Masquerading The Marquess(37)

"That’s why you were so angry last night when we were speaking of him."

James nodded. His eyes softened as he looked at her. "We’ll sort the mess when we find Stephen." He seemed to consider his words and then nodded to himself, as if emphasizing the when in the statement.

The old feelings for her father resurfaced, but not as strongly this time. She felt a little better, wound a little less tightly than usual. "All right. I agree."

His shoulders relaxed a bit.

"We should talk to Ternberry’s servants," Calliope said.

The clock struck five.

"We can discuss our plans in the morning."

"It’s nearly dawn. This is the morning."

James grimaced. “I know. It will be a long day. "

"Are we going to stay here for the day?"

"No, I think we should return to London quickly. I don’t think there is much to uncover here."

Calliope nodded and padded over to the bed, snuggling into the covers, which were beginning to cool again.

James took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He put the full glass of brandy on the table.

He grabbed the blanket, which was folded on the settee, and shook it.

Calliope bit her lip. "James, why don’t you sleep here?"

He stilled and looked at her.

"Just to sleep," she added quickly.

He didn’t move for a long moment. He started undressing and her breath caught. Couldn’t he sleep in his eveningwear?

He left his undershirt and trousers on and slipped in beside her. Her heart was racing so fast it nearly popped out of her chest and smacked against the wall.

The bed, which had seemed ample before, now felt tiny. She didn’t dare move or she’d be plastered against him. She spent a few fretful moments trying to decide how to sleep.

What position to lie in? She settled on her side near the edge of the bed. What to do if he turned toward her?

The feelings he had stirred in the garden returned. She had never expected anything remotely like what she had experienced for the brief moments on the bench. No wonder the women whispered and giggled. Calliope had thought them mad.

She peeked over her shoulder, but he was still lying on his back, one knee in the air. His breathing was even.




***



He was asleep!

The rotter.





Chapter 13




A number of guests had wandered downstairs dressed for an early morning ride to examine the scene at the lake. Many couples had already left for London, eager to be among the first to town with the news of Ternberry’s death. James found Calliope waiting near the front entrance conversing with Lady Willoughby. Rogers and Betsy had finished loading the baggage and would follow behind them.

After saying their farewells, he helped Calliope into the carriage.

The coach bumped and swayed as his driver negotiated the ruts that had become more rough and dangerous with the spring rains. They had been on the road for more than five minutes and Calliope sat quietly, fiddling with her hands and staring out the window. James kept silent waiting for her to compose herself.

She finally turned toward him. "Thank you."

He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

She shook her head and said, "Just thank you."

He nodded, and she sagged against the cushions. "I need to get to the theater. I’m worried about my family."

"Will they leave?"

She paused and then slumped fully into the seat. "No. Both of my adoptive parents are performing this evening, and regardless of threats, they would never leave the show. "

She absently moved her fingers across her brow. "They’re unaware of the potential danger. I’m frightened for their safety. They may be caught unawares."

James reached over and patted her knee. "They will be fine. I have men watching the theater. When we get back to the city, I’ll see what they have to report."

James had stationed a man at the theater as soon as he had learned of her ties there. The connection between Calliope and Salisbury was still too strange to be a coincidence. There were twists and links in the puzzle and everything seemed to point to Calliope.

"We’ll return to Stephen’s townhouse for the night and have another look through his files and belongings."

The effort would probably be pointless. They had searched thoroughly before. But she must have felt a bit better because she shifted her position and relaxed her shoulders.

James figured it was as good a time as any to catch up on missed sleep. Leaning back, he allowed his eyes to close. Calliope squirmed, attempting to make herself more comfortable against the plush seat. He cracked open an eye, watching her shift positions. After several minutes of fidgeting, he leaned forward, plucked her off the seat and deposited her next to him.

"What are you-"

Her mild shriek was cut off as he wrapped her in his arms.



Calliope’s mind went blank. She was nestled against him, and he had never once opened his eyes. For some reason, that irritated her.

She tried escaping by pulling toward the opposite seat. His arm was like a vise. But other than tightening his arm, he didn’t move.

His head lay against the seat. She peered around at him. She had been feeling out of sorts ever since finding herself curled against his side this morning. "My lord, I really don’t think this is dignified."

He gave no indication of having heard her.

"My lord?”

Nothing.

"Angelford?"

Silence.

"James!"

One eye opened.

"Don’t you think I should return to my own seat?"

"Shh, get some rest. You didn’t sleep last night any more than I."

For some reason, that made her feel infinitely better. She was exhausted. And it was more comfortable on this side of the carriage. Yes, if he was going to get the better side of the coach, it was only fair that he share. She closed her eyes and her head lolled onto his shoulder. The motion of the carriage was soothing. Warm and cozy dreams enveloped her and the nightmares ceased for once.

It was a brilliant summer day and she was strolling in a meadow. Flowers were blooming as far as the eye could see. James came toward her, a bright blue flower in his hand. She took it and inhaled the heavenly fragrance. It was like that spicy scent that clung to him. Strange, for a flower to smell that way.

But it was a beautiful bloom and the scent was manly, much better than the common fragrance of roses. He looked down at her with tenderness and bent his head. She would delude herself no longer. This was what she had been yearning for; every part of her said this was right. Her body thrummed and her breath caught as he leaned closer.

She sighed happily.

Unexpectedly, he jerked away.

"No!"

Calliope jolted awake as James moved his shoulder. He looked down at her. "No, what?"

The coach had stopped.

"Uh, nothing, just, uh, I was surprised we were there already."

How incredibly stupid.

He stared at her for a second and then exited the coach. He held up a hand to help her down.

The return to London was a jolt to her system. An ending almost. Quickly moving toward the door, she saw that her burly footmen were still in place. Thank goodness.

She frowned.

She had ceased to consider James the enemy and started thinking of him as her savior. Around the same time she had stopped thinking of him as Angelford.

More Angelford, less James. Now that they were back in London, that would be best.

They entered the library and he walked to her favorite chair. For once that was fine with Calliope. She sprawled on the brocade settee and shut her eyes.

"I thought we were going to search through Stephen’s things."

She opened an eye to see him staring at her superciliously. "Right. I’m just resting my eyes. How about ten minutes from now?"

He shook his head and she swore a smile flitted across his features.

"Fine, we’ll do it now instead."

A smile lit his eyes.

Calliope looked at the magnificent bookcases and sighed.




* * *



Twenty minutes later she was still sighing. James felt frustrated himself. Not only was he certain the object they were searching for was here in this room, but his response to Calliope was reaching a fever pitch.

She had removed her wig, and her soft curls caressed her shoulders.

He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, and spied a walking stick resting against the wall. He picked up the smart mahogany and gold cane, recognizing it from the night she tried to brain him with it.

"A slight step up from the one you abandoned at the Killroys’ ball."

She looked up from a stack of papers and eyed the cane. "Did you find my cane at the Killroys’?"

"Yes. Imagine my surprise when you sailed back into the ballroom, graceful as can be."

Calliope flushed. "I don’t know what caused me to forget it."

"l thought we had determined you missed me."

She looked disgruntled. "You are a menace."

James smiled. "Do you need to use a cane at all?"

"Not often, just sometimes when I get tired-it makes it easier to move around."

She walked over and reluctantly plucked the stick from his hand. Her eyes were intense. "My mother left this with me. It was the last time I saw her. She thought she had enough time to run back into the burning house."

Sadness and pain darkened her face. The expression tore at him.

"Why did she run back?"

"She tried to save the documents my father left with her. I’ve always blamed him for her death."