Page 16 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 16

L ondon Society News:

Are you a spy?

Of course, don’t actually tell me. It is vital to keep your identity hidden. Yet a spy would be useful to ascertain the happenings of a certain house party. How are Lady Emma and Lord Peyton getting along? What activities are planned? The handsome couple must be anxious for her father’s imminent arrival, when they can finally make the longest “arrangement” in history official. Would any guests like to share?

Have there been any surprises?

Perhaps Alexander had it right when he sent Lord Fulton to the Arctic, the far part. It was quite the useful strategy when faced with an unassuming yet powerful foe, a man poised to take what belongs to you.

Where could he send Lord Stanton?

It may be considered trite to copy, but perhaps the Arctic – the far part?

If not there, then America – the far part?

Or the moon – the far part?

Really, anywhere would be preferable to watching Stanton stand entirely too close to an entirely too flushed Emma, “helping” her with color selection. Did she truly need assistance to know the sea was blue?

Philip pulled up his sleeves and turned to his own “masterpiece,” a title used loosely at best. His painting had not proceeded as planned, unlike the exalted earl’s, who somehow made a handsome rendition of a woman at the same time he made the usually unflappable Emma blush.

Again.

He breathed out. He was acting the jealous suitor, yet he couldn’t help it. He was very possessive when it came to what he considered his.

And Emma was very much his.

At least Trenton and his followers were still abed. No doubt they would find painting beneath their dignified activities of gambling, whoring, and general debauchery. It was why Philip had insisted on Catherine’s activity in the morning, when the calmer, more genteel guests would be about. While he wanted to give his sister more control, he couldn’t risk the mission, which would begin in earnest tonight when he hid in the tunnels to eavesdrop on Trenton.

His mission with Emma had hit a massive obstacle in the form of an all-too-frustrating earl.

It wasn’t really Stanton’s fault he had appalling timing. Philip had invited him, after all. Yet it destroyed his efforts of the previous night, transforming them into an involuntary sabotage. Undoubtedly Emma now believed Stanton to be the savior, irreversible short of Philip admitting the truth.

What if he actually did?

For one crazy moment, he considered it. What would she say if he told her he was both a spy and the rescuer she adored? Yet exposure held untold risks, danger he could never reverse. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – do that again. Yet he didn’t need to hover impotently while Stanton and Emma debated the intricacies of azure versus teal. He strode to the pair.

“Peyton, so good to see you.” Stanton gave a genuine smile. “My plans were cancelled at the last moment, so I decided to come after all. Your servants gave me entrance late last night. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” If only he’d told him the house party was in the Arctic – the far part. “I imagine you went straight to bed after such a late journey.”

“Not at all.” Stanton’s smile widened. “For some reason, I had an extraordinary amount of energy last night. Felt like I could jump over a mountain.”

Emma gasped.

Philip grimaced. And just managed not to mention he had, in fact, jumped over a deadly crevice.

Stanton gestured toward Emma’s canvas. “I was just complimenting Lady Emma on her excellent painting. It truly is a work of art.”

Philip peered closer. Thick brush strokes captured majestic boats, glinting on cerulean blue waters. In the corner floated something long and thick, almost like a felled tree in the water, with a figure sprawled on top of it. He pointed. “What is that fellow riding?”

“A log.”

Bloody hell.

“Let me guess. He is travelling to America?”

She smiled sweetly. “How did you know?”

The figure was nondescript, but he had the same general build as he did. The color was the same. He squinted. There was a letter on the coat…

P.

“Would you like to guess who it is?”

“It is unnecessary.”

“You already know, don’t you?”

“Quite.”

She chuckled, and unwittingly he softened. She was cleverness, spirit and joy tangled in one alluring package. And how she delighted him.

Stanton cleared his throat. “How fares your painting, Peyton?”

Philip grimaced as they regarded his efforts. If it was a fair world, he would not be ashamed. He was a powerful lord, a world class spy and an upstanding gentleman.

He was also quite possibly the worst painter since his three year old cousin slathered jam all over the drawing room walls.

“It’s quite unique.” Emma cocked her head to the side. “What is it?”

Not the foggiest clue.

It actually started out as a portrait of Emma, yet somewhere along its journey it started to resemble a frog. Since Emma might be disappointed with her representation as a hopping amphibian, he attempted to transform it into an actual frog, at which point it started looking like a half-eaten dinosaur. With hopes of challenging Leonardo Da Vinci fading fast, he did his best to craft something recognizable in the end.

“Is it a lizard?” Emma hazarded.

“An armadillo?” Stanton guessed.

“Perhaps a three-headed snake?” Emma tried.

“Excellent. You see what I was trying to portray.”

“Which one?” Stanton asked.

“All of them really.” Philip smiled. “Although you missed a head. Or two. I stopped counting at four.”

Emma shook slightly, her head bowed down.

“I see it now,” Stanton remarked. “Quite… unusual, I’d say.”

“And quite useful for frightening misbehaving children,” Philip shared.

Emma’s shook a little harder.

Stanton pointed to his own painting. It was of decent quality, slightly beyond if one were fair. It portrayed a woman from the back, revealing just a tad too much for polite society. Philip peered closer. Was that supposed to be–

“Lady Emma–” Stanton turned to the woman beside him. “Do you like my painting?”

“Very much,” she gushed as admiration replaced mirth. “It is a splendid work of art. Indeed, it would look fetching in a drawing room. Don’t you think so Peyton?”

He thought it would look lovely in the Arctic – the far part. “It’s quite fair.”

“Fair?” Emma looked at him incredulously. “Look at that detail. This belongs in a museum.”

“They have lovely museums in the Arctic,” Philip added helpfully.

Stanton peered at him as if he had turned into a three-headed snake. “I’m glad you enjoy it. Lady Emma, it would be a great honor if you would keep it.”

Emma flushed with pleasure. “I could not take such a fine work.”

“I insist.” Stanton bowed. “You do not mind, Peyton, do you?”

Could one ship an earl to the Arctic? “Of course not. Lady Emma may decorate as she pleases.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. The muscles tensed under his fingertips, but she didn’t move away. Satisfaction surged. “There will be plenty of room at all my different estates. I daresay we’ll even find a place for my painting.”

Emma turned back to his painting and blinked. “I can think of a place for it.”

“No doubt.”

Trill laughter rang through the air. They all turned.

Every muscle clenched, as danger swept aside any and all lightheartedness. When had Lord Trenton arrived? Why was he speaking with Catherine? Anger and fury rose in equal parts, at Trenton, but also at himself. This was why he needed to keep Emma separate from his work. She stole attention he couldn’t afford to lose, creating danger that threatened all.

“Catherine shouldn’t be with him.”

Emma’s whispered words held heavy concern, matching Stanton’s clear disapproval. For once, they were all in agreement.

“Please excuse me.”

They nodded.

He strode across the drawing room, his head tall, his stance strong. “Trenton, so good to see you.”

“Peyton, there you are.” Trenton gave a toothy smile, his gaze lecherous as ogled Catherine. The portly lord appeared even rougher than normal, his hair askew, his cravat undone. Fury surged, along with the urge to boot the man from his home, literally and figuratively. He reined in his control, even produced a smile. Soon enough the lord would be surrounded by iron bars.

“I’m surprised to see you,” he said affably. “I thought you typically slept the morning away.”

“Who says I’ve been to bed yet?” Trenton winked. “Did you know this backwater has a pleasant little tavern with even more pleasant amenities?”

Philip grimaced. The tavern served far more than drinks. “I’m glad you are enjoying your time. We wanted a light diversion for the early risers. This afternoon and evening, there will be activities better suited to your tastes.”

“Although not as enjoyable as the taste I got last night.” He elbowed Philip, guffawing loudly.

If only it wouldn’t be counterproductive to toss him out a third-story window.

“Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to rest up.” Trenton grinned lecherously. “The pretty little thing invited me back for more.” He attempted a swagger, swayed instead.

A few gasps came from the ladies in the room, amidst disapproving looks from the men. Philip nodded to several hearty footmen, who quickly sprang forward. Each grasping an arm, they led the teetering, inebriated lord from the room.

Philip grasped Catherine’s hand. “Excuse us for a moment.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he threaded around the painters and easels, across the hallway and directly into the empty room across the hall. He shut the door, leaving them alone in the small, sapphire visiting room.

He pivoted, as she shook off his hand. “Why are you canoodling with Trenton? He is not polite company.”

“I am not canoodling,” Catherine hissed. “I never canoodle. You’re the one who invited him.”

Yes, but it was for an important reason. If he had a choice, his sister would never be near the monster. “That is irrelevant. It is my estate, and I can invite who I wish.”

“Of course,” Catherine sneered. “You do exactly as you desire, but as a lady, I must obey you. What rubbish.”

He held in a growl. It may not be fair, yet he would protect his sister, whether she liked it or not. “Do not talk like that.”

“I shall talk as I’d like. You never explain yourself, so why should I?”

Laughter sounded from the room across the hall. He had to return as quickly as possible. “I merely wanted a varied group for this trip.”

“You could have invited anyone, men with whom you are far closer,” she countered. “As usual you hide your intentions, yet you expect me to explain my behavior. I am no longer a child. Soon I must make a match, and it will be of my choosing. After all, my former suitor is currently dancing with a bear in the Arctic. The far part.”

He grimaced. “I am sorry for that. I supported a match between you and Fulton.”

“Yet still you discussed the matter with Alexander.”

That was something he would deal with as soon as possible. Alexander may live a life of secrets, but he would not conceal his intentions with Catherine. “We weren’t discussing you. He asked.”

She folded her arms across her chest.

He sighed. “Catherine, I simply wish to find you a suitable match. If you’d like we can discuss possibilities tomorrow and–”

“I do not need to discuss possibilities with you.”

“You most certainly do.” He stepped forward. “How can I give you freedom if you act like this?”

She glared. “Despite what society thinks, I don’t need anyone to curtail my freedom. You haven’t been around for half my life, so why should I listen to you now?”

He paused. Something softer lurked beneath the anger, a vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide. He lowered his voice. “Are you angry I have been gone so much?”

For the briefest of moments, her lower lip trembled, and he got a flash of her as a small child, anguished when he forbade her from following him to a particularly dangerous watering hole. A minute later, she straightened. “Your endless vacations are of little consequence. I imagine you are already planning your next sojourn around the world.”

The callous words did not fool him. She cared far more than she admitted. He had traveled to save lives, yet the price had been steeper than he imagined. “I’m sorry for my absences. I did not realize how they affected you.”

She studied the floor. “It was nothing.”

“That is clearly untrue.”

She gazed sharply up. “All right, I admit it. It was something. Was, as in past tense. And indulging my hobbies will not change that.” She put her hands on her hips. “What did I paint?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Just now.” She gestured toward the door. “What did I paint this morning? You complimented most of the men on their pieces, and spent nearly a fortnight studying Emma’s and Stanton’s work. Tell me, what did I paint?”

He hesitated.

“You have no idea.” The anger had fled, the accusations, frustration vanished. In its place was pure sadness. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not true.” He stepped forward, palms extended. How could he make her understand when she was right? He had not afforded her painting a second’s glance.

He would do better.

She turned toward the window, gazing at the green and gold leaves swirling in the breeze. “As I said, it is of no consequence.”

“You are right.”

She turned sharply.

He walked until he was right next to her. “Not that I don’t care, but that I didn’t pay attention. I have no excuse.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I can only promise to do better. As I said before, I plan to remain in England. I would like very much for us to spend time together.”

She relaxed ever-so-slightly.

“We should discuss your prospects.”

She stiffened again. “That is unacceptable.” She shook off his arm and turned to the door. Her head held high, she strode across the room, yet stopped with her hand poised on the knob. “Perhaps I was wrong about your travels. At least when you were gone, I was able to do as I pleased. Should you wish to continue them, I will not complain.” Without a word more, she left him and his insufficient explanations behind.

He fisted his hands. How had matters deteriorated so egregiously? His relationship with his sister was in tatters, he had indicated Stanton as the rescuer, and Emma was intent on ending the betrothal. What calamity would befall tonight’s mission?

He ran a hand through his hair. Listing every obstacle served no purpose. Setbacks were inevitable, and success was a product of determination and perseverance. He flexed his muscles, stood up taller. He would neutralize Trenton. He would repair his relationship with his sister. And Emma?

He would make her unescapably his.

Peyton was not as he appeared.

That had been apparent the moment he returned, yet every second provided new evidence. Nothing about this trip held logic, not its timing, its location, and most importantly, its guests. One of whom was almost certainly her mysterious rescuer.

It had been a pleasant if not confounding day. After painting, they enjoyed an excellent meal with ingredients sourced from local farmers. Several outdoor activities were planned, including a delightful walk around lush lands, to reach a hidden waterfall. At night the men played cards while the ladies visited, then they reassembled for a scrumptious eight course meal. Talented musicians played on the terrace, as they partook in late night games.

Emma sighed, stretching on the plush bed. Despite the rich accommodations, she could not sleep. A low fire crackled in the marble fireplace, casting light on the sapphire and gold walls, large settee and carved wood writing table. Curves and columns accentuated the chamber, its centerpiece a huge four poster bed, covered in shimmery sheets and draped with rich brocade curtains. The chamber smelled of fresh roses and gardenias, which were brought in fresh daily.

The thought of finding her rescuer should have made her giddy with happiness, yet strange unease tempered it. When she gently hinted at the almost tragedy of the night before, Stanton had revealed no familiarity, nor any hint of subterfuge. Yet who else could it have been?

A slight creaking sounded, its source hidden in the shadows. It came again, followed by a soft rhythmic pattering. Earlier, Catherine had shared that most rooms were connected by a series of tunnels. Could that be the source of the noise?

Perhaps she should investigate.

It was altogether unwise, yet all-too-tempting. Priscilla used to investigate lords’ homes to garner information for her social action causes, before Bradenton put a very permanent stop to it. There was more than one mystery in this home: the guests, the rescuer, Peyton . Earlier, Peyton said he’d be in his office most of the night, on the other side of the estate. With the tunnels, one could easily slink from one room to the next without being seen.

She just may discover what he was hiding.

She pushed aside consequences and warnings as she slid off the bed and donned a simple day dress. She had no intention of being caught, yet just in case, she would be dressed decently. Slipping her feet into thin slippers, she pivoted slowly, scanning every inch of her surroundings. According to Catherine, a little faded symbol usually marked the secret entrance. She pushed every speck on the wall, twisted every embellishment, turned every decoration. She considered giving up a thousand times.

But giving up really wasn’t her thing.

When the little button on the wall turned under her hand, she gasped. A tiny creak came, followed by a larger creak and the entire panel tilting inward. She moved forward, peered into the darkened pathway. And then she smiled.

It would be daring. It could be illuminating. At the very least it would be exciting.

And just perhaps she would discover something amazing.

Consistent.

When Peyton hoped the night would not bring the same disastrous results as the day, he had been shortsighted. Consistent would have been a gift.

He had not been caught, at least not yet. That was the least he’d been granted as he traveled soundlessly through the dark, dank tunnels. When he reached Trenton, the criminal was deep in discussion with his partners, sharing precious information. That had been a spot of luck. Yet it disappeared when Philip realized the extent of their treachery.

Kidnapping. Heists. Burglaries. Murder.

Not a mere crime, but many, many crimes. The victims were men, women, lords, ladies, children. People they could hold for ransom. People who knew too much. People they could sell .

What he discovered was worse than he could have ever imagined, likely than Alexander or the agency suspected. The criminal entity was growing in associates and numbers, and actively recruiting more.

There was talk of other countries.

This couldn’t continue. The information would go a long way, yet he hadn’t the proof necessary to arrest Trenton and his associates. The lord was far too powerful for one man’s testimony to be sufficient, no matter his position and power. He needed to catch him in the act.

The voice came from the wall, muffled and yet obvious. “We’ll make our next move at the masquerade.”

A smile surfaced, the first genuine one all day. Finally he would learn the details to derail the schemes. Yet as he leaned closer, pressing his ear against the cool, rough stone, another sound came. In the tunnel.

Every. Muscle. Clenched.

Someone was here.