When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,115
sinking onto a tufted sofa. “For the love of God, shut your mouth.”
For the love of Matilda, Duncan wasn’t nearly finished.
“Taking the money was easy, leaving that little game proved impossible. Perhaps a woman was involved, or possibly even a child. You did take the money, and then your new friends made it plain that they owned you. You disobeyed them at the cost of your life. They would not do you the courtesy of a knife in a dark alley. They’d instead turn you over to your superior officers.”
Parker looked up. “Where could you possibly come by such wild, ridiculous notions?” He was blustering, and badly.
“You don’t deny these ridiculous notions,” Duncan retorted.
Stephen pulled the trigger on his sword cane, so the bayonet snapped into view. “Sorry,” he said, smiling. “The mechanism wants maintenance.” He fiddled with the cane’s handle and folded the knife out of sight.
Parker’s shoulders slumped while Duncan waited as patiently as he’d ever waited for the slowest of his scholars. Quinn remained standing near the door, as motionless as a cat waiting for a pigeon to wander just two steps closer. Matilda, too, held her silence.
“I never told them anything that mattered,” Parker said. “Never told them more than talk overheard in the officers’ mess or the gentlemen’s retiring rooms. Nothing important.”
“But you took their money,” Matilda said. “Why, Atticus?”
He dropped his head into his hands, the picture of adult male misery. “They made it so easy. Passed me a bit of coin, for my trouble. Their objective was to prevent war—surely that was in England’s best interests?—and they reminded me that my king didn’t care one whit what became of me or any other soldier in uniform. Kings don’t care, emperors don’t care, generals don’t care. We’re pawns to them. That’s simply the truth.”
“And sometimes,” Duncan said quietly, “family doesn’t care either? What did you do with the plans you found on Wakefield’s desk?”
“Passed them on, though I had only hasty recollections of Matilda’s translation to go by.”
Duncan squashed a frisson of pity for this inept spy in uniform. “Did it never occur to you to question the people telling you where to look?”
Parker sat up. “These are not men who’d take kindly to questioning. They’d never given me bad information before, and they were right: Wakefield was in possession of very sensitive plans.”
“And you,” Stephen drawled, “were doubtless scheming to beat them at their own game. Clever fellow that you are, you intended to expose Wakefield as a spy—as a leader of spies—and do your war hero part for England while putting yourself unassailably above suspicion. Instead of pocketing paltry sums for passing on gossip, you doubtless sought a promotion to general officer—the fellows at Horse Guards have remarked your objective well. You simply underestimated the lady and those loyal to her.” He swept Parker a bow. “Forgive me if you have failed to rouse any emotion in my bosom save contempt.”
Stephen was entitled to his dramatics, and he’d spared Duncan a recitation of the charges. What Parker lacked in honor and brains he made up for in ambition.
Matilda came to stand immediately before the colonel. “Atticus, did you never wonder why such important plans were left in such an unprotected location? I found that document while I was searching for a pair of scissors. A valet, a footman, anybody might have found it. You were all but told where to look, weren’t you?”
He stared up at her. “What are you saying?”
“My father is not a traitor. I am not a traitor, but you, my lord, have been a very, very great imbecile.”
“A pawn,” Duncan said, “to use your term, and they are easily sacrificed, as you have been sacrificed. Lord Stephen, Your Grace, if you’d escort his lordship abovestairs, he’ll want to change out of uniform. The marquess has been summoned, and he will be consulted before other authorities are involved. At the very least, you will resign your commission, my lord. The criminal charges will be complicated, though they’ll be nothing compared to the scandal.”
Parker made a sound worthy of a dyspeptic cat.
“Come along, Colonel,” Quinn said. “I can tell you all about how to barter your linen for privileges in Newgate. I can even tell you the exact protocol observed before a hanging. Being a military type, you will be vastly comforted to know there’s etiquette involved. All quite civilized, though not exactly a dignified way to die.”
Quinn assisted Parker to his feet by virtue of a hefty shove under