My Lord and Spymaster

Twenty

SEBASTIAN WAITED AT THE DOORWAY TO THE front parlor in the shadow of a knight’s armor. He’d engineered this meeting. If it was a disaster, at least he’d watch.

“She’s sitting on the floor,” Claudia said. “Like a gypsy.”

He put out his hand before she took off in that direction. “You don’t want to go over there. Let them talk.”

“I rather thought I was rescuing Adrian.” Claudia gave an abrupt, sharp-edged laugh. “Such an intense little tête-à-tête. There’s a history between those two, obviously.”

“Don’t interfere.”

“Your friend and your little heiress. If you have interest in that quarter you should intervene before he snaps her up himself. Are you sure you don’t want me to interrupt?”

“I want you to leave them strictly alone.” There was malice in Claudia. But once upon a time, she’d taught a fithy-mouthed, resentful bastard boy from the docks how to use a knife and fork. She’d had a sharp, nasty tongue then, too.

Quentin pulled himself away from a discussion with two clerks from the War Office and strode across the parlor with the weighty and distinguished tread of a statesman, face serious, his hands clasped behind his back. He frowned upon the pair sitting together on the grand staircase. “I don’t like this. What the deuce is that man doing with Miss Whitby? We stand, as it were, in loco parentis as long as she’s under our roof. He’s upsetting the girl.”

“Miss Whitby is upsetting him right back,” Claudia said tartly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Adrian ruffled. I didn’t know he could be.”

There he is, sprawling on the steps beside her. “Whatever her background, that’s ungentlemanly behavior.”

Then Jess got up, grim-faced, and stalked off. Not a successful first meeting. Adrian had been wrong about one thing, though. She didn’t spit at him.

Quentin puffed his cheeks out. “How much do we actually know about this Hawkhurst fellow? He’s a friend of yours, of course. That counts for something. Accepted everywhere. Presents a good appearance. But does anyone know his people? Does he even have people? When one moves, as I do, in government circles, one hears stories . . .”

“They say he’s a Romanov bastard. Perhaps Jess met him in Russia.” Claudia tilted her head. “Look. She’s gone off crying. How very affecting. I feel called upon to offer womanly sympathy.”

The mood she’s in now, Jess will flay you to shreds. “I don’t advise it.”

Claudia said, “Nonetheless . . .” and left.

“I’ll go talk to the girl, too.” Quentin took his watch out and fidgeted with it. “I should drop a hint in her ear. Hawkhurst is exactly the sort of plausible rogue a girl like that is likely to fall prey to. And she is in our house, after all. She’s not in a position to judge a man like that. I can only imagine what he wants from her.” He put the watch away without looking at it. “I hear things, y’know. There are whispers about this Mister Adrian Hawkhurst that are not to his credit. I wouldn’t trust that man. No, indeed I wouldn’t. Not that I expect you to listen to me.” He ambled in the direction of the dining room.

And that was another Ashton, off to track Jess down and harass her.

THE parlor filled up as more and more historians arrived. Coyning-Marsh, Standish, and three dons from Oxford argued, fiercely and volubly, passing a gauntlet back and forth, examining it with a magnifying glass from the library.

“I gather I have you to thank for the latest excitement in my household,” Eunice said. If she noticed Adrian was looking particularly bleak, she gave no indication of it.

“Ah.” Adrian smiled. Quite his usual smile. “You’ve found out I’m supplying Standish with opera girls.”

“Of course I have. How many of the little darlings does he have lately? A dozen?”

“At least.”

“Thank you for having sense enough to send Jess to me. Adrian, what the devil are you about, arresting that girl’s father? I expect better of you.”

“All the evidence says he’s guilty as Judas. Very convincing evidence, some of which your nephew brought me. And Military Intelligence was closing in. I had no choice. If it helps any, I didn’t enjoy it much.”

“I’m sure everyone is very interested in your feelings in the matter.”

“Since you mention it, no.”

“I don’t suppose you could just let him go, could you?”

“Not until someone hands me sole control of intelligence operations at Whitehall, no.”

Sebastian, looking formidable and alert, even in evening dress, stood in the parlor doorway, arms folded, watching Jess. In one corner, Quentin lectured a pretty young girl about heraldry. Jess stood alone at the front window, staring out. Her face was composed and distant, like someone sailing out of a port they didn’t expect to return to. She didn’t once glance at Adrian.

Eunice said quietly, “Do you think they’ll hang him? I very much doubt he’s guilty.”

“We hang innocent men every day in this country.” His mobile mouth twisted. “Right now I am working hard not to arrest his daughter. This is made possible by the War Office’s complete failure to believe she runs the business for him.”

“I see.”

“Eventually, some bright lad from one group or another, very junior, will try to haul her in on some pretext or other. My men will stop him. And the fat will be in the proverbial fire.” Adrian snagged a glass of punch from the tray a sullen, preoccupied maid had maneuvered through the crowd. “Why do I drink this? I know better than to eat or drink anything served in your house, but I am a slave to my curiosity. The punch is always bad, but it is never bad the same way twice.” He eyed it. “Military Intelligence is snapping at my heels. I’m running out of time, Eunice. This may be the one I lose.”

Eunice made a derisive sound.

“Am I sniveling on your shoulder?” he said. “I suppose I am. Why should everyone else have the fun?”

“I do not suppose you fail very often.”

“No.”

“Then you won’t this time. You are proficient at what you do, Adrian. Perhaps the most skilled in the world. How are you planning to get her out of England, if the worst happens?”

“With dispatch. Sebastian has the Flighty anchored off Wapping, with the crew aboard.” Adrian took a sip from the punch cup. “If some idiot from the War Office decides to pick her up, I’ll have an hour’s warning. Time enough. I don’t suppose Sebastian will dawdle.”

In the salon next door, metal crashed and clattered. Voices rose in consternation. Coyning-Marsh and the three dons led a general exodus in that direction.

Adrian said, “Then there is the matter of Colonel Reams.”

There were other military men in the room, other regimentals, but the gaudy scarlet uniform of a Guards colonel stood out. Reams looked at home in the company of medieval armor—brutal, direct, muscular, unimaginative.

He’d come up behind Jess. He waited, not saying anything, till she sensed him and turned around. If he’d succeeded in disconcerting her, she didn’t show it. Gravely courteous, holding herself straight as a rapier, she nodded.

“It would make more sense to send her out of England now,” Eunice said. “She shouldn’t have to face someone like Colonel Reams, alone.”

“She isn’t alone. She has you. And Sebastian. And me. And a growing contingent of the British Service dedicated to protecting every hair on her head.”

“Why are you keeping her in England, Adrian? If you’re planning to use that lovely child against her father—”

“I’m using her to help him, strangely enough, though I doubt she believes me. And that lovely child has killed three men that I know of, one of them before she was ten. She can deal with Colonel Reams.”

The colonel put a hand on Jess’s elbow and gestured toward the archway into the hall. Expressionlessly, she shook her head. She listened, with that same stiff lack of response, to a fast, close-set, hectoring string of words in her ear. His bulldog body pushed close, bullying with muscle and the barking voice.

Across the room, Sebastian watched, looking more and more menacing.

“That is blackmail the colonel’s trying, or possibly threat.” Eunice’s mouth set in distaste. “Or he may be asking for a bribe. Can Reams arrange for her father’s release?”

“No. You see everything, don’t you?” Adrian said. “I hope Sebastian doesn’t kill him on the premises. There are miles of dockyard and alley available for the purpose. And I want to help.”

“Can Reams arrest her?” Eunice answered herself, “I think not. Not with Bittern so interested.” On the other side of the room, the second secretary of the Foreign Office, Lord Bittern, held a cup of punch and watched Reams, his face even less revealing than Jess’s. “She’s being very determined and resourceful, playing one off against the other. All the same, it would be best if you found this traitor of yours rather quickly. I will not have Jess kidnapped and married off to some Foreign Office nonentity to secure our interests in Turkey. And Sebastian would have to live abroad if he killed someone important.”

“The only consideration that keeps several men alive today. ” Adrian kept an eye on the colonel. “I will intervene before Sebastian commits mayhem. Do you know, there is no conversation so private as one in the middle of swarming multitudes. I wonder which of them arranged this? Jess, I think.”

“She’s not surprised to see him here.”

“The world of espionage lost a great master when you decided to devote yourself to good works. So Jess meets the offensive Reams under the civilizing influence of many pairs of eyes. And what does he have to say that Jess finds so interesting? If he will just turn ever so slightly . . . Did you know one can make a very good guess what people are saying by watching their lips? It takes some practice. Reams says, ‘I don’t see any reason why you won’t . . . something . . . something . . . it will cause difficulty . . . good faith.’ And why would the colonel be talking about good faith? No. Look back this way, you abominable lump of offal.”

Men crossed Adrian’s line of vision, moving from armor to armor.

“Out of my way, good people. Ah. There we are. He’s saying, ‘. . . influence to get your father...’ I can guess what that’s about. ‘. . . the special—’ ” Adrian’s voice cut off abruptly. “I don’t like this. That was ‘special license.’ Jess, my very dear, I cannot believe you have allowed the colonel to talk you into anything that stupid.”

Eunice said, “I’ll get Sebastian.”

“THERE’S no hurry, anyway.” Jess had learned that from Papa. The man in a hurry always lost the dicker. “We can do this another day.”

“I’ve already made arrangements.” Reams had to keep his voice down—men nearby were already looking in their direction—so it came out a low, thick growl. “The minister expects us early tomorrow morning. Everything’s settled. I have friends coming.”

You have your friends coming, to twist my arm if I get reluctant. “I guess we’re all disappointed.” She left it at that. Hurst always said, let the other fellow do most of the lying.

Hurst taught her about lying. He taught her to fold napkins into fancy shapes and how to fire thirty different kinds of guns. Hurst thought he could just walk in and look miserable and she’d forgive him. Hah.

He was watching her, him and Sebastian. It made her feel safe, knowing they were there. She was just neck-deep in irony tonight.

“Are you daring to doubt my word?” Reams turned red, all mottled, and shuffled his boots back and forth like he was about to stomp on something. “You’ll get the list when we’re married. That’s soon enough.”

“I’ll have it in hand then. But I see it the night before.”

The veins in his neck stood out. “I am an officer and a gentleman and I give you my bloody, damn word. Don’t cross me.”

And there was some gentlemanly language for you. “It’s a big step. Marriage. That’s a contract. I need to see if you keep your contracts.” Of course, he wasn’t planning to keep a particle of any agreement. Did he think she didn’t know?

“You want to see this? It’s so important you’ll insult me to my face?” He twisted around and pulled the paper out of his coat. “Then you can see it. What date? What? Tell me.”

He’d brought the list. He’d been planning to keep the bargain all along, if he couldn’t intimidate her. Bluffing.

She said, “Show me May fourth, last year.”

That started off a crackling and snapping search of the two pages of notes, him twisting the pages and stopping to glare at her. “You shouldn’t know that date. Just saying that date makes you guilty.” He spread his lips, showing yellow teeth, and it didn’t look at all like a smile. “You’re lucky I don’t haul you in myself.”

Bluffing again. If he could have laid hands on her, he would have. Men who bluffed were the easiest ones to bluff right back.

“I shouldn’t show you any of this.” He said it just loud enough for her to hear.

When Papa traded cloth, sometimes he’d signal her to make a shuffle like she was getting ready to leave. Helped to speed up the bargaining. She’d give a twitch and maybe put her hand on her reticule. Just a glance at Papa and moving barely enough to startle a fly.

She did it now. She let her attention drift . . .

“Here.” He thrust the list out at her. He’d clamped the page up tight, then pinched and creased it till only the one thin entry showed. He pulled it away before she could see it.

She waited, not saying anything or budging an inch, till he brought it out again and held it up in front of her and gave her a chance to read. He was seething the whole time. He’d go off in an apoplexy, one of these days.

The line he showed her was genuine. This was the date, place, the memorandum stolen. It matched what she knew, and the colonel had no way of knowing which date she’d want to check. This was a list of the secrets stolen. This was what she needed.

“Thank you.” One bit of truth in this soup made out of lies. She didn’t look him straight in the face because, given her luck lately, he’d read her intentions written on her forehead.

“You’ll get this tomorrow. My first present to you, when we’re man and wife.” And he was lying through his crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

It didn’t matter. She’d have that list out of his house tonight, while he was sleeping. That was the reason the good Lord put windows in houses. So thieves could go through them.

She said, “Tomorrow, then.”

Her lie was shorter, but it was a lie, just the same.

“IT is always edifying,” Adrian said, “to watch a talented amateur at work. That will be the Military Intelligence list of missing documents. Jess wanted to get her hands on that list, so she asked Reams to bring it to her. Still the most remarkably straightforward mind of my acquaintance.”

Sebastian didn’t take his eyes off her. She was remarkable. “She’s trading. Look at her.” A dozen feet away, with thirty men and women as spectators, Reams was trying to bully Jess into some concession. Whatever those two were negotiating, she wasn’t going to budge an inch.

Adrian watched the two with steady attention, not even blinking. “The words ‘special license’ have been mentioned. I am filled with trepidation.”

“She’s not going to trade herself for that list.”

But he wasn’t sure of that. Jess, committed, was Jess committed heart and soul with no regard for common sense or her own safety. There was no telling what she’d consider reasonable. “If Reams gets his hands on the Whitby heiress, Whitby won’t live out the summer. She has to know that.”

“No fool, my Jess.”

She wasn’t Adrian’s Jess. She was his.

Reams inched up closer to snarl in her face. He was short, broad, and heavy and she looked delicate beside him. That was deceptive. Jess was steel. That blustery wind Reams was raising would cut past her and around her and blow itself out. I wouldn’t like to negotiate against her, right now.

Reams had retreated from his point, huffing and snarling. The paper, folded small, was shoved in Jess’s face. She nodded. The colonel put it away again in the uniform’s coat pocket.

It was easy to see what Jess planned. “It’s too late to go back to the Horse Guards. He’ll bring the list home. She plans to go after him and steal it tonight.” Just exactly the kind of scheme she would come up with. Clever. A good chance of succeeding. Risking her neck as if it were nothing. “He probably lives on the top floor somewhere, three stories up.”

“A pretty townhouse in South Audley Street, but the principle’s the same.” Adrian grinned. “Three floors. A rather steep roof. I have scouted it out.”

“So we take it away from him now.”

“Before she does. Yes. Excellent idea. Hold this, if you will.” Adrian handed over the punch cup, still full. “We shall foil her little plot with one of our own. The list is neatly back in the colonel’s pocket. We will now wander across this room, separately, and you will pour that punch down the front of his dress uniform.”

“My pleasure.” Oh, yes. It would be. “I’ll wait for your nod. Are you coming up on the left side or the right?”

“Left. If you can contrive to spill just a little on me as well . . .”

“No problem at all.”

CINQ held a cup and strolled from one chattering, yammering, silly group to another, dropping a word here, correcting some misapprehension there, being sociable and helpful. It was surprising how few of these so-called scholars knew what they were talking about.

The merchant’s daughter flaunted herself through the room with a fortune in pearls hanging around her neck. Ridiculous opulence. The mushroom class betrayed itself every time.

Money-swollen peasants. Pigs in silk. They were the worst enemies of the revolution. They worshipped nothing but money. The true defenders of the poor always arose from the ruling class.

I have men on the streets to take her. A woman in this house to watch her. The ship’s ready. It will all fall into place, any day. It could happen any day. And she’ll be on her way to France.

She was rude to Colonel Reams, snubbing a man twice her age, a decorated war hero. The chit might wear pearls and silk, but she didn’t belong among her betters. She never would. She’ll be small and humble-mouthed when I get her to France.

When her father hangs, whoever controls Jess Whitby, controls the money. She will be my gift to the Great Cause.

Sebastian tramped across the parlor, graceless and aggressive, pretending to be a captain at sea. A leader of men. And everyone believed it. Men perked up, turning his way as he passed, trying to pull him over to talk, asking his opinion. He ignored them all. Tonight he was cock of the walk, and he was scurrying to protect his guinea hen. Maybe he didn’t trust the chit with a man like the colonel.

Sebastian had it all his way tonight. When Napoleon’s Grande Armée marched into London, the bastard would lose everything. Kennett House—no, call it by its proper name—Ashton House, would be the reward for long and faithful service.

“I was going to steal this from under his pillow or something,” Jess said. She turned the list over. Names, dates . . . all the details. Hurst, giving her presents. He’d always found exactly what she wanted.

“You stole it for me,” she said.

“Sebastian helped,” Adrian said.

She spent so much of her life dealing with people who were more larcenous than she was, she felt almost honest in comparison. “I had it all planned.”

Sebastian glowered. There was a conversation in him, just bursting to get out.

“If I may . . .” Adrian flicked the list out of her fingers. “This is rather a lot of secrets for you to be carrying around. I will take charge of it for the moment. And, yes, you will see it again any time you express the merest soupçon of an interest. It is yours, child. I bestow the secrets of Military Intelligence upon you. Use them wisely.”

Sebastian said, “What will Reams do when he finds out it’s missing?”

“Which he is doing at this very moment, perhaps. What a pleasant thought.”

“Will he suspect Jess?”

“Most certainly. He will suspect Jess, who is, accidentally, in this case, innocent. He will suspect me. Suspect you. Suspect his doltish and muscular bodyguard. Suspect Standish, who saw him firmly and disapprovingly to the door. What he will not do is make open accusations in any direction, since this piece of paper should never have existed. Existing, it should never have left the Horse Guards. In fact,” Adrian folded it into a long flat pleat, “within an hour or two, it will never have existed at all.”

They both looked so pleased with themselves, like boys who’d done something clever. And they had. She was very glad she wouldn’t be headed over any roofs tonight in the dark.

The hard part was still ahead.

“Don’t think this makes me forgive you,” she said to Adrian.