Dangerous Dalliance (22 page)

“I fear there will be gossip over Lord Castlereagh’s visit,” I said. It was hard to carry on a sensible conversation with Kerwood nipping at my ears and nuzzling my throat, and holding me tightly against him.

“It is not a secret. In fact, I think we ought to have it put in the local journal.”

I thought he was joking, and slapped his wrist. “Surely that is going a little far!”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Not at all. He came to meet Lord Maitland’s fianc
é
e. Ah, did I remember to propose
,
Miss Hume? I recall your sad words that you must marry a gentleman. Was that the only impediment to our match?”

His cocky assurance required a setdown. “Certainly not. I have upped my demands to a title. Your potential dukedom will do, I daresay.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be a prince. I’ll try to be charming at least. A duke charming.” He bowed playfully.

“But no one knows you are Lord Maitland.”

“They can know it now. My being engaged to you—soon married, I hope–gives me an unexceptionable reason to be here. All the world loves a lover, you must know. They will not suspect skulduggery from one.”

“How did I meet you?”

“Why, it was that race your father went to in Bath a year ago. I was struck dumb at your beauty. Couldn’t get you out of my mind. In fact, I have been composing verses to your charms ever since, as you, I think, are well aware?”

“Love verses? I thought they were spy messages.”

“Really!” he said, offended. “I’ll show them to you. They’re quite marvelous.”

“They were horrid. And I do not have gray eyes. They are green.”

“Memory played me false. I didn’t get much chance to gauge your
beaux yeux.”
He examined them then. “They do have a tint of gray—a reflection from the sky, I think.”

“I thought it was some sort of code. I hardly noticed they rhymed. And furthermore, I didn’t go to Bath with Papa for that race.”

“Nor did I. No one will remember. And I trust no one outside of this house will recognize me as Snoad, once I am properly outfitted. I haven’t met many people. In any case, all this won’t be for long. Wellington is chasing the French over the Alps. Within the year, it will be all over. Lord Maitland, of course, cannot spend all his time at the loft. You will want to parade your trophy amongst your friends. In a small way, of course, considering we are in mourning.”

I was gratified that he said “we.” I think he really was fond of Papa.

“I’ll have Mama send some trained men to oversee the routine work,” he added. “I can handle the sending of the messages.”

“Where do you hide the code book, Kerwood?”

“In here,” he said, and drew a tiny little book from his inner pocket. It was two inches by three, as Depew had said, but thin enough to lie flat without causing a bulge. “Depew must have got wind that an important message was on the way. Anyone who studies the journals knows a crisis is approaching. He meant to kill me and Fairfleld, and get into the loft to intercept it. He knew from his days at the Horse Guards that the messages were coded. They would have been no good to him without this.”

“I expect that is what he was looking for when he broke into my father’s office.”

“I would think so. I took the gun before Depew came. I went after it the night I met you there. After your father’s murder, I felt it was well to be armed. I returned later and got it. I wanted to tell you the truth that night.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“My orders were to tell no one. Later, I learned that you had met Depew in Brighton. He has coerced or duped patriotic people to help him before. You were angry at your father’s death. If you felt the men using him had let him down—well, people have acted from revenge before now. But really, until the ambush, I felt you were an innocent dupe. That felt like a betrayal, though one really ought to put the good of the country above personal feelings.”

I wondered if I would have sacrificed Kerwood for the good of the country. I was glad I did not have the choice. “How did my father come to die, Kerwood? Who killed him?”

“
Fair
field told me, after you had fed me that foolish story about his being at the fish market, that your father returned to change for dinner and caught Depew searching his room. For a message, or the code book, or even something he could use as blackmail. Depew had a gun. Your father turned to bolt out the door for help. Depew lost his head and shot him. He then dashed a water jug to the floor to explain the noise if a servant came to check. A passing servant did stop, I believe. She mistook Depew for the legal occupant of the room, and thought little of it. We had a man in the hotel. He investigated the noise and soon learned of the death. He missed Depew, but he managed to get hold of the pigeon cages from the stable. They wanted to salvage those valuable trained homing pigeons.”

“And it was your man who said my father had died of a heart attack?”

“Yes, to conceal that he was involved in spying. Everything about the business is kept dark. Mrs. Mobley came to the hotel shortly after, asking for him. She was told he had had some sort of stroke, and died. Then, of course, it was impossible to have a local doctor, in case she learned the truth. So his body was taken to London. Unfortunately, his case got left behind in the rush.”

“Why did you want his boots? Did you think there was a message in them?”

“No, I didn’t want them, actually. Williams offered them to me. I could find no excuse to refuse such a generous gift without inciting curiosity, so I accepted them. Cassidy tells me they will just fit his papa.”

“Was my father delivering a message when he was killed?”

“Not that time. He was merely delivering our birds, to be conveyed to the next relay point, on the south tip of France, and receiving birds for us to send out messages. Sometimes he did deliver or receive messages from London to bring me. We liked to vary the means and the messenger. There was some trouble with the relay point in London—they suspected a leak, and weren’t sure at the time who it was. But that was straightened out, and we were flying the messages on to London again. We never dreamed your father was in mortal danger, or we would not have let him go alone. He wanted to do it. He was
...
seeing Mrs. Mobley in Brighton, and so it was convenient.”

“That woman has been the bane of our lives. She nearly destroyed Papa’s marriage when Mama found out he was seeing her. I cannot imagine why he would want to see her again.”

“A man gets lonesome. Shall I tell you about the nights I have spent up here, thinking about you? And when at last you began calling, I had to mistrust you.”

“That did not seem to deter you much,” I reminded him.

“You are very much mistaken. I felt I could finally tell you who I was, and how I felt—only to learn you had become Depew’s unwitting ally.”

“You should have told me. Nobody tells me anything. One would think I were a child.”

“I cannot speak for the others, but I no longer think anything of the sort. I would never do—this to a child,” he said, and kissed me in a very mature fashion.

There is definitely some magic in the loft. The ocean breeze floats over you. The soft waves lap on the shore below, hinting at eternity, while all around the doves coo like love birds. And, of course, it will always be associated in my mind with Kerwood, and his own special brand of danger.

Copyright © 1992 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest [0449219496]

Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.