Page 71 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter15

He hadn’t sleptall night. How could he, after the two cannonballs that had been delivered yesterday, first by Lord Havenhurst, then by Samantha and her bloody damned assassin-like knife throw, plus a stitched up shoulder that hurt like the very devil?

But his family history—no, not history but mystery—was the oldest lie. So here he was, pacing White’s office like a caged tiger ready to pounce.

“I want the full story about my father,” said William sharply. “No more falsehoods, evasions, or half-truths. And I want it rightnow.”

Moving a pile of paperwork to one side then sitting back in his chair, White sighed. “The truth of the matter is, Standish, and I swear this on my mother’s grave, I don’t know the full story. Despite what many think, I wasn’t born in this chair.”

“Well, what do youknow?”

“I was only a clerk back then, and the powers that be refused to release anything in relation to the events before and after what unfolded on that road. I understand the men responsible had strong connections to a fledgling but brutal sect of French sympathizers. I understand they disappeared off the face of the earth after the deed was done, not surfacing again in England until at least two years later.”

“To your knowledge.”

“Standish, try and understand the position the authorities were in. The outcry if it became known a senior peer of the realm and his wife had been murdered by English traitors, and not been apprehended, would have been utterly untenable for the Home Office.”

William rubbed a hand slowly over his face. It was either that or swear himself hoarse and punch several holes in the wall. In the space of a day, all blinkers about his past had been well and truly removed. The debacle with Samantha was one thing, but this was another matter entirely. Everything he thought he had known about his father, all his own years working within the bloody Home Office, had been a lie. This new awareness felt like a rusty, jagged knife plunging hard into his gut. Lies. So many fuckinglies!

He pinned White with a gaze. “Is it still the same group you are trying to bring down? Even after all these years?”

“Yes. I believeso.”

“So the criminals who killed my parents could have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds or thousands of others in the years since? Right this very minute, they could be murdering innocent men and women because of the sheer incompetence of this division—”

“There is no need to state the facts to me, Standish. You think I am not well aware of the atrocities being committed in every village, town, and city in this country? Believe me, I know! I know them all. In fact, we were delivered a parcel just the other day. Two severed heads, neatly wrapped with a satin bow. You know who they were? Two well-trained spies who volunteered to join the enemy and had been providing us with solid information. On Claremont. So although I am sorrier than I can say at what happened to you, your parents are not the only victims.”

William froze. “Christ.”

“I understand your anger and frustration. Now imagine it tenfold. We were so close this time to making arrests, bringing these bastards to trial and seeing them hang for high treason. But they are cunning, fearless, and move like evil shadows in the night. They don’t attend tea parties with ‘villain’ painted on their backs.”

“Have you caught any of them? Any atall?”

White sighed. “Of course we have. But it seems no matter how carefully they are guarded, no matter how secure the prison, they either escape or are mysteriously found dead. This group are not pretenders. They are perhaps the greatest threat to our country in history. The French are on their way, and these traitors are lighting their path. And with every success, more poor and hungry and disenchanted Englishmen flock to jointhem.”

Slumping into a chair, William rubbed a weary hand over his face. Suddenly he felt one hundred years old. As the saying went, a little knowledge was a dangerous thing. And what he’d learned in the past day was enough to near-destroy him. “Then what do you plan to do? I can’t keep up this ridiculous David Underwood charade. Especially when it is obvious Lady Samantha can take care of herself.”

“Really? Howso?”

“She throws knives like a bloody assassin. Demonstrated the fact right in front of me yesterday in Hyde Park, when a thief ran past and she felled him with a goddamned dagger to the backside. A weapon she just happened to have in her goddamned reticule.”

White’s bushy ginger eyebrows nearly catapulted back over his head. “A knife thrower? So, the chit does have secrets then. Perhaps as many as Claremont. This means we need you more thanever.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because Lady Samantha is now our only hope for success, and you are the only person I can trust absolutely to watch her. You have access to all the places she does, you can stay within her vicinity without arousing suspicion. I’m asking—nay, begging, Standish, stay on this course. If we can trap Claremont, we may just be able to crush this ring of traitors once and for all. Including those who murdered your parents.”

William clenched his fists and stared out the window at the setting sun. There were so many reasons to turn White down. Rather than being objective and professional, he’d shared a bed with his target. And despite everything she’d done, he cared for her in a way, God help him, that he’d never cared for another woman. Yet how could he possibly stay close to Samantha and pretend everything was normal, when her newly revealed talent would make any sane man twitchy, let alone one investigating treason? If it were proven she had knowledge of or involvement in her father’s criminal activities, she could be imprisoned. Or hanged.

Nausea roiled in his stomach, and he coughed. But doing his duty, staying the course as White had put it and assisting in this mission, might well mean justice for his parents after sixteen long years. They wouldn’t have died in vain. And he would finally have vengeance against the men who had brutally destroyed his world without care or question.

Eventually he turned and stared directly at White. “Very well, I’ll continue. But only as myself. I can’t concentrate on Lady Samantha if I have to think and act as Underwood at the same time. Bring me home from France.”

The coordinator nodded. “I shall dispatch letters today informing all and sundry of your miraculous recovery and impending departure from Calais. But you must remain David Underwood long enough for the Marquess of Standish to return by ship. A few days will be sufficient. I will also organize a gaggle of physicians to greet you at the docks and escort you to Hastings House.”

“All right. Let me know when all plans are in place,” William replied, picking up his greatcoat and making his way toward thedoor.

“Of course. And Standish, you won’t regretthis.”