A Spy's Honor

by Russell, Charlotte

  Long strides carried him toward her, and Claire panicked. Would he take her hand? Embrace her? Whichever, she could not allow it. She bolted upright and whipped around behind the chair, clutching the silver-embroidered upholstery as if it were a shield.

  “Lady Claire.” John stopped and bowed, rather stiffly, as if such formality had been his intention all along.

  And perhaps it had been. Lord knew she had played the fool in his presence more often than not, naively believing he had cared for her, wanted to marry her. Even now her heart pounded furiously. Hmph. She gripped the chaired tighter still. “Why are you here?”

  His mouth curved into an almost-smile. “This is my home.”

  Allerton House was his brother’s home. However, she was the one who now called it home. Why did he have to return now? He’d been gone for five years. Could he not have stayed away for another few months at the least? He hadn’t returned because Allerton informed him of her betrothal, had he?

  Of course not. She’d long ago given up on the dream that John would come back for her.

  The deep, abiding anger she’d smothered for so many years sprang free in her chest, buoyed by a stinging bitterness. She was to marry Stephen, and now John was home. “I don’t believe you were expected.”

  “No.” He shook his head, rueful. “Though I can’t help but hope my return is welcome.”

  Behind the silver spectacles, his eyes blazed with speculation—and seemingly the hope of which he’d spoken, which made the anger expand inside her chest. Did he wish to rekindle their brief attachment? How ridiculous. He had given up the chance to marry her, run off to the Continent without a word and—

  “I am glad to see you. I hoped to see you.”

  He skirted the chair and came nearer. Too near. Determined to stay her course, she took a deep breath. As the familiar scent of his almond soap engulfed her, however, she gave up the chair and escaped toward the white-painted fireplace.

  From any other man, his words would merely be conversation, the polite thing to say. From quiet John, they were tantamount to flirting. How could he stride through the door and, with nary a word about his disappearance, begin making up to her?

  He didn’t seem to know about her betrothal, either. Although it shouldn’t be necessary to forestall him, she would set him straight.

  “John, so much has happened in your absence—”

  “I know.” He hurried to her side, looming over her. “I, for one, am a different person than I was. And you, you are even more beautiful.”

  His voice was soft, almost sensual, so different than all those years before, though it had been so long perhaps she misremembered. She wanted to lean into him. She wanted him to touch her.

  But she could not forget what he had done to her.

  And you are engaged, her latent conscience added.

  Resolved, she squared her shoulders and looked up into his face. A mistake.

  His eyes darkened and his lips parted as if he intended to kiss her right there in the silver salon, minutes after he had returned home.

  Her traitorous lips wished he would.

  “Claire,” he whispered, as if trying to coax her into willingness.

  Her wounded heart rose up in defense. She turned away from the temptation he offered and took up her seat once again. In an attempt to maintain some semblance of composure, she retrieved her sewing from the floor and concentrated on redoing a stitch.

  John leaned against the mantel. “How have you been?”

  He asked the question in such a calm manner Claire wondered if she had imposed passionate intentions on him where none existed. She had once been known for her romantic fancies, but she’d put a stop to those the day after he left for the Continent. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to let him know her feelings.

  “Very well, thank you, considering.”

  He straightened, standing tall as if concerned. “Considering what?”

  “Considering that you jilted me.”

  ***

  John stifled his surprise. He’d done no such thing. He strode toward her again, feeling as if he were chasing her around the room. After so long, though, he found it impossible not to be near her.

  “I didn’t jilt you.”

  As much as he wanted to see Claire, why did she have to be the first person he encountered before he had any chance to think of what to say to her? On that day she had clearly expressed how lacking she found him. “John was just as frightened as I. He couldn’t move.” Her recitation of his failures had continued in Allerton’s coach on the way back to London as she described every detail of their encounter with the highwayman. She’d no longer needed a husband, he’d found out the next day, after Allerton put Lord Landry in his place and told Claire’s father in no uncertain terms that she was coming to live with him and Emily. Especially not a husband like John. He’d done her a favor by leaving her in the safe care of his brother while he went off to prove himself. After all, “If you love someone, you’ll be what they need.”

  She laughed, a sharp and dismissive sound that cracked through the stillness in the room. “It doesn’t matter. We were so young. And that is all in the past.”

  John shuddered. She had never been in the past for him. He had thought of her often, dreamed of coming home to her. Only, he’d never had the courage. One mission had led to the next and soon his country and honor were all it seemed he had left. Until now.

  He studied her profile as she concentrated on her embroidery. Her coffee-colored tresses were piled on top of her head, a few tendrils slipping down the golden skin of her neck to her full, rising breasts. Her dark lashes swept down intermittently, shading those soulful brown eyes.

  At one time, Claire’s every emotion had seemed to show on her face. John couldn’t read her now. Seeing her again, though, he knew he still wanted her. Wanted her physically, yes, and more than that. He wanted to be part of her life if she’d have him. Wanted to fulfill the promise that had been cut short all those years ago.

  He bent at the knees and uttered her name again, wanting her to look at him, wanting her to see how he had never forgotten her, to see what he’d become for her.

  She looked away, her brown eyes blazing. “Perhaps I was a little infatuated. Certainly I was caught up in the danger of the moment, and how could I have been anything but grateful for the heroic assistance you offered in keeping me out of that awful man’s clutches? Thank goodness my maturity and current circumstances now allow me to see that any emotion I felt at the time wasn’t about you but the adventure we were sharing.”

  With intense effort John kept from wincing, and before he could even think Claire’s gaze refocused over his shoulder. Someone else had entered the room.

  A smile broke upon her face.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  The voice behind John was deep, slightly mistrustful, and did not belong to his brother.

  He tore his eyes away from the pretty vision of Claire and rose to greet the man who sauntered into the room, young, blond and absurdly muscular, like a Viking warlord trapped in a finely-tailored coat, striped waistcoat, and fawn trousers.

  “I don’t believe we are acquainted,” the man said.

  Claire sat, speechless, her smile now a bit dazed. The Norse god-like creature sidled nearer to her in a presumptuous sort of way. A chill ran down John’s spine.

  “No,” he replied, “we are not acquainted.” He swept a glance over the man, who was definitely brawnier than John but of the same height, gave a decent bow, and said, “Lord John Reyburn.”

  The man’s stiffened posture eased as he returned the bow. “Of course. The duke’s mysterious brother. My pleasure.”

  Out of the corner of his eye John saw Claire jump up and approach. Her voice shook as she finished the introduction. “Lord John, this is Lord Kensworth.”

  Viscount Kensworth? Impossible. His family’s neighbor in Hertfordshire must be seventy if he was a day.

  The blond man watched Claire, who exam
ined the rug. When she said nothing further he slid a few inches closer to her but addressed John. “The new Viscount Kensworth, of course. You’ve been gone many years, haven’t you? I must say you have excellent timing, though.”

  John balled his fists, not wishing to hear more and yet at the same time wanting his suspicion confirmed. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ask Kensworth to what he had so excellently timed his arrival.

  Claire turned away from both of them and returned to her wing chair, answering Kensworth’s question. “He has been away for five years.”

  Four years, ten months and six days.

  “His visit is completely unexpected,” Claire continued, sounding rather unhappier than he would have hoped.

  “Unexpected, yes,” John agreed. “For me as well. It will be a lengthy visit, however.” Which was a lie, but no one else in this room needed to know he would slink back to Europe if Kensworth was about to announce what he feared.

  Claire blinked rapidly then took a deep breath—lifting her glorious bosom—and raised her chin. “How lovely. I am certain your family will be delighted.”

  Meaning, she was not.

  Kensworth circled around the sofa and sat on the arm of Claire’s chair. “Welcome home!” he said with a smile so wide it had to be false. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about you or where you’ve been, as Claire rarely mentioned you.”

  That statement was a relief rather than an insult. The thought of Claire discussing him with this man burned his gut. “There isn’t much to say about me.” John rushed his next question, knowing the response would not be to his liking but stupidly craving the truth. “How do you know the family, my lord?”

  He had wisely moved across the room, out of range of Claire’s exhilarating scent. He was never so grateful for the distance as when Claire aimed her brown gaze at him, slipped her hand into Kensworth’s and said, “Stephen and I are to be married in four weeks.”

  Kensworth squeezed her hand, but smiled—genuinely this time—at John. “Of course you’ll come to the wedding.”

  The room spun, and John closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his focus. Married in four weeks? She’d had five bloody years to get herself married to her damned True Love. But, no. Now he would have to witness her engagement and wedding.

  The door swung open even farther, and John was suddenly surrounded by his family, all of whom were speaking at once.

  His brother drew him into a hearty embrace, exclaiming, “It’s about time. I will beat you senseless later for not visiting before now.”

  His sister-in-law, blonde and lithe even while with child, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you are here.”

  Allerton and Emily pulled back, and a slim, dark-haired woman with a regal bearing stepped in front of John, her blue eyes surveying the length of him.

  “You appear no worse off than when you left.” Her voice started out firm, but by the time she finished the sentence it was trembling, and tears filled her eyes.

  John wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. All he could think to say was, “Mother.”

  As he let her cry softly against his chest, Claire and Kensworth slipped past everyone and left the room.

  John sighed and hugged his mother tighter.

  ***

  Claire led Stephen from the salon, marching down the stairs to the entrance hall. Finally she drew in a ragged breath and let it out slowly.

  John was home. God had no mercy at all.

  “I wonder why he has returned now,” Stephen mused.

  She shrugged, not entirely certain she was capable of speaking to Stephen about John. What if he guessed she had once thought herself in love with John? She and Stephen usually spoke of all manner of things, but Claire had always kept John and her feelings for him locked away. She couldn’t trust what she would say, and above all she did not want to hurt Stephen. He was her friend.

  No, he was her fiancé, she reminded herself as he took her hand and kissed it. As such, she should offer to continue their time together elsewhere.

  Smiling a smile she didn’t feel, Claire said, “The household will be in a jumble all afternoon. Perhaps we should go for a drive in the park.” Escaping from Allerton House sounded heavenly.

  “No.” Stephen shook his head. “I think you had best spend time with your family on such an important occasion.”

  But she didn’t want John’s return to be an “important occasion.” The event should be no more significant than if her aunt had stopped over for tea. She did not want things to change between her and Stephen.

  “You will return for dinner as usual?” Allerton had issued an open invitation to Stephen to dine with the family any night he chose.

  His eyes searched her face and then a shadow darkened their bottle-green color. “I’m afraid I have to decline. I promised to meet Robert and David at the club.”

  She hadn’t known his brothers were in Town, but that was neither here nor there. “We will miss you.” The words came out automatically, but Claire couldn’t honestly say she wasn’t relieved.

  “I will come another day, when the household has recovered from its happy surprise.”

  “Very well.”

  Stephen leaned down to kiss her cheek. She closed her eyes, feeling an odd rush of guilt, then his coat sleeve brushed her arm as he moved past her toward the door.

  ***

  The reformer pushed his way through the smelly throng at the door of the Black Falcon tavern, hunching his shoulders so as to appear smaller than he was. Being tall and strapping didn’t make his secret work easy.

  He crushed his hat further down on his head and made his way toward the dark corner table where a thin, doleful man sat staring at a pot of ale. The unruly noise of the crowd masked his arrival, and the other man started when he slid onto the bench.

  “Easy there, Bates,” he advised with a grin. “It’s just me.”

  “I don’ like meetin’ in public like this!” Bates leaned forward, his straggly brown hair brushing past his shoulders. “Don’ you know the government’s got spies everywhere?”

  The reformer laughed and swiped Bates’s untouched tankard, taking a long drink. “They have not, you hen-hearted fool. Why do you think it’s going to be so easy to bring them down? They think nothing of us!” When a serving girl passed by he snatched another ale, setting it in front of Bates. His friend drank half of it and, as usual, was better fortified for it.

  “They wouldn’t have suspended habeas corpus or passed the Seditious Meetin’ Act if they weren’t afeard of us.”

  “Right you are, Bates.” He didn’t believe the same himself, but he had best support whatever thoughts gave Bates courage and use them to his advantage. How many times had he wished for a partner of stouter spirit? He sighed, then, and acknowledged the truth. When it came down to it, Bates was brave; he’d seen proof of it on the battlefield. But when it came to thinking, his fellow soldier did too much, often until he was nearly pissing in his breeches.

  “They are afraid of us, and rightly so. But by the time they realize, the prime minister will be dead.”

  Bates’s skittish hazel eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for a spy. “Shhh! Sometimes you ain’t got much more sense than a pig with a full trough.” He shook his head. “I don’ even know why you’re still a member of the Hampden Club, what with the title and all. You don’ need parliamentary reform.”

  “The title was happenstance. It doesn’t change the fact that the privileged few are running this country into the ground. We—you, me, my brothers, and every other soldier—did not triumph over the Frogs in order to better the lives of the aristocracy. We fought to better the lives of all Englishmen. I am set on my course.”

  His companion seemed bolstered by this avowal, nodding in affirmation, but was still impatient to be gone from the crowded tavern. “What did you want? I can’t be comin’ up to Town every few days if you want me gettin’ stuff ready. May ain’t that far
off.”

  The reformer grasped Bates’s arm, garnering his full attention. “I’m changing the plan.”

  “What?” Bates squeaked.

  Leaning forward, the reformer whispered, “April twenty-third.”

  Panic in the form of a sheen of sweat swept over Bates like a red-hot fever. “No! No, we can’t move it up. I can’t be ready! We still need more help. We—”

  “Calm down!” the reformer whispered harshly. “I don’t doubt for a minute you’ll be ready. We’ll recruit all the help we need at the next meeting. It’ll be best if we already have our plan in place when we ask for assistance. The less time there is for someone to let slip our plot, the better. I’ve told you before, Bates, I—we—will not be caught. It’s not even a consideration.”

  Bates’s jaw dropped. “The twenty-third is less than two weeks away. Why?”

  The reformer ignored the desperation in his coconspirator’s voice. Bates would rise to the occasion. “Because Liverpool will be attending a production of Macbeth that night, along with Sidmouth.”

  Leaning back, he waited for Bates’s reaction, and Bates did not disappoint him. “Together? But that would be… If we got them both… Oh my God!”

  “Exactly.” He couldn’t help grinning. “You see why the date must be changed.”

  “Do I! To be rid of that tyrant along with Liverpool? There won’t be anybody to replace them with but reformers!”

  The reformer finished off his ale. Pulling a purse from his pocket, he slipped the serving girl a coin and then withdrew a few others, sliding them across the table to Bates. “This should help you be ready sooner. Do you need anything else?”

  Bates shook his head. “I’ll see you on the eighteenth, right?”

  Rising, the reformer turned his back on the other patrons. “Don’t worry; I’ll be at the meeting. We will change things, Bates! You and I will change the course of history. It’s a grand feeling, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t wait for a reply but, grinning happily, turned and pushed his way out of the tavern.

  Chapter Five

  Claire dawdled long enough so that she entered the drawing room mere minutes before the butler would announce that dinner was ready. She fell into conversation with the duke and her sister, Emily. While always grateful for their hospitality, at the moment she wished she lived anywhere but at Allerton House.