Masquerading the Marquess (21 page)

The guests moved to their chosen destinations. Charades were taking place in the drawing room; cards and dice were set up in the gaming rooms. James was busy talking to Roth and Calliope took the opportunity to excuse
herself
. She headed toward the ladies’ retiring room.

She reached an intersection in the hallway and started to turn left when she heard loud voices. Cautiously she peered around the corner and observed Ternberry and Pettigrew exiting a room halfway down the corridor. They were engaged in a heated argument.

"That is not how one handles these matters."

"
l
have more experience in these situations. Give me the document and I'll--"

A servant rushed to Pettigrew, interrupting Ternberry, and gave him a slip of paper. Pettigrew glanced at the missive and Calliope heard him swear. He motioned for Ternberry to follow. They were heading straight toward her. She slipped into an alcove, hoping they wouldn’t glance her way.

"Ternberry, rejoin the guests. This cannot wait. We will continue the discussion when I return."

Their footsteps faded and she peered down the empty corridor.

It was too good an opportunity to miss.

She strolled toward the room the men had vacated. She heard no footfalls, but forced herself to tread slowly. If she were questioned about her presence, she could claim ignorance.

She cast a quick glance behind, but she was still alone. She touched the door handle and heard a click as the door swung open.

The room was dim; the only light streamed from a small oil lamp on the desk. An unlit fireplace was in the corner, a full-length Oriental screen to its side. The screen seemed totally out of place in the otherwise English decor.

Calliope closed the door and moved toward the desk. Papers were scattered about its surface, as if a frustrated hand had smeared them. Glancing at the mantel clock, she sifted through the pile. She would allow herself five minutes. Staying in the room any longer would be foolish.

She paused and scanned the paper under her left hand. It looked like a contract from the Foreign Office. She flipped the page over, looking for the nature of the agreement.

The door handle clicked. She dropped the paper and dove behind the screen.

For an interminable moment there was total silence in the room. The hairs on the back of her neck were the only sign that a person advanced. Her breath held as she felt the presence stop on the other side of the Oriental cover.

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Harsh features and a menacing hand chopping toward her face were the only things her mind registered.

The raised hand stopped mere centimeters from her neck and she heard a muttered curse.

"What are you doing here?" Calliope hissed, staring into the familiar dark features and trying to regain her equilibrium.

James gave her a sharp look and motioned for silence as he shoved her back, squishing them both behind the delicate panels. He pushed her to the ground and crouched next to her.

She heard the door open, then a clumsy, hesitant footfall cross the floor.

Rustling papers, muffled curses and the intense beating of her heart were the only sounds in the room. She chanced a look upward at James. He was absolutely still, his eyes trained on the side of the screen.

There was a click of the door, then a solid thunk, as if someone’s head met the edge of the desk. Calliope winced for the other intruder and was rewarded with a waist-tightening squeeze from James. Did he think she couldn’t keep quiet?

A fourth person entered the room and Calliope resisted the urge to peek around the screen. This was becoming absurd. Besides, there were no more available hiding places.

"Where did I put that?" The low growl indicated Pettigrew was the fourth person. Papers were shuffled and he doused the light and then he strode back out.

A bump and curse indicated the other prowler had extricated himself from the desk. The person fumbled around, knocking papers and something made of glass to the floor. The tinkling sound reverberated through the room. The intruder must have been looking for the lamp and found it.

He beat a hasty retreat, not bothering to clean his mess in the darkened room. The door closed softly.

Calliope released her breath and stared up at James in the shadows. His fingers slid up and down her arm rhythmically. He was trying to soothe her. It was making her arms tingle.

"What are you
--
"

The hand tightened on her arm and he swung her toward him. She was locked to his chest. Her recently restored breathing sped up again.

"What the devil were you thinking? I thought I told you we were just going to observe tonight."

She raised an eyebrow, and wondered where she found the spirit. "Yes, you did, which doesn’t explain
your
skulking about."

"We’ll discuss this later. Let’s see if we can clean up and then get out of here. There’s entirely too much traffic in this room."

James grabbed her hand and pulled her around the screen. He somehow managed to locate a candle and light it. The lamp had indeed been the casualty of the other intruder.

James swore. "We can’t do anything about the lamp. Let’s go."

Calliope glanced at the desktop, but the agreement and other papers were gone. James extinguished the candle, and led her into the deserted hallway and up the stairs.

James didn’t release her hand until they were safely inside her room. He was unsure what he wanted to do more—kiss her or shake her.

"Won’t we be missed?" she asked.

He shrugged and removed his coat, laying it across the paisley silk armchair.

She frowned. "Well, then shouldn’t we go back?"

He glanced around the cheerful and inviting room. Yellows and muted blues mixed together to create a relaxing atmosphere. It was interesting that despite her flare for the spectacularly vivid colors when she was Esmerelda, this soft feminine room suited Calliope.

"The guests are already thinking exactly what we want them to think. Why should they question my being with you?" He moved slowly toward her. "I’m with an alluring woman who has charmed every man in the house. No one will be surprised by my desire to have you to myself for several hours. In fact, they would question my masculinity and sanity if it were otherwise."

He stopped in front of her, a fingertip starting at the base of her throat and spiraling slowly downward until it rested on the top edge of her dress. She
colored,
an alluring reaction for a courtesan.

"Your voice is beautiful. You had everyone in the room captivated. I am surprised you haven’t made a career as a singer.
" He
said it in an offhand manner, before adding, "Where did you learn to sing so well?"

She turned and walked to the back of the chair, putting it between them.
"From my mother."

James stuck his hands in his pockets. "You mentioned her at
Covent Garden
. Did she have a trained voice?"

She looked at him speculatively. She didn’t speak for a few seconds, as if reaching a decision. "My mother was Lillian Minton."

"Lillian Minton, the opera singer?"

Calliope nodded as she absently picked at the fabric on the back of the armchair.

Carefully stored pieces of random information coalesced in the deep recesses of his brain. Not only had Lillian Minton been one of the pre-eminent opera divas and great beauties of her time, but she had also been the permanent and very public mistress of . . . "Lillian Minton, the Viscount Salisbury’s mistress?"

Calliope’s eyes narrowed. They glittered in the firelight. "Yes."

James frowned. Something
niggled
the back of his mind. Hadn’t
Salisbury
’s daughter died in the same blaze as the mother? He remembered the only time he had seen the man drunk.

They had been at White’s and
Salisbury
had cried out, "Nothing worse than losing someone you love. Lost my only child and the woman I loved." James had always remembered the look of pain on the viscount’s face. At the age of twenty-one it had served as a powerful reminder of what love did to people.

"I recall Lillian Minton and her child died in a house fire. If my memory serves me, she had only one child," he said cautiously, carefully noting the expression on Calliope’s face.

"I’m surprised you would even know she had a child," Calliope remarked dismissively.

"It was important news for many weeks that the noted diva and mistress of the viscount had perished with their only child in a fire. I remember well. I knew
Salisbury
. He was a father figure to many of us and was so distraught it affected us all."

Calliope looked at him sharply, her fingers clawing into the chair’s fabric.
"How wonderful for you.
Can we go back to the party now?"

"No, not until I have some answers. What game are you playing, Calliope? Why do you claim to be
Salisbury
’s daughter?"

"No game," she enunciated clearly. "I am his daughter."

"
Salisbury
had one daughter and he believed his only child to be dead. He would have known if she were still alive. He would have moved heaven and earth."

She shrugged, but her jaw was set and her shoulders were rigid.
" He
knew I survived the fire, and he chose not to acknowledge me."

Chose not to acknowledge her?
Salisbury
? The man who had kept Stephen and he, hot-headed and straight from
Oxford
, out of trouble?

"
Salisbury
was an honorable and generous man. The man was inconsolable about the loss of Lillian and his daughter. After their deaths he threw himself into his work with an abandon verging on obsession. He took the most dangerous cases and placed himself in harm’s way on more than one occasion."

Pain washed her features. "Then he was a fine actor and fooled all of you."

"Why should I believe your story and doubt the word of a man whose reputation is unblemished? Stephen was one of
Salisbury
’s closest confidants. Do you think he was fooled by the viscount?"

"Stephen knew
Salisbury
?"

"He knew him very well. Stephen was present when
Salisbury
was killed."

He saw her eyes glisten as she quickly lowered her head. There had to be more to the story than met the eye. He couldn’t credit
Salisbury
for being duplicitous, and instinct said she was telling the truth.
At least, the truth from her point of view.

James cursed inwardly and his voice turned gruff. "Does Stephen know your real name?"

Calliope
nodded,
head down.

"Did you ever talk to him about
Salisbury
?"

She gave a quick jerk of her head in the negative and he received a glimpse of emotional upheaval.

Was it coincidental that Stephen was squiring Calliope Minton about town and had set her up in his townhouse? There was obviously more to their relationship than he had divulged to James. What was Stephen doing with
Salisbury
’s daughter? And how did she fit into the equation?

Question after question was raised and supplanted by another.

Calliope’s haunted expression was distressing. He wanted to erase it. "I believe you. Now believe me, Calliope.
Salisbury
didn’t know you were alive. He was devastated by your loss."

"James, he had to know. I limped to his townhouse the night of the fire and was threatened and thrown out." Her voice was bitter. "I thought I had nowhere else to turn. I was thirteen."

"You went to
Salisbury
’s townhouse that evening?"

"Yes, although I’d never been inside before. My fa--" she stopped herself and then continued. "
Salisbury
visited us each week at our home. But when Mama and I strolled by his townhouse, she sighed too often for me to not be aware of the reason."

"I can’t believe he would have thrown you out."

"His mother did a nice job of it for him. She screeched in no uncertain terms I was unwelcome." Calliope scooted around the chair in her anger, her limp showing itself slightly. "She stated
Salisbury
knew of the fire and was glad to be rid of us.
That we were naught but a trial.
She even threatened to send me to Newgate for stealing. How she would have accomplished that, I’m not sure. But I believed her at the time."

Pieces started to come together. "So you went to the townhouse and spoke to Lady Salisbury? She threatened you, and then she turned you out? Where did you go?"

Calliope didn’t answer.

"Why did you believe her?"

Calliope looked directly at James, her eyes full of anger and pain. "She made it very clear I was not wanted there. I’ll never forget her eyes when she told me my mother would burn in hell if I ever returned. I couldn’t sleep for months worrying about my mother’s soul."

"Calliope, Lady Salisbury was notorious for being unpleasant when anything stood between herself and her son.
Salisbury
undoubtedly knew the animosity she held toward your mother and you, and throughout the years he probably tried to keep you separate from her enmity. "

"I am sure you are right, my lord. But it’s in the past and it matters little. May we leave now?" The cool, guarded look was sliding over her features once more.

"Let’s get a few things straight here." He pushed her into the chair and plunked his hands down on the side arms. She looked up at him, tight-lipped.

"Why didn’t you tell me your connection to
Salisbury
when we found the list?"

"I didn’t know you well enough. I had no idea how you would react to the information. I couldn’t take the risk that you wouldn’t let me participate. I need to find out what happened to the man who abandoned me."

"Your father lived in hell nearly every day for the rest of his life grieving for you. Would he have done that if he knew you were alive?" He nearly shouted.

James saw the tremor go through her.

He relaxed his pose and gently lifted her chin. "Why didn’t you try to speak directly to
Salisbury
at some point after your altercation with Lady Salisbury?"

A painfully bitter look crossed her features. "I planned on confronting him. Plotted exactly what I’d say. He was never in the country and I wanted to do it face-to-face. He died before I had the chance." She paused and drew in a ragged breath. "I thought I had plenty of time."

"I’m very sorry, Calliope."

She drew herself up. "Spare me your pity. A wonderful family adopted and loved me. I’ve done a lot better than I might have. I have no regrets."

Challenge and pride made her rigid in the seat. In that moment he truly believed she was
Salisbury
’s daughter.

A clock struck eleven.

He straightened and allowed her to rise. "There are definitely some misunderstandings that need to be cleared, but it’s obvious you won’t accept them from me. When Stephen reappears, he will help."

He saw her wobble slightly as she headed toward the dressing table. She had mentioned limping to the
Salisbury
estate the night of the fire. He wondered if the house fire had been the cause of the slight limp that was noticeable only when she was visibly stressed.

James let her compose herself for a few tense minutes before changing the subject. There were too many unanswered questions in his mind. It seemed unbelievable she had met Stephen upon his return and become his mistress so quickly. There were too many ties to the past.

"The name Calliope suits you. Your mother was one of the most adored opera singers in
Europe
. She was amazingly talented. "

An acidic look crossed her face in the mirror. "Yes, and she had scores of illustrious admirers, wealthy, successful, high-placed men and women, but was still considered beneath the social strata that adored her."

James paused. "You really hate us, don’t you?"

She vigorously stroked the red silk dress. He couldn’t see her eyes when she responded.
"Not all of you, just most."

He didn’t ask if he was included in that group.

He lightened his tone. "Why do you frequent the ton in so many guises? Are you a masochist? Or do you have an ulterior motive to wreak havoc?"

"Enough of this."
She turned and moved toward the door. Her movements were jerky. "We’re here to find information that will help us locate Stephen."