Unmasked by her Lover, page 20
Barden blinked. “But that would be vulgar,” he said gently.
“Hmm.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “Think about it. And I shall consider your proposal, as shall my father.”
“I do need an answer quickly,” Barden said.
“You shall have it by tomorrow morning.” Lady Meg curtsied to her bemused father and walked to the door without looking back.
*
Meg was shaking with fury as she stormed away from the library and across the hall, her one desire to get out into the fresh air to be clear of the roof that also sheltered Barden. Only as she bolted out of the side door near the maze did she realize it was raining. She stopped dead, staring up at the sky, letting the water splash on her face, until an unseen hand pulled her back inside.
“Harry,” she breathed, clutching him as though he were her only salvation.
He held her tightly, rocking her, his cheek pressed to hers. After a few moments, she relaxed and smiled, inhaling the warm, fresh scent of his skin, letting the memory of last night’s intimacy wash away Barden’s vileness.
“You saw him?”
She nodded. Loving the feel of her skin brushing against his, she kissed the side of his ear.
Although his breath caught, he said, “They did not leave you alone with him, did they? I know Johnny followed your father into the library.”
“No, they stayed. But, oh, Harry, he is a snake,” she said intensely. “He wants to marry me as a cover to hide the money he would extort from my father to kill this scandal. Apparently, I need not concern myself about you, for after I have given him an heir, he will be a complacent husband!”
“He will never lay a finger on you,” Harry promised. “Nor will he keep us apart.”
“But I could see it in my father’s eyes,” she said, drawing back to look into his face, willing him to understand. “Wondering if it would be best for all of us to go along with him.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him he should ask for the money without me since that was the transaction he really wanted. He claimed it vulgar. That is vulgar!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said firmly. “It will not happen. The scandal will die in the open, Barden will be exposed, and he will never hurt you or your family or anyone else ever again.”
With the sound of approaching footsteps, Meg remembered they were standing in the passage just inside the side door, where anyone could see them, and pulled reluctantly away from him.
“There’s more,” he said as a maid hurried past from the direction of the kitchen. “But we can’t talk here. Later, at our meeting. I’ve asked Aline to come, too.”
It seemed her ashamed jealousy of Aline had vanished with the assurance of Harry’s single-minded love, for she could only be pleased. “She will be a useful asset to the cause.”
“You have no idea,” Harry murmured with a hint of grimness.
Chapter Twenty
Barden was not displeased by his interview with Meg Winter and her father. His task for tonight was to show Meg how congenial he could be and what a tolerable husband he would make, even for a girl whose heart was given to another. After all, who wished to be shunned by society? Merely for a love she could indulge in a year or two if she still wished. In Barden’s experience, such feelings never lasted. He did not even wonder much about this Harry de Vere, to whom she was supposed to be engaged.
Until, as he was changing for dinner, he suddenly remembered Dearham saying the man had been with Wellington. He jerked abruptly, making Rogers, who was shaving him at the time, tut. Barden barely noticed, for the image of the officer he had seen with the duke when he first arrived had fixed in his mind.
Oh no. Surely that is not Harry de Vere?
The trouble was, he did not even know the name of the only man who could betray him. He had known when he first got involved with passing information that it was a foolish and risky thing to do, but he had been in dire need of money, and it was long before he had hit on the plan borrowing from the duke. And holding four carefully chosen young ladies to ransom.
His only contact had been with a little man in spectacles who looked like a banker and sounded like a French émigré. And then, just when he had thought that line of income had died with the war, an officer had appeared and promised him more gold on the completion of instructions he would receive at Calvert Court during the August ball.
He had heard no more, and in fact, fear of being discovered supporting a cause already lost had forced him to think afresh. And when the Princess of Wales had announced her definite intention of traveling abroad, his great idea had come to him. He had thought no more of French spies, even when he had been compelled to come to Calvert Court for Lady Meg and the duke. The officer’s appearance here had, therefore, taken him by surprise. After all, he had heard nothing since that one visit.
The main question now was, did it really matter if this officer was Harry de Vere? It would perhaps be surprising since he was the brother of a wealthy marquess. But younger sons tended to have few resources of their own. And Barden could use that.
He sat up, making Rogers tut again. “Be still, sir, or you’ll go to dinner with blood trickling down your chin!”
Barden waved his hand irritably and continued to think.
He could make de Vere give up pretensions to Meg by making it a condition of doing his bidding. And keeping silent about it. He would take the money from de Vere, marry Meg, and rake in a good portion of Dearham’s wealth. After which, he would be in a position to tell de Vere and the French to go to hell.
Satisfied with the plan, he allowed Rogers to wipe the soap off his face and remove the towel from his shoulders. He actually smiled as he donned his waistcoat and tied his cravat. For once, everything was coming together for him. At the last throw, he would carry all.
As he struggled into his unacceptably old but excellently fitting coat, a knock sounded at the door.
Hoping it was the duke or Fishguard with an early capitulation, he called, “Enter!”
But the man who appeared behind him in the looking glass was no one of the Winter family. It was the treacherous army officer.
Barden stilled. And swallowed. “You may go, Rogers.”
Rogers bowed and effaced himself. Barden turned slowly to meet his fellow traitor.
“You seem surprised,” the officer observed. “I assumed you were here because of our arrangement.”
“I am here at Lady Calvert’s invitation. Since I did not hear from you again, I thought you had given up our arrangement.”
The officer spread his hands, smiling. “And yet, here I am, and here you are, and the party is so delightfully informal that we do not need the masks and disguises of the ball in order to meet.” From his coat pocket, he took a slightly crumpled folded paper and handed it to Barden.
He took it. “What is this?”
“Look. Read. Commit every name to memory and burn the paper.”
Barden unfolded the note. It was a list of three names. “Who are they?”
“Officers of the royal navy. The prince regent should intervene on their behalf to secure them promotion. And secondment to Elba.”
Barden stared at him. “Dear God.”
“Elba will never hold Napoleon Bonaparte, but better he is released sooner than later. For men like you and me—and those overlooked naval officers who need an added income.”
“They would all betray their country and allow Bonaparte to escape?”
The officer shrugged. “Two would, for different reasons. One likes money. The other is compelled by—er… an indiscretion he does not wish brought to the Admiralty’s attention. The third is just stupid and will at least do the cause no harm. The gold will reach you as soon as the officers are in place.”
The officer smiled, perfectly amiably, although gazing into his eyes, it suddenly struck Barden that it was like looking in a mirror. “Remember, my lord. Burn it.”
Barden nodded, his mind spinning as the officer walked back toward the door. It was already half-open before Barden remembered the agreement he meant to make about Meg.
“De Vere,” he called after him.
The officer turned. “Did you hear about him? He’s no threat. I thought he might be, that a comrade might have blabbed to him, but I’m certain now he knows nothing.”
Barden shut his lips with a snap. Dear God, he had almost blurted his plan unnecessarily. To a man who might therefore doubt his devotion to the Elba business. Oh yes, some fate was looking after him now.
Almost dazed, he glanced down at the paper in his hand, reading the names, none of whom he had ever heard of. They were easy enough to remember. He reached for the flint to light a candle with which to burn the paper. And then he paused.
Every man needed insurance and information to bargain with, Barden most of all. In truth, he did not wish to begin his new, wealthy life with treachery hanging over him. Once this business with the duke was done, he could claim to have discovered some French spies and a plot to free Napoleon Bonaparte from Elba.
He laughed aloud as he tucked the paper away in his coat and walked toward the door. The beauty of that claim was its perfect truth.
*
It was Aline who gave him a warning about Garrow. Harry was sauntering along the passage in the direction of his brother’s chamber when he saw Aline and Garrow emerge together from her chamber dressed for dinner.
“Oh, I forgot something,” Garrow said. “Go down without me. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Aline merely shrugged and carried on toward Harry.
“My lord,” she murmured, though her eyebrows flew up in warning. Garrow, clearly, was up to something.
Already going in the same direction as Garrow, Harry merely grimaced and followed. Reaching his brother Robert’s chamber, which he knew to be empty, he knocked and went in. And then, leaving the door open, he looked cautiously out.
His heart thudded as he glimpsed Garrow vanishing into Barden’s chamber. Hastily, he closed the door and all but sprinted the rest of the way along the passage to Barden’s door.
It was not quite closed. The crack was not wide enough for Harry to see in. But when he put his ear to the crack, he could certainly hear. And what he heard took his breath away.
This called for quite an escalation of his plan. Now, he felt no mercy for either Garrow or Barden. And they would receive none.
Collecting his sister-in-law’s shawl—the retrieval of which had been Robert’s excuse for leaving his wife in order to join the secret conference in Johnny’s room—Harry strode rather grimly back along the passage and entered without knocking.
He was glad to see Aline already there, although he did feel mild surprise when everyone turned to him expectantly.
“Aline,” he said abruptly. “Do I have permission to explain your role here?”
Aline sighed. “Of course.”
“Good,” Harry said, “because we now know that Barden and Captain Garrow are both in the pay of the French.”
Among all the startled exclamations, he continued to speak. “Madame Aline is not Garrow’s wife, but she is a brave lady who has carried messages at great personal risk between the British and Spanish forces. She has fed misinformation to the French and returned with much useful information on their plans and positions that saved countless lives in the Peninsula and helped us win the war. I tell you this so that you believe her when she tells you she came here because she suspected Garrow had betrayed us on several instances, has been responsible for many deaths, including those of my men and my friends. And Barden is his ally. They are part of a plot to place traitors in charge of Bonaparte’s imprisonment and allow him to escape Elba.”
Inevitably, they all stared at him, wide-eyed.
Eventually, Sir Joseph Sayle said, “Well, that takes pride of place to our own issues.”
“It does,” Harry agreed, “but I still believe we can deal with both matters together. If we all agree and do our parts.”
“But this has to go farther,” Christopher Halland objected. “We cannot sweep traitors under the carpet! And yet, I cannot believe the government will be happy to have such treachery made public. Not while we are still celebrating victory.”
“I agree,” Harry said ruefully. “Our scandals must be brought into the open to be explained. This other matter—”
“You may leave Garrow to me,” Aline interrupted. “Though considering Barden’s connection to the prince regent, we will need more proof than my word and yours, Lord Harry. Particularly when we reveal his part in the scandal surrounding your betrothed.”
“I could just shoot him,” Johnny offered.
“Before you, Fish,” Halland said mildly.
“Johnny, you will make a fine public challenger,” Harry said. “If Aline does not mind being fought over.”
“I would like it of all things,” Aline assured him. “Though I don’t see the point in concealing the reason for challenging him when his part in the scandal is about to be revealed.”
“It’s only for Barden’s benefit,” Harry assured her. “All along, he has counted on no one challenging him because they would not have their sister, daughter, wife, whatever, laid open to fresh public scandal. He would therefore be suspicious of such a challenge, and I don’t want him to be, not until we have him where we want him.”
“Reveal all, my general,” Johnny said cheerfully.
*
Dinner that evening was early, light, and somewhat hurried since the ball was the main event of the evening. But it served to raise the levels of fun and excitement in Martha’s house guests until Harry began to feel alarmingly like he did before battle: tense, edgy, impatient. Yet, at the same time, memory and a childish sense of fun tugged at him, and love for Meg overlaid everything.
He wondered as he watched Meg depart the table with the other ladies if he was too distracted to order this battle, to play his required part in it. He must sharpen himself up between now and the beginning of the ball.
“I think you must be Lord Harry,” a voice said behind him, and he turned to see Barden easing himself into the chair next to him. With the departure of the ladies, Calvert had declared informality by wandering around the table, and Barden, clearly, was following his lead. “I’m Barden.”
Harry looked at the hand, his every instinct to refuse it. But he had no wish to be rude. Yet. He shook hands briefly. “How do you do?”
“Somehow, we seem to have avoided introduction until now,” Barden said amiably. “But I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I know Lord and Lady Staunton slightly and have heard much about you.”
“You are known to me also by repute,” Harry murmured.
“Dare I hope from Lady Meg?”
Harry’s fingers curled into fists at the sound of her name on his lips, but he managed to smile faintly. “In part.”
“I thought so.” Barden sighed theatrically. “It seems you and I, sir, are rivals in love.”
Harry stared at him. “No. We are not.”
“Don’t get in a miff, old fellow,” Barden said with unimpaired amiability. “It is best to have such things in the open.”
Harry almost laughed, however savagely. “You are probably right.”
“You must know that I, too, aspire to the lady’s hand,” Barden confided. “I have spoken to His Grace.”
Harry gazed at him in silence, forcing his hands to be still in his lap.
“I gather you are old friends,” Barden said. “And I believe I know what has prompted your offer at this moment. But I want you to know that it is in my power to protect her more than you ever could.”
This time, Harry could not quite contain his bark of laughter. “You expect me to stand aside for you? Really?”
Barden waved one hand at him. “I gather you are still recovering from injury. You need time to sow your wild oats before settling down to marriage. I am older and staider and more suited to the wedded state. And, as I say, to protect the lady from any word of—”
Harry rose to his feet and downed his remaining port. “You must excuse me, sir. The better man will win her.” And he walked out of the room.
*
For Meg, despite the seriousness of the situation, their plan began to seem like the games of childhood, with Harry leading the plot to capture the castle of another group of children.
Of course, neither Garrow nor Barden were children. They were, in fact, dangerous men, unprincipled traitors and extortionists. Meg was impatient to strike against them, but she understood the convoluted way it had to be done, to avoid official scandal by supplying one people would only know unofficially. There would be talk, but it should hurt no one but Barden.
Her ballgown was a delicious, deep shade of purple trimmed with gold, not entirely appropriate for an unmarried lady, but Martha had given it to her, and it suited her mood. Her domino cloak was gold, too, her elegant black mask, trimmed with the same gold as her gown.
For a moment, she and Mathews stood still, admiring her reflection in the glass. She almost looked like a stranger, elegant, mysterious, dignified. Her eyes glittered behind the mask; her skin glowed with the thrill of the chase.
“Beautiful,” Mathews said, sighing. “You will outshine them all.”
Meg laughed. “Don’t be silly. But I shall do.”
“You’ll do very well, my lady. Come, let’s show you to Lady Martha.”
Martha wore white, trimmed with the same shade of lilac as her domino cloak. Her mask was identical to Meg’s.
“That should confuse a few people,” Mathews remarked.
“I do hope so,” Martha drawled, turning to face her husband, who had just come in. “What do you think, Selwyn? If I stopped talking, could you tell us apart?”
Meg was glad to hear her call him by his name again, instead of by his title. She thought there was more ease between them that she only hoped would last and grow. For she hated to think of her sister tied to a man she could no longer love.
