Unmasking the Spy (9 page)

He was no better than the rest.

“No,” Alicia bit out. “I live
with an aunt.”

She closed her eyes. Next would
come the carefully worded questions, or, if he were like several of the
insensitive prigs she’d danced with over the years, subtle mocking.

“An aunt,” Mr. Morrissey echoed. 
An indefinable glint flashed in his eyes. “Are you very close?”

“Quite,” she answered and looked
past his shoulder at the other whirling dancers. She had no desire to see the
familiar disdain – or worse, the occasional pity – she had come to loathe.

Every courtship she’d ever
dreamed of having had ended this way. First, they probed subtly for
information. Not all young bucks believed every rumor and insinuation. Some,
however, lost interest as soon as she pledged her loyalty to her aunt and indicated
her wish that Beatrix live with her forever. Others said that although she was
beautiful and the possibility of her inheriting her father’s title enticing,
they could not risk introducing madness into their families’ impeccable
bloodlines.

Such ignorance and impudence
infuriated Alicia. She had hoped the talk died down years ago. Alicia pressed
her lips together and glared at Mr. Morrissey. She wouldn’t say a word against
her aunt.

He waited until it became clear
no further comment followed her one-word reply.

“All my family members live in
the country,” he said. “Do any of yours?”

Clearly, he had heard the rumors
about great-aunt Beatrix escaping to the country after the scandal, although
why he would bring up such a topic on the dance floor was quite beyond her.
Alicia considered tripping him but settled for baring her teeth in a mockery of
a smile.

“No,” she answered frostily. She
wished Mr. Morrissey would take his ill manners back to the country. She had
enough town gentlemen to tease her; she hardly needed any more.

Unbidden, her mind conjured the
image of her mystery rogue. He had been the first man who seemed not to measure
her by her family’s actions. Of course, she’d happened upon him trespassing in
her house, so he was hardly in a position to be insulting. But a man who stole
to save his sister didn’t seem the sort to judge another person based on
skeletons in the closet.

Mr. Morrissey had never been
interested in her after all. He toyed with her simply for his own amusement and
would have to be catalogued under D for disappointment.

Even if he had wanted her, he
simply wouldn’t do.

Alicia narrowed her eyes. She
wasn’t going to stand for such unpardonable rudeness. As the music ended, she
jerked out of his grasp.

“Please do not mention any of my
relatives again,” she snapped and didn’t speak again until he’d returned her to
the chaperones.

*          *          *

The next morning, Ian tried to
relax his shoulders and release his tension with a brisk ride. He refused to
spook his horse by betraying his ill humor.

What a cold woman. He had never
been more right than when he pegged Alicia Kinsey as a true London lady –
heartless and self-centered. Evidently embarrassed by Elizabeth, she and her
father kept the poor woman entombed in that mausoleum of a house. Ian had never
seen so many antiquities on display outside of a museum.

The reins tugged as he rounded a
corner, guiding his gray onto the tree-lined track.

Miss Kinsey hadn’t permitted her
aunt to accompany her last night, even as a chaperone. Such snobbery explained Elizabeth’s strange behavior – she must rarely set foot out of her quarters. No wonder she
took to wandering the halls at night. Miss Kinsey and her father allowed
nothing more.

Pink-streaked sunlight trickled
up from the horizon, infusing the rustling leaves with a shimmering glow. Birds
flew off their branches as Ian and his horse raced below.

Dawn rose steadily but Ian’s mood
did not.

Family had always been the most
important aspect of his life. He simply couldn’t imagine anyone feeling
otherwise. He fought down his outrage. Alicia Kinsey was spoiled. No wonder the
house hadn’t been alerted to his presence. Miss Kinsey was someone Elizabeth would be unlikely to confide in.

Elizabeth
.

Ian smiled grimly. On a first
name basis already, were they? Ian released a self-deprecating chuckle. He had
no idea whether she bore the last name of Kinsey, and he could hardly find out
through her close-lipped niece, Alicia. Ian no longer felt duty-bound to
conjure compassion for that cold fish. He grimaced. Unfortunately, a promise
had been made.

He would have to risk a return
visit to Chadwick House. Tonight.

“How do you feel about the name Elizabeth?”

Great-aunt Beatrix continued
threading her needle. “Nice enough, I suppose.”

“Do you think I look like an Elizabeth?”

Beatrix squinted over her sewing.

“If that’s what you’d like, dear.
Although it may be that your Papa is quite used to calling you Alicia and may
be loath to change.”

Her aunt returned to her stitches
without challenging the question further.

Alicia tried to focus on her
embroidery. She had to stop letting images of the masked man intrude upon her
thoughts. Regardless of what he may have intimated, Rogue was unlikely to
return. She must force her brain to catalogue his face with the rest of her
favorite fairytale heroes and move on.

Louis would have to move on as
well. In all probability, common inertia constituted the only reason Louis
desired a union with her. Pure laziness. Why bother looking for a bride when he
was related to a perfectly marriageable one? Alicia stabbed her needle through
the cloth. She would give him a reason. He couldn’t be that difficult to sway.

Although unrelenting boringness
had removed him from her sight, it was not a strong enough deterrent. Most
ton
husbands did not dance excessive attendance upon their wives anyway. Whether
she married someone like Louis or not, she would likely be left to her own
devices to provide her own entertainment. She had not yet hit upon a powerful
enough motivator to inspire Louis to look elsewhere.

She stood and stretched, then
placed her needlework in a basket. She picked up her pelisse and paused by the
open doorway.

“I’m going to step outside, Aunt.
Perhaps I’ll walk in the garden.”

Beatrix nodded absently in the
general direction of Alicia’s vacated chair. “Sounds lovely, dear.”

Alicia lingered a moment, then
turned down the hallway.

She crossed in front of the
stairs when her father walked by, heading toward his office. He glanced at her
and frowned.

“If that long face has anything
to do with Louis, I don’t want to hear it. You should be happy to inherit
Chadwick House and marry someone you know. There’s no need for continued
drama.”

Wonderful. Nothing lifted her
spirits like the thought of sharing her childhood home with Louis.

Without waiting for a response,
her father stepped through the office doorway, effectively dismissing her.
Alicia ground her teeth. The walk in the garden better be refreshing.

She had just reached the door
when it swung open from the other side.

She smelled him before she saw
him. The cloying cologne caused an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Alicia took
an involuntary step back.

Louis.

The wispy frizz surrounding his
red head glowed pink in the setting sun. His pudgy face first registered
surprise, then machination.

“Why, good afternoon, cousin,” he
said in a saccharine voice. “Heading to the garden?”

Alicia thinned her lips. Denying
it was out of the question.

She granted him a sharp nod.

“Shall I join you?” he asked
innocently. Too innocently.

Alicia hesitated. He had never
before displayed any interest in spending time with her. What plan could he be
hatching? She inclined her head as graciously as she could.

“If you like,” she answered.
“Please allow me one moment to ask Aunt Beatrix if she–”

“What’s the matter?” interrupted
Louis with a smirk. He tossed his head. “Afraid an unchaperoned walk with your
cousin might be construed as a compromising situation?”

Alicia recoiled. Her suggestion
to fetch her aunt had been automatic. She had never considered how easily the
circumstances could be manipulated into a contrived disaster. The eleven days
remaining in her two-week reprieve could vanish in an instant.

She narrowed her eyes. Forget it.
She’d visit the garden another time.

Alicia turned on her heel and
stalked up the stairs to her room, the grating sound of Louis’ feral cackles
echoing behind her.

*          *          *

Later that night, Ian hugged his
arms around his chest, his silver-tipped black swordstick trapped underneath
one arm. Too bad there wasn’t a closer place to safely store his horse. He
rubbed his biceps with his gloved hands and lengthened his strides. Ian watched
each breath crystallize into frozen mist.

The waxing moon shone big and
round, unhidden tonight by clouds. Nonetheless, the road was silent, save for
the sounds of his footfalls. The occasional croak of a frog or chirp of a
cricket kept him company as he walked. A sudden splash of color in the gloom
caught his eye.

Wildflowers. Spring truly was
coming.

Ian bent mid-stride and plucked a
few straggly blossoms. He brought the blooms to his nose. Too cold to smell the
petals properly. An icy breeze swept past, engulfing him in its damp chill.
Fragile stems crumpled as he shoved his hands into his pockets, flowers and
all. Ian lowered his head against the wind and strode even faster.

He walked several long minutes
before he rounded a corner and stopped.

Chadwick House. At last.

Ian frowned as a candle flared
briefly in an upstairs window before being quickly extinguished. Who would be
up at this hour? Perhaps a late sleeper just off to bed. Ian took a step
forward then came to a standstill. What if the candle meant Elizabeth, rising
for a mid-night ramble? Ian hesitated before taking a determined step forward.
Unlikely. The candle had already been snuffed.

He donned his mask, ducked down
and sprinted across the lawn.

*          *          *

Alicia woke herself from a vivid
nightmare. Caught in a compromising situation with Louis. God forbid she even
dream such a catastrophe could occur. Alicia’s hands shook with renewed rage.
She flung off her covers and sat up in her bed.

Either she had been mistaken
about his lack of interest in her or Papa must be practically blackmailing
Louis to take her off his hands as soon as possible. Too bad. She had no intention
of standing idly by as her father coldly packaged her off to a convenient
cousin.

Tonight, while he slept, she
would try again. It might be late enough already. Alicia cocked her head and
listened for snores. Her efforts were met with silence. She swung her legs off
the bed and stood upright. A hazy moonlight filtered through the rustling
trees, casting a dimly flickering pattern across the floor.

She hated the thought of rifling
through Papa’s desk, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It was
quite hard to accustom oneself to one’s place in the world, when one was
constantly assigned to places – or people – one didn’t want.

If some clue could be found to
explain his sudden coercion, perhaps a fresh outlook could determine a solution
to meet all their needs. Papa’s worries could be laid to rest, and she and
Louis would be free to find their own futures, not the one he’d scripted for
them.

She crossed to her vanity, sat
down, and lit a candle. To pass the time until it was safe to venture
downstairs, she fiddled with the velvet swatches in the patch stand and affixed
a few to her face, this time with the aid of a mirror. It would have been so
much fun to grow up during the same time as her great-aunt. They could’ve
adorned themselves with patches and powder, and danced the night away with
romantic gentlemen… but no. Alicia stared at her patch-covered reflection and
instead of seeing elegance, pure loneliness reflected back at her.

*          *          *

Ian stood in the shadows, letting
his eyes become accustomed to the near-total darkness. He calculated his
position. The library was just in front of him to the left. Up ahead to the
right loomed the stairs. The corridor beyond that contained the dining room,
followed by the office.

Satisfied his vision had adjusted
to the blackness, Ian ducked into the library.

The frame he’d hoped to borrow
during his prior visit still enclosed the same red- and gold-hued painting and
hung precisely in its previous position. Should he take it down again? No. Not
yet. Better to remove the frame from the wall on his way out rather than lug it
around.