Teresa Grant (30 page)
Authors: Imperial Scandal
He tugged the second glove smooth. “What did you think I’d do? Support you and Livia in life and abandon you in death?”
“No, of course not. But I wish you wouldn’t talk about—”
“Merely taking precautions. I’ve lived through a tiresome number of battles, I daresay I shall live through this one.”
Beneath his easy tone and cool gaze something belied his words. She looked at him for a moment, every nerve stretched taut beneath her skin. This could be the last time she would ever see him. She reached up and curled her gloved fingers behind his neck.
He stiffened beneath her touch. “Cordy—”
“I have no right to ask you to come back to me, Harry. But for God’s sake, please come back.” She drew his head down and pressed her mouth to his.
For a moment he went completely still. Then his arms closed about her, as though he would meld her to him. His mouth tasted of wine. His hair was soft beneath her gloved fingers, his hands taut and urgent through the net and silk of her gown, his mouth desperate yet oddly tender against her own.
When he raised his head, his eyes were like dark glass. He stared down at her with the wonder and fear of a man who has stepped into an alien world. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
She put her hand against the side of his face. Her fingers trembled. “Thank you. That is, I didn’t mean to—”
He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips with a fervor equal to his kiss. “Tell Livia—”
“You can tell her yourself when you come back.”
He gave a twisted smile. “Look after yourself, Cordy.”
She swallowed. “That’s one thing I’ve always been good at.”
“Suzette.” Malcolm emerged out of the crowd at her side. “Have you seen Anthony Chase?”
“He was by the stairs with Jane a quarter hour or so ago. I think he must have left.”
“Damnation.”
“Malcolm?” Suzanne scanned her husband’s face. “What is it?”
“I think Chase is a French spy.”
34
S
uzanne stared at her husband, not sure she had heard him aright. Shouted names and bugle calls and the lilt of the waltz swirled about them. Just behind Malcolm, a red-coated lieutenant was taking leave of his parents. “You think—”
uzanne stared at her husband, not sure she had heard him aright. Shouted names and bugle calls and the lilt of the waltz swirled about them. Just behind Malcolm, a red-coated lieutenant was taking leave of his parents. “You think—”
“Truxhillo. Supposedly the reason the Silver Hawk’s master wants me dead. Also the moment that made Anthony Chase a hero. Against remarkable odds. But what if it was designed to make him a hero? What if the French set it up because Chase was one of theirs?”
Suzanne sought frantically through her knowledge from Raoul for anything that would support or refute this. Fortunately or not, nothing did. “There’s no proof—”
“None except that it makes the puzzle pieces fall into place. Tony Chase didn’t try to rescue Julia from the Comte de Vedrin, he and Vedrin recruited her.”
“And wanted her to kill you? Because he was afraid you knew Truxhillo was a setup?”
“March just told me that only a fortnight ago Anthony Chase asked him where I was during the Truxhillo attack. He seemed to think I was on a mission nearby. Which I wasn’t. But apparently Tony thought I had knowledge of what happened at Truxhillo.”
“As did the Silver Hawk’s spymaster.”
“The whole deathless love affair Tony has been telling us about, the love affair that didn’t fit with any of the other facts we know about Lady Julia. It never existed.”
The sound of sobbing cut the air. The lieutenant’s mother had burst into tears as her son departed. Her husband put his arm round her. Suzanne frowned, fragments of information shifting in her head in light of Malcolm’s theory. “When Violet heard Julia and Tony fighting at Stuart’s ball. Tony told Julia she couldn’t just walk away. He didn’t meant the love affair—”
“He meant her work for him. Quite.” Malcolm squeezed her hand, his gaze roaming over the ballroom. “I have to find Wellington.”
“Cordelia.” Caro caught her arm. “Have you heard?”
“It would have been difficult not to.”
“I’ve already sent word back to the house for them to start packing. We can leave for Antwerp at dawn.”
Cordelia stared at her friend. “You want to leave?”
“For God’s sake, Cordy, there’s about to be a battle.” Caro’s fingers tightened on her arm. “The French could be in Brussels tomorrow.”
“For shame, Caro, Wellington wouldn’t thank you for even considering the possibility of defeat.”
“Cordy—”
“Besides, the fighting’s sure to last a few days at least.”
A blast of night air rushed into the hall as a trio of infantry officers went out the door. One paused to look over his shoulder at a girl in a white frock with pink ribbons who stood with her gaze glued to his face.
“Cordelia.” Caro seized her hands. “I know I’m not the most practical person. Being in Brussels at all was flirting with disaster, which is what I’ve done all my life. But even I can tell that staying here would be madness.”
“Since when have you steered clear of madness?”
“Since now.” Caro cast a quick glance round the hall, beginning to empty of soldiers. The girl in white had begun to weep. A fair-haired girl in lavender ran to comfort her.
Cordelia hugged Caroline. “It’s all right, Caro. I understand. You should go to Antwerp. But I need to stay.”
“Why?” Caro’s wide eyes skimmed over her face. “Because of Julia? You can’t think you can learn the truth with battle about to break out.”
“This may be a better time than ever. But it’s not just Julia.”
“George? Cordy, for God’s sake—”
“Not George.” Cordelia realized she hadn’t seen him since supper and had felt no impulse to look for him. “Of that I assure you. He’s Annabel’s to worry about.”
A young dragoon lieutenant pushed past them, clutching a lady’s white kid glove as though it were a talisman. Caro scanned Cordelia’s face with anxious eyes. “Harry? If you’re doing this because you think you can repay some debt to Harry—”
“No.” Cordelia felt an odd sort of smile break across her face. “Not a debt.”
“What then?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You can wait for him in Antwerp. God knows I’m worried about my brother Fred, but—”
Cordelia gave her friend another hug. “We’ll be fine, Caro.”
Caro clung to her for a moment, then drew back and studied her face. “You look happy.”
Cordelia shook her head. “Not happy—who could be happy in the midst of all this? But perhaps—”
“What?” Caro’s voice was sharp with concern.
“Perhaps things seem possible now that once didn’t.”
“Oh, Cordy.” Caro’s voice held wonder, worry, and something else that might have been envy. “You could so easily be burned.”
“Of course. But when is that not true of anything that matters?”
Wellington stared at Malcolm, fingers frozen on the ties of his evening cloak. “You’re telling me one of my officers is a French spy?”
“I’m telling you I suspect he is.”
“Damn it, Rannoch, we’re marching off to war. Where is he?”
“Off to his regiment. Presumably.”
Wellington jerked the cords closed. “Find him. And deal with it.”
A few couples were still waltzing in the ballroom. Cordelia found Suzanne beside a gilded table that held a porcelain bowl of wilting roses and a brace of candles dripping wax onto the marble tabletop.
“Did you find Harry?” Suzanne asked.
“He’s just left. You’re staying in Brussels?”
“Of course.”
Cordelia smiled, more relieved than she would care to admit to know she would have her friend to rely upon in what was to come. “I knew you could be depended upon. Livia and I will be at the Hôtel d’Angleterre.”
“Lady Caroline’s leaving?”
“Along with half the expatriates in Brussels. I can’t quarrel with her. But I feel compelled to stay.”
“Of course. But not in an hôtel. You and Livia must come to us.”
Cordelia shook her head. “That isn’t why I told you—”
“I know that. But it’s the logical solution.”
“It’s not just Livia and me. I’ve told Johnny I’ll take Robbie and his nurse in.”
“Aline’s coming to us as well. We have plenty of room.” Suzanne touched Cordelia’s arm. “You’ll be doing me a great favor. Malcolm is bound to be off on an errand, and God knows when he’ll be back. I’ll be going mad with worry, and I suspect you will as well.”
Cordelia looked at her for a moment, a dozen polite denials trembling on her lips. Then she said simply, “Thank you.”
“Splendid. I daresay—” Suzanne broke off as a tall, fair-haired man in a colonel’s uniform brushed past them.
The colonel went stock-still, his gaze locked on Suzanne’s. “Suz—Mrs. Rannoch.”
“Colonel Radley.” Suzanne’s voice was as icy as Cordelia had ever heard it. She turned to Cordelia and performed a quick introduction.
Radley inclined his head. He had an elegantly boned face and a self-assured blue gaze that implied he was quite aware of how handsome he was. But that confident gaze shifted over Suzanne as though she was a cipher he could not solve. “I’m off to join my regiment. Are you staying in Brussels?”
“Of course,” Suzanne said. “My husband’s here.”
“Your devotion continues to be remarkable.” Radley regarded Suzanne a moment longer, half-speculative, half-challenging. Then he nodded and moved off.
Cordelia adjusted the folds of her Grecian scarf. Suzanne Rannoch was a surprising woman, but Cordelia had never thought to find her friend playing out the equivalent of her own scene with Peregrine Waterford.
“I knew Frederick Radley in the Peninsula,” Suzanne said. “Before I married Malcolm.” She gave a faint smile and looked directly into Cordelia’s eyes. “You aren’t the only one with ghosts, Cordy.”
Suzanne studied Malcolm’s face. “You’re not going home to change?”
He shook his head. “There’s no time. Richmond’s lending me a horse. I need to find Anthony Chase or at the very least warn his commanding officer. It’s not precisely a message I can trust to someone else.”
Beside them, a dragoon was pulling a flower from a girl’s gold ringlets, while a fresh-faced young Foot Guard lifted a dark-haired girl’s hand to his lips. Suzanne’s hands closed on her husband’s arms. “Be careful.”
A smile pulled at his mouth, the familiar, maddening smile he employed when going into danger without her. “I’m only delivering a message.”
“You’re looking for a man who means to kill you.”
“He won’t try to do it himself.”
“You don’t know what he’ll attempt if he’s driven to desperation.”
He gripped her shoulders. “I’ll try to be back tomorrow. I think it will be a day or so before anything decisive occurs.”
She leaned into him and put her mouth to his. His arms closed round her with the force of everything he couldn’t put into words. Bugle calls sounded in the distance. The French had gained valuable time. Something sang within her at the knowledge, and yet at the same time her heart twisted at the danger her husband faced.
He drew back and set his hands on her shoulders. “Should the news not be good, you should have plenty of time to get to Antwerp. I’ll find you there. Or back in England if necessary.”
She gave a quick nod. “Cordelia is coming to stay with me. Allie as well.”
“Good.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “There are still papers in the compartment in the bottom of my dispatch box. Where I told you to look when we were in Vienna. Travel documents, letters for Aunt Frances and David. And for you and Colin.”
A chill shot through the gauze and satin of her gown. “Malcolm—”
“In our line of work, it’s always wise to be prepared.”
She had letters for him and Colin as well, but Raoul had them in safekeeping. One in case she died and took her secrets to the grave, one in case she died and Malcolm had already learned the truth of her work. Since she’d married and become a mother she feared death as never before, but even more she feared a future in which she was gone and her husband and son hated her.
She reached up and kissed Malcolm again, branding him with a memory meant to survive whatever was to come.
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