Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 9

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."

"I’ll let it drop for now, Calliope, but rest assured we’ll discuss it another time."

She gave him a disgruntled look and changed the subject again. "Other than Pettigrew, who do you think was in the room with us?"

"Whoever it was, he didn’t sound particularly adept, wouldn’t you agree?"

There was a slight easing in her tense features, and she nodded.

"We have to assume Pettigrew took whatever he was after, so we are going to have to continue our search later tonight. Together."

She lifted an eyebrow, her features relaxing more.

He continued, "That way we can explain ourselves if we are caught. We’ll just say we weren’t able to reach our own rooms in time."

He held out his arm and felt the slight shiver run through her as they made contact. It caused an equal reaction in him.

This whole debacle was becoming increasingly tangled. Arm in arm, they headed back to the party.

They neared the card room, where most of the male guests were playing high-stakes games. Calliope ran an imaginary hand over her features, smoothing them into her practiced mask. She tried to do the same with her emotions, but had less success.

Fear and trauma after losing her mother had kept her from confronting Salisbury. With time, both emotions had lessened and the desire to see him and confront him had grown. The opportunity had been snatched away with his untimely death.

Calliope had mourned his death. She had rationalized that her feelings had sprung from the inability to seek her own small justice, but she had always known that in a locked-up place in her heart she had mourned for the smiling man who’d always read her favorite stories aloud.

Her feelings for her father were as jumbled as her feelings for the man on whose arm she had placed her hand.

Lady Flanders rose from the table that included Roth, Ternberry and Pettigrew. She gave Calliope a superior look and swept out of the room.

Roth smiled at Calliope. "Esmerelda, come join us. Oh, you too, Angelford." Roth waved a hand toward James as if to indicate that he was a poor second choice.

They were playing whist.

Roth was partnering Pettigrew. Ternberry gave a snort of disgust and he too rose. "Cheating sons of-"

Roth lifted an eyebrow and Ternberry took himself off quickly.

"Well, then, looks like we have two empty seats," Roth said.

"What do you say to one game, my dear? Would you be willing to be my partner for a quick win before we retire to other pursuits?" James said confidently as he held the seat for Calliope.

Calliope was glad he had committed them for a single game. Whist was addictive and they needed to continue their search.

Roth won the draw. He shuffled the cards expertly, offered James a cut and dealt each player thirteen cards. His thirteenth card, a ten of diamonds, lay face up to indicate trump. Play began and each player tested the others’ skills through subsequent hands.

Calliope was unsurprised to find Angelford an excellent player. He was aggressive at all the appropriate times and had an uncanny knack for correctly assessing her hand. The irritating man was enjoying himself as he scooped up the last trick. He gathered the cards and shuffled.

"Pettigrew, did you find the Egyptian scroll satisfactory?"

Pettigrew grimaced at the score. James and Calliope needed only one more point for game.

"What? Oh, yes. It was exactly what I was looking for. "

James smoothly handed the cards to Pettigrew for a cut. "Are you searching for anything else?"

Pettigrew fumbled nervously but completed the cut. James began dealing without glancing at Pettigrew and Calliope noticed a bead of moisture forming on Pettigrew’s forehead. Roth seemed oblivious to the undercurrents; he merely sat sipping his wine.

"No, at present I am not in the market for anything else." The bead of moisture slipped down the side of Pettigrew’s face.

James picked up his cards. "I heard there are some avid buyers right now. I was wondering if you knew anything. "

Roth lazily scanned his cards and then threw out a spade lead. "Do you have anything for sale, Angelford? Something of interest?"

"I may."

Calliope watched Pettigrew’s pale face as he scooped up the trick he had played off with a heart. Roth, on the other hand, appeared totally at ease. Pettigrew was out of his league on several counts.

Roth nodded and led another spade. "You may find someone interested at the ministry. I hear there is an inquiry into lost objects."

James played his card and Pettigrew threw a spade.

"Well, I say, I do believe I have accidentally revoked, which gives you two the game. Absent-

minded of me. My apologies, Roth. I do believe I will check on my other guests."

Pettigrew excused himself and quickly exited the room.

Roth idly played with the remaining cards in his hand. "If I may offer some advice, I suggest you-"

Lady Flanders breezed back into the room and ran a finger suggestively down the front of Roth’s tailored coat. "Roth, darling, what are you still doing here? Come join the others."

She sent a coolly appraising look to Calliope and assumed a lofty stance. "Leave Angelford to his pursuits, odd as they may be."

It was obvious she would not leave until Roth followed. Roth sent Calliope an amused glance. "As you can see, everyone has a motive. Until later."

He placed Lady Flanders’s wandering hand on his arm and followed in the footsteps of Pettigrew.

James looked thoughtfully at the retreating couple.

"Where is her husband?" Calliope muttered.

James smiled. His eyes lit with mischief and her breath caught. He was devastating when he smiled.

"Penelope and Flanders don’t keep a tight rein on each other. He no doubt is enjoying the company of his latest peccadillo. Each has an insatiable appetite for variety and numbers, much like the Pettigrews. I must say she has damnable timing, however. "

"l wonder what Roth was going to say. "

"I don’t know, but maybe we should begin our search in his room."

Curdle crept silently down the long hall, hesitating every so often as he heard voices.

Things were becoming increasingly more difficult. And he didn’t like this latest turn of events.

Someone had spilled his guts and now Angelford’s hellhound was nipping closely at his heels. It had taken all of Curdle’s considerable talent to elude the man these past few nights.

He would have a long talk with his employer about this inconvenience.

Curdle cracked his knuckles menacingly and proceeded to his employer’s room.

Task accomplished.

Confirmation given.

At last his reward was close at hand.

"I never expected Roth to be so fastidious. Appearance is one thing, one’s personal space another."

James closed the door silently behind them and they returned to Calliope’s room to fetch her wrap. During the search of Roth’s room, they had gained nothing but confirmation that the man was single-minded in all of his habits.

Calliope opened her door. "He is very mysterious, is he not?"

James frowned. "I don’t think Roth is all tha-"

He bumped into her back. She had stopped dead in the doorway.

"James, something is wrong. Someone has been here."

He moved around her and searched the armoire and under the bed, the only two available hiding places in the room. "Are you certain it was not just your maid tidying things?"

"No, it’s not that."

"Is anything missing?"

Calliope was already looking through her things. "No, I don’t believe so, it’s more a feeling."

She was staring anxiously at the door and window.

"We’ll both stay here or in my room."

Relief and alarm warred on her face. "Perhaps I’m just a bit edgy because of Pettigrew’s study. "

"If anyone sees me leaving your room in the morning, it will lend credence to our relationship. As long as no one sees me on the sofa, that is. Now, here’s your shawl, let’s try Pettigrew’s chambers."

The suite was as far away from their rooms as one could get in the huge manor. For the first time James grudgingly found himself admitting he was glad Calliope had accompanied him. If they were caught, their presence in any part of the house could be easily explained away as a lovers’ game.

They were in and out of his rooms quickly. Pettigrew’s rooms proved as fruitless as Roth’s. By the time they left his suite it was three o’clock in the morning. Because it was necessary to keep track of the guests, James and Calliope kept making appearances downstairs. The party was still in swing, but they noted several of the guests had retired.

"It’s going to be more difficult to conduct a search when we don’t know which rooms contain guests," James said.

They passed the card room, where a heated game was being played. Mr. Ternberry was wiping his brow. He appeared to be losing heavily.

"Ternberry is well known for his tenacity at trying to win his money back. Usually an unwise decision. So let’s search his room next. He will be preoccupied for at least an hour or two."

Calliope nodded and they headed toward the west wing where Ternberry’s room was located.

A laughing couple came down the hall and James put an arm around Calliope, pulling her close. He tipped her chin up and their lips met. A soft sound of surprise was swallowed as her body melted against his. The couple passed, but James didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Calliope’s hands snaked their way around his neck and she was leaning against him. He didn’t know who was hungrier, or why were they standing in the hallway when their rooms were just down the hall.

She tasted just like she smelled… a hint of lavender.

A door slammed closed and reality intruded. The thought was like a cold bucket of water.

James broke the kiss and looked down at Calliope. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open. Hell, he wanted to kiss her again, but they had dallied too long and time was running short.

"One of these times we won’t be interrupted, I promise."

James pulled her along in her slightly dazed state. Ternberry’s door was locked.

He withdrew a thin piece of metal from his pocket and worked on the mechanism. It clicked and a remarkably composed Calliope looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

They entered the room and found a mess. It was the opposite of Roth’s spartan and well-organized room. There was a certain irony in the situation, since the two men’s attitudes garnered contradictory impressions.

"This is going to take a while."

James had to agree. There were piles of papers on the floor and they agreed it was the best place to start. Paper after paper was discarded. Sifting through the papers together on the floor was uncomfortable. After that kiss, all James wanted to do was drag her back to her room.

Calliope finally held up a sheet of paper in triumph. "This is it, I recognize this sheet from Pettigrew’s study."

They bent their heads together. Unfortunately for James, her hair and skin smelled like the scent always surrounding her.

Forcing his traitorous mind back to the paper, he read the pertinent part aloud: " 'Something needs to be done about the Stephen Chalmers situation. Look into it right away and take the necessary action.'" It was unsigned, but a recognizable seal was embossed in the corner.

An icy stab flew through James. "This is from the Foreign Office."

What was this contract doing in Ternberry’s room?

Calliope looked at him. "What does it mean?"

"It could mean anything. It’s too cryptic."

She frowned in disappointment and picked up another sheet of paper.

"Looks like a birth certificate."

James took the offered sheet. It was a birth certificate for Edmund Henry Samuel Crane. The date listed was 1802. "That’s Holt’s son."

The clock struck four.

"Come, the time is late and we can’t risk discovery." He replaced the sheets and scattered the pile to resemble its former mess.

James grabbed Calliope’s hand and when she didn’t protest, he pulled her to the door. Peeking outside, he pulled back as a scantily clad woman ran from one room to another, knocking softly on the door. Another glance showed a man buttoning his trousers as he sauntered to a room a few doors away.

Calliope was attempting to peer over his shoulder but he held her back, breathing a sigh of relief when the traffic in the hallway momentarily halted. He locked the door and tugged her outside. They ran down the few steps to her room and fell inside.

Calliope started laughing uncontrollably. "It’s like musical doors around here."

James felt a tug at his own lips. "Yes, house parties can be like that. Luckily we don’t have to play that game."

Calliope’s laughter died as she saw the expression on his face. A fire slowly built. "No, I think that might be a bad idea. I believe we both should retire now. We can talk in the morning."

He didn’t move for a moment and she held her breath thinking he might ignore the entreaty. A part of her wished he would. She tried to tamp the thought down but it wouldn’t desist.

He moved toward her, toward the bed. Her breathing became erratic.

"My lord, no… " Her voice came out breathy and foreign to her ears.

James reached for her and she felt herself swaying toward him, tipping her chin back to look in his eyes. He rubbed his thumb across her lips, and then bent down, two inches, one inch. She rose slightly off the floor. His hand travelled down her arm. Her eyes started to close.

Air. It was the only thing touching her. She r opened her eyes and saw his retreating back, the extra blanket that had been covering the bed in his hand.

Calliope’s jaw sagged slightly.

"I will leave at daybreak. The servants will be up and about and you will be perfectly safe."

He dropped onto the settee, his long legs hanging off the end. It had to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t make a peep.

She was outraged. Calliope stomped to the wardrobe and withdrew her nightclothes.

She looked over at him, but his back was to her.

She changed her clothes with difficulty, not ringing for Betsy. She watched to see if he peeked. He didn’t. And there was no offer of help.

Calliope’s teeth gnashed together. She should be relieved. Instead, she was confused and irritated. And she couldn’t explain any of it.

Slipping under the covers, she stared at the ceiling.

She was still staring at the ceiling when he rose and quietly left the room at dawn, as promised.