The Houseparty

by Anne Stuart

Fraser didn't bat an eye. "What a bouncer! And you a vicar's sister! The truth of the matter is, Lady Elfreda, that Miss Traherne came across Sir Adolphus and me blowing a cloud and threatened to cause a disturbance if we didn't allow her a puff of our cigars. Needless to say, we had no intention of complying with such blackmail, and she threatened to tell everyone that we molested her. Did you actually do so, Miss Traherne?" He said all this in his usual cool manner, but Elizabeth could see the amusement lingering in those blue eyes.

  She bowed her head contritely to hide her own laughter. "I did," she said meekly, and Rupert's shoulders relaxed a trifle as he sat back down at the table.

  "Elizabeth!" Sumner's scandalized voice caused her to start guiltily. "Are you lost to every vestige of propriety? How could you? When Sir Adolphus and Lady Elfreda have been everything that's kind?" Words failed him, and he stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.

  "I am wretchedly ungrateful," Elizabeth rejoined, agreeing sadly. "What can I do to make up for such outrageous behavior?"

  Sumner had known his sister far too long to be taken in by any show of contrition. His beautiful blue eyes were sharp as he scanned her demure face, and for the first time in twenty-four hours he forgot about the exotic contessa by his side. Before he could give his sister the sharp set- down she so rightly deserved, Sir Henry Hatchett stepped smoothly into the breach.

  "You could play cards with a boring old gentleman," he suggested in a fatherly tone. "Can't abide whist, never could. Much prefer piquet or silver loo. Why don't you do penance by keeping an old soldier entertained for a bit?"

  A great harrumphing sound issued forth from General Wingert's pouter-pigeon chest. "I was about to suggest the same thing, Hatchett," he said, and there was a slight edge in his high-pitched voice and a glitter in his hot, dark little eyes.

  Sir Henry smiled affably, taking Elizabeth's hand firmly in his own. "Then it's a great deal too bad that I beat you to it. However, your loss is my gain. Miss Traherne?" He gestured toward a deserted corner of the brightly lit ballroom.

  She hesitated for a long moment. General Wingert's portly face had turned a dark, angry red, and his thin mouth snapped shut. The pressure on Elizabeth's arm increased, and she gazed at Sir Henry with real relief, summoning her best smile for him. "I would be charmed, Sir Henry," she said in dulcet tones, her troubled gaze wandering over her shoulder to the general's retreating figure. There was something about Maurice Wingert that disturbed her, though she couldn't quite fathom what it was. It seemed far more dangerous than a touch of misplaced lechery.

  She turned back to Sir Henry, temporarily banishing the worry from her mind. "You are most kind to ask me. Though I must say I consider that more of a reward than a punishment."

  "You haven't played with him yet," Fraser said softly behind her so that no one else could hear. "Watch out he doesn't pinch you."

  Elizabeth kicked backward, her heel connecting quite satisfactorily with Fraser's shin, before she moved gracefully across the room. Allowing herself a brief glance backward before she settled herself at a corner table, she was gratified to recognize an expression of pain around Fraser's dark blue eyes.

  "What would you prefer to begin with, Miss Traherne? A hand or two of silver loo to start? Or would you prefer to go straight to piquet? Your brother tells me you are quite expert at it."

  "My brother flatters me."

  "Not too often, I would think. He appears to be a very disapproving young man," Sir Henry offered, shuffling with a practiced hand.

  Elizabeth eyed him with open curiosity. He was an unassuming little man, with a balding pate surrounded by whimsical tufts of hair, a bulbous nose, grizzled eyebrows, and those surprisingly merry eyes. The white mustache drooped disconsolately, but Elizabeth was on her mettle. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Sir Henry was not the bumbling elderly gentleman he appeared to be.

  "Why don't we start right off with piquet?" she suggested affably. "Though I must warn you that I am not allowed to gamble. Sumner considers it to be unbecoming in a vicar's sister, and I fear I am already in his black books as it is."

  "Imaginary stakes, Miss Traherne?" he suggested. "A shilling a point?"

  "Well, if they're going to be imaginary, I consider that paltry. A pound a point, at the very least."

  "Done!" He dealt the cards rapidly. "I wonder if your clerical brother's reprobations apply to your brother Jeremy. A soldier can often spend far too much time gambling, much to his regret. Young Fraser there is a good example, I'm afraid."

  Elizabeth took the bait. "He is?"

  "Got himself into terrible debt over in Vienna, I heard. Gambling for outrageous stakes, and then the cards turned against him. There was some question of whether he might he able to pay up, but he came into some money unexpectedly."

  "How?" Elizabeth had to ask, her heart sinking.

  Sir Henry smiled genially. "Why, no one really knows. But fortunate for him, wouldn't you say? A gentleman always pays his gambling debts."

  She could think of no reply to make, and the two quickly became lost in the game. The only sounds were a mumbled "tierce, quart, not good, piquet" as they concentrated on the cards.

  They were fairly well matched. Elizabeth had always prided herself on her playing, although she seldom had come up against a truly formidable player other than her brother Jeremy. Sir Henry was good but not extraordinary, and it required only a modicum of effort to keep pace with him. By the end of an hour's play Elizabeth held a slight lead—twenty mythical pounds—when Sir Henry abandoned his earlier silence.

  "I have been hearing the most extraordinary tales, Miss Traherne," he began, his seemingly mild eyes astute beneath the grizzled eyebrows. "Lady Elfreda seems convinced that there is some sort of nefarious activity going on at Winfields this weekend. ! wondered whether you might be able to enlighten me as to the particulars, or is this just an old lady's fancy?" He began the trick deviously, and Elizabeth almost allowed herself to be distracted by the card play to answer unguardedly.

  "What does Lady Elfreda tell you, Sir Henry?" she questioned, concentrating on her unpromising hand.

  "A great deal of nonsense, I'm sure. She's been suggesting that Michael Fraser is a French agent and that you are abetting him in his treasonous activities." This was all said in a bland tone of voice, but Elizabeth was not de- ceived. If anyone was behind the strange goings-on at Winfields, Sir Henry Hatchett was in the thick of it.

  "Lady Elfreda," Elizabeth replied frankly, "has windmills in her head. She's so desperate not to lose her overgrown son that she would blacken anyone's good name."

  "She sees you as a possible contender for Sir Aldophus's hand?" he questioned amiably.

  "She has a great many foolish notions. As for Michael Fraser's loyalties, I am sure you would know a great deal more about that subject than I do."

  "Why do you say that, Miss Traherne?"

  "Because I know full well that you are in the intelligence section of the Foreign Office. I v/ouldn't be at all surprised if you and Rupert weren't here for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on that gentleman."

  "Do you really think so?" There was a look of what Elizabeth might almost have called amusement on Sir Henry's cherubic countenance.

  "I do." She discarded recklessly, intent on her purpose. "And I could be of immeasurable help to you if you would consider admitting me to your confidence. Is Michael Fraser a French agent?" She held her breath, scarcely daring to hear the answer.

  She should have known Sir Henry was too cagy for her. "My dear, I haven't the faintest idea," he replied, taking her trick easily. "But I have a suggestion for you, if you would care to listen."

  "I doubt I'll like it," she replied frankly, dealing with practiced ease.

  "I doubt you will, but my conscience forces me to try. If there is anything going on here at Winfields this weekend, if Michael Fraser is not all ne appears to be, then it would be extremely wise of you to keep out of the way.

  In
my long career I have had some experience with French agents, and I may assure you that they are very dangerous fellows. Very dangerous, indeed. A foreign agent wouldn't think twice of wrapping that pretty hair around your throat and strangling you if you got in his way. Your brother Jeremy would tell you the same thing if he were here now."

  "I only wish he was," she said sadly. "You think Michael would kill me?" The cards lay unattended on the table as her sherry-colored eyes met Hatchett's surprisingly acute ones.

  "I would say, Miss Traherne, that you cannot be too careful."

  "But what kind of answer is that?" she cried, both frightened and infuriated. "It appears obvious to me that you know precisely what is going on here, and yet you won't even tell me who I may safely trust."

  "I have told you everything I am at liberty to tell," he said calmly.

  "Which is exactly nothing."

  "Except to be careful."

  "Oh, pooh!" she said rudely. "I already knew that."

  "It hardly seemed likely in the face of your recent behavior. It hasn't been that of a prudent young lady."

  "Fustian!" retorted Elizabeth. "I can take care of myself."

  "But that, my dear Miss Traherne, is precisely what I've been trying to tell you. You cannot take care of yourself when you haven't even the slightest idea what is going on."

  "But-"

  "The less you know, the better," he interjected repressively as he recognized the hopeful look on her mutinous face.

  "You sound just like Sumner," she shot back.

  "Do I really?" He appeared much struck. "Well, there's nothing that can be done about it. Does he have his advice dismissed as summarily as mine?"

  "More summarily," she said, unabashed, eyeing her cards before declaring, "You are fairly in the way of being capotted, Sir Henry. You'd best look to your cards."

  "I think, Miss Traherne, I must cry off. It's been a long day, and I am afraid I am completely out of my depth against your expertise. At least in the field of cards." He picked up his hand and frowned. "I say, Fraser," he said, raising his voice slightly. "Come here and play out this partie. This wench is fairly ruining me. She needs a younger man to sharpen her wits against."

  Fraser moved across the room with an ostentatious and totally specious limp. "If Miss Traherne can bear with my company," he said in that slow, deep voice that had its customary enervating effect on her, "I would be more than happy to try to beat her at her own game. Though perhaps she'd prefer to play with St. Ives."

  "No, you'll be fine," Hatchett said cheerfully, vacating his seat and bowing to a startled Elizabeth. "I've got to spirit young Rupert away with me, anyway. Don't let this young dog try and trick you, Miss Traherne. He's up to all sorts of devilment. You want to watch out for him."

  "I will be more than careful, Sir Henry," she said in measured tones as Fraser sat down opposite her. "I shan't allow Captain Fraser to gammon me."

  "Won't you, Lizzie?" he questioned softly when Sir Henry had moved out of hearing.

  "Not likely. I intend to beat you roundly, at this game and any other you choose to play," she said with unaccustomed fierceness. "And why in the world are you limping? I didn't kick you that hard."

  A slow smile lit his face. "I wanted to remind you of it," he said blandly, picking up Sir Henry's hand and staring at it with an absorbed air. "Tell me, what did the old man have to say? Did he warn you against me?"

  "He did. Not that I needed any warning. I offered my services in trying to catch you, but he declined them, quite graciously, as a matter of fact."

  A small frown creased the broad expanse of Fraser's forehead as he placed his discards face down on the table and drew from the major talon. "Did he really? And I suppose it is too much to hope that you decided to retire gracefully into the wings for the remainder of the weekend?"

  "It is, indeed. If Sir Henry won't accept my help, then I shall have to continue on my own."

  "Tell me, my dear Lizzie, what exactly do you hope to discover?"

  "Whether or not you are an agent," she snapped. "Quint."

  "Not good," he said dulcetly. "Octet. But why do you care whether or not I'm an agent?"

  Elizabeth was silenced for only a moment. "Because of my brother, Jeremy," she said finally. "Anything a French agent does puts his life in danger. And anyone who endangers my brother had best beware of me."

  "Why?" he inquired blandly. "What horrid vengeance would you wreak?"

  "I, I would . . ." she foundered, lost. "Oh, do be quiet. I cannot concentrate on this game."

  With a nod Fraser did as she requested, but it was little help. In the first place, luck had favored him, and it took no time at all to prove that he was the far superior player, coolheaded where Elizabeth was rash, farseeing where Elizabeth went for the easy point. Two games were played, with Elizabeth going down rather badly.

  "I fear I am outclassed," she said ruefully, counting up the points.

  "You haven't had enough practice," he said negligently. "You're still rather young."

  "I would hardly call three and twenty rather young," she shot back. "You need only ask Sumner to know how truly I am on the shelf."

  "I wouldn't ask your brother a thing. Nor should you. If you're wondering how I managed to beat you quite so soundly, you may always content yourself with the knowledge that I supported myself through the army by playing cards with my fellow officers."

  "So Sir Henry warned me."

  "Did he really? Well, I am no Captain Sharp, if that is what you're thinking. I am merely quite good at piquet. I seldom play with flats."

  "Are you suggesting that I am a flat?" she inquired in a dangerous tone of voice, her usually warm brown eyes quite cool.

  "Never would I suggest such a thing! Although it was quite obvious to me in the garden that your experience has been rather limited."

  Elizabeth felt the color suffuse her face. "You are quite right, sir. I am not in the habit of being kissed and manhandled. Someone of your expertise could no doubt easily tell that."

  He nodded. "It was obvious. However, for an amateur you showed a surprising aptitude, both in kissing and being . . . manhandled. I am persuaded that you could become quite expert with very little practice."

  She looked away from him in sudden confusion and found herself staring straight into General Wingert's unreadable dark eyes. She felt a sudden chill and forced her attention back to her partner, summoning up a belated anger. "How gratifying," she replied in icy tones. "And if I ever wish to acquire more experience, I will be certain to let you know."

  A slow smile lit his tanned face, starting at the well- shaped sensual mouth that no longer seemed quite so grim and reaching the dark blue depths of his sapphire eyes. "I would appreciate that," he murmured. "I will endeavor to make myself available, unless, of course, you manage to have me convicted of spying. Do you know what the British do to traitors, Lizzie?" His voice was soft and enticing, but there was a bleak note of steel beneath it.

  Her warm brown eyes met his. "I . . . I don't suppose I thought about it."

  "They are executed, of course. In quite a nasty way, actually. I've seen it done, to my regret. You wouldn't like it, you know. And if you were instrumental in my conviction, I would think they would expect you to be there."

  Elizabeth swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I have little doubt you would escape quite handily," she rallied, but the words were surprisingly hoarse.

  "Oh, I think you underestimate the British Army. And I haven't a title to save me from a traitor's death. They would sever my limbs, my sweet Lizzie, while I still lived."

  "Dear heavens," Elizabeth said faintly.

  Fraser reached out and took one of her limp hands in his strong, warm one. "I am certain," he continued, "that you would at least have the satisfaction of knowing you had served your country. And I wouldn't think you'd mind having my blood on these lovely hands too terribly much, would you?" He lifted it up and placed his mouth against her palm, his lips seeming to burn her.<
br />
  "You, you complete wretch!" she said shakily, snatching her hand away. "If you think you can cut a wheedle with me by frightening me—"

  "Ask your dear, knowledgeable brother, Lizzie," he interjected in an affable voice. "Or ask Adolphus. They will tell you. They will also, if prompted, recount to you the tale of poor George Farrington, who was executed in '09 for treason. Two years later they found he was innocent. They cleared his name, but it wasn't much consolation to his family. The Crown does make mistakes sometimes."

  "Don't!"

  "Would you hold my hand, dear Lizzie, when the dread time comes?" he inquired softly. "Until, of course, they hack it off."

  She pushed back the table hastily and ran from the room without a word. If she had chanced to look back, she would have been surprised by the most interesting expression on Michael Fraser's usually aloof face and an equally curious reaction from at least one other inhabitant of the ballroom.

  Chapter 12

  Elizabeth did not sleep well that night. With Captain Fraser's horrid vision still ripe in her mind, she had bid a hasty good night to Lady Elfreda and the glowering Adolphus. The ministrations of his excellent valet had managed to remove all signs of rough handling from his pale pink toilette, and only the sullen pout on the moon face told anyone of the contretemps in the garden. The protruding blue eyes were politely hostile, and Elizabeth felt a pang of regret that she had antagonized what was basically a very pleasant fellow. She gave him her best smile and was rewarded with a coolly distant nod.

  Better than a leer and a pinch, she thought resignedly. She would have liked to ask Rupert if a traitor's fate was truly so hideous. But he was nowhere in sight, and so she made her solitary way to her bedroom, feeling rejected and slightly sorry for herself. Rupert had abandoned her, and Captain Fraser, apart from his horrifying and no doubt completely fanciful tales of severed limbs, hadn't made the slightest effort to keep her at the table. Granted, she had run so fast that he hadn't had much of a chance to stop her, but she felt unreasonably that he should have tried. Doubtless he had just sat there, watching her departure out of those disturbing blue eyes, with no expression at all on the smooth planes of his tanned, handsome face.