Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 5

Calliope woke at daybreak. Gray light sifted around the drapery panels, casting ghostly patterns on the floor and walls. She pulled the heavy damask fabric aside, and peered across the manicured lawn and into the street. The neighborhood was silent. No birds chirped. The street seemed ominously empty.

Determined to reverse the uneasiness of the gloomy morning and her lingering thoughts from the night before, Calliope donned a bright morning dress and warm shawl. She arranged her wig, applied makeup and finished her toilette.

She headed downstairs to check on her new guard. Finn was in the sitting room to the left of the front door, his posture upright and alert, just as she had left him. Somehow Calliope wasn’t surprised.

"Good morning, Mr. Finn. Must have been tiring to maintain that position all night."

"Good morning, miss. You’re up rather early. "

"I don’t require much sleep and rather enjoy puttering around in the morning. You look like you could use something with a bit of a warm bite." Calliope nodded to him and left to fix breakfast. The servants had trickled in throughout the late evening and early morning hours, but they had taken her offer to sleep late.

Calliope rubbed her cold hands together. Baking was a treat for her, one she hadn’t been able to indulge in since moving into Stephen’s townhouse. The servants were suspicious enough without her usurping their duties.

She made her selections easily from the well-stocked larder. She laid a fire in the oven, brightening the room, but as she worked with the dough, an uncomfortable silence permeated the kitchen. Every sound echoed and was magnified.

Calliope forced a whistle, but it was nothing like the melodic tunes that came readily when the sun was shining and the air a cheery temperature.

She wished she had invited Finn to join her. She finished quickly. Relieved to vacate the empty kitchen, she carried a tray of warm scones, jam and hot tea into the sitting room. Finn helped himself. His greedy consumption left little doubt her fare was satisfactory.

"What is your position in the Marquess of Angelford’s household, Mr. Finn?"

Finn popped another piece of scone in his mouth and washed it down with some tea. He was stalling.

"Just the odd job here and there, ma’am."

"What type of odd job?"

"Oh, this and that." He started in on a third scone.

"Your explanation is somewhat vague."

Finn winked. The gesture was odd and softened his scarred and forbidding face. "So are my duties."

The back door opened to the sound of thumping feet and soft voices. Finn set down his cup, rose and stood behind one of Stephen’s large plants near the door. There was a rap on the panel.

"Yes?" Calliope asked.

The door slowly opened and Grimmond appeared.

"The staff have returned to their posts, miss. I trust everything went well in our absence? Cook noticed someone had warmed the ovens, and may I say the smell is divine." His gaze encompassed the tray on the table. "Would you care for anything more?"

"Everything is fine, Grimmond, much as I said it would be."

"Very well, miss. I will be in the front parlor should you need me. I will have one of the maids come in a bit later to clear the dishes."

He had seen the two plates but hadn’t flickered as much as an eyelash in response. Stephen had confessed their ruse to Grimmond and she was suddenly glad. "Thank you, Grimmond."

He retreated, closing the door behind him.

Finn emerged from behind the door and snatched the last scone. "I will leave as soon as I have a last look around the property, miss."

He patted her on the shoulder before exiting the room. It was an unexpected but reassuring gesture.

The bustle of the servants sounded through the house and Calliope walked to the library, her sanctuary. Soft, luxurious sofas were placed on either side of the fireplace and small tables and comfortable upholstered chairs in deep crimson and green velvet were drawn into the room to accommodate conversation circles. Stephen’s multitude of plants enhanced the ambience.

A ray of sunshine peeked through the diamond-paned windows. The street had begun to fill with vendors and early strollers. Soft rays stroked Calliope’s cheek as she pressed it against the cool glass. The world once again seemed normal.

Calliope shook her head, feeling foolish about her frightened thoughts from the previous night.

Grimmond appeared in the open doorway. "A card for you, miss."

Calliope accepted the card. "Grimmond, were things well at the other townhouse? Did you speak with Stephen?"

"The house was not up to its usual standard, but the staff has promised to do better. I was unable to speak with Mr. Chalmers."

"He was in residence?"

"Not while I was present. However, he had been there earlier in the day. "

Calliope nodded and Grimmond shut the door. She opened the note.

Calliope,

I apologize for missing you last night. I will make it up to you this eve.

Stephen

The words were written in a careless script. He must have been in a hurry.

She didn’t know what had occupied him last night, but at the masquerade tonight they would share a good laugh at her misgivings. She smiled softly yet couldn’t shrug the lingering unease.

Calliope had been looking forward to the masquerade. The affair was bound to provide countless opportunities for her pen to fly.

Stephen had suggested they attend separately, and in the spirit of the event attempt to discern each other’s identity.

Perhaps she would even see Angelford. An image of him pulling her into his arms popped into her head. Her skin tingled. Calliope shook her head to clear the thought and sternly reminded herself that she didn’t even like the man.

James was ushered into Holt’s townhouse as Mr. Ronald Ternberry was exiting.

"Good morning, Angelford," Ternberry said, "I wasn’t aware you had scheduled an appointment with Lord Holt today."

"I wasn’t under the impression I was required to go through you to visit. "

James stepped past Holt’s banal secretary, not waiting for a response. Ternberry had an exaggerated notion of his own importance and probably assumed James would consult him next time.

Holt was seated at his desk and rose when James entered his study. The older man didn’t appear surprised to see James, although his words belied it.

"Angelford, didn’t expect to see you here until our meeting next week."

"Thought I’d stop by to see how the debriefing went yesterday."

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Chalmers said he filled you in on the details this past week."

"Yes, we discussed it the other night, although I would like to have been present at the meeting."

Holt stroked his chin and sat. "I figured as much, but needed you to look into the trouble we are having in the north with the smugglers. Ternberry will send you the notes from Chalmers’s debrief."

"Have you put Stephen onto something new?"

Holt nodded. "Chalmers is doing some extended work and Roth is nosing into another matter for me. Otherwise, we’re in a bit of a lull."

Lull? If there were ever a lull, Holt would probably shoot himself like Castlereagh had. The man thrived on intrigue and titanic schemes, and where there were none, he created them.

"Stephen didn’t mention he was leaving again so soon," James said.

"He wasn’t supposed to." Holt smiled.

Holt had been in charge of the unit for fifteen years and was a tight-lipped soul. James was the same way, but found it an annoying trait in others. He didn’t expect Holt to elaborate, although if he pushed, Holt would probably relent. But something still didn’t feel right. The hesitation held him back from mentioning Stephen’s note or pushing the matter.

"Well, then, good day. I will see you next week."

Holt nodded, returning his attention to the papers on his desk as James let himself out.

"How invigorating. I swear the new play has made me a hermit. It’s time I had a little fun."

Calliope smiled. Deirdre had been chattering for the past hour.

"I’m glad you are going, Dee. Someday I will l get you to quit the stage and collaborate with me."

"La, if it means being squired about by men who look and act like Stephen, count me in."

Calliope chuckled as she slid the final pin into the mass of raven hair piled on top of Deirdre’s head.

Stephen had procured an invitation for Deirdre to attend the masquerade as well. Only Robert would be missing from their foursome. Regrettably, he had accepted an invitation to the country for two days of hunting.

It was a shame Robert would not be present. A masquerade made it easy to conceal one’s identity, and the four of them would have been able to converse and gallivant quite freely with no one the wiser.

"Mother met Father at a masquerade, you know. It was love at first sight. Or first masked sight, at least. " Dee laughed. "He swept her out of there before any of the young bucks claimed her. It was quite a daring feat too." Deirdre’s voice rose excitedly as the tale progressed. "Why, he…"

Her voice became a pleasant hum in Calliope’s head. Calliope didn’t need to listen to recite the story back in detail. She had heard it many times. In an acting family, storytelling was a beloved pastime. The more theatrical the yarn, the better.

Calliope’s own adventure at the Killroys’ ball had proven a hit with the family. The story was deemed a "classic" directly after its first telling. She had been asked to retell it more than once in the last few weeks. The seal of approval, which was given when someone else in the family retold a story, had come just last week when the youngest Daly boy decided to embellish the tale.

"… and then she slapped him for taking liberties. Ah, but she was really hoping he would take them again. And so he…" Deirdre blithely continued.

Calliope arranged Deirdre’s mask and perched a jaunty feather in her upswept hair. She glanced critically in the mirror, trying to see if she had missed anything. Deirdre was gowned in green and gold, a devastating combination with her dark hair, dark eyes and fair skin. She looked gorgeous. Calliope couldn’t wait for the reaction.

Her own outfit consisted of a smartly cut black and red costume with a domino. Deirdre and she had dressed differently, but with the goal to attract attention together. She was confident they would succeed.

Deirdre heaved a dramatic sigh. Always the performer, she placed a hand upon her chest. "… And then they were married. Such a splendid ending to a wonderful tale."

"Marriage is always a nice way to end such tales."

Deirdre tried to hide her face in a powder puff, but Calliope saw the abashed look spread on her face and was immediately contrite. It wasn’t Deirdre’s fault that Calliope’s parents had never married.

She put her arm around Dee. "That was peckish. And it’s not a night for peckishness. Let’s go set the gentlemen on their ears."

Dee responded with a quick squeeze as they gathered their props and headed downstairs.

"Have a good night, miss. Miss." Grimmond nodded to both of them as they were bustled into the small coach Stephen had provided for when he was unavailable.

Deirdre revived her earlier gaiety and chattered excitedly as the coach swayed over the cobblestones. Her mood was contagious and Calliope felt a curl of anticipation.

They arrived to a flourish of color and noise, waiting excitedly for each carriage to unload its passengers and move on. In turn, they breezed up to the door, handing their invitations to the door attendants, who ushered them into a brightly lit foyer. Tonight there were no grand announcements enumerating the names of the guests. Identities were to remain secret until the moment of revelation much later in the evening. Calliope and Deirdre were encompassed in the din.

They descended the staircase slowly and absorbed the raucous scene. The room was warm and smelled faintly of wine and perfume. Revelers in every shape and size littered the floor. A small group of brightly plumed ladies paraded at the bottom of the steps to the left. A cluster of gaily attired gentlemen leered at them on the right. Couples danced in the center and their bright kaleidoscopes of hues were dazzling as they twirled in rhythmic circles. Across the ballroom, near the patio, huddles of people conversed and drank refreshments while groups of men fondled ladies who were indiscreetly flaunting their wares.

Since tonight’s masquerade was being hosted by a group of gentlemen, Calliope thought it should prove to be a lively night. She knew many of the demimonde and some of the more notorious women of the ton were supposed to attend. If the current display was any indication of later events, her pen would fill countless sheets and have a mind of its own in the morning.

Off to the side, James perused the masked guests passively. A few frolickers had discarded their masks, abandoning pretense for drinking and carousing. Others continued their flirtations in disguise. At one time he had loved these debaucheries, but tonight he was on a mission.

The woman in black and red caught his attention. She and another lady in green and gold were chatting with three gentlemen. The pair was striking. They appeared to be good friends and shared glances passed between them.

It was Miss Stafford. He would know her anywhere. She wore a classic gown with a lowered waistline. It was a style she preferred. Evocative without baring anything. The mere hint of her skin was more enticing and provocative than the frilly gowns the women wore that barely kept their assets concealed. If he concentrated, perhaps he could smell her perfume from here.

The other lady took to the dance floor, leaving Miss Stafford with the remaining two admirers. There was still no word from Stephen. Where in the devil was he?

One of the admirers appeared to be getting a bit too free with his hands and James frowned. He found himself walking toward the trio. "Dear lady, would you honor me with this dance?"

She paused and studied him for a moment before acquiescing. He twirled her onto the dance floor. She fit perfectly in his arms, soft yet strong. In all the times he had seen her at routs, he had never seen her dance. But as he reflected back, no one at those starchy ballrooms would have invited the dowdy Miss Stafford, lady’s companion with a cane, to dance.

Her light perfume wrapped around him and squeezed. The thought of anything of hers wrapped around him made his heart beat faster. She relaxed as he pulled her to him and made a circuit about the room.

Calliope was breathless. Angelford twirled her about, and she let herself melt into the movements. She had spotted him across the room earlier, instinctively knowing he would seek her out. The lights in the room became a blur as everything but Angelford receded from view.

She absorbed the spirit of the masquerade and pretended they were two people meeting for the first time. What a dashing suitor. Midnight eyes seared through her and soft lips curved into a smile. Lips like those were definitely…

"Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Esmerelda?"

Calliope missed a step. "Lord Angelford, I didn’t know you recognized me."

"My dear, I would recognize you in sackcloth."

She didn’t answer and he drew her in more closely, branding her everywhere they touched.

"Did you sleep well last night? Finn mentioned you prepared a tasty breakfast." His warm breath tickled her ear as he spun her and leaned closer. "It seems you have many surprising skills."

Heat kindled inside. His fingers trailed up her left arm.

"Have you heard from Stephen?" he asked.

"He said he would meet me here tonight, but I have yet to see him." Her voice was husky.

Angelford nodded thoughtfully.

The waltz ended too quickly and he returned her to her entourage. Bowing low, he kissed her hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Dancing was a heady experience, made all the more so by the proximity of her skillful partner and adversary. His strong lead made dancing easy, even with her temperamental leg.

After that first dance, she was in much demand. For the next two hours she laughed and chatted with nameless, faceless people. She found it novel that the men attended her in much the same manner they did the popular debutantes, only with more provocative suggestions and behavior.

But as the hour grew later and Stephen still hadn’t arrived, worry for him overrode the fun.

Calliope declined dances, instead choosing to scan the crowd. Her court, along with Deirdre’s, remained loyal, providing beverages and sweets, and reciting outrageous poems and even more outrageous requests.

"My dear, you must allow me to be by your side at the unveiling. Nothing would give me more pleasure," said the man she had identified as Lord Pettigrew.

"May I also offer my services to unveil you?" said Lord Roth, laughter in his voice.

"He’s a wastrel, my lady. just like a baron to have a girl in every shire. I would be a much better choice," intoned a disguised Mr. Ronald Ternberry.

"Ah, but you are a complete boor, Ronnie. The lady needs excitement. " Roth’s posture was lazy as he nettled Ternberry. She had the distinct impression it was one of his favorite pastimes, and if perhaps the real reason he was part of her court.

Other voices were raised in chorus.

"Alas, you are all worthy," Calliope said, "but l if I have given my pledge to another. "

Groans met her statement.

A squat, gravelly-voiced man in a jester costume approached their group with a note. "Mademoiselle, I was told to hand this to you."

She murmured her thanks and opened the note, concealing its contents from the others.

Mademoiselle,

I have discovered information on Stephen’s whereabouts. Please meet me in the garden

Angelford

Why hadn’t he just approached her directly? The man was strange and proving to be as secretive as she. The word "please" in the note was unexpected. She shrugged and excused herself from the group. Deirdre was occupied with a charming young man and appeared to be having a grand time, so Calliope signaled that she would return and then headed for the gardens.

A chill hung in the spring air. Calliope shivered and peered into the darkness. Couples were engaged in all sorts of licentious behavior on the terrace. She restrained a blush at one enthusiastic duo and searched for Angelford’s all-black attire.

The moon was dim, and she debated the wisdom of heading into the maze of hedges. The lingering unease grew as she looked into the shadowy foliage. Better to stick to the populated areas.

Calliope stepped to the left edge of the terrace. There was no sign of Angelford. She turned to walk back toward the entry when she spied him making his way through the doors.

She waved an arm to flag him, but he looked straight ahead and strode into the hedges. Her brows furrowed in frustration. She sighed and headed into the maze. She caught sight of him, the dim light glinting off his jet-black hair. Calliope opened her mouth to announce her presence when he veered left. What was be doing?

She clenched her jaw, irritated, and quickened her step. She reached the fork and turned left, but there was another branch and no sign of him. She looked down both paths to no avail, and then examined the ground. Fresh footfalls led to the right, so she followed them. She approached another fork some twenty steps in and threw up her hands. He could damn well talk to her in the ballroom.

Calliope smelled ale and dirty clothes a second before a callused hand was clamped over her mouth. An arm encircled her waist and arms, imprisoning her.

"Where is it?" a rough voice demanded.

Calliope struggled against her attacker. His arms were too strong to break free. She kicked backward into his shin with her slipper and bit hard into his hand, causing him to loosen the grip on her mouth.

"Help!" She managed the start of a scream but he quickly clamped his hand back over her mouth using her chin and nose to force her teeth together.

"You’ll pay for that," he snarled.

His grip on her nose made Calliope’s vision swim. She could not seem to form a coherent thought. Everything dimmed.

She felt a whoosh of air and suddenly the pressure encasing her was gone. She sank to the ground. Must run. She awkwardly pushed upward off the rough pebbles. Which way? She was unable to distinguish shapes. Firm but gentle hands slid under her arms and lifted her to her feet. A scream rose in her throat.

"Take a deep breath." The soothing tones of Angelford’s voice calmed her. "I’m here. Everything will soon be better."

Shadows became shapes, which in turn became objects, and she was finally able to focus on his handsome face. Calliope looked down at the motionless form on the ground and leaned into Angelford, shivering. He tensed, then relaxed.

"Thank you. He appeared from nowhere."

She felt him tense again. "What in hell were you doing out here?"

She pulled away, surprise giving way to anger. "Meeting you."

He scowled. "Meeting me? I’m flattered, but l followed when you left the ballroom."

She frowned and pulled the paper, now crumpled, from her pocket. "I received your message."

He took the note and squinted in the dim moonlight. "I didn’t write this."

The attacker stirred and Angelford reached down and thumped him on the head. The man slumped back. A harsh light played on Angelford’s face. "I’ll see you to your coach. Finn said your servants are back. Make sure you lock your doors tonight. I’ll take care of this."

Calliope was too stunned to argue. The excitement of the masquerade was over, and the realization of what might have occurred set in.

He held on to her arm as they re-entered the ballroom and steered her to the stairs.

"Wait, my lord, I need to get my, uh, friend."

But Calliope needn’t have worried. Deirdre must have observed their progress across the floor and interpreted that there was a problem because she immediately excused herself from her group of admirers amid heavy protests.

"Gentlemen, it has been a lovely time, but I am wanted elsewhere. I bid you adieu."

Deirdre blew kisses to her court and hurried to Calliope.

She sent a questioning look but said nothing. Without a word, Angelford offered an arm to each lady.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the coach and Calliope tried to steady her shaking hand, which was still draped on Angelford’s arm.

He handed them into the carriage. "Have a pleasant night, ladies. I will speak with you soon. " His smooth brandy voice washed over Calliope. He bowed and motioned to the driver.

Deirdre sent her another questioning glance, but kept silent as the coach began moving. They encountered no traffic; the majority of guests had elected to remain until the unveiling.

"What’s wrong, Callie? What were you doing with Angelford?"

Calliope shook her head. "I don’t know, Dee. I don’t know. I need to think for a minute."

She looked out the window and saw the black-garbed figure standing on the steps watching the carriage leave. She watched him until they turned the corner and he passed from her vision. A shiver coursed through her.

" Dee, do you think you could stay with me tonight?"

Deirdre looked concerned. "Yes, of course, I will send a note so our parents won’t be worried."

Calliope nodded and nestled into the cushions, trying to relax.

Who was the man in the maze? Why had he accosted her? Where was Stephen?

Angelford had saved her from the attacker. She remembered leaning into his warm chest. Her traitorous body had accepted his help. She was beholden to him.

Questions swirled through her mind and collided with intense emotions.

The following morning Deirdre was still attempting to coax answers from her.

"Callie, come home with me. I don’t know why you won’t tell me what happened last night, but something is obviously wrong." Deirdre looked tired and concerned. "I’m worried about you. And why didn’t Stephen show up? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind next time I see him."

"He must have been detained. Dee, I promise to come by later. There are a few things I need to tend first."

She nudged Deirdre out the door after promising to drop by the family’s house. Less than fifteen minutes after Deirdre left, there was a knock at the front door. Calliope looked up as Grimmond walked in.

"Miss, there is a note for you. It was left willy-nilly on the front stoop." A stickler for convention, disapproval laced his voice.

Calliope opened the card as Grimmond walked back out. Sweat broke across her brow and a cold pulse emanated up her body, halting her heart for a beat.

If you wish your family to remain unharmed, you will deliver the item we seek, the Adelphi is such a lovely theater. It would be a shame, Callie, dear…

The letter was unsigned.

Calliope scrawled on a piece of Stephen’s stationery, pocketed the threatening note, threw on her pelisse and ran out the door and into the street.

It took a few precious minutes, but she finally managed to catch a hackney. She needed answers and needed them quickly. Only one person seemed to know more about the situation than she. She gave the driver the address and sped off toward the devil’s den.

The short trip seemed to take an hour. The driver pulled in front of the huge estate on St. James’s Street. She paid the fare and hopped to the ground. She grimaced as she landed on her bad leg. Too late for a cane now.

The hackney took off down the street and she regretted not asking the driver to wait. She looked at the imposing Palladian structure. It epitomized everything she despised. She was alone.

Calliope climbed the stairs and walked nervously to the large door. She took a deep breath and rapped.

A white-haired butler opened the door.

She straightened her shoulders. "I am here to see the Marquess of Angelford. It is a matter of the utmost urgency. " She handed him the hastily composed note she had written.

The butler examined the stationery and then surveyed her once again, obviously noting the absence of a coach and attendant. In order to gain time, she had eschewed both. She held her breath; he might refuse her admittance. There was some relief in the thought he might bar her access, but the situation required entry. She lifted her chin and thought, I belong here, a technique she used when preparing for her roles and employing one of her many guises.

He opened the door, reluctantly allowing her into the front hall. "Please wait here."

The main hall had three connecting passages. He strode down the one on the left.

As his footsteps echoed in the hallway, she glanced toward the ceiling, reluctantly impressed. The high ceiling and gorgeous banister dominated the entryway. The ceiling was hand-painted with angelic images depicting the heavens.

A curved staircase flowed down and to the right, a small hallway underneath on the left. Intricate marble tiles were arranged artfully in the floor and stairs. A beautiful Aubusson runner curved up the middle of the staircase, and its cousin lay horizontally on the floor. A regal portrait hung on the wall under the curved staircase, and a small Queen Anne desk sat beneath.

The entire scene screamed wealth, and she again experienced the urge to flee.

The butler returned just as she gained control and motioned to her. "Follow me."

She relinquished her pelisse and followed him down the left hall.

James fingered the note and waited.

Templeton, his butler, opened the door. "The stranger on the step, my lord." He then disappeared from view.

James saw her give his butler a disgruntled look before entering the room.

A glance at her disheveled state had him instantly aroused. She looked as if she had just stepped out of bed, thrown on the first thing she could find and then rushed to meet him. Honey-colored hair dripped down her shoulders and a simple lavender morning dress clung to her frame. Satisfaction flowed through him.

She broke his train of thought. "I know my presence is unconventional, but I need information quickly. " She gave a tight shrug and moved a bit farther into the room.

He motioned to a chair in front of his desk. She hesitated before slipping into it. "Thank you."

He sat behind his desk, leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers and waited.

Her brow furrowed, but she said in a rush, "Why did you appear two nights ago? Where is Stephen? Who was the man who attacked me last night? And why is someone sending me threatening notes?"

James dropped his hands and leaned forward. "Threatening notes?"

She hesitated. "I received one this morning. They threatened my family."

He held out his hand. "Let me see it."

She shook her head, and he saw her finger her left pocket. "No, it has personal information. There is no need for you to see it. Suffice to say the note tells me to give them an item or else."

"Do you have this item?"

"I don’t know. I don’t know what the item is."

"Then why are you here?"

She visibly bristled. "Because you seem to be on my heels the past two days and I believe you are somehow involved in this situation."

"What makes you say that?"

He said it in a nonchalant way and expected her anger. He was not disappointed.

"Forgive me. I’m wasting my time here. Good day, my lord."

"Sit down, Miss Stafford," James ordered in the steely tone that generally caused people to do his bidding.

She turned toward him, a shocked look on her face. "What did you call me?"

He couldn’t tamp down the sardonic smile as he gestured toward her. "You forgot to not be yourself today."

A horrified look crossed her face as she grasped at her hair with one hand and her cheek with the other.

"Sit down. "

She obeyed this time, but he thought it more from the shock than anything else.

"I have known your identity for quite some time. But I am curious: What turned you from lady’s companion to courtesan, Miss Stafford? Surely you were not that down on your luck?"

Her initial shock had obviously subsided somewhat because she shot him an even nastier look than before. She gazed around the room’s elegant furnishings. "I doubt someone such as yourself would understand what the peasants of this world have to go through on a daily basis. Please, don’t lower my opinion of you any more by asking such inane questions."

His temper flared. "You are a silly girl. I doubt you know what true hardship is."

She seemed to withdraw and sat staring mutely ahead.

He tried to rein in his temper. He had magnificent self-control. Everyone knew it. Why did she always incite him?

He said in a more reasonable tone, "If you want my help, I need to see the note."

She continued to stare at him, not speaking.

"You are involved in a dangerous matter. Give me the damn note."

Her eyes flashed. "I don’t want your help. I want answers."

"Sorry, Margaret, you cannot have one without the other."

From the look she was now giving him he wouldn’t have been surprised if she launched herself across the desk, fingernails aimed toward his eyes.

"First, I have not given you permission to call me Margaret. Second, you can go to hell, my lord." She grated the " my lord" between her teeth and he wondered if she might choke on it.

As she rose, her deep blue eyes flashed in rage. "Good day, my lord."

She turned her back on him and started for the door, wobbling for a second before gaining her footing. James was around the desk in a flash. He firmly took her left arm and escorted her to the door of the study, ignoring her angry gasp. He let go at the door, allowing her to find her own way out.

James pulled the cord moments after she stalked out of the room, and Templeton’s face appeared in the doorway scant seconds later. He must have run.

"Have one of the footmen follow the lady and report back to me."

Templeton nodded and closed the door behind him.

James leaned against his desk. He had handled that poorly. Women usually fell over themselves trying vainly to please him. It was quite a novel experience to find one so disagreeable. She hadn’t softened any since their first meeting.

Actually she had felt remarkably soft leaning into him last night. James shook his head.

He had been unable to glean any hard information from last night’s attacker. After putting the ladies in the coach, he had returned to the maze to interrogate the hoodlum and relieve a bit of frustration. The man admitted under duress that he had been hired by a bloke to do a few jobs. He had received money to scare the girl and inquire about an object. When given the job he had not asked any questions.

After receiving a bit more abuse from a frustrated James, the man revealed he only heard the man’s voice once and that further instructions and payoffs were given through a third party, a man named Curdle. The only real information James had gathered about the leader’s identity was, "He sounded real uppity, like you."

James had sent Finn to find Curdle. Hopefully, Curdle would lead them to the unknown man and eventually to Stephen.

James unfolded the threatening note, which he had removed from her left pocket. She was hard-headed and stubborn. He needed to discover if she was scheming as well.

Calliope waited until she had closed the door to Stephen’s study before audibly giving in to her rage. She didn’t feel any better afterward. She collapsed against the door and a wave of despair drowned her anger. She had been living from one emotion to another for the past two days. And she seemed to be making one bad choice after another. Had she hoped he would help her without any information in return?

Calliope walked to the desk and dropped wearily into her chair, putting her head on her arms. She was ready to give in to a well-deserved cry when she heard a rap on the front door. Calliope heard Grimmond greet the interloper and wished she had told him she was unavailable. She would remedy that when he came to inform her of the guest.

.

The door opened but she didn’t look up. "Grimmond, I’m unavailable. Please inform whomever it is to leave a card."

"I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that."

Her head popped up as Angelford walked toward her desk.

"I have a proposition for you."