The Notorious Lord

Chapter Six

A meeting of a very different nature from that of the reading group took place at Kestrel Court that night. Although the June dusk lingered, the curtains were drawn tightly and the candles were lit. Cory Newlyn joined the Duke of Kestrel and his two younger brothers, Richard and Lucas, in the drawing room, where Justin Kestrel dispensed glasses of brandy to the gentlemen and then put forward a certain proposal.

It was lucky that his companions had strong drink with which to fortify themselves, for the shock was extreme.

Cory was the first to regain his breath. ‘I beg your pardon, Justin, but you wish us to do what, precisely?’ he said incredulously. A look of complete disbelief spread across his face. ‘Forgive me, but I thought that you said that, in order to trap the Midwinter spy, you wanted us to make love to the ladies of the Midwinter villages!’

Justin Kestrel sat back in his armchair and tilted his brandy glass to his lips. A smile lingered in his eyes as he surveyed the consternation on the faces of his guests. ‘You heard me correctly, Cory,’ he said. ‘That is exactly what we would like you to do.’

Cory and Richard Kestrel exchanged a glance. ‘You silence me, Justin,’ Richard said, ‘and that does not happen very often.’ He threw himself down into the chair opposite his brother, completing the circle of three sitting before the fireplace. Lucas Kestrel preferred to stand, restlessly pacing the room whilst the others lounged at their ease.

In the flicker of the candlelight the expressions on the faces of the Duke’s guests were varied. Richard Kestrel was a renowned poker player and his face, dark and saturnine, revealed nothing of his feelings. Lucas was looking frankly perplexed at his brother’s words. And Cory, who had thought that a day of hard excavation work had made him unnaturally slow and possibly deaf, waited for Justin Kestrel to elucidate, with a half-smile still lingering on his lips.

Cory had come late to the group, for he had met with Justin Kestrel at his club only the week before coming to Suffolk. When Justin had heard that Cory planned to join the Odells at Midwinter Royal, he had immediately invited him to join him at Kestrel Court-and had co-opted Cory to his plan. The broad outline of this was that the Duke of Kestrel was commissioned to catch a French spy who was currently working on the Suffolk coast. The details of the plan to entrap the traitor were just becoming apparent. Cory, who had joined in any number of escapades orchestrated by the Kestrels since their days at Harrow, nevertheless thought that this time Justin might have over-reached himself. Make love to the ladies of the Midwinter villages…There was only one lady who tempted him in that respect and, since making love to Rachel Odell was out of the question, he was destined to a long, celibate summer.

‘I had thought that gentlemen of your reputation would take such a suggestion in your stride,’ Justin murmured, the calm tone of his voice belied by the twinkle in his eyes as he watched his brothers and his friend. ‘Are you rejecting our commission?’

‘I thought that we were working on behalf of the Foreign Office, not some Covent Garden bordello,’ Cory observed. ‘Good God, Justin, when I offered my services this was not quite what I had in mind!’

‘One must do one’s patriotic duty, I suppose,’ Richard Kestrel murmured with a whimsical smile. He rested one broad shoulder against the back of the chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. ‘I will accept your commission with pleasure, Justin.’

‘Rein in your enthusiasm, Richard,’ Lucas said drily, coming to lean against the arm of his brother’s chair. ‘I believe we should discover the true nature of the task before we get too excited!’

Cory took a deep swallow of the brandy and glanced appreciatively at the glass in his hand. There were many reprehensible things going on in the Midwinter villages, but the smuggling was the one thing that he would be loath to put at an end.

‘Thank God you gave us a drink before you sprang that on us, Justin,’ he said feelingly. ‘I need it! Where do you find your brandy?’

‘In a keg under the hedge, I’ll wager,’ Richard said drily. ‘And I cannot blame you, Justin.’

The Duke grinned, but did not deny it. ‘Let us be serious for a moment, gentlemen,’ he said. He got to his feet and moved across to the table. A map of the county of Suffolk was folded there and Justin opened it, spreading it out on the green baize surface. Richard weighted one corner down with his brandy glass and Lucas took a book from the shelves and placed it on the corner diagonally opposite. The atmosphere in the room had changed from the good-natured banter of a moment previously. All of them knew that there was more to this than a convivial drink among friends and an outrageous commission.

‘I realise that you are aware of why we are here,’ Justin continued, ‘but it might help to recapitulate.’ He looked around at their intent faces. ‘As you know, gentlemen, this is an invasion coast. It would take a French fleet no more than forty-eight hours to make the crossing from Dunkirk-less, in fair weather. It is generally accepted at the Admiralty that the bulk of the invasion army would be landed in Kent or Sussex, but that a diversionary force could land on the Suffolk coast and cause considerable difficulties.’

The others nodded.

‘How many men?’ Cory asked.

It was Richard, with his Navy background, who answered, ‘Possibly twenty thousand.’

Cory gave a silent whistle. ‘Hence the need for well-drilled volunteers to provide support for the regular troops.’

Lucas nodded. ‘Exactly. It may not happen, of course, but one must be prepared. But our problem is closer to home. What is the latest intelligence, Justin?’

Justin took up the thread. ‘Precious little. We know that French spies have been operating in the Midwinter villages, but we do not know who they are. They have been passing on information about troop movements, harbour defences, even, we suspect, the names of local men who might prove amenable to helping the French ships navigate the rivers-fishermen, smugglers and the like.’ His mouth tightened to a grim line. ‘Much of the information is in code and we do not know which cipher they are using, nor how the messages are being passed.’

Richard frowned. ‘Had Jeffrey Maskelyne not found out any information before his death? I thought he had been working on the problem for some time.’

Justin was shaking his head. ‘He had, but he left no record-’ He broke off. ‘What is it, Cory?’

‘Maskelyne did leave something,’ Cory said slowly. ‘Miss Odell told me yesterday that she had found a collection of false books that Maskelyne left.’

‘False books?’ Richard frowned.

‘Book frontages with nothing but blocks of wood behind,’ Cory elaborated, much as Rachel had done. ‘I wondered whether there might be a message of some sort hidden in one of them.’

‘Any chance you could get a look?’ Justin enquired.

Cory nodded. ‘I can certainly try, though it would be difficult to explain if Miss Odell noticed what I was up to…’

‘I am sure that you can think up a suitably plausible excuse,’ Justin said. He shifted slightly. ‘We are dealing with damnably clever spies here, gentlemen. These are people who do not make mistakes and do nothing to draw attention to themselves. They give us no clues at all. Hence the need to take a different approach and one that may seem a little…duplicitous at times.’

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. ‘So, speaking of duplicity…Your theory is that if we lay siege to the hearts of the Midwinter ladies, then we may learn something useful?’

Justin’s grim expression lightened slightly. ‘In part. Local gossip is often a fertile source of information. There is another reason, however.’ He let go of the map and rolled it up with a sharp snap.

‘All evidence suggests,’ he said, ‘that the Midwinter spy is a woman.’

This time the silence went on for a long time. Eventually Cory broke it with a rueful look round at his companions.

‘I do not suppose that any of us disputes such a possibility, Justin,’ he said, ‘but what is the evidence?’

Justin sighed. ‘There was a female spy working in Dorset last year. She was almost caught.’ His mouth quirked ruefully. ‘The reason she was not was because those seeking her found it so difficult to believe that the spy was a woman. They traced her to London in the winter, but then she disappeared.’

‘And now you suspect that the same woman is here in Midwinter?’ Richard questioned.

‘That is correct.’

Lucas grimaced. ‘Surely there cannot be many suspects who fit the bill? She should be easy to trace…’

Justin smiled. ‘That is precisely the problem, Lucas. She is not. And this is a matter of life and death. A man has died and we are no further advanced. The activities of this person are putting thousands of lives at risk. If her information enables the French to mount a successful invasion, then put that at hundreds of thousands.’

‘Treason,’ Cory said. Put in such stark terms, it hardened his purpose. There could be no allowances made, nor chivalrous gestures. Cory’s adventures, both covert and open, had taken him all over the globe and he had no illusions about the capabilities of women. Justin’s next words echoed his thoughts precisely.

‘There is no room for sentiment here, nor conventional views on the frailty of women, gentlemen. I assure you that our spy is not in the least frail.’

‘Does she work alone?’ Cory asked.

Justin shrugged. ‘Probably not. But the organisation centres on her. Hers is the cool calculation behind all the planning-and hers is the execution.’

‘Suspects?’ Richard said succinctly.

‘The obvious one,’ Justin said, ‘is Lady Sally Saltire. She is a rich widow, she has the freedom to travel a great deal, she was in London this winter past, and we know her to have the capability to plan such an operation. One has to question what she is doing in a backwater like Midwinter in the first place.’

‘Planning a watercolour book to raise funds for charity, so I hear,’ Cory said feelingly.

Justin Kestrel laughed. ‘Indeed. Which gives us an ideal excuse for becoming involved in Lady Sally’s circle. If we were all to volunteer to take part in the book-’

Cory groaned. ‘Must we? All experience suggests that you will not need an excuse to become involved in local society, Justin. To the contrary, you will need protection from it! An unmarried Duke with a romantic reputation-you will be under siege!’

‘Devil a bit!’ Justin said cheerfully. ‘I can handle it. I say we should all offer to take part.’

Richard raised his brows. ‘I have no objection to the watercolour book, but one has to question your logic in suspecting Lady Sally of spying, Justin.’ He hesitated. ‘You know her better than anyone and I cannot believe that you would think her a traitor.’

Justin Kestrel’s face was drawn. ‘I used to know her a long time ago, Richard. I have no idea of her political sympathies now.’

Cory caught Richard’s eye. They all knew that Justin had once carried a torch for Sally Saltire. Popular rumour said that he still did. He had never married.

Lucas was leaning over the map. ‘Who are our other suspects and where are they situated?’

Justin reached for the brandy bottle and passed it around.

‘The Marneys live in Midwinter Mallow,’ he said, pointing to the west of the area. ‘Ross Marney is a war hero who served in Egypt. He is married to Olivia, a lady of unimpeachable virtue whom I would swear could no more be a French spy than I could. But-one never knows.’

Lucas grimaced. ‘And Lady Marney has a widowed sister, if my memory serves me correctly.’

Justin shot him a look. ‘She does. Mrs Deborah Stratton. She was married to a soldier who died in action. That alone should give her no love for the French.’

Richard was smiling reminiscently. ‘I have met Mrs Stratton before. She certainly has the capability and the intellect to organise an enterprise like this.’

‘If you know her already,’ Lucas suggested, ‘why do you not renew the acquaintance?’

Richard laughed. ‘Because she will not give me the time of day, dear brother. We fell out-rather badly-when I asked her to be my mistress last year.’

Cory smothered a laugh. ‘Turned you down, Richard?’

Richard toyed with his brandy glass. ‘I made the mistake of not preparing my ground properly,’ he said. ‘I made some rash assumptions about her virtue-’ He broke off and looked around at the circle of cynically smiling faces. ‘Damned if I know why I’m explaining myself to all of you!’ he said. ‘A poor sort of help you can give anyway. Justin cannot douse an old flame, Cory is suffering from unrequited love and you, Lucas-I swear you do not have a heart to lose!’

‘Thank you for that masterly summary of our romantic entanglements,’ Justin said smoothly. ‘Returning to the matter before us, do you wish to try your hand at seducing Mrs Stratton again?’

Cory did not miss the odd look in his friend’s eyes as Richard answered his brother. ‘No, I do not want to try to seduce Mrs Stratton again. But…I would not mind pursuing the acquaintance if I can persuade her to be civil to me.’

‘Another mark up to unrequited love,’ Lucas murmured irrepressibly.

‘Thank you,’ Justin said, his lips twitching. ‘Now, I need one of you to devote yourself to Miss Lang, the vicar’s daughter. Reverend Lang is an interesting case. He is a disappointed man, turned sour waiting for a preferment that never came. His allegiance may have turned sour as well, and may have infected his daughter.’

Cory nodded. He could see the logic in that. Disaffected clergymen could be the very devil to deal with.

‘Is that all?’ Lucas enquired.

‘Not quite.’ Justin pointed to the village of Midwinter Bere. ‘There is also Lily, Lady Benedict. Her husband is a housebound invalid and she seems devoted to his interests.’

There was a pause. ‘These ladies are all members of Lady Sally Saltire’s reading group,’ Cory said slowly.

‘Reading group?’ Richard Kestrel looked interested. ‘Tell us more.’

Cory shrugged. ‘I do not know much more to tell other than that they meet every week at Saltires.’

Justin and Lucas exchanged glances. ‘What a marvellous way that would be to pass on information if one were so inclined,’ Justin Kestrel said feelingly. ‘This reading group-does it have any other members?’

‘Only Miss Odell,’ Cory said. ‘I doubt that she could be involved, though. The Odells are but lately come to Midwinter.’

‘It’s not impossible, though,’ Richard pointed out. ‘Where was Miss Odell recently, Cory? Was it not London?’

Cory scowled. He knew where this was going. Richard was about as subtle as a runaway carthorse. ‘I believe it was,’ he said coldly.

‘And she has travelled a great deal-’

‘Not in Dorset,’ Cory said, between shut teeth. He felt a rush of fury. It was absolutely ridiculous to imagine that Rachel could be a French spy. He did not dispute that she was intelligent and resourceful enough to do it, but to imagine that she was a traitor was absurd.

‘I am merely suggesting that she should not be left out of the investigation,’ Richard murmured. ‘We must be sure-’

‘Richard,’ Cory said warningly, ‘if you are thinking to get up a flirtation with Miss Odell on the strength of this, then I suggest that you think again!’

Richard raised both hands in a pacifying gesture. ‘Wouldn’t dare, old chap. You’d probably call me out. Besides, you are the one who knows Miss Odell the best. Perhaps you should take the matter on.’

Cory grimaced. ‘My feelings notwithstanding, Miss Odell and I are like brother and sister. If I start making up to her after all these years she will think me run quite mad.’ He sighed. ‘There is no need. I give you my word that Rachel is no more a French spy than I am.’

Lucas and Richard exchanged a look of covert amusement that Cory fortunately missed. ‘No exceptions,’ Richard pointed out blandly.

Cory gave an irritable sigh and held on to his temper-just.

‘If anyone is to flirt with Miss Odell then it should be me,’ Lucas said, blander still. ‘I’m not as dangerous as Richard and it will be my pleasure.’

Cory clenched his fists and slowly released them. He had never previously had any urge to inflict an injury on Lucas Kestrel, who was one of his best friends. There was always a first time, however. He took a deep breath and looked into the other man’s amused hazel eyes as he tried to clamp down on his fury.

‘I try to think of Miss Odell as a little sister, Lucas,’ he said heavily, ‘so I am hardly likely to encourage one of the greatest rakes in the whole country to flirt with her.’ He looked at his friends. Justin was watching him quizzically, there was a laugh lurking in Richard’s eyes and Lucas was grinning openly. Cory let his breath out in a long sigh. He was unhappily aware that his feelings for Rachel were as transparent as glass. He raised a warning hand.

‘Not another word…’

Justin shook his head. ‘We were not going to say anything at all, Cory,’ he said innocently. ‘Other than good luck, of course!’

Cory sighed. ‘I am happy to keep a watching brief at Midwinter Royal House,’ he said. ‘If I might change the subject slightly, I have already observed that there are some odd things going on there.’

To his relief, his friends took the hint.

‘Such as?’ Lucas asked.

‘Smugglers have been using the burial mounds to store their booty, for one thing,’ Cory said. ‘There is a lot of disturbance at the eastern end of one of the fields. It made a good hiding place, especially with the legends warning people to keep away from the treasure. I imagine they were not best pleased to hear we were to excavate there.’

‘Smugglers,’ Richard said thoughtfully. ‘A good line of communication with the enemy.’

‘Maybe.’ Cory grimaced. It seemed that they were positively surrounded by treachery. So much for Rachel’s view that the Midwinter villages were a haven of peace.

‘Well, whatever you do, please do not interfere with my brandy supply,’ Justin said with feeling. He topped up his glass. ‘Would anyone care for more?’

The glasses were refilled.

‘I suppose,’ Lucas said, ‘that we should be particularly careful in our dealings with the ladies. I cannot speak for the rest of you, of course, but I do not think we would wish our flirtation to be misconstrued as having a serious purpose. None of us wants to end up in parson’s mousetrap.’

There was heartfelt agreement to this. ‘How damnably ironic would that be?’ Justin said, and they all laughed to think of it.

It was two nights later when Cory Newlyn made an unheralded visit to Midwinter Royal House and slipped through the gate into the stable yard. There was a half-moon, small, silver and bright, above the line of the stable roof. It was a perfect night for a spot of illicit activity, be that smuggling, piracy, spying, or perhaps a little tomb robbing, all of which Cory was certain might occur in the Midwinter villages at any time. The wind had dropped during the evening and barely a whisper stirred the tops of the tall pines down in the burial field. Cory prepared for his own covert activity.

He leaned back against the wall of the stables and waited silently to see if anyone else was moving in the quiet night. It was about two o’clock. Cory had spent a pleasant enough evening at a dinner at Midwinter Marney Hall. His head should have been full of plans for the night, but instead he had found his thoughts had been full of Rachel Odell. To his own disgust he could feel himself becoming as lovesick as a youth in his salad days.

Rachel had looked utterly charming in her pale pink evening gown. With her chestnut hair and brown eyes she had the rich colouring to carry off a shade that looked so insipid on many of the blonde débutantes. The dress was demure and high-necked, but Cory could not help but admire the way that the material draped so gently over Rachel’s curves, concealing but outlining her full breasts and the generous curve of her hips. He suspected that Rachel’s dressmaker had cheated her. Without a doubt Rachel had told the woman to make her a gown of irreproachable modesty, but the modiste, with an eye to her professional pride, had created an outfit most flattering to Rachel’s figure. Cory smiled to think of that figure now.

His smile vanished. Rachel had not paid him a great deal of attention that evening. During dinner she had been placed next to Caspar Lang and in the impromptu dancing that had followed she had given her hand more than once to Caspar and to various other admirers, including John Norton. It was galling when Cory had warned her away from both Lang and Norton. It was even more annoying that when Cory had approached her for a quadrille, Rachel had apologised and explained that she was spoken for. Lang had been hanging on the back of her rout chair and had smirked in a manner that had made Cory want to strangle him with his own neckcloth. John Norton had also overheard the remark and had laughed as he came to carry Rachel off into the dance. Cory had gone to cool his heels in the card room, but through the open door he could still see Rachel twirling from one end of the set to the other. Under the circumstances, he had swiftly lost the game.

It had been no hardship for Cory to leave Marney Hall early, return to Kestrel Court and prepare to venture out again, less formally dressed and certainly less inclined to draw attention to himself. He needed to sort through Maskelyne’s books that Rachel had consigned to the stables, and he could not do it during the day when everyone was involved in the excavation and would notice his absence. There was only a slim chance that Maskelyne would have left any record of his activities in the house, but it was all they had to go on. Hence his presence in the Midwinter Royal stable yard at a time when Rachel was asleep in the room just above his head…

As if in response to this last thought there was a flicker of light above him and a pool of gold spilled from an upstairs window to mingle with the silver moonlight. Cory pressed back into the darkness. It would be disastrous for anyone to see him now, particularly Rachel, who was quite dauntless enough to come downstairs to see what was going on.

He looked up. The curtain at Rachel’s window twitched. Cory kept absolutely still. He was sure that he had not made enough noise to attract attention, so what had disturbed Rachel sufficiently to wake her in the middle of the night? Had she not yet retired for the night, or could she not sleep after the excitement of the evening?

The curtain moved and he saw her. She was standing in the window, framed by the candlelight. She was peering out into the darkness. Her dark hair was a cloud that framed her face in a way that lent it an ethereal air.

Cory looked at her and discovered that he did not want to look away. The pale candlelight was behind her now and it shone through the insubstantial white nightdress that she was wearing, illuminating in glorious detail a view of Miss Rachel Odell that he had never been vouchsafed before. Cory smothered a grin. He was no gentleman to be standing here and staring, but since the opportunity had presented itself he was not going to turn it away. In the shadowy light he could see all Rachel’s curves, previously only hinted at beneath her neat and tidy exterior. Cory’s smile deepened. Her waist was small and nipped in, and her breasts were luscious. He could see the shadow of the cleft between them and the darker smudge of her nipples against the lawn of the nightdress. And lower, where the outline of her thighs pressed against the thin material, he could see…

Cory realised that he could not actually see anything, since the window sill cut Rachel off neatly at the waist, but his imagination filled in the gaps in intimate detail. His body hardened with desire and at the same time his mind intervened and slammed him up hard against a metaphorical wall. This was Rachel he was lusting after, Rachel whose soft body he wanted to tumble beneath his own, Rachel whom he wanted to kiss senseless and make love to until she cried out with a passion to match his own. Yet only the previous day, when they had talked of love and passion, he had sworn to himself that she could be no more than his honorary little sister. What the hell did he think that he was doing?

Cory pressed the palms of his hands against the rough brick of the stable wall and forced himself to look away. He was sweating with the effort of controlling his body and fighting off the images that plagued his mind. The night air touched his face and turned the sweat cold. He screwed his eyes up in agony.

When he glanced back at the window, the light had gone and the night was dark again. Cory let his breath ease out of him in a long sigh. It had to be a momentary aberration. He would never think about Rachel in that way again. Because if he did, it would turn a lot of his life’s certainties upside down and nothing could be the same again.

Cory deliberately dismissed the episode from his mind and a moment later softly, carefully, edged his way around the side of the stable block. A cool little breeze scattered stray pieces of straw across the cobbles. It masked the lifting of the latch as he opened the stable door and stepped inside.

He stopped just inside the door and edged it closed, but left it unlatched. The thin sliver of moonlight cut out, and he was standing in the darkness, the tickly smell of hay in his nostrils and the dusty shadows pressing close. He did not move for at least a minute. Cory had been in some dangerous and unusual situations in his life and the one thing that he had learned from them all was never to make hasty decisions and always to be on his guard. His instinct was telling him now that something was amiss. Someone had been there before him.

He struck a light and looked about him in the flare of the flame. The stable was empty of everything but a mound of old hay, for the Odells did not keep a carriage. Cory trod softly across the cobbled floor and looked into the end stall. When he had collected Castor earlier in the day he had taken the opportunity to locate the pile of false books that Rachel had thrown out of the library. They were stacked neatly away in the corner of the final stall.

Or, at least, they had been. Now they were scattered across the cobbles, the covers ripped off, the wooden blocks splintered. Cory bent down slowly and picked one of them up. As Rachel had said, they were beautifully made. Each block of wood was cut to exactly the same size and each had an elegant printed leather cover stuck to the front. When they had been displayed on the library shelves it would have been impossible to tell from a distance that they were not real books. Now they were fit for nothing but the fire.

Cory gave a heavy sigh and straightened up. Evidently someone other than himself had heard about Jeffrey Maskelyne’s collection of false books. Knowing Rachel, it was entirely possible that she had shared the information with Lady Sally’s reading group, deploring the philistinism of a man who had to fill his bookshelves with fakes…

He felt a cool draught on his skin and a sudden shiver down his neck as all the hairs stood on end. He had not heard the stable door open, but now he realised that he had made a potentially fatal mistake. For one split second he had forgotten to be careful.

And in that second the blade of a dagger touched the skin of his throat and lingered there like a caress.