A Lady's Secret Weapon (8 page)

François LaRouche leaned closer to the window, absently tracing his forefinger over his lower lip while he watched Mrs. Henshaw’s footmen bundle her into a well-equipped carriage. Their actions appeared rushed, protective, as if they were guarding her from an unseen threat. Movement to his left caught his eye, drawing his attention away from the benefactress. A flower girl, one who had peddled her wares long past her prime, waddled toward her cart, glancing back at Mrs. Henshaw’s disappearing carriage several times. Interesting.

Shuffling sounds behind reminded him of the unfinished business he left. Turning back to the classroom, LaRouche studied the group of boys, touching on each of their faces and allowing the silence to lengthen. He said nothing until the air vibrated with the panicked beats of their hearts. “All but the five gifted boys may leave.” He nodded to Mrs. Drummond, and she opened the door.

Without a word, two dozen boys stood. Backs erect, chins high, eyes forward. One by one, they filed out of the room, closing the door softly behind the last child. Their obedience pleased him.

LaRouche glanced down at the trembling child, whose hair carried the same mahogany tint as his mother’s. He lowered his hand onto the boy’s shoulder. “You should not have done that,
mon
petit
.”

The boy flinched and tried to evade his touch. LaRouche shook his head with regret. The boy knew better than to defy him, they all did. He had warned the boys against such independent thought, for it led to rash action and disagreeable outcomes.

With brutal slowness, LaRouche curled his fingers into the boy’s narrow shoulder. The child’s whimper disturbed him not at all. He continued exerting pressure until he was assured a dark reminder of his power was left behind.

“Kindly remember what I told you when you first arrived at Abbingale,” LaRouche said, addressing the schoolroom. “As long as you do everything you are told, no harm will come to your families. That includes your silence, both within and without Abbingale.”

He tucked his finger beneath the boy’s chin, lifting until their gazes met. “Silence includes no speaking with any part of your body, including your eyes. Understood?”

Swallowing, the boy nodded.

“Do you have anything to say?”

“Sorry, sir.”

LaRouche released him, and the boy lowered his head. The small act of obeisance mollified his anger somewhat, thereby lessening the boy’s punishment… by a degree. He turned his attention one row over, to an older boy, whose countenance could only be described as tragic. Severe pockmarks scored the entire lower half of his face, whereas the upper half remained blemish free. One could detect a promise of beauty in his wide-set eyes and strong forehead, but the pockmarks and the cap of straw-straight, dull brown hair ruined his potential for handsomeness.

“Come here,” LaRouche said.

The older boy stood. “Yes, monsieur.”

“Am I wrong in thinking you were the one who disciplined young Giles for trying to communicate with our guest?”

As if the scars were not hideous enough, the boy’s face flushed a ghastly red, making the pockmarks stand out even more. “M-my apologies, monsieur. I hit him on the shoulder harder than I’d intended. I only meant to give him a good sting on the arm, not to make him cry out.”

LaRouche curled his mouth into a conciliatory smile. “Of course, you didn’t. Join me over here, would you?” The older boy weaved his way around the desks and came to stand beside LaRouche. “What do you think we should do about young Giles defying my order?”

The pockmarked boy fidgeted. “He could go without supper tonight, sir, and then sort and mend all the stockings tomorrow.”

Giles did not lift his head, though LaRouche could see his terror in the tight clasp of his hands. “Yes, those punishments will do nicely, don’t you agree, Giles?” He reached toward his coat pocket and slid his fingers inside.

Nodding, Giles said, “Yes, monsieur.”

“Giles, look at me.”

When the boy lifted his fearful green eyes, LaRouche said, “I have one more punishment for you, but you must be brave or you will only prolong the pain. Understood?”

Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Yes.”

LaRouche pulled the leather gloves from his pocket and slashed them across the older boy’s pocked left cheek and then his right. He repeated the action twice more before tucking the gloves away again. Their harsh breaths sliced into the shocked silence. LaRouche applauded the older boy’s control, for if he had cried out or raised his hands in defense, he would have been forced to beat the boy senseless. No one defied him. No one.

Giles scrubbed at his wet cheeks while staring at his schoolmate with remorseful eyes.

“Do you see what happens when you disobey me?” LaRouche asked.

Anger replaced the boy’s remorse. “
Yes
, monsieur.”

“Your tone displeases me.” LaRouche slipped his hand back into his pocket. “Do I need to bring another boy up here to discipline for your sins?”

Panic flared in the boy’s green eyes. He shook his head and dropped his gaze. “No, Monsieur LaRouche. Please don’t punish anyone else. I’ll do as you say.”

To the older boy, LaRouche said, “Go to Mrs. Drummond. She will tend to you.” He glanced at the other boys. Their pale faces displayed varying degrees of trepidation. The boys who had been at Abbingale for a while were familiar with LaRouche’s swift discipline. Because of this, they had learned how to school their features into impassivity. Good little soldiers.

“Gentlemen,” LaRouche said. “Do not forget what you saw here today. It is best that no one repeat the same infraction as your schoolmate, Giles. You may return to your dormitory to clean your hands and faces before going down for your midday meal.”

“Thank you, monsieur,” they chimed as one.

While the boys filed out, LaRouche strode back to the window, his thoughts returning to Mrs. Henshaw and the odd circumstances surrounding her visit. During his brief conversation with the benefactress, he had detected moments of keen intelligence flowing beneath the surface of her empty-headed mien. Many young women of wealth and privilege were taught at an early age to suppress their leanings toward academia so as not to bore potential suitors. Many gentlemen welcomed such shallow creatures into their marital beds and then they found more engaging bedmates in their mistresses.

But LaRouche had not reached his level of importance in Emperor Bonaparte’s government by ignoring small, incongruent elements. No, his attention to detail had saved the Emperor embarrassment more than once—and LaRouche had been lavishly rewarded for his efforts. Soon, he would hand the Emperor the key to controlling the British Navy, the last barrier to Absolute Rule.

One leader, under God. Napoleon Bonaparte.

LaRouche would be the man who handed the world to the Corsican. Power, like nothing he’d ever imagined, would be his.

Not bothering to turn around, he spoke to the nurse, who stood quietly near the door, awaiting his instructions. “I want to know everything the benefactress said today and during her previous visit. Leave nothing out.”

Mac yanked the carriage door open and climbed inside. “What happened?” he asked once they were in motion again.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Sydney shook her head. “Everything about Abbingale feels wrong, yet I have little to report that would affirm such feelings.”

“Trust your instincts, Sydney. They have yet to let you down. Tell me what you saw.”

Sydney curled her arm around her middle and propped her elbow against it. Using the pads of her fingers, she rubbed her forehead in a circular motion, as if that small action would make sense of all she had witnessed inside Abbingale. “Boys sitting in the schoolroom, with their written assignments in front of them.”

“I’m not following. What makes the scene unusual?”

“It was nothing more than a well-choreographed display for my benefit, I daresay.” She lifted her head and tapped the side of her forefinger against her lips. “The only thing missing from their writing lessons was writing instruments.”

Mac frowned. “You came upon a lesson in progress?”

“So they would have me believe.” She recalled the sick feeling in her stomach when she realized the staff’s perfidy. “Their lessons were proudly displayed on the desks, yet not one quill pen, inkwell, or pencil was in sight.”

“What would be the point of such an elaborate scheme?”

“That’s what we need to find out, my friend.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?”

“The choice is no longer mine to make. I must dig until I know if the children are safe or not.” She blew out a tired sigh. “This could not be any worse than tracking down Lord Latymer. The baron attracts evil men like a dog attracts pesky fleas.”

“I’m not so sure,” he said. “Mick’s bones were aching. That’s never a good sign.”

No, it wasn’t. Sydney dug her fingers into her waist. Mick’s bones forecasted impending danger. He never really knew when or where, only that it was imminent.

“Do me a favor and work with Amelia on learning as much as you can about the nurse, Mrs. Drummond, and the schoolmaster, LaRouche,” Sydney said. “Those two forced me to keep my guard up the entire time I was in their presence. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to include the matron, Mrs. Kingston, though I could detect no ill intent from her.”

Mac’s jaw tightened. “I’ll have Mick sort through their backgrounds with your assistant.”

Sydney shook her head. “I’d prefer you to take care of it. Mick can continue with the interviews and keep an eye on Lord Danforth for me.”

“I’ll do that—”

She held up a staying hand. “I know you do not approve of Amelia, and I have tried to keep the two of you separated. But, in this, I need your level head combined with Amelia’s eye for detail.”

The hand resting on his leg curled into a fist, and he glared at the coach door for several long seconds.

“Can you do this for me, Mac?”

He gave her a short nod, and they lapsed into silence the rest of the way home. Not for the first time, Sydney wondered what had happened between her two most trusted friends. When she had selected Amelia for the assistant’s position, Mac had supported her choice. But something had shown up in the young woman’s background that had transformed Mac’s approval into barely masked disgust.

Contrarily, he would not share with her his findings. When she questioned why, he would only say that the issue would not affect Amelia’s ability to perform the assistant’s duties. Despite Mac’s obvious about-face, Sydney decided to give the young woman a chance, and Amelia had never given her a moment’s regret over her decision.

The only black mark on the situation was Mac’s almost obsessive desire to avoid her assistant. Though Sydney had not missed the way her bodyguard’s gaze tracked Amelia’s movements. Any time the two were in the same room, the air fairly crackled with tension.

Perhaps she should find other ways to force them to spend more time together. They would never be able to mend the rift if they’re constantly at opposing ends. Yes, a few pushes in the right direction should do it.

***

A few hours later, Sydney found herself standing in the entrance hall of Lord Danforth’s town house, trying desperately to focus on his butler’s words. But the disturbing hour she’d spent in Abbingale Home continued to overpower her concentration.

Everything had been too perfect, too quiet and organized for a house full of excitable boys. If not for her brief communication with the green-eyed boy, she might have left there thinking the home nothing more than a gloomy place, despite its possible link to Latymer. Then again, she would not have been able to ignore the call of the secret chamber.

As it was, the staff’s odd behavior had only succeeded in sparking Sydney’s protective instincts. What she needed to protect the boys from, she didn’t yet know. But something inside that house licked at a dark shadow hovering on the edge of her consciousness, a raw, ugly place she had locked away many, many years ago, without looking back.

Nor would she now.

“I’m sorry, Tanner,” Sydney said to the butler. “When is your last day again?”

“End of the month, miss.”

Amelia chimed in. “How many footmen do you oversee?”

“Only one, ma’am. His lordship prefers keeping a small staff.”

“Oh?” Sydney asked, recalling Lord Danforth mentioning the same thing. “Why is that?”

“All he needs is clean clothes, edible food, and a discreet household,” Tanner said as if reciting a much-heard mantra. “He’s also a private man, Miss Hunt, and doesn’t care to be tripping over servants day and night.”

“Does he employ a valet?”

“No, miss. If his lordship needs assistance with his wardrobe, he calls on either the footman or myself.”

“I see.” Sydney shared a glance with her assistant, who made a note. “Will his lordship’s butler be required to attend him during all hours of the evening, then?”

“Not at all. His lordship insists on using his own key at night.”

“That’s right,” a new voice added. “I don’t need a servant to open the damned door for me, even if I’m stumbling across the threshold.”

Sydney’s heart kicked against the wall of her chest. She glanced up to find Lord Danforth making his way down the grand staircase. Dressed in buckskin breeches, riding boots, and a wine-colored coat tailored to embrace his broad shoulders and sculpted midsection, he made her forget how to breathe. Especially when she noticed how his damp sable locks curled roguishly at the tips. The sight conjured an image of him rising from his bath, water cascading over the hard planes of his stomach, his lean hips, his rigid—

“Good morning, ladies,” Lord Danforth said.

Sydney’s blood ran hotly through her veins, a flush covered her skin from head to toe. Never had she wanted anything more—to see Ethan deBeau in the nude, wet, aroused. For her.

“Lord Danforth.” Amelia bumped her elbow into Sydney’s.

Blinking, Sydney forced the erotic image from her mind and steadied her breathing. “Good morning, sir. I did not expect to see you.”

“My schedule opened up.” He halted a hand’s width away. “So I thought I’d check on Tanner to make sure you haven’t sent him into a swoon with your interrogation.”

Tanner sniffed. “I haven’t needed the salts since ’91, sir.”

“Sounds like you’re due, old boy.”

Sydney glanced between the two men. “I assure you, my lord. It is not my intention to distress Tanner, only gather enough information to recommend an appropriate replacement.”

The viscount winked at his butler before closing the minuscule distance separating their bodies. “You don’t have brothers, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Younger brother, right?”

“What does my having a younger brother got to do with our present discussion?”

“The mothering sort.” He chucked her under the chin. “No humor in your bones.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he straightened. “We’ll have to work on that, won’t we, Tanner?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Rubbing the area beneath her chin, she glanced at Amelia and noted her assistant’s wide, shocked eyes. What had brought on his lordship’s playful mood? Especially since he hadn’t wanted her to come in the first place. If she didn’t know any better, she would suspect him of flirting.

When she shifted her attention back, his blue-green eyes twinkled down at her. Gentlemen more handsome and dangerous than this man had tried to woo her into their beds. Only once before had she experienced the pull of attraction.
Philip
. Even now, two years later, her stomach clenched with regret. For a time, she had contemplated marriage to the young physician—until she’d offered the darkest piece of her soul to him, and he’d turned away.

“Well, Mrs. Cartwright,” Sydney said in a brisk tone. “Do we have what we need to get started?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt. I can always call on Mr. Tanner later if I have additional questions.”

“Very well. Tanner, thank you for your candid answers. Your lordship,” she dipped into a curtsy before turning toward the door, “always a pleasure.”

“What great timing,” Lord Danforth said. “Perhaps you would care to join me for a ride in the park, Miss Hunt. Your assistant is welcome to come along as chaperone, of course.”

His invitation stopped her mid-stride, and Amelia swerved to avoid a collision. “Pardon?”

“A ride,” he said, with a rogue’s smile. “In a carriage. Through the park. Amidst curious gossips.”

“I understood what you meant,” she bit out. “What I’m wondering is why? Noblemen do not drive, ride, or stroll with commoners.”

“Perhaps not.” His eyes lowered in that heavy-lidded way that bespoke of a man’s interest. “But I do.”

“Not with me, you don’t. I’m not interested in being the
ton
’s newest
on
dit
.”

“How very strange.” He sent her a considering look. “Most ladies would vie for the position.”

“Then you will have no trouble filling my spot on your seat. Good day, Lord Danforth. We will send our recommendation on Monday.”

She had taken no more than two steps when he said, “What about my new footman?”

Sydney pivoted in time to see Tanner’s look of askance. “What are you talking about now?”

“After more consideration, I’ve decided to add another footman to my staff.” He brushed at invisible dirt specks on first one coat sleeve and then the other. “A viscount can never have too many footmen, or so I’m told.”

Unable to stop herself, she slid her gaze down his body, taking in every inch of his attire. “A valet might be a better use of your coin.”

He peered down at his clothes. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? Tanner assured me that the cut of my coat would cause much vaporing among the ladies.”

“Hmm,” Sydney mused, indulging in another slow perusal. “I suppose I can see why they would faint.” Of course, there was nothing wrong with his sense of fashion. He was impeccably dressed, from the tips of his polished Hessians to the intricate folds of his neckcloth. The only area that could use a valet’s touch was his tousled hair. The soft waves seemed to be forever winking this way and that, as if he tunneled his fingers through the thick strands on a regular basis. On further consideration, she was glad he didn’t use pomade or any other taming salve on those handsome curls. Somehow, the chaos suited him.

“Then I shall require a valet, too. There, you see? Tanner is all but jumping with joy at the prospect. Perhaps Mrs. Tanner is in need of a maid to help with the household chores.”

The butler’s lips creaked into a smile.

“Lord Danforth,” she said. “Surely, you understood that I spoke in jest.”

He looked to Tanner. “Did you think her comments were in earnest?”

“Quite, sir.”

“There you have it, Miss Hunt,” he said. “Perhaps you and I should adjourn to my study to discuss the specifics of the additional staff, and I would also like to discuss additional remunerations for my current staff.”

Tanner’s mouth dropped open.

Sydney was undecided. This blatant attempt of his to get her alone did not bode well. He would once again try to seduce information from her with his charm and rawboned handsomeness. And she would refuse, this time with a great deal more conviction.

Assuming he hadn’t yet uncovered where they had met before, she could think of no reason for his persistence—other than his belief that they had met before. Could that be it? He’d detected something familiar about her and now wouldn’t leave her be until he figured out why? Only one way to find out, but first, she wanted to test his level of need.

“Very well, my lord.” She motioned to her assistant. “Come along, Mrs. Cartwright. You can record the details of our conversation.”

“Um,” Lord Danforth said. “Perhaps Mrs. Cartwright would prefer to inspect the butler’s quarters and where my new valet will be located.”

He thought quickly on his feet, she would give him that.

“Some other time, perhaps. I would rather Amelia act as secretary at our meeting.”

“But then Mrs. Cartwright would have to make a return trip to view the butler’s and valet’s apartments,” he said. “I took you for a businesswoman who did not knowingly waste her clients’ time.”

When charm failed to achieve the expected result, his lordship changed tactics and attacked his opponent’s vital organs. A stratagem she would not soon forget. “It was not my intention to waste anyone’s time. I’m simply trying to ensure that all your requirements are documented.”

“I shall play secretary, while you listen raptly, Miss Hunt,” he said. “My services will leave your assistant free to join Tanner on a tour.”

How had he maneuvered her into such an inescapable corner? Squirming against the constraints of her new position, Sydney barely managed a civil reply. “How can I turn down such a generous offer? Mrs. Cartwright, do you mind?”

“Not at all, Miss Hunt. Tanner, would you please show me your quarters?”

“It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

Sydney splayed her arms wide. “I am at your disposal, my lord.”

Something dark flared behind his unusual eyes, and Sydney felt the strike of it all the way to her toes. Then he blinked, breaking the disturbing connection as if it had never been.