Eloquence and Espionage (8 page)

Acantha sniffed, nose in the air. “They’re
still marrying beneath them. That
is
a fact.”

“At least,” Ariadne said, “they’re
marrying.”

Acantha colored. Hanging her head so that
her bun of lank brown hair stood out behind her, she heaved a
prodigious sigh. “This Season has been brutal. All the best
gentlemen have already been captured.” She eyed Mr. Cunningham as
if just now noticing him. “And what of you, sir? I suppose you will
tell me you’re to be married as well.”

Mr. Cunningham angled his head to look
around her at Ariadne. “Alas, no, Miss Dalrymple. I had an
opportunity to advance my case with a most presentable young lady,
and I regret that I squandered it on idle chit chat.”

Did he mean her? Had he returned her
feelings after all? Oh, why did her heart persist in beating
faster? Perhaps she’d misunderstood his comments last night.
Perhaps he’d merely been indulging in gossip or saying what he
thought he ought. How was she to know? She searched his gaze and
found only earnest entreaty.

Acantha went so far as to pat him on the
arm. “Happens to us all,” she assured him. Then she fluttered her
lashes. “Though I’m certain any lady would be delighted to receive
your call.”

He stepped back, forcing her to drop her
arm. “Which reminds me. I have other calls I must make. Again, Miss
Courdebas, my heartfelt congratulations. I only hope our paths
might cross again under more conducive circumstances.” He hurried
over to pay his respects to Daphne and Lady Rollings.

Acantha humphed. “All taken,” she muttered,
rubbing absently at her graceful skirts.

Ariadne straightened. “Nonsense. Why, I
would wager there are at least half a dozen Eligibles in this room
at the moment.” She seized Acantha by the shoulders and gave her a
push toward the nearest group. “By all means, go find one.”

Before Acantha could vacillate, Ariadne
grabbed Emily’s arm and drew her over to the gilded marble hearth.
The three gentlemen there made room for them with welcoming
smiles.

“Carry on,” Ariadne told them. “Don’t mind
us.” She purposefully turned her back on their frowns of
confusion.

Emily shook her head. “This is madness. I
will never understand boys.”

“I quite agree. Truly, this would all be
very amusing if Sinclair really had offered for me instead of
claiming a false engagement to throw his nemesis off the
scent.”

“And can we be certain the ruse worked?”
Emily asked. “Do we know his quarry is satisfied that you are no
threat to him?”

Ariadne stiffened. Indeed, with the whole
betrothal story playing out, she had given no thought to the man
who had attacked her in Hyde Park. Lord Hawksbury had seemed sure
the betrothal would deflect all suspicion of her activities, but
how could she be certain she was still not a target? She glanced
around the room again, thought through the faces of the visitors
who had called earlier. There had been several dark-haired men
among them, including both Freddie and Archie. Could either of them
be the spy Lord Hawksbury sought? And how would that spy react now,
once he heard that Ariadne and Lord Hawksbury were apparently
becoming one?

Did a smiling face around her mask the heart
of a villain?

Sinclair had an important engagement before
he could call on Ariadne that day. His father wasn’t the only one
who needed to hear of his betrothal from Sinclair himself. And so,
at a discreet hour of the afternoon, he paid a visit to
Whitehall.

Many in Society were aware that the Marquis
of Hastings held some position in government. Certainly they knew
princes and Parliamentarians alike sought his council. A chosen few
understood that he led an elite cadre of gentlemen intelligence
agents recruited from among the aristocracy, who relayed all manner
of suspicious activities occurring in the very cream of Society.
And only Lord Hastings knew who exactly served in his employ.

Sinclair still remembered when the marquis
had approached him. He’d been fresh out of school, his enthusiasm
for joining the world tempered by his father’s decline and refusal
to allow him to fight. Already two of his friends had died on a
battlefield in Spain. Was he fit for nothing but the gaming tables
at White’s?

Though he’d been invited to play at the
high-stakes game at the famous gentlemen’s club that night, he’d
refused, taking himself to the bow window where Brummell had once
passed judgment on passersby. Gazing out into the night of St.
James’s, where gas light cast golden puddles on the pavement, he’d
seen only darkness ahead of him.

“Moment of your time, Hawksbury?” Lord
Hastings had said, seating himself opposite before Sinclair could
even acknowledge him. “I have a proposition for you.”

Though Sinclair’s answer had thrust his life
further into the shadows, he had never regretted accepting his
lordship’s offer or the adventures it had provided. He only
regretted he hadn’t been successful this time.

Captain Randolph, a tall, blond fellow with
a square chin, led Sinclair immediately into a spacious suite
hidden in a back corner of the impressive government building. As
the captain went to stand behind the desk, head high in his Oxford
blue regimentals, Hastings looked up from some papers before him
and waved Sinclair closer. Anyone looking at him would hardly
consider him dangerous in his dapper brown coat and gold-shot
waistcoat. With thick, short-cropped hair and a bristling mustache
turned to gray, he seemed more likely to be found reading a paper
at his favorite club than directing the destiny of the nation. But
those deep-set brown eyes were shrewd, his energy
indefatigable.

“Report,” his superior barked as Sinclair
came to a stop in front of the claw-foot walnut desk.

He kept his gaze on the white paneling over
his lordship’s shoulder. “Still no luck identifying our French
assailant.”

Hastings leaned back in his chair, drawing
Sinclair’s attention to his face. Were those new lines around his
mobile mouth? Was this assignment even more important than Sinclair
had thought?

“No further sightings?” Hastings pressed.
“No murmurs among the
ton
?”

“Nothing since the attack on Ariadne
Courdebas,” Sinclair assured him.

The slightest crease appeared in Captain
Randolph’s broad forehead. Did he know something Sinclair had
failed to discover?

“And Miss Courdebas?” Hastings asked as if
the topic held no more interest than the current weather. “How does
she fit in all this?”

He was too canny by half. Hastings was ever
observing, gauging reactions, sensing emotions. The least movement
would speak volumes.

“I am convinced she is an innocent,”
Sinclair replied, holding himself steady and calm. “I have seen
nothing, heard nothing that would tell me otherwise.”

Hastings did not respond. As the silence
stretched, Sinclair saw Captain Randolph swallow. Sinclair couldn’t
stop the question. “Have you?”

“Not a bit,” Hastings confirmed readily.
“I’ve only met the girl twice this Season with her family, but she
strikes me as level-headed and wise beyond her years.”

Sinclair relaxed. “I am under the same
impression.”

“And that is no doubt why you felt it
incumbent to betroth yourself to the girl.”

Sinclair shook his head, chuckle bubbling
up. “Perhaps you should discharge me, my lord, for you are the
second person to admit to knowing news I thought unknown to
most.”

Hastings rose. “Nothing is a secret on the
ton
. You simply need to know who to ask.” He waved a hand.
“Sit down, Hawksbury. I’m not going to discharge you. You have the
makings of a fine intelligence agent. And, given the situation with
Miss Courdebas, I might have done the same as you.”

Sinclair allowed himself to sink onto the
hard wood chair on his side of the desk. Hastings paced back and
forth on the other side.

“I have been made privy to certain actions
within the halls of government,” he told Sinclair, hands clasped
behind his back, “and I believe I know the spy’s target, if not the
victim’s identity.”

So that’s what he’d missed. His mind sorted
through possibilities, considered every angle. “Lord Rollings?” he
asked. “Ariadne’s father?”

Hastings paused, glancing at him with raised
brow. “An astute guess, but no. While he is an avid supporter in
Parliament, he isn’t connected to the War Office.”

“The War Office.” Sinclair edged forward in
his seat. “Then this possible attack has something to do with our
strategy against Napoleon.”

Hastings commenced pacing again, as if his
energy could not be confined to his desk or even this room. “That I
am not at liberty to say. What I have surmised is that the
gentleman in danger is someone of great importance to the
government, most likely a member of the House of Lords, whose
advice underpins many decisions concerning our relations with
France.”

Sinclair rose slowly to his feet. “My lord,
if your life is in danger, you must take steps to protect
yourself.”

Hastings waved his hand again. “Not me. I
like to think I’ve left such a muddy trail that France cannot tell
whether I’m coming or going. And neither can I.” His eyes twinkled.
“There are a handful of men who fit that description, and most are
well aware of the dangers inherent in their positions. I have
alerted them each to be cautious.”

His heart sank. Once more, everything had
been dealt with, by someone else.

“Then what would you have me do, my lord?”
he asked.

Hastings narrowed his eyes. “Each of our
prospective targets moves in the same circles as the Courdebas
family. Stick close to your betrothed, Hawksbury. She may lead us
to our villain yet.”

*

The clock in the entry way struck two and
then half past, with no sign of Ariadne’s supposedly devoted
groom-to-be. So much for her newfound power to command men. She was
only glad she had never mentioned the appointment to her mother or
Daphne. As it was, they made sure to usher every caller out by
three. Even Emily excused herself. Ariadne did not have to be told
why. Her mother said it for her as she closed the withdrawing room
door behind them.

“We have a great many things to do if we’re
to be ready for Almack’s tonight.”

As if she weren’t all too aware that “we”
did not include her.

Given all the fuss today, she’d half
expected a voucher to arrive, addressed to Lord Hawksbury’s
betrothed, of course. For Almack’s, she was ready to make
concessions.

“Perhaps it is a blessing Daphne was granted
the voucher instead of you,” her mother said as they climbed the
stairs to the chamber story. “After all, you are betrothed now. You
have no need to search for a husband.”

“Lucky you,” Daphne muttered.

And Ariadne could not tell her sister she
felt the same way.

Oh, but this was maddening! She nearly
slammed the door of her bedchamber behind her. She couldn’t
remember a time without Daphne at her side. Daphne, the exuberant;
Daphne the daring. Daphne who tended to say the first thing that
came to her mind. That trait alone made her a poor choice for
confidences, much less secrets of international import.

And how many times had she wished herself
brave enough or pretty enough to step out from Daphne’s shadow?
Here was her chance! Why did she feel so guilty in taking it?

No, she would be happy her sister had this
opportunity to dance the night away at the most exclusive club in
London, the only club run by and devoted to the ladies. She would
hope Daphne attracted the perfect suitor: kind, clever, handsome,
wealthy. She kept her smile bright through dinner with her parents
and sister, wished them all farewell from the entry way as they
headed for the carriage in their finery, lamplight setting their
jewels to sparkling. As their butler Pattison closed the door, she
felt as if the night air wrapped around her, darkening the glow
from the chandelier.

A good book, that’s what she needed. Perhaps
she’d reread
Pride and Prejudice
for the fourth time. She
wanted to determine how the anonymous author made her readers part
of the story and left them longing for more. Surely reading great
writing would make her a better writer. She was painfully aware
that her journal had been calling for hours.

But she hadn’t even reached the top of the
stairs before the knocker sounded, echoing through the house. She
turned and glanced back as Pattison went to answer.

“Lord Hawksbury to see Miss Courdebas,” his
lordship announced, striding past the butler into the entry. The
swirl of his tweed greatcoat seemed to invite adventure inside with
him. The light glowed on his dark hair as he pulled off his top
hat.

“I regret that Lord and Lady Rollings and
Miss Courdebas have left for the evening,” Pattison said, eying him
with obvious disapproval.

“Not that Miss Courdebas,” Ariadne declared,
descending. “This one.” She stepped down onto the marble tiles.
“It’s all right, Pattison. Lord Hawksbury and I are betrothed.”

Her butler turned his fish-eyed gaze her
way. Everything about Pattison always seemed too much. His
powdered-wig added inches to his already impressive height. His
skin hung in jowls about his narrow mouth. His black coat seemed to
have been cut for a larger man, dripping in folds around his
figure. Now his pale skin was beginning to turn red, as if he was
highly disturbed that she might question his decision. Had her
mother neglected to inform the staff of Ariadne’s change in
circumstance, or had the august butler simply refused to believe
the tale?

“I’m certain Mother would expect me to
receive him,” Ariadne continued, reaching for Lord Hawksbury’s arm.
“Will you have refreshments sent to the withdrawing room?”