Intimate Betrayal Read online

  “You don’t think Madeline Duponce is attractive?” Morgan smiled, a rare occurrence these days. “I never thought the day would come when you wouldn’t appreciate a beautiful woman. Has marriage changed you so much, Tris?”

  Tristan shrugged. “Oh, I suppose Madeline is pretty enough,” he admitted. “God knows, my new brother-in-law, Gilbert, is still smitten with her, despite your monopolizing the fair mademoiselle’s company. But for all the time you spend with her, you don’t seem very happy, Morgan. I had always hoped if you finally settled on another woman it would bring you joy.”

  “I have not settled on Madeline Duponce,” Morgan corrected his brother. “Let’s just say she amuses me for the moment.” Morgan was impressed with Tristan’s accurate perception of the situation, and he hoped it was not obvious to others. He truly had grown tired of the French woman’s company over the last few months, but it was vital to his mission for the War Ministry that Morgan stay as close as possible to Madeline Duponce and her brother Henri.

  Morgan reached over to the sideboard and grabbed two glasses. He poured out a generous portion of port for both himself and his brother. Handing Tristan the glass, he neatly changed the subject.

  “Tell me, when are you moving into that mausoleum of a house I gifted you with? I thought it was going to be ready in August.”

  “So did I,” Tristan answered with a laugh, accepting the fact Morgan did not wish to discuss Madeline. He was still concerned about his brother, but he didn’t press it. He knew if Morgan wanted to confide in him he would do so when he was ready and not before. “The work on the house certainly has taken a damn long time thus far, and it is far from being finished. My admiration for Grandmother has increased a hundredfold these last few months. How she ever put up with Grandfather renovating Ramsgate Castle for twenty years is beyond comprehension. And they lived there for long periods while the work was done. It must have been maddening.”

  Morgan laughingly agreed. “No wonder it is her coat of arms that is etched in stone above the main entrance.”

  “We still retain hopes of taking up residence in Westgate Manor sometime before Christmas. Caroline wants to wait until everything is perfect before we move,” Tristan continued. “Although many people have already retired to their country houses, there is still enough social activity to keep Caroline content living in town.” His handsome face darkened with a frown. “I hope we are not becoming a nuisance, Morgan. We can always go stay with Caroline’s family if you want your privacy back.” The woeful expression on Tristan’s face told Morgan how little that idea appealed to him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Tris. This is as much your home as it is mine. Truth be told, I am glad for the company, as is Grandmother. You know how much she enjoys being with Caroline.”

  “I promise to be out of your hair fairly soon. Mr. Walsh has already left Westgate Manor and Lady Alyssa is overseeing the final work.”

  Morgan felt his heart lurch at the mention of Alyssa’s name. A day seldom passed that he did not think about her. At first he had tried to convince himself that the need he felt for her was merely physical, but no other woman had sparked his interest, either in or out of bed.

  He told himself the feeling would pass with time, but time moved very slowly. He missed Alyssa’s animated conversation and her spirited attitude toward life. At times he was actually disappointed she had not written to inform him she was carrying his child. It was a selfish, almost cruel thought, but it would have provided him a legitimate excuse for reentering her life.

  “How is Miss Carrington faring these days?” Morgan inquired in a casual voice.

  “I wish I knew,” Tris answered, taking a sip of the excellent wine. “The last few times I have called at Westgate she has been indisposed. If I didn’t know better, I would say Miss Carrington was avoiding me.”

  Morgan scoffed at the idea. That certainly did not sound like the Alyssa he knew. She never ran from anyone. Except him.

  “I very much doubt that,” Morgan said in a knowledgeable tone.

  “Yes, well, you are probably right. Most likely she has fallen victim to my deadly charms and after finding herself hopelessly in love with me, cannot face me since I am now a married man, forever beyond her reach.”

  “I do not find that amusing, Tristan.”

  “For God’s sake, Morgan, calm down. I was only jesting.” Tristan was surprised at the dark scowl on Morgan’s face. He looked positively menacing.

  Morgan ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Tris. I’m afraid I’ve been a bit touchy lately.”

  This was interesting, Tristan decided, alert to Morgan’s possessive attitude toward Alyssa Carrington. He tried testing Morgan further.

  “You know, I often wondered why Lady Alyssa never married. She is a most pleasant person, intelligent, charming, amusing. Properly gowned, she would be quite stunning.” He eyed Morgan carefully, not at all disappointed with his brother’s reaction.

  “She is very beautiful,” Morgan whispered, an almost dreamlike expression crossing his features as he remembered the first time he had seen Alyssa naked. She had been so lovely, so open, so giving of herself. Morgan admitted to himself how much he missed her, especially after spending so much time in the company of Madeline Duponce, who was vain, selfish, and demanding.

  Morgan became aware of Tristan’s scrutiny and immediately put his guard up. “With the unusual way she was raised, I imagine there weren’t many opportunities for Miss Carrington to meet eligible men.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are right,” Tristan agreed, not missing a detail of the wistful expression in Morgan’s voice and eyes when he spoke of Alyssa Carrington. However, he was willing to let the matter drop. For now. Tristan had every intention of finding out how the prim Miss Carrington was able to so deeply affect his stoic brother. It was a mystery that demanded to be solved.

  The large grandfather clock in the hall struck six o‘clock. “I’m sorry to cut you short,” Morgan apologized to Tristan, relieved to have an excuse to end their discussion. “I have a meeting to attend at six-thirty and I don’t want to be late. I will be ready to leave for the theater tonight at eight o’clock, if you and Caroline decide you want to join me.” With a brief nod of farewell to his brother, Morgan hurriedly left the study.

  Morgan sat across from Lord Castlereagh carefully reviewing the latest dispatches. The information he had left in both his London house and at Ramsgate Castle had slowly made its way into French hands. Although his private beach at Ramsgate Castle was seldom used anymore by the French couriers, any information the duke was given by the War Ministry had been discovered and passed on to the French. The Falcon was doing a very thorough job.

  Morgan had been led on a merry chase all summer and was frustrated by the fact that he was no closer to revealing the Falcon’s identity than when he first began. He was convinced that Henri Duponce was spying for the French, and it was also likely his sister Madeline was involved, which was why Morgan kept in close contact with the pair. He was also fairly certain that Henri was not the Falcon, merely an accomplice. So far neither the duke nor the agents assigned to the mission had been able to catch the spies in the act, or produce anything but circumstantial evidence.

  “This is a brief list of the latest stolen information that was to be sent across the Channel,” Lord Castlereagh began without ceremony. “We managed to intercept the courier on his way to France this time, but it took a while to decipher the code. I believe the majority of the information came from you. Can you verify it?”

  Morgan nodded his head after he finished reading the dispatches. “These were in my London house,” he said, reading the first page and tossing it on the desk in disgust. “The other two were in my study at Ramsgate Castle. One of which was locked in a very intricate hiding place, I might add. They certainly have me well covered. No piece of information I have hidden has gone undetected.”

  “And the fourth?” Lord Castlereagh questioned, handi
ng Morgan a final paper.

  “The fourth?” Morgan echoed, a puzzled expression on his face. He read the paper carefully.

  “I realize that page contains information older than the others, but we had a devil of a time breaking the code. Don’t you recognize it?”

  “I do,” Morgan said slowly, realization beginning to dawn. “These particular papers were never in either of my homes, Lord Castlereagh.”

  “Where exactly were they kept?”

  “In a place I thought they would be safe,” Morgan said, a genuine smile etching his handsome face. The information he held in his hands had been hidden in an old desk in the library at Westgate Manor. He had not laid eyes on it since it was placed there nearly five months ago. “I believe, Lord Castlereagh, this is the break we have been waiting for. It seems the Falcon has finally made a mistake. And one that shall cost him dearly.”

  “Tris . . . Tristan,” Morgan bellowed loudly. He stood outside Tristan and Caroline’s closed bedroom door, pounding continuously. “Tris, I must see you right away. Meet me in my study in five minutes,” he commanded, walking away before his brother had a chance to argue.

  “Merciful heavens, Morgan,” the dowager duchess scolded her grandson, stepping into the hall to see what all the commotion was about. “Why are you standing there shouting like a fishmonger?”

  “Sorry, madam,” Morgan apologized with grin. “I was trying to get Tristan to come out of his bedchamber. It is imperative that I speak with him immediately.”

  “I do believe that Tristan is busy, Morgan. He and Caroline are . . . are . . . resting before their evening out tonight,” the duchess announced.

  “Resting, ha,” Morgan drawled. “Tristan and Caroline are always ‘resting.’ Morning, noon, and night they are ‘resting.’ I know they are newly married, but I have something of grave importance to discuss with Tris. I promise I shall not detain him long. Then he can return to his ‘resting.’ ” Morgan gave the duchess a roguish grin. “Why Grandmother, I do believe you are blushing.”

  “I most certainly am not,” the dowager duchess replied in her most regal tone. Her cheeks flushed, and the duke’s grin broadened. “You are just impossible at times, Morgan.”

  Morgan went over and gave the dowager duchess a kiss on her cheek. He was feeling better than he had in months, delighted over the turn of events his meeting with Lord Castlereagh had produced. He needed information that only Tristan could provide, and was unwilling to wait another minute to question his brother. “Do tell them to hurry, Grandmother. If Tristan isn’t out of there in ten minutes, I shall be forced to go in after him.”

  “You will do no such thing,” the duchess replied in a shocked voice, the twinkle in her eye betraying her true feelings. “Now run along, Morgan. I am sure your brother will attend you as soon as possible.” She shoved him, none too gently, toward the staircase.

  A rather disgruntled Tristan appeared in Morgan’s study 20 minutes later. He had not bothered to finish dressing and wore no neckcloth or coat, only a cambric shirt with the collar open, breeches, and boots. He was clearly displeased with his brother’s untimely interruption.

  “What the devil is so important it could not wait until this evening, Morgan?” Tristan demanded the minute he walked into the room.

  “Calm down, Tris,” Morgan spoke quietly. “I apologize for disturbing you, but it is very important. To start with, I must know the whereabouts of Henry Walsh. I need to contact him immediately.” Morgan grinned. “And by the way, your breeches are unbuttoned.”

  Tristan gave his brother a chilling stare, and then calmly fastened his partially buttoned pants. “You did interrupt me in the middle of something rather pressing, Morgan,” he told him. “I doubt Caroline will ever forgive you.”

  “I am sure she will endeavor to try,” Morgan interjected smoothly. He continued with his requests, ignoring his brother’s scowl. “I will also need a complete list of all the workmen you employed at Westgate Manor. Also the suppliers. I realize you will not have everything that I require, which is the reason I must speak with Mr. Walsh. I know you must have some records; I want to see all of them straightaway. I also need to know who visited the house with you and Caroline. Basically I want a list of anyone who has stepped foot on the grounds of Westgate Manor in the last five months.”

  Morgan looked at his brother expectantly. Tristan stared back, perplexed. “Morgan, you are not making the least bit of sense. Even if I can produce this information for you, which I doubt, what in the world are you going to do with it?”

  Morgan thought for a moment. He could not fabricate a plausible lie, and debated telling his brother the truth. Ultimately Morgan decided it would be safer for all concerned if no one knew about his search. Even though it was possible the Falcon was somehow connected to Tristan, the duke decided it was best not to enlighten his brother. “Never mind why I need these documents. Can you produce them?”

  “Morgan,” Tristan said in an exasperated voice, drumming his fingers on the desk, “what is this all about?”

  “Just trust me, Tris,” Morgan interrupted, still refusing to tell his brother the reasons for his bizarre request.

  “All right.” Tristan threw up his hands in vexation. “I’ll do the best I can. I should warn you I will be unable to contact Henry Walsh. He is visiting his family somewhere in Ireland and will not return to England until the end of the month. I have a few of the papers you require, but the majority of the bills and work orders are kept at Westgate Manor. The person you really need to speak with is Alyssa Carrington. She handles all the paperwork, as well as the hiring of the work crews.”

  “What?”

  Now it was Tristan’s turn to make his brother uncomfortable. “You know Lady Alyssa has directed the renovations. If I remember correctly, you were the one who recommended her for the job in the first place.”

  Morgan merely grunted.

  “It certainly was an excellent suggestion, Morgan. She has done a superb job. She has very competently managed the budget and neatly kept all the records.”

  Morgan rose from his chair and paced the room. Now was not the proper time to see Alyssa. His feelings toward her were still too uncertain, his mind too confused. Besides, he had promised to stay away. “Can’t you send a messenger and request the documents?” he suggested. “Or perhaps you could go yourself?” He looked at Tristan hopefully.

  Tristan smiled at his older brother, enjoying his discomfort. He was pleased to see his theory about Alyssa Carrington had merit. “No, I can’t Morgan. I’m not exactly sure what you are looking for. Now, if you care to enlighten me . . .” Tristan’s voice trailed off.

  “I’ll go,” Morgan muttered, glaring at his brother. He felt restless and strangely excited.

  “Fine. Is there anything else?” Tristan asked, sauntering over to the doors.

  “No,” Morgan replied. “I shall leave for Westgate tomorrow morning at first light. Thank you, Tris.”

  Morgan arrived at Westgate Manor just after noon the following day. As he guided his stallion down the gravel drive, he almost didn’t recognize the place. The brickwork had been carefully washed and all the loose bricks securely mortared. Fresh paint covered all the wood, and the broken windowpanes had been replaced. New shrubbery lined the drive, and the well-manicured lawn looked healthy and green. Everything looked fresh, clean, and inviting.

  He dismounted and stood in front of the large oak doors with their new shining brass fixtures. “ ’Tis oddly comforting to discover some things don’t change,” Morgan muttered to himself as he waited, in vain, for someone to come for his horse. He thought about shouting for Ned or Perkins, but instead walked the horse around back to the stables.

  Morgan found no one in the stables, so he unsaddled the horse, gave him some fresh water and grain, and tethered him in an unoccupied stall. Then he proceeded to the kitchen entrance, certain he would find Mrs. Stratton there, busy simmering something on the stove.

  Morgan surprised Perk
ins. The butler was sitting alone at the table finishing the last of his luncheon. “Your Grace!” Perkins sputtered in astonishment when Morgan stepped into the cozy room.

  “Good day, Perkins.” Morgan spoke casually, acting as though he had seen the butler yesterday instead of five months ago. “Isn’t anyone at home?”

  The butler took a moment to consider the question before answering. “All the servants were given leave to visit with their families before Lord Tristan returns. Only Ned, Mavis, and myself are attending the house.”

  “And Lady Alyssa?”

  “Indisposed,” Perkins answered automatically. It was his stock answer to those few individuals who called on Alyssa. In actuality, Alyssa was in the south garden with Mavis gathering fresh vegetables for dinner. He strongly doubted she would want to see the duke, especially given her present condition.

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed at the butler’s statement. It seemed as though Tristan was not exaggerating when he commented that Alyssa was avoiding him.

  “No matter,” Morgan replied briskly. “I will see her after I have finished my other business. You may tell her that, if you wish.”

  Without further comment Morgan left the bewildered butler, heading for the library to locate the desk where he had hidden the documents. As he opened the door, Morgan paused a moment to verify he had entered the correct room. Nothing was the same, from the new red velvet drapes to the intricately patterned oriental rugs. He scanned the room quickly, admiring the new decor, then looked again. There was no desk.

  He was about to bellow for Perkins when the butler appeared at his side.

  “Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, Perkins,” Morgan replied. “Where is the library desk that sat under that window?” Morgan pointed to a bay window in the center of the room, then glanced around a third time, trying to get his bearings. “This is the library, isn’t it?”