The minutes ticked by uneventfully. About an hour later, from Adam’s estimation, he heard a noise, a muffled click. He knew that sound. He’d made it himself, entering the library in the darkest hours of the night. He withdrew his arm from Suzanne, his body tensing.
He stood and walked halfway to the stairs, then pressed himself back against the bookcases. None of the lamps were lit, which made Adam think that the intruder was familiar with the library. No doubt he knew there was another lamp next to the love seat.
He could hear steps on the metal stairs.
A black shape appeared at the landing. Adam forced himself to wait. The shadow began walking toward the bookcase.
Suzanne gasped, the sound faint but enough to stop the man in his tracks.
So much for the element of surprise. Adam launched himself, only to encounter a softer form than he’d expected, one that felt pillowy.
“What the . . . ?”
He didn’t have a chance to say anything further before he was bitten on the wrist. It was one thing to restrain a man, but he’d never encountered one who used his teeth as a weapon.
Suddenly, the light blazed in the corner. He stared at the person he’d pinned to the shelf.
Ella glared back at him. The hood of the black cloak she wore tumbled from her head, revealing hair frizzing about her face.
He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before all the pieces of the puzzle fit into place.
He’d been right in thinking that Roger had placed an operative at Marsley House before him. He hadn’t gone back far enough. Ella had been here four months before he arrived. Another mistake he’d made and one he wouldn’t make again—not considering that Roger would use a woman. Female agents were new to the War Office.
“What are you doing here?” Suzanne said, standing and approaching them.
“She’s Roger’s other operative,” he said. “And the person who threw you down the stairs.”
“That was an accident,” Ella said, spitting the words out.
“You failed,” he said. “We found the journal.”
She stopped struggling in his grip. “Then I haven’t failed,” she said. “The assignment was to find the journal. It didn’t matter who accomplished it.”
He would’ve thought the same thing a while ago, at least until he’d discovered the identity of the traitor.
“How did you get in?” Suzanne asked.
Ella didn’t answer. If the look she sent Suzanne was any indication, Ella detested her former employer.
“I believe Ella is playing coy, Your Grace,” he said, smiling at Suzanne. “If you would precede me down the stairs, and inform the footman on duty to summon the authorities, we’ll rid ourselves of her.”
“You can’t do that,” Ella said when Suzanne edged past them for the stairs. “You know I was working for the War Office.”
“I know that you’re guilty of burglary. Not to mention bodily harm.”
She twisted in his grasp. “You can’t do this, Drummond.”
Her face was contorted with barely controlled rage. Perhaps in another circumstance he could have ignored her actions, knowing that she was a member of the Silent Service. But she’d harmed Suzanne and for that she needed to be held accountable. Let the War Office explain her actions. He wasn’t going to shield her.
Ella tried to free herself again. It must have infuriated her that he could keep her pinned with his hands. Just in case, he kept himself carefully out of range of her teeth.
He held her wrists tight as they descended the steps. If she fell it would be because of her own behavior. She seemed to realize that, and didn’t try to pull away from him.
“Roger isn’t going to be happy,” she said.
“Strangely enough, that isn’t one of my concerns.”
By the time he and Ella got to the front door, a crowd had gathered. Thomas had evidently not retired for the night, and as the head footman he’d summoned an additional man. Mrs. Thigpen was there, attired in a dressing gown with her hair done up in rags. The night maid stood beside her, eyes wide as she looked at him holding Ella. He didn’t doubt that stories would fly around Marsley House by morning.
Suzanne stood apart from the rest, the duke’s journal clutched to her chest.
He wanted to go to her. Instead, he spoke to Thomas, explaining that Ella had entered Marsley House in order to steal. She’d been here before, at least twice, he suspected, after she’d been dismissed. When the authorities arrived, she was to be surrendered to them.
Thomas nodded, looking as fierce as a young man could. “Yes, Mr. Drummond. I’ll see that it’s done.”
He didn’t have any doubt that Thomas would do exactly as he said. “I would take the precaution of tying her hands and perhaps her feet,” he added.
Although Thomas looked surprised, he nodded. The footman glanced over at Mrs. Thigpen, who immediately sent the night maid after some sturdy rope.
“Roger will hear about this,” Ella said.
He didn’t bother telling her that Roger was going to face his own justice shortly.
“He’s not a fancy majordomo,” Ella said, addressing Thomas, then glancing at the housekeeper. “He’s not a servant at all. He’s a member of the Silent Service. A spy.”
Mrs. Thigpen glanced at him, but instead of wearing an expression of shock on her face, she looked pleased. Almost satisfied, as if Ella had proven her right about something.
He walked to where Suzanne stood.
“Your Grace, thank you for your assistance this evening.”
They had an audience of curious people who were not trying to hide their interest. Anything he said at this moment would be enhanced and speculated on by the entire staff, especially since Ella had divulged his identity. Tonight would be his last night at Marsley House.
He didn’t want to leave Suzanne yet. Above all, he didn’t want her to be standing there alone. She needed to be surrounded, not by servants, but by people who cared about her, who loved her. People who admired her for who she was, not the title she bore.
She nodded to him, a gesture that was definitely duchess-like.
“Thank you, Drummond. We wouldn’t have discovered the identity of the burglar without your investigation.”
He bowed slightly and left them. The sheer fact that he hadn’t countered Ella’s words was an admission. Perhaps they would ask for clarification from Suzanne. Or perhaps he would be confronted before he left tomorrow morning.
At least he had lodgings, even though he was certain that he was going to have to soothe Mrs. Ross’s feathers when he returned. Suzanne’s perfume would still be in his rooms. Her scent would be on his sheets.
He climbed the stairs slowly, entered the shadowed office he would leave tomorrow, and lit the lamp. He sat heavily, staring off into space, filled with a sudden and surprising feeling of hopelessness.
That wasn’t like him.
He pushed the feeling away and concentrated on examining each of the ledgers that were his responsibility. He entered the rest of the expenses that had been furnished to him, made notes about the staff, and finalized the entries that would be sent to the solicitor. He wanted everything to be perfect for the next majordomo. He might have been playing a part, but he didn’t want anyone to say that he had neglected the job.
A few hours later he put away the books for the last time and locked the drawer, putting the key on the top of the desk.
When someone knocked he stood and walked to the door, expecting it to be Thomas. Instead, Suzanne stood there, the journal clutched in her arms.