Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

edge of the cliff.”
    Darcy shook his head as if nothing I could say would surprise him.
    “Who was that man?” he asked.
    “Sir Toby’s valet. He called himself Johnson, but his real name was Sherman. His father was the one Sir Toby cheated out of his share in the design of the Fearless Flyer. He came to get revenge. Did he get away?”
    Darcy shook his head. “His car went over the cliff,” he said. “That was what caused the fireball. He lost control, swerving to miss that horse. Ironic, isn’t it? He has no qualms about killing people but he wasn’t about to hit a horse. How typically English.”
    I was shivering. I pulled the rug up around me and accepted the coffee someone was offering. Another thought struck me. “What were you doing with the marquis?”
    “As you knew, I’d been keeping my eye on him for a while. We finally thought we had enough to bring him in, but just as I caught up with him, someone was shot. He’d been coming to spirit her away, apparently. He saw me and yelled that you were in danger so we hopped into his car and gave chase. Another irony, don’t you think? Life seems to be full of them these days—like the man you chose over me turning out not to be a marquis but a slick international thief and forger.”
    “I didn’t choose him over you,” I said hotly. “I chose him because I was flattered that he’d be interested in someone like me. . . . And because I knew I wasn’t exactly number one in your affections.”
    He frowned now. “What made you think that?”
    “I found out about your secret family—well, not so secret, since I saw you playing with the child on the beach. And I heard two women talking on the train about how much you adored him.”
    “Well, of course I adore him. He’s the only nephew I’ve got so far and he needs a man in his life.”
    I stared at him. I don’t think I fully took in the words for a moment. “Your nephew? That woman with you . . . ?”
    “My sister, Bridget. Her husband was an officer with the British army in India. He was killed last year in the North-West Frontier. Bridget’s had a hard time of it—suddenly having to cope with life in England on a small pension after having had all those servants in India. So I’ve been helping out when I can. Since I had to come to the Riviera on a small matter of business, I suggested she come along too and give the little chap a holiday.”
    “Your sister.” I stammered the words. “Of course.”
    “You saw her once with me in London, didn’t you?”
    “I only saw her back.” I felt my cheeks burning.
    Darcy was looking at me strangely. “Wait, you didn’t think—?”
    “I thought she was your mistress and that he was your child,” I said. “I feel so stupid.”
    “You could have asked me,” he said quietly. “Do you think I wouldn’t have told you about something as important as a child?” Then that wicked grin spread across his face. “Besides, I don’t make enough money to keep a mistress. They’re an expensive proposition.”
    “My father had one,” I said, staring at the steam rising from the cup of coffee. “Here on the Riviera. And we never knew. I had a half sister I never knew about until today. We looked so alike, Darcy. We might have become friends, but she was shot.”
    I felt the tears welling up again. Darcy nodded and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Maybe it was better that she died,” he said. “Better than spending years in prison.”
    “Will the marquis spend years in prison?” I asked.
    “If we can make any of his crimes stick,” Darcy said. “That’s why I was sent over here—that, and to recover a few valuable pieces of artwork that had vanished from British stately homes.”
    “Then we were sent on similar missions.” I actually laughed. “I was sent by the queen to recover a snuffbox that Sir Toby took from her.”
    “Sir Toby? Then they were all as bad as each other, weren’t they?”
    I nodded.
    “And we’re well rid of them.” A long pause followed in which he looked at me with those dangerous bright blue eyes. “And you and I—well, should we start over from square one, do you think? If you can trust me not to have more mistresses hidden away.”
    “All right,” I said slowly. “Let’s start over at square one.”
    He held out his hand. “How do you do? I’m Darcy O’Mara, or rather the Honorable Darcy O’Mara, since your type cares about such things.” He took my scratched and battered hand in