Luke’s brows peaked in pretend interest. “I’d be curious to learn what you give him in return.”
“Oh, Johnny would do anything for me. He’s followed at my skirts since we were children. But he’s a vicar’s son. We would have never suited. I am sure you know how close friends can be useful for all sorts of things.”
Luke nodded. “Mm-hmm. I will keep that in mind.”
“But don’t tell Holland I’ve told you. He doesn’t like that I still keep in touch with him.”
Luke winked. “Our little secret, remember?”
She smiled mischievously. “I’ve given you something. Now what can you give me in return?”
“I am sure I can come up with something worth your time,” he said. “But it will have to wait. I should return to my wife. Being so newly married….” He let his voice trail off and shrugged, hoping Lady Holland would fill in the rest with whatever she wanted.
“I understand completely, my lord. I suspect in the coming weeks we might have a chance to dance again?”
He nodded, though he had zero intention of ever repeating this interlude. “I will be certain to find you.”
Their dance ended and he returned Lady Holland to her husband, hoping her heated stares went unnoticed as he removed himself from their company. He’d gained what he needed from Lady Holland, and in the process likely offended his new wife with his attentions to the viscountess. He hadn’t seen another way. He’d needed to know how she knew. It worked in his favor to know who could be bribed in key offices around the country, but there was no way to explain that to Vivian without explaining everything. He could come up with something that resembled the truth; not an outright lie, but a smearing of the facts.
Vivian was shaking by the time he found her, the tremble in her hand unapparent to anyone who was not paying close attention. But Luke was paying attention, and he saw how rattled she was by whatever reunion he had witnessed from across the ballroom. A previous lover? Relative? Did she owe him money?
Don’t be an idiot, Luke told himself, smiling at something Norah said, but watching Vivian’s smile pull tight and false across her lips.
He bent towards Vivian, brushing her ear with his lips. “You seem distressed. Is everything all right?”
Vivian nodded. “Never better.”
If he didn’t lie for a living, he might have believed her.
He nodded towards the empty glass between her fingers. “Would you like another glass of champagne? Or a dance?”
Her eyes drifted past him and he fought the urge to turn and glare at whatever had caught her attention, whoever it was that caused her distress.
“A dance.” She set her champagne flute on the tray of a passing server.
He offered his arm, and Vivian rested her hand lightly against the crook of his elbow as he led her towards where couples were standing up for what appeared to be a cotillion.
He’d have rather waltzed with his wife, as a waltz afforded a more private interlude, as private as two could be in the middle of a ballroom. But the cotillion did its job at distracting Vivian from whatever had bothered her, and the lines of worry eased from her brow with each pass in the dance.
“I say, have you seen the unfortunate nest of curls at the top of Lady Danbury’s head?” Luke whispered as they came together, nodding his head in the direction of the offending lady.
Vivian’s lips curled into a smile as she glanced in the direction of his gaze.
“They say she hides all her secrets in there.”
Vivian fought the smile that overcame her, her eyes glistening in delight.
“And Mr. Kilbourne has unfortunately managed to match his wife, again.” Luke sent a sharp glance to the man dressed in buff breeches and a tan coat, his vest an unfortunate shade of mustard, identical to the yellow gown the woman on his arm was wearing.
Vivian snickered and looked away.
Luke then nodded to the clumsy gentleman a few couples down from their position in the dance. “And I do believe that young Mr. Gray had managed to wear two left shoes this evening.”
“He did not,” Vivian said under her breath, straining to see Mr. Gray’s feet around the dancers.
“I believe he was distracted by the prospect of seeing a certain lady again,” Luke added, as Mr. Gray tripped over his two left shoes, nearly toppling into the girl.
“Luke, you are positively wicked!”
Luke grinned as the liveliness returned to her eyes. If she wouldn’t share her problems, at least he was able to cheer her up.
Their dance ended and they made a bow with the others along their lines.
“Don’t look, but Mr. Dennison has just mistaken the Ludsley twin he is courting for her sister,” Vivian said.
Luke turned to watch poor Mr. Dennison realize his mistake but Vivian jerked on his sleeve. “I said don’t look!”
“Then how am I supposed to see something on the other side of the room?”
“Look with your eyes, but don’t turn you head,” she said. “From the edges of your vision you should see them.”
Her words had a haunting ring to them. It was something he’d been instructed to do before. He did as told, noting the red-faced Mr. Dennison without turning his head.
The next dance began, again not a waltz, and he moved with her through the steps, wondering about what she had said.
“That’s a curious talent,” he said as they came together. “Wherever did you learn to watch someone without looking at them?”
She turned and made a little step in the dance. “It was a silly game my father used to play with us. Seeing things without looking at them.” Her eyes rolled skyward just slightly.
It was a specific skill her father had taught her. More appropriate for his line of work than that of a mere baron.
The steps brought them together again. “Your father sounds like a fascinating chap. What was he like? A farm boy at heart or did he love to travel?”
“My father rarely left the Abbey.” The warmth of her smile reached her eyes as the memories filled her gaze. “The furthest he ever went was London. Or Cardiff.”
No travel meant he was likely not a spy. He could have friends, brothers?
“Why have you remained at the Abbey?” he asked, though he knew it was an indelicate query. Luckily Vivian wasn’t offended.
“Mother wanted to stay. My Uncle Ducky offered for us to live with him, but Mother and Ducky never got on. She preferred to stay at the Abbey.”
“You two are an admirable pair. Most ladies would have withered under such circumstances. You bloomed.”
Her eyes lit with something he had not expected, though whether it was his comment or just the night in general, or simply their inexplicable attraction to each other, he wasn’t sure. He found himself grow warm under her prurient stare.
“Husband,” she said to him as their dance ended. A jolt of warmth shot through him at the sound of that title on her lips. Despite being married once before, Luke had never been called such. He was surprised to find he liked it.
“Yes, Wife?” He was careful not to let the extent of the affection he felt seep into his tone.
She lifted her head to regard him, her long dark lashes batting over her green eyes. “We were married just this morning, were we not?”
“Was it this morning? Sometimes it seems like it should be much longer.”
Vivian’s gaze burned into his, filling with a desire he had been suppressing all day.
“Well, as it is our wedding night, might we quit these lovely festivities early? I think I might like to see what the fuss about wedding nights is all about.”
Heat flooded his blood, dousing him in a wave of awareness. His mouth refused to work properly— him, Lord Luke Macalister, master of the witty and amusing, known to charm a lady with just a smile, a wink, and a flash of the dimple, was struck dumb by the mere suggestion of bedding his wife.
Without a word, he turned them towards the quickest exit.
And
nearly trampled the notoriously nosy Barfield matron, and two of her daughters. He had been coerced into dancing with a Barfield daughter on occasion, and they were bearable individually. It was when they were compounded with their mother that the irritation began to burn.
Mrs. Barfield dipped into a curtsy. “Lord Kenswick, it is lovely to see you again. My daughters, Marianne and Annabelle.”
The two red-headed ladies dipped into quick curtsies.
“Good evening,” Luke said as pleasantly as he could manage. The Barfields were notorious husband hunters. A few had even managed to snag a titled gentleman. Though if the rumors were to be believed, it had not been done by honest means.
Mrs. Barfield’s gaze barely left Luke for a second to regard Vivian. “I’d not known you’d returned to town.”
Luke felt himself puff up with his own importance, to say something on his new bride’s behalf, but his ire was quickly defeated.
Vivian smiled politely. “Hello, Aunt Dorothea. It’s lovely to see you again.”
Good heaven above, Luke thought to himself. He’d managed to marry into the Barfield family?
“A pleasure.” Mrs. Barfield nose scrunched up. “Your mother is well?”
“She is, last we saw her,” Vivian stated, setting her hand on Luke’s bicep. Mrs. Barfield’s gaze snapped to the motion, her eyes narrowing.
“She chose to remain in whatever shire she went off to?”
“Herefordshire,” Luke and Vivian both responded at the same time.
“Probably wise of my sister,” Mrs. Barfield stated, looking away from Vivian’s hand wrapped around Luke’s arm. “Town does not suit her.”
“I’m not sure it is London that does not suit, or if simply Mother is no longer interested.”
“Then she won’t attend your Uncle Ducksworth’s house party?”
Vivian had no recollection of her mother mentioning any invitation from her Uncle Ducky, though it was possible she’d received one and simply not thought it worth mentioning. “I imagine she would not.”
Mrs. Barfield looked Luke up and down. “I see you’ve managed to nab yourself an earl?”
“Just this morning, in fact,” Luke replied, covering Vivian’s hand on his arm with his own, pulling her a tad closer.
“That seems awfully… sudden,” Miss Barfield stated.
Vivian glanced at Luke, her eyes twinkling with such warmth it made him pause. “Well, it felt right.”
“Seems unfair you snag him before anyone else has had the chance,” Miss Annabelle grumbled under her breath, but everyone heard it nonetheless.
Mrs. Barfield sent a sharp look to her youngest daughter. “What she means to say, is we’d hoped to further make your acquaintance this season, Lord Kenswick, as you’ve just been made an earl.”
“You only wanted to know him because he was an earl?” Vivian’s brow furrowed. “He was awarded Kenswick months ago. Seems silly to wait until the season to get to know someone you technically already knew.”
Mrs. Barfield sniffed the air again, her chin lifting. “That is how it is done in polite company. Ducksworth will be expecting you to call. I imagine he’d like to meet your new husband.”
“Yes, I am sure we can arrange that,” Vivian replied.
“It was lovely to see you again, Mrs. Barfield, Miss Barfield, Miss Annabelle.” Luke nodded to each lady. “But as this is my wedding night, I can think of many more pleasurable things I’d rather be doing with my wife than attending this ball. Good evening, Madame.”
Luke’s hand fell into Vivian’s as he stepped away from the Barfields, and she came along after him, clutching her mouth to hide her laughter.
“Goodness, Luke, did you see her face?”
Luke laughed. Mrs. Barfield’s face, awash with shock and outrage, would become one of his favorite memories.
They ascended the stairs, his hand still firmly clasping hers.
“I didn’t know you were a Barfield.”
“Technically I am a Smyth. Mother and Aunt Dorothea are two of the three daughters of Alexander Smyth, the Duke of Ducksworth. The third married the Duke of Ruxton. Old Ducksworth had two sons as well, the oldest, Ronald, was without a son and died some years ago. The younger son, Victor, my Uncle Ducky, inherited.”
“Who knew your blood was so blue?”
Vivian laughed. “Even tucked into the back country, there are ties to the aristocracy.”
They arrived in the front hall and were quickly outside in the cool evening air. Soon their carriage—the one thing Luke had purchased since becoming Kenswick—rolled up, and they were on their way home.
“Kenswick House London,” Luke suggested. “For the name of our London town house.”
Vivian shook her head. “That’s a mouthful.”
Cooped up in a dark carriage with his new wife, it was difficult not to touch her. His hand remained entwined in hers as he anticipated what came next. Their wedding night.
Their ride home was spent in silence, but it was not awkward. She was opposed to spirits, but she’d had champagne at the ball. Maybe more champagne would relax her? If not, he knew more than one way to ease a woman’s fears.
Luke’s hand wrapped around her gloved hand as he helped her down from the carriage, a warm shiver racing through him as his mind went to all the things he wanted to do to her, with her. If their previous kisses were any indication of how the night would go, he hoped she’d be willing to consider doing it again. And again, and again, and again until he was out of her system or she was out of his. Either way, he might die from combustion if he could not have her.
A painful sensation swept over him, but it wasn’t arousal.
It was a sense of impending danger.
They were not alone.
Pulling his pistol from inside his coat, Luke spun Vivian around, securing her behind his back as he took aim.
Chapter Nine
Luke stared down the barrel of his pistol for a long second before he recognized the disheveled form of Adam Poppins.
“Adam?”
“For God’s sake, Luke, don’t shoot me.” Poppins took a half step back, his hands raised in defense.
Luke lowered his weapon. “What are you doing skulking about in the shadows outside my house?”
Poppins dropped his hands. “Redley is missing.”
Luke didn’t breathe for a long second before nodding. He found Vivian’s hand and tugged her along beside him, glancing each way down the deserted street.
“Hello Mr. Poppins,” Vivian said, as she followed Luke up the stairs.
“Sorry to ruin your evening, Miss Burke,” Poppins said with a nod.
“Lady Kenswick,” Luke growled, as the door opened before them, Mr. Sutton nodding to Luke as they entered. Once inside, Luke sent Mr. Sutton to show Poppins to a sitting room, turning towards Vivian.
“It seems something has happened. I need to speak with Poppins.”
Vivian nodded, her brows pinching together in worry. “I heard. Go. Talk with Poppins. I hope that Redley is all right.”
“I will be up shortly.”
Vivian didn’t argue. Her gaze searched his before she turned and moved up the stairs.
Luke watched her till she was out of sight, then hurried to where Poppins waited.
“Explain,” Luke said to his colleague as he came into the room, the door closing with a click behind him.
“It all happened so fast.” Poppins pulled a flask from his coat pocket and uncapped the top. “We were ambushed and before we knew it, Redley was gone.”
“I don’t understand. I thought the three of you had teamed up for a mission. Why were you ambushed?”
Poppins took a swig from his flask and swallowed hard. “Someone knew we were there. The only four who knew anything of our mission were Halcourt, Redley, Martin and myself. Halcourt didn’t know any details, just the principle objective. Martin…” Poppins looked away and swore to himself. “Redley shot Martin, and then disappeared, likely with the same
individuals who ambushed our mission.”
Luke shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense if Redley has turned traitor.”
Luke’s blood ran cold at the accusation. “Impossible.”
“I trusted Martin with more than my life,” Poppins spat. “I only trusted Redley because Halcourt vouched for him.”
“Redley would not turn,” Luke insisted. He refused to believe it could be true. “How do you know it wasn’t Martin?”
“Because Redley shot Martin. The man is a traitor, I tell you. Or he’s finally gone soft in the head.”
Running his hands though his hair, Luke swore and turned about in place. Were Poppins’s accusations against his best friend, his kin— his partner— remotely possible? There was only one way to find out.
He left the room in search of Mr. Sutton, who he found in the front entry.
“Sutton, since we’ve been away at the ball, has Longfield been by with anything?”
“I haven’t seen him, my lord.”
“No one else has been by? No messenger of any kind?”
“No, sir.”
Luke returned his attention to Poppins, who had followed him from the study.
Poppins’s tone was insistent, his eyes pleading. “You must know something. Where would he go? To his father’s?”
“I haven’t seen Redley since Vivian and I left Halcourt four days ago.” Luke pinched the bride of his nose. “He despises his parents but is loyal to his siblings. But he would never put them in danger.”
“Does he rent lodging in town?”
“No. He was rarely in London, and I don’t know where he stays when he is in town. I only know how to get ahold of him should I need to.”
“Then how do we get in touch with him?”
Luke watched his colleague, not willing to fully place his trust in the man. He’d never worked with Poppins directly; each of the teams who worked for Halcourt worked in pairs. He’d seemed like a nice enough chap, though a few years younger than Luke. He’d been paired with Jean-Pierre Martin since the Frenchman had emigrated to England. Martin claimed to have never agreed with Napoleon and wanted to help prevent the emperor’s reign of terror. Luke had voiced his reservations about the Frenchman when he’d joined Halcourt’s team, but Martin had been thoroughly vetted, Luke had been told, and he should keep his suspicions to himself.
The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five Page 12