Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 15

"Stephen!" Calliope said as they rushed to his side.

Stephen was haggard, his face damp with unhealthy perspiration. He didn’t acknowledge Calliope’s cry; his lashes lay still on his cheek. James nudged her aside and ran fingers around Stephen’s face. Stephen’s heartbeat was strong and his chest rose normally.

"He’s alive. Where has he been?"

" A street urchin brought him in a hack, my lord. She made certain he was brought in, then she took off before we could detain her. Slippery little thing. And the driver couldn’t tell us anything."

James looked down at Calliope and saw tears running down her cheeks. She looked as if her life depended on Stephen waking up and speaking.

"Have you called a doctor?" he asked one of the footmen.

"No, milord, he arrived minutes before you returned. I wasn’t sure if that was what you would want, what with everyone thinking he was dead and all."

James nodded. "Good."

Calliope looked at him, aghast. "James, we must call a doctor. Look at him. He’s at death’s door."

"Stephen’s heartbeat is steady. Quite frankly, I’m more concerned that whoever did this to him will try to finish the job if they know he is alive."

Calliope stood and poked him in the chest, punctuating her words. "I can’t believe you are going to let him lie here unattended. We don’t know the extent of his injuries and if he catches fever, he may die."

"An hour or two should not matter. " He turned to see Grimmond in the doorway holding blankets. "Grimmond, cover him and have the lads warm bricks. Have Cook prepare broth that can be spooned down his throat when he awakens."

James looked into Calliope’s eyes. "I need to talk to Holt first and determine his involvement in this whole affair. Then we will call a doctor. Holt has contacts everywhere and I don’t know any medical man who wouldn’t be inclined to talk to him if pressured. Believe me, Stephen would want it this way."

"Fine, then leave."

She dismissed him and went back to tending her patient. She made soothing noises and spread her fingers across Stephen’s brow. She had betrayed him and was now acting as if their roles were reversed. James felt like shaking her. He remembered his words to her outside.

"She is not to leave this house," he ordered the footmen.

He saw her body tighten, but she made no comment as James headed for the door.

There was no use staying here and trying to appeal to her. His time would be better used questioning Holt. James knew when he had been abandoned.

Calliope’s emotions caught up with her for the second time, and she allowed them to spill. What a watering pot she was becoming. When she had spotted Stephen, it was like having an old friend return in the middle of a crisis. He was her lifeline. But all she really wanted was for James to return. Foolish of her.

Seeing that caricature had brought reality back like a slap in the face. James was the Marquess of Angelford, nobleman and lover. Not Mr. James Trenton, friend and suitor.

And what was this about her being cruel? She wasn’t cruel. She was just… She just gave what she got. They deserved it.

She hated the nobility. Didn’t she?

Sleep. Maybe it would bring a new perspective. She would definitely feel better after a nap.

Calliope made Stephen comfortable and drew up a small armchair and quilt.

She wished Deirdre were here. She needed her sister’s advice and comfort. But Deirdre wasn’t there, so Calliope sank into the soft fabric and laid her head against the cushions.

When had things gone so wrong? When had life become so complicated?

Calliope stared at the ceiling, too tired to sleep. Why had she created so many illustrations of James? Probably because she was already half in love before she knew him.

Being in constant proximity to him these past few days had only made her fall the other half of the way. And fall hard.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. Yes, she admitted to herself, she was in love with James Trenton, the Marquess of Angelford. And it hurt. He was not for her. He would never be for her.

She had proven inept in proper society when allowing her real personality to show. She wasn’t cut out for their circles. The Killroys’ ball-what a travesty. It had been quite an awful experience to live through, but she had rendered a bucketful of marketable caricatures. And she had retained her dignity.

Thank goodness for Terrence. If he hadn’t lent her his carriage she would have been forced to walk the entire way home that night. And walking home would have been…

Calliope bolted straight up. Terrence’s card. The ornate one with the seal that had slipped from his pocket. She had dismissed it as the seal of his father’s baronetcy. No wonder the falcon ring design had seemed familiar. She had seen its like before.

From where had Terrence gotten the seal? Calliope jumped off the seat, wiped her cheeks and hurried to change. She had to question Terrence and she had better dress as Margaret Stafford.

With renewed energy, Calliope changed into an outdated outfit and grabbed her father’s cane. If anything untoward should happen, it would be a useful weapon. Not that Terrence was in the least threatening. No, he had probably unknowingly picked the card up. Calliope just needed to find out from whom he had gotten it.

She checked Stephen, satisfied he was breathing comfortably and pleased he had regained some color. The errand would take little time and he would be safely guarded. Servants were frequently checking on his progress. As she hurried to the door, she remembered James’s orders to the footmen. They wouldn’t allow her to leave. They would heed James’s directives.

She headed for the study. She would be able to climb out the first-floor window without difficulty. Oddly she was not interrupted on the way. Once there, she opened the window, hiked her skirts and shimmied into the bushes, pulling the cane and her reticule behind her. She sprinted around the side of the house and edged her way to the street. It was broad daylight. She hurried before anyone from the house spotted her.

No alarm was sounded as she hailed a hackney rambling down the street. Unfortunately, there would be no one to accompany her.

As a result of her research she knew Terrence’s rented house was in a less prosperous district of town. She had kept tabs on a number of people in the ton. But what would she use as her excuse for going to his house? It was unseemly for an unaccompanied woman to meet with an unmarried gentleman at his residence.

The hackney pulled up to a charming but shabby old building twenty minutes later. Calliope paid the driver and used her cane to maneuver up the drive. She was suddenly glad she had brought it with her. Her leg had started aching a bit last night and it had gotten progressively worse with the stress of the day.

Calliope knocked on the door and was surprised when Terrence opened it seconds later.

"Miss Stafford, wh-what are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly open.

"I hope I am not intruding, Mr. Smith, but I wished to speak with you."

He hesitated, but finally said, "No, do come in. I hope you won’t think me rude, but I’m expecting company soon."

"Thank you, I won’t stay long."

He showed her into the surprisingly modern drawing room.

"Please sit. Would you like tea?"

"No, please do not trouble yourself. I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to thank you for what you did the night of the Killroys’ ball. It was such a nice gesture."

Pink stained his cheeks. "Well, it was the least I could do after what that-that-woman did."

Calliope allowed a graceful blush to stain her cheeks and ducked her head shyly. "It was most kind of you to provide your carriage."

"Are you doing well, Miss Stafford? Have you found other employment?"

"Oh, indeed I have! I have a lovely job working in a barrister’s office not too far from here. It is a quite a wonderful place to work."

A genuine smile lit his face. "I am glad to hear it. "

"Actually, that is the second reason for my visit. I was hoping you could tell me who designed that beautiful eagle seal that I saw on one of your cards the night of the ball. The barrister for whom I work uses an eagle as his trademark and I would love to have calling cards created as a gift for hiring me with so few references."

Terrence shifted in his seat. "Well, as it happens I don’t believe it is an eagle. And I am not sure where that seal was purchased. The card was given to me by a… friend."

Calliope leaned forward in her chair. "If you tell me who your friend is, perhaps I could ask him." She threw an extra dash of feminine helplessness and appeal into her entreaty.

Terrence suddenly straightened. "I say, Miss Stafford, I think I could ask around and see if I can find a similar type of seal. Maybe one with a true eagle emblem."

She chewed on her lip. "I did so hope to give it to my employer soon."

"I will find it! I promise. What is the name of your barrister’s office?"

"Yes, Miss Stafford, tell him the name of the office."

Calliope jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice. It was cold and silky. She shivered and turned in her chair.

Terrence jumped to his feet. "You’re early, my lord."

"Yes, and it is fortuitous, I see."

A startled look appeared on Terrence’s face and Calliope saw the intruder. A tall, distinguished man with dark hair shot with strands of silver was standing in the drawing room doorway, a coat elegantly draped over his arm.

A wave of apprehension spread through her. A rustle in the hallway alerted her to the presence of another. A second man appeared, this one much stockier in stature. The look in the second man’s beady eyes chilled her. Her entire body screamed danger.

"Miss Stafford, is it? I’m glad you’re here. It makes things so much easier, you see."

Terrence stared at them, open-mouthed. "Did you know Miss Stafford was coming today? What does she have to do with this?"

"A great many things, I’m afraid." The earl uttered the words and the short man rubbed his pudgy hands together in anticipation. Calliope took several short breaths to calm herself.

"I don’t understand." Terrence remained stupefied.

The earl merely smiled. "Yes, I expected no less of you, Terrence. What did you find out about Angelford?"

Terrence anxiously looked at Calliope, but the earl motioned him on.

" He was roaming the streets today with his lightskirt. I trailed them to the Strand. They didn’t stay for long. They returned to Chalmers’s townhouse, and he left shortly thereafter. Unaccompanied."

Calliope could hear her own heart beating madly. Why in heaven’s name had she come here alone? And without informing anyone of her whereabouts?

"Good. Angelford will be cooped up there for hours. He is like a dog sniffing out a bone. He won’t leave Holt’s until he is assured of his innocence. Or his guilt." A sly smile appeared. "Hopefully the latter."

Terrence glanced nervously back at Calliope. "Why are you discussing this in front of her?"

"Oh, she won’t talk. My associate here will make sure of that."

Calliope rose to her feet and the earl arched an eyebrow. "And where do you think you’re going, Calliope?"

Her breath caught.

Terrence frowned. "Her name is Margaret."

The earl sent a condescending look in Terrence’s direction. "That is why I let you trail Angelford. You would have too difficult a time keeping up with his woman."

Terrence looked thoroughly confused. It showed in every muscle of his body. "I told you, the woman is at her house."

"Would you like to tell him or should I?"

Calliope sent him an angry look and mustered her temper. "No, my lord, I would not deny you the chance."

"Feisty little thing. I see why he keeps you around. I thought I was rid of you after the Killroys’ ball. A couple of well-meaning hints in Lady Simpson’s ear…" He smiled and shrugged.

So her firing had nothing to do with James after all. Calliope balled her hands.

"Are you implying that Miss Stafford is that Esmerelda woman?" Terrence was naive and a bit slow at times, but not stupid.

"Actually, there is no Miss Stafford. There is no Esmerelda either. I have no idea how many other guises she has taken, but this is Miss Calliope Minton, daughter of the Viscount Salisbury."

"And I assume you are the man who killed him."

The earl cocked an eyebrow at her. "That credit will fall to Holt, not to me."

"I don’t know why you did it. I barely know who you are. But it was you."

The earl produced an unpleasant laugh. "My dear, you wound me to the core. Nevertheless, Holt will take the blame for your father’s untimely death and your dear lover will die proving it."

A surge of fear shot through Calliope, but she tried to maintain her composure. "How exactly is that going to happen?"

Terrence was looking at the earl as if he were the Hydra, sporting multiple heads. "See here, what is this about dying and murdering? I don’t want anything to do with that. You said I could court Lucinda and marry her if I fulfilled my end of the bargain."

"Keep your mouth shut and stop blubbering, you twit."

"Lucinda?" The pieces began to assemble.

"He’s her uncle and guardian. Lucinda listens to him, she’ll eventually begin to know the real me."

"Oh, Terrence," Calliope said sadly. He looked miserable and her heart went out to him, but she focused on the scowling earl. "Terrence was just supposed to keep tabs on James, wasn’t he? He knows nothing about any of this."

"Now that he does, however, we will need to rearrange our bargain."

Terrence looked terrified and Calliope didn’t blame him.

"Miss Minton, tell me where the ring is."

"A ring? That is what this is all about?" she asked innocently.

The earl was not amused. "Where is it?"

"Did my father take it from you? Is that why you killed him?"

"It is my ring and I want it back."

"And our townhouse… you set the fire to destroy the evidence, didn’t you?"

"Give it to me."

Calliope gave him a superior look. "By now James has shown Holt the ring. It will only be a matter of time before they find you."

The earl gave her a withering look. "I doubt that, my dear, but if so it will be of no interest to you."

The stocky man ambled forward. He had crooked teeth, a hooked nose and an extremely pockmarked face. "Shall I take care of both of them now?" His eyes didn’t touch on Terrence, he was totally focused on Calliope.

"We don’t want to worry our young helper, Curdle. He is still our friend, after all. Come, Terrence, tie up Miss Minton, here, and then we’ll talk."

Terrence looked at Calliope but she gave a firm shake of her head. It would do no good to argue. Save that for later.

In fascinated horror Calliope watched as the stocky man moved forward, but Terrence had obviously read his intentions correctly because he reached out and gripped Calliope’s arm.

Curdle yanked her away and roughly pushed Terrence back. Her body instinctively recoiled and she struggled.

Curdle laughed unpleasantly.

They tied a cord around her arms and legs and she was helpless to move. His fetid breath brushed her brow. She spat in his face and he backhanded her and stuffed a wad of cloth in her mouth. He grabbed the top of her dress and callously ran his hands over the material.

"Enough, Curdle," ordered the earl. "There will be time for that later."

After some argument, Curdle shoved her in a small, dark storage room. Terrence was barely able to throw the cane in after her before Curdle slammed the door. She could hear them arguing on the other side.

"I’ll stay with the filly. Never know who might be visiting."

"You can have your sport later. She’s not going anywhere. I need you to head over to Holt’s. If Angelford is there, kill them both. Terrence and I will be waiting for your return."

A shuffle of footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Where are the papers, Terrence?"

"They are in a safe place." The frightened note in Terrence’s voice was audible through the door.

"I want them. Where are they?"

"I-I won’t give them to you. I want to know what is going on. What are you going to do with Miss Stafford-er, Miss Minton?"

Calliope heard a loud thump and the sound of a heavy object hitting the floor.

The door opened and the earl stood tall in the doorway. "Sorry, my dear. But I don’t believe you have any more information for me. And unfortunately for you, you have too much information. But not to worry, you won’t die alone. Terrence, here, will be with you. And your dear James will join you shortly after he gives me the ring."

He gave her an almost fatherly smile. "Goodbye, my dear. Your antics were amusing to watch. It’s a shame we couldn’t get along more companionably."

She shrieked at him through the cloth that was tied over her mouth, as he closed the door and she was once more thrust in the dark. Why hadn’t he put a bullet through her?

At the moment she didn’t care; she was still alive. Calliope wondered what had happened to Terrence. Poor misguided Terrence. Lucinda Fredericks would be the death of him after all.

Calliope worked her hands, trying to free the ropes. It was useless, they were wrapped too tightly, but as she struggled, her left hand brushed her cane and a small ray of hope bloomed. Calliope shuffled the cane’s head back to her hands. A little more. Just a little more. The handle was in her fingers. Twisting it was another matter. She couldn’t get her wrists far enough apart to turn the knob. She needed more leverage.

She sat for a second before the idea came. She moved the cane as quickly as she could until she was sitting on the handle. Grabbing the rod with both hands, she twisted. The joyous sound of a click registered in Calliope’s ears.

She moved the cane around and positioned the blade between her tightly coiled wrists. She started sawing at the cord and nicked a finger. She stopped for a second to reposition when she smelled smoke.

The terror paralyzed her. Fire. She could smell the pungent fumes. Now she knew why the earl had not returned. Instinct kicked into motion and she began furiously sawing at the cords, heedless of the pain radiating from the nicks and cuts to her hands, wrists and arms. Smoke filtered under the door and she screamed into the cloth.

James walked swiftly down the street. He was off his usual stride, too emotionally wound to saunter as usual. He had told the driver to meet him at Holt’s. He couldn’t stay in the carriage one second longer. He was almost there.

Hurt and anger raged through him. Stephen had obviously known Calliope was the caricaturist. It would explain the political cartoons: Stephen could have easily filled Calliope in on the events at Parliament. It would also explain Stephen’s comical reaction when James had shown him the illustration at White’s. What a good laugh they must have had at his expense. No, that couldn’t be right; Stephen had been surprised. Stephen hadn’t known Calliope caricatured James.

But James should have known. All the pieces had been in front of him, but he had never entertained the notion that Landes was a woman. His thoughts muddled together. The stakes of the game were too high and he needed to sort his personal feelings from his professional ones.

What had happened last night? He was thoroughly confused by her.

James maintained the brisk pace. She had never been intimate with Stephen. That was obvious. But why? Was this a part of her caricature scheme? It made sense. It was a good way to get entree into society. And it would explain why she had been a lady’s companion before. But how had she gotten involved with Stephen? That was an especially intriguing question since she was personally tied to Salisbury.

He was going to have answers before he wrung her neck. No, he was going to take her upstairs as soon as he got her to his townhouse. Then he would wring her neck.

Of course, her answers probably would not be what he wanted to hear. She had looked at Stephen like the sun rose and set with him. Perhaps now that he was back she would become his mistress in truth. There was nothing standing in their way.

He didn’t care if Stephen was his best friend. The thought of her with another left a bitter taste. He didn’t know when he had become so possessive, but the feeling wouldn’t leave.

A hackney barreled past and stopped a short distance ahead. Finn jumped out and ran toward him.

"She’s gone, my lord."

"What do you mean, she’s gone?"

"She escaped through the study window while everyone was busy. "

"One of the footmen is in my carriage down the street. Tell him to take your hack to the Adelphi Theatre. She is probably visiting her family. Grab my carriage and wait for me here, I’ll only be a few minutes."

Finn nodded and hurried off. The more James thought about the situation, the less he was sure she was at the Adelphi. Why wouldn’t she have taken one of the footmen? He cursed when he remembered giving the instructions that she couldn’t leave the premises. It had been high-handed of him, but he had done so for her safety.

Why did loved ones always disobey?

James stopped cold.

A vision of her in her dowdy garb standing up to the ton harpies was followed by one of her at Madame Giselle’s, defiant in her shift. Her laughter learning to ride, her bravery in the coach during the chase through London, the passionate look on her face last night… the images coalesced into one thought.

He forced his right foot to take a step. Then his left.

He was in love with her. Now that he acknowledged the emotion, it was apparent to him that such had been the case for a long time. He couldn’t remember ever being as personally interested in a woman before.

It should have been obvious when he looked at the caricature earlier. He had no interest in the ladies of the ton. He abhorred the philandering of the wives and the insipidness of the debutantes. He disliked the games, the gossip, the insincerity.

All along he had known this was where it would lead. Had felt it the first night he laid eyes on her. She was the instrument of his father’s revenge. James would lose the woman he loved in payment for his mother’s death.

He was scared. He freely admitted it. It was the reason he had studiously avoided falling into love after seeing his father’s downfall. What would it be like to watch the woman he loved leave him? James squelched the thought before it took hold. He was nearing Holt’s walkway and he willed himself to proceed up the drive instead of turning around to scour the city for Calliope.

The butler ushered him into the study and Holt dispensed with the formalities. "l know why you are here. There isn’t much time. My spies tell me movement is afoot. You are close. That much is apparent, if the underworld is scuffling about. You should head out of town for the night, and take your ladybird with you."

James resisted the urge to correct Holt for calling Calliope his ladybird.

"Why should I leave? I’d prefer they come after me so I can end this."

"You don’t know with whom or with what you are dealing."

"Yes, I know. It’s one of the Falcons. One of them went rogue."

"Yes." Holt showed no surprise at James’s knowledge.

"Where is your ring, Holt?"

Holt produced it from a hidden pocket in his coat. It was nearly identical to the one in Salisbury ’s cane.

"We found the missing ring."

Holt’s eyes gleamed. "Where is it?"

James pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to him.

"Oh, dear. I wish Stephen had entrusted me with this weeks ago."

"He probably didn’t know if you were involved."

"Yes. But now it may be too late. This is an internal matter and it must be kept that way. Few people know about the Falcon rings and the society."

James nodded at the ring. "Whose ring is this?"

"The Earl of Flanders."

James digested that startling piece of information. "Do you know who is working with him?"

"I have been keeping tabs on all of you lately. Flanders has been keeping company with some pretty low types. He’s also been seen slipping in and out of Terrence Smith’s house for the past few months. No doubt Flanders promised his ward’s hand in marriage or some such nonsense."

James felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He suddenly knew Calliope’s destination. "Where is Smith’s house?"

Holt looked askance but rattled off the direction. "It is too bad Stephen is not here to help," Holt said.

Another strong feeling pounded through James.

"You should leave, Holt. Go now with someone you trust. You are in danger, someone is trying to frame you. We found a phony birth certificate for your son, Edmund."

Holt sent him an odd look, but nodded.

James ran out the door and into the waiting carriage, giving the directions to Finn.

They took off toward the other side of town. He cursed every rut that slowed them down and yelled at other carriages to move from their path. They were taking too long to reach her.

Excruciating minutes later, they pulled up to an already smoking house. She was inside, he could feel it. Fear as he’d never known thrust him from the carriage and inside the human furnace.

Calliope could barely feel her hands, they were so bloody and battered. But she felt the final snap of the cord and pulled them apart. She ripped off the gag and, grasping the blade with both hands, began cutting the cord binding her feet. She made quick work of it and stumbled to the door. She clasped the hot handle and opened the door. A dense gray fog filled the passageway and she could see flames down the hallway.

Finn was standing over Terrence’s inert form. '

Where had he come from?

"Finn!" She tried to scream, but her smoke-filled lungs only produced a weak sound. He turned and saw her. Relief crossed his features and he motioned for her to follow. They navigated the staircase and made their way to the front yard, where Finn deposited Terrence.

"What are you doing here? Where’s James?"

Finn was moving back toward the door. He didn’t answer.

"James is inside?"

A fear unlike anything Calliope had experienced swallowed her whole. She had thought she had no strength left, but blood pumped through her veins as she chased after Finn. They reached the porch stairs when a loud crack sounded and the second-floor supports began to give way.

"No!"

Finn grabbed her and hauled her away from the porch. "You can’t do him any good, miss, if you get yourself killed going in there."

Calliope tried to push through him, but Finn was an immovable object.

She kicked him in the shin, used his surprise to push him off the porch and then raced through the front door. Vivid memories of her mother running inside their townhouse returned with painful clarity. Calliope felt sick and terror consumed her, but her foremost thought was finding James.

"James! James! Where are you?"

There was no answer. The entire back of the house was engulfed in flames. Sparks singed her hair and face. Seeing a shape ahead, Calliope dropped to the floor and crawled on hands and knees to the back hallway. James was pinned between a beam and the floor. He was trying to move the obstruction.

"What the hell are you doing? Get out of here before the ceiling collapses," he shouted.

It wasn’t exactly the welcome she had been hoping for, but she ignored his orders, panting as she tried to lift the beam. It was heavy. Falling cinders and scorching heat blasted her. Her bloody handprints stained the wood.

"If you don’t move your bloody arse towards the door, I will kill you myself."

"If you could carry out that threat we wouldn’t be here right now."

His eyes tried.

She bent her knees and heaved. Nothing. Suddenly Finn was next to her helping to lift the beam. The splinters of a crushed chair littered the floor around James. She grabbed one of the chair legs and used it as a lever under the beam. Finn grunted; she pushed. One more inch…

He was free.

James scooted out from under the beam and rose unsteadily to his feet. He nodded at Finn, who ran toward the door. James pressed her forward and she stumbled. Scooping her up, he hobbled as fast as he could.

Planks were falling everywhere and the opening of the door was surrounded by flames. James pulled her head against his chest and leaped through.