What the Marquess Sees (2 page)

Squeak…

La, the telltale creak of a squeaky floorboard in the hall sounded like a cannon going off inside the quiet house. But wasn’t that always the case when one was up to no good? Everything sounded louder to a sneak’s ear.

Bea wasted little time; she dashed behind a nearby screen…just in time.

Through the cracks between the panels, she watched as the door opened as if by magic. Of course, the door wasn’t enchanted, but it wasn’t someone in the family or a servant opening it, either. Everyone in Beckett House knew about that squeaky floorboard for they risked the wrath of the earl whenever they tread upon it, accident or not.

The accompanying “Shite,” muttered in a low, deep, and recognizable voice was another giveaway.

Bea’s heart picked up its pace, and a low hum sounded in her ears. She took a few slow, deep breaths to calm her heart and subdue her anxiety. Allowing herself to become flustered would not help the situation.

The disembodied voice, though hushed, was decidedly familiar…

No. It couldn’t be? Could it?

The intruder peeked around the door and surveyed the room on a quick glance.

Shite
—to use his phrase—
yes. It most definitely was.

Dansbury. The Marquess of Dansbury, Clifford Ross, entered the room and carefully shut the door. Bea fell back against the wall and beseeched the ceiling.

Of all the people it could possibly be, why, oh, why did it have to be him?

She shook off the pointless thought, straightened, and peeked through the gaps again. Bea’s heart now thundered in her chest. God, he was big. He was blond. He was absolutely beautiful. She felt a pang at the sight of him standing there, hands on his hips, studying the room. He would never be hers, and oh, didn’t she know it.

Yea, she knew it well. He was everything good, and she was…well, she was who she was…

She watched him for a while as he searched the room with efficient and thorough care. Lord, this could be awhile. She imagined herself sitting back in a chair—behind the screen of course—with a book and a brandy while she waited for him to finish. Maybe she’d even smoke a cigar. She almost snorted out loud at the fanciful image. Almost.

But what would she do once he reached the screen? There was no way he wouldn’t look behind it and miss her standing there, hiding in the corner.

She could just imagine the scene: He’d be rude. As usual. She’d be rude in return. As expected. It was the way of things; the very fabric of their lives.

She anticipated her discovery, and her heart burned at the thought. She involuntarily rubbed her chest. She debated relieving her anxiety now by simply making her presence known. Why wait for the inevitable?

“Can you believe the earl ate seven eggs an’ an entire loaf of bread on his own this morn’?” came a muffled voice from the hall outside the door.

“Cor,” came an equally muffled reply.

“Heard it from the head footman, meself.”

Great
. A pair of maids conversed as they passed by in the hall. They were loud, which was why Bea could hear them despite the closed door.
Ha
. They must not realize she’d remained behind and were taking advantage of the family’s absence by forgetting their place. Typical.

Dansbury heard the commotion as well and dashed to the wall behind the door. He trained his eyes on the knob, likely waiting for it to turn. Bea took that opportunity to leave her hiding spot and slip behind the curtains. He’d already checked the drapes; likely he wouldn’t look again. He was too focused on the door and did not expect someone else in the room; thus, she made it to her new spot without attracting his notice.

Was that a slight twinge of disappointment she felt?

La, he was gloriously handsome…What woman wouldn’t relish an encounter? Even if he would be regarding her with pure disdain and anger dripping from his lips. And why should it matter? She’d be marrying his best friend, the Duke of Stonebridge, in a matter of days. Never mind that the duke was a stodgy man for someone of only thirty-odd years who didn’t want to marry her either. But she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Neither did the duke.

“And did you see Lady Beatryce…”

Bea took a chance and peered around the drapes. The maid’s voice trailed off as they moved out of hearing distance. Dansbury had already moved on; he was studying the rug.

Aha! The rug. She’d never thought to look under there. Perhaps, there was a secret compartment beneath the floor?

Dansbury turned to move, and Bea ducked back behind the curtains. A cloud of dust was released with her movement. She started to sneeze, but caught it at the last minute. She held her nose and her eyes watered. La, she wanted nothing more than to force it out. Holding it in was always worse…made one’s nose itch and feel…unfulfilled.

She shook off her wandering thoughts and listened to Dansbury search the room; her mind picturing the sight. His form-fitting coat would be stretched to the limits across those broad shoulders. His muscles would flex in his thighs as he bent over. His arse…

Zounds
. Bea fanned her heated face. Oh, she wished she could chance it and watch, but then, as soon as he turned to search the screen, he’d see her peeking out amid the drapes. She couldn’t risk it.

He was moving progressively closer, though she had to strain to hear that much. He was silent; as if he’d done this sort of thing many times before. She had long suspected he worked for the Crown in some secret capacity. His actions today only reinforced that idea.

And damn, but he was being thorough. She would give anything to sit on the floor and have a cup of tea, or better yet, that brandy, while she settled in for what was sure to be an interminable wait. She imagined asking him to hand her a book to read while she waited—and nearly laughed out loud again.

She heard his foot step off the rug. He was headed for the screen now; which was near the window. Bea held her breath.

Surely, he could hear her heart booming in her chest? It was so loud, she could no longer hear him move. It sounded like soldiers marching in her ears. She wanted to look, yet she couldn’t afford the risk. She was committed to staying hidden now, and the thought of success tasted sweet on her tongue. La, how she would love to gloat over the fact; tell him to his face that he, a man noted for his powers of observation, had completely missed her presence in the room.

After what felt like ten years of her life, he finally left. She only just heard the click of the study door as it closed. He’d barely made a sound, and she’d been too afraid to press her luck with another peek. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen asleep and completely given herself away with a loud snore. Wouldn’t that have been a sight?

“Oh, Dansbury. Fancy meeting you here,” she said in her haughtiest voice. She was good at pretentious.

“Why yes, Lady Bea, what are the chances?” she said in her best imitation Dansbury voice.

She snickered and shook off her wandering thoughts, again.

She bolted from her hiding spot, confident he’d gone. She walked around the desk and looked down at the Aubusson rug. Time to finish her own search.

Hmmm…

She noticed a freestanding globe on one corner of the rug. It had been moved recently, as there were depressions in the carpet where it normally stood. She didn’t think Dansbury had moved it, he would have been precise when repositioning it. She only just noticed the clue herself. One could only see the signs when viewed from a certain angle, and she happened to be standing in just the right spot.

She set the key on the desk and approached the globe. It didn’t look too substantial. She pulled and eventually dragged the globe off the rug. It required both hands. Then, she set to work on the carpet. She needed to look underneath, and the rug was sure to be heavy. Actually, she could use Dansbury’s help about now. She chuckled at the thought of calling him back and asking him to lend a hand.

“Oh, Cliff, would you mind giving me a hand here? I need to look under this rug and see if Father is up to something nefarious?” she said in her pretend innocence voice.

“Why sure, Lady Beatryce, why don’t we make love on the floor while we’re at it,” she added in her finest virile Dansbury voice. She found it difficult not to laugh while she said it though.

She managed the task on her own, after all, using her body to keep the rug from falling back into place as she slowly rolled one end.

Aha
. There, in the floor, was a loose board; it was…off kilter.
Hmmm
. She studied it with growing excitement. This was a puzzle, and she was good at puzzles. She laid on her stomach and attempted to pry up the board. It didn’t budge. La, there must be some sort of release. She squirmed on the floor as she felt around for some other obvious disparity.

In her struggles, her foot kicked something behind her, and she heard a satisfying click. She looked up, rather than at her feet, and smiled at the peculiar board now lifted slightly higher than the others.

It was pure, dumb luck, but she’d take it. Well, part skill, part luck if she did say so herself.

Bea pulled up the board and several around it. What a clever hiding place! And surprising. Father? Not bloody likely. Someone else must have installed it.

After a wide enough hole was revealed in the floor, Bea reached in and felt around.

A box!
Ha!

She pulled the box out and inspected the lid. There, in the midst of intricate carvings, was a key hole. Bea jumped up and retrieved the key from the table. She opened the box with baited breath. What would be inside? Her hands shook with her exhilaration.

She opened the lid to find all sorts of papers tucked inside. She pulled out the one on top and read.

Well, well, well. Look what Father’s been up to…

She pulled out and scanned the next one.

Oh, Father, you are a bad, bad man…

She scanned another.

La, this is serious. Shite. If anyone found out she knew…

Panic set in and Beatryce hastened to return everything and put the room back to rights.

She had to think.

She had to plan.

How could she use this information? How could she protect herself? Who could she tell?

* * * *

Dansbury escorted Miss Grace Radclyffe from Beckett House and into his waiting carriage. The carriage creaked and groaned as he climbed inside, grating on his nerves. He was more than a little frustrated; his search of Beckett House had turned up nothing. Absolutely naught. It was deuced frustrating. Earl Swindon was not a clever man, but somehow, he’d managed to be brilliant when it came to hiding the evidence of his numerous misdeeds.

After settling inside his conveyance and rapping on the roof to alert his driver that they were ready to depart, he turned to his companion with a pensive air. “Miss Grace Radclyffe, your uncle is a very strange man.” An understatement. “I’m glad you are no longer living beneath his roof.”

“As am I. I cannot thank you enough for that.”

“Love, no thanks are necessary. It is I who should be thanking you for keeping the servants occupied while I searched the house. It was brave of you. And very helpful.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that question?” He answered with a grin.

“I suppose, but I’m impatient and decidedly curious.”

“Of course you are. Alas, I’m afraid I didn’t find a thing.”

“Well, then. I suppose that makes one of us.”

He laughed, but his mirth was cut short. “Wait a minute…You did?” Curious. He couldn’t help but be surprised at her confession. He never really expected something to be hiding in the main drawing room of the home where anyone…such as the Duke of Stonebridge, perhaps…might see it. Swindon was a fool.

Grace grinned and nodded her head yes with a rapid bounce of her head. She was like a kid with a plate of sweet pies; her eyes were lit with joyful glee and her grin stretched from ear to ear. She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small, wooden box.

She handed it over to him. “I found this.”

He took it and held it up to the light coming in from the carriage window. He turned it back and forth, noting the intricate carvings on every side. It looked to be made of oak and stained with a dark, almost ebony, stain. But on the lid, the center medallion was of a much lighter, reddish stain. And in the middle of that, the lid had been burned with a symbol—one he had seen too many times in the past…Two letters, a swirly P and an E, were entwined together making up the branches of an oak tree. It was the symbol for the Society of the Purification of England. Sure, the box was circumstantial evidence at best, but it was a damning piece against the earl.

The Secret Society of the Purification of England’s membership was made up of conservative aristocrats who wanted to purge England of all immigrants or people of mixed blood, particularly Irishmen…thereby purifying the blood of all its citizens. These men were dangerous, powerful, and willing to do anything to see their aims realized. Murder. Treason. Hell, they were even willing to work with the enemy so long as their goals coincided.

“Does it mean anything?”

Dansbury smiled and reached over to give Grace a hug. She was sweet and warm. Kind. She felt like home. “Yes, sweet. It means everything. Thank you. You’ve been more useful than I this day, I daresay.”

Now, he just hoped Ambrose Langtry, the Duke of Stonebridge, wouldn’t kill him for putting his woman in danger. Or Grace would be his woman if Ambrose would finally get his head out of his arse and realize that fact. Incredibly, the man was still planning to marry Lady Beatryce Beckett over some misplaced sense of honor.

Still, he suspected Ambrose wouldn’t be happy to learn of Grace’s involvement today. He and Ambrose never did see eye to eye on the acceptable risks in pursuit of justice. Ambrose drew the line at putting friends in danger, even if it meant their suspect would escape capture.

Cliff, on the other hand, was relentless when it came to seeking the truth. He’d been ingrained with it since birth…a gift from his mother who’d always been passionate about ensuring justice at all costs. True, at times, those costs weighed heavy on a man. But the end result…truth and justice and safety for the masses, along with the proper atonement…made those sacrifices bearable.