Mastered Under the Mistletoe Page 2

  Marcus drew her around and pulled her down to sit on his lap. He brushed a stray hair off her forehead, his fingertip featherlight on her skin. “It would have looked odd had we barricaded the door. So much of this business is about appearances, and a package from a friend tossed in the drawer of my desk doesn’t arouse suspicion. Typically.” He combed his fingers to the base of her skull, and rubbed the nape of her neck between his thumb and index finger. “But I will worry about this. It isn’t your concern.”

  Tingles spread from the points of his fingers down her back. All of Liz’s irritation slipped away. If she’d been a cat, she would have purred. “This message. How important do you think it is for England?”

  “Liz.” He angled her head so she looked directly into his eyes. He rested his other hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I won’t have you worrying over this. Not when any agitation could hurt yourself and the babe.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Skimming his palm up and down her thigh, Marcus stretched his lips into a wicked grin. “The doctor has said pregnant woman should be kept as relaxed as possible. And I know one incontrovertible way to achieve that end.” He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own.

  Liz sighed into the kiss. Her husband truly did know how best to please her body, and there was nothing better than surrendering it into his care.

  But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry. The key might not have gone missing if she hadn’t opened up the library. And without the key, would he be able to access the message? In Marcus’s line of work, if messages went unread, people died.

  That definitely wasn’t a worry she needed burdening her, even if her condition wasn’t as delicate as Marcus believed. She was with child, not ill. If he had his way, she would lie abed all day, doing nothing but knit booties for their child.

  Her husband might have forgotten that she, too, was skilled at intrigue, but she hadn’t.

  She shifted her legs, giving Marcus’s roving hand better access.

  No, for everyone’s sake, the disappearance of that key was something she would need to look into.

  Chapter Two

  “Peggy.” Liz adjusted the pillow behind her back and wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position. She took the mug of tea the cook pressed into her hands. “Do you know if there are any new servants at Hartsworth?”

  Even though Marcus had told her not to ask Mr. Todd about his missing key, there had been no such proscription against asking the steward’s wife. And as head cook, responsible for feeding every soul at the manor, she was certain to know.

  Peggy settled on a wide, pillow-topped chair across from Liz. They were in Peggy’s sitting room, a tidy chamber Liz had asked to be constructed for the cook adjacent to the kitchens. The morning sun spilled in through large windows that looked out upon an herb garden, now buried under a thick layer of snow. The fire crackling next to Liz battled valiantly with the chill seeping through the glass panes. Peggy had chosen a colorful mismatch of chairs, pillows, and rugs when she’d decorated, making the room a cheerful, eclectic sanctuary.

  “No.” The cook blew on her steaming tea. “The newest member of Hartsworth is Hannah, the girl we got to replace …” She buried her head in her mug, taking a noisy sip.

  “Me.” Liz shook her head. “Peggy, there’s no need for awkwardness. I know it is considered shocking that the Duchess of Montague first met the duke while in his service, but those are the facts. It does no good to pretend otherwise.”

  “No, Your Grace.” Peggy’s face flushed nearly as red as her hair.

  Liz sighed. She couldn’t blame the servants for their discomfort. The circumstances of her arrival at Hartsworth were most unbecoming. Moving from parlor maid, a second-tier servant at that, to mistress of the house was difficult on everyone. For Liz, as well. The easy comradery with the women who had been her equals had disappeared.

  But Liz wasn’t giving up, especially not with the kind-hearted cook. The woman had been a solace to her in darker times, and Liz wasn’t going to let something as trivial as a title come between them.

  She tugged the shawl Peggy had sewn for her tighter about her shoulders. “No one new at Hartsworth in almost two years?”

  “Well …” Peggy popped up to grab a quilt from a chest along the wall and tuck it around Liz’s lap. “There was that lad we hired to muck the stables, but he only lasted six months before His Grace sent him off to school.”

  Yes, Liz remembered the child, and how impressed Marcus had been with the boy’s quick mind.

  Peggy settled back into her chair. “But there isn’t a lot of coming and going in a house such as this. There aren’t better positions to be found. Why would anyone leave?”

  “Why indeed.” Rubbing her thumb along the rim of her mug, Liz considered. “Has anyone had family come to visit of late?”

  Peggy cocked her head. “No, Your Grace. Is something amiss?”

  “No, only …” Liz sucked her lower lip into her mouth. “Might I impose upon your confidence?”

  Peggy nodded stoutly, looking offended at the very question.

  “Yesterday I learned that my Christmas gift for the duke has gone missing.” The deception tugged at her conscience, but Marcus’s affairs needed to be kept private. If she’d learned anything during the year she’d lived as a spy, it had been how to keep her mouth shut. “It might have been misplaced, but I have looked everywhere. I don’t want to think that any of our servants would take it, which is why I’m inquiring about newcomers.”

  “Quite right.” The cook set her mug down on the side table and leaned forward. “No one employed by the duke would do such a thing. I stake my reputation on it.” She looked over Liz’s shoulder, her gaze softening. “But …”

  “Yes?” Liz scooted forward.

  “There was a tradesman who came skulking about three days past.” Peggy wrinkled her nose. “Selling candlesticks, he was, right off the back of his pony cart. But his clothing … I wouldn’t let him through the door, even into the kitchens.”

  Liz bobbed her foot up and down. “But perhaps he entered through another door.”

  “Perhaps, but it would be difficult for a stranger to go about Hartsworth unnoticed.”

  Liz sank back, her muscles sagging. Peggy was right. Liz knew first-hand how challenging sneaking through the halls of Hartsworth could be, and she’d been dressed in a legitimate maid’s uniform. Still, it was a clue.

  “A man selling candles would call upon all the homes in the area. That could take a week at least.”

  “I suppose,” Peggy said.

  “And Lincoln would be the most logical place to bed down.” Lincoln was about ten miles north of Hartsworth and the only town in the vicinity large enough to support a public house. Liz sipped her tea, letting the sugar-laden heat fuel her determination.

  Peggy slowly swung her head from side to side. “Now, Your Grace, I don’t like that look in your eye. You can’t possibly be thinking—”

  “But I am.” Liz pushed to standing, the journey from seated to upright taking her a little longer than it had a month before. “I am determined to find my missing gift.” She glanced out the window. No wind moved the branches of the Black alder tree across the garden; the morning looked so still as to appear frozen in place. But the skies were cloudless, and no snow had fallen since the roads had been cleared. “Peggy, will you ask Billy to get the carriage ready for me? I feel like doing a bit of shopping in town.” And if that shopping led her to some answers about this candle tradesman, all the better.

  Peggy sighed. “You might be Her Grace the Duchess of Montague now, but you’re still more Miss Wilcox than not.”

  Liz bounced on her toes. She hadn’t heard her maiden name in quite some time. She rather liked, and missed, how daring she’d been as Miss Wilcox. “Thank you, Peggy.”

  “It weren’t meant as a compliment.”

  Liz shrugged. “I’ll run up and retrieve my cloak. Tell Billy to meet me out the side do
or.” No need to advertise her trip.

  The lines creasing Peggy’s broad face deepened. “All right. It’s not as though I can tell a duchess no. But I’m coming with you,” she said with a sniff. “And there’s naught you can do to stop me.”

  ***

  “Are you sure you don’t want to visit the milliner?” Peggy glanced over her shoulder to stare mournfully at the aforementioned shop across the street. She stumbled into Liz, and Liz placed a hand on the woman’s elbow to steady her. “You’ll need a new bonnet for all that ribbon you’ve purchased.”

  “I only purchased the ribbon so as to prove that I came into town to shop.” A few more bows on the wreaths on Hartsworth’s front door wouldn’t go amiss, either. And the tree would need more ornamentation. Hmm, perhaps she needed even more ribbon. Well, she could shop after her mission. “Now, let us go procure refreshments. I’ve developed quite a thirst.”

  Peggy paled as they approached the door to the tavern. “A duchess cannot go into a bar,” she hissed.

  “Not under normal circumstances, no.” Pausing before the door, Liz examined her companion. She pulled a pin from Peggy’s hair, mussing the locks for good measure, and pinched the woman’s cheeks.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  “You’re right,” Liz said. “We can’t just wander into a public house. But if we happened to be walking past, and you happened to come down ill, well, that would be a different story.”

  Peggy raked a hand through her escaping curls. “I’m not one for acting,” Peggy said. Liz ignored that and pulled her inside. “I can’t—”

  “Barkeep!” Liz called. Silence cut through the establishment like a hot knife through a soft pudding. She recognized a few of the faces of their tenant-farmers, although their wide-eyed shock at her appearance was quite unlike any expression she’d previously seen them wear. She raised her chin. “A glass of wine, if you please.” She tugged Peggy to the nearest table and pressed her down onto the bench alongside of it. “My woman came down faint as we were strolling past.”

  “Your Grace,” Peggy hissed. She shook her head, and another hank of hair tumbled down her back. “I can’t—”

  Liz patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. A little nip of wine and you’ll feel more like yourself.” She turned to the man who remained frozen behind the long oak bar. Slowly, she arched an eyebrow. “Wine. Now. Please.”

  He blinked, and blinked again before snapping into action. “Of course, Yer Grace. Of course.” He grabbed a glass and wiped it with a towel before filling it near to the rim with a ruby-colored liquid. Bustling around the bar, he raised the glass to Liz’s face.

  She inclined her head toward Peggy. “She is the one in need of the spirits.”

  “’Course, ‘course.” He thrust the glass beneath Peggy’s nose, a dash of wine sloshing over the rim onto the cook’s skirts. “Anything else I can get for Yer Grace? Should I send for the leech?”

  “Pray, don’t trouble yourself. I think Mrs. Todd is already reviving from your libations.” Liz glanced at Peggy, who took a hasty sip. “I would like to thank you for your kindness. Might I buy you a drink, as well?”

  “Well, I really shouldn’t …”

  “Please.” Liz swept her hand over the table. “Sit with us until my woman is recovered. It wouldn’t do for the Duchess of Montague to sit alone and unprotected at a public house, even one as fine as this. You would be doing me a kindness with your company.”

  The barkeep narrowed his eyes and glared at his customers. “Yer right. This lot isn’t to be trusted around someone of quality. I’ll just grab me mug and be right back.”

  He hurried away, and Liz sank onto the bench next to Peggy.

  The cook took another sip of the wine. “This isn’t half-bad. I expected much worse from a tavern’s cellars.”

  “Glad you approve,” Liz murmured before flashing a brilliant smile at the barkeep as he settled across from her. “Mister … I’m sorry, to whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

  “Nalley. Ned Nalley. At yer service.” He raised his mug in salute. Nalley brought it to his lips before hastily dropping it to the table. “Did you want something to drink, Ma’am? I should’ve asked before.”

  Liz raised her hand, palm out. “No, I thank you.”

  Nalley’s shoulders relaxed. “Alrightee.” He picked up his mug and tipped it to his lips.

  “Well.” Liz folded her hands and placed them on the table. “Your establishment is charming inside. I don’t know what I expected from a public house, but it’s really quite pleasant.” It was fortunate that Liz had spent a year honing her skills of deception. The tavern was as far from charming and pleasant as London was from Boston.

  “I thank’ee.” Nalley tossed back another large swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Yer husband seems to like it well enough.”

  “Is that so?” Liz narrowed her eyes. How often did Marcus come here? And why would he spend his time at a ramshackle tavern instead of with her?

  Nalley bobbed his head to a back room. “When he comes he likes to reserve that room there. He don’t like the quality of the other customers here, neither. Too right. But that room is as snug as a bee in a box.”

  Hmm. Liz tapped her fingers on the table. She needed to have a discussion with her husband as to what he found so appealing about this bar. She suspected happily married men didn’t feel the necessity of frequenting public houses. But, one problem at a time.

  She started, as though a thought had just struck her. “Yours is the only public house in Lincoln, is that correct?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Thank the lord for that,” Peggy muttered. She caught Liz’s glare and buried her face in her glass of wine.

  “Then perhaps you can help me.” Liz leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. The sleeve of her heavy cloak snagged on something sticky, and Liz peeled the fabric away. She cleared her throat. “There was a tradesman who came by Hartsworth the other day, selling candles. He was sent away but now I think I would like to see his wares. Do you know if he is staying here?’

  Nalley’s face shuttered like a window before a storm. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  Liz glanced at Peggy. The cook’s creased forehead told Liz that she wasn’t the only one confused over the barkeep’s abrupt tone. “But you run this public house. If you don’t know if a tradesman is staying here, who would?”

  “Well, ‘course I’d know who’s sleeping here.” Nalley focused his attention on a spot on his mug, wiping it with his sleeve. “I jus’ mean I don’t know all the trades of the people who sleep here. They don’t tell me that.”

  “Nalley?” A slender man wearing trousers with dark patches sewn at the knees skittered over to their table. He plopped his mug down. “Are these ladies asking about me?”

  Peggy sucked in a breath and leaned close to Liz. “That’s him. I didn’t notice him before. His back must have been to us.”

  The tips of Nalley’s ears flamed red. “Ah, Hobby, I don’t think the lady was meaning you.”

  “Hobby?” Liz cocked her head.

  The chandler knocked Nalley on the shoulder. “’Course she means me. Who else would she be talking about. I told you I went to Hartsworth on my route.” He dropped next to Nalley, jostling the table.

  Peggy saved her wobbling wine glass, shrugged, and tipped the rest of her drink down her throat.

  “You wanted to see some of my candles?”

  “Er, yes, Mr. Hobby.”

  He grinned, a dark gap from two missing teeth showing on his lower jaw. “Nah, don’t bother with the ‘mister.’ I’m John Hobart. Hobby to my friends.”

  “Hobby.” Nalley elbowed him. “I need to speak to you.” He slid a glance at Liz. “About your bill. You need to settle up. Now.” Standing, the barman placed a meaty hand on the tradesman’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

  “My bill?’

  “We’ll be right back,�
� Nalley said to Liz and dragged the chandler away.

  “I need to hear what they’re saying,” Liz whispered. The men hurried down a hall past the back room. Liz eyed the rest of the patrons. They’d lost interest in the tavern-frequenting duchess and had turned back to their drinks.

  Peggy ran her finger along the inside rim of her glass. “You go ‘head. Never listen to me anyhow. Why start now?” She giggled. “I rhymed.”

  Liz blinked. “Are you drunk?”

  “T’at wouldn’t be becom … becommin …” Her forehead wrinkled. “Wouldn’t be proper for the head cook of Hartsworth.”

  Perfect. A half-sprung Peggy. Liz twisted her neck, peering down the darkened hall. She glanced back at her friend, who swayed from side to side to some hidden tune. Liz ground her teeth. “Stay here.”

  Peggy waved her away and blew out a wet breath, her lips vibrating and making a rude sound.

  Rolling her eyes, Liz stood and pulled the edges of her cloak more tightly about her. She scuttled down the back hall. Angry whispers guided her around one corner and had her pausing at the next. She peeked around the edge of the wall and jerked her head back, her heart thumping. The two men stood huddled together only feet away, their heads angled together.

  The perfect distance for eavesdropping.

  Really, Marcus should let her join him on his operations. She had quite the knack for spy work.

  “And I told you, you shouldn’t have gone about to any of the houses, not before tonight.” The voice was hushed, but Liz was almost certain it belonged to Nalley.

  “I had five days here,” Hobby said. “I couldn’t just sit about on my arse, not when I could earn some coin.”

  “We’ll be making plenty o’ coin tonight. We need to keep our minds on that business, not on selling bits of wax to the toffs.” Nalley huffed. “Now, tell the duchess you’ve sold all your stock and wait in your room till tonight.”

  “Do we have to meet at the caves?” There was a distinct whine to the chandler’s voice. “The trail from the cliff is a right pain in the arse to get down without breaking your neck. And you know the sea air is bad for me lungs.”