Masquerading the Marquess by Anne Mallory Page A

another task. But Stephen had filled him in earlier and received his feedback.
     
    Stephen looked worriedly at the duke, who appeared as ill as the gossips claimed. His face was wan and drawn. He was known for his logic and candor, and Stephen hoped he was consulting a doctor about his health.
     
    The earl seated to his left, a wizard at languages, looked distinguished as usual with his sleek black and silver-shot hair, but something in his demeanour had always put Stephen on edge. Involved in numerous cases on the continent, he was the member Stephen knew the least.
     
    Another earl, to his right, was a leader of the ton and a skilled marksman. He had always reminded Stephen of a bulldog, and the image grew stronger the longer he stared at his blunt features and stubborn eyes. Stephen let his gaze slide away. The earl was a likable fellow of passing cleverness. Of the team he seemed the least suited to intelligence work. Yet Holt included him in most projects.
     
    Continuing to the right was the baron whose features were as inscrutable as usual in his tanned face. The shadows concealed the lower portion of his face, but Stephen would have bet a five o’clock shadow had already appeared, the bane of his valet’s existence. The baron was a good friend and Stephen had always admired him for his ability to mask his emotions, a most useful tool for a spy.
     
    The only other non-titled gentleman, whom Stephen referred to as Mr. Righteous, looked faintly bored with the proceedings, a strange reaction considering the importance of the topic at hand. The man’s pinched features usually looked to be on the verge of shattering but today appeared less brittle than usual.
     
    Stephen wound down his presentation.
     
    "In Paris , are you sure?" The duke looked aggrieved.
     
    Stephen nodded.
     
    "But how would it come to be there?"
     
    "I believe—" Stephen hesitated as he looked at Holt, who was rolling a ring in his right hand, while stroking his chin with his left. The insignia design on the ring was a bird of prey.
     
    Stephen had seen a ring just like it the night before.
     
    "—it was moved two months ago. We still have time to eliminate it," Stephen continued, picking up his line of thought quickly. Dangerous thoughts were racing through his mind.
     
    Discovering Calliope Minton alive, the ring and the spy list, all within a matter of weeks. Stephen didn’t believe in coincidences.
     
    The men in the room continued to ask questions and plan strategy, as other questions circled through Stephen’s head.
     
    The old but clear memory of his mentor’s dying expression came rushing back and he had to fight the need to hurry home. It was imperative he reach his townhouse.
     
     
     
    Calliope’s maid bustled into the room. "Is there anything else, miss?"
     
    "No, Betsy, thank you. Have the others left?"
     
    "Yes, miss. The footman, Herbert and I are the last to leave." Betsy was bobbing and shifting her feet back and forth as if the floorboards had turned into hot coals.
     
    "Have a good night, Betsy . "
     
    "You too, miss." Betsy hesitated in the door- way. "Begging your pardon, miss, but I’d like to thank you for giving us the night off. Some of the others might think you’re a tad strange, but I think you’re an angel."
     
    Calliope coughed into her handkerchief to hide her smile. "Thank you, Betsy, that means a lot."
     
    "Good night, miss."
     
    Betsy turned and sprinted down the hall. Her footsteps echoed in the empty house. Calliope smiled in triumph. Stephen owed her a lemon ice. He had been so sure Betsy and Johnson, the driver, had a romance. Calliope had put her money on Herbert.
     
    There were two at least who were going to enjoy their free night. Hopefully Grimmond was having a good time too.
     
    Calliope applied the finishing touches on her makeup. Tonight she and Stephen were attending a small party given by an aging roué.
     
    She looked at the ornate clock on her table. There was still