Stephanie Laurens - The Ideal Bride

He smiled. “No, I’m not going to stand here watching you read.” He tapped his chest; the will crackled. “I’m going to get this examined. I’ll ensure it’s done with absolute discretion.”

She smiled back. “Thank you.”

Still, he hesitated. When she again a raised a brow, he asked, “Will you do something for me?”

She searched his face. “What?”

“Stay here—safe inside. Promise me you won’t leave the house until I get back.”

Her smile was gentle; she regarded him for a moment from steady silver eyes, then inclined her head. “I promise.”

He held her gaze for an instant longer, then saluted her and left.

He didn’t have far to go—just along Upper Grosvenor Street to where it fed into Grosvenor Square. He paced along the north side of the square, searching among the ladies, children, and nursemaids walking and playing in the central gardens, hoping to catch sight of familiar faces. In that he was disappointed. Reaching the imposing mansion in the center of the block, he went up the steps, praying the owners were in residence.

Fate smiled; they were.

It was Devil he asked to see.

Ensconced behind the desk in his study, his brother-in-law greeted him with raised brows and a devilish, faintly taunting smile. “Ho! I

thought you were engrossed in the hunt for a wife. What brings you here?“

“A will.” Michael tossed Camden’s will onto Devil’s desk and sank into one of the chairs facing it.

Sitting back in his chair, Devil considered the folded parchment, but made no move to take it. “Whose?”

“Camden Sutcliffe’s.”

At that, Devil looked up, met his gaze. After a moment of studying his face, he asked, “Why?”

Michael told him; as he’d expected, relating the attempts on Caro’s life was all it took to focus his powerful brother-in-law’s attention.

Devil picked up the will. “So the answer could lie in here.”

“Either in there, or in Camden’s papers. Caro’s going through the papers—I wondered if you could get your people to go over that”—with a nod, he indicated the will—“with a fine-toothed comb.”

He could have approached the firm of solicitors Magnus used, but those solicitors were as old as Magnus. Devil, on the other hand, Duke of St. Ives and head of the powerful Cynster clan, and thus constantly embroiled in dealing with all types of legal affairs, employed the very best of the up-and-coming legal fraternity. If any solicitors could identify a potential threat to Caro buried in Camden’s will, Devil’s would.

Flicking through the document, Devil nodded. “I’ll get them onto it immediately.” He grimaced, then refolded the will. “Makes one wonder what became of the English language.”

Laying the will aside, he reached for a fresh sheet of paper. “I’ll add a note to the effect we want the answer with all speed.”

“Thank you.” Michael rose. “Is Honoria in?”

A faint smile lifted Devil’s lips. “She is, and I’m sure your presence within her purlieu will by now have been reported.” He looked up at Michael and grinned. “She’s probably waiting to pounce the instant you leave this room.”

Michael raised his brows. “I’m surprised she hasn’t simply waltzed in.” It wasn’t like Honoria to stand on ceremony, and Devil had no secrets from her.

Devil’s grin only deepened; he looked down and wrote. “I think she’s trying to restrain herself from prying into your love life—the effort is probably killing her.”

With a laugh, Michael turned to the door. “I’d better go and relieve her.”

Devil raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll send word the instant I have any news.”

Michael left. Closing the study door, he headed back along the corridor to the front hall.

“I do hope”—his sister’s crisp, unquestionably duchessy tones reached him the instant he set foot on the hall tiles—“that you intend to come up and call on me?”

Michael swung around, looked up the grand staircase to where Honoria stood on the landing. He grinned. “I was on my way up.”

He took the stairs two at a time, then swung her into a hug, which she, smiling delightedly, returned.

“Now,” she said, releasing him and stepping back to look into his face. “Tell me your news. What are you doing back in town? Have you made an offer?”

He laughed. “I’ll tell you,.but not here.”

She took his arm and led him to her private sitting room. Swinging around, she sat in an armchair, barely waited for him to do the same before demanding, “Now tell me. All of it.”

He did; there was no point doing otherwise—any hint of evasion and she’d have pounced, and either wrung it out of him or out of Devil. The only information he omitted to mention, as he had with Devil, was the truth of Caro and Camden’s marriage. He didn’t specifically state that Caro Sutcliffe was the woman he’d set his heart on; he didn’t have to—Honoria made the connection with ease.

The news of the attempts on Caro’s life sobered her—Caro and she had once been close friends—but when he explained how they proposed to meet the challenge, she merely nodded. With three children whose welfare she supervised very closely, Honoria had too much on her plate these days to interfere. However…

“Bring her to afternoon tea.” Honoria considered, then said, “It’s too late today, but bring her tomorrow afternoon.”

Michael knew he could count on Honoria to take his side, to tactfully and covertly steer Caro toward accepting his proposal. He couldn’t wish for better support, but… it was a support that had better be informed. “I’ve asked her to marry me—she hasn’t yet agreed.”

Honoria’s brows rose. She blinked, then smiled, entirely compre-hending. “Then we’ll have to see what we can do to help her make up her mind.”

She stood. “Now come and do your penance—your nephews and niece are in the schoolroom.”

With a smile, he rose, prefectly willing to pay her price.

Late July in London might be warm and muggy; it was, however, relatively free of unavoidable social engagements. Consequently, they gathered over the dinner table enfamille —Caro, Magnus, Evelyn, and he; over the meal, they revisited the facts and refined their strategy.

“I’ve started on Camden’s diaries.” Caro grimaced. “He was incredibly detailed in his observations—it’s perfectly possible he might have seen and noted something that someone might now deem dangerous.”

“Slow going?” Michael asked.

“Very. I’ve started from when he first took up his post as ambassador to Portugal—that seemed the most sensible place to start.”

“What about his letters?”

“I’ll go through them later, if I find nothing in the diaries.”

Michael was aware that Magnus was restraining himself from demanding to help with the letters; he briefly described his visit to Devil Cynster, and Devil’s agreement to get his solicitors to examine the will.

“There must be something else you can do.” From under beetling brows, Magnus looked at Michael.

Faintly smiling, Michael glanced at Caro. “The Portuguese are firm suspects—it seems likely Leponte was behind the burglary at Sutcliffe Hall. We know he searched Bramshaw House. I think it would be wise to discover if he, or any of his family, have come up to town.”

“And if they haven’t,” Magnus growled, “we need to set a watch.”

“Indeed.” Michael returned his gaze to Caro. “We need to pool our sources—what’s the best way to learn who among the Portuguese delegation are in London?”

They tossed around names of aides and other officials in various capacities. Michael eventually assembled a short list. “I’ll do the rounds tomorrow morning and see what they can tell me.”