The Houseparty (16 page)

"How?"
Elizabeth had to ask, her heart sinking.

Sir Henry smiled genially. "Why, no one really knows. But fortunate for him, wouldn't you say? A gentleman always pays his gambling debts."

She could think of no reply to make, and the two quickly became lost in the game. The only sounds were a mumbled "tierce, quart, not good, piquet" as they concentrated on the cards.

They were fairly well matched. Elizabeth had always prided herself on her playing, although she seldom had come up against a truly formidable player other than her brother Jeremy. Sir Henry was good but not extraordinary, and it required only a modicum of effort to keep pace with him. By the end of an hour's play Elizabeth held a slight lead—twenty mythical pounds—when Sir Henry abandoned his earlier silence.

"I have been hearing the most extraordinary tales, Miss Traherne," he began, his seemingly mild eyes astute beneath the grizzled eyebrows. "Lady Elfreda seems convinced that there is some sort of nefarious activity going on at Winfields this weekend
. !
wondered
whether you might be able to enlighten me as to the particulars, or is this just an old lady's fancy?" He began the trick deviously, and Elizabeth almost allowed herself to be distracted by the card play to answer unguardedly.

"What does Lady Elfreda tell you, Sir Henry?" she questioned, concentrating on her unpromising hand.

"A great deal of nonsense, I'm sure. She's been suggesting that Michael
Fraser
is a French agent and that you are abetting him in his treasonous activities." This was all said in a bland tone of voice, but Elizabeth was not
de-
ceived
. If anyone was behind the strange goings-on at Winfields, Sir Henry
Hatchett
was in the thick of it.

"Lady Elfreda," Elizabeth replied frankly, "has windmills in her head. She's so desperate not to lose her overgrown son that she would blacken anyone's good name."

"She sees you as a possible contender for Sir
Aldophus's
hand?" he questioned amiably.

"She has a great many foolish notions. As for Michael Fraser's loyalties, I am sure you would know a great deal more about that subject than I do."

"Why do you say that, Miss Traherne?"

"Because I know full well that you are in the intelligence section of the Foreign Office. I v/
ouldn't
be at all surprised if you and Rupert weren't here for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on that gentleman."

"Do you really think so?" There was a look of what Elizabeth might almost have called amusement on Sir Henry's cherubic countenance.

"I do." She discarded recklessly, intent on her purpose. "And I could be of immeasurable help to you if you would consider admitting me to your confidence. Is Michael
Fraser
a French agent?" She held her breath, scarcely daring to hear the answer.

She should have known Sir Henry was too cagy for her. "My dear, I haven't the faintest idea," he replied, taking her trick easily. "But I have a suggestion for you, if you would care to listen."

"I doubt I'll like it," she replied frankly, dealing with practiced ease.

"I doubt you will, but my conscience forces me to try. If there is anything going on here at Winfields this weekend, if Michael
Fraser
is not all
ne
appears to be, then it would be extremely wise of you to keep out of the way.

In my long career I have had some experience with French agents, and I may assure you that they are very dangerous fellows.
Very dangerous, indeed.
A foreign agent wouldn't think twice of wrapping that pretty hair around your throat and strangling you if you got in his way. Your brother Jeremy would tell you the same thing if he were here now."

"I only wish he was," she said sadly. "You think Michael would kill me?" The cards lay unattended on the table as her sherry-colored eyes met
Hatchett's
surprisingly acute ones.

"I would say, Miss Traherne, that you cannot be too careful."

"But what kind of answer is that?" she cried, both frightened and infuriated. "It appears obvious to me that you know precisely what is going on here, and yet you won't even tell me who I may safely trust."

"I have told you everything I am at liberty to tell," he said calmly.

"
Which is exactly nothing.
"

"Except to be careful."

"Oh, pooh!" she said rudely. "I already knew that."

"It hardly seemed likely in the face of your recent behavior. It hasn't been that of a prudent young lady."

"Fustian!" retorted Elizabeth. "I can take care of myself."

"But that, my dear Miss Traherne, is precisely what I've been trying to tell you. You cannot take care of yourself when you haven't even the slightest idea what is going on."

"But-"

"The less you know, the better," he interjected repressively as he recognized the hopeful look on her mutinous face.

"You sound just like Sumner," she shot back.

"Do I really?" He appeared much struck. "Well, there's nothing that can be done about it. Does he have his advice dismissed as summarily as mine?"

"More summarily," she said, unabashed, eyeing her cards before declaring, "You are fairly in the way of being
capotted
, Sir Henry. You'd best look to your cards."

"I think, Miss Traherne, I must cry off. It's been a long day, and I am afraid I am completely out of my depth against your expertise.
At least in the field of cards."
He picked up his hand and frowned. "I say,
Fraser,"
he said, raising his voice slightly. "Come here and play out this
partie.
This wench is fairly ruining me. She needs a younger man to sharpen her wits against."

Fraser
moved across the room with an ostentatious and totally specious limp. "If Miss Traherne can bear with my company," he said in that slow, deep voice that had its customary enervating effect on her, "I would be more than happy to try to beat her at her own game.
Though perhaps she'd prefer to play with St. Ives."

"No, you'll be fine,"
Hatchett
said cheerfully, vacating his seat and bowing to a startled Elizabeth. "I've got to spirit young Rupert away with me, anyway. Don't let this young dog try and trick you, Miss Traherne. He's up to all sorts of devilment. You want to watch out for him."

"I will be more than careful, Sir Henry," she said in measured tones as
Fraser
sat down opposite her. "I shan't allow Captain
Fraser
to gammon me."

"Won't you, Lizzie?" he questioned softly when Sir Henry had moved out of hearing.

"Not likely. I intend to beat you roundly, at this game and any other you choose to play," she said with unaccustomed fierceness. "And why in the world are you limping? I didn't kick you that hard."

A slow smile lit his face. "I wanted to remind you of it," he said blandly, picking up Sir Henry's hand and staring at it with an absorbed air. "Tell me, what did the old man have to say? Did he warn you against me?"

"He did. Not that I needed any warning. I offered my services in trying to catch you, but he declined them, quite graciously, as a matter of fact."

A small frown creased the broad expanse of Fraser's forehead as he placed his discards face down on the table and drew from the major talon. "Did he really? And I suppose it is too much to hope that you decided to retire gracefully into the wings for the remainder of the weekend?"

"It is, indeed. If Sir Henry won't accept my help, then I shall have to continue on my own."

"Tell me, my dear Lizzie, what exactly do you hope to discover?"

"Whether or not you are an agent," she snapped.
"
Quint
."

"Not good," he said dulcetly.
"Octet.
But why do you care whether or not I'm an agent?"

Elizabeth was silenced for only a moment. "Because of my brother, Jeremy," she said finally. "Anything a French agent does
puts
his life in danger. And anyone who endangers my brother had best beware of me."

"Why?" he inquired blandly. "What horrid vengeance would you wreak?"

"I, I would . . ." she foundered, lost. "Oh, do be quiet. I cannot concentrate on this game."

With a nod
Fraser
did as she requested, but it was little help. In the first place, luck had favored him, and it took no time at all to prove that he was the far superior player, coolheaded where Elizabeth was rash, farseeing where Elizabeth went for the easy point. Two games were played, with Elizabeth going down rather badly.

"I fear I am outclassed," she said ruefully, counting up the points.

"You haven't had enough practice," he said negligently. "You're still rather young."

"I would hardly call three and twenty rather young," she shot back. "You need only ask Sumner to know how truly I am on the shelf."

"I wouldn't ask your brother a thing.
Nor should you.
If you're wondering how I managed to beat you quite so soundly, you may always content yourself with the knowledge that I supported myself through the army by playing cards with my fellow officers."

"So Sir Henry warned me."

"Did he really? Well, I am no Captain Sharp, if that is what you're thinking. I am merely quite good at piquet. I seldom play with flats."

"Are you suggesting that I am a flat?" she inquired in a dangerous tone of voice, her usually warm brown eyes quite cool.

"Never would I suggest such a thing!
Although it was quite obvious to me in the garden that your experience has been rather limited."

Elizabeth felt the color suffuse her face. "You are quite right, sir. I am not in the habit of being kissed and manhandled. Someone of your expertise could no doubt easily tell that."

He nodded. "It was obvious. However, for an amateur you showed a surprising aptitude, both in kissing and
being . . . manhandled. I am persuaded that you could become quite expert with very little practice."

She looked away from him in sudden confusion and found herself staring straight into General
Wingert's
unreadable dark eyes. She felt a sudden chill and forced her attention back to her partner, summoning up a belated anger. "How gratifying," she replied in icy tones. "And if I ever wish to acquire more experience, I will be certain to let you know."

A slow smile lit his tanned face, starting at the well- shaped sensual mouth that no longer seemed quite so grim and reaching the dark blue depths of his sapphire eyes. "I would appreciate that," he murmured. "I will endeavor to make myself available, unless, of course, you manage to have me convicted of spying. Do you know what the British do to traitors, Lizzie?" His voice was soft and enticing, but there was a bleak note of steel beneath it.

Her warm brown eyes met
his. "I . . .
I don't suppose I thought about it."

"They are executed, of course.
In quite a nasty way, actually.
I've seen it done, to my regret. You wouldn't like it, you know. And if you were instrumental in my conviction, I would think they would expect you to be there."

Elizabeth
swallowed,
her throat suddenly dry. "I have little doubt you would escape quite handily," she rallied, but the words were surprisingly hoarse.

"Oh, I think you underestimate the British Army. And I haven't a title to save me from a traitor's death. They would sever my limbs, my sweet Lizzie, while I still lived."