by Louise Clark
Of his three siblings, Nicholas was closest to Honoria, who was only a year younger than he, and he returned her enthusiastic embrace without restraint.
She announced with typical verve, "Nicholas! How wonderful it is to see you! You have no idea of all the gossip I've been storing up to tell you. I don't bother to write anymore because you are an even worse correspondent than I am." She drew back to take a deep breath, and to scrutinize his smiling face. A small frown marred the creamy smoothness of her forehead. "You look dreadful, Nick. What have you been doing in the country?"
A wry smile turned up the corners of his mouth. From her question, Nicholas deduced that Gideon had succeeded in keeping the secret of his adventures in France from Honoria. His respect for his brother-in-law rose another notch. Honoria—intelligent, shrewd, and determined—had the uncanny knack of prying out every tiny secret, once she knew they were there to be found. "Thank you very much, my dear sister. No one else seems to think that I look particularly off."
"No one else knows you as I do," she retorted, taking his hand and guiding him over to the sofa. Her blue eyes, so like those of her brother, began to twinkle. "Am I to take it that you are staying at Wroxton House?"
"My timing could not have been worse. I arrived last night in the middle of Aunt Madeleine's ball," he said ruefully. He raised his brows. "I'm surprised I didn't see you and Gideon there."
Honoria blushed prettily. Smoothing the fine silk of her gown, she admitted, "I am not going out very much these days. Gideon and I have had a happy announcement and I am not feeling quite the thing."
Nicholas grinned. "So Aunt Madeleine said. Congratulations. When can I expect to become an uncle?"
"June or thereabouts." She pouted happily. "How unkind of Aunt Madeleine to tell you. I'd wanted to give you the wonderful news myself."
"Don't blame our aunt," he said, leaning back and stretching out his legs. "She thought I knew."
Honoria accepted that and bounced off onto a related subject. Her fine features, in a face too long to be classed as beautiful, were animated. "What do you think of Stephanie?" she asked, watching her brother with undisguised interest.
Nicholas thought for a moment, remembering the way the image of the lovely Mademoiselle de la Riviére had filled his mind the previous evening, and the enjoyment he'd gotten that morning teasing her while she spat defiance back at him. "A dangerous handful," he said finally.
A faint, satisfied smile curled Honoria's full, pouty lips. "Stephanie is delightful. Poor child, she was distraught when she arrived from France." Honoria laughed softly. "There was quite a fuss when she appeared on Aunt Madeleine's doorstep."
"A fuss? For heaven's sake, why?"
His sister's voice lowered, becoming conspiratorial. "She drove up in a coach, without a maid and with only one portmanteau. That was shocking enough, but... Nicholas, you will hardly credit this, but she was dressed as a young man! Baines was astounded when this rather scruffy young fellow announced that he was Stephanie de la Riviére come to see Madame la Comtesse!"
Nicholas frowned. "Why the devil was she dressed as a male? The borders between England and France aren't closed. From the number of nobles departing France, it's obvious the aristocracy continues to be free to leave the country."
"That is what I thought, but Gideon told me that while many nobles are allowed to leave, others, especially those around the King, are not. Stephanie's father is the Marquis de Mont Royale, who is one of..."
"Who is one of the few men of influence advising Louis to compromise, accept the revolution, and rebuild his power after the political situation has calmed down." Nicholas shook his head. "I would never have guessed from the way his daughter speaks. She sounds like most of the reactionary nobility in exile."
"She has good reason, Nicholas," Honoria said gently. "From what Aunt Madeleine tells me, the Marquis believes that the revolution will continue, become more violent, and, unless he changes his policies, King Louis will be deposed. Once that happens, there will be anarchy in France. Though the Marquis de Mont Royale sent Stephanie out, she didn't want to leave him. I gather that she is his only child and that they were quite close."
Nicholas recognized that his sister's sweet and caring disposition caused her to be excessively tender-hearted at times, but he also knew that she had a shrewd mind and was quick to spot untruths. Her high opinion of Stephanie de la Riviére was a telling recommendation.
The butler's appearance with a tray of the tea, small sandwiches, and cakes that Honoria had ordered earlier, interrupted their discussion of Mademoiselle de la Riviére. When their conversation resumed, it focused on the activities of various members of the Prescott family.
"The one I am worried about," Honoria said after catching Nicholas up on the current activities of several relatives, "is Tony Baxter."
"Cousin Tony? What's he up to these days? The last time I was in London, he was spending his days kicking up his heels with cronies whose sole interests were dangerous larks and opera dancers."
"That's it, he still is! Nicholas, he needs direction, and he will not get it from his father!"
Nicholas acknowledged the validity of Honoria's point with a brief nod, for this was not a new problem. Tony Baxter had never been close to his austere father and had always relied on his mother's relatives for the family ties he missed. "I'm not sure that I'll be in London long enough to be of any help, but I will certainly talk to Tony."
Honoria shot him a mischievous look that Nicholas was hard put to interpret. "I expect to see a great deal of you over the next few months, Nicholas." She reached over and patted his hand. "I know you will be able to effect a change in Tony. He'll listen to you, for he has great respect for you. All he needs is something on which he can focus his energies."
"Perhaps we should give him the governance of Mademoiselle de la Riviére," Nicholas said, with some asperity. "That would keep him busy."
Honoria's light, sparkling laughter rang out. "Oh, no, Nicholas. That pleasure should be reserved for someone strong enough to handle dear Stephanie." Again she shot him her direct, mischievous look. "You, for instance, would be an excellent candidate."
Frowning, for he was beginning to wonder just how much Honoria knew, Nicholas countered, "Spare me, sister. Stephanie de la Riviére and I threw sparks off each other at our first meeting. I doubt we could live safely in the same house together, even one as large as Wroxton House."
"How fascinating," Honoria said, staring thoughtfully at her brother. Once again, that impish smile appeared. "How dangerous! But you do like danger, don't you, Nick?" she added innocently.
Tired of the game, Nicholas gave her a level look. "Honoria, exactly how much do you—"
"Nicholas! Well met, old fellow!" Gideon, Lord Broughton, strode into the sitting room. Not as tall as his brother-in-law, Gideon was sturdily built, with broad shoulders and a husky chest. His face was roundish, made more so by a high forehead.
Shrewd hazel eyes and a thrusting chin reinforced the solid strength of his physical presence. The bottle green of his frock coat brought out the red in his dark chestnut brown hair that was thinning on top. Altogether, he looked what he was: a man of substance and authority.
Honoria seized the opportunity of Gideon's arrival to avoid her brother's probing. She rose with a swish of lilac satin and went over to kiss her husband lightly on the cheek. "Hello, my love. Tell my pig-headed brother that he must look after Mademoiselle de la Riviére and save our poor cousin Tony from becoming a wastrel. I feel the need of a rest, so I will leave you two gentlemen to converse in peace." She sailed gracefully to the door. Pausing there, she added, "Oh Nick, be sure to come up and say good-bye if you are leaving London soon."
The door shut softly behind her. "How much does she know?" Nicholas demanded, rather grimly.
Gideon did not pretend to misunderstand. "She thinks you've been in Paris, observing the situation." He shrugged. "I had to tell her something, Nick. She was writing you letters and gett
ing no reply. She began to worry. When she said she was going to visit every property you owned, if necessary, to find out what was happening to you, I realized I had to let her know you were out of the country."
Nicholas wandered restlessly to the window, which looked out onto a small garden. "She also knows what you have planned for me next, does she not, Gideon?"
Gideon caught the edge of annoyance in Nicholas's voice. He met his brother-in-law's cool glance with a level stare of his own. "She knows I would like to see you stay in London for a time, yes."
Nicholas rested his forearm against the sash of the window as he gazed out moodily. "I had a mind to spend some weeks at Wroxton Hall." A wistful note crept into his voice. "I'm tired, Gideon. Tired of watching France destroy herself, tired of pretending to be what I am not." He turned suddenly. "There is going to be a war in Europe, you know. The whole balance of power there will shift. If Austria succeeds in putting Louis securely back on his throne, she will be paramount. Does Pitt consider that when he sends gold and people like me to organize counterrevolution in the disaffected provinces?"
"I have great respect for our prime minister." Gideon went over to clap Nicholas affectionately on the shoulder. "You have every right to be reluctant to become involved again so soon, Nick. God's teeth! I thought you'd died over there. I was profoundly relieved when I learned that you had merely been wounded."
Nicholas shot him a sardonic look. Merely was too mild a word to describe the injury that had nearly cost him his life. Nor did it in any way describe the weeks during which he was half out of his mind with fever and pain, even as his loyal hosts had smuggled him from one crude hideaway to another. He had left as soon as he was strong enough to travel, but in the meantime it seemed an eternity had passed. "I had planned to go to Wroxton Hall to do some thinking about my future." He moved restlessly. "Gideon, I'm twenty-and-seven years old. I have no immediate family, and I owe it to the title not to die without offspring. It's time I married and set up my nursery."
"A brush with death can change a man's outlook," Gideon agreed mildly, his hazel eyes watchful.
Nicholas smiled faintly. "It can even make him settle for that which he passionately refused to accept before."
Gideon frowned. If Honoria's memories were anything to go by, their parents' marriage had been a loveless match based on convenience and property. Both had lavished what love they had to give on their children, while remaining distant from each other. Thus, Nicholas must know there was more to personal relationships than the cool familiarity of his parents, but he had seen no evidence of it in a marriage.
If he was intending to retreat to Wroxton Hall and draw up a list of eligible young women as candidates for a proposal of marriage, he would definitely find himself locked in just the sort of uncaring existence that his parents had had. Gideon felt absolutely no guilt in pressuring his brother-in-law, and friend, to remain in London. Nicholas was in the doldrums as a result of his brush with death, but in a few months his usual intensity would return. If in the interim he had made momentous decisions that changed his life he would regret them.
Gideon didn't vocalize any of these thoughts. Instead, he said cheerfully, "I can promise you, Nick, that the fates of the future Wroxton nurseries are in no danger! What I need is the help of someone who understands the situation in France and who is able to move in the highest social circles, as well as amongst the French émigrés."
"I can't do both," Nicholas said, surprised. "I have no entrée into émigré society."
"Ah, but you do," Gideon retorted softly. "Stephanie de la Riviére lives in your house."
Nicholas stood very still, staring at his brother-in-law. "I do believe you are serious!"
Gideon nodded. "Never more so. There has been a great deal of information leaked to some members of the new Assembly. Initially, it was nothing more than gossip about the activities of various members of the émigré nobility. But lately, word has got out about some of our private activities in France." He looked pointedly at Nicholas.
"Are you saying that my run-in with the National Guard was caused by this spy leaking information about me?"
"Not you, specifically, but that there was a British agent active in the counterrevolution in the west of France. We've narrowed the field and I have agents positioned to observe all but one of the men, the Vicomte de St. Luc, at all times. As St. Luc is the one we most suspect, we need to be extra careful with him. He's an oily character—the very worst sort—but he's lionized in émigré society and is accepted by most of London's beau monde." Gideon paused to draw a deep breath. "I've been watching St. Luc, and I think he receives his information during social events. But, with Honoria not going into society very often these days, I am not able to attend as many of these functions as I should if we are to get the proof we need. I thought you—"
Deliberately, he didn't finish. Nicholas's vivid blue eyes had hardened to a polar hue at the mention of the security leak. Gideon knew he had his brother-in-law safely hooked. There was no need to belabor the point.
"How do you expect me to catch up with this St. Luc?" Nicholas asked grimly.
Gideon walked over to the table where the tea tray had been set. Picking up the silver pot, he poured the, by now, rather thick brew into a translucent Limoges cup. "As I mentioned, the Vicomte is accepted by much of polite society in London. Start there. If you do need access to émigré society, what better cover to use than Stephanie de la Riviére? She is staying in your house. Her godmother is your aunt by marriage. Naturally, you would be concerned with whom she associated."
"I cannot live in the same house with a young, unmarried woman. Her reputation would be in shreds within an hour of the world becoming aware of the arrangement!"
Gideon observed Nicholas over the top of his teacup. "You could if the world believed her father, the Marquis de Mont Royale, had appointed you her de facto guardian while she was in England."
To Gideon's dismay, after one speechless moment Nicholas began to laugh. "Gideon, you have no idea what you are asking!"
"It was Honoria's idea," he said, a little defensively.
"I'm not surprised," Nicholas retorted ruefully. "Honoria has always had a fertile imagination when it comes to plotting my discomfort. How am I supposed to convince the imperious Mademoiselle de la Riviére that her father has selected me to be her guardian?"
"We've forged a letter," Gideon said with simple ingenuity.
* * *
Reluctance to perform the task ahead did not keep Nicholas from acting quickly once he had thoroughly analyzed the various points. Foremost was the need to stop the illegal—and immoral—traffic in secrets by the French agent. Gideon had all but guaranteed that the Vicomte de St. Luc was the man they were after, and Nicholas was happy to help trap and expose the fellow.
What he did not want to do was to drag Mademoiselle de la Riviére into the operation. Not only did he suspect that she would be more difficult to handle than Gideon blithely imagined, but Nicholas was also loath to enmesh her in the lies and fabrications that must necessarily occur in order to gain her assistance in the plan.
He spent a long, miserable day weighing the benefits of thwarting the spy against the liabilities of abusing Stephanie's trust. Every time he convinced himself that she would not be hurt or angry, a vision of her formed in his mind, her dark eyes flashing with fury, or limpid with pain. In the end, though, not even those haunting mental images could counter his deeply rooted sense of duty. The informer must be eliminated. If the only way to do so was to make use of Stephanie de la Riviére, then so be it.
Once the decision was made, there was no sense in putting off its implementation. The very next day, he approached his aunt and Mademoiselle de la Riviére in the dining room at Wroxton House.
"Good morning," he said, feigning good cheer, as he sauntered into the room. He had taken care with his appearance that morning, hoping that the slate gray double-breasted coat and contrasting white waistcoat would provide him w
ith the somber look of a family elder. Nothing could have been farther from the real impact of the well-tailored coat that molded his tall frame. The severe lines enhanced the muscularity of his build, and the sharp contrast of dark coat and snowy-white waistcoat and cravat emphasized the stark, clean bones of his face. Stephanie, sleepily sipping a cup of coffee, stiffened and suddenly became very much awake. She murmured a polite greeting, as her widened eyes drank in the handsome figure before her.
"Nicholas! What a pleasure to see you up so early," Madeleine said, noting his appearance, and Stephanie's reaction to it, with approval.
An unwilling amusement darkened Nicholas's eyes. Glancing at his pocket watch, he said, "Early, Aunt Madeleine? It's gone ten o'clock." He bowed to Stephanie, eyeing appreciatively the low rounded neckline of her gown, only partly disguised by the fine gauze handkerchief that circled her slender neck and tucked in the bodice. "Morning, Mademoiselle."
"Early," Madeleine said firmly, "when one did not return from the Duckworth Rout until the small hours of the morning." She looked at her nephew carefully. "You're as pale as you were the night you arrived. Have you been ill, Nicholas?"
Once more Nicholas silently cursed his sharp-eyed aunt. Questions, especially ones such as this, could cause all manner of havoc. He shrugged and took refuge in manly reticence. "A slight brush with fever. Nothing serious. A few good nights sleep and I shall be in splendid form."
Madeleine looked unconvinced, but decided not to pursue the subject. "What are your plans, dear boy? How long do you intend to stay in town?"
He glanced at Stephanie, then looked back at his aunt. "I must own," he said negligently, "I had thought I would stay for several months and do the Season."
The Countess stared at him keenly. "But the estates."
"Are in good stead. I've a mind to indulge myself in a little frivolity."
Stephanie, though galvanized from her half-awake state by Nicholas's arrival, found her mind wandering. What would it be like to have the Earl living in the house with them? The previous day, he had challenged her views and teased her into a fury that had set her seething for several hours afterward. Yet...