Page 26 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

I nky black filled the carriage, so deep Annabel wouldn’t know Jasper was there if his lips weren’t at her ear.

“As much as this plan worries me, I must say I approve of the disguise.”

His fingers traced from her knee up the inside of her thigh, following her inseam.

His warm breath and clear intent made her shiver until she was boneless. “You’re distracting me.”

“What’s sauce for the goose…” He nipped her earlobe and soothed the sting with his tongue. “You should see your arse in a mirror.”

“I don’t believe this is why Jocelyn sent me trousers.” Annabel gathered all her determination and moved away enough to kiss him hard on the mouth. She kept her hand on his jaw. “And we don’t have the time, anyway.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” His fingers curved around her wrist, his black glove matching hers. “No stubborn risks, Annabel.”

The cab rocked to rest close enough to see Westminster, but at enough distance that the driver wouldn’t make the connection. “It’s a bit late for that, I think.”

The gas lamps gilded his hair and leached the color from his face. His blue eyes glittered like stars. “Promise me.”

“Of course.” She’d spent enough time with him that she could adopt his breezy confidence with ease. The door opened behind her, and the cab shifted with the weight of a new passenger. “And you do exactly as Drake tells you. Save the adventure for later, Jasper.”

“Don’t worry, Annabel.” Drake’s deep voice filled the shadows between them. “He’s on lookout duty. No skulking allowed.”

“Most boring job on the crew,” Jocelyn quipped as she held the door. “We’re going to have much more fun.”

Annabel climbed from the cab and joined her co-conspirator, who was dressed almost identically.

“Trousers?” Annabel looked down her body and wiggled her toes in her soft-soled boots. “Why?”

“They’re easier for movement and make less noise than skirts. Think of them like scratchy drawers.” Jocelyn began walking across the street, leaving Annabel to follow.

“I’ve never worn those either,” Annabel said as she caught up easily. Trousers were also lighter than skirts, and she’d be lying if she said she missed her hobnailed boots.

“They’re more trouble than they’re worth, honestly. Wouldn’t recommend them.”

Annabel tugged her waistcoat. “Like these things.” No wonder Jasper stripped to his shirt sleeves the minute he was home.

“They’re not made for breasts.” Jocelyn crossed into the shadows cast by the hulking castle. It was quiet enough to hear the Thames whisper past. “Watch for bobbies,” she said as she knelt in front of an inconspicuous wooden door.

Annabel’s nerves jangled as she swept her gaze back and forth, straining to see any movement in the shadows. Mad Marchioness Breaks into Parliament was not a headline she wanted her mother, or Jasper’s, to read over their morning tea.

The latch clicked. “Come along,” Jocelyn whispered.

They entered a dim, narrow stairwell. Annabel grew dizzy as she followed its path. Jocelyn was already halfway up the first flight, her steps all but silent.

Annabel followed her, refusing to look down as they climbed. By the time they stopped, she was breathless. “How do you know where we’re going?”

“You’d be surprised what a tenner can buy.” Jocelyn put her finger to her lips before opening the door and checking the hallway beyond. “Let’s go. Mind the carpet.”

The immaculate red carpet.

“We’re in the palace.” Annabel clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her whisper.

“Only just.” Jocelyn clicked her watch closed. “And right on time.”

Though Annabel followed her down the corridor, she couldn’t help but stare over her shoulder and wonder what she’d find around the far corner.

“We can explore that way next time.” Jocelyn chuckled as she tugged her forward. Their target was a door at the end of the hall. It was flanked by a glass window with a shade drawn over it.

They’d reached the Exchequer office. Jocelyn tried the latch and sighed as it gave under her hand. “Her Highness should really be more suspicious of insiders.”

“I’ll tell Jasper to let her know,” Annabel quipped. It was easier to do this if she didn’t take it too seriously.

The outer office was almost the length of a dining room, crowded with desks and closed cabinets. A tray of neatly stacked pages was squared into the corner of each desk. Pens lay in their rests aligned in front of black glass ink pots.

Annabel’s faith in her plan wavered. This was not an office that was designed to conceal theft. These weren’t men who worked in shadows.

Jocelyn led her to the back, to a room dominated by a desk almost the size of Jasper’s bed. Ledges lined the shelves behind it. She pulled a candle from her pocket and lit it with a match from the jar on the desk. “The guards will be by soon. I’ll watch the door.”

Annabel nodded, already focused on the gold letters on each ledger’s spine.

She pulled her list of Circle members from her pocket and smoothed it out on the desk. After that, she wrestled the first giant ledger free and laid it open on the desk. She had hoped for alphabetical records, but instead she found numerical. Thank goodness Drake had asked for dates as well as amounts.

“What made you think he would have these in his office?” She sorted her list into date order.

Jocelyn was keeping an eye on the outside office. “No one would keep theft in plain view.”

“My father did.” Annabel used Graydon’s pen and ink to write the first figures on her list, halfway down the Circle members.

“Your father was hiding from his wife, not the queen.” Jocelyn straightened. “Hush.”

Annabel knelt and used her body to shield the glow from the candle. The weight of this mission hit home. She and Jocelyn had sneaked into the queen’s former home, even if just for a moment. They were now in a courtier’s office, using his things.

After a moment, Jocelyn relaxed. “They’re gone. Keep going.”

We need out of here without delay. “Come help.” Annabel pulled the second ledger from its place on the shelf and turned it to the middle. “April should be here. Check the dates and estimate two months per book.”

From that point forward, Jocelyn found ledgers and Annabel searched for entries. Each stroke of the pen was messier than the last. She hoped she could read it when she got home. “Finished.”

Annabel capped the ink and then cleaned the pen using her shirt sleeve. She put it back on its rest, just like the others she’d seen. By the time she’d finished, the ink had dried on her list.

“Ready?” It was a rhetorical question. Jocelyn was already at the door.

*

Jasper stretched the length of the sofa and used the rolled arm as a pillow. It was a poor substitute, but it allowed him to see Annabel at his desk, where she’d been since she’d returned from the Exchequer office.

The oil lamp created an island of light with her at the center, the black night creating a frame, head bent over a blank ledger sheet as she compared the figures she’d stolen to the ones she’d been given. She also had the totals the prime minister had given to him and Kit, and another book she’d retrieved from her library at Ramsbury House.

A plate of uneaten biscuits sat at her elbow. “Are you going to eat at all?” Jasper asked.

“Are you going to sleep?” she countered. “It’s late, and you had an eventful day.”

It had been both impressive and terrifying to watch Fletcher break into Spencer’s home, to see him blend into the shadows and emerge victorious with what seemed to be alarming speed. No wonder Kit roamed the house at all hours, checking the doors and windows. “So did you.”

Annabel looked up from her work. She was still in her trousers, and she had ink on her nose.

If anything had happened to her, he’d have had Fletcher’s head mounted on the wall. No matter how much he liked the man.

A yawn stretched his mouth as his eyelids drooped. Fighting exhaustion, he rose from the couch and went to the desk.

“Don’t distract me,” she mumbled. “I almost have this worked out.”

He lifted a biscuit from the plate and broke it in half. The pages spread before her were lists after lists of numbers, calculations, and totals. His eyes crossed. He pulled a chair near her and handed her half the biscuit. “What are you doing?”

“In a moment,” Annabel said as she chewed. She trailed the fingers of one hand down the column on her sheet and the other down the list Fletcher had copied from Spencer, checking her work. A census book lay open at her elbow. The cap that had been part of her disguise peeked from underneath.

“How did you come across a census book?” he asked as he offered another treat.

She took it. “Father bought one from a library that received two. I always liked seeing Chilworth on the list. It made us part of something larger than ourselves.”

She drummed her fingers on the desk as she stared at her work, reminding him of hoofbeats in a race. Finally, she nodded. Hesitantly at first, then with more certainty.

“You have it?” He sat straighter, staring again at the inked figures. “How?”

“The difference between our friends’ receipts and the number in the ledgers is one percent from each, which makes sense. It is easier to keep track of a single calculation. But it’s also more difficult to explain away as an error.”

She pointed to a total. “This is how much they paid.” To another. “This is what the ledger says they paid.”

It was a large amount, but from a damned small sample. “What does this prove?”

“It gives us a basis for an estimate. Taxes are only assessed on those with an income over one hundred and fifty pounds per year. That’s not going to be a large number of people in agricultural counties.” She indicated one list. “I took only twenty-five percent of their population at the minimum income threshold. Three percent taxes, multiplied by one percent.”

It was a halfpence for each. “That’s not a large amount.”

“It is when you add them all together.” She pointed at a second total. “And then for counties with industry, ports, or other trade—like Bath. I’ve estimated half the population would pay taxes to equal this.” She indicated a third sum.

London was its own category. She had increased the estimate to sixty percent of the population at the same halfpence.

“That doesn’t take businesses into account, or those that make more than the minimum threshold. If we use our comparisons, he’s taking three shillings for every five hundred pounds.”

All totaled, her estimate was nearly one thousand pounds.

“If he’s taking that same amount from tariffs or any other fund, and there’s no reason to believe he isn’t, the amount could double. Perhaps triple.”

She tapped Fletcher’s scrawled figures. “This is what Spencer has taken.”

It was more than one thousand, but less than three. “Why did he write it down?”

“Force of habit, perhaps.” She dropped back in the chair. “A trophy, maybe. Proof of what he’d been able to do.” She stared beyond the light that encircled them. “I could understand that.”

Jasper stared at her work, formulating the presentation to the prime minister and then the battle for Graydon’s confession. Ruining Charles Melton’s reputation would be distasteful, but inevitable if they were to put an end to Spencer’s manipulations.

To make Parliament honest.

To make Annabel safe.

She was still checking her work, as he’d done before submitting exams. Everything she’d been through since their marriage had been a test. It had been months of new dresses, hateful gossip, running the household, treacherous ballrooms, and wrecked gardens. Not to mention thieving men of business, murderous highwaymen, and a bloody husband.

Now she’d invaded Westminster and come away with the last piece of their puzzle.

Jasper put a finger under her chin and lifted her face until he could see her weary eyes. “You are extraordinary, Annabel.”

Every time he kissed her, it was different. Tonight it was a slow exploration by two exhausted partners, the sweetness on her tongue augmented by a boldness he’d never tasted before. It ended when her stomach rumbled.

Jasper pulled away, laughing. “I knew you were hungry.” He stood and pulled her with him. “Let’s see if Cook left anything in the kitchen.”