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Her face flooded with heat. The...the...bad name. The swear word. He was making it look as though he suspected her of dropping her handkerchief at his feet, in the age-old way women had of attracting the notice of a man they could not get to notice them any other way. Which she was. But not because she was lovelorn. Surely he could not be as stupid as he looked? Surely he must realise that it was because she was Herbert’s sister that she needed to speak to him? About Herbert? And his work?
Even if he was that stupid, didn’t he have even a modicum of good manners? Surely he could go through the motions of polite behaviour and bend down to pick up her book?
Apparently not. He just stood there, that cynical smile on his face, his mocking eyes regarding her steadily as her face heated with all the pent-up frustration this aggravating man had caused her recently.
‘I can’t believe,’ she muttered, stepping forward, then bending down to reach for her Bible, ‘that Herbert rated you so highly when you cannot even pick up a hint, never mind—’
She’d been going to say my Bible, but unfortunately, at the very moment she bent down to snatch up her Bible, he finally leaned down as well.
With the result that her head clashed with his outstretched arm. And, as she’d been bending down angrily and his arm was the consistency of an iron bar, she bounced off it, then off the end of the pew, and ended up sitting on her bottom on the cold, hard chapel floor.
She heard a lot of muffled sniggering.
‘I cannot believe,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, presumably to Lady Elizabeth, although Horatia could not see either of them from the chapel floor, ‘that you could have brought a person like that to a place like this, even if you are—’
‘Mother!’ Horatia heard Lady Elizabeth’s skirts swish as she whirled round in her pew and, to judge from earlier altercations, glared at her mother.
While she glared up at the agent of her misfortune, who was smiling a little wider now as though barely holding back laughter himself.
And extending his arm, as though to offer his help in getting to her feet.
‘I don’t need your help,’ she snarled, ignoring his hand and grabbing hold of one of the finials on the end of the pew she’d just bounced off, which had lots of knobbly bits to give her purchase, instead. ‘Not to get to my feet, not to find Herbert’s—’
‘You are Herbert’s sister?’ He raised one eyebrow, as though the fact astonished him. ‘I never,’ he said, running his eyes over her bedraggled frame, ‘would have guessed.’ Not many people did. Herbert was so handsome and elegant. Even he had laughingly said that while she had all the brains in the family, he had all the beauty.
‘You...’ she stuttered. ‘You...’ Once again, her vocabulary didn’t come up with a word sufficiently insulting to hurl at him that she could possibly use in a chapel.
He lowered his hand. ‘Take your time, Miss Carmichael,’ he said with infuriating calm. ‘I feel certain that you will be able to think of a suitable insult, should you take a deep breath and count to ten.’
The sniggering grew a touch less muffled. Although there was a roaring sound in her ears, now, almost drowning out the sounds of mockery.
She hated him. She really, really hated him. It had been bad enough that he’d neglected to do the decent thing and at least come to visit her, given how closely he and Herbert had been working, to offer his condolences. But to first pretend he did not recognise her, then to make her a laughing stock...
‘There isn’t one,’ she grated. And whirled away before giving him the satisfaction of seeing the tears that were burning her eyes. Tears she absolutely would not shed, not in front of such a...
She strode down the aisle and slammed out of the door of the chapel. And as the heat of the sun struck the crown of her bonnet, she finally let the bad words come. In English, and French and Italian.
And it wasn’t just because he’d humiliated her in front of all those titled people. It was because she’d wasted so much time and effort. Instead of thinking of ways to get in touch with the man Herbert had referred to as Janus, she should have gone on the hunt for his killer herself.
Because it was clear he wasn’t going to be of any help to her. At all.
She was on her own.
As always.
Chapter Two (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
As Herbert’s sister flounced out of the chapel, Nick bent down to pick up her discarded Bible.
Talk about indiscreet. If he hadn’t deliberately goaded her into losing her temper with him, she’d have blurted out her suspicions regarding Herbert’s death in the echoing space of a chapel where even whispers carried further than they had any right to go.
No wonder Herbert had been so protective of her. No wonder he’d worked so hard to shield her from the realities of what his recent lifestyle entailed. She had no idea how to conceal what she was thinking. He’d been able to read every single thought that had flitted across her disapproving little features from the first moment she’d walked into Theakstone Court.
She had no control over her mouth, either. If she’d ever suspected the half of what Herbert had recently uncovered, she’d have blurted it out heaven alone knew where, or to whom.
Worse, to judge from the slip of paper he could see tucked in between the pages of her Bible, she’d been attempting to pass him a note. A note! In full view of the entire congregation.
He took a swift glance at it before tucking it neatly back into place as though he had no interest in it. It took every ounce of his self-control to conceal his reaction when he saw what turned out to be a drawing, rather than a written message. For it was a sketch of the two-headed Roman god Janus. Which just happened to be his code name.
‘Dear me,’ he couldn’t help saying. What the devil was she playing at? Revealing the fact that she knew his identity in such a blatant fashion? He masked his shock with a wry smile as he turned the book over in his hands. And swiftly turned it into a jest.
‘Whatever will the little black crow do without her Bible to beat us poor miserable sinners over the head with?’
His sisters laughed. As did the pair of rather fast matrons at their side who’d been casting him lures ever since they’d arrived.
Lady Elizabeth Grey, however, whirled away from the heated, whispered altercation she’d been having with her mother, with a frown.
‘How can you be so unkind? You, of all people, must know how devastating she found her brother’s death. Is it surprising if she acts a little...awkwardly around his former friends?’
‘The surprising thing,’ he said, slipping the Bible into his pocket while Miss Carmichael’s friend was too busy berating him to notice, ‘is that she is attending such a joyous occasion during what ought to be her period of mourning.’ He couldn’t resist putting a slightly contemptuous tone into the word joyous. Everyone here must surely share his opinion regarding his exalted half-brother’s ridiculous, hasty marriage to an unknown. Especially Lady Elizabeth, who’d been one of the leading candidates for the position of Duchess herself.
‘It isn’t the least bit surprising,’ she said heatedly. ‘She needed to get out of that gloomy little house she lives in and well away from that gorgon of a guardian who is enough to give anyone the fit of the dismals even if they weren’t missing the brother who provided the only bright spots in her existence through his daily visits,’ she said without drawing breath.
Daily? He’d gone there as often as that? Hmm...he’d always thought of Herbert as an exceptionally devoted brother, from what he knew of sibling relationships. Nick’s own sisters rarely did more than give him a nod of recognition, should their paths happen to cross while they were all in London. And it never occurred to him to visit them in their sumptuous town houses, either. Not without an invitation to some sort of formal event. Let alone every day.
They had, it was true, been making a great deal of fuss over him since they’d come to Theakstone Court. But that had more to do with showing their half-brother, the present Duke, that although they’d accepted his invitation to attend his wedding, they’d done so out of deference to his title, not because they’d forgiven him anything, or now considered him a part of the family. Because in contrast to the way they cooed over Nick, they were always icily formal with the Duke.
Not that Nick could blame them. He couldn’t stand the sight of the swarthy, sullen brute himself.
‘Without those visits to give her thoughts a positive direction,’ Lady Elizabeth was saying, ‘she was in danger of going into a decline. I thought a change of scene might lift her spirits. Or at least help her to get over the worst of her unhappiness. Her brother’s death devastated her, as you ought to know, being one of his closest cronies.’
Yes, he supposed he should have considered that. But then, his own family were so distant from each other, it was hard to imagine any of them being devastated should anything happen to him. His sisters would express regret and go into black gloves, but a good deal of their regret would be at having to forgo many of their pleasurable pursuits during the period when they were supposed to be mourning him.
Also, whenever he’d thought about her and wondered how she was coping, he’d always come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do for Herbert’s sister was to stay well away from her. She’d never seemed to have that shiny, brittle coating which every other woman donned like armour whenever they went out in public. She was open and unaffected in her manner. Which gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he could easily tarnish her.
But...had Herbert perhaps been doing more than merely visiting his sister? Was he, perhaps, supporting her? Financially? Now he came to think of it, Herbert had mentioned something along those lines, just after he’d abandoned the attempt to bring her out into society. Something about their fortunes being linked.
Which made a huge difference.
If any other operative had died during the course of an investigation, he would have gone straight round to their dependents to make sure they were not going to suffer financially. He had access to funds to make sure of it.
‘But, as usual, men like you don’t see anything past the end of your own nose!’
With her own nose stuck in the air, Lady Elizabeth flounced off. And in this case, he could hardly blame her. He’d assumed that Miss Carmichael must have an income of her own. Assumed, without double-checking.
He’d blundered there. Possibly rather badly.
He should have gone to visit her, to make sure she was provided for, he could see that now. Only...she was of gentle birth. And a man with the reputation he’d cultivated could not simply call upon a single lady of gentle birth, not without raising eyebrows. Not even if her brother had been his closest colleague.
Though what good would it have done, really? He could easily arrange a pension for a widow of a certain sort of man. But he couldn’t just offer to support a woman of Miss Carmichael’s status. If it ever came out that he was supporting her financially, it would be as good as ruining her.
‘You will, I hope, find it in your heart to forgive my daughter’s manners,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, sidestepping along the pew until she reached the aisle. ‘This week is terribly hard for her, considering the hopes we had...’ She left the rest unsaid. The shake of her head expressed her disappointment that the Duke of Theakstone had passed over her own daughter and chosen instead to make a mere Miss his new Duchess.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he said, giving her the smile he reserved for women of her age and station. ‘It does your daughter credit that she leaps to defend her friend with such...loyalty. And such vehemence.’
The Dowager Marchioness narrowed her eyes to see if she could detect a hint of criticism in his statement. He kept his smile in place, looking directly into her eyes with as much innocence as he could muster. Which wasn’t all that hard. Because, actually, he did admire Lady Elizabeth’s loyalty. Not many people went against the prevailing current to voice an opinion that ran counter to it. And she had drawn his attention to a facet of the case he’d overlooked. He was grateful to her for jolting him out of his own personal malaise and reminding him that there was at least one other person who missed Herbert just as much as he did. For whatever reason.
‘That is so generous of you, Devizes,’ trilled his sister Mary. ‘To overlook such extraordinary behaviour. And I do not mean,’ she said, laying a languid hand on his sleeve, ‘that of Lady Elizabeth, of course.’ She shot an arch look at the Dowager, for everyone knew about her daughter’s shrewish nature. Nick had actually been a little surprised when his half-brother had, apparently, included her on his list of possibilities. And not at all surprised when he’d as quickly crossed her off it.
‘I was speaking of that strange little companion of hers,’ Mary continued. ‘Fancy storming off like that!’
He could understand Miss Carmichael doing so, now, if she was experiencing financial hardship.
Perhaps what she had wanted to say about Herbert related to the way he’d supported her. Perhaps she was finding it hard to make ends meet.
He would ask her, when he returned her Bible to her.
As well as finding out why she had a sketch of Janus in between the pages of her Bible. Had Herbert not been as discreet as he’d claimed? Had he been so close to his sister that he’d let slip some things which should have been kept secret?
Or had she merely stumbled across the picture when she’d been going through his personal effects? He thought he’d cleared Herbert’s rooms thoroughly, but perhaps there had been some papers hidden in a place that only she knew about.
Which changed everything. He’d been determined to carry on shielding her from the people who’d killed her brother, by persuading anyone who might care to see that he had no interest in her and, therefore, no connection to her whatsoever, now that Herbert was dead.
But if Herbert had let something slip...
He had to warn her that if anyone suspected she had information, of any sort, relevant to Herbert’s work, then she would be in danger. Dammit, somebody had killed her brother rather than let him pass on whatever it was he’d discovered that last night.
And Herbert would never forgive him if Horatia became the next person on that assassin’s list.
Dammit, he wouldn’t forgive himself.
Chapter Three (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
Horatia was a few yards beyond the paved area surrounding the chapel, which contained monuments to generations of deceased Norringtons, the family from which the current Duke had sprung, when she became aware of rapid footsteps crunching over the gravel behind her.
She’d been walking so fast, driven by a volatile mixture of anger, humiliation and determination to just show them—whoever ‘them’ might be—that the person she could hear must be determined to catch up with her.
She braced herself to deal with whatever accusations or recriminations she might have to face. And sighed with relief, after glancing over her shoulder, to see that it was Lady Elizabeth who was drawing up behind her.
‘Well,’ said Lady Elizabeth, slowing down to match her pace to Horatia’s, ‘you certainly know how to make an exit.’
Since Horatia could hear a distinct thread of amusement in her friend’s tone, she knew she hadn’t mortally offended her. Still, she owed her friend an apology. ‘I’m so sorry for my...outburst,’ she said. ‘I swore that I would give you what little support I could in the days surrounding the Duke’s wedding. Instead, I’ve just given your mother even more reason to berate you.’
‘At least if she is complaining about your behaviour, she isn’t complaining about mine,’ pointed out Lady Elizabeth with a wry smile.
‘As if you made the Duke fall for Miss Underwood,’ scoffed Horatia. ‘It is obvious to anyone who sees them together that they have eyes for nobody else,’ she added, jerking her head in the direction of the couple who were strolling along arm in arm along another gravelled path which led in the direction of the house. Making Horatia aware she had not taken the most direct route.
‘Ah, but,’ said Lady Elizabeth, aping her mother’s frosty tones, ‘if I had only exerted myself more, I could have eclipsed her.’
Horatia made a very unladylike noise, expressed partially through her nose, to demonstrate what she thought of that particular argument.
‘You cannot make a man fall for you, or even notice you, unless he chooses to do so,’ said Horatia morosely, coming to a standstill. Could she strike out across the lawn and join the path along which the Duke and his intended were walking? Or would that draw even more attention to herself and the fact that she’d shot out of the chapel in such a state of turmoil that she hadn’t even been able to steer her feet in the correct direction?
‘I...had wondered about your, um, fascination with Lord Devizes,’ said Lady Elizabeth, coming to a halt as well. ‘I did not like to say anything, but...’
‘You cannot think that I have a tendre for him?’ Horatia gaped at her. ‘Or that, if I did, I would fling myself at him, like one of the muslin company?’
‘No. Neither,’ said Lady Elizabeth staunchly. ‘Which is what makes your...’ She lowered her head and traced a swirl through the gravel with the tip of her parasol. ‘No, no, I shall not pry. I have enough of people telling me how to live my life to know how detestable that is. Only...’ She paused as if choosing her words with care. ‘I am a little worried. You seem...’
Horatia turned her head away from Lady Elizabeth and studied instead the direction of the path they were on. After a bit there was a fork to the left which would lead back to the house, rather than on to the formal gardens. Which solved her most immediate problem. However, she still wasn’t sure she could confide in Lady Elizabeth about her motives for coming here. Although they called each other friend, they’d only fallen into each other’s company after catching each other rolling their eyes at a particularly fatuous comment made by an extremely pompous Member of Parliament who’d been invited to speak at The Ladies Society for the Advancement of Scientific Knowledge. They’d gravitated to each other over the teacups, then started looking out for each other at various other meetings they both attended. It had only been after Herbert’s death that Lady Elizabeth had started visiting her house and offering what comfort she could. But since Aunt Matilda had always refused to let Horatia’s visitors drive her from her own sitting room, she’d never had an opportunity to tell Lady Elizabeth that she was practically certain that her brother had been deliberately murdered, rather than being the victim of a robbery.
Perhaps it was time she did. She certainly owed her some sort of explanation for the tantrum she’d thrown just now. And since nobody else was taking this path she could speak freely without being overheard.
‘Herbert was murdered,’ said Horatia, setting off once more along their path.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Lady Elizabeth, setting out beside her. ‘And I know how it shocked you. As indeed it shocked everyone who knew him. It is an awful thing that a man may not walk home from...even from the kind of place to which...that is...’
‘He had been to a gaming hell, you mean,’ said Horatia. Which was, possibly, true. But he hadn’t been killed during the course of a robbery. She just knew it. ‘And, yes, he was in one of the poorer parts of London. But it wasn’t—’ she stopped short of saying that it had been no accident. Herbert had been so insistent that nobody knew about her involvement in his work. That it might put her in danger. So...if she told Lady Elizabeth, might it put her in danger, too? ‘That doesn’t mean he deserved to die,’ she finished, lamely, ‘does it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, then,’ she continued, focusing on one of her views which was perfectly safe to air, ‘don’t you think that somebody should be trying to find out who killed him? But nobody is! They came and stood in my aunt’s sitting room and droned on about the deplorable dangers of the streets of London at night and said there was nothing anyone could do, that if gentlemen frequented such areas these things happened, that—’ She broke off, as the resentment at the way those men had spoken to her, as though she was an idiot, swelled up all over again.
‘And you thought that Lord Devizes might be able to...what, exactly? It isn’t as if a man like him,’ Lady Elizabeth said with a hint of derision, ‘would stir himself to go looking for criminals, is it?’
Oh, if only she knew! From what Herbert had told her, Lord Devizes had already unmasked a couple of plots against the government and brought several criminals to justice. Because of his rank, and his well-known propensity for pursuing unsavoury pastimes, he could move with ease anywhere from the highest ton parties to the lowest gaming hells without anyone raising an eyebrow. What was more, in society, people regarded him as, well, the way Lady Elizabeth did. As an idle, wealthy, wastrel. They didn’t see the more serious side of his nature, because he kept it so well hidden behind a sort of mask. To look at the amused, indolent expression he generally adopted, nobody could possibly guess what he was really thinking. Or even suspect he was thinking very much at all.
Which was the way he wanted it.
She glanced across the triangular section of lawn to the path which all the other members of the congregation were strolling along. Where he was strolling, with a lady on each arm. And smiling, as though he had not a care in the world. Even though the traitors he and Herbert had been trying to find, the ones responsible for Herbert’s murder, could well be close by.
His assailant definitely came from the ton. Or had connections to someone who had access to state secrets, such as the Duke of Theakstone.
So...perhaps that was why he was playing at not having a thought in his head beyond the formation of the next witty remark. He had to make sure nobody suspected him of being capable of doing anything as strenuous as tackling a traitor and murderer.
Which, therefore, meant she must not do anything likely to expose the serious nature of his secret work either. Including confiding in Lady Elizabeth.
‘He was Herbert’s closest friend,’ she said, dragging her gaze away from Lord Devizes and fixing it on her feet. ‘I thought he might at least have been prepared to listen.’
‘Some people,’ said Lady Elizabeth tartly, after they’d walked in sombre silence for a few paces, ‘prefer not to hear anything unpleasant, though, don’t they? They would rather avoid somebody who is in difficulty altogether than have to talk about things that might make them uncomfortable.’
Horatia flinched at the reminder she was not the only person to have gone through a very difficult time of late and saw that this girl’s own troubles were probably what had made her capable of showing such sympathy when Horatia lost her brother. ‘Yes, you know how...unkind people can be, don’t you? People you thought were your friends?’
‘Yes. But you never really know who your true friends are until trouble comes, do you? Before Papa died, I was the toast of the ton. I was invited everywhere. And then...poof! They all vanished like...like...well...’ she gave a bitter laugh ‘like our fortune. Only a very few people treated me no differently after his...disgrace. Which is why I...’ She tucked her arm through Horatia’s and gave it a brief squeeze. ‘Well, I don’t suppose I need to remind you that I consider you one of my closest friends. No matter what Mama says.’
‘As I consider you to be mine,’ said Horatia, swallowing down a lump of guilt. For although she was swearing friendship, she was holding back all sorts of things from her. And not only about the nature of Herbert’s work and the circumstances surrounding his death. And it was all very well saying she didn’t want to put Lady Elizabeth in danger, but it was more than that. She didn’t really know if she could trust her.
‘I was so angry with Lord Devizes and with Mama,’ Lady Elizabeth said ruefully, ‘for the way they talked about you just now that I rather lost my temper with them both after you’d gone.’
