A Spy's Honor (12 page)

All she could do was nod, as always. Someday, soon she hoped, her father’s taunts would fade into the past and she’d see what everyone else saw when they looked at her.

Emily hugged her. “You’re beautiful, Claire, no matter what you wear. Come, our audience awaits us.”

They stepped carefully down the grand staircase dominating the hall, and Claire saw the rest of the family assembled at the bottom watching their descent. One pair of gleaming blue eyes snagged her attention. John. He wasn’t wearing his spectacles, and she grasped the rail as her feet suddenly forgot which way to move. Not that she didn’t find him devastatingly handsome
with
his spectacles, but without them his eyes were so clear it was as if she could see into—

Humph. She had no business thinking about the handsomeness of a man other than her fiancé. She maneuvered down the last two steps and slid behind the dowager duchess, pretending to rearrange her shawl.

“Claire, I never thought it was in your nature to be so cruel,” Allerton exclaimed.

Bewildered but forced to show herself, she stepped around the duke’s mother.

Allerton’s smile could have even charmed the Corsican monster into surrendering, but Claire couldn’t keep her gaze from John, who stood beside him, equally as tall now, just as dashing but infinitely more solemn. His newly-tailored coat, as dark as the midnight sky, stretched across his shoulders in perfect proportion, narrowing down to encircle his lean waist.

Beneath her shawl she pinched herself in disgust and turned to the duke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Shame on you. As striking as you are in that dress, the unmarried ladies present tonight will have the devil’s own time snaring even the slightest attention from the gentlemen.”

The heat that crept up her cheeks surely ruined the harmony her skin had achieved with the dress’s hue. “Thank you. I think.”

The dowager duchess, muttering something about “appalling encomium,” headed for the front door, spurring everyone else into motion.

After Emily was handed into the carriage, Claire followed and deliberately chose to sit next to her sister. Allerton and John clambered in after them, flanking their mother.

The experienced coachman set them off without a jolt, and Claire tried to relax. After they arrived at their destination, she would not have to see John for the rest of the evening.

Emily turned to her. “Kensworth is coming, isn’t he? I know how the two of you enjoy dancing.”

Claire avoided looking at John and answered quickly, hoping to dispel the topic. “Yes, of course, he will be there.”

“You cannot dance with your fiancé all night. Undoubtedly you can spare one set each for John and me?” Allerton asked.

Desperate, Claire tried to think of how to decline both brothers, for she couldn’t dance with the duke while refusing John. But she didn’t want to beg off dancing completely; it was one of her favorite activities.

“I… Well, I…,” she began, but still couldn’t think what to say.

John interrupted her, saying, “I do not anticipate being in want of a dance partner.”

His remark stung like the prick of a needle, but there was no malice in his tone and he refused to look up from the hat he held between his legs.

He’d said it, she realized, to spare her from answering the question.

“Ho-ho! Can you believe the confidence of my little brother?” Allerton caught Claire’s gaze. “Do you not think he’s much changed since his return?”

John was staring at his fingers as they skimmed the rim of his hat, and Claire could not see his face. He
had
changed. He was more comfortable with himself and with his place in the world. He still spoke infrequently in groups, but when he did have something to say his voice held more certainty. And while his family had often complained about his past preference for secluding himself away with his books and his work, he had spent the last few days in constant company with them.

But where it really mattered—to Claire—he hadn’t changed at all. He still played with her emotions. Before he’d gallantly offered his help, flirted with her, kissed her and then left her. Despite her engagement, he still flirted with her and asked her to dance.

Claire stared out the window, recalling her vow to be civil. “I should like to think we’ve all changed. I do not doubt that, if he so chooses, John will be the toast of Society and will have a wealth of young ladies from which to choose a bride.”

The carriage grew tensely silent. John was staring at her, his expression that of an irritated wolf.

She was ever so glad when the carriage came to a gentle halt in Berkeley Square.

Chapter Nine

After they were announced, Emily offered to help Claire find Kensworth, leaving John and Allerton to survey the colorful, shifting crush of people before them.

“Are you certain you want to wade into this to find a bride?”

“I’ve nothing else to do at the moment.”
And Claire is not available.

Enough. While he was pretending to look for a bride, he should look for a bride. Or at least give another woman a chance. Focusing on Claire was leading him nowhere.

Allerton shook his head, his unruly hair for once controlled by an old-fashioned queue. “Now that is a show of enthusiasm. I think you’d be better served by finding a new post. I can introduce you to someone in the Home Office if you’d like a change.”

Big brother, always trying to run his life. “Alas, I am on a mission. I’m off to solicit Mother’s assistance with a few introductions.”

Allerton shot him a disbelieving look but shrugged and headed off.

John stared at the mass of revelers—boots, buttons and jewels all gleaming in the candlelight—and sighed. Deep down, he still felt awkward in these situations. But spying had taught him many things, not least of which was how to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He had the perfect example of whom to impersonate tonight: his flirtatious and confident brother. Five years ago he wouldn’t have even been able to imagine doing any such thing. Now, it was a matter of focused thinking.

It took him more than a quarter of an hour to find his mother, but when he did, she was most fortuitously surrounded by three young misses gowned in white.

She wasted no time in introducing him. “Lady Helen Carwood, Miss Heffington, and Miss Milken, may I present my son, Lord John Reyburn?”

He smiled widely at them all, remarked on the magnificent ball, and listened attentively to their responses. Miss Milken, a black-haired, chalk-skinned wraith, though seemingly pleased to meet him, shrank back and allowed the other two to command his attention for a few minutes. Knowing exactly how she felt, it was easy for him to make his choice.

“Miss Milken, are you available for the next dance?”

She started. “Yes, I… That would be most…most kind.”

John offered his arm to her and nodded at Lady Helen and Miss Heffington. “Ladies.” They were both daughters of peers on his list. He would further his acquaintance with them later, killing two birds with one stone, pretending to look for a bride and investigating their fathers. But not yet. Not when he was still thinking about Claire.

As he turned Miss Milken toward the dance floor, his mother caught his eye and winked. At least she and Emily would be happy seeing him squire the ladies about. Claire, too. She’d be glad to be free of him. Her refusing to dance with him chafed like fabric rubbing against a wound, but John forced aside his thoughts as he and Miss Milken joined three other couples to form a set for the quadrille. He needed to concentrate on the steps of the dance, and she deserved his attention.

A while later John returned Miss Milken to her mother and then set off to find one of the lords on his list. Any of them would do, but luckily he found Lord Stretton first, a vocal baron with decidedly radical leanings whose estate in Beckenham was barely fifteen miles southwest.

“My lord,” John said, hoping the man would remember him from some of his mother’s dinner parties years ago.

The older gentleman’s hazel eyes expanded in surprise, and his wine barrel-shaped middle jiggled. “Lord John Reyburn! Well, how are you, my boy? By God, I can’t remember how many years it’s been since I saw you last.”

“Too many,” John replied honestly. He’d forgotten how much he liked Lord Stretton and his hearty enthusiasm. The man was easy to talk to, and John enjoyed, probably more than he should as the brother of a Tory lord, Stretton’s outspoken disapproval of many government policies. “I’ve recently returned from the Continent. Are you still slaying Tories with your tongue?”

“Every day that I’m able!” Stretton laughed loudly—he didn’t do anything quietly—drawing the gaze of a few others. “In fact, I’m just back from Scotland, and as my son-in-law would say, I canna wait to begin debating again.”

“Scotland, you say?” John held his breath, more hopeful than made sense that Stretton couldn’t be the man he was after. The threatening letter had been written eight days ago, so depending on when Stretton returned, John might be able to eliminate him.

The baron nodded, and his grey-streaked mahogany hair slapped against the sides of his head. “Two months in that godforsaken place! Returned Tuesday last. My Jennie had to visit our girl and her new baby.”

Exhaling slowly, John replied, “Congratulations to your family.”

If Stretton had been in Scotland for two months and returned six days ago, he couldn’t have been plotting against the prime minister—but he might still be able to help John. An idea sprang up in his mind, and he moved a step closer to Stretton and lowered his voice, improvising.

“Sir, I’ve been considering entering Parliament. While I have the greatest respect for Allerton, I am not certain I wish to stand as a Tory.”

Stretton might be loud, but the man did have one thin vein of circumspection running through his body. He gave John a long look and then led him farther away from the crowd. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m afraid I have no boroughs with empty seats right now.”

“Perhaps you know someone who might?” John prompted. Any crony of Stretton’s was likely to be a progressive thinker, possibly even the peer he was looking for.

The baron puffed up his cheeks and then loudly exhaled. “Try Dundell, Kensworth, or Gorley. Dundell’s likely to be suspicious of your connection to a Tory, but then he’s suspicious of his own mother. Kensworth doesn’t have much clout—yet—but I admire his ideas and his tenacity.” Stretton suddenly snapped his fingers. “One moment! Isn’t Kensworth marrying into your family?”

“Yes,” John replied. Obviously no one had a bad thing to say about the man. Leave it to Claire to choose a paragon. “He’s marrying my brother’s wife’s sister.”

“Family’s family. Use what connections you have.”

John leaned against the nearest wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Mightn’t be such a good idea to associate myself so blatantly with Kensworth. My brother might have an apoplexy.”

“You have been gone a while,” Stretton commented. “Allerton isn’t nearly as conservative as he used to be, especially for a Tory. An alliance between you and Kensworth might be just what we need.”

Might as well canonize the man right now,
John thought.
St. Stephen.
Then he moved the conversation back to more important matters. “What about Gorley?” Gorley was on his list too.

“He’s lost some influence due to his illness, but he could still manage to get you a decent seat.”

“Illness?” John asked, mental pencil ready to slash through Gorley’s name.

Stretton shook his head and tried to pull his waistcoat over the bulge of his stomach. “Been in bed for the past three months. We paid him a brief visit on our return trip. He’s lucid about half the time, so he’d still be able to help.” He paused and looked around. “I must find my Jennie. She promised me a dance. I’m at Brooks’s most nights; come see me if you’d like to talk further.”

John pushed away from the wall. “Thank you, sir. I will take your information under advisement.”

As Stretton walked away, John hoped he hadn’t made an error by soliciting the man’s patronage. Would Allerton be upset about this purported defection to the Whigs? Or had his brother changed as much as Stretton thought? Allerton was willing to tolerate Kensworth’s Whig leanings, but then Kensworth wasn’t his brother and didn’t come from a long line of Tories. John still didn’t regret spending all that time in Europe, but he was beginning to regret not visiting his family or keeping up a better correspondence. Regardless, he needed to speak to his brother soon about his supposed plans. Spying, and the incumbent improvisation that went with it, was much more difficult with family and friends around.

He found a footman and secured a glass of sherry in order to fortify himself for what lay ahead: more dancing with marriage-mad females. But perhaps he’d find another one like Miss Milken, or better yet, like Claire. Only, less prickly than she had been since his return.

He looked up—straight into Claire’s burning brown gaze. John nodded and started to smile, but with a perfunctory nod she turned and walked away.

Why the devil couldn’t she be more than civil? He was attempting to accustom himself to being around her without wanting to kiss her, to caress her, to breathe the very essence of her. She had clearly never felt the same about him, so why did she seem to be so…so incensed when he was in close proximity? She should be grateful he had set her free to marry her saint-cum-Viking warlord.

Irritated, he banished Claire from his mind once again and set off to find a willing dance partner. He managed to land first Lady Helen Carwood and then Miss Heffington. The latter unwittingly gave her father an alibi by describing, in a tale that left no detail wanting and no emotion lacking, how her father had ridden to their larger estate near Sheffield last week to personally escort her to London for her first Season, as her mother had, quite inconveniently, gone into an early confinement with her eleventh sibling. She, Miss Heffington, would be at this moment wasting away in the wilds of Yorkshire if her father hadn’t been so gallant, and he, Lord John, would have been deprived of the opportunity to whirl that estimable lady around the ballroom. Twice, if he so desired, she strongly hinted.