“I don’t doubt it,” Clayton replied before slipping his hand into his inside coat pocket and pulling out a letter. “You received this in the morning post. I came all the way up here to deliver it to you. I thought it might be important.”
Beau took the letter from his friend and glanced at the address. Definitely a private letter from the Home Office. He was no stranger to receiving them. They usually looked precisely like this, plain and innocuous.
“More about your covert operations?” Clayton prodded, his gaze darting back and forth between Beau and the missive.
“Perhaps,” Beau replied. Clayton obviously wanted to know what was in the letter. He’d been thrilled to have his house used for a covert operation such as one of His Majesty’s spies trying to root out a traitor. Clayton had never been to war. He’d never participated in any missions for the Crown. Using his house party as the locale of a cat-and-mouse game was as close to a patriotic act as the viscount was likely to get.
Beau had no intention of humoring him, however. Such things were top secret. He took the letter and tossed it onto his bedside table. “Thank you for the delivery, Clayton.”
Clayton’s face fell but he quickly recovered. “You never did tell me. What did you overhear at the study door the day before yesterday?”
Beau shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “They seem to be planning something.”
“Do they?” Clayton arched a brow. “What could it be?”
“I’m not certain, but I suspect that money changed hands. And whatever it is, it’s planned for the fourteenth of October.”
“Hmm.” Clayton narrowed his eyes. “They didn’t say what?”
“I didn’t hear much more, because Miss Notley walked past. I swear that woman is like a night watchman.”
“Miss Notley, the lady’s maid?” Clayton’s blue eyes twinkled. “Getting under your skin is she, Bell?”
Beau shook his head again. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“You’ve mentioned her twice now. The other morning when we met in the library, and again just now.” Clayton immediately swiveled and opened the door to leave. “No need to deny it, Bell. I’ll just go and leave you to your letter.”
Beau wanted to argue with the man. He wanted to insist that Miss Notley wasnotgetting under his skin. No one got under his skin. But more than winning an argument with Clayton, he wanted to read his letter immediately and in private.
Clayton left and Beau shut the door and returned to the bedside table where he scooped up the letter and carried it to the small, dark wooden desk and chair that sat in front of the window. He took a seat and broke the seal on the envelope. His eyes scanned the words written inside.
Baxter,
At present we’ve found no record of a Miss Marianne Notley other than as a recent lady’s maid to Lady Courtney of Brighton. However, we haven’t exhausted all options. We’ll continue to research and provide you more information as soon as it’s available.
‘Baxter.’ The Home Office always used his assumed name when he was on a mission, no matter how safe the mission appeared. But the letter didn’t offer much. So, Miss Notley had worked for another high-born lady in Brighton. It didn’t exactly indicate the maid had something to hide.
Beau ripped the letter into long pieces and burned them in the flame from the candle that sat on the desk. Habit from years of secrecy. This particular letter didn’t contain much of interest, but one couldn’t be too careful. Besides, if Copperpot, Hightower, or Cunningham suspected he was watching them, there was no telling what any of them were capable of.
Then there was the lady’s maid.
Frankly, he didn’t trust Miss Notley not to poke around his bedchamber, either. If there was one thing he’d learned as a spy, it was precisely what he’d told her that first day. A person with no past is usually hiding something. That made Miss Notley a prime suspect.
CHAPTER TEN
Nicholas Baxter was hiding something. Marianne was certain of it. It was far too great a coincidence that he had appeared the night after Mr. Broughton took ill. Marianne didn’t believe in coincidences, especially when they came in the form of an Adonis.
As far as the Copperpots knew, she was a quiet little church mouse of a maid who’d rarely left Brighton and had been in Lady Courtney’s employ since she came of age.
That was partially true, but Marianne had lived a great deal of life outside of her employment with Lady Courtney. She had seen and done things that Lady Wilhelmina and her mother would be shocked to learn, and Marianne had absolutely no intention of allowing either lady to ever find out. Something told her that Mr. Baxter was up to no good, and she intended to find out what that was.
She waited for him to leave his bedchamber the next morning before glancing about to ensure she was alone in the corridor of the upper servant’s quarters—and then sneaked inside his room.
It smelled like him. And much to her chagrin, it wasn’t unpleasant. Those were her first two thoughts when she shut the door behind her, her heart hammering in her chest. In fact, the scent was a combination of spice and wood and something indefinably male that she didn’t want to think about for long. Strangely, it also smelled as if something had been recently burning.
She forced herself to put those unsettling thoughts aside and get to business. A quick glance around the room told her there wasn’t much to see. A bed, impeccably made. A wooden desk, bare save for a single candle. A matching wooden chair.
There was a small pile of ashes in the candleholder on the desk. Hmm. That was interesting. Had Mr. Baxter wanted to destroy something? And why? She leaned over to examine the ashes, but she couldn’t make out anything. The front page of the letter was still there and intact. She picked it up and turned it over. The letter had been addressed to Mr. Nicholas Baxter. At least he didn’t appear to be lying about his name. An innocent man didn’t burn letters, however.
