A Spy's Honor (15 page)

Finally Watson spoke but didn’t play a card. “I received a letter from Trembley. Remember him? He’s in Hertfordshire. Anyway, he mentioned that Kensworth is marrying into your family. Is that true?”

“He’s marrying my sister-in-law’s sister,” John admitted. Why did things always come back around to Claire? He wasn’t safe from her anywhere in London, never mind Allerton House. Perhaps he would return to the Continent. Or find that Greek island he had told her about.

“An interesting fellow. You’ll enjoy getting to know him better.”

Watson’s tone was still friendly, but his words were all business. So…Sidmouth wanted him to focus on Kensworth? Probably only because the man was a liberal thorn in the Home Secretary’s conservative hide. John sighed. It wouldn’t be hard to investigate Kensworth, but he wasn’t going to stop looking into the other peers either. The plotter couldn’t be Kensworth. Claire would be devastated.

“You know,” Watson continued, “you might enjoy reacquainting yourself with Lord Romford. Has he got stories to tell about the last few years.”

“I’ll do that,” John agreed. So, he should find Romford sooner rather than later.

He stared at the ace of spades that he’d thrown on the table, unwilling to allow Watson to stall on the card game any longer. Once he had all the information the government wished passed along, he wanted out of the club.

“Play a card, Harry,” he commanded.

Watson finally did. “We must meet again, Lord John. It’s been such a pleasure,” he said, his sarcasm only apparent in the twist of his lips.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

John’s liaison shrugged, threw out his last card and watched John scoop up the trick. “I am here every evening.”

“Capot,”
John announced.

Absently he watched Watson finish tallying the scores. He’d taken all the tricks, scored forty bonus points, and beaten Watson soundly. He was not looking forward to more meetings with the fellow.

A frown burrowed deep on his former schoolmate’s brow. “I owe you six hundred and thirty pounds.” He slammed his fist on the table and whispered, “You never played cards at Harrow. You always claimed to hate the games!”

“It’s still true.” John picked up the paper with Watson’s vowels written on it. “However, I never said I didn’t know
how
to play. Until next time, Harry.”

Chapter Eleven

Claire passed the night huddled in a ball in the center of her bed, stomach-cramping guilt eating at her. Why hadn’t she slapped him in outrage? Had shy, undersized John turned into a rake of the highest order as he developed into a handsome man? He certainly wasn’t a man anywhere near the worth of Stephen.

She finally fell asleep as dawn neared and didn’t awaken until late in the morning. Breakfast had undoubtedly long been cleared, so she would have to see if Cook had anything she could nibble on. Forcing herself to think of Stephen and the upcoming wedding, she stepped out into the corridor, only to hear someone being reprimanded.

“How could you do this again? You are very, very naughty! What’m I to do now?”

A few yards away, one of the nursery maids was bent over Olivia, Claire’s niece, her harsh whispered words having no effect on the little girl, who stared back with wide, guileless blue eyes. What could the poor child have done to deserve such a dressing down?

Claire approached and addressed the maid. “Alice, may I be of help?”

The young servant couldn’t have looked more frustrated. Her hair had escaped not only her cap but its pins as well, poking out in all directions like spokes on a wheel while her cheeks were flushed a deep red. “Oh, my lady! Yes, please. I don’t know what to do with Lady Olivia. She won’t behave.”

Claire glanced down at her niece, whose glossy blonde curls and clasped hands portrayed innocence to perfection. Olivia was only three, but Claire knew all too well how mischievous she could be. With a care for her skirts, she sank down to the little girl’s level. “What have you done, my sweet?”

“It’s pretty and I like to look at it,” Olivia proclaimed, as if that explained everything. For her, it probably did.

“It isn’t hers!” Alice interrupted. “She nicked it, and if it’s found missing I could be in trouble.”

“Will you show it to me, Olivia?” Claire asked. “I like pretty things too.” It was probably one of Emily’s baubles. Olivia always attended her mother as she dressed.

The little girl nodded, her curls bobbing up and down, and then reached into the pocket of her pinafore. Her eyes lit with pleasure as she dangled a man’s watch in front of Claire’s face. “It’s so shiny. Look here, Auntie, see all the embossings?”

Claire couldn’t contain a smile at the new word. “Yes, the carvings are beautiful.” The gold watch had a woodland scene embossed on the front. She took it from Olivia and flipped it over. Etched on the back were the words, TO EDWARD, FROM FATHER—1769. An heirloom, but whose? “Olivia, where did you get this?”

“From Uncle John’s room.”

Of course. Edward had been the name of the previous Duke of Allerton.

“Are you certain? It could be your papa’s.”

Olivia shook her head. “It is Uncle John’s. But I think it’s pretty and I want to keep it.”

“I’m afraid you cannot keep it, sweet. It must be special to Uncle John; it’s from his father.” Claire rose and held the watch out to Alice, who recoiled as if it were poisonous.

“Oh, please, can’t you see it returned to Lord John? This isn’t the first time Lady Olivia’s taken things and I’m that afraid someone will think it’s me. I need my place here.”

Absolutely not
. Claire could not even imagine facing John right now. “Alice, Lord John would never think—”

Tears filled the maid’s eyes. “Please, my lady.”

“I’d rather you come with me, Auntie,” Olivia piped in.

Botheration! She hadn’t even had breakfast yet. But Claire couldn’t resist all the pleading. She pocketed the watch and said, “Very well. Alice, I will return Olivia to you in the nursery when we are finished.”

After fervently thanking Claire, Alice nearly ran down the passage toward the servants’ stairs. Olivia slipped her hand into Claire’s, and again Claire bent down toward her niece. “You must apologize to Uncle John and you must promise not to take things that don’t belong to you. I’m certain he would show you his watch, if you would only ask.”

Olivia nodded, her features set in a serious yet adorable expression. “I will promise. Let’s go find Uncle.”

“Wait,” Claire said. “First, we must go to the kitchens for some biscuits.”

“Why?” Olivia asked as Claire led her down the corridor.

“Because I am hungry. But also because I find, in these kinds of situations, it is best to come bearing a gift.” Or because it would give her time to settle her breathing into a normal rhythm and will away the blush that was undoubtedly coloring her cheeks.

Cook supplied them with a napkin full of raisin biscuits and the butler told them, when asked, that they could most likely find Lord John in the silver salon.

Claire ate a fortifying biscuit on the way back upstairs. Olivia chattered happily, asking question after question about Claire’s gown for the wedding. Fretting about the imminent meeting with John was impossible.

Olivia flew into the salon, shouting, “Uncle John!”

He was standing by the window, but he reacted quickly and swept the little girl up into his arms, as naturally as if he had done such things for years.

“We’ve brought biscuits,” Olivia continued, pointing at Claire. “So you won’t be angry.”

John smiled even as he turned slightly bemused eyes on her.

“They are a peace offering. From Olivia,” Claire added in a rush, lest he think they were from her. Though God only knew she needed a little peace where John was concerned.

As he walked toward her, she held out the biscuits, hoping to keep him from coming too close. With Olivia still in his arms, he took two, softly said, “Thank you,” and then sat on the sofa. He settled their niece in his lap and offered her one of the biscuits before saying, “Why do you need to make peace with me, Olivia?”

The girl slid down and approached Claire, her hand held out. Claire pulled the watch from her pocket and gave it over, all the while aware of John’s gaze upon her.

“I like your pretty watch, but Auntie Claire says I can’t keep it.”

John took the watch, and Claire noticed he wasn’t wearing a glove on his injured hand. More to the point, he wasn’t trying to hide it. Good. She admired his courage in showing himself, imperfections and all. There was a lesson there for her if she would only heed it.

“Thank you for returning it,” he was saying. “I couldn’t find it this morning. I usually wear it here.” He pointed to his green brocade waistcoat and then opened the watch and began counting the numerals for Olivia. She watched earnestly, her hands tucked away in her pinafore pockets.

John was so patient, not to mention forgiving. He would be as excellent a father as his brother was.

Claire turned away and ate another biscuit, wondering what kind of father Stephen would be. He was the one she was going to marry. Somehow a third biscuit found its way to her mouth. They too might have an adorable little blonde-haired girl. Or a sturdy boy with green eyes.

Claire looked down to find the rest of the biscuits crumbled in her fist. As she tidied the mess up into the napkin, John called her name.

“Yes?” she replied, too brightly.

“I think Olivia might have something else to return as well,” he said.

The little girl’s eyes grew wide as John pointed at one of her pockets.

Claire approached, thinking that Emily and Allerton would need to have a long talk with their daughter.

“Olivia,” she said sternly, “what else do you have?”

John had his hand waiting to receive the pilfered item as, ever so slowly, Olivia brought it out. But when Claire saw the tiny black and gold object she exclaimed, “My lace pin. Olivia, how could you?”

Her tone was harsher than she meant it to be, but the sight of that pin always did odd things to her.

Her niece burst into tears. Claire gathered her up, whispering an apology into her ear. While she soothed Olivia, John pulled the servants’ bell.

Finally, Olivia heaved one last sob and then settled down. Claire reminded herself how truly young her niece was and that the little girl probably had no idea of the significance of the items she had taken. As she’d already admitted, she merely thought they were pretty.

John crossed the room and took the child from Claire. “Olivia, would you be upset if your brother took your doll?”

The girl’s blonde curls bounced vigorously as she nodded. “He did! Just the other day. I hit him.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched, but he managed to maintain a serious expression. “Well, you had every right to be angry, but you shouldn’t hit him. When you take other people’s belongings, it upsets them.”

Olivia gazed into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” When John tilted his head toward Claire, the little girl threw herself that way, John came closer and Claire took her once again.

“I’m sorry,” the girl repeated. Then her lips turned out into a pout. “But everyone else has such shiny things!”

Claire laughed and hugged her.

A maid entered the room.

“Mary is going to take you back to the nursery, Olivia,” John said.

Claire gave the girl over reluctantly. She had wanted to return Olivia to the nursery herself, not wishing to remain here with him. Somehow she had made it this long without dwelling on the events of last night, but she didn’t know how much longer she could do so.

John returned to Claire after seeing the girl and maid out the door. Cocking his head toward the sitting area he asked, “Shall we? I asked Mary to bring up some tea. I didn’t see you at breakfast, so I thought you might want something besides biscuits.”

Times like these made her wonder how she could ever be angry with him, and her traitorous feet carried her over to the sofa where she sat with her back straight and her feet crossed at the ankles.

When John passed the sofa and lowered himself into an adjacent wing chair, Claire realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out, reminding herself that having him sit next to her would have been untenable. Yet the reprimand went unheeded when a hint of his nutty soap tickled her nose, dotting her arms with gooseflesh.

Staying here was a mistake.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Tea would be lovely.”

Beyond the niceties, she had no idea what they would discuss. How could John act so casually? He lounged in his chair, long, nankeen-covered legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed. He had ordered tea, as if they sat down for a coze every morning
.
As if he hadn’t kissed her senseless last night.

The returning maid set the tray in front of Claire, who busied herself with pouring two cups. Then, as the servant left, Claire piled sandwiches and apple slices on a plate. Her stomach rumbled, rather loudly, at the mere sight of the food. She glanced at John to see if he had heard, but his attention was fixed on the window. Without further hesitation, she began eating.

“Did you hear thunder? I didn’t think it was supposed to rain today.”

His tone was contemplative and innocent, but Claire didn’t miss the devilish twinkle in his blue eyes when he turned. She shot him a quelling look, which only made him smile. That smile could so easily awaken her hunger for things besides food.

No. She couldn’t allow those feelings. How could she feel such desire for someone when she barely respected the man he had become?

John pulled something from his waistcoat pocket. Stretching out his hand, her lace pin nestled there, he asked, “Was it made in memory of your mother?”

Her mother had died when Claire was fourteen. She took the pin, willing herself not to look at John when her fingers grazed his palm. Staring at the pin’s jet stones she explained, “Emily had it made.” She pressed a finger over the glass-encased, braided blond hair and tried not to think of her mother—or her father. “After she died.”

John said nothing. As the silence stretched on, Claire could no longer resist raising her gaze.