“Guilty.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair and stalked toward the window. “Damn it. I don’t like working with anyone else.”
“Neither do I,” she replied.
He turned back to face her. “What do you know about the Bidassoa traitor? You said you brother was murdered. You said you were looking for a murderer, not a traitor.”
“My brotherwasmurdered. By the Bidassoa traitor. My brother was Private Frederick Ellsworth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Beau’s eyes widened. “The devil you say! Frederick Ellsworth? Your brother was the soldier who intercepted the letter? The one who took it to Wellington?” Beau spent the next several moments trying to solidify in his mind how all of this was possible.
First, Marianne was a spy too. He’d been so enamored of her, he’d failed to see the clues that were directly beneath his nose. General Grimaldi, his commanding officer, liked to do things this way. He often put two operatives in the same location in order to test them. Then, in the end, they would be there to help one another.
Beau had simply never guessed that Grimaldi would pull this stunt onhim, and specifically not with a female spy. Beau had never seen it coming. That was his fault. And he could bloody well kick himself for being such an obtuse fool.
Second, apparently Marianne’s brother was the private who had been shot after intercepting the Bidassoa traitor’s letter from the French. Having handed over the letter, Private Ellsworth had died in front of Wellington, and was posthumously awarded a medal in return for his bravery. In all of his musings, Beau had never guessed that her brother and this hero were the same man. Why would Beau have any reason to?
Marianne leaned back against the wall near the door. “Yes. The truth is that I set out to find Frederick’s murderer as soon as I learned what had happened to him.”
“How did you get involved with Grimaldi?” Beau asked.
She stepped toward the window, crossing her arms over her chest. “At first, I merely went to London. I was looking for the men who were in the special council, who knew about the British army’s plans at Bidassoa. I soon learned there were three suspects.”
“Cunningham, Hightower, and Copperpot,” Beau ground out.
“Precisely. Lady Courtney, my former employer, helped me with a reference, but it was pure luck that Lady Wilhelmina was looking for a lady’s maid at the same time. I found the advertisement in the paper, actually.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you came to work with Grimaldi,” Beau pointed out.
Marianne nodded. “Grimaldi found me.”
“Of course he did.” Beau braced his hands on his hips and cursed under his breath. This story smacked entirely of Grimaldi.
“He’d heard rumors that I was asking a lot of questions about the special council and he came looking for me one day. I met him in the park near the Copperpots’ London residence.”
“And he knew who you were, didn’t he?” Beau continued to shake his head.
Marianne nodded. “Yes. He knew right away that I was the sister of the murdered solider. I told him I would never stop looking for Frederick’s murderer, so he asked me to join him instead of working at odds.”
Beau believed every word of it. That was precisely how Grimaldi liked to operate. He showed up when he needed someone and convinced them to work for him. But why that damned puppet master hadn’t seen fit to letBeauin on the secret, he’d no bloody idea.
“You didn’t know I was working for Grimaldi until today?” Beau asked next, narrowing his eyes on Marianne’s face to gauge whether she replied with the truth.
“Not until I read this letter this morning,” she replied, her voice sounding tired, resigned.
She was telling the truth. The devastation in her reply told him as much. It mirrored how he felt.
Beau paced away from her and scrubbed the back of his neck. “Forgive me for asking this, but didn’t you say you have an older brother, too? Why isn’thelooking for Frederick’s killer?”
She pursed her lips and arched a pale brow. “That’s a nice way of you asking whyI’minvolved, being a woman—and the answer is that, regardless of my sex, the moment I learned that mybrotherhad been killed, I vowed to avenge him. Men are allowed such emotions. I see no reason why women cannot be. And if you must know, my elder brother has been captured by the French.”
Beau cursed under his breath again. “I’m sorry. Of course. You have every right to avenge your brother’s murder. It’s just that… This whole thing has taken me by surprise, and I’m not used to being taken by surprise.” He put his hands on his hips again and stared at the floor.
“Likewise,” Marianne replied, primly, “and speaking of being taken by surprise… Were you ever going to tell me that you’re a marquess?”
Beau’s head snapped up to meet her gaze. “Who told you that?” Confusion marred his brow, and he re-read her letter that he was still holding. “It doesn’t say anything about that here.”
“I know,” Marianne replied. “I figured it out on my own.”
