“I cannot imagine how you struck up a flirtation with the girl in the first place,” Marcus said in disgust. “I would think you would have had better luck coaxing a kiss from a stone.”
“But that was exactly it. It was the challenge of the thing. She was an ice princess, and I had visions of heating her up a bit. I realized my folly pretty soon, let me tell you, and I spent most of our so-called flirtation running away from her as fast as I could. I guess I should thank my father, or I could have ended up married to the girl.
“Enough talk of Lady Cynthia. How is the pursuit of our spy coming?” Alexander asked Marcus.
“I scouted around last night looking for his hideout, and I cannot find a likely spot.”
“Perhaps he lives underground, like a mole,” Alexander suggested, joking.
“That is not as absurd a statement as you might think,” Marcus told him. “You have heard of the Hawkhurst Gang, I presume?”
“Yes, they were quite notorious. I forgot that they were from this part of the country. But they are all long dead. What have they to do with our highwayman?”
“It is said they had underground tunnels from Hawkhurst to Stonehurst and beyond. Perhaps our highwayman is using the tunnels to escape detection.”
“That is an interesting premise. Have you located any of these tunnels?”
“I have heard that one of the tunnels originates from the Tudor Arms. I am to pay a visit to the place this evening and see what I can find.”
“Would you appreciate some company?” Alexander asked.
“I am not sure you have the talent for acting that I have.” Sir Marcus grinned, slipping back into his foppish role. “My grandmother was an actress, don’t you know.”
“I seem to remember you saying as much,” Alexander replied. “Still, you are liable to ruin your jacket in such a seedy place. Or someone could take exception to your golden locks.”
“You may come if you wish. However, I could definitely use some help on Saturday night. There is a courier traveling with a missive from Whitehall. It would be a logical time for our man to strike.”
“I would be happy to help you apprehend the traitor. In fact, I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Chapter Nine
Emily knocked gently on Lord Wesleigh’s door, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping. Apparently he was not. There was a shuffling sound and a thump.
“Lord Wesleigh? Are you all right?” Emily asked from the other side of the door.
“Fine, fine. Just dropped my book. Give me a moment.” Marcus scrambled to get back into the bed and under the covers.
Emily patiently waited a few minutes before heeding Marcus’s call to come in.
“I am sorry to disturb you, my lord. I just wanted to check in on you. Do you need anything?”
“No, no, I am fine,” Marcus assured her.
“You look rather flushed,” Emily said, peering at Wesleigh speculatively. She wondered how sick Lord Wesleigh really was. Perhaps this was all an elaborate ploy to avoid social doings with her family. She grew angry at the notion this fop thought he was better than she or Lydia, conveniently forgetting that she and her sister had rejected him first. Irritated by her suspicions, she regretted the sympathetic impulse that had prompted her to check on him.
“Just the fever, I expect,” he replied, coughing unconvincingly into his handkerchief.
Emily nodded and turned to leave.
“You are not going?” Marcus asked plaintively.
“Why, yes. I just stopped in for a moment.”
“But, I am bored to flinders. Stay for a while. Please.”
Emily smiled, her temper restored. Oh, well. She supposed it would not hurt to entertain him for a while. It was the polite thing to do. He was a guest in their home, after all. “All right, I will stay. What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know. A game of chess, perhaps?”
Emily nodded agreeably, although she was rather bored with chess. The duke of Alford was a devotee of the game, and she had spent the last two evenings playing him after dinner. She retrieved the chess set anyway and set it up on the table beside the bed. They played a rather desultory game, which Emily won easily. As she was putting the game away, she asked Marcus about his friend.
“Mr. Williams tells me you two have known each other a long time.”
“What? Oh, yes. We are rather close. We see a lot of each other in London.”
“Oh? Does Mr. Williams travel to London often? I would have suspected his duties as curate keep him quite occupied.”
“Quite so. He doesn’t get to London as often as he would like, but comes whenever he can get away for a time. Which is not often enough, in my opinion. I cannot abide the country. The society is so limited, and there are few decent occupations to be found.” Marcus began fiddling with his quizzing glass, apparently unaware that he had just insulted his hostess. Emily just smiled to herself, having learned not to take Lord Wesleigh too seriously.
“I don’t recall ever having met you in London, Miss Smithfield,” Marcus said, thinking that it was a good thing he had not.
“No, we do not travel to London much.” Emily sighed. “My father used to take me occasionally when he was alive, but I have not been in nearly five years.”
“Pity. I could see you fitting in rather well in London.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. You would be a refreshing change to the simpering girls that one meets. I think you would make quite a splash.”
“Oh, I do not think so, but I appreciate the compliment. My ambitions are modest. I have no desire to make a splash, just meet some new people.”
“Well, London’s the place to do so,” Marcus assured her. “Particularly during the season. More people than you can shake a stick at.”
Emily almost mentioned she did not think one should shake sticks at people, but did not think Lord Wesleigh would appreciate her attempt at humor. Instead, she said, rather wistfully, “Well, it is no use speculating about it, because it’s unlikely I’ll ever be in London for the season.” Emily determinedly changed the subject, and they discussed music for a while. During the course of the conversation, they agreed to dispense with the formalities and were soon calling each other by their first names. Of course, as Marcus did not wish to be called Alexander, Emily agreed to call him by his preferred name, Marcus. She discovered she knew some of his favorite pieces, and offered to play for him. Marcus agreed enthusiastically, as he thought he would lose his mind if he had to look at the same four walls any longer. He told her he thought he could manage to walk down the stairs to the drawing room.
“Oh, no, my lord, I mean, Marcus. You mustn’t risk your health in that manner. You can hear the music very well from here, as I will be sure to leave the door to your chamber open.” Emily still suspected his illness might only be a pretense, and could not resist punishing him a little.
“Very well,” he said, a little sulkily.
Emily hid her smile and went to play the pianoforte, as promised. She had been playing for about half an hour when Alexander arrived to visit his friend. He found Marcus sitting upright in bed, eyes closed, and a smile on his face.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” Alexander said from the doorway, an ironic smile on his face.
“Alex. You startled me. No, dashed glad to see you, actually. A chap gets bored sitting in bed all day.”
“You do not look bored at the moment, however.”
“No. I have been enjoying the music.” He made a motion in the air in the direction of the drawing room. “Emily has been playing some of my favorite songs.”
“Emily, is it?” Alexander asked.
“She asked me to call her that when I insisted she call me Marcus. To tell you the truth, I was sick to death
