Eloquence and Espionage (19 page)

Of course he denied it. Why not? Who would
take the words of a Frenchman or the guess of a young girl on her
first Season over the insistence of the legendary Lord
Winthrop?

“Have you gone mad?” he blustered, bulk
trembling in his agitation. “The prosperity of the Empire was once
dearer to me than a wife. Why would I endanger that union by
consorting with the French?”

Oh, but he could still turn a phrase when
pressed.

Sinclair did not look impressed. He strode
to the desk and grabbed a handful of papers.

“Ambition? Money? That’s all you care
about.” He tossed the parchment back down, and one piece fluttered
off the desk and floated closer to Ariadne. She bent to retrieve
it.

“Money.” Lord Winthrop sneered the word.
“That was denied me, and with it went ambition. I once dared to
dream, and those dreams became nightmare.”

“Then why not accept France’s offer to spy
for them?” Lord Hastings suggested. “You must know that France
would never defeat England. I suppose you thought you were being
wise to profit at its expense.”

“Wise?” Trevithan raised his dark head. “His
agent nearly killed Emerson.”

Lord Winthrop’s brows drew down. “What are
you talking about?”

Lord Hastings and Lord Trevithan were quick
to berate him for his part in the evening’s affairs, but Ariadne
couldn’t help glancing down at the paper in her hand. It was the
beginning of a note from Lord Winthrop to another Parliamentarian,
inviting him to tea to discuss a matter of great importance. The
wording was vague, full of trite platitudes, ingratiating comments.
Ariadne blinked, then raised her head.

“He didn’t do it,” she said.

Lord Hastings and his man were so involved
in their argument with Lord Winthrop they couldn’t have heard her.
But Sinclair came around the desk to her side. “What do you
mean?”

The tone was terse, sharp, all but demanding
an explanation. He wanted to hear his father might be innocent. She
thrust the letter at him.

“If this is an example of the sorts of
missives being used to further the French plots, your father is
innocent,” Ariadne told him. “These are not the words of one of
England’s most celebrated leaders.”

Lord Winthrop heaved himself to his feet,
forcing Lord Hastings and Lord Trevithan to fall back. “Listen to
my son’s betrothed! I have done nothing wrong.”

“Oh, you’ve done a great deal wrong,”
Sinclair said, fist closing on to the page, “but perhaps not this.”
He drew in a breath as if drawing in strength with it. “Where is
your secretary?”

Lord Hastings and his man were watching
Sinclair’s father. Lord Winthrop frowned. “Symthe? He has retired
for the night, upstairs, first door on the right. Shall I have
Adams fetch him?”

Lord Trevithan was already on his way to the
door. “No need. I’ll find him and deliver him to Newgate for
further questioning.” He paused to glance back at Sinclair.
“Coming, Hawksbury?”

Ariadne looked his way. This was his
vocation, the way he honored the past. Though she wished to keep
him at her side, she knew she must let him go.

“I’d like to remain,” he said, gaze brushing
hers before turning to Lord Hastings. “If I may, sir.”

Lord Hastings nodded, then turned to his old
friend. “It seems we’ve wronged you, Winthrop, and for that I
apologize. You know my role often requires me to act as less than a
gentleman for the good of the Empire.”

“You and your cadre,” Lord Winthrop
acknowledged.

Lord Hastings did not look concerned that
his old friend knew his secret. “You are very fortunate in your
heir and his bride-to-be. I’ll leave them to tell the tale. Miss
Courdebas would be only too delighted, I’m sure.” With a nod to
Ariadne, he strode after his man.

“I expect someone to explain,” Lord Winthrop
said in the quiet that followed. “Immediately.”

Sinclair sighed as if a burden had slipped
from his shoulders. “Your secretary has been using your influence
for the good of France. He made it possible for a French agent to
attack Lord Emerson tonight at Almack’s.”

“At Almack’s?” Lord Winthrop asked, falling
back into his seat with a squeak of protest from the chair. “Is
nothing sacred?”

“Apparently not,” Ariadne said. “But your
son and James Cropper of Bow Street were able to stop the attack
before Lord Emerson was harmed.”

“And your sister helped Cropper catch the
fellow,” Sinclair reminded her. “I imagine a knighthood might be
involved.”

“I will insist on it,” Lord Winthrop assured
her. “And I must thank you, Miss Courdebas, for supporting an old
man too caught up in his own misery to realize he was being duped.
I’ll not forgive myself for that.”

Sinclair shook his head. “So now you’ll hold
a grudge even against yourself.”

His father shifted on the chair. “Do not
disparage my gifts, boy. I can hold a grudge closer and tighter
than a miser his purse.”

“To your own detriment,” Ariadne told him.
“You call it a gift. I call it a curse.”

“I’ll call the constable to haul you before
the magistrate if you don’t leave me be this instant,” Lord
Winthrop countered with a scowl.

Ariadne beamed. “Now that was a specific
threat. A shame I don’t believe you.”

Sinclair was staring at her. “Why do you
doubt him? He once threatened to ruin my grandparents if I so much
as spoke to them again.”

“And I would have done so,” Lord Winthrop
warned. “Liars. Cheats. Denying me what I perjured myself to
attain.”

“And so you deny me my family?” Sinclair
stepped forward, hands fisted. Then he stopped and glanced at
Ariadne, and she could see the fire reflected in his dark eyes.
“His income could not support his ambitions,” he explained. “So, he
lowered himself in his own estimation to marry the daughter of a
wealthy Scotsman. He thought he could keep my mother hidden,
visiting her only as required to gain an heir. He spent her money,
begged more from my grandfather. He provided no medical attention
when she was ill. I think he hoped she’d die, relieving him of an
embarrassment.”

Lord Winthrop shifted again, and for the
first time Ariadne saw him pale. “Now, then,” he murmured. “Never
that.”

Sinclair continued undaunted. “But what he
didn’t realize is that the last of her money was entailed to her
heirs. The income came to me on her death, with my grandfather as
trustee. Father was so angry he threatened to ruin my
grandparents.”

“That’s why you refused to see them,”
Ariadne realized. “You were protecting them.”

Sinclair nodded. “And you. I was afraid what
he might do if he thought I might truly come to care for you. He
destroyed everything I ever loved.” He reached out a hand to touch
her cheek, the caress raising a longing inside her.

“It seems I have greatly wronged you,
Sinclair,” his father murmured. “I will not stop you from seeing
your grandparents, if that’s what you want. And as for Miss
Courdebas, you have my permission to marry her.”

Sinclair took a step back, staring at Lord
Winthrop. He had lost so much at his father’s hand that Ariadne
wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him accept the offer to marry
her, just to prove he could. She didn’t want him that way.

“It was all a ruse to cover Sinclair’s work
with Lord Hastings,” she told Lord Winthrop. “Your son has no
interest in marrying me.” She would not have imagined just saying
the words would hurt so much.

Sinclair took her hand. “You and I can talk
further, Father. For now, allow me to escort Miss Courdebas
home.”

And so a short time later she was once more
seated across from Sinclair in a carriage, this time one belonging
to his father. It was beautifully appointed, with brass and
polished wood surrounding the plush blue velvet, and she couldn’t
help her bounce on the well-padded seat as they set off.

“Thank you,” he said, a shadow in his
evening black. “You defeated a French spy and my father’s arrogance
in one night. Lord Hastings will be sure to offer you more
assignments.”

She beamed. “Perhaps he will. And I promise
to try to see my next assignment more objectively. Though, I must
say, I don’t like keeping secrets from those I love.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed. “It appears my
father knows of my vocation in any event. And right now, I find
myself more interested in the future than clinging to the
past.”

She was glad for him. But she couldn’t help
thinking about the future herself. “And so I shall have to tell my
mother we aren’t engaged after all. I can imagine how she’ll
respond.”

He shifted across the carriage to sit beside
her and take her hand, fingers firm and strong as they wrapped
around hers. “Perhaps you don’t have to tell her.”

Ariadne sighed. “No, I must. There is no
reason to prolong the ruse.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Perhaps it
needn’t be a ruse. Perhaps, Ariadne Courdebas, amazing woman that
you are, you might consider marrying someone like me. I may never
be as eloquent as you, and I hereby foreswear espionage, but I will
love and admire you all the days of my life.”

Ariadne trembled, fingers of her free hand
reaching for the journal that was home on her dressing table. Oh,
but even if the journal had been there, she wouldn’t have stopped
the moment to record it. It was simply perfect as it was.

“There is no perhaps, sir,” she told him.
“There is only yes. Yes, I love and admire you as well. Yes, I will
marry you. Yes, yes, yes!”

“Repetition?” he said, cocking his head.

“Emphasis,” she assured him, reaching up to
draw his head down to hers.

And, for a while, the touch of their lips
was far more eloquent than any words ever spoken.

~~~

Thank you for choosing
Eloquence and
Espionage
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Read more about our intrepid sleuth, Lady
Emily Southwell. She and her friends Priscilla Tate and Daphne and
Ariadne Courdebas have other adventures ahead. If you missed the
first book, which introduced Lady Emily and her friends and the
mysterious happenings at Brentfield Manor, be sure to look for
Secrets and
Sensibilities
.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
Book 5 of the Lady Emily Capers,
Love and Larceny
,
available now
.

Blessings!

Regina Scott

Daphne Courdebas was known throughout London as an Amazon. She rode
better than most of the gentlemen, could drive four-in-hand, and
had once dangled off a ledge in a ball gown to protect a friend
from a murderous jewel thief. The fellows found her fascinating.
The ladies were either awed or aghast at her exploits. She could
have given them an easy explanation for her bravado. She’d simply
learned that her brain worked better when she was moving.

That was why she took Hortensia out earlier
than usual that day. The black mare flew along Rotten Row, her
hooves kicking up the golden sand on the track, as the trees of
Hyde Park flashed past. Daphne’s thoughts flew nearly as fast.

What was she to do about Miss Alexander’s
request?

No, no, not Miss Alexander. She must
remember her former art teacher’s new name and position. Hannah
Alexander was now Lady Brentfield. And she had begged Daphne and
her sister Ariadne and their friends Priscilla Tate and Lady Emily
Southwell to come to her aid.

“Even though David has had all the secret
passages closed off,” she’d written, “I know strangers are
frequenting the manor. Art is once more missing, and the servants
report hearing noises in the night. It is a mystery that must be
solved.”

Of course, Emily had agreed. Emily lived to
solve mysteries, and she was very good at it. Ariadne said it was
because she saw the details of any scene with her painter’s eye.
Daphne thought it was more likely because Emily generally saw the
dark in any situation.

Either way, Emily had been ready to journey
to Somerset right then. Priscilla had agreed nearly as eagerly—any
reason to take her betrothed Nathan Kent away from his demanding
family. Even Ariadne and her betrothed Lord Hawksbury were going,
because a mysterious manor was simply too picturesque to
forego.

And then there was Daphne, unattached and
alone, the last of her friends, against all odds, to find a beau.
Conversations in London were bad enough these days, with Priscilla
and Ariadne prosing on about wedding dresses and seating
arrangements and whether Moroccan slippers should be allowed at
wedding breakfasts. Just as bad, Emily moped because her inamorata,
Jamie Cropper, had yet to propose even though she might actually be
able to convince her father to allow her to accept because their
last caper to uncover a French spy had resulted in Jamie being
knighted. Daphne must remember to call the Bow Street Runner Sir
James when next they met.

But with everyone mooning about, how much
worse would it be at Brentfield, where everyone around Daphne was
either married or about to be? She felt as if she were a dress
everyone had outgrown.

She reined in Hortensia, praised the
black-coated mare for her speed, then turned her to trot back down
the path. Perhaps she should stay home. Her father was remaining in
town while her mother chaperoned Ariadne in the country. But
already London was beginning to thin of company. And she’d miss
catching the thief. She was the one her friends relied upon for
feats of physical prowess, after all. She was the one most likely
to be of assistance this time. If only she didn’t feel like a
spinster!