A Spy's Honor

by Russell, Charlotte

  “Hmm. Yes, it’s probably for the best that you are here,” Allerton mused as he rocked up on his toes. “You’ve undoubtedly played a part in this.”

  Claire shot her brother-in-law a panicked glare. Not only was such a comment unfeeling toward Stephen, but this was not the way she wanted John to find out. He’d hardly been home at all since he got back from Hertfordshire. He’d not been at dinner or breakfast; he couldn’t know what had transpired between her and the viscount.

  John looked even more confused, which Claire found charming because he was usually so aware of what was going on.

  “I don’t think blame need be assigned,” Stephen said. “What is meant to be was meant to be.”

  Claire’s heart pinched. So pragmatic.

  “May I ask for what I am to blame?” John looked around, his gaze lingering overlong on Claire.

  She’d not spoken thus far, and she wasn’t about to start now. Of course, she should be the one to tell him, but she would rather have told him in private where his reaction wouldn’t be so…public. Allerton and Emily seemed to have faded to the back of the room, and Clair’s muscles tensed painfully. Please let the dowager speak up. She’s always so compassionate, so calm, so motherly.

  “Claire and I have decided to end our engagement,” Stephen finally said in a rush.

  Claire waited for John’s reaction. And waited. John’s eyes seemed unusually large behind his spectacles. A smile would be nice to see. Just a small one. Actually, any reaction would be good. She might strangle him if he pulled into his shell like a turtle and showed no emotion whatever. Of course, it wasn’t as if she needed to marry anyway. She knew she would always be welcome to stay with Allerton and Emily.

  John turned to Stephen, his hands linked behind his back. “I am sorry to hear of your decision.”

  He was looking at Stephen, not her. His words were polite and ever so correct. There was no faulting his manners—

  She didn’t give a fig about manners at the moment. She wanted to see a sign, an expression, some sort of action on John’s part to indicate he cared at all about this revelation. But, nothing. No one had moved since the gentlemen entered the room, so Claire took it upon herself to break up the frozen tableau. She retreated to the far side of the too small chamber and rearranged the perfectly arranged flowers.

  Thus occupied, she finally broke her silence. She wanted it understood that her loyalty remained unchanged. “Stephen and I intend to maintain a strong bond of friendship. We are gathered here to devise a plan to protect his reputation.”

  As Claire continued mauling the lilies in an effort to avoid looking at John, she heard Emily’s skirts swish. “Allerton thinks the scandal could be substantial,” came the remark.

  At Allerton’s nod, Stephen sank into a wing chair and crossed his Hessians at the ankle. “I, however, am confident of weathering any reproach.”

  Claire wanted to strangle him. Society could not be so easily charmed.

  “Of course the family will support the both of you,” Allerton asserted. “If you remain friends and comport yourselves appropriately”—here he directed a pointed stare at John—“then I imagine the ton will move on to the next on-dit with all due speed.”

  Unable to restrain herself any longer, Claire looked at John, who’d been silent for some minutes now. He was still standing, his gaze unfocused as if his mind was occupied elsewhere.

  At his brother’s rebuke, which was evident to one and all, he focused on Claire. She worked at keeping her expression neutral. She’d never received the reaction, any kind of reaction, she had wished for. Blast the man and his reticence.

  He looked at the ladies and said, with all the emotion of a tree trunk, “I will do anything I can to cushion the blow to our family and to our friend.” He nodded at Stephen. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend.”

  He bowed toward Claire. Before he turned, she thought she saw a glint of…something in his sapphire eyes.

  Did his lips curve upward the slightest bit?

  She was undoubtedly mistaken.

  Most likely wrong.

  Her imagination was entirely too unruly.

  Her stomach fluttered nonetheless as the door closed after him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Kangleys’ ball was the last place Claire wanted to be that night. Oh to be snuggled up in her bed, a fire blazing, warm and reading a book. Even a depressingly unrealistic happily-ever-after like Pride and Prejudice would be a pleasant alternative to the affected friendliness of the crowd she was about to join. However, here she stood, ready to battle the gossipmongers in defense of Stephen.

  Dressed in her finest gown, a deep emerald silk overlaid with silver netting, she waited at the top of the Kangleys’ elegant staircase with Allerton, her sister, and the dowager. She’d not seen John since their awkward morning meeting, and indeed she counted herself fortunate that no one in the family had mentioned his name. Not even Emily. Claire wouldn’t have been surprised if her sister had offered to drive her and John to Gretna Green herself, but she’d been grateful Emily kept her thoughts to herself. For now. No one in this family ever kept silent for long.

  Except John. And she could only hope he would occupy himself with spying all night long as she needed to concentrate on preserving Stephen’s good name.

  The dowager duchess squeezed Claire’s arm and Claire braved a smile as they descended the stairs into the glittering, happy crowd. Soon now, Emily would whisper the devastating news into a well-chosen ear and rumors of Claire and Stephen’s break would travel around the room faster than the name of a fashionable modiste.

  The family moved as one, like a gaggle of geese, off to one side of the ballroom.

  “We are all agreed that Claire should not be left alone tonight,” Emily said, glancing around the circle for signs of confirmation from everyone.

  “Certainly,” Allerton agreed. “A member of the family will always be by her side.”

  Feeling a trifle suffocated Claire said, “Please do not worry overmuch about me. This is my choice, and I will live with whatever opprobrium these people heap on me. I only want to make certain Kensworth faces no censure, and I ask for your assistance in that endeavor most of all.”

  “We can achieve acceptance for you and Kensworth,” Emily vowed. “I have not spent the past five years socializing with the ton without gaining some influence, and tonight I plan to use every ounce I have earned.” She looked to Claire and lifted her sandy eyebrows. “Are you ready?”

  Claire nodded. “We should begin before Stephen arrives.”

  The dowager duchess tilted her silver-coifed head. “Excellent notion. Your friendly greeting of him will count for much.”

  Emily linked her arm through Allerton’s. “We’re off then.”

  The duke winked affectionately at Claire; then he and her sister turned away. That left the dowager staring at Claire as if waiting expectantly for her to need comforting.

  She was grateful for her family’s love, but they were making her nervous. If the dowager duchess didn’t still have hold of her arm, Claire would be wringing her hands. The diversion of a dance would be nice. But which available gentleman might be open to a broad hint for—

  “Good evening, Mother, Lady Claire.”

  John stood beside the dowager, his blue eyes fixated on Claire. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.

  My, but he looked wonderful. His black evening kit fit his lean build perfectly, and Claire couldn’t help but notice how well his silver-embroidered waistcoat matched her gown. They would make a fine pair on the dance floor. Except that she was supposed to be concentrating on Kensworth and herself and guarding their respective reputations.

  An unholy gleam lit John’s gaze. “I may be risking life and limb to ask this again, but would you care to dance, my lady?”

  “Son, I hardly think…,” the dowager began.

  John ignored her, his attention on Claire unwavering.

 
It was just a dance. One dance would prove nothing about either her honor or Stephen’s. So, why shouldn’t she? She wanted a distraction.

  She wanted to dance with John.

  “I would love to,” she replied.

  His answering smile glimmered brighter than the room’s hundreds of candles, sending a warm frisson through her belly.

  But, Do be careful with your wayward imagination, Claire. It is just a dance.

  Knowing he had been caught off guard once already, Claire slid close. “John,” she whispered, “Emily is spilling the news of my broken engagement as we speak.”

  He tilted his head toward her. “Is Kensworth here?”

  “Not yet. When he does arrive, we are going to make a point of showing our continued friendship.”

  John nodded, and then they were on the dance floor, joining the line of a country dance.

  As they faced each other and began twirling and spinning around, he smiled at her again. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  Claire tried to take the compliment with the regal dignity her sister would have displayed, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgment, but soon she found herself grinning like a fool. He had asked her to dance as soon as he arrived! Surely that must be a sign of his intentions.

  They promenaded, skipped and whirled across the oak floor. John’s gaze, shining as brilliantly as any sapphire, focused on her and her alone. For once Claire freed herself to bask in his attention, even allowing herself to enjoy the tingle that raced up her arm every time he took her hand. The absence of guilt was its own aphrodisiac, and she started at the mental acknowledgment that she would gladly follow him to any darkened corner to engage in one of those passionate kisses they shared.

  Instead, as the dance ended, he offered to fetch her a refreshment. Claire accepted, flushing at her wayward thoughts. She was not succeeding in keeping her emotions tempered, and perhaps that would do more harm than good.

  A few people eyed her critically as she waited for him to return, but no one slighted her.

  He handed her a glass of champagne, and she followed him to a quieter corner of the room.

  “Did you know there is to be a special performance of Macbeth next week at Covent Garden?” he asked out of the blue.

  “No, I didn’t. Macbeth is one of my favorites.” How she would love to see it with John. “I suppose it’s to be on the anniversary of Shakespeare’s death?”

  He nodded, but his clenched jaw and thinned lips didn’t exactly declare excitement about the event. She’d thought he liked Shakespeare as much as she did.

  He tipped his head down and caught her gaze. “If circumstances were different, I would have gladly escorted you. But as it stands”—he paused and a small sigh escaped—“I must concentrate on other matters.”

  His mission. Claire searched his face, this time noting the strain pulling at the corners of his eyes. Things must not be going well.

  “Are you no closer to…?” She didn’t even know what to ask. All she knew was that a peer—she still would not believe it was Kensworth—was planning something dreadful.

  John shook his head and stepped even further from the crowd. When Claire followed, he raked his hand through his hair and spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I cannot discover what Stretton was doing in Wanstead. I know he met briefly with Lord Romford, but was he plotting against the government or simply doing something private that he doesn’t want anyone to know about?”

  Claire clasped her hands, resisting the urge to smooth the anxiety from his face. When was the last time John had done something for the pleasure of it? He’d told her he worked incessantly on the Continent to stave off loneliness. Now he’d returned to his family but the government still had him working, apparently alone, on a dangerous plot.

  “I will find out what Stretton was up to,” she volunteered. After all, she’d found out where he was. What were a few more details if she could glean them from similar sources?

  “No, I didn’t mean for—”

  She smiled up at him, trying to look confident and positive. “You needn’t work alone, John. I will be nothing but circumspect, and I will have your answer soon. Besides, it will be better if we separate. I am still looking out for Kensworth. You concentrate on…whatever else you need to do.”

  “Claire.” He was attempting to look stern and forbidding but was failing completely. If anything, she would say that hope had returned to those blue, blue eyes. And he needed her help.

  “If we solve your mystery soon enough, perhaps you can escort me to Macbeth.”

  John said nothing. Looking up, she found him gazing hungrily down at her, that delicious, familiar streak of longing blazing through his eyes. Claire was lost in the heat of his gaze. She could barely breathe, let alone think—until he suddenly focused on something across the room.

  He straightened, assumed a more dispassionate air and said, “Kensworth has arrived.”

  Claire took a sip of her champagne, swallowing past the small lump of guilt which had once again situated itself in her throat. She had assigned herself a number of duties this night, and swooning at John’s feet had not been among them.

  She glanced toward the ballroom entrance before turning back to John and saying, in reluctant dismissal, “Thank you for the dance.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Shall I escort you over to him?”

  “Y-yes. Please.”

  She’d not wanted to make the walk through the crowd alone but hadn’t wanted to impose on John. Since he offered, she slipped her hand onto his black wool sleeve, and as they delved through the crowd, Claire took a deep breath and held her head high.

  Again, she felt only the slightest bit of censure from those they passed, but she was far more concerned about Stephen. His standing in Society, while generally positive, was still tenuous.

  Claire involuntarily tightened her grip on John’s arm, and John glanced down at her. She looked straight ahead, gritting her teeth, feeling as if she had been trapped in a corner by a bear. The last thing she wanted was everyone to think she had thrown Stephen over for him, even if that were true. She just wanted to live her life in private.

  Emily was already speaking to Stephen, her eyes sparkling, and as Claire and John drew up the two gentlemen bowed their heads to each other. Then John retreated, but not before giving Claire’s elbow a reassuring squeeze. Oddly, the action made her toes tingle.

  She held out her hands and smiled. “Kensworth, how glad I am you came!”

  It was good to see him, and she would do everything to make certain he came through this situation unscathed. He was one of the very best men she knew.

  ***

  John stood a fair distance away from the ballroom’s grand staircase, but because of his height he had no trouble viewing the initial encounter between Claire and Kensworth.

  He wasn’t out of place in observing the tableau; almost everyone in the room had their eyes trained on the formerly affianced couple’s greeting.

  Some amongst the crowd might be scoffing at the scene, claiming it to be entirely false, but John could see that despite its staged appearance the affection between the couple remained natural.

  He didn’t begrudge them their friendship. More than anything he was grateful they were just friends and nothing more. No longer betrothed. Someday, he hoped they could all be friends.

  Although, he meant to be more than friends with Claire. He’d unobtrusively begun his courtship by asking her to dance. Their intermingled families made his plan that much easier to undertake. No one could whisper about the gallantry of a brother-in-law dancing with a sister-in-law. Which was good. He wanted neither to be seen as the knave who had broken apart an engagement, nor did he wish to tarnish Claire’s reputation or betray Kensworth. But he wanted to court her as she deserved, as he’d intended when he first returned to London, to give her the romance, the flowers, the love tokens she’d always craved. He hadn’t romanced her the first time—not that there had been time—and
neither had Kensworth.

  But, first things first. His duty was to prevent the prime minister’s assassination.

  The crowd had begun to lose interest in the uneventful meeting of Lady Claire and Lord Kensworth, and John wandered away, his mind straying to the conversation he’d had with her. He worried about Claire pursuing Stretton—and yet he appreciated her help. Appreciated the feeling of proffered companionship more than she would probably ever know.

  He lifted a glass of champagne off a passing tray and spotted Kensworth striding through the crowd alone, so John made his way over. When he’d heard the news this morning he had tempered his reaction in order to spare the viscount. What he had to say now was best done in private.

  “Kensworth. It’s good to see you. Might I have a word on the terrace?”

  “Lord John.” The blond Viking nodded solemnly and strode to the nearest door, leaving John to follow.

  The night was chilly and a fine mist dampened the flagstones of the small terrace. No one else had seen fit to venture outside.

  Kensworth turned to John, his hands linked behind his blue coat. He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  A more enthusiastic greeting might have made John’s duty easier. Nevertheless, some things must be said. “I wish to apologize. For you and Claire to end your—”

  “You are not sorry in the least to see the end of my engagement,” Kensworth said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

  John sighed. “No, I’m not, but I am sorry for any pain you’ve endured. I did not set out to hurt you, and if I thought you—” He cut himself off, afraid to pour salt into Kensworth’s wound.

  The viscount spread his feet and glared. “If you thought I what? Finish your thought. Don’t spare me.”

  John stared off into the rain-cloaked night, unsure how far to go. It wasn’t as if he could reasonably maintain any hope of having Kensworth as a friend if he ended up marrying Kensworth’s ex-fiancée, so he blew out a foggy breath and said, “If I thought you loved her more than I do.”