And not knowing what she would do if he did.
Chapter Nine
A gentlewoman should never indulge in imprudent freedom with a gentleman.
The Rules (according to Dara)
Some rules should be broken.
Tweedie’s thoughts on the matter
Michael had spent weeks making the rounds of ballrooms and routs, his least favorite activities. However, it might finally have paid off this evening.
Sir Duncan Carnuck, a Scottish MP who had been in Parliament for close to two decades, had left his seat in the cardroom and gone outside as if to take a turn around Morrow’s garden. Michael had been surreptitiously watching the man for a good month now, and Sir Duncan hadneverleft his cards before.
Could this be the change of behavior Steele had urged him to notice?
There was only one way to find out, and thatwas to follow Sir Duncan. Michael trailed the Scot out into the garden. The path for guests was well lit with paper lanterns, except Sir Duncan went in the opposite direction. Into the garden’s dark corners.
Michael had been drawn into this subterfuge because someone, certainly a person in power and with authority, had been embezzling from the War Office’s coffers. The theft had been going on for years and had only recently been noticed by a clerk relatively new to his position in the Treasury accounting office, Thomas Ferrell.
Ferrell was shrewd enough to catch the discrepancies. “Over time,” he’d told Michael, “I realized there was a pattern to it all.”
His curiosity sparked, Ferrell had taken the initiative to investigate the name of a firm on one of the accounting vouchers. The address had led to a small, abandoned building down by London’s wharves and was owned by one Ralston Granville, the name of a sailing captain who had been dead for decades. It didn’t make sense.
The clerk had come to Michael because he’d believed the Irish MP could be trusted. “My supervisor, Mr. Plummer, doesn’t want to hear any of this... and then I realized, he would have to be in on it too. So I shut my mouth. Told him it was my mistake.”
“Why don’t you go to the authorities with this information?” Michael had asked.
“I have a wife. We are recently married. I can’t have this coming down on me. I need this job, and who will listen to me? I read what you say in the papers. The public likes you. And I expect you to be as incensed as I am about this,” Ferrell had said.
To be honest, Michael hadn’t believed the clerk immediately. Ferrell estimated that close to fifty thousand pounds might have been embezzled. That was an outrageous amount of money to just disappear, even over what could possibly be close to two decades. Furthermore, with each new cabinet, there were new ministers. How could such a theft go on this long?
Puzzled, Michael had enlisted the help of Beck Steele, a man he’d known since their school days together. Steele was an interesting person. The bastard son of a marquis, he moved between society’s classes, including rubbing shoulders with its darkest elements. He trafficked in information. Michael also knew Steele was a loyal Englishman.
When Steele heard Ferrell’s story, he was immediately intrigued. He advised the clerk to pretend as if he knew nothing. “Brogan will handle this.”
And so, Michael did.
Steele’s investigation had turned up that Andrew Plummer was Sir Duncan’s cousin. Sir Duncan was on the Commons Treasury Committee. He’d been the chairman for over a decade. “I’ll wager he’s our man,” Steele had said. “We just have to prove it.”
The only tactic Michael could think to try was to watch Sir Duncan and track his movements. Frankly, he didn’t think the Scot was canny enough to put together such a scheme. The organization of the requisitions and vouchers called for someone who understood the intricacies of government funding.
Steele had discovered that Sir Duncan was not particularly wealthy. He gambled too much—but not enough to lose such a vast amount. And while Andrew Plummer lived well for someone in government service, he wasn’t hiding the amounts Ferrell suspected had been stolen.
No, Michael was convinced that others were involved, and he wanted to know who.
He had his man Teddy and his secretary, Elliot, take turns watching Sir Duncan during the day. However, the evenings, the balls, and the social affairs were on Michael’s shoulders.
Fortunately for him, the Lanscarr sisters had made the dreariness of Society entertaining. Surprisingly so. Especially Dara. He’d never met a woman with so much determination. She was like a petite general instructing her sisters on how to conquer theton.
She was doing it, too. After his initial shock over her directness wore off, he rather liked it.
Yes, the Lanscarr sisters were beautiful, but Dara was also intriguing.
She might wish to be a member of English Society, but she reminded him of every Celtic woman he had ever admired. She was fiercely loyal to her sisters and protective, even against him. Of course, sometimes, her temper could use a bit more common sense—
Ahead of him in the garden, Sir Duncan suddenly stopped. Moonlight through the trees lit his figure. This part of the garden was not carefully manicured, as if Lord Morrow planned to keep it natural. It was easy for Michael to hide by stepping back into the haven of a weeping willow whose long thin branches brushed the ground. He held his breath, hoping Sir Duncan hadn’t noticed him, and cursing that his hiding might let his quarry escape—
