Edmund stood without offering further consolation; he had acted out of character, but he was no one’s nursemaid. He left the room, and Clara locked the door behind him, resting against the wooden structure. The night was not over, and her nerves were already a frayed mess. Curse Charles!
Chapter 2
Edmund questioned his sanity as he walked slowly through the house. He should have just rescued the chit from Baron Preston and sent her on her way. He normally avoided developing anything above the merest acquaintance. Relationships involved putting oneself out, and that went against the grain; yet here he was helping a girl he had only just met. What madness had overtaken him he had no idea, but he shook his head, mocking himself; he was walking through a house of ill-repute looking for a wayward brother who had no wish to be found.
The situation was almost laughable: Edmund helping anyone without there being benefit to himself was unknown. He was only helping with regard to national security because it gave his evenings a little more interest ̶ that and the rebellious streak that had run through him since he was in leading strings; he was unconvinced that it was to any sort of national pride driving him. He blew out his cheeks in frustration; first helping his country, now helping a domineering sister: whatever was next?
*
It was more than half an hour before Clara heard the tapping she had been listening for. She hurriedly opened the door, keeping it partially closed just in case it was not her kind stranger knocking. She let out the breath she had been holding when she saw him and opened the door wider, allowing him access.
She was disappointed to see that he was alone, but she waited until he had locked the door before asking her questions. “He’s not here?”
“He’s not in any of the public areas, but his friend is,” Edmund responded, pouring another drink. It really was dull to be in this type of establishment and sober; one was inclined to see things as cheap and lewd when not inebriated he thought to himself, swallowing the liquid in one gulp.
“Oh, all the risk for nothing!” Clara said exasperated.
Edmund’s mouth twitched. “His friend is here and indicated that your brother is in a private room.”
“Oh. You spoke to Mr Shambles?” Clara asked in surprise. She avoided contact with the man whenever she could.
“Yes, I bought him a drink when he was nursing his bruised pride at losing yet another game of Vingt-et-un,” Edmund responded. Card games were encouraged; Mrs Langtree had to make money somehow, and fleecing drunken men was one of her specialities.
“Probably with Charles’ money!” Clara said through gritted teeth.
“I doubt it would be his own,” Edmund acknowledged. He was revealing no secret by his comment; anyone looking at Joshua could tell the man had little income at his disposal.
“Thank you for your help,” Clara said. “I’m going to stay until Charles emerges, but I cannot trouble you further.”
Edmund rolled his eyes. This was exactly why he did not get involved with people; it was too demanding. “If I leave you now, you will be no better off than when you first walked through the door. You cannot hide here in the hope that you will see your brother. Peeping through the door occasionally is not a sound plan.”
Clara flushed at the fact that the only plan she had been able to come up with had been so easily guessed. “I need to separate him from Mr Shambles,” she insisted. “I will not rest while he is in the company of that man.”
Edmund sighed. “My coach will take you home; you need to leave this establishment.”
“I know I’m sounding ridiculously stubborn, but I need to stay until I can take Charles home.”
“Yes, you do sound ridiculously stubborn,” Edmund said with a growl. “I will return your brother to you if you leave now.”
“Would you do that?” Clara asked a little overwhelmed that this stranger was willing to help. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I’ve lost my mind. There is no other sensible reason,” Edmund replied with derision. “The quicker I can get you out of here, the quicker I can complete what I came here to do.”
Clara flushed again. Of course he was here to also access whatever pleasure Charles was experiencing with the women who were in attendance. A nugget of sadness niggled at her insides; he had seemed such a capable, strong, considerate man that she had managed to ignore the seedy establishment in which she had met him.
“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from your mistresses,” she said petulantly, unable to stop the inappropriate words from tumbling from her lips. It almost felt as if she had turned into a woman who attended such a den of misdeeds her language had been so base.
Edmund laughed, surprisingly pleased that she was jealous; this was turning out to be one of the strangest nights he had ever experienced. “Not that it is any of your business, but I won’t be indulging tonight or any other night with the ladies who frequent this hell-hole.”
Why did Clara feel relief? She was talking to a man but could not make out his features. His mask was unusual; it covered most of his face. If he was handsome she could not tell, but he had a presence that had made her trust him and, to her shame, had made her want him to be better than the people who frequented the address they were in.
“Why do you visit then?” Clara asked, immediately curious.
“It is not ladylike to ask such personal questions on such a short acquaintance,” Edmund deflected, but was amused that she was inquisitive about what was going on around her even though her mind must have been in turmoil over her brother.
“I may never see you again and, even if I do, I won’t know it is you, so why not ask now?” Clara said with a smile.
Edmund chuckled. “Being impertinent seems to be one of your main characteristics. Now come, we need to get you into my carriage. When we leave this room, follow my lead.”
Clara did not usually take kindly to being given instructions; she was used to being in control, but she was not foolish enough to reject the help being offered and nodded in agreement.
Edmund approached her and wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her against his large frame. Her words were that of a confident young woman, but her slight build made him feel huge against her, making her seem as if she were a precious ornament to be treasured. He suppressed the laugh that threatened to escape when he heard her sharp intake of breath at being held so intimately. He felt no guilt at the intimacy, feeling entitled to having a little pleasure at her blushes after her turning his evening upside down.
They pushed their way through the crowds. The house was far noisier than when Clara had first entered; probably the result of the amount of alcohol being consumed. Clara had no real idea, but she imagined that an orgy in hell could not be much worse than the sights she was seeing. People were to be openly fondling and kissing each other, not caring who saw them.
Clara snuggled closer to Edmund and placed her hand on his body as if needing to feel his solid form for reassurance. Edmund placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently. Even through the material of both their gloves, he could feel the slight tremble in her hand. She acted confident but she was not at ease with her situation. Unusual for him, he was experiencing a feeling to which he was not accustomed; he wanted to reassure her. He was moving as quickly as possible without bringing attention to themselves. He spoke to the footman in the hallway and then gently pulled Clara to the side of the room. There was going to be a few minutes’ delay while his carriage was brought around; they could not risk being exposed; he needed to keep her out of sight as much as possible.
Edmund’s body shielded Clara, and he lifted her chin, trying to make it seem as if they were in a romantic embrace, while talking to her quietly.
“When my carriage arrives, I will place you in it. They will not stop until they take you home; what is your address?”
“Number Six Half Moon Street,” Clara whispered. She had briefly considered telling only the footman her address, but the reality was that she trusted he
r protector, strange though it was, as she had no clue to his identity. “How will you remove Charles?”
“Leave that to me,” Edmund said firmly. “He will be returned to you as soon as possible.”
“How can I thank you? I’m aware that you didn’t need to help me,” Clara said. For the first time she looked meekly at him; without his help she would have undoubtedly been exposed.
“I could pretend that it’s my normal gentlemanly behaviour, but I don’t think you would be convinced,” Edmund said with a grin.
Clara smiled, her blue eyes lighting up behind the mask. “No. I’m sorry to be so disparaging about your character, but I wouldn’t believe that. You are far too at ease in these surroundings to be a true gentleman.” Clara did not know if it was the mask she hid behind that gave her the confidence to speak her mind, but she found the experience liberating.
“Hmm, if you don’t consider me a gentleman, I should perhaps take thanks in the way a rake would,” Edmund said, his smile responding to her laughing eyes.
Clara’s smile was quickly replaced by a look of alarm that increased when Edmund lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her gently, Clara watching him through wide eyes.
Edmund grinned, pausing in his actions. “It is usual to close one’s eyes when being kissed; it enhances the senses,” he whispered, a laugh in his voice.
Clara should have pushed him away; any decent young woman would have done but, instead, her eyes fluttered shut, and her mouth opened slightly when Edmund’s lips met hers for the second time. He pulled her close, and she tightened her arms around his neck. He was right: it was as if nothing else was going on around her; all she could concentrate on was his lips and what they were doing to her insides.
After a few moments, Edmund reluctantly pulled away. “Mmm, for an innocent, you can certainly stir a man,” he said, his voice husky.
Clara blushed. “I think that’s a compliment,” she responded, quite impressed with herself that her voice sounded steady and husky when she definitely felt wobbly on the inside.
Edmund chuckled and rested his head on her forehead, their two masks intermingling feathers and crystals. “It was. It’s a pity I don’t dally with innocents.”
“And what is this then?” Clara asked, her tone light. She was a realist at her present situation; of course the kiss was not a declaration of anything serious.
“That was your thank you for my help, of course,” Edmund responded with a devilish grin. “Although I do feel that I’m going above and beyond what I normally would, so I deserve a little more thanks.”
He did not wait for Clara to respond, but bent his head once more to taste her lips. He had been surprised at her confidence when they had shared their first kiss. A fleeting thought had passed through his mind that she had kissed before, but he dismissed it; it was a thought he did not wish to dwell on. He enjoyed exploring her mouth, for the moment forgetting why he had been shielding her. A gentle tap on his shoulder by a footman brought him back to reality.
“Time to go,” he whispered, kissing her one last time before reluctantly pulling away from her lips.
Clara was tucked against his body once more as he moved to the door. This time she was glad of his support for a completely different reason: she was not sure her legs would have been steady enough to hold her body upright after the plundering her mouth had just experienced. She was slightly breathless and no longer fully aware of her surroundings; thankfully, because of Edmund, she did not need to be. He helped her into the carriage, not releasing to be helped by the footman.
Edmund muttered her address to his coachman, who nodded in understanding, and then stepped back. Edmund held the door, leaning into the carriage and grasping Clara’s hand. “Goodbye, my masked darling; it has been a pleasure.”
Clara’s hand was quickly kissed, and then the door slammed. She sank into the seat with a deep exhalation of breath. What a night it had been!
Chapter 3
Clara entered the dining room at lunchtime, wondering if she would be joined by her brother; he had been absent for breakfast, not an unusual occurrence. She had been able to climb into her bed only upon hearing the noisy arrival of Charles an hour after her return from the masked party. She had observed from behind her bedchamber curtain, fortunate that her bedchamber faced the street, that it was the same carriage that had returned her safely to her address. There was no outward sign that the carriage contained her stranger, but Charles had muttered something when he left the carriage that made Clara think there had been someone still inside. It was a comfort to think that the stranger had not remained in Mrs Langtree’s establishment.
If questioned, she would have admitted, albeit shamefacedly, that it was thoughts of the stranger that kept her awake well into the night and not, for once, worry about Charles. A turmoil of emotions had kept her staring into the folds of fabric that encompassed her four-poster bed, thoughts which were all about the man she had met. He had been a protector, tormentor and rake all rolled into one, and it was a heady mix to absorb for one so used to being on the side-lines of society. As the night hours seemed to lengthen, she had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, dreaming of dark eyes.
*
As Clara sat down to luncheon, she determined she would have to put the memories to one side, it was unlikely she would ever see her stranger again. Her cousin entered the room and sat next to Clara, greeting her with amused words. “I take it Charles is still above stairs?”
Clara liked her relation, Mildred ̶ Milly to her favourite friends and family. She was six years older than Clara but unmarried and perfectly suitable to act as a companion to her younger cousin. Milly shared the same dark hair as her cousin, but her eyes were a clear grey. She was a handsome confident woman who had not married because she said she had never known anyone who met her ideal. Clara knew that Milly had been in love and had been badly let down but allowed her cousin the pretence; there was nothing to gain from dwelling on a hurtful past. The two women got on tremendously; the only problem that Clara had with her relative was that Milly had a tendency to make light of Charles’ exploits.
“I believe he hasn’t risen as yet. He didn’t breakfast, but that’s not unusual,” Clara said, ready to take a bite of the thick ham she had been served. “No doubt he will be rising soon to recommence whatever pursuits Mr Shambles chooses today!”
“Young boys will get into trouble. Don’t worry, he will soon have his fill of excess and settle down,” Milly soothed.
“He won’t have any choice if he continues as he is,” Clara grumbled. “There will be little money left to do anything but rusticate in the country for the rest of his days.”
“This is unlike you, cousin,” Milly said, pausing, her fork not reaching its destination. “Are you so begrudging of Charles’ spending? I admit it is a little more than he probably should, but it’s not really surprising; he has so suddenly come into the fortune.”
Clara sighed; it had been a testing few years. Their father had died suddenly, only two years after their mother. Charles had still been at college when he had inherited the title and fortune. Their guardians had immediately handed over all control to Charles without a second thought, something which Clara would never understand. Why they could not have held the money in trust until he reached his majority they had never explained, but Charles had received his full fortune almost as soon as his father’s will had been read.
It had not seemed such a bad decision at the start; Charles had expressed his intention to stay at college and complete his education. He was intent on starting on his Grand Tour after the year of mourning had passed and would probably have returned when he was of age. Unfortunately, in Clara’s eyes, at some point he had fallen into the company of Mr Shambles, and all plans had been forgotten.
Thankfully, he had finished his schooling, but now there was no talk of a Grand Tour, just the determination to enjoy himself to the full in London. Clara hated not enjoying her brother’s company, but she wished h
e would spend some months abroad, anywhere apart from France, obviously. She had not trusted Mr Shambles since his introduction into their family and could see of no other way than Charles leaving the country so that he was no longer in the company of such a man.
The door opened and a pale-faced Charles entered the room. He looked sheepishly at the two women and smiled in his boyish way. Although pale when suffering the effects of excess, he was a handsome young man, with golden locks and clear blue eyes, the eyes the only similarity between brother and sister. He had a slender figure that promised to fill out within a few more years and a manner that seemed easy to please and easier to like. Clara knew full well that the smile was given with an expectation of forgiveness.
“Have you missed me?” Charles asked, kissing each of the ladies before sitting and accepting a cup of strong black coffee.
“Oh, terribly,” Clara retorted sarcastically. She might be worried about her brother, but that did not stop the regression into the usual banter they had always shared.
“I knew you’d be pining, so I roused myself early, just so you could be in my company.”
“You are too kind. I’m not sure we’d have survived the day without you.”
“Thought as much,” Charles said with a grin. “Don’t worry dear sister; I shall soon be gone for the remainder of the day.”
Any thought of banter immediately left Clara. “You are leaving us so soon? What excursion are you intent on now?”
“Joshua has told me about some good brandy I might be interested in and then we are going onto a card party at one of his old friends,” Charles said easily, helping himself to food. He might be suffering from excess, but there was never a dent in his appetite.
“I hope the brandy isn’t smuggled,” Clara said quietly.
“Why would it be?” Charles asked, a little defensively at what he perceived to be criticism.
“Because there has been a shortage of brandy since we’ve been at war, so I’m surprised that Mr Shambles would have access to a legal supply of it,” Clara said. “I might not drink the stuff, but I do read the papers.”
My Lord the Spy Page 2