A Spy's Honor

by Russell, Charlotte

  “I did always fancy a little sister, but alas, all I got was John.” He picked an invisible piece of lint from the green cushion. “Would that I could call you sister twice over.”

  Claire shifted her gaze to the window and stared unseeingly at the multiple hues of green flashing past. She had always suspected Allerton hoped John would marry her—after a proper courtship, of course. But that wouldn’t happen, even if she wanted it to. Spies didn’t marry. Apparently they traveled the world ruining innocent people’s lives.

  She gave herself a mental pinch. That wasn’t fair to John. He’d been discreet so far. If she hadn’t caught him sneaking back into the house she might never have guessed his secret.

  Turning back to Allerton, she pasted a smile on her face. “Your brother made his choice in the past, and I have made mine now.” Of course, Allerton and everyone else would know soon enough that her choice was to break the engagement. But that had nothing to do with her and John. Well, nothing to do with her and John being wed.

  She glimpsed the tan exterior of Wakebourne Hall. “We are almost there. Thank you again. I promise to have you home to Emily by the day after tomorrow.”

  Allerton nodded. “It is never an inconvenience to visit Bellemere. You know how much I love being there.” His lips turned up wickedly. “Be warned, though. Four gentlemen do not usually hie off to the country in the hope of being interrupted by a fiancée and her guardian. We may not receive an enthusiastic welcome.”

  “Pish! Kensworth is always hospitable.” Claire was counting on him being so. She sought an invitation to stay the afternoon and for dinner. Going to Bellemere was nothing more than a pretext; she needed to be at Wakebourne. She could only hope the news she had for John would deflect his interest from Stephen.

  Within moments they were pulling up before the modern limestone house. It had been erected only forty years previously. That day it sparkled in the sun that had managed to evade a nearby cloud. Arched windows marched along both floors of the house in symmetrical fashion. Graceful topiaries stood between each window, and just-budding daffodils waved cheerfully from the intermittent flower beds. Wakebourne, unlike the house in London, had been the pride and joy of the previous viscount. Stephen had done his best to keep it beautiful.

  The house steward, recognizing his lordship’s fiancé and a neighboring landowner, admitted them readily and showed them to a small sitting room off the entrance hall. Stephen soon joined them, followed closely by John, who looked for the briefest moment as if the fate of all England rested on his shoulders.

  “Missed me desperately, have you?” Stephen smiled and bowed over her hand, looking not at all displeased by her arrival. Then he clapped Allerton on the shoulder. “Good to see you, neighbor.”

  John hung back near the door but bowed toward Claire and mumbled something. Claire assumed it was her name and not an unmentionable curse. From the fury burning in his eyes, however, she was probably wrong. It was a wonder his spectacles didn’t melt.

  “One or two things need my attention at Bellemere,” Allerton was telling Stephen, “and Claire decided the country air would do her good.”

  At this she glanced at John, to see if he would roll his eyes. To her dismay, he continued to glare at her. His hands were clasped behind his back, but she didn’t think he was trying to hide his hand. He was trying not to strangle her.

  “I am glad you stopped at Wakebourne,” Stephen said, looking as if he meant it.

  “Ah well,” Allerton replied, “Claire wanted to speak with you.”

  “But of course you must stay for dinner,” Stephen exclaimed. “Claire will add the touch of refinement we gentlemen need, won’t she, Lord John?”

  “Indeed.”

  Claire was surprised John could speak through such a tightly clenched jaw. She smiled at Stephen. “Thank you. We would love to stay and enjoy your company.”

  “Come,” her fiancé directed, “let us repair to the drawing room. This room is too small by half.” Leading them out the door, he turned to Allerton and asked, “Is the lack of rain causing you trouble? My estate manager claims…”

  “Lord John, may I have a word?” Given his mood, Claire probably shouldn’t have opened her mouth, but she decided they might as well get this initial confrontation over with so he didn’t have to spend the evening scowling at her. John never stayed angry for long, and she hoped the news she brought would help change his mood all the sooner.

  He turned from the door after watching his brother and Stephen leave. He stayed a goodly distance away from Claire, which was probably best for a number of reasons. “Do not think I will buy any of that twaddle you spewed at my brother. I know exactly why you are here.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I come bearing information.”

  “You have come to meddle.”

  She couldn’t let that pass. “I have not. I am not the only one spinning tales. You lied. You don’t want a seat in Parliament; you are merely using that as an excuse to get close to Kensworth. While you are spying on him and suspecting him of God only knows what, he is befriending you, trying to help you. He has invited you into his home.” She felt as if she were scolding Olivia for another transgression, but honestly, John wasn’t treating Stephen very well, suspicions or no.

  His blue gaze broke away from hers and Claire sucked in a small breath at this sign of shame. Spies shouldn’t be remorseful, should they?

  Just like that, his features tightened. “I must protect my country.”

  “I do not intend to stand in your way,” Claire said. How could she when he was so earnest? “However, someone needs to protect Kensworth’s name. As he is to remain ignorant of what you are about, I will have to do so.”

  John took a step but seemed to think better of advancing any nearer. “This is not a lark, Claire.”

  “Do not speak to me as if I were a child.” To be contrary, she shortened the gap between them but almost instantly regretted the move. The sharp nutty scent of him washed over her, waking her senses, and she struggled to focus her thoughts. “Not only can I see how serious you are about your work, but I can see the other side as well. If the smallest hint of your suspicions gets out, Kensworth could be ruined.”

  “I am not trying to ruin him. I am trying to save someone’s life.”

  He spoke quietly, but passion and determination brightened John’s eyes to a blazing blue.

  Claire’s skin tingled and she just stopped herself from sighing. Five years ago he’d been a little bored with his clerking position at the Foreign Office. Now he’d found something to suit him, even though he did still look as scholarly as a clerk. A fine, handsome clerk attired in tight breeches and the simplest of neckcloths that showed—

  “Kensworth would not kill anyone,” she averred. “What will it take to convince you?”

  “Proof.” That determination she had admired hardened John’s features into an ugly scowl. “Why do you think I am here?”

  She could not tolerate the way he glared at her. She’d never minded that he didn’t smile much—each given was that much sweeter—but this new harshness irritated her. “When did you learn to glower? You are not the considerate youth I used to know.”

  “You are not the romantic girl you once were.” His voice fell to a near whisper. “Although perhaps…” He moved away, skirted an armchair and stared out the window. Clouds had overtaken the sun once more, just as austerity overtook his tone. “You have no idea what Kensworth is involved in. You should not interfere with government business.”

  Claire clenched her fists. “It’s too late for that. As I began to say earlier, I have information for you.”

  He spun on his booted heel. “Information?”

  She rocked up on her toes, unable to suppress the tiniest feeling of smugness. “Stretton returned to Town on the sixth of the month, but after depositing his wife at home he left for the evening and did not return for two days. He spent those forty-eight hours at an inn near Wanstead.”

&nbs
p; She had surprised John into silence. He still stared at her, but now there was a hint of admiration in his eyes.

  “How were you able to learn this in such a short time?”

  “I have my ways.” Ways that relied heavily on the talk of servants.

  “Discreet ways?” He was almost wincing, as if afraid of what she’d done.

  “Yes,” she replied, and left it at that. “Do you think Lord Castlereagh might take me on?”

  He smiled at her playful comment, and the air in the room suddenly felt less oppressive. Enough of the gloominess hanging over them. “I have no doubt you would excel, given your relentlessness. Thank you.”

  She nodded and moved to the door, put her hand on the knob. “We had best catch up to the others. Leave them together too long and we will be subjected to a discussion of manure and its fertilizing capabilities until our eyes cross.”

  He made as if to follow, and if she’d been wise she would have led the way out. But her feet wouldn’t move. John didn’t stop until he was within breathtaking inches of her, no doubt in retaliation for her earlier advance. She resolutely studied the black worsted of his coat as his breath fanned her forehead.

  “A note would have sufficed. There is no persuading you to leave, is there?”

  “No,” she replied. “Just be glad I am not staying the night.”

  Oh, she had not meant to speak those words aloud. Claire sneaked a glance up at his face, and when she saw his eyes darkening, she yanked open the door and rushed to the drawing room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They whiled away the afternoon in a most pleasing fashion that, thankfully, rarely touched on—for Claire— the unnerving topics of politics or the government. She and Allerton accompanied Stephen while he gave John a walking tour of the estate immediately surrounding the house. The day was beautiful. White fluffy clouds lazily crossed the sky with the help of a gentle breeze.

  When Robert and David returned from a visit to the local village, Kensworth suggested a game of cricket. Claire readily grabbed a bat to join in and, despite the rambunctiousness of the gentlemen, especially the two youngest Cahill brothers, maintained her focus enough to help win the match. David hastily gathered a bouquet of wildflowers and presented them to her with a gallant bow. She accepted them with a laugh, unable to believe she could spend such a carefree day in the presence of John and Stephen.

  She’d been aware of John’s eyes on her more often than not. Undoubtedly he thought she might divulge, whether by accident or on purpose, something of the nature of his visit. He could have given her more credit.

  After a more enjoyable dinner than she could have imagined, she and Allerton rode on to Bellemere and settled in for the night, but the next morning Claire rose before her brother-in-law and rode back on her mare toward Wakebourne. She had overheard Stephen and John talking about a more thorough tour of the estate, and if she just happened to come upon them, well, John might call it meddling but she would call it protecting. She would not allow John to ruin Stephen’s reputation merely because of unwarranted suspicions; she was reserving the right to ruin his reputation by jilting him.

  Bother.

  The morning clouds hung low, trapping the air and keeping it cool, but those clouds were thin and she could see the sun fighting its way through. Another beautiful day.

  Claire topped a small rise and reined in the mare. Scanning the landscape of Stephen’s estate she spotted a lone rider heading north, away from the house. Even from this distance she recognized John, but where was Stephen?

  She urged her mare forward at a brisk trot and soon caught up. He turned in surprise at her approach and halted his bay, disapproval pinching his handsome features.

  “What are you about now, Claire?”

  “A morning ride,” she answered, unable to suppress a smile. Frustrating John was highly entertaining. “Where is Stephen? I thought you were to ride out together.”

  “You are none too subtle about your meddling, dearest sister-in-law.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders, stretching the brown tweed of his coat in a most pleasing way. “Kensworth has been ensnared by his steward, who has papers and ledgers that must be seen to. I decided to ride anyway.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘spy?’” she asked, eyebrows raised.

  He fixed her with a glare.

  She smiled again. “Mind if I join you?”

  ***

  John didn’t answer immediately, but instead took the opportunity to survey Claire’s attire—and the woman beneath. She sat atop her horse, a petite black mare with a white star on its forehead, smiling prettily. Despite masculine touches such as a smartly tied cravat and military braiding, the high waist of her green wool riding habit provided a lush display of her feminine attributes. Unfortunately, a simple hat of olive green adorned with a white silk rose covered most of her rich, dark hair, but he remembered how the silky threads weighed heavily in his hand the night he’d—

  “Well?” Claire stared up at him, clearly enjoying her intrusiveness.

  “Right,” he muttered, bestirring himself to redirect his mount and his thoughts. He must begin viewing Claire in a different light. As the sister she was. That’s all they would ever be, related through their siblings’ marriage. But, sister or no, he couldn’t resist her company; he was weak. “Yes, do come along.”

  She arched her eyebrows and they set off at a sedate pace that allowed him to keep his spectacles on. Silence reigned as they followed the drive. Finally they veered off onto a smaller, less traveled lane flanked by hedgerows.

  Claire dispelled the quiet at last. “Do you really think you’ll find ‘proof’ of Kensworth’s innocence out here?”

  “No.”

  She nodded. “I would think searching his home would prove more efficient.”

  “Are you encouraging me to violate your fiancé’s privacy?”

  Her icy gaze would have withered the staunchest flower. “Do not tell me you hadn’t already planned to do so.”

  He had intended, albeit reluctantly. Treating Kensworth in such a manner was just as distasteful to him as it was to Claire.

  “If you mean to search tonight, do be careful. One of David’s hounds sleeps outside his door. If that beast thinks you are going anywhere near the kitchen, he will follow you—and none too quietly either.”

  He didn’t want to know how she’d acquired this tidbit. Ugly images of her and Kensworth anticipating their marriage vows assaulted his mind. “How do you know that?”

  She twitched in her saddle at the sharpness of his tone. Then she laughed, a rich happy sound he hadn’t heard in far too long. “Stop looking so scandalized! Mrs. Cahill loves to complain about David, and his ‘wretched hounds’ are at the top of her list.”

  Somewhat mollified, John stared down the narrow lane. The hedgerows had tapered off, expanding his view of the property. To the right, bluebells and cowslips ran wild through an undulating meadow, a cozy combination of blue and yellow complementing the underlying green. To the left, the estate’s lifeblood sprang up, row upon row of wheat and barley. John drank in the beauty of the landscape, aware once again of how long he had been gone and what he’d missed. Not just his family, but his country.

  Claire recalled his attention. “Kensworth apologized and said Allerton and I couldn’t come for dinner tonight as the two of you have plans. Where are you going?”

  She was too astute. “Claire…”

  “I will be at Bellemere, for heaven’s sake! I don’t intend to follow you. Do you give me no credit for having any sense?”

  “I know you have sense,” he said softly, “but I also know how passionately loyal you are to Kensworth. You won’t let sense keep you from defending him.”

  A frustrated groan slipped from her throat. “I know he is not capable of whatever you suspect him of.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. If you don’t know what I suspect him of, how can you know if he’s capable of it or not?”

  “Then tell me your suspi
cions.”

  Now John grunted in frustration. “You are persistent as well as loyal. But so am I. I’ve already promised I will do my best to clear your fiancé. I don’t want him to be involved any more than you do.”

  “You’ve said as much,” she said in a musing tone. “Why is that?”

  Because I don’t want you hurt by the scandal. “Because, under vastly different circumstances, I think Kensworth and I might have been friends.” That was the truth, just not the whole of it.

  Claire tugged on the reins, halting her horse. John had to do the same.

  “Yes. Yes, I can see that.” She smiled, but there was a touch of melancholy in the curve. “John, I have every intention of keeping quiet as long as you allow me to watch out for his character.” Her spine sagged ever so slightly. “And keeping that secret from him, I’ll have you know, makes me feel guilty. But,” she added on a sigh, “if I did betray you to him, I would feel just as guilty.”

  Fingers of warmth spread through his chest. Poor Claire, caught between the two of them. But perhaps she knew more that could aid him. “Did you know he is involved with a radical club?”

  She cocked her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. “Radical? He mentioned a club, but I thought it harmless enough.”

  “I do not think it is. Even if he has nothing to do with what I’m investigating, I fear his membership in that club could damage his reputation, both politically and socially.”

  Resting her hands in her lap, the reins slack between her fingers, Claire nodded. “He is a bit naïve about Society. He hasn’t lived under the ton’s scrutiny for long. I don’t think he even begins to comprehend how they think and what they are capable of.” She tightened her grip on the reins and inched her mare forward, closer to John’s bay. “Could you please talk to him? He has worked so hard to make a name for himself in Parliament, and I know he only wants to help those who begin life where he did.”