The Scottish Prisoner

“I thank you,” Grey said, sca

“Oh—often, my lord.” Lally looked surprised. “Though not written down. It is a common thing in Ireland, though—tales like that.”

“You have not seen it in any other context?”

Lally shook his head, definite.

“No, my lord.”

Grey sighed and folded the sheet carefully into his pocket, thanking Lally once again, and, with a brief glance at Jamie, rose to leave.

The day was fine, and they walked back to Argus House. Grey had decided, upon reflection, to make no reference to Edward Twelvetrees—not until he’d spoken to Hal. They therefore spoke very little, but as they reached the Alexandra Gate, Grey turned and said to Jamie, seriously, “Do you think he made a fair translation?”

“I am quite sure he did it to the best of his ability, my lord.”

13

By Darkness Met

JAMIE ROUSED ABRUPTLY AND SAT UP IN BED, HAND GOING automatically beneath his pillow for his dirk before his mind made sense of where he was. The door closed almost silently, and he was on the verge of diving out of bed, ready to throw himself at the intruder’s legs, but he smelled perfume and stopped short, completely bewildered, tangled between thoughts of prison, Jared’s house in Paris, i

The woman’s weight pressed down the mattress beside him, and a hand touched his arm. A light touch, and he felt the hairs bristle in response.

“Forgive me for calling upon you so unceremoniously,” the duchess said, and he could hear the humor in her low voice. “I thought it better to be discreet.”

“Ye think this is discreet?” he said, barely remembering to lower his own voice. “Holy God!”

“You would prefer that I pretend to encounter you by accident at a Punch and Judy show in the park?” she asked, and his heart nearly stopped. “I doubt we should have enough time.”

His heart was still pounding like a drum, but he’d got control of his breath, at least.

“A long story, is it?” he asked, as evenly as possible. “Perhaps ye’d be more comfortable sitting in the chair, then.”

She rose, with a small sound that might have been amusement, and he heard the muffled scrape of chair legs over the Turkey carpet. He took advantage of her movement to get out of bed—talk of being taken at a disadvantage—and sit down in the window seat, tucking the nightshirt primly round his legs.

What had she meant by that remark about the Punch and Judy show? Had his encounter with Qui

She paused by the chair, an amorphous shape in the dark.

“Shall I light the candle?”

“No. Your Grace,” he added, with a certain sardonic emphasis.

The sky was overcast, but there was a waxing moon tonight, and he’d drawn back the curtains when he went to bed, not liking the feeling of enclosure. There was a soft, bright glow through the window behind him. He wouldn’t have a distinct view of her face—but she wouldn’t see his at all.

She sat down, her garments whispering, and sighed briefly but said nothing immediately. It was an old trick, and one he knew well. He didn’t speak, either, though his mind was churning with questions. The most important one being, did the duke know?

“Yes, he does,” she said. He nearly bit his tongue.

“Oh, aye?” he managed. “And may I ask just whatyour husband knows?”

“About me, of course.” The faint note of amusement was back. “He knew what my … mode of life … was when he married me.”

“A man of blood and iron, then.”

She laughed outright at that, though softly.

“And does he know that ye kent me back then?”

“He does. He does notknow what I came to talk with you about.”

He wondered whether the duke knew thatshe had come to talk to him in his bedroom, but merely made a polite sound of invitation, and the duchess’s robe rustled softly as she settled herself.

“Do you know a man named Edward Twelvetrees?”

“I saw him briefly today,” he said. “At the Beefsteak club. Who is he, and why do I care?”

“Edward Twelvetrees,” she said, with a note of grimness in her voice, “is an estimable soldier, an honorable gentleman—and the younger brother of Nathaniel Twelvetrees, whom my husband killed in a duel many years ago.”

“A duel over …?”

“Not important,” she said tersely. “The point is that the entire Twelvetrees family harbors feelings of the deepest hatred for my husband—well, for all the Greys, but particularly Pardloe—and would do anything possible to damage him.

“The second point,” she went on, cutting off his next question, “is that Edward Twelvetrees is an intimate of Gerald Siverly. Very intimate. And the third is that for the last year, Edward Twelvetrees has been moving fairly large sums of money—far more than would normally pass through his hands; he’s a younger brother, and has no more than his pay and his wi

He leaned forward a little, intent now.

“Moving them where? And where do they come from?”

“They’re going to Ireland. I don’t know where they’re coming from.”

He turned that over in his mind for a moment.

“Why are ye telling me this?”

She hesitated, and he could feel her calculation but didn’t know the exact nature of it. Not how much to trust him, he didn’t think—only a fool would trust him with dangerous information, and he was sure the duchess was no fool. How much to tell him, though …

“I love my husband, Mr. Fraser,” she said at last, softly. “I don’t want him—or John, for that matter—to find himself in a position where the Twelvetrees family might do him harm.

“I want you, if at all possible, to see that that doesn’t happen. If your inquiries in Ireland should lead you into contact with Edward Twelvetrees, I implore you, Mr. Fraser: try to keep him away from John, and try to see that whatever he’s doing with Major Siverly doesn’t intrude into the matter you’re dealing with.”

He’d followed her train of thought reasonably well, he thought, and ventured a question to check.

“Ye mean, whatever the money’s about—even if it’s going to, or through, Major Siverly—it’s not to do wi’ the matters covered by the court-martial your husband wants. And, therefore, ye want me to try to keep Lord John from following up any such trail, should he stumble over it?”

She gave a little sigh.

“Thank you, Mr. Fraser. I assure you, any entanglement with Edward Twelvetrees ca

“For your husband, his brother—or your father?” he asked softly, and heard the sharp intake of her breath. After the briefest instant, though, the low gurgle of her laughter came again.

“Father always said you were the best of the Jacobite agents,” she said approvingly. “Are you still … in touch?”

“I am not,” he said definitely. “But it had to be your father who told ye about the money. If either Pardloe or Grey knew that, they would have mentioned it when we were making plans with Colonel Quarry.”

There was a small puff of amusement, and the duchess rose, a white blur against the darkness. She brushed down her robe and turned to go, but paused at the door.

“If you keep my secrets, Mr. Fraser, I will keep yours.”

HE RESUMED HIS BED cautiously; it smelt of her scent—and her body—and while not at all unpleasant, both were unsettling to him. So was her last remark—though upon due contemplation, he thought it had been mere persiflage. He hadno secrets that needed keeping anymore—save the one, and there was little chance that she even knew of William’s existence, still less that she knew the truth of his paternity.