lay his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, better understanding the reason for Maystone’s agitation now. Such a plot as the other man was outlining could have had, might still have, a devastating effect on the shaky alliance formed against Napoleon.
Especially so, as Napoleon was even now marching triumphantly towards Paris, an army of hundreds of thousands at his back. And all without, as Napoleon had claimed it would be, a shot being fired.
‘How was it even possible for a Frenchman to do such a thing?’ Mariah frowned.
Maystone gave a humourless grimace. ‘Because he worked and lived in England for a year under the guise of tutor to a son of a member of the aristocracy. Jeffrey Lancaster, the future heir and now the Earl of Malvern, to be exact.’
‘You are referring to the French tutor the Lancaster chit eloped with last year?’ Mariah gasped. ‘Does it surprise you, knowing what you do now, that I have made a point of knowing these things?’ she added dismissively as Wolfingham gave her a frowning glance.
‘That “Lancaster chit” is now the Duchess of Hawksmere and the wife of a close friend of mine!’ he reminded stiffly.
‘She was also the lover of this man, André Rousseau, for several months, if I am to understand this situation correctly,’ Mariah maintained stubbornly.
‘Situations are not always as they appear.’
‘As I once reminded you,’ Mariah said pointedly ‘You—’
‘Could we please concentrate on the subject at hand?’ Maystone interrupted irritably, before sighing heavily. ‘Yes, my dear Mariah, for the sake of clarity, I can confirm that you are quite correct in believing that André Rousseau was tutor to young Jeffrey Lancaster for a year and also the same man who persuaded Lancaster’s sister Georgianna into eloping with him. I would like to add in her defence,’ he continued firmly, ‘that she was also responsible for bringing us information vital to our government just weeks ago. Information that also resulted in Rousseau’s death in Paris just fifteen days ago.’
‘Fifteen days ago?’ Mariah did a quick calculation in her head as she recalled that it had been nine days ago that Wolfingham had told her he had been shot ‘six days ago, to be precise’.
It did not take a genius to add nine and six together and come up with the correct answer.
She slowly turned to look at Wolfingham, knowing by the challenging glitter in those emerald-green eyes as he returned her gaze, that her calculations were correct.
Wolfingham had killed André Rousseau in Paris fifteen days ago.
And in doing so he had received a bullet wound to his shoulder.
She had no doubt now that Darian Hunter, the haughty Duke of Wolfingham, was not only a spy for the Crown, as she was, but that he had also travelled to France in the past three weeks, in the midst of the turmoil of the Corsican’s escape and return to France, and succeeded in killing the man who was a known spy for Napoleon.
As Wolfingham had killed others, in the past, who had threatened the security of the Crown?
It was both shocking and a little daunting to realise there was so much more to the Duke of Wolfingham than the disdain he chose to show outwardly and those flashes of passion he had so ably demonstrated to Mariah privately.
So much so that Mariah now viewed him with new and wary eyes. She had already considered her unwanted physical response to Darian Hunter to be a risk to her peace of mind, but this new information, on exactly what sort of a man the Duke of Wolfingham really was, now caused Mariah to consider him as being completely dangerous.
Indeed, he reminded her of a stalking predator, a wolf, hiding behind a mask of stern urbanity.
Proof indeed that he had more than earned his place as being thought of as one of the five Dangerous Dukes.
‘If we could return to the more immediate problem of this plot to assassinate the Regent?’ Lord Maystone prompted drily as he obviously saw this silent battle of wills between Mariah and Wolfingham.
Mariah found it hard to breathe, let alone break away from that glittering green gaze, feeling as if she were a butterfly stuck on the end of a pin and with no way of escape.
She began to breathe again only when Darian Hunter, after giving her a hard and mocking smile, turned his attention back to Aubrey Maystone.
‘I am presuming that your own private secretary’s involvement with Rousseau will also have exposed the names of the network of people who work for you?’ Wolfingham prompted astutely.
Mariah’s eyes widened in alarm as she saw the truth of that statement in the heavy mantle of responsibility that instantly settled on Aubrey Maystone’s slumped and aged shoulders.
‘Almost all.’ The older man nodded. ‘We had our first inkling of that exposure, of course, when Rousseau revealed to Georgianna Lancaster that he knew of Hawksmere’s work for the Crown.’
Darian nodded grimly, that information having meant that Hawksmere could no longer play an active role in Maystone’s network of spies. Perhaps it was as well, now that Hawksmere was a married man, but even so...
‘I am also presuming, as you wished to speak with both of us this morning, that perhaps Lady Beecham and myself have so far not been exposed?’
‘That is so, yes,’ Maystone confirmed tightly. ‘I do not keep written records of my agents, as you know, but of the twelve in my network, only the two of you have never had reason to call at the Foreign Office or my home.’
‘And would not the fact that you have chosen to call at the countess’s home this morning have succeeded in alerting any now watching you to the possibility that she—’
‘I am not completely without the resource of stealth myself, Wolfingham,’ the older man snapped impatiently. ‘I left my home by the servants’ entrance, hired a hackney cab to bring me to within two streets of this house and walked the rest of the way. All whilst keeping watch for any who might be taking any undue interest in my movements.’
‘I apologise.’ Darian gave a rueful inclination of his head.
‘Apology accepted.’ Maystone nodded briskly. ‘Could we now return to the subject of these assassins and their infernal plots?’
Darian sank back into his armchair. ‘I presume you are now about to tell us what part you expect the two of us to play in foiling this plot?’
Mariah had been aware of the sharpness and acuity of Wolfingham’s intelligence, but she had also learnt a wary respect for his astuteness these past few minutes as the two gentlemen talked and knew, by the irritation in Aubrey Maystone’s face, that the Duke’s words had once again hit their mark.
‘What could the two of us possibly do that you have not already done yourself?’ she prompted guardedly; positively the last thing she wished for was to spend any more time in Darian Hunter’s company than she needed to.
Aubrey Maystone seemed completely unaware of her reservations as his next words instantly trampled that wish. ‘Mariah has already told me that she has accepted her invitation to go to Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house party in Kent this
