A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,126
working at cross-purposes, Donovan.”
He stopped, then stepped in front of her. “Actually, aingeal, we aren’t—not anymore,” he admitted, sensing the time had come for absolute honesty between them—or at least as much honesty as he could give her without frightening her. “I’ve always had my doubts about your members of The Club. I stood back, watching you go about your revenges, just to see how well you succeeded. Think about it, Marguerite. Do I really wish to involve the honor of my country with men who are so inept that they fall like ninepins before the schemes of one small, if delightfully brilliant, young woman? I think not.”
So you’re retiring from the field?” Marguerite asked, her tone hopeful.
“Absolutely. I want nothing to do with their schemes and neither, I’m certain, will my president once I report to him. Although I doubt I’ll inform Harewood and the others of my imminent defection. I do so hate seeing grown men weep.”
“And you won’t interfere with my plans?”
Thomas smiled, shaking his head, impressed by her determination. He decided to be honest with her on that hand as well. “Ah, aingeal, I can’t promise you that. Chorley may be on his way to debtor’s prison, and Totton has probably already boarded ship for the West Indies or some other place where he’s unknown, while I am confident Mappleton is in for some sort of rude surprise later this evening. But, as I said before, Harewood and Laleham are dangerous. Especially Laleham. I’ll watch, as you want me to, but if your plans begin to unravel, I’ll be there to step in. I mean to protect you, whether you want me around or not. Besides—if Harewood and Laleham figure out I’ve decided to drop out of their little game, they might just take umbrage and decide to punish me. I don’t intend to come to a messy end at their hands just when I’ve found my life’s true love. That, and I really can’t leave them lying about at loose ends to think up yet another treasonous scheme, this time with Napoleon, now can I?”
“Don’t worry, Donovan. They won’t be in any position to harm you, scheme at treason, or do much of anything, in fact, once I am finished with them.”
“Really? Of all your attributes, dearest Marguerite, I do believe I admire your modesty most.”
She glared up at him. “You think I can’t do it by myself? That I am incapable of destroying them? That’s what you’re saying, Donovan, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you something. I’ve handled them so far, and I can—”
She was growing angry again, and Thomas decided he’d been slapped enough for one evening. He pulled her up against his chest with enough force to silence her, then lowered his head and slanted his mouth against hers, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as she immediately slipped her arms around his waist, allowing him to win this one argument.
Or so he hoped. But, just in case he hadn’t, he promised himself either he or Dooley would stay as close as sticking plaster to Harewood and Laleham until it was over. Then, he thought fatalistically as he led Marguerite back down the path and toward her waiting chaperone, he and Dooley would be forced into action.
It was one thing for Marguerite to embarrass the men, to force them into at least temporary retirement from society. Her revenges would soothe some of her pain, her loss, and free her to get on with her life.
How long, he wondered, would it take for his beautiful, intelligent Marguerite to see what he saw, what he had hinted without saying? Would she realize, as he already knew, that his country’s release from Harewood’s and Laleham’s treasonous schemes required a much more permanent resolution than mere banishment from society?
“Donovan,” he heard Marguerite say just as Mrs. Billings waved to them from the rented box where she sat sipping ratafia, “a word of advice. When you meet with Ralph, address him as ‘my friend.’ Say it several times, softly, as you look deeply into his eyes. And when you’re leaving him, please make certain to say good-bye.”
He looked down at her, puzzled by both her words and her smile. “Why?”
She shrugged. “As Oliver Goldsmith once wrote, ‘Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no fibs.’ Strange—that line appears in She Stoops to Conquer. How fitting.” She squeezed Thomas’s forearm. “Just do it, Donovan. It will ease any tensions in your meeting