Chapter 3
As he’d expected, Darius received a quiet request to visit his father in his study on his return. He sent a courteous message via a footman that he would attend when he was fit to do so, in about an hour. He doubted Lord Strenshall would welcome a visit from his son in this state.
When he walked into his bedroom, he caught his valet’s response. Richardson’s nose twitched.
“I agree,” Darius said, stripping off his coat as he walked across the room. “Order a bath, if you please. Nothing less will get this stink out. And I do not wish to see this suit of clothes again. Remove the buttons and get rid of the rest. Everything.”
“I have already ordered the bath, my lord. It will be here directly. May I suggest you allow me to comb through your hair?”
“You know where I spent the night, then?”
Richardson lowered his eyes. “A watchman had the temerity to call at what your father referred to as an ungodly hour, although in fact he himself had only been at home for half an hour.”
“Good,” Darius said absently. “I trust he sent the man away with a gentle reprimand.”
“More than gentle, sir.”
The door opened to admit a maid and two footmen followed by another maid carrying the tub and four cans of hot water. The half-full tub was deposited in front of the fire, and Richardson supervised them placing the soft white towels precisely in place, so Darius wouldn’t have to sully his precious flesh with bare metal.
Darius strode into his dressing room, shedding garments as he went. By the time he entered the small room attached to his bedchamber he was down to his underwear, shoes, and stockings. He used the chamber pot, washed his hands, and studied himself in the mirror. Considering he’d had no sleep last night, he was holding up fairly well.
An hour later, dressed more soberly in dark red cloth and cream, smelling a good deal better, and his damp hair tied back neatly but clinging to his neck, Darius felt ready to face his formidable parent.
He had a problem with interviews in his father’s study. While his father had delivered his fair share of physical punishment, his father’s displeasure and deep disappointment was far worse. When they brought sorrow to their father, his children truly grieved. He made sure of it.
Darius sighed, glanced in a nearby mirror, and made sure his neckcloth was straight before he tapped on the study door. A footman standing on duty in the hall gave him a sympathetic glance he was not meant to see, so he chose not to see it.
Opening the door, he braced himself for a confrontation of some kind. He would have to explain himself, but he was damned if he’d explain yet again what he was and why.
His mother barely acknowledged his other life, and his father referred to it in passing. The effect had separated Darius from his family somewhat.
Situated on the ground floor, the room was of modest size and lined with bookcases holding various items. Books, naturally, but also folders, some tied in red ribbon denoting their legal nature, others of worn and cracked leather, some brand-new. A few souvenirs propped up the volumes, and on the remaining bits of wall, miniatures of the family hung. This room was most certainly not for public consumption.
The marquess’s chair creaked as he leaned back and propped his elbows on the scratched old-fashioned mahogany desk that took up most of the floor space. Darius had often wondered how they’d managed to get it in here, since the windows were not large and only one door led in. He preferred to leave it as a mystery. Life should hold some mysteries.
His father motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk. After a perfunctory bow, Darius accepted the offer and sat, waiting for the axe to fall.
“What happened to the bastard?”
Darius’s eyes widened. “Which particular bastard are you referring to, sir?”
The marquess’s mouth flattened. “The one you were pursuing last night. The young man with a remarkable number of names.”
Ah. He should have guessed his father would discover his true purpose. Relief swept through him. Not another lecture, then. “Who told you?”
“That interfering fool General Court.”
Darius groaned. “He knows? Damnation. I wanted to clear the matter up cleanly.”
“By killing the man?”
Darius shrugged. “If it became necessary. I had actually planned to find out what he knew and get him out of the country. I want to discover what he knows so that we know what, if anything, is compromised.”
“How did you find out?”
“That we had a spy creating mischief?” Darius paused, but this was his father. If he couldn’t trust him, he could trust no one. “Julius suspected it, but he is busy about other matters, so I offered to investigate.”
“Your cousin has fingers in far too many pies, but your mother is fond of him.”
Julius Caesar Vernon, otherwise the Earl of Winterton and heir to the Dukedom of Kirkburton, did indeed have a considerable network of intelligence. However, the Strenshalls could rival it, if they wished to, and Darius had his sources.
Darius crossed his legs, relieved he was not to be subjected to a reprimand, or worse. “A rumor at Lloyd’s put me on the track of the man. He’d been offering a particularly tempting document for sale. Where else than in a coffeehouse where gentlemen make agreements every day? I had a name, and I went in search of it. I met the youth and befriended him, after I discovered we had a few interests in common.” He grinned. “It was not difficult. He said he was going to Mother Fleming’s, so I naturally offered to accompany him. I had thought to seize the document from him there. And then we were raided.”
“Yes,” the marquess said. “That was most unfortunate.”
“More than unfortunate. I think that raid was no accident. Someone wanted that youth in custody.”
“And is he? In custody, I mean?”
Darius sighed. “No. I thought they had taken him, so I allowed them to put me in a cell, but he was not there. I saw the magistrate this morning. He reprimanded me and let me go. I’m a young rake living a little on the wild side of town, a burr under his skin. That is all.”
The marquess nodded. “Indeed. Do you know what the document contains?”
“Names. A list of our spies in France and Italy. God knows where he got it.”
His father leaned back, his old chair creaking. “With war looming, we know the French are setting spies in place over here. We discovered only yesterday that Mother Fleming’s was part of that circle. We allowed it to continue, and we left someone in place there. That, in case you had not worked it out, was how I discovered what had happened last night.” He sighed. “It was useful to know where they were exchanging documents and news. Now we have to start again. Did you have anything to do with that raid?”
Darius shook his head. “Not at all, sir. But I may know someone who did.”
His father waved his hand, the lace at his wrist falling back to reveal hands as capable of building walls as writing a delicate signature. “Go on.”
“Do you remember Andrew Graham, the lawyer who gave us signal help last year?”
“Of course.”
“He accompanied the Runner who led his men into Mother Fleming’s last night. What was he doing there? He is a man of business, a solicitor and a barrister, not a Bow Street Runner.”
Darius’s father regarded him steadily. A softer expression entered his eyes. “Andrew Graham,” he said thoughtfully. “When a man has lived a certain number of years, he recognizes certain symptoms. I saw when Marcus fell in love with his wife, rather than accepting her. They were always friends, but when they were thrown together, Marcus used that as an excuse to marry her. He loved her. I saw a similar change in your twin, and in Claudia. My son, sometimes we cannot have our heart’s desire.”
A chilly spark shot through Darius, immobilizing him. “If I am attracted to him, that is entirely my affair. Believe me, Papa, I know what I can and cannot do.” He slipped into the childish endearment naturally, almost without noticing. “There will be no happy ending for me, no domestic bliss.”
“Your mother still expects a woman to shock you out of your current situation.”
“Do you expect it too?” Darius asked sharply.
The marquess shook his head. “I have known men with your preferences before. They keep it secret, and some even marry, but the thread is there.” His blue eyes, so like Darius’s own, shaded with sorrow. “I knew you were different from the day you were breeched. I love you as I love all my children, but I sorrowed for you. You were always the child who took the difficult path. Darius, I know the secret of love. I love your mother and our children. How one behaves toward the loved one is of course different, but the emotion is the same.”
Darius shrugged. “I have never felt romantic love for another person, so I have nothing to compare it to. But I love you and my brothers and sisters, of course. That is all I may expect and all it is safe for me to do. Love drives people to recklessness, even foolishness. I cannot risk it.”
“So you will leave Andrew Graham alone,” his father said gently. “He cannot break the law and uphold it at the same time.”
Darius disagreed. “Maybe some laws are unjust. Maybe they need to be changed.”
His father gave a harsh laugh and kept Darius pinned under his sharp stare. “Then become a member of Parliament and change them. Otherwise, you will have no say.”
Darius had refused a seat in the House, angering his father, who would have liked a son in the Commons. However, times had indeed changed.
Darius had a sense of fairness that daily was challenged. “Let me think of it further, sir. If I do decide to take the step, I want to be sure.”
His father nodded. “I will not press you, but I will be here if you require aid.”
His father had at least two Parliamentary seats in his pocket. Darius could enter Parliament if he wished to in a month or two.
“Is your personal situation changing your mind?”
“Yes.” Darius’s heart automatically hardened against what he knew to be his greatest vulnerability. He would not fall in love because he could not afford to. He refused, so it would not happen. How could he plunge into a situation that would imperil himself and everyone he knew? People did foolish things for love. Ergo, he, Darius Shaw, would not fall in love.
Unlike his siblings, if he fell in love he could end up on the gallows.
“I will not compromise Andrew Graham, sir.” He crossed one leg over the other, resting his ankle on his knee. “I intend to use what attraction there is between us to extract the information I want, though. Do you know any more information that will be of use?”
His father shook his head. “Only that there is a suspected nest of spies setting up on the outskirts of London society. The young man you were with last night has been definitely identified as Matteo Bartolini, an Italian working for France, but also reporting to the Vatican. I thought General Court would have the sense to let him be and follow his actions, rather than swoop on him. It appears I was wrong.”
“It was Court?”
The marquess nodded. “I believe so. I’ll know for sure later today if he precipitated that raid and he did it without informing his superiors.”
General Court worked in Whitehall, although he’d rather be in the field, planning battles. Everything he did, the contempt he frequently expressed about civilian life, spoke to that. He had interfered with the Emperors before.
Darius sighed. “I will pursue Bartolini. Today I plan to discover what Andrew Graham knows, but considering the service he did us last year, I will not—” He broke off abruptly. Even the thought of touching the man, kissing him, the very notion, sent his blood pounding through his body.
He could control the fever that threatened to race out of control. He would not fall in love and he would not take the matter further. If he promised his father now, used the words, he would stick to that. It would be his insurance.
Abruptly, he got to his feet and bowed. “I am expected at his house. He invited me to dinner. I’ll show myself around town, to assure people my exploits last night did not matter in the least, and then I’ll find out what Graham knows.”
His father gazed at him for a few seconds before he nodded. “Very well. Keep me apprised. I do not wish to lose any more threads of this particular tangle.”
Darius paused at the door when he heard his father say, “Do not get into trouble, my son. It would grieve me to lose you.”
“I swear, sir, I’ll take all the precautions I can.”