“It’s more’n that, Eve, and you know it,” Constance said in a disapproving tone. “She even treats us like her own personal servants. Some of the errands she sends us on are highly inappropriate if you ask me.”
“Such as?” Rebecca asked curiously.
Constance started to answer, then frowned and closed her mouth. Evelyn chuckled, scolding the girl lightly, “Don’t worry, Rebecca isn’t one of Sarah’s spies. Elizabeth probably is, but then we’ve seen how chummy those two are. Even now Elizabeth is off doing her bidding.”
“What sort of errands is she referring to?” Rebecca asked Evelyn directly.
“Lady Sarah dabbles in palace intrigue, by all accounts. She sent Constance to follow one of the ambassadors when he left the palace and report where he went and what he did. It was harmless enough. We certainly couldn’t figure out why she even wanted that information. But while we expect to run errands occasionally, Constance shouldn’t have been asked to leave the palace. And unchaperoned!”
“Why didn’t you just tell her no?” Rebecca asked Constance.
“You can’t tell her no,” Constance replied, aghast. “One word from her to the duchess and we’d lose our posts here. She does have that power over us.”
Rebecca frowned. “And she’s abusing that power?”
Evelyn sighed. “We’re making too much of this. She is in the employ of the duchess, after all. She never said as much, but the information she gathers must be at the duchess’s behest, so ultimately it must reach the queen’s ear. She wouldn’t dare use us for anything untoward.”
Rebecca was inclined to agree with that reasoning. But her mother definitely hadn’t warned her that she might be involved in palace intrigue. Actually, she thought it sounded rather exciting.
Evelyn was having the same thought apparently. “I find it amusing for the most part,” Evelyn said with a grin. “Like tonight at the costume ball, I am to distract a certain lord and then ask him an impertinent question, so that he will have his guard down and answer by rote rather than fob me off. How I am to distract him Sarah left to my discretion.”
Constance snorted. “You know very well she implied you should let him kiss you.”
Evelyn giggled. “Which I was hoping would happen anyway. He is quite a good catch, after all, and divinely handsome.”
The word divinely made Rebecca think of The Angel. She certainly hoped that wasn’t whom Evelyn was talking about. But she refrained from asking Evelyn the name of the nobleman she was supposed to distract simply because she wouldn’t know The Angel’s name even if she heard it.
The lady they had been discussing suddenly appeared. Bursting energetically out of the duchess’s sitting room, Sarah Wheeler didn’t pause, not even for a moment, when she took note of Rebecca’s presence.
“Come to my office,” she said as she continued through the drawing room, out the door, and into the hallway.
“You’d better hurry,” Evelyn suggested. “Or you’ll wonder where she disappeared to. Her office is just one door down the hallway.”
Rebecca nodded and quickly followed. Sarah had indeed disappeared, though she’d left the door open. Stepping inside a narrow hallway, Rebecca realized this was the duchess’s private entrance to her bedchamber.
“In here,” Sarah called before Rebecca made the mistake of continuing down the narrow hallway and entering the main bedchamber.
Rebecca turned into the first room to her left, which was the size of a closet. Sarah was seated at a small, cluttered desk pushed up against the wall. The two wooden chairs beyond the desk lacked cushions. Not much else could be stuffed in that little cubbyhole. There were no windows either, just a lamp burning on the desk that left a thin haze of smoke in the room. But the subdued lighting was kind to the lady.
Rebecca thought Lady Sarah could be described as ugly, yet she certainly had an interesting face. She would have been simply plain-looking if not for her oddly close-set gray eyes coupled with her overly long, narrow face. A crooked nose, suggesting that it had been broken at some point, didn’t help her appearance. She was perhaps in her early thirties, though her age was rather hard to guess. Tall, even a bit more so than Rebecca, she was so thin she was nearly curveless. And her raven hair was coiffured much too tightly. Bangs would have softened her long face. Did the woman not realize that? She could make herself more attractive fairly easily. Or did she simply not care?
“I assume you are Rebecca Marshall?” the lady said, and barely waited for Rebecca’s nod before continuing, “Good of you to arrive on time at the palace. I’m Sarah Wheeler. It’s my duty to make sure you do not stray to idleness, but attend all functions expected of you and be available should the duchess require anything of you. Your stay here is to benefit the court as well as yourself. So you and I will get along just fine as long as you bring no shame to your post and do as you’re told.”
The lady smiled warmly. It was probably meant to put Rebecca at ease, yet something was oddly off-kilter about Lady Sarah’s smile, as if it wasn’t quite sincere.
“You might have already been informed that there is to be a costume ball tonight? The queen might even attend, though if she doesn’t, that is understandable. She is quite far along in her second pregnancy, after all. But you are expected to attend. Do you have a costume?”
“My mother and I overlooked that necessity in our rushed preparations to get me here on time. But my roommate helped me put a costume together for tonight.”
“You’re sharing a room with Elizabeth Marly, aren’t you? She’s a good girl. You can benefit from her advice, I’m sure. But be better prepared next time.”
Rebecca had to choke back a laugh at the glowing description of her roommate, but then Evelyn had warned her that Elizabeth and Sarah got along splendidly. “I will be,” Rebecca assured the lady. “I have already sent a missive to my—”
“About tonight,” Sarah cut in, not interested in any information she didn’t ask for. “I may have something special for you to do after the ball begins. It’s a matter of grave importance, but I’m not sure you’re capable of the task.” After a thoughtful pursing of her lips, she added, “I’m sure you’re as innocent as you should be, but how naive are you?”
Intrigue. The other girls had warned her, but Rebecca certainly hadn’t expected to be called upon for that sort of duty this quickly. Did she really want to get involved? Did she have a choice? Perhaps, since she suspected her answer would determine whether she would be a benefit to her country, or an obscure maid of honor who never met the queen…
With visions of being heroic and having Queen Victoria’s personal gratitude as a result, she replied, “Only as naive as I need to be.”
Sarah Wheeler chuckled. “I like that answer. I think you’ll do.”
Chapter Eight
REBECCA DIDN’T THINK IT the least bit heroic to sneak into a man’s room to search it. In fact, it felt distinctly criminal to her. Yet there she was, dressed in the breeches, fancy jacket, and feathered hat of her rakish cavalier costume, snooping through drawers and trying not to think how she would feel if someone were doing the same thing in her room.
She didn’t even know what she was looking for. She didn’t think Lady Sarah knew what she wanted her to look for, either. “Letters,” the lady had said in ordering her to search the room. “Or anything that looks out of the ordinary.”
But absolutely nothing in the room could be classified as out of the ordinary. If anything, it was furnished so spartanly that at first glance it didn’t seem that anyone even lived there.
“He never leaves his room unlocked,” Lady Sarah had said. “I know because I have it checked often. But today he did. I can’t imagine why, unless it’s to give one of his agents access to pick up or deliver something. So if it’s still open tonight, you’re going to find what that something is.”
Rebecca had so hoped the door to the room wouldn’t be unlocked. She had gone to the costume ball, but had been too nervous about her task to
do anything more than keep an eye on Lady Sarah and wait for her nod, which was the signal to begin the intrigue for the night. She had rushed off at that point, winding her way through Buckingham Palace’s long corridors, following the precise directions to the room she was supposed to violate. She just hadn’t been told whose room it was.
“The less you know the better,” Lady Sarah had advised. “Should he ever speak to you, you need to appear genuinely ignorant of his identity. But make no mistake, Rebecca. You’re a maid of honor in the queen’s court, so listen closely. This is so important that I would do it myself if I could trust anyone else to keep him distracted long enough for the search to be done. But I’m the only one who can keep him occupied for a reasonable time, so you need have no fear of being discovered. But don’t dally. Ten minutes and no longer.”
When Rebecca discovered the door was still unlocked, she didn’t enter the room immediately. Instead she wasted one of the allotted minutes debating whether to lie to Lady Sarah and tell her the room had been locked. But the older woman had stressed the importance of the task. Rebecca might discover a plot against the crown, a planned attack against one of the colonies, or at least evidence that the occupant of the room was a traitor and in the palace under false pretenses.
She found nothing. Riffling through every drawer, she found not one letter, not even a scrap of paper. The heroic zeal that had propelled her earlier had faded, leaving her feeling like a bloody thief.
She was closing the last drawer with a sigh when she heard the door suddenly open behind her. She wasn’t supposed to be caught! Sarah had given her no contingency plan for that!
“If you aren’t Nigel’s lover, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do,” a deep male voice intoned.
Some of her panic subsided. It wasn’t the occupant of the room, just someone who knew him. But then she felt the weapon in her back and the panic returned in spades.
“You’ve made a mis—”
“A woman?” The man laughed and withdrew his weapon. “That’s priceless. Has you dress like a man, does he? I suppose whatever works.”
She didn’t quite understand what the fellow was going on about, but she did understand that he’d given her an excuse for being there. She just couldn’t bring herself to use it. She decided to take umbrage with his presence instead. Was this room a magnet for snoops?
“You are the one who needs to explain…what…”
She turned around as she spoke, but the words died in her throat. Him? The Angel. Raphael Locke’s cousin? For the fourth time, she was rendered dazzled and speechless in his presence. Like her, he was dressed for the ball in a costume from another century, though his costume was from the more recent past. He was dressed as a dandy in a satin coat and knee-high breeches in a powder blue that wasn’t quite as pale as his eyes. An abundance of white lace was at his cuffs and neck. His long black hair floated about his shoulders. He should probably have had a closer shave for the occasion. The foppish look wasn’t quite achieved with the dark stubble on his cheeks. He was a little too broad in the shoulders, too. She’d never noticed that before, but then she’d never been this close to him before, either. Usually, all she could do was stare at his handsome face openmouthed, just as she was now doing.
“Dazzled you, have I? Oh, come now,” he added with a distinct tone of impatience. “This reaction is typical of young innocents, not sophisticated women of the world like you. Or am I mistaken?”
She couldn’t pull her thoughts together quickly enough to wonder what he was rambling about. His halo had arrived, an ethereal glow—or were her eyes just blinded by the bright satin of his coat?
“I’m going to make absolutely sure, you understand,” he explained before he reached out and gently squeezed each of her breasts.
That certainly brought Rebecca out of her daze. Aghast, she shoved him away from her only to have him slip his arm around her waist and bring her up hard against him.
“Thought that might work to bring you back to your senses,” he said with a chuckle.
“Let go,” she demanded rather breathlessly.
He shook his head slowly. “Let’s keep in mind who doesn’t belong here and who has the upper hand.” While his words sounded threatening, he was in fact grinning now. “And while we’re at it, let’s have a better look at what attracts a man of Nigel’s peculiar tastes.”
His hand touched her cheek. It was warm, hot actually, and not smooth like a dandy’s, but a little callused and wide. Slowly it moved up her cheek in a sensual caress that sent Rebecca into a head spin of dizziness. Fainting was a definite possibility. The Angel was embracing her? She’d never thought she’d even get close to him, let alone feel the whole length of him pressing against her body.
His hand continued moving upward until his fingers reached her hairline, then with one of them, he flicked her hat off. It tumbled to the floor behind her. A man’s hat, it hadn’t exactly fit her tightly. Her blond bangs tumbled down over her brow. Flora had helped to conceal her hair, but not before she’d arranged it in her usual becoming coiffure.
“Well, well,” The Angel said.
His eyes were moving slowly over her face now that it was no longer shadowed by the brim of the hat. He didn’t seem the least bit amused now. And without the amusement, he didn’t seem quite so angelic either. Brought down to earth, as it were, he was just a man, and possibly—dangerous? What brought that to mind? The sudden hard glint in his pale blue eyes? The way he was holding her waist more tightly?
“You’re too pretty, and far too young, for Nigel,” he said, still gazing at her face. “Though I suppose with the right clothes that would lend itself to the appearance of a young boy. At least, thank God, you bear no resemblance to me. So the question becomes, are you a willing participant in this charade, luv?”
She had absolutely no idea what he was accusing her of now, but his assumption that she belonged there had gone on long enough. Quick-witted when she wasn’t bedazzled, she went on the offensive.
“I have no knowledge who this Nigel is that you keep mentioning, but you, sir, need to explain what you’re doing in Lady Sarah’s room. She sent me here for a scarf. I highly doubt she sent you here for something as well. So who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Rupert St. John,” he said in an absent manner while his eyes were still slowly perusing her face. Looking for the lie? He must not have been able to find it because he asked, “Do you really expect me to believe that you’ve stumbled into the wrong room?”
At last she had a name for The Angel, but he didn’t look like a Rupert. No doubt he’d given her a false name, which she found quite annoying.
“You don’t look like a Rupert.”
Startled, he raised a black brow at her. “Dare I ask what I look like to you?”
“A hungry wolf.”
He didn’t laugh at the description, but he did abruptly release her. “Wolf, perhaps,” he said drily. “Hungry? Not at the moment.”
She had enough sense to guess she’d just been insulted. Had she touched a nerve perhaps? Good, because he was certainly touching too many of hers.
Regaining her balance after stumbling back from him, she went to straighten her skirt in an indignant manner, but forgot she wasn’t wearing one. How could she appear to be offended while she was wearing britches? She settled for grabbing the hat off the floor and shoving it back down on her head.
The very idea! Not hungry at the moment? As if she didn’t know he was implying she wasn’t to his taste.
He crossed his arms as he continued to stare at her. She didn’t fail to notice that he was standing between her and the door.
“Didn’t find a scarf, did you?” he said.
So he was going to test her excuse, look for flaws? “No, but then I’d barely begun to look for one when you barged in.”
“You won’t find one, either.”
“Nonsense. I was told precisely how many doors to count to know exactly which room to ent
er.”
“You’re in the wrong wing of the palace, m’dear—if you’re telling the truth. Sarah Wheeler, and, yes, I have no doubt that’s who sent you on this little errand, is quartered elsewhere.”
Rebecca hoped she looked suitably appalled. “You mean I owe you an apology?”
“Not me. It’s not my room, but you can be sure the owner will hear of your ‘mistake.’”
She sighed. “This is only my second day in the palace. I am not oriented yet with its layout. It was an honest mix-up.”
“Was it? Then no harm done. But don’t be surprised that now I must say, get the hell out of here.”
She blushed, nodded, and tried to hurry past him. He caught her arm for one last warning. “If we meet again in a place where you aren’t supposed to be, I will make assumptions more to my liking.”
“Excuse me?”
He let her go. “Run along, wench. You’re too young to understand.”
Chapter Nine
I ADMIRE YOUR GUMPTION TO wear a costume like that, ’deed I do,” Evelyn remarked as she walked over to join Rebecca. “But didn’t it occur to you that a woman in breeches isn’t likely to be asked to dance?”
They stood on the edge of the dance floor. The ballroom at Buckingham Palace was immense. With so many chandeliers lit, and so much gilt on the walls, the room sparkled brightly.
Rebecca hadn’t moved too far from the entrance, though. She’d been watching the door for Rupert St. John’s arrival while she waited for Lady Sarah to finish her conversation and come over to her. She’d tried to go directly to the lady to warn her that she’d been discovered, but a rude flick of Sarah’s hand had warned her not to interrupt.
Rebecca was nervous. The intrigue wasn’t over yet. Rupert wouldn’t be put off by any hand-flicking if he decided to question Sarah about the “scarf” excuse. So she really needed to talk to Sarah before he did.
“This costume wasn’t my idea,” Rebecca said in response to Evelyn’s question. “I neglected to bring one with me.”