returned to his seat behind the desk. Evie and Eden glared up at Will and Alec from the two chairs in front of it. The room was small to begin with, and Will supposed one could argue there was no room for additional seating. But he felt relatively certain that a tactical decision had been made to leave them standing.

From the stubbornly determined look on Evie's face, Will sensed that she'd made that decision, and that would suggest they were going to war.

Will crowded Alec over so he could close the door. Alec took in the phalanx of resentful stares, and shrugged before propping his shoulders against the wall.

“So sorry you have to stand,” Eden said in a mocking voice. “But perhaps it will help keep this meeting as brief as possible.”

“Och, lassie, no chance of that,” Alec said with a cheerful smile. “And you're not sorry at all, now, are you?”

Eden scowled and started to retort, but Will cut her off.

“Good morning, Evie,” he said in a quiet voice. “I'm sorry you didn't wait for me as I asked.”

She raised an imperious eyebrow, though it was obvious how rattled and upset she was. Her bonnet sat rather askew, the ribbon tied in a lopsided bow, and it looked like she'd grabbed the first dress that had come to hand. Lady Reese would have shrieked to see her wearing that faded blue gown outside the house. A green shawl that clashed with the dress was tossed carelessly over her shoulders, and her gloved hands held her reticule in a death grip.

Her face made his heart contract with worry and regret—cheeks pale, eyes weary and haunted-looking. He could tell she struggled to keep her lips from trembling. Still, she made a valiant show of strength.

“I do not answer to you, Captain Endicott,” she said in a sharp voice. “I needed to speak to Michael before you started tossing around unwarranted accusations.”

Will nodded. “Since you have apprised Mr. Beaumont of at least some of the facts, we might as well get started.”

He took a step toward the desk so that he loomed over the man seated behind it. When Beaumont shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room, Will's hopes for his innocence sank. Perhaps the man wasn't guilty of treason, but he was clearly hiding something.

“Mr. Beaumont,” he began, “the Crown has reason to believe that you are involved in a plot that would see the assassination of one, or possibly more, high-ranking members of government. That being the case, Captain Gilbride and I need you to answer some questions.”

That brought Beaumont's head up, and this time he met Will's with steadfast defiance. “And if I do not answer those questions to your satisfaction, Captain Endicott? Will you have me arrested?”

Evie let out a gasp, smothered behind her hand. Eden patted her sister's arm and clucked that everything would be fine, an assertion belied by the daggers her eyes tossed at Will.

Will shook his head. “That is not my decision to make. But the evidence I found last night should have already been turned over to the appropriate authorities. We did not want to take that step, however, before speaking and hearing any explanation that could ameliorate our suspicions.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” Eden said sarcastically.

Evie threw her an impatient look. “Edie, hush. This is too serious for jokes.”

Her sister subsided with an apologetic grimace.

“Do you refer to the so-called evidence you took from my desk last night?” Beaumont challenged. “You had no right to invade my privacy, Endicott.”

“It was regrettable but necessary,” Will said.

Beaumont bristled. “My father will not—”

“Your father can bring his complaints to the prime minister or to Peel if he feels it necessary to do so,” Will cut in. He had no intention of letting Beaumont control the discussion. “Your correspondence with Daniel O'Connell clearly indicates your support for his particular brand of politics, and you've obviously been contributing funds to his
cause.
Would you care to explain where that money has been going?”

Beaumont's expression lightened. “Well, as to supporting my cousin's cause, as you term it—”

“That's how you term it as well,” Alec broke in. He and Will often double-teamed, since it was an effective technique for rattling a suspect or informant.

“For God's sake, let the man speak,” Eden snapped.

Evie cut her a sharp look but held her tongue. It appeared that the twins used much the same tactics in a difficult situation as he and Alec.

Beaumont threw Eden a grateful smile before continuing. “Very well, Captain Gilbride. I do support Mr. O'Connell's causes, both for breaking the Union and for Catholic emancipation.” He lifted a haughty brow. “I do not suppose it is illegal to express such opinions?”

“You do more than express opinions,” Will said. “You provide funding. Now, please tell me specifically what those funds are used for.”

“For completely legitimate purposes,” Beaumont said. “I gave Mr. O'Connell, as a friend and distant family member, a small loan to deal with the expenses he acquired in an, er, situation he encountered last month.”

“That would be the aborted duel between Peel and O'Connell,” Will said.

Beaumont paused, obviously startled. “Yes. There were financial costs for that affair, which, by the way, I am exceedingly happy did not come to fruition. Since O'Connell is not a rich man, I offered to assist him. He would only take a small loan, which I have no doubt he will pay back in full.”

“And the other sums, what were they used for?” Will was flying blind to a certain extent, not having seen Beaumont's financial records. But the man seemed willing to talk, at least for now.

“Primarily to support the work of this charity,” Beaumont said. “The situation in Ireland is dire for many Catholics, especially those in the rural areas. Between Peel's police force, which harasses and abuses locals, and the tenant laws, which lead to a disgraceful number of evictions of families without the means to support themselves, there are many who need our help. The funds that I provide—as do others sympathetic to our work—help us to bring many of those unfortunate families to England, where they may find opportunities.” Beaumont grimaced. “Naturally, it is not their first choice to leave the land of their birth, but what can they do? They either emigrate or starve in the hedgerows. And I can assure you that many already have.”