“Yes. The fire had been set after the man was shot. We cannot assess if anything was taken from the building, but since his gallery was full of paintings, we have no way of knowing if something was removed before the murder. Our people are attempting to find invoices or contracts, but a lot of that information was burned.”
He breathed easier knowing there wouldn’t be a contract or invoice on Diana’s portrait.
“In fact, as we are certain he was murdered, that is where you come in.”
Hunt waited for the man to continue, his thoughts running wild about the information he just received. Perhaps Diana was not the only person Mallory was blackmailing.
His ideas were quickly quashed when Sir Phillip continued. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Mallory was working with a group of men who are anarchists with the intention of bringing down the British government.”
Hunt let out a low whistle. “Interesting.”
“Indeed.” DuBois-Gifford leaned forward. “Supposedly Mallory was about to leave the country with information damaging to the group. Even more interesting is a man who is working—and possibly leading—the group is a member of parliament.”
“An MP is working to take down the government?” Hunt’s eyebrows shot up. “Who?”
“Actually he is a member of the House of Lords.”
“A peer,” he breathed. Hunt shook his head, not shocked, but certainly surprised at Sir Phillip’s revelation.
“We don’t have a name yet, but our contacts have told us that this gentleman is indeed active in Society and will be attending a house party this coming weekend at Lord and Lady Grafton’s estate in Essex.”
Oh, no.
A sense of foreboding came over him. “And?”
“And we want you to gather as much information as you can by attending this party. Our target will be meeting a contact there who we are told is one of the staff. If you can pick up information on who this lord is, we can crush this entire group before they cause irreparable damage.”
Hunt stared out the window, taking in all Sir Phillip told him.
“I assume you have been sent an invitation since we know you are welcomed at all these things,” DuBois-Gifford waved his hand. Perhaps with disdain at the frivolous lifestyle of the Upper Crust who have time for such nonsense as house parties.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I was invited but intended to decline.”
“Not anymore.”
The Crown had spoken.
Hunt considered his newest assignment as he returned home. It was difficult to accept that a member of the House of Lords would be involved in an attempt to overthrow the government. It went against everything the Crown stood for and a titled peer had every reason to see that the status quo stood. What benefit could he possibly gain?
On the other hand, he would now be under the same roof as Diana for the length of the house party. Something he had planned to avoid at all costs. If he remembered correctly, the guests were expected to arrive on Friday afternoon and spend five days visiting, playing games, dancing, shooting, all the things popular for any house party.
That meant four nights with Diana merely down the corridor from him. In her nightgown. In her bed, all warm and soft. With all that luxurious hair hanging down, most likely in a soft plait as most women were apt to do when they slept.
He groaned. It would be a long five days.
And nights.
* * *
Diana, Mrs. Strickland, and Marguerite stepped from the carriage with the assistance of a footman at Lord and Lady Grafton’s estate in the county of Essex. Most of the other ladies would have sent their lady’s maids ahead in another carriage to supervise the unloading and setting up of their mistress’s wardrobe in their assigned room, but Diana didn’t see the need to do that.
Plus, since she was alone, it made for a more pleasant ride to be able to converse with the two women. Most of the Upper Crust did not chat with the help; something that Diana had never ascribed to.
As much as she’d been looking forward to this break from the Season events, especially with her portrait problem solved, she felt a tad disappointed that Hunt wouldn’t be joining the group. It amazed her that someone who she’d been friends with for years all of a sudden appeared so different to her, and whose presence she craved.
His actual visage had not changed—although since her return he did seem larger and more commanding—but the change was in how her body reacted to his nearness. Parts of her body she had never paid much attention to seemed to come alive when she regarded him across a ballroom or was held in his arms as they waltzed. Especially when he flashed that rakish smile that had many women attempting to lure him into their beds.
Even though she acknowledged her confusing and strong attraction to him since her return from Italy, there was no reason to believe anything would ever come of it.