Sins of a Wicked Princess (19 page)

And she had distracted him. The duke had ceased his movement to the door. In fact, he turned back to speak to Lord Bentersly, who was distinctly closer to her.

“So, Ambassador. I’ve been thinking of the proposal you suggested when we last met.”

His tongue probed his teeth again. “You have?” Gallant was too skilled at his profession to betray more than that.

“Yes. I don’t agree with it. But I’m thinking we might be able to come to a more favorable solution than the one you have with Sommet.”

Sommet glanced at her then and she made sure to jerk her head quickly away as if she was hiding something.

“France wins either way,” Gallant said.

“You believe Sommet has France’s best interests at heart?”

Gallant hesitated. “He is interested in his own pocketbook, and France is interested in continuing to get her ore.”

Continuing?
But she couldn’t ask without revealing how little she knew about Sommet’s actual activities.

“I might be interested in providing ore.” If
might
meant never in her lifetime. “After all, the royal coffers will need to be filled after all the neglect.”

Gallant tipped his head slightly. “Sommet said you’d refuse.”

“Of course Sommet would say that.” Had she worked the duke’s name into the conversation enough to draw his interest yet?

“It is essential that the shipments not be stopped.”

Her whole body went cold. Somehow Sommet was already mining. But what about the villages—
Casualties of war
. The duke’s earlier words now resonated with new meaning. “Why would they stop?”

“Sommet assured me that you’d follow your father’s decrees.”

“And you listened?”

“A rather indifferent day at archery, was it not, Your Highness?” Sommet stepped into the space between her and the ambassador, his eyes glittering. “I fear you might not have enough experience at the game. Gallant, perhaps you’d care to join me inside for the brandy I spoke to you of earlier.”

Juliana rested her hand lightly on the ambassador’s arm. “But the ambassador and I still have much to discuss.”

Gallant bowed at her but backed away. “We can continue this discussion later.”

But if he was about to sequester himself with Sommet, she could wager how productive her future meeting would be.

She couldn’t risk letting Sommet go into the house, either.

How long had Ian been in? Ten minutes, perhaps? Surely even a man as skilled as Ian needed longer than that.

She tried to use Leucretia’s trick and let passion enter her eyes. “Perhaps I do not want to wait.”

From the way the ambassador’s mouth gaped she must have come close to accomplishing it, but it wasn’t good enough. “Sorry, Your Highness, I must go with my best option.”

None of them pretended he was speaking of the brandy.

A footman came and murmured to the duke, then hurried away.

What was it? Had Ian been discovered? Were they out of lemonade?

The duke’s expression betrayed nothing.

But the duke began to walk away and the ambassador followed. He strode across the grass with only brief nods and greetings to the guests seeking his attention.

She couldn’t let the duke reach the castle.

She was out of options.

She hurried after them a few steps, then fell to the grass with a cry.

Sommet and the ambassador both glanced back.

“My ankle. I think I’ve twisted it.”

She was close enough that the duke was forced to come to her side. To walk away from her would have been too callous for a man who claimed to be a gentleman.

He loomed over her. “What happened?”

She winced. “I stepped on my ankle poorly.”

Several other gentlemen and ladies had surrounded her.

“I’ll fetch your aunt,” Sommet said.

“No.” She turned to one of the other men. “Sir Thomas, can you find her?”

A muscle in Sommet’s cheek twitched. “Then I will find a footman to bear you inside.”

“No, not yet. I need a moment to compose myself. I would appreciate your assistance.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed, and his lip curled slightly. He dropped to his knee beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder as if giving comfort. But his words were for her ears alone. “Your diversion is naught but wasted effort. Your spy is already dead.”

Chapter Thirty-one

“I
could have found my own way in,” Abington murmured as they crept along the corridor. “I was a competent spy.”

He probably still was competent.

When he was sober.

“I arranged a distraction for you, nothing more.” The maid bringing supper fifteen minutes early to the guards at the bottom of the stair, to be precise. Not too early so as to raise suspicions, but enough to allow Abington past if he was paying attention. “You were smart enough to use it, good for you.”

And now Ian knew that Abington wasn’t drunk enough to be a liability.

They walked past the office he and Juliana had hidden in before. He would have liked to examine it again, but they didn’t have time.

The next room was a parlor. Again, Ian doubted it held anything. His years as a thief and his eons as a spy had given him a nearly unfailing sense about these things.

The next three rooms were equally pointless.

But then Ian had expected them to be. There were no extra guards on this level. And Sommet wouldn’t have placed anything valuable this close to the ground where a smashed window would have allowed access.

People always thought they were hiding their valuables in places no one would think to look. They never realized it usually came down to the same three or four places.

Sommet would like to think he was more clever than everyone else, but Ian had found many men who thought the same thing.

That tavern keeper in Cheapside, for instance, had been paranoid as a pig in a butcher’s shop. But at the end of it, his valuables had been hidden under a floorboard beneath the chamber pot.

Rich people just didn’t understand that men of Ian’s ilk didn’t have the same squeamishness that plagued everyone else.

The next floor proved no more fruitful.

Sommet would be the type to have a secret something. A secret safe. A secret compartment. Perhaps even a secret room.

That might explain how Sommet had disappeared so thoroughly last night.

Ian held up his hand to halt Abington as they climbed the stone stairs that spiraled to the next level. There was someone at the top of them. Ian could smell the footman—yet another skill neglected by noble spies like Abington. The servants always smelled of ale and wig powder.

With silent steps, Ian closed the distance, peering around the curve of the stairs. He could see black leather shoes—the toes. The footman was facing the stairs.

So Ian sprung toward him. He took advantage of the split second of shock and moved behind the servant, clamping one hand over his mouth and his arm around the man’s throat.

Thirty seconds later, Ian dragged the unconscious man down the stairs. Abington’s eyes widened but he simply moved into position behind Ian.

The final corridor contained six doors. The sixth footman was guarding the door at the end. It was the room Sommet had taunted him from last night.

Which mean Ian was definitely going inside.

If he had a fatal flaw—like that Greek fellow in the play who’d gouged out his eyes—it was curiosity. He just couldn’t
not
know what Sommet intended him to find.

Besides, they were down to two servants. Ian could handle two servants if need be.

Make that one. Ian dispatched the servant at the door with a quick blow to the side of the head.

Ian would need to talk to Sommet about the quality of his guards. This was rather embarrassing for all of them.

The final footman must be inside. And it would be Sommet’s boxer, which meant he would be more skilled than the rest.

After checking the handle, Ian eased the door open. It was Sommet’s other office. There was no sign of the last footman. So Ian walked to the desk. The locks on the drawers were slightly more sophisticated than he expected.

But it opened easily under his picks. Abington reached past him to open the drawer.

There was a faint click. Ian jerked Abington’s hand out of the way as a blade popped out of the edge of the drawer.

They both stared at it. It would have slit open his wrist.

But that meant there was something worthwhile inside the desk. Inside the first drawer were financial records. Ian withdrew the most recent and tucked them away to examine later. But there were no incriminating letters from Gregory.

And where was that missing footman? It was possible Sommet had sent him on some sort of mission, but Ian doubted it. Sommet would want him close where he could be useful.

They searched the other hiding places in the room, finding nothing.

“I suspect Sommet has some sort of hidden room.”

Abington took off his jacket and shoved it in the crack under the door to the corridor, then he gathered some blank papers from the desk and lit them in the fireplace. He motioned for Ian to remain still and after a moment, he fanned the smoke into the room.

Perhaps Abington was competent even drunk.

Ian held his shirt over his nose as the smoke dispersed evenly through the room.

Except by the base of the bookcase. Small eddies swirled in the smoke, clearly highlighting the unexpected location of the draft.

Abington nodded and they both slowly approached. There was no obvious secret door, the bookcase appeared solid, but then Sommet would only have paid for the best.

Ian reached up and ran his fingers around the shelves searching for some sort of latch. Abington did the same. The wide mahogany bookcases reached to the ceiling, and when they couldn’t find anything, they began removing books. But after they’d cleared all the shelves they still had nothing.

They were out of time. They should have left five minutes ago. This was far longer than Ian usually spent at the scene of any of his other investigations.

They had one last option. Ian lifted his hand and knocked loudly on the bookcase. “Hello. Just so you know, we are robbing your master blind.”

After a second, there was a click. The space in the bookcase slid open, revealing the taciturn footman; he had one hand over his mouth, coughing in the smoke.

In the other, hand he had a pistol. He pulled the trigger.

Chapter Thirty-two

S
ir Willowby had insisted on carrying Juliana back to her room when no footmen had been available. Juliana was grateful. She wasn’t certain if she could have managed to walk with the shock that had drained her ability to move. And she wouldn’t give Sommet the satisfaction of seeing her falter, especially now.

If what he’d claimed was true.

Her aunt walked silently beside them. Other than a single inquiry as to Juliana’s current state, she hadn’t spoken.

Sir Willowby stopped by her room and gingerly set her on her feet. “I wish you the best, Your Highness.”

“You’re too kind.” She smiled, even as she was already peering into her room, searching for Apple. Perhaps the girl had heard something. Or Ian might be waiting.

Sommet could have been lying. He was always lying. He must have been lying about this.

But neither of them was there.

He couldn’t be dead.

He was practically omnipotent. An old, ferret-faced duke didn’t stand a chance.

She didn’t have to feign the instability in her step as she walked to her bed. She couldn’t breathe and yet she was breathing too fast. Her chest burned, yet was as cold as ice.

How could she look for him? Where did she go?

She would have to storm the duke’s tower. But what if Sommet was merely looking for Ian and she led Sommet straight to him?

She pressed her knuckles against her mouth until her wrists trembled from the pressure.

Leucretia stepped into the room, observing. “I warned you about Sommet.”

Rage seared across Juliana’s thoughts. Ian might be dead. And her aunt and her prevarications were at least partially to blame. Juliana embraced the anger. This was at least something she could resolve. “You’ve been mining in the Palas.”

Leucretia stepped back. “How did you—”

“No.” Juliana cut her off and stalked toward her. “How long has it been going on?”

Leucretia seemed to deflate on herself. “Since we came to England. The duke came to me with the proposal. The ore was there just waiting to be sold.” Her aunt’s back stiffened. “And it was my land. It was my right.”

“And the people living there?”

Leucretia shrugged. “The war forced many people to move. Ourselves, for instance. We survived.”

Had she ever known this woman? “What changed at the end of the war?”

Her aunt’s fingers turned into claws. “After Versailles, the duke told me the mining had been suspended. The mountains were in the part of the country that was to go to the Spanish.”

“Why would that matter?”

Her aunt sighed. “He’d been selling iron to the French.”

“But Spain controlled Lenoria during the war.”

“Spain had no time to keep watch on the mountains. Not when they were fighting for their survival. That is why he needs Gregory. If the Spanish get the mountains and they find out just how much Sommet was aiding the French? Sommet loses everything.”

Juliana stared sat her.

She finally had her leverage.

If the duke had been selling ore to the French during the war, that was treason. And it was something she could prove. “But Sommet told me if Gregory doesn’t challenge me tomorrow, the ambassadors have agreed to ignore the treaty and move forward with the division. Why would he want that? ”

Leucretia’s kohled eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t.”

He’d lied. Again.

And she’d gobbled up every word.

She glanced at the door again. Still no Apple. Still no Ian.

Enough.

She’d demand to see him. If he was dead—Juliana’s chest tore open at thought—the duke should be able to present a body. If he could not, that meant he was lying about this, too.

She flung open the door to reveal a startled Abington. He was missing his jacket but other than that appeared unscathed.

He shook his head slightly, then held up his hand to motion for her to stay inside her room, then he continued down the corridor.

What was that supposed to mean? Was it a condolence? Was she too late? Was Ian well and would come for her?

And why was she obeying his command to stay in her room rather than finding out?

“Your Grace?” She took a step toward him.

Abington turned around, surprised. He must have read the same panic on her face that Leucretia had because he returned. But he cast a long glance at one of the duke’s maids who was lingering nearby. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. I heard the news as well, but the duke can in no way think this reflects on you.”

She played along. “Of course not.”

“How were you to know that your groom would attack one of Sommet’s servants? Or that he’d flee afterward.”

“My servant fled?”

“The duke is hunting him now. His injured servant is ready to swear out a warrant against him.”

Ian was alive
. She would have swayed if Abington hadn’t grabbed her elbow. “I’m sorry your servant’s perfidy has overset you.”

“Do they know his motive? Did he steal anything?” Did he have the papers they needed?

“Nothing, Your Highness,” Abington’s expression was grim. “Nothing of value. But do not worry. The groom is far away now. You have nothing to fear from him.” Abington bowed to a deep courtly level. “I must dress for dinner.”

Juliana stepped back inside her room.

Ian was gone. And if the duke was hunting him, she hoped he stayed that way.

She wouldn’t be so selfish as to wish for a final day with him. Another word of advice. Another taunt.

Another kiss.

His safety came first. To wish for him to be here would be the same as wishing for his death.

The void in her chest at his absence was just early, not unexpected.

She turned back to her aunt. “Where do your loyalties lie? With your money or with Lenoria?”

Her aunt’s chin lifted. “With Lenoria.”

Juliana nodded. She now had the tools she needed to bring about the destruction of the duke. And she would use them. “Well then, I will need your help to bring down the duke. Hand me some paper.”