More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 6

Miss Gambit hadher pretty nose pressed to the carriage window as Eli’s conveyance lumbered up the steep drive to Trēowith. Her eyes widened in wonder upon seeing the battlements of the old hilltop fort.

“You didn’t say Trēowith was a castle.” Despite being dressed soberly in black, she exuded a brilliance that proved blinding. A radiance that could melt the ice around any man’s heart. “The Order of Themis owns this, you say?”

“Yes, the master oversees the upkeep, though Daventry used his own funds to renovate the property when he accepted the role.”

As the illegitimate son of a duke, who had inherited much of his father’s wealth, Daventry was a man of many resources.

Miss Gambit kept her gaze trained on the fortress that had stood for three centuries. “I cannot help but admire him all the more. He could live in pleasant idleness for the rest of his days, yet he works tirelessly to save the innocent.”

A tinge of jealousy unsettled Eli. He wanted to tell her about his benevolent acts, wanted to hear her speak of him with heartfelt admiration.

“Daventry has his reasons. He might have been a dissipated rogue had his father-in-law not saved him from reckless pursuits.”

“How interesting. Now he’s the saviour.” Miss Gambit sat back in the seat and asked the one question Eli had been dreading. “Are your parents alive, Mr Hunter?”

His stomach twisted into knots. Family was a topic he avoided. “My father died four years ago. My mother lives in Chichester.”

“Do you have any siblings? I’m an only child myself.”

“A brother.” A conniving brother he would stab through the heart if their paths crossed again. A brother who would steal the breath from Eli’s lungs given half a chance.

“Why do I get the sense he’s unlike you in every regard?”

An image of Dominic crashed into Eli’s mind. Tall, dark and with an irresistible charm, it was easy to see why women adored him. Some men captivated all those in the room. Some men preferred to linger quietly in the shadows.

“Do you have the ring Daventry gave you?”

“It’s safe, Mr Hunter. Have no fear.” Miss Gambit clasped her hand to her chest and cast a knowing smile. “But then you knew that and merely sought to change the subject. I’d rather you tell me to mind my own business than ignore me completely.”

How could he ignore someone so vivacious? How could he ignore the fact the precious item lay nestled between her breasts?

“I’ve not spoken to my brother in years and have no desire to revisit the past.”

“And yet the past informs everything you do.” As they trundled through the barbican, she leant forward to stare at the raised portcullis. “You don’t strike me as a man who plans for the future.”

Eli didn’t bother to tell her she was right, for it would only lead to endless questions, and Leonard Truscott had marched into the small courtyard to greet them. Daventry was always the first to arrive at Trēowith. No doubt the master’s absence unsettled Truscott.

“The game is about to begin, Miss Gambit. Truscott has sat on the Council for thirty years and will greet us the moment we alight. He set his sights on becoming master of Themis, but the predecessor awarded Daventry the role.”

Miss Gambit sat back and inhaled a calming breath. “Good Lord. My heart is racing so fast I can hardly breathe.”

Eli’s heart was racing, too. Not because her inexperience might cost him the chance of catching a cunning devil, but because he was crippled with the need to quell her fears.

“You’ll need to think quickly when Truscott bombards you with questions.”

Her face turned ashen. “As we’re partners, I don’t mind admitting I’m terrified. Terrified I’ll disappoint you. Terrified I’ll fail.”

“We’ve sat idle for almost a month waiting for the blackguard to act. If anyone should be afraid, it’s me. There’s every chance you’ll make me look like an incompetent fool.”

“Not likely. You’re the most astute man I’ve ever met.”

Pride swelled in Eli’s chest. “Besides Lucius Daventry.”

“Well, one must question if he’s mortal.”

A sudden rap on the window made Miss Gambit jump.

Eli gritted his teeth. Truscott was annoying at the best of times. The fact Eli distrusted the devil made matters a damn sight worse.

“Be prepared to meet the most arrogant man in England.”

“Arrogant? Are all members of Themis not altruists?”

“To some people, good deeds are a means to inflate their egos.” Eli opened the carriage door and greeted the grey-haired gentleman.

“Is Daventry with you?” Truscott thrust his head inside the carriage. His eyeballs bulged upon meeting Miss Gambit’s curious stare. “No guests allowed, Hunter. You know the rules.”

Yes, Truscott was a stickler for regulations.

Miss Gambit flicked her hand at the fellow. “Move away from the door, Mr Truscott, so I may alight.”

“Who? What?” The fact she’d used his name confused the man all the more. He fixed Eli to the seat with his irate glare. “Great Father Almighty, where is Daventry? Crocker said there was an intruder. He said someone has stolen the sacred seal.”

Miss Gambit shuffled to the edge of the seat. “Settle yourself, Mr Truscott. All will be revealed once we’re gathered in the Sanctum. I’ll not tolerate council business being discussed in such a slapdash manner. Now step aside.”

Truscott practically stumbled back in shock. Eli jumped to the ground, lowered the steps and assisted Miss Gambit’s descent into the courtyard.

The lady brushed the creases from her skirt. “Lead the way, Mr Hunter.” When Truscott opened his mouth to protest, Miss Gambit raised a staying hand. “Not until we’re inside, Mr Truscott.”

Eli suppressed a grin.

At this rate, she’d have the Council on their knees.

After offering a disgruntled mumble, Truscott followed behind like a sullen child. He shuffled impatiently while Eli introduced Miss Gambit to Mrs Gale, the forty-year-old housekeeper whose unruly red hair made her seem like a woman with wicked intentions. Mrs Gale had worked at Trēowith for ten years, since the previous master saved her from the hangman’s noose.

“And you require a room, Miss Gambit?” Mrs Gale seemed puzzled. In all her years of service, she had never welcomed a woman at Trēowith.

“That’s correct, Mrs Gale. I shall stay in Mr Daventry’s room.” She beckoned Truscott forward. “I would have preferred to discuss the matter in the privacy of the Sanctum. But you should both know, Mr Daventry has taken ill and appointed me to act in his absence.”

“You!” Truscott’s cheeks ballooned. “But that’s preposterous! No! This is outrageous!” He stamped his foot, never thought to ask after Daventry’s health. “Good God, Hunter. Tell me you disagree with this nonsense.”

“Daventry summoned me to his bedside so I might bear witness to Miss Gambit’s appointment and support the motion. She carries the ring, has a signed letter from Lucius Daventry stating his intention.”

Upon hearing the commotion, Swanson, Young and Cantrell came striding out of the drawing room. One look at Miss Gambit brought them all to a crashing halt. They might have gawped less if they’d seen a ghost.

“What the devil’s going on, Hunter? And what’s happened to the seal?” Giles Cantrell wore a stern expression. A distinguished man of middling years with hair as dark as night, he had the profile of a ruthless Roman emperor. “Where’s Daventry?”

“She’s taken his place.” Truscott thrust a finger at Miss Gambit. “Have you ever heard anything so absurd? A woman has never sat on the Council and never will! By Jove, this is sheer lunacy.”

Guy Young was the calm voice of reason. “I think it only fair we hear what the lady has to say.” He brushed his hand through his golden-brown hair and smiled at Miss Gambit. “Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Miss Gambit straightened. “There is no misunderstanding, Mr Young.” Clever. She had remembered Eli’s detailed descriptions of the men and sought to use it to her advantage. “Once we’ve gathered in the Sanctum, you shall all be party to the facts.”

Truscott threw his hands in the air. “The Sanctum is a sacred—”

“Silence!” Miss Gambit spoke with Daventry’s commanding tone. “You will follow me to the Sanctum, Mr Truscott, or you will leave Trēowith and forfeit your position on the Council.”

Ambrose Swanson cleared his throat. “All council members must vote to remove a colleague, madam. It’s written in Themis’ constitution.”

Miss Gambit grinned like a confident Boudicea staring down the enemy. “Do you have a copy of the constitution to hand, Mr Swanson?”

“No, madam.”

Desperate to prove his case, Truscott hurried to the drawing room and returned with his copy of the blue book. “Here we are, madam.” He waved it in Miss Gambit’s face.

Eli’s temper flared. He snatched the book, shot the man a menacing glare before handing it to Miss Gambit.

“Thank you, Mr Hunter.” She flicked through the pages and then offered Swanson the open book. “Article twenty states, should a member use forceful means to overthrow the master, he will be immediately discharged from his position. I consider Mr Truscott’s manner aggressive, don’t you?”

Swanson studied the relevant article. “Yes, you’re correct, madam. But being concerned is not being aggressive.”

“You can’t be the master,” Truscott countered. “You’re a woman.”

Miss Gambit ignored him. “And if you skip three pages, Mr Swanson, you will see the rule explaining that, in extreme circumstances, the master may appoint someone to act in his stead. Only one member need agree. That member is Mr Hunter.”

Eli had held his tongue for long enough. If it wasn’t for Miss Gambit’s need to prove her worth, he’d have ripped these men to shreds minutes ago.

“You will support Miss Gambit in her temporary role, or there’ll be hell to pay. There’s a reason Daventry appointed her, so I suggest we move to the Sanctum and discuss the matter there.”

“Nowhere in the constitution does it state the replacement must be a man,” Miss Gambit pressed. “Indeed, Mr Daventry asked me to draw your attention to one of Themis’ journals from 1654. Mrs Sowerby sat on the Council for two weeks while her husband was incapacitated.”

It was a blatant lie, but no one argued. Not even Truscott. Having proved she understood every article in the constitution, no one dared challenge Miss Gambit’s word.

And so it was the ever graceful Young who inclined his head and said, “Then let us proceed to the tunnels. No doubt we’re all eager to hear the reason behind this unconventional appointment.”

Eli waited until the men charged ahead before addressing Miss Gambit. “You were superb.” He placed a light hand on her back, a gesture of camaraderie. “Don’t be fooled by Young’s charming manner. Any one of them could be the traitor.”

“Knowing I had your support made the task considerably easier.” Miss Gambit leant closer. “They say charming men often have something to hide. I prefer the brooding type myself.”

The minx was teasing him.

What would she make of his brother Dominic?

Would she see disloyalty hiding in his charming smile?

“Expect a host of objections when they discover why you’re here.”

Miss Gambit’s hand fluttered to her throat. “If you sense I’m faltering, find an excuse to end the meeting swiftly.”

“Of course, but I believe you’ll manage perfectly well.”

He led her through the entrance hall. With its dark oak stairs, gothic fireplace and array of weapons displayed on the wall, the room was reminiscent of a scene from the Dark Ages.

The tunnels were accessed through a wrought-iron gate at the rear of the property. The men had unlocked the door and disappeared down the flight of stone steps.

Eli was set to follow, but Miss Gambit froze at the threshold.

“The tunnels are so narrow, so dark.” She peered into the passage, clutched her throat and gasped for breath. “Must we go down there? Can we not hold the meeting in the drawing room?”

“Daventry insists on holding the meetings in the Sanctum. We don’t want to make matters worse by challenging the status quo.”

In a panic, she gripped his arm. “Mr Hunter, I’m likely to suffer a fit of hysteria if I venture below ground. It’s not the dark, you understand. Jacob Hanaway drugged me with laudanum and left me in a homemade coffin in the cellar.”

A vision burst into Eli’s mind—a young girl tormented by two cowardly bullies. When the case was over, Eli would hunt them down and deliver a fitting punishment.

“You’ve done remarkably well so far.” He cupped her cheek—a gentle caress to calm her volatile spirit—but the need to protect her raged inside. “You must conquer your fears. We cannot turn back now. Trust me. I’ll keep a firm hold of your hand until we’re near the Sanctum.”

“Promise you won’t let go.”

“You have my word.”

She closed her eyes briefly and released a sigh. “Very well.”

Eli gripped her hand. “Crocker will have lit the wall sconces. There’ll be no scrambling around in the dark. No lingering. The men will have used their keys to access the Sanctum.”

He led her down the stone steps into the spooky subterranean passageways, where insects and spiders skittered across the limestone walls. Eli had no fear of enclosed spaces, but the mere touch of her hand had his blood pumping rapidly through his veins.

“Is it far?” Miss Gambit clutched him tightly. She kept one hand on his shoulder as she shuffled tentatively behind.

“We take a left turn at the end of this corridor. The Sanctum is along the next passage.”

“Hurry,” she whispered, her breathing ragged.

Eli quickened his pace. Had the tunnels been wider, he would have hauled her into his arms and carried her to the Sanctum.

Crocker stood guard outside the Sanctum door. At a towering six feet four and with shoulders twice the width of an average man, he cut a menacing figure. He gave no indication he was shocked to see a woman in the tunnels.

One question entered Eli’s mind as he released Miss Gambit’s hand and introduced her to the custodian. Had Crocker chased an intruder, or had he lied and was an accomplice in the theft?

“Daventry’s taken ill. He’s appointed Miss Gambit to act as master in his absence. It’s unconventional, I know, but she has the skills required to assist us with our dilemma.”

Crocker inclined his head respectfully. “I serve the master, Miss Gambit, and am at your disposal.”

“That’s good to hear, Mr Crocker.” Miss Gambit smiled at the rugged hulk of a man whose bald head shone in the candlelight. “I wish to discuss the theft of the seal at your earliest convenience.”

Crocker held a stone-like expression. “I seek to serve whenever called upon, ma’am.”

Miss Gambit nodded. “Then might you show me how members access the Sanctum, Mr Crocker?”

The man stepped aside to reveal a small metal panel in the wall. He gestured to the two keyholes. “Two members must insert their keys and turn them simultaneously. You’ll find another panel on the gate leading to the tunnels.”

“Or one member in possession of two keys may undertake the procedure,” she suggested. “I believe someone has recently stolen Mr Swanson’s key.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Has he received a replacement?”

“The keys are unique, ma’am, and cannot be copied. Two new mechanisms are being made, and all members will receive keys. In the meantime, I patrol the tunnels every half hour.”

“And what happens when you sleep?”

“Mrs Gale checks the outside gate is locked.”

“I see.” Miss Gambit gestured to the open door leading to the underground room. “Shall we see what Mr Swanson has to say about his stolen key, Mr Hunter? Let’s hope he has a convincing explanation.”

She bit down on her bottom lip—the same telltale sign of nerves he’d seen when she took to the Dark Walk at Vauxhall. While he admired her strength in the face of adversity, these rare glimpses of vulnerability drew him like a moth to a flame.

One thing was certain.

The closer he got, the more likely he’d get burnt.