Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

so clumsy.”

      “Agreed.” Coop put out his hand above the table and the other two clapped their hands atop it.

      And then, suddenly, there was a fourth hand capping the others.

      “‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,’” Gabe Sinclair said, as was the friends’ custom before battles during the late war.

      “Gabe! How the devil did you...?”

      “Get in here? Quite easily, old friend. Or did you forget you stationed Sergeant Major Ames outside your door while you all sat in here like brood hens, hatching plans. You have hatched a plan, I take it?”

      “Yes, but first tell us how you knew we’d be here.”

      “Uncle Basil summoned me, saying I was missing all the fun. Thea’s with the ladies, and Minerva directed me here as a hopefully good starting point. I met your Miss Foster, Coop, and was given strict instructions to guard your back, and that the letters—whatever they are—must be recovered by tomorrow morning. She said you’d understand.”

      Oliver must be closer than we’d hoped. As for her finding her way to the duchess? He had to resign himself—Dany did what she did for reasons privy only to her.

      “Yes, I understand. Thank you. At least I know where she is.”

      “Don’t thank me. She wouldn’t let me leave until I’d promised to tell you. Not precisely shy and retiring, is she? Very unlike anyone I would have supposed you’d choose, when you finally got around to it. I like her. Oh, and Rigby, Clarice informed me that you’re to hightail it back to the ladies, with the mission of delivering an opus to Paternoster Row. I didn’t ask questions, not once Minerva told me our friend here was shot at today. Now that I’ve fulfilled my role as messenger, what are we going to do about that pernicious gray worm?”

      Coop glanced at the mantel clock. “I’ll explain on the way. Gentlemen?”

      It was good to be moving again; he’d sat and stewed and wrestled with the unfamiliar feeling of helplessness long enough.

      Within moments, Rigby was on his way to the ladies, Darby was off to the ball and he and Gabe were in the back of a hackney cab and en route to Ferdie’s residence.

      They left the hackney a block from the Lanisford mansion and proceeded on foot, turning down an alleyway so that they could approach from the mews.

      But then Coop stopped, putting out an arm to halt Gabe’s progress, as well. “No. We go to the front door. I’ll be damned if the man will turn me into a housebreaker, let alone the future Duke of Cranbrook.”

      “Hopefully, unless the Cranbrook curse my uncle is so worried about is true, I have a long time before I’m duke of anything,” Gabe pointed out. “Are you certain? I was beginning to feel some excitement about the whole business of the clandestine approach.”

      “Yes, but that’s why you’ve all always let me be in charge of strategy. Just follow my lead, all right?”

      “This should prove interesting,” Gabe said, lifting his hat to slide his fingers through his blond hair. “Am I presentable enough to pass muster for a marquis’s majordomo? I’ve been on the road all day.”

      Coop smiled, as he was sure he was supposed to do. “Just stay clear of the light, and we probably won’t be sent around to the tradesman’s entrance. All right, here we go.”

      Coop climbed the marble steps to the impressive front door and lifted the heavy brass knocker. Banged it three times in quick succession, with enough force to have those inside believe they were about to usher the Prince Regent into their humble abode.

      And so far, so good. A liveried footman pulled open the door, to reveal an imposing figure who had to be Gabe’s imagined majordomo.

      “Step aside, king’s business,” Coop commanded, already advancing into the black-and-white tiled foyer.

      The majordomo moved to physically block him, but Gabe could always be counted upon to step into any breech. “Here, here, man, what do you think you’re about? Don’t you know who this is? My lord Cooper Townsend, the hero of Quatre Bras. Oh, and I’m Gabriel Sinclair, heir to the Duke of Cranbrook, not that I believe that’s of any real import at the moment. I am here only at the request of Lord Townsend. Now—step aside.”

      “Your pardon, my lord, sir,” the man implored, clearly impressed.

      Coop took a moment to feel comforted that he was finally getting some sort of benefit out of being the hero of Quatre Bras.

      “Very well, but step lively, my man. As I said, I am here on the king’s business. Show me to your employer’s private study. Come on, man, don’t dawdle.”

      “But...but to his lordship’s private study? If I may be so bold as to ask why, my lord?”

      “You most certainly can do that. Gabe, summon the guards from outside if you please, and have them escort this inquisitive fellow to— Well, no names need be mentioned.”

      “Certainly,” Gabe said, already turning for the door.

      “No! Wait! I’ve read the chapbooks,” the majordomo rushed on, nearly breathless. “I know you serve the Crown, my lord. I... I... Forgive me. If George here can be allowed to relieve you gentlemen of your hats and gloves?”

      “Certainly.”

      Lying becomes easier the more one engages in the practice, Coop realized as he stripped off his gloves and handed them to the young footman. I imagine Dany could have told me that. I’ll have to warn her that I’m fast becoming more proficient in the practice.

      The majordomo preceded them down the wide hallway to the rear of the mansion, the typical location of private studies.

      Although Ferdie’s study’s decorations were not as ordinary. The leather couches were there, the bookcases, the large, intricately carved desk, a well-stocked drinks table. But rather than globes and busts of ancient Greeks, the marquis had chosen to display an array of brass and stone carved nudes, a few of them faintly artistic in nature, but for the most part rather grotesquely enlarged in certain areas, very nearly cartoonish.

      “Suits the man,” Gabe said quietly. “All that’s missing is an assortment of riding crops hanging in pride of place on the wall.”

      The majordomo had remained in the open doorway. “If I might be of any further assistance...?”

      “You can’t,” Coop told him, closing the door on the man’s face, and then leaning up against it, to grin like a schoolboy who’d just made off with his father’s pipe and tobacco.

      Gabe had already begun searching the bookshelves, to be sure none of the decorative boxes held the letters. “Did you imagine it would be this easy?”

      “No. But I had hope. Minerva sails through life like a man-of-war, and for the most part everyone she encounters is quick to hasten out of her way. I merely tore a page from her lesson book. I’ll take the desk.”

      He pulled out the chair and sat down, opening one drawer after the other until he realized one of them bore a keyhole. Locked, of course. “Gabe, do you have a knife?”

      “You mistake me for Darby. Here, try this letter opener.”

      “There’s no need for that, gentlemen.”

      Coop froze where he was, as did Gabe, and they watched as a not too tall, not homely nor handsome—indeed, a totally unmemorable—young man entered the study via the French doors that led out to a balcony.

      “You,” Coop said, careful to keep his hands still until he saw that the man’s hands were empty. “You’re the one from the jewelry shop.”

      The man bowed. “One and the same, yes, for my sins. Allow me to introduce myself. I am William Bruxton, brother to Miss Sally Bruxton, who is soon to be wed to the marquis. If I don’t kill him first. Now,