For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

of an honest man. Saying the words out loud seemed an irreversible condemnation, even if he only said it to Angelique. But the mere fact that he suspected as much gave him pause. He had worked four years now for Stafford and never once questioned his employer’s motives. Been on his guard, yes; watched his own back, always; but never doubted the basic information he had been given. But Stafford hadn’t always repaid him well. Not two months past he had been caught in a scheme that was not what Stafford had told him, and it could have killed him. Lying in a narrow servant’s cot, waiting for his wounds to heal, he had reflected on one basic truth: Stafford had lied to them all and sent them into a dangerous situation without being honest about the most likely source of the trouble. And no doubt that was due to one of those little favors for a politician Angelique mentioned. Stafford worked for the Home Secretary, Lord Sidmouth, and the last thing Sidmouth would want was Stafford’s agents poking around the affairs of other politicians—or at least, getting caught at it. Anything Stafford meant to hide would be dangerous to expose. He had better be sure before he drew Angelique into the web.

He sighed. “We should talk later. What am I supposed to tell everyone about your sudden appearance—with Ian, no less?”

She still watched him thoughtfully. “He is my husband. We are dear friends of yours from London, stopping by for a short visit on our way north.”

That should make for an entertaining evening. Not just Angelique, with her foreign looks and secretive manner, but Ian as well. Marianne might faint at the sight of him. “Your husband, eh? And why are you being punished?”

Angelique laughed. “It is not so unbearable. I shall be able to keep him in line.”

There was no doubt of that. Alec shook his head. “You have walked into a hornet’s nest here.” She laughed again and he put up his hand. “You should let me explain before you laugh. I presume your, er, husband will be seeing to the carriage?”

She raised her eyes to the sky and made a soft noise of despair. “Of course. If there is a choice between a horse and a woman, Ian will choose the horse every time.”

He chuckled and escorted her into the house. The housekeeper seemed mesmerized by Angelique, staring at her with unveiled astonishment before hurrying off to prepare rooms. Ian came in from the stable yard, and after they assured him they would rather talk before resting or refreshing themselves, Alec led them both to his study.

“Done right well, Brandon,” said Ian, looking around. “Far sight better than your last quarters, I must say.”

Alec repressed his annoyance. “Thank you,” he said evenly. He rang for tea, and bade his guests sit.

He walked to the fireplace. Someone had relocated Will Lacey’s carved wooden horse to the mantelpiece there. Somehow it had become a lodestar to him, a relic of the friend he had lost. Will would have known how to have this conversation, while Alec didn’t look forward to it in the least. Not only did it draw him back into Stafford’s web, it would force him to name things he was not sure of. Alec hated not being sure, especially in serious matters.

“So,” said Angelique behind him. “You have found nothing worth reporting.” Angelique was the true leader here, not Ian. Ian, he suspected, was here because it pleased her more than because Stafford wanted Ian to be here.

Alec fiddled with the carved horse a moment before putting it firmly aside. He took the seat opposite her, and she turned an expectant face toward him. She might smile and tease, but Angelique’s mind was never far from her work. “There is something odd about this assignment,” he began. “I can hardly put my finger on what, precisely, is wrong, but there is something. And after the Doncaster affair, I find it hard to ignore the feeling.”

“What did he tell you?” As usual, she cut straight to the point.

Alec flipped one hand in irritation. “That a man was missing. His family was worried, and someone in the government asked Stafford to look into it. I asked who the man really was; Stafford said he was just an ordinary sergeant on half pay. Fine. Perhaps the man got involved in a pub brawl on his way home and met an ignominious end. Perhaps he got caught in the arms of a woman between London and here. Perhaps he ran off to escape debts. There are a hundred ways an ordinary man can go missing.”

“Is this an explanation of why you have made no progress?”

He growled at her. “His family was not expecting me; they did not know someone would come. Another minor point, but again, if Hastings took such trouble to set Stafford on the case, why not write and inform the family?”

“Hastings…” Ian repeated, an arrested look creeping over his face. “Augustus Hastings?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward. “Why?”

Ian shrugged. “Perhaps nothing. Eh, go on—I’ll tell you after.”

Another little mystery. Alec didn’t like the way they were accumulating. He went on with his tale. “Turner’s daughters told me he often goes off—expeditions, he calls them, and normally he comes back in a few weeks or even months, often with no other word. The man sounds a veritable vagabond, but he’s always come home to his family, and flush with funds when he does.

“This time he expressly said he would return in a fortnight, and he left them no money. Whatever else he’s done, so far he has provided for them, including moving house here to Marston a year ago, into a modest cottage with some good farmland attached. And here’s where the story grows interesting.”

Angelique’s expression sharpened. Ian frowned again.

“There was no ledger in his things. We finally located one, hidden behind a wall panel.”

“Ah,” said Ian quietly.

Alec nodded. “It took some deciphering, but he’s received payments from a