John stood and flattened his palms on the desk. Using the experience he’d gained over the last few years, he kept his tone even. “If and when I want your assistance, I will ask for it. As for now, I intend to explore the Whig side of things with Kensworth and Stretton.”
Allerton cleared his throat. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made an error in judgment. But at least Kensworth has sound ideas, accompanied by the keenness to put them into practice.”
Were they speaking of the same Lord Kensworth? The one who was going to introduce John to the illicit Hampden Club? Who had made errors in judgment? But John said none of this.
“One more thing,” his brother added, an indolent slouch belying the urgency of his words.
“What?” John asked.
“You must do something about Claire—you idiot.”
Allerton may or may not have added the epithet. John was distracted by mounting irritation, but regardless he could hear the word implied in his brother’s tone.
“She’s none of my concern,” he said.
“You cannot let her marry Kensworth.” Allerton was sitting up now, a hand fisted on the desk. “I know you love her. If you tell her, she will break it off with him. Kensworth will recover, but if you let love be stolen out of your hands—”
John stalked to the far end of the room. “It’s too late. I wish to God you had never come after us, but I made the greater mistake in not offering for Claire again after we returned to London. She now intends to marry Kensworth. You yourself said he is a fine man, and I’m inclined to agree with you. It would be dishonorable of me to interfere.” Even if the finality of his words was like a fist wrapping around his heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. “I’d rather have Kensworth as a friend than an enemy.”
“Once she is married, all hope is lost,” Allerton said. “I do not care how much you love her, after that wedding ceremony I will not tolerate indiscreet behavior on your part. Now is your opportunity. Don’t miss it.”
John stared at his brother. “I’m a Reyburn, and I would not behave so dishonorably. Also, I’m disappointed in your efforts on behalf of your ward. She is engaged to a healthy, wealthy, titled man with a beautiful and profitable estate. I myself have nothing to offer.” And even if I offered it, she would refuse.
He turned and strode out of the study, leaving a fiercely muttering Allerton behind, and despite the failure of his plan, despite being stuck in the house with Claire for the foreseeable future, John walked down the corridor with a lightness in his step. It had taken twenty-six years, but he’d stood up to Allerton at last.
Chapter Fifteen
“Emily?”
Her sister turned from the dressing mirror and smiled. “Good morning, dearest.”
Claire stepped into the room. “I need your help.”
Emily pushed a stray blonde strand behind her ear. “In choosing between Kensworth and John?”
Good Lord, had she failed to be discreet? “What can you possibly mean?”
“Allerton and I are not blind,” her sister declared. “We’ve seen the way you and John look at each other, and no one missed the scandalous way you danced together the other night. And after our talk the other day, I can only surmise that you are clearly struggling with your feelings for Stephen.”
Claire plopped onto the divan. She had failed miserably. But John and her complicated feelings about him would have to wait. “The only decision to be made at the moment is whether or not to marry Stephen. Our relationship has…changed.”
Her sister sighed and crossed to sit gracefully beside her. Emily had always been graceful, but since becoming duchess she was even more so. Even while with child. Which just proved the unfairness of life.
“Here you are, inconveniently engaged to one man when your True Love returns.”
Claire threw her sister a withering look. “I never claimed that John is my True Love.” At least, not aloud.
She honestly didn’t know how John felt about her. He wanted her physically; she couldn’t deny that. He’d never spoken of love, though. And, truth be told, she didn’t know if she even loved him. He had changed—as, no doubt, had she—but she couldn’t even begin to determine how those changes affected her feelings. He had been a spy. He hadn’t been wandering aimlessly as she’d thought, but he had been untruthful about his time on the Continent. And what was he to do now he was home? The war was over and his services were no longer needed. While she would admit she was still half in love with the memory of the old John, she wasn’t entirely certain about this new one.
What she did know was that she didn’t love Stephen. Not as he deserved. Therefore she couldn’t marry him.
“If I break things off with Stephen, we’ll need yours and Allerton’s support.”
Emily stroked her cheek. “You know we’ll always be here for you and John.”
“I meant Stephen and I. Stephen, really. If I cry off, the scandal might ruin his political career. I can’t be responsible for that.”
“We’ll do whatever is necessary. You needn’t—”
Emily broke off as Olivia marched into the room, arms swinging. She stopped in the center of the rug and lifted a bright brass cylinder to her eye. A telescope.
“Land ho!” the little girl cried in an incongruously deep voice.
“Did your papa buy you a new toy, sweetling?” Claire asked.
“I found it. It’s mine,” she declared while pointing the lens at her mother. “But it doesn’t work.”
Oh dear. Claire stood and held her hand out toward the child. “Emily, I thought you were going to address this naughty habit?”
Olivia collapsed the telescope and then pulled it back out to full length. Only when her mother called her name did she deposit the pilfered item in Claire’s hand.
Emily swept up her daughter and began lecturing her, and Claire extended the telescope and brought it to her eye, aiming it toward the window.
Instead of bringing the trees from the square into focus, all she saw were letters. She adjusted the instrument, and the letters sharpened into words. A list. Of names. Kensworth’s leaped out at her. How very odd.
She looked through the lens again and recognized Lord Stretton’s name, along with peers she knew by acquaintance. A few had lines drawn through them. Stretton’s and Kensworth’s did not.
Lately, all things odd in this house were associated with one man.
“Olivia, where did you take the telescope from?”
Her niece lifted her head from Emily’s shoulder and swiped away a tear. “From Uncle John’s room.”
Claire cast a look at Emily, whose shoulders sagged. “I know. It isn’t easy to reason with a three-year-old.”
“I’m going to return this to John.” And find out what he was up to that involved her betrothed. Which Kensworth still was. For the moment. He couldn’t possibly be spying on Stephen or any of his fellow countrymen. Though, now she thought about it, he hadn’t denied it when she’d asked that very question the night before.
He was in the library, seated at a table, tapping a pencil against his temple. When he saw her, he rose. “Good afternoon.”
Claire held up the telescope, but John’s expression didn’t change. She tried to quash the flutter in her stomach and the sudden acceleration of her pulse as he came around the table, looking distinctly well-turned out in a grey coat, black breeches and a burgundy embroidered waistcoat. She must focus.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said. “Olivia stole it from your room.”
“That doesn’t mean it is mine.”
“Do not attempt to play games with me.”
“Very well. It is mine. Kindly hand it over.” His words were polite, but there was a layer of cold authority.
She ignored his tone and his request. “John Frederick Reyburn, tell me you are not spying on Kensworth for the Tory government. And those other gentlemen. They are all Whigs. That much I know.”
He stalked toward her, his mout
h drawn tight and his hand held out.
She’d seen all she’d needed to, so she passed the telescope over. But she added, “Tell me.”
John pocketed the telescope in his coat. “They are merely the names of men I thought could help me obtain a seat in Parliament.”
“Spying might have taught you to think quickly, but don’t take me for a fool. No one keeps such a harmless list secreted away like that.”
“Believe what you want,” John muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I am not an imbecile. You admitted to me last night that you were a spy and—”
“Lower your voice, please.”
She did but did not temper her anger. “What, no one else in the family knows of the despicable business you are involved in? Spying on your countrymen, John? On my fiancé?”
His head dropped, and for a moment she thought he was overwhelmed by shame. Then his hard-edged gaze rose to meet hers. “I am working for the good of our country. Do you think I want to investigate any of the men on that list?”
Whatever John or the Tory government thought one of these men had done, Claire knew Stephen wasn’t the culprit. He was too honest, too industrious and enthusiastic in his work, all for the good of the country. Not even John could convince her otherwise. “Leave Kensworth alone.”
“I will do what I must. This is none of your concern, Claire,” he said, sounding as priggish as the headmistress at her old school.
Well, it would be easy enough to disabuse John of whatever mistaken notion he had about her fiancé. “What is it you think Kensworth has done?”
“It isn’t only Kensworth. And I cannot tell you.”
“Why ever not?” she said with sarcastic sweetness as he whipped off his spectacles. “I can help you, for I am certain I can clear Kensworth of any wrongdoing.”
He took two steps toward her, crowding her back against the table. “This isn’t a parlor game. You have no idea the magnitude of what I’m doing.”
With his exceptional height and severe expression, he loomed over her like a menacing shadow. This intimidating side of him surprised her, though she imagined it was helpful in dealing with foes on the Continent. But he was still John, and she was not frightened. “Then tell me.”
Clenching his jaw even tighter, he leaned closer and said, “No.”
She had never argued with John before, not about a matter that didn’t involve the erstwhile state of her heart. It was odd, how she could feel the urge to slap him on Kensworth’s behalf and yet could still be so aware of him as a man. Every breath she took carried the sweet almond scent of him, and with less than a foot separating them it would have been so easy to reach out and touch him.
Luckily, today her respect for Stephen kept her anchored to the subject at hand. That, and the fact that, unlike usual, John looked unlikely to kiss her.
Claire let herself relax against the table. “Tell me what your mission is about and I will help you. I will prove to you that Kensworth is innocent.”
She thought she saw a crack in his forbidding features, but just then they both remarked the click of a door handle. John looked over his shoulder, and Claire peeked around him. Allerton stood in the doorway. His black eyebrows rose high when he noticed the two of them, but he appeared even more shocked when they said in unison, “Go away.”
He opened his mouth to speak but must have thought better of it, for he turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him.
John turned back to Claire as if there had been no interruption. “We have nothing further to discuss.”
“Oh yes, we do. I will not have you maligning my fiancé. Tell me what you are about or I will go straight to him with your perfidiousness.”
John wrapped his hands around her upper arms. His grip wasn’t painful, but Claire couldn’t move. “Did you not hear me? This is not a child’s game. There is a traitor among us. The danger to our nation, and some of its people, is great. You cannot go to Kensworth, Claire. I need your silence.”
In the normal course of things, she might have been thrilled to be such an intimate part of whatever John was doing, but not now. Not when Stephen’s good name was at risk. “You would have my loyalty above that which I owe my fiancé?”
He hesitated, again searching her eyes for something unknown. Finally, he said, “No. Your country would have it.”
She pulled herself free of his grasp more easily than she would have thought and walked to the other side of the table. “This has to be nonsense. I cannot believe you are looking for a traitor among the aristocracy. How great can the danger be?”
“Graver than you can imagine.”
She straightened her spine and stared at John. “Kensworth is not capable of such behavior. He served in the army, for heaven’s sake.” She blinked back unwanted tears. Stephen was still her fiancé and her friend, and she couldn’t bear to have him treated like a criminal. Especially not if she was also to break their engagement. “How do you live with yourself? How do you live with all the lies—and casting suspicions on everyone you know?”
John stared stonily back at her. “Believe it or not, I do not want to suspect Kensworth of anything. However, I need you to keep silent. In return, I promise you I will do my utmost to cross him off that list.”
“After all the deceit and subterfuge of the last few years, why would I believe you?” Why had she ever thought John’s work was a decent thing? Spying on enemies was one thing, but he was now doing the same to his own countrymen!
He sighed and replaced his silver spectacles, then began gathering his things from the table. “I honestly don’t know, Claire. Think what you will of me, but I cannot do anything other than what it is required.”
He was staunch, she’d give him that. He was also wrong about Kensworth.
She strode to the table and splayed her fingers across the top. “You will have my silence—if you let me help you clear Kensworth’s name.”
“No.”
“Then I will speak to him this very day.”
He stared her down, but she didn’t flinch or look away. He wouldn’t win a contest of wills. She had been called obstinate by her family more times than she could count and was secretly proud of that fact.
Eventually he sighed in capitulation. “Lord Stretton recently returned from Scotland. Find out exactly what day he came back.”
“Stretton? What about proving Kensworth’s innocence?”
“I cannot put you in danger. Stretton’s whereabouts need verifying. Do you want to help or not? Are you rethinking lowering yourself to my level?”
She smiled faintly. “I will discover what you need in short order.”
“Discreetly, Claire.”
“I’m no longer a foolish young girl, John. Do have some faith in me.”
“I have the utmost faith in you,” he replied in a low and gravelly voice that made her stomach flutter. Without further ado, he strode out the door.
Despite his promise, Claire feared for Stephen. For his reputation, for all that he had worked so hard for in the last year, for the dignity of his family. All it would take was a whisper of suspicion and he could be ruined.
John is accompanying me to Wakebourne.
Claire let out a groan of utter frustration as she recalled Stephen’s words from the other night. John was using Stephen, pretending to want assistance in standing for Parliament while he spied on her unsuspecting fiancé.
Not while she lived and breathed. She marched toward the door with purpose. She had a valise to pack.
Chapter Sixteen
John strode out of the library without slamming the door and even managed not to pummel the paneled wall as he made his way to his bedchamber. Once there, however, he slapped his journal onto the small writing desk with such force that a branch of candles crashed to the floor. They were unlit, so he ignored them and paced around the room.
Brought down by a three-year-old with
a future as a pickpocket. Caught out by a woman whose soft brown eyes disguised a will of iron.
He hadn’t had failures such as these since his first days as a spy.
Claire’s zealous defense of Kensworth’s honor—and decimation of his own—had brought him back to coherency like a slap to the face. God, her loyalty was a thing to behold.
Her stubbornness he could do without.
He stopped in the middle of the room; his stalking back and forth had dispelled his frustration and anger. What was done was done. Now he must carry on.
While trying to keep Claire safe.
He pulled the telescope from his pocket and snatched up his journal of coded notes. Easing himself to the floor beside the bed, he tucked them between the frame and the underside of the mattress.
However small his blunders had been, he could only hope the prime minister didn’t pay the price.
He left the house, informing the butler on his way out that he wouldn’t be attending dinner. Yes, he was avoiding Claire, but more importantly he was going to meet with Watson. Considering the way his day had gone, the last thing John wanted to do was play cards with his bitter schoolmate. However, the Home Office must be informed of these activities.
He set off at a brisk pace and entered the card room of White’s fifteen minutes later. Watson stood nearby, accepting a glass of port from a footman.
John moved casually forward then stopped abruptly as if he had just noticed the man. “Watson! It’s good to see you again.”
Dismay flashed across Watson’s features before he bowed and settled his mouth into an amicable smile. “Lord John. I was on my way out for some air. Would you care to join me?”
So, Watson didn’t intend to lose at cards again. Fine. “Excellent idea.”
John led the way, and soon they were strolling side by side up St. James’s Street. The sun had begun to slip beneath the horizon of London’s buildings, and there was a crispness to the air that hadn’t been there earlier. As they turned onto the busier thoroughfare of Piccadilly and passed Devonshire House, Watson seemed content with silence. Perhaps he was afraid John would demand his six hundred pounds.
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