The Perfect Impostor Page 9

  “To the future heir.” She raised her glass to his and downed it in one, trying not to choke on the bubbles.

  He looked momentarily surprised by her lack of restraint but too pleased with her apparent willingness to remark upon it.

  “To the future heir.” He followed her example and downed his drink in one, his eyes not once leaving her face. He put his glass aside, extracted hers from between her fingers and threw it impatiently over his shoulder. It hit the fireplace and shattered, making her jump.

  “Lady Marshall’s crystal doesn’t deserve such abuse.”

  “Damn Lady Marshall.” He narrowed his eyes, watching her closely. “Why did you not mention that Kincade would be attending this gathering? I don’t like the rogue sniffing round your petticoats like a dog on heat.”

  “What a charming turn of phrase.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I didn’t know he would be here, nor did Lady Marshall. His arrival surprised everyone. But you have no reason to be concerned about me.” She smiled up at him, averting her face. “I have more sense than to be taken in by him.”

  “See that you aren’t. I shall know what goes on here, never doubt it.” He pinched her bottom hard enough to make her cry out. “Just remember who owns you now, Julia. Who pays for all those fine gowns and jewels you so enjoy.”

  He pulled her into his arms and ran kisses down her neck, making her shudder. He chuckled, presumably mistaking her reaction for pleasure. Depressingly, the laudanum didn’t seem to have affected him one bit. Katrina panicked as her mind flooded with recollections of her brutal marriage. The air was squeezed out of her lungs by the sheer force Dupont employed to hold her against him.

  “You’re squashing me,” she protested.

  He released his hold very slightly. “Sorry, m’dear, but you only have yourself to blame for my flaming ardour.”

  “Don’t tell me the ladies of the court have been neglecting you,” she teased, desperate enough to speak impulsively.

  “They aren’t unresponsive, it’s true.”

  He swayed, his breath coming in hot, heavy gasps, his eyes not once straying from her face. His voice was more slurred than ever but his befuddled state didn’t prevent him from finding the sash to her robe and pulling it untied. He pushed the garment from her shoulders, almost taking the nightgown with it. She held on to it with desperation. If he undressed her, all would be lost.

  “Come on then, let’s set about making that heir.” He attempted to steer her towards the bed.

  This was all going wrong. The laudanum was working but not nearly fast enough. She needed to think of a way to slow him down until it incapacitated him. She owed Julia that much. But, if things ran out of her control, then she would crown him with the chamber pot before she allowed him to see her naked.

  “No, not yet, I—”

  His enraged growl cut off her words. “Stop being such a tease. I won’t get carried away, you have my word on it. It’s only when you make my angry that I…that I forget to—” He released her and ran a hand across his brow. He was sweating heavily and panting as though he’d just run up the stairs. He lurched to one side, swaying like a sapling in a storm. “Don’t feel quite the thing. Can’t seem to—”

  With a heavy thud he toppled to the floor and didn’t move. Katrina pulled her clothing back into place and opened the connecting door. Celia strode in and took in the scene at a glance. She checked to ensure that Lord Dupont was still breathing, not sparing a glance for Katrina.

  “He’s sleeping the sleep of the unjust,” she said grimly. “You ought to have made sure he fell on the bed. It would have made things easier.”

  “Pray, excuse me!” Katrina was trembling so violently that the words came out as a shaken whisper.

  “I know you did your best. Can you help me lift him? We ought to put him in bed.”

  He was a dead weight and the women struggled for long minutes, stopping for frequent rests, before they were able to manoeuvre him into place. They sat on the edge of the bed afterwards to catch their breath. Katrina, perversely, almost resented the fact that Lord Dupont had slept through the entire undignified experience, snoring loud enough to wake half the household.

  “Lay on the other side of the bed,” Celia said in an urgent whisper.

  “Certainly not! I’ve just been to considerable trouble to avoid that fate.”

  “You only need to make an indentation in the pillows and tangle up the sheets a little.”

  Katrina could see the sense in that and reluctantly complied. “Satisfied?” She sat up and examined the mess she’d made.

  “Yes, that should do.” She removed Katrina’s cap and placed it in the bed, along with a few hairs that she pulled brutally from her head.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry, but we need to make this convincing.”

  Celia disappeared into the adjoining room and reappeared with the bottle of Bourgeois and Amik perfume. She sprayed some liberally on the covers.

  “Right, that should do it. Come along, milady.”

  Katrina followed her through to their own side of the dividing door. She insisted that Celia turn the lock, just in case his lordship should happen to wake. Celia didn’t like it but Katrina was resolute. She wouldn’t sleep a wink if there was the slightest chance of Dupont stirring and coming in search of her.

  As soon as Celia left her, Katrina sprang out of bed and locked the door to the corridor, just to be on the safe side. Then she returned to bed, relieved to have survived the incident with Dupont but too buoyed up to sleep. She lay awake, staring up at the canopy of the vast tester bed, wondering about Celia. She was unwaveringly loyal to Julia. Katrina had always known that about her and admired the trait. But tonight she’d shown a ruthless aspect to her character that Katrina found disquieting. The maid would have sacrificed Katrina to Lord Dupont without it troubling her conscience if it was the only way to safeguard her mistress’s secret.

  Katrina lay restless in her bed, forcing her mind away from Dupont. He would be gone on the morrow, which was more than could be said for her next hurdle. How the devil was she supposed to become an expert in the waltz between now and two evenings hence when a roomful of society’s most critical denizens would expect her to give a faultless performance?

  Chapter Eight

  Leo concealed himself in the passageway outside Julia’s chamber, curious to see how things played out between her and Dupont. Unsure why he cared. He wasn’t a voyeur, nor did he possess the ability to see through closed doors. But when his curiosity was so comprehensively piqued, it usually resulted in the revelation of interesting information.

  Julia had left the drawing room in an unhurried fashion, the epitome of unruffled elegance. But as soon as she thought she was alone, she’d lifted her flimsy excuse for a skirt and all but run to her room, throwing herself through the door with an audible cry of distress. Leo hadn’t once seen Julia lose her composure, no matter how dire the circumstances. She was a social butterfly who thrived on attention but this evening she’d deliberately tried to make herself inconspicuous.

  Did the prospect of being reacquainted with her husband terrify her to such a degree that she’d lost the ability to sparkle? He no longer entertained charitable feelings towards her but the thought of her being pawed by Dupont didn’t sit comfortably with him. Not that it was any of his business. Julia had made her choice with her eyes wide open.

  Leo stopped trying to decide why he felt compelled to linger in this draughty corridor, went with his instincts and waited for something out of the ordinary to happen. He watched the doors to the adjoining rooms allocated to Julia. Dupont’s man was in and out of the one on the left, calling out curt instructions to a footman who staggered along with ewers full of steaming water. But of the great man himself there was no sign.

  All was quiet within Julia’s room and he would give much to know what was happening in there. He adjured himself not to be so naïve. Julia would be preparing hers
elf to receive her lord. A sharp pang of jealousy cramped Leo’s stomach. Perhaps that was because there was something sufficiently different about her now that caused him to overlook the unpleasant nature of their last encounter. Softened by the experience of marriage, she appeared vulnerable and unsure of herself.

  Which was ridiculous. The Julia he knew hadn’t experienced a moment’s insecurity in her entire life.

  Despite all his reasons to hold her in low esteem, he’d been drawn to her with increasing frequency at this party, wanting to believe that she knew nothing about jewel thefts. But since observing her extreme reaction to Dupont’s arrival he could no longer dismiss the possibility. Was she so desperate to get away from Dupont that she would turn to thievery in order to gain her independence? If she walked out of her marriage, then her father would probably disown her. She would definitely be ostracised by society. It was one thing to be married and indulge in discreet affairs but entirely another to desert one’s spouse. It would take something extreme to persuade Julia to turn her back on her frivolous and privileged life in the ton. The fact that she enjoyed it so much was one of the marked differences between them. Were things really so bad that she was prepared to risk giving that all up?

  Leo rather doubted it. Even so, all was not well within that marriage. Julia had all but swooned at the sight of Dupont, unable to conceal her unmitigated terror when he walked into the drawing room. She gave him champagne to drink when she ought to have known he preferred whiskey. Then she compensated for the error by addressing him in an overaffectionate manner that caused more than one raised eyebrow. Husbands and wives never displayed affection in public.

  And there were other, more subtle differences about her. He could have sworn that she’d grown an inch or two since their last encounter, unless the heels on her shoes were unfashionably high, which he seriously doubted. Julia was always the latest word in fashion. Her head had barely reached his shoulder when he held her previously. But this evening, when he prevented her from swooning, she straightened up and the top of her head definitely reached his ear. And then there was the business of her eyes turning from blue to silver.

  Silver flecked with gold, if one was being strictly accurate.

  It was the damnedest thing but Boscombe was probably right. He was letting his imagination get the better of him. But he hadn’t imagined it when, during one of their conversations, he’d remarked upon her being granted permission to waltz not a sennight ago at Almack’s with Freddie Fitzgerald. She hadn’t denied it but Fitzgerald had been with his regiment on the peninsular for over six months.

  It was these inconsistencies that had caused him to follow her up the stairs. Her strange behaviour indicated that she could be involved in the jewel thefts, which was his only reason for being here. His feelings were not engaged, in spite of the fact that Julia’s personality had undergone an alteration that suited her. He would ignore that change and treat her in the same dispassionate manner as the rest of the suspects.

  A heavy tread on the stairs heralded the arrival of Dupont. Leo faded into the wainscoting but the marquess looked neither left nor right as he entered his room, bellowing to his man to help him remove his boots. Fifteen minutes later his valet emerged and headed for the backstairs, dismissed for the night. He waited for Julia’s door to open and for her maid to leave as well but nothing happened. How long did it take to prepare a lady for bed? Leo’s only experience of such matters hadn’t been achieved with sleep or the seduction of a recently returned spouse in mind, so he had no way of knowing.

  He lingered, wondering what he expected to happen, other than the affectionate reunion between a married couple. He ground his teeth at the image this conjured up, giving way to another brief fit of jealousy. Plague take it, this really wouldn’t do.

  The minutes ticked by. No sound emerged from either room, nor did the maid appear. Perhaps she wasn’t in there and Dupont was performing her duties. Leo dismissed the notion before it took hold, convinced that this particular marriage didn’t entertain such affectionate intimacies. Besides, the thought of Dupont’s fat fingers fumbling with the delicate fabric of the lovely gown Julia had worn that evening turned his stomach.

  As a diplomat turned spy, Leo appreciated the value of patience and thought nothing of settling down in that corridor to wait, still not entirely sure what he was actually waiting for. Something. Some clue as to the situation between Julia and her husband? A cry for help from the woman he’d once entertained feelings for? Something definitive to eliminate her from his list of suspects?

  A loud thump from Dupont’s room roused Leo from his introspective state. He levered himself away from the wall that had been holding him more or less upright and sprang across the corridor, pressing his ear to the door. He could hear hushed voices. Feminine voices. Two of them? What in the name of Hades was going on in there? There were dragging sounds now. Women exerting themselves. Had Dupont passed out? Had he been taken ill? Had Julia attacked him?

  Leo suppressed the urge to enter the room and discover for himself. There were no sounds of distress coming from within, and since his own chamber wasn’t even in this wing, what excuse could he give for being there? I just happened to be in a part of the house where I have no business to be and heard this noise… Leo curled his lip, imagining what would be made of that.

  Straining noises were clearly audible now, along with curt instructions issued in a feminine voice that wasn’t Julia’s. The maid’s perhaps? But why had she remained in Julia’s chamber the whole time her mistress was entertaining her husband in the adjoining room? It made no sense.

  He eventually heard the sound of a key turning in the communicating door. A few minutes later the maid emerged looking hot and dishevelled and headed for the back stairs. As soon as she was gone, Leo heard Julia turn the key in the door to the corridor. She obviously didn’t feel safe even though her husband was asleep in the adjoining room. Or perhaps because her husband was asleep in the adjoining room. He walked back to his own chamber with more questions than answers rattling around his brain, unsure whether Julia was a thief, afraid of her husband or cowed by her maid. None of those explanations fit the personality of the Julia he once knew so well and he simply didn’t know what to make of it all.

  Boscombe was waiting for him. Leo shrugged out of his coat and threw it at him.

  “What news?” he asked, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

  “I reckon the arrival of the marquess put the cat amongst the pigeons good and proper.” Boscombe bent over with his back towards Leo and pulled his boots off. “His man’s a right tartar. Giving orders left, right and centre below stairs and rubbing everyone up the wrong way.”

  “His master was behaving in a similar manner in the drawing room.”

  “Aye, well, it don’t do to upset the order of things if you want an easy life. His man ought to know that.”

  “I gather they’re leaving at first light so I don’t suppose he’s too bothered about a few ruffled feathers.” Leo stripped off his waistcoat and pulled his neckcloth untied. “Tell me what you’ve found out about the maids attending the ladies who interest us. What do you make of them?”

  “I don’t think Lady Chester has anything to do with thieving. Her maid’s been with her for years. She’s as creaky in the joints as her mistress and almost as determined as Lady Chester to see young Charles comfortably settled. It’s all she seems to talk about. They have one of Lady Ainsworth’s girls in their sights, apparently.”

  “I can’t see any reason for her to be involved either. It’s just bad luck that she’s been at all the parties where the thefts occurred. Still, if she’s anxious to marry off her son then that would account for it.”

  “Yes, but it seems Mrs. Nugent is equally keen for her daughter Emily to catch his eye.” Boscombe shuddered. “Glad it ain’t me the two of them are fighting over. It’ll get ugly, you just mark my words.”

  Leo chuckled, glad to be afforded a respite. Both girls had been plaguing
him ever since his unexpected arrival. “What about Mrs. Nugent’s maid?”

  “She’s a bit out of her depth, if you ask me. She knows her mistress isn’t quite the thing and so isn’t forceful enough in the servants’ hall.” Boscombe pursed his lips. “Very important to know your place below stairs if you don’t want the other maids to look down on you.”

  “But is she capable of thievery?”

  Boscombe furled his brow. “Hard to say. She’s loyal to her mistress in her own way and in spite of being timid, I think she enjoys the life she now leads. If it was under threat, I wouldn’t like to say what she’d be capable of.”

  “So we can’t cross the Nugent contingent off our list.”

  “No, I’ll keep a weather eye on their girl and let you know if anything arises.”

  “You make it sound as though that will be no hardship.” Leo raised a brow. “Comely, is she?”

  Boscombe grinned. “Just following orders, milord.”

  “A little too enthusiastically in this case. Just don’t forget why we’re here.”

  “Have I ever let you down?”

  “When a wench is involved, more than once.”

  “Ah yes, well…that was unfortunate.”

  Leo chuckled. “All right, enough said. What about Lady Dupont’s girl?”

  “Celia, her name is. Pretty little thing and only a few years older than her mistress. She’s been with Lady Dupont, well Lady Julia as she was, for some years. Lady Julia was twelve and Celia eighteen when they first got together. That was over twelve years ago.”

  “And you know this because…”

  “Because I asked her.” Boscombe shrugged. “Flattered her a bit. Said she looked too young to hold such an important position and it all came out.”

  “I see. They must be quite close then.”

  “Celia’s devoted to her mistress. And before you ask, yes, she’d steal, lie, cheat, commit murder. Do whatever’s necessary to protect the marchioness’s best interests without a second’s hesitation. No doubt about that. There’s something about her that put my back up. A steely determination to have her way. Almost bit the scullery maid’s head off for entering the senior servant’s hall without good reason, she did.” Boscombe sniffed. “Very full of herself is that one.”