Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 6

Calliope rallied her last defenses. She thrust back her head and gazed at him scornfully.

"How dare you be so insensitive? Your so-called friend is missing, my lord. There’s no funeral for him, yet you poach on his territory."

His eyes narrowed dangerously and a shiver of fear sliced through her. Perhaps she had gone too far.

"I’ll make allowances for your state of mind, but make a similar mistake again, and you will not enjoy the consequences."

Angelford didn’t wait for her response, but continued in a deceptively mild tone of voice, "Threatening notes? You obviously have something they value. I propose we work together to figure out what they want and who they are. With luck it will lead us to Stephen."

He looked her over. "At the very least it would get you out of your present predicament."

Calliope gritted her teeth and enunciated succinctly and deliberately, "I don’t want your help anymore. Please leave."

Angelford ignored the demand, deposited himself lazily in a chair in front of her desk and crossed his ankle over his leg.

He was examining her so carefully she began to feel like one of the animals in the menagerie.

"But what about your family at the Adelphi-would they want my help?"

Cold dread descended upon her shoulders. The lilies in the room smelled funereal.

He pulled a paper from his pocket. "I read the note."

She stared at the vellum he held. It was the same note she had received earlier. "How?"

He shrugged unapologetically. "I lifted it from your pocket."

"What do you want?"

"First of all, Margaret Stafford doesn’t quite convert to 'Callie,' and neither does Esmerelda. What is your real name?"

Calliope’s shoulders stiffened. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He folded his hands. "Do you really think it would take me long to ascertain your true identity? All I need to do is make a trip to the theater."

"I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. My name is Calliope Minton." She gritted her name out.

"Calliope. Yes, that’s more fitting," he said with a relish that confused her.

"Are we finished here, my lord?"

Angelford’s tone softened. "I want to find Stephen, regardless of what you may believe. He is a very close friend and I need your assistance. In return, I promise to protect you and yours."

It was one of the reasons she had visited him. She needed his help. She felt her shoulders droop and she nodded. She’d do anything to save her family.

If it were anyone else, she would have sworn a look of relief fleetingly crossed his features. But this was James Trenton, the great Marquess of Angelford. Did anything not go his way?

A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes. He pushed it back. "Let’s put aside personal questions for now, shall we, Miss Minton?"

The lock of hair looked like it might disobey. Angelford suddenly seemed a bit more human, a bit less like a gorgeous avenging demon.

Calliope felt some of the tension drain from her muscles. "Yes."

"Good. Pardon me for a minute and I will have Finn set up some security at the Adelphi. Who would be targeted in particular?"

The admission was hard. "The Daly family. "

He nodded and walked to the door. Finn must have been standing just outside, because Angelford whispered something around the corner and then shut the door once more.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

He was in her study, offering her refreshment?

"Black tea would be wonderful." Calliope crossed her ankles and waited.

Angelford didn’t disappoint. He pulled the cord and waited for her butler to appear. "Grimmond? Black tea, please, and Cook’s lemon squares."

"Very well, my lord." Grimmond turned and quit the room.

"Do you always demand service in other people’s houses?" she asked.

"Ah, but Grimmond has known me since I was in britches."

That would make sense. But even if they hadn’t been acquainted, Calliope didn’t think any self-respecting butler would ignore him.

"Grimmond is Stephen’s personal butler. I’m shocked he moved him here," Angelford said.

"Who did you expect?"

"I expected Johnson. I must assume he was traded to Stephen’s primary residence. Actually, it’s a blessing Grimmond is here. I’ll have a talk with him later today. He will help."

Angelford walked back toward the desk. He was looking intently at the papers scattered in front of her. Her hair stood on end. A sketch was partially visible. All it would take was a mere flick of his wrist and he’d discover her secret.

Her impulse was to snatch the papers aside, but she couldn’t seize the drawing without elevating his already high suspicions. Under the circumstances, he would undoubtedly pounce on her the second she fingered them.

Angelford reached the desk. Calliope’s calves tensed for flight.

The door opened opportunely and Angelford looked to the entrance. Calliope brushed a blank paper over the sketch. She hid the action by standing and walking to the settee.

To her immense relief Angelford followed and tea was served. They munched on the lemon squares in silence. She convinced herself he wouldn’t have taken a seat if he had seen the sketch.

He broke her musings. "I think I know what’s going on."

Her head involuntarily jerked up. "You do?"

He nodded.

Her stomach knotted.

"You have lived here for several weeks, correct? "

She was flustered, but nodded.

"What do you do to occupy your time?"

"I go to the park frequently. And to the parties, of course."

"So you are out of the house regularly?"

"I suppose. Although we dine here and sometimes spend the evening playing chess or backgammon."

He raised his brows, causing her nerves to jitter. Damn. She was supposed to be a courtesan. She needed to be coy. Calliope prepared some lines, but he didn’t give her the chance to utter them.

"When Stephen placed you here, did he bring in many new furnishings?"

Where was he leading her? "No, I believe the staff cleaned only what was here, and of course I brought several items with me."

Angelford frowned. "To your knowledge has Stephen purchased anything recently?"

"No."

"Hmmmm…"

Calliope tried to relax. Her concern over her family’s safety and Stephen’s welfare warred with protecting her true identity. But, Angelford wasn’t asking questions as if he knew she was the caricaturist who had vilified him. She fought to control her breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. She redoubled her efforts to concentrate.

"What we have so far is one missing nobleman, one attempted kidnapping, one threatening note and one unknown object. All of these are connected." He paused. "To you."

A small knot of fear recurled in her stomach.

Angelford reread the threat. "But you aren’t the one missing. Stephen is."

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Stephen is definitely a figure in this mystery, but what part does he play?"

Calliope had no answer, so she remained silent.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. She wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. "The whole matter is disjointed. Why attempt a kidnapping one night and then send you a threatening note the next day? It seems a little backwards."

"Maybe due to your interference last night they revised their plan."

"Perhaps." Angelford didn’t sound convinced. He leaned forward. "I’ve analyzed the situation from several angles, but I always return to the object. Whoever the person or persons are, we need to figure out what they are looking for."

"It makes sense, I agree. But what could they be seeking? What could Stephen or I have that someone wants so badly to go to such lengths?" She barely owned the clothes on her back. No, she didn’t even own those, they were Stephen’s.

He perused her for a long moment before speaking. "Stephen works for the government. As a cousin to both a duke and a powerful earl he has many contacts. He is also an avid collector of art. The object in question could be an artifact from his collection or a certificate in his possession."

"Are you implying that Stephen might have sensitive government documents?" she asked cautiously. "The man last night asked me where 'it' was. He obviously thought I knew what he was talking about."

"Do you?"

"No. I thought we’d already discussed this. If I knew, I definitely wouldn’t be sipping tea and talking to you about it."

He watched her closely for a moment. "It could be a slip of paper. It could be a sculpture. It could be anything. So we’ll have to start with things familiar to you. And that means here."

Calliope looked around the library. Stephen’s gorgeous low library writing table suddenly appeared like a large puzzle, with its undoubtedly vest array of unknown hidden compartments and secret drawers. Large rococo carved mahogany bookcases and trinkets of all sizes and shapes loomed. "Like Psyche starting one of Aphrodite’s labors."

The corners of his mouth creased upward at her muttering. "Since I don’t sense any divine intervention, might I suggest we limit ourselves to documents first? lf we are unsuccessful here, we can search his suite upstairs."

˜

Angelford gestured to the bookcases. They held an extensive library of bound volumes and foreign knickknacks. "It makes more sense for the item to be small, otherwise they would have already discovered it."

The thought of assailants in the house left her cold.

Angelford headed for the desk.

She hurried to intercept him. "These are my papers. Just private correspondence. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He raised a brow.

Calliope was sure he would demand to see them, but she called his bluff. "Listen, if you really suspect me, then go through my things. But until then, I’d like to keep my correspondence private."

"I have no reason to suspect you of anything other than feathering your own nest, so for the time being you can keep your things."

Relief washed through her even as the words grated. She swept up her papers, afraid he would change his mind, but she left them stacked on the desk. It was an act of good faith. The instinctive act shocked her. She had no reason to trust him. For several hours they methodically examined the room, searching the desk’s contents, the secret compartments Angelford was aware of and the bookcases filled with expensively bound books by authors such as Chaucer, Moliere, Voltaire, Rousseau, Milton and Pope. They found nothing out of the ordinary.

It was well into the afternoon, and they were looking through Stephen’s suite, when Calliope realized they hadn’t sniped at one another since starting the search.

Calliope lifted a leather volume off the dresser and smiled appreciatively. “I had hoped to read this. It’s the sequel to the novel Stephen is so fond of. I swear he totes that book everywhere."

"The Red Signet?"

"Yes, that’s the one."

His gaze was intent. "Do you know where it is?"

"In my room. Stephen thought I might enjoy reading it."

Angelford looked energized.

"Show me."

Calliope led the way to her room.

She entered the beautifully adorned room and lifted the book from the rosewood dresser. Angelford’s eyes were brimming with excitement.

"Here, let me see."

Angelford sat on the bed and took the book from her. He felt the spine, then the covers. He paused and then carefully slid his fingers between the two.

"In the past, Stephen has used this book before to stow important documents. It’s an innocuous-looking thing."

Slowly he withdrew two folded pieces of paper. Mindless of the impropriety, Calliope perched beside him and leaned over his shoulder. On one paper was the word Salisbury and a list of names: Angelford, Chalmers, Seagrove, Pettigrew, Tornberry, Roth, Holt, Castlereagh, Hampton, Merriweather, Unknown. The first three-Angelford, Chalmers and Seagrove-had been crossed out. Castlereagh and Merriweather had been crossed off twice.

Salisbury? Calliope’s heart missed a beat. Her mind screamed to flee; her heart froze her in place. A little voice urged her to grab the list and run to Bow Street.

She folded her hands together. "Your name is on the list, my lord. As is Stephen’s."

"This is Stephen’s handwriting. Salisbury…" Angelford’s voice trailed off.

Calliope gripped her hands tightly together. She wanted to scream, Salisbury , what?

"Do you know what the list represents?"

"Many years ago, a mission went sour. A traitor was suspected and a man was murdered. The investigation was dropped under pressure from the Foreign Office because of the turmoil in France and lack of evidence."

Calliope’s heart pounded as Angelford continued his explanation. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice the change in her demeanor. He looked lost in thought; his voice had taken on a distant tone. Absently, almost to himself, he said, "Each person listed here had something to do with that mission."

She kept herself from grabbing the list. "What’s on the other paper?"

Angelford held it up for her to view. It was an imprint of a large bird of prey. "It appears to be an image from a seal or ring."

Calliope took the safer, imprinted page, but she was more interested in the list. Years of smoothing her features came in handy. "So we need to determine who the traitor is from the list. Stephen obviously thought you and this Seagrove fellow were in the clear. Castlereagh committed suicide last year. I don’t know why this Merriweather fellow also has two marks. Maybe he is dead as well? We need to find the seal or ring that made this print."

He looked at her as if she had grown three eyes. "You have helped a great deal by showing me this book, but this is where we part ways. As soon as Finn gets back, I will leave him with you."

Outrage flowed through her. And determination. Anything to do with Salisbury was her concern. "Absolutely not. No one wrote you a threatening note, as I recall. You need me."

He shook his head. "I have enough information to proceed. You need not put yourself in further danger. You could have been seriously injured last night."

"I beg your pardon. If you plan to go off on your own, then I will be forced to conduct my own investigation. I was planning to do so from the beginning."

"And if you do so, I will have you removed from London." His voice was uncompromising.

She was appalled but resolute. "Since the note does not specify what I am to do with the item in question, another message must be forthcoming. Who do you propose will receive it, if I’m not around?"

That made him pause. Shrewd obsidian eyes studied her.

"In addition, my lord, you don’t know for certain that what they are looking for has anything to do with this list or the imprint. You still need me."

Ideas began to take shape in her fractured mind and she seized the moment. "We can say Stephen is on leave. I will circulate and make some discreet inquiries. At the very least it will appear like nothing is amiss. It may cause some confusion and perhaps someone will slip. Perhaps even send another note."

Angelford rose and walked to her dressing table. He picked up the ornate bottle that contained her favorite perfume and ran it beneath his nose. He gazed at it for an eternity. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he said no. Somehow she would conjure a way to conduct her own investigation without Angelford knowing. She had to discover the truth.

He turned and strode stiffly to the door, his usually languid grace absent.

"We will go to Covent Garden this evening."

He disappeared around the frame and she collapsed on the bed, thoughts racing as she heard him murmur a few indiscernible words to Grimmond in the hall. They were to work together after all.

Things were getting more complicated.

Where was Stephen? What the hell had he been doing investigating Salisbury? A traitor killed Salisbury? Who was threatening her? How was she going to handle Angelford? And how long could she keep her secrets?

"Did she get the note?"

Curdle nodded.

His employer tapped his fingers together. They were as elegant as the rest of him. "Then why is she preparing to go out? One of the maids said she is attending the opera tonight."

Curdle felt his eyes narrow as he looked up at his employer. "It’s that swell in the black coach. He’s the one who left his man here the other night."

"Angelford?" His employer showed no sur- prise. "I expected him to poke around after Chalmers’s disappearance. He is loyal to a fault, but I didn’t think he would get involved with the girl. Strange."

"Do you want me to get rid of him?" Curdle was eager.

"Not yet. " His employer continued tapping his fingers. "I know where they are going. I will keep an eye on them tonight."

He continued, "The men could find nothing in either house after countless times searching, so I am positive the girl has the ring. It is the only way Chalmers could possibly know after all these years. Right now she is our best bet. After she produces it…" He shrugged. "Then I will let you have her."

A feral expression stole across Curdle’s face.

Shortly after James’s departure, Calliope penned a note to Deirdre informing her that the troublesome issue from the night before had been resolved. She didn’t want to upset Deirdre or the family yet. She would tell them tomorrow when she had more information. Otherwise their close surveillance would be inhibiting.

Calliope was dressed as Esmerelda when the town coach arrived. She had taken special care with her coiffure and donned a sky-blue diaphanous gown designed to attract male attention. The décolletage was daring and the fabric clung provocatively to her figure. She turned in front of the mirror, satisfied with her appearance. There would be no doubt in the minds of those present that she was looking for new protection.

Calliope descended the staircase. Angelford regarded her closely and then offered his arm. She placed her hand on top.

Grimmond eyed them with interest but merely wished them a good night. Angelford escorted her to the magnificent carriage. The expert workmanship, from the gleaming heraldic arms to the squabs, was apparent.

It was a smart reminder of his position, the difference in their social status, and reason for their tentative relationship.

Calliope arranged her skirts and met his eyes across the carriage. Angelford was an impossibly handsome man, more so in his eveningwear. Dark, almost jet-black hair caressed his patrician face. It wasn’t quite fair some people were so blessed in looks and circumstances while others were so poor in everything. The bitter feelings resurfaced, and she struggled to regain control.

"The Opera Company is performing Don Giovanni tonight."

"How appropriate under the circumstances," she murmured.

His lips curved slightly. "Are you implying I’m Don Juan and you’re Donna Anna?"

She gave him a dark look and changed the subject. "What should I say if people question me about Stephen?"

"Sidestep the questions and let them imagine what they wish. I have every faith in your talent for manipulation."

She ignored the barb for once, too intent on planning. It would be stretching her acting abilities to pretend nothing was amiss when her head was screaming everything was. She could hear Deirdre’s voice scoffing at her to quit whining and assume character.

He continued speaking before she could respond, "Don’t allow anyone to know our real plan. It needs to remain a secret."

She frowned. She hadn’t said anything yet, but she certainly was planning on it when she learned more. "My family and friends will eventually need to be told, especially if more threats are made. If I don’t explain the circumstances soon, they will detect I’m being disingenuous."

"I told you they would be protected. If you tip our hand, I will have to remove you, and be damned with the consequences." He inclined his head faintly. "I have a driver ready to take you from the city immediately."

Anger and something close to relief stirred in her. "You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t.".

His brows lifted in the semidarkness. "Go ahead, my dear, and test me. You’ll find yourself in Yorkshire in a heartbeat."

His voice was hard and unyielding again.

She sank back into the velvet seat. "Very well. I shall endeavor to keep all those who care about me in the dark."

"You demonstrate very good sense, Miss Minton."

She bristled. "Do remember not to call me that. My blasted name is Esmerelda."

"It’s a dreadful name, you know. "

"Blame Stephen if you must. He insisted on using it."

His dark eyes flashed and his face sobered. He looked out the window for the remainder of the trip. They reached the opera house in tense silence.

Calliope emerged from the carriage with his hand wrapped protectively about her arm. She could feel the speculative glances thrown their way.

"Damn vultures," she muttered.

She caught a half smile on his face. "You’re not the only focus of this endeavor. " He gave her a little squeeze, surprising her. "You will be wonderful."

She was shocked speechless and allowed him to pull her into the theater.

As they ascended the stairs, she automatically moved toward Stephen’s box. James guided her farther along. "That is Stephen’s box. We are going to mine."

Angelford’s box was in the front of the first balcony. The premier seats. She resisted the urge to pinch him as he removed the wrap from her shoulders and settled into a seat across from her. The lorgnettes in the room focused on them and she managed a beatific smile and turned to Angelford. He raised his eyebrows in faint surprise.

"What a wonderful box you have, my lord."

Only Angelford would know she was not being genuine.

He smiled. "Only the best, my dear. "

She looked around the box. "How did you come by it?"

"The usual way. I inherited it."

"Ah, generations of Angelfords have graced these seats?"

"No, my father bought it while wooing my mother. He was trying to make a good impression."

The tone of his voice had changed slightly but she was too busy examining the new scenery to pay it heed. "Oh, I do love it when men try to buy a woman’s affection."

She expected a witty response in return but he didn’t answer. She turned to see why. Immediately she wished she could bring to mind his earlier remarks. She replayed what had been said, but could find nothing that would produce his shuttered expression.

Something about his look tugged at her.

"Oh, look, the musicians are arriving. I always love to hear them tune their instruments. The party scene in Act One is very difficult for them." She bent over the rail to motion to the orchestra. "Mozart was very ambitious when he composed this opera. It requires considerable skill for the conductor to coordinate the ensembles of three orchestras onstage and the opera orchestra in the pit."

Calliope caught a glimpse of Robert on the mezzanine level and pulled back inside the box. It was too late to hide. " And soon we will be treated to another performance. Of course, at times one performance vastly surpasses another. And certain composers obviously hold one’s attention better. But then, that is to be expected, yes?"

She knew she was babbling, but she continued talking until an amused smile lifted his lips. She gave a small sigh of relief.

"Do you like the opera, my lord?"

He waited a beat and she held her breath.

"Yes, it is quite odd, I know, but I enjoy the performance." He scanned her lazily from head to toe. "Unless something else is occupying my attention."

Heat rushed over her body. He seemed to have recovered from whatever malady had plagued him. His words caused her imagination to run rampant wondering what the box had been used for in the past.

"Do you need a fan? You appear flushed."

She sent him a saucy look. His current attitude made it easier. "Mmmm, why, yes, my lord. It is rather warm, don’t you think?" She ran her tongue lightly over her lips and gently massaged her neck, letting her head fall back slightly.

His face showed no outward effect, but the muscles in his legs tensed.

Angelford was in excellent physical condition. She remembered how he had easily caught the maid and her tray at the Killroys’ party and how he had lifted her after the attack in the garden.

She savored her victory until he switched chairs, putting himself next to her. He leaned toward her and stroked her neck. "Maybe we should ease the tension."

Her breath caught in her chest and warmth suffused her lower body. She allowed him to continue the gentle massage and met his eyes. She felt herself being sucked into a vortex as he bent his head. He had the most sensual lips of any man she had ever seen.

Lord Holt slipped into the box, breaking the spell. "Esmerelda, my dear, I didn’t know you were going to be at the opera tonight."

Calliope tried to lean back, but James continued stroking her neck, and held her in place.

"Lord Holt, how nice to see you this evening."

She tossed a saccharine smile his way as the door opened again. "Lord Roth, what a pleasant surprise." And it was. He was the perfect buffer for Holt, who she always felt was interrogating her, especially when he started stroking his blasted chin. Both men moved forward.

"Angelford," Lord Roth said.

"Angelford," Lord Holt echoed.

Angelford acknowledged the men tersely. Calliope sent a pointed look in his direction.

He looked irritated, but stood. " Excuse me, my dear, I do believe I will leave you to your admirers while I find refreshments."

She began to hold court as he slipped out the door.

James stepped through the crowd. The orchestra was still tuning, and the performance would soon begin. He wanted to be seated before the curtain rose. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He had wanted to sock both men in the nose before leaving, but sense had prevailed.

James raked his fingers through his hair. This was merely a role he was playing, albeit a dangerous one. Calliope was an imposter and an unknown quantity. She was the mistress of his best friend.

She was also a woman he wanted badly.

His feelings were always in flux around her. She goaded him when she flirted with Stephen. She amused him with her quick wit while reducing society misses to stammering ninnies. She tantalized him with her perfume. She intrigued him with her various guises and mystified him with her subterfuge. And a protective streak had manifested itself when he glimpsed her face as she exited the carriage.

He didn’t like his lack of control one bit.

Stephen. They needed to work together for him. James needed to keep his emotions in check.

But how far to trust her? She was hiding something, he could feel it. Although he couldn’t totally dismiss her as a suspect, she was at the bottom of the list. The threatening note, her actions and her responses held together too well at present.

He grabbed two glasses of wine and scooted back to his box. The atmosphere inside was jovial.

"Good evening to you, Esmerelda. Angelford."

Roth rose, and both he and Holt took their leave.

Calliope accepted the proffered glass and smiled. "Thank you."

She was in a congenial mood and, for once, he had no wish to spoil it.

Act One was exceptional, but he was uninterested. He watched Calliope’s face as she immersed herself in the unfolding drama. Five minutes into the act she relaxed and he observed the byplay of emotions streaming across her face. Generally she was a closed book, but tonight she seemed to experience the drama onstage wholeheartedly.

At intermission they talked about the elaborate set pieces at Giovanni’s castle and the soprano’s wonderful performance.

"Truly a talented lady, " Calliope said.

He looked at her speculatively. "With a name like Calliope I am surprised you don’t sing."

She looked at him with considerable interest.

"Do you like the classics, my lord?"

"Not at first. My tutor said I was quite an unruly student in my early days. One day, probably at his wits’ end, he handed me Homer’s Odyssey. I was hooked."

She nodded in understanding. "I love the ancient myths. My mother was an avid reader. She taught me to read and supplied me with books. She always wanted to build a grand library."

He heard the wistful tone in her voice. "What happened?"

A shadow crossed her face. "She never had the opportunity."

It was the first personal remark she had shared and he didn’t know how to proceed. "What other things did she like?"

The shadow cleared and a sad expression appeared. "She loved to sing."

Reality interfered with the conversation. People streamed in and out of boxes and the gamesmanship began.

"I believe it is time for Esmerelda to cast some lures," Calliope said, and gave her fake locks a slight toss.

James nodded and escorted her to the lobby.

They separated so he could presumably smoke his cheroot on the balcony and she could hold court freely.

Chaos reigned supreme. It seemed the entire opera house had emptied into the lobby. James realized it was always this crowded during intermission, but he was tense thinking about who could be in their midst. He was having difficulty tracking Calliope, and decided to move to the short steps near the pillars flanking the main stairway.

"James!"

He stifled a groan as Lady Flanders cooed his name and headed his way. Penelope was the wife of a man twenty years her senior, and was always dangling for a rendezvous. She never took the hint that James was not interested in dallying with another man’s wife.

"James! I see you have a new trinket to add to your collection." She gained his side, rubbing against him, and turned to watch Esmerelda entertain her admirers. "Not quite as voluptuous as your last one. Let me see, was her name Stella?"

James inclined his head and remained silent.

"You know, you really should think about those whose husbands are too interested in other affairs. There is much to be gained from such a relationship." She peeked at him through her lashes, trying to be coy.

"Penelope, I believe Flanders is looking for you." He motioned toward the earl, whom he could see above the crowd.

She made a dismissive motion toward Flanders. "Dear, don’t you know you are the prime catch? Dear Harry wouldn’t mind trading partners with you for the night, if you would be so inclined."

James was sure her remarks were true. The earl had been a member of the bevy of admirers Esmerelda had drawn over the course of the last few weeks.

"Not tonight, Penelope."

A pout marred her lips when Lord Holt suddenly appeared, terminating further attempts by Penelope.

"Good evening, Lady Flanders. Angelford, may I have a word with you?"

Penelope had no option but to withdraw from the conversation.

Holt waited until she was out of earshot before saying, "I was wondering if you had heard from Chalmers. He should have completed his task by now."

James gave a nonchalant shrug he wasn’t feeling. "Stephen is probably enjoying another lady friend. Or two."

Holt nodded and actively scanned the faces in the crowd. "It is hard to determine who to trust anymore. We are trying to ferret out spies in the department. Haven’t had this much trouble in the office since the Little General was in the field."

What was Holt about? He was notorious for keeping his cards close to his chest. In fact, the other day hadn’t he stated there was nothing afoot? He had made that ludicrous comment about a lull.

Before James could question him further, the trumpets blew, indicating the next act would soon begin. Holt excused himself. James searched for Calliope and was annoyed to find she had moved. He studied the lobby’s occupants. She was nowhere in sight. He walked briskly up to his box, but she was not inside and the second act had already begun.

He felt the first inkling of fear.

James turned and saw Terrence Smith, a man he had seen with Calliope at ton functions, standing in the hallway. Smith tried to appear as if he were waiting for someone, but he wasn’t doing a very fine job of it.

James decided to ignore him and proceed toward the first floor. He turned the corner leading to the steps and nearly collided with a group of people in the otherwise deserted hall. Calliope was in the center, surrounded by admirers. One man was grabbing her waist, trying to draw her in for a kiss. She raised a knee to unman him, but James was quicker. He sent the man flying neatly into the banister. The man swayed before sagging to the ground. James thought he should be commended on not launching the man over the railing and dirtying the floor below.

"Gentlemen," he said, removing his neckcloth.

The group quickly dispersed, hurried apologies and forgotten meetings spewing from their lips.

The man on the ground stumbled after them.

"What were you doing?" James demanded after the men disappeared.

She shot him a malevolent look and attempted to sweep past. He took her by the arm and started to question her again when a couple emerged from a box. He loosened his grip but firmly pulled her toward the stairs and theater exit.

"Release me," she gritted.

He did so only after they had moved into the brisk night air. He motioned her forward, and though she visibly bristled, she stepped inside the ever-ready carriage. Once there she slid less than gracefully into her seat and focused her gaze on the wall. He took the seat across from her.

"Do I have to remind you we were not there for you to actually solicit a new protector?"

She turned and her eyes shot daggers so sharp he had to resist the urge to check himself for wounds.

"No, my lord, I think I am quite capable of figuring that out myself."

"So, what were you doing?"

Her lips tightened and her hands balled in her lap, "I was attempting to gather information concerning our problem and to fend off my so-called new prospects at the same time."

"What did you learn?"

She gave him a fulminating glare. "That men are animals, just like I’ve always known."

Amusement swept through him, washing away some of the tension. "Dear, you have chosen to deal with males for a living. In a way that brings out our worst manners and qualities, I should add. Did you expect anything else?"

She sighed and dissolved into the seat. "I keep hoping, for some reason."

He frowned but she continued, "I conversed with four people on the list during intermission. Lord Roth, the only gentleman in the bunch, asked far too many questions about Stephen. Mr. Ternberry has developed quite an interest in our relationship. Lord Pettigrew is a lecherous bulldog, and there is something guarded in his eyes. I’m sure he is searching for something. Lord Holt asked enigmatic questions as usual, but none of them were explicitly about Stephen. And there are about ten others who aren’t on the list who were extremely nosy and pushy." She ticked them off on her fingers in quick succession.

James was a bit taken aback. "Quite a good start, actually."

She must have heard the surprise in his voice because she shot him a long-suffering look. "You will find I am a decent observer, my lord. I’ve had if a great deal of experience."

James nodded, already thinking about phase two of their plan. "By the way, Terrence Smith was standing near the box. Is he privy to your disguise?"

"No. " She paused. "But I found it unnerving to see Terrence at the opera tonight. I don’t think he recognized me as Margaret Stafford, but he was one of the few members of the ton with whom I regularly spoke. Put me off my game a little bit to see him."

The last part sidetracked him. "Not too well treated in the ton, were you? Is that the reason you switched venues?"

She didn’t look at him, but answered, "You should know, my lord. You were one of the worst."

His conscience reared, but he firmly repressed it. "I still question your purpose in being the dowdy Margaret Stafford. If I had known what a gorgeous mistress I could have made of you, be assured I would have swooped in long before Stephen."

Outrage bloomed on her face and angry spots of color appeared. "You have some nerve. I cannot fathom why I continue to waste my time speaking with you. We can conduct this investigation with limited conversation. In fact, I mean to not talk-" Her voice broke off abruptly as he grabbed her right leg and hoisted it on his lap.

" Stop that. Put my leg down."

He ignored her and pulled off her slipper, massaging the sole of her foot, her ankle and calf.

"This is totally improper. Stop." She reached forward, trying to pull her leg down, but he casually pushed her back into her seat. She sputtered. He smiled.

"Relax, Miss Minton."

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He continued to massage her foot. The rhythm of the carriage was lulling. He felt the change in her body as she eased into the cushion. He picked up her other foot and gave it the same treatment. She closed her eyes and a slight sigh escaped from her lips.

Her blissful sigh caused him to stop his ministrations. The air was feeling a tad warm. It was time to get control of the situation again.

"Calliope-"

The coach hit a bump and because of the precarious way she was positioned she bounced right off the seat. He leaned forward and caught her before she landed on the floor.

She gave a startled laugh and looked up at him.

He looked into her intense eyes and lowered his lips to hers. All thought of gaining control of the situation was gone.

She tasted like mint and smelled like lavender. Lavender and what else? Without breaking the kiss, he pulled her onto his lap and ran his right hand along the nape of her neck, tugging off her wig. He moved his fingers through her hair, releasing the pins and pulling her closer. She shivered but returned the embrace and kiss wholeheartedly.

He deepened the kiss and was lost.