Seducing the Spy (12 page)

Oh, wait. That was Lady Alicia, pressed next to him in the tight space. She was aroused.

By you or by Farrington, or any of the other ten men she's flirted with this evening?

"Of course, Lord Farrington is a very handsome man. Still, handsome is as handsome does," Lady Alicia said wistfully. "Al—someone else seemed fine and noble and perfect to me once. Now I find him as ugly as a toad. Uglier, for it is not the toad's fault."

She tilted her head back to glare at him. "So the fact that you are divinely handsome shouldn't even enter into my opinion of you."

He was staring at her with open surprise on his face. She laughed. "Oh, Wyndham, don't tell me that you don't know you are a veritable god among men. You've the entire combination of classical male beauty in your pocket and I'm not in the mood to hear false modesty at the moment." She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Your behavior, on the other hand—"

"I do not suffer fools," he said with his usual grimness.

She rolled her eyes. "Pity the world, then, because next to you, most men are fools!" She shook a scolding finger at him. "Being superior does not mean that you should act superior. In fact, it means that you should be even more aware of the limitations of others, and more forgiving of them, for they have not your advantages."

"There isn't a man in there who does not possess the same advantages as I."

She folded her arms. "All at once? Is there another man in that ballroom who is as wealthy as a king
and
highly intelligent
and
of very nearly royal lineage
and
would put Adonis to shame?"

He scowled. "There is the Prince Regent."

She flapped a hand, dismissing his suggestion. "As much as I respect my ruler, I gather that he has destroyed his looks with his indulgences. And while he might yet win out on pleasant personality, rumor has it that he loses points on character."

Stanton nearly strangled on the concept that his mercurial, childish tempered ruler might have a more pleasant personality than himself—but took secret pleasure in the fact that Lady Alicia found him attractive.

Too much secret pleasure, in fact.

All the better reason to keep this conversation on philosophical ground. "So I am to forgive my fellow man for his inadequacies—most of which are self-inflicted, I might add—and be tolerant of bad judgment, laziness, and poor ethics?"

She nodded briskly. "Absolutely."

"Must I also forgive gambling, drunkenness, and lime-green waistcoats?"

Her lips twitched. "Perhaps on a case-by-case basis."

"Am I also to overlook bad hygiene, a tendency toward spittle-spraying, and the passing of wind?"

She had to press her lips thin to suppress her laughter, but her shaking shoulders betrayed her. She nodded again. "Mm-hmm."

He folded his arms, mocking her stern stance. "Very well, it is agreed. But I draw the line at the scratching of personal parts. Offenders must die."

"I cannot argue there." She stuck out her hand. "Done."

Her hand felt very small in his larger one, yet he felt he could barely contain her there. She was like a bird in his grasp, difficult to hold securely without harm.

Her eyes were wide and deep as the forest as she gazed up at him. "When you look at me like that, I want to bed you," she said.

He choked. "What?"

She tilted her head, considering him closely. "I would think it advisable to limit ourselves to one night, in case it's unpleasant."

"Unpleasant." God, no. That's the last thing it would be… at least at first. Later perhaps matters might turn, but never, ever "unpleasant."

Thankfully, they were interrupted by a great fanfare from the hall. Stanton pulled Lady Alicia from behind the plant to see a familiar robust figure step grandly into the party. "Oh, heavens," Alicia whispered. "Is that—"

"Oh, yes," Stanton said grimly. "The Prince Regent himself has arrived."

Prince George IV turned from greeting his host to see Stanton beside him. He frowned.

"Bloody hell, Wyndham. Can't I escape you lot? Are you planning to follow me to the privy?"

"You don't use the privy," Stanton pointed out. "You have minions to carry your piss." Titled minions, at that. It was supposed to be an honor to be Lord of the Royal Commode, or whatever it was called, but Stanton was deeply thankful he didn't have to tote anyone's offal.

George clasped his hands behind his back and glared. "Typically literal. What are you doing here?"

"I am enjoying Lord Cross's hospitality. I brought along my mistress, just as you did."

George blinked. "You have a mistress? I shudder to think on it. Where is she?"

Oh, hell. Perhaps he ought not to have brought Alicia to George's attention. Buxom and lively, she was just the sort of woman to attract the Prince Regent. Although his highness's current mistress was still quite new, lusty George had been known to keep more than one at a time. The ladies never complained.

George was waiting, so rather than call any more attention than necessary, Stanton gestured offhandedly in Alicia's general direction. "There, in the green gown."

George gazed curiously across the room. "The zesty redhead with the astounding figure?"

"Er… yes."

George gazed at Alicia with continued appreciation. "Well, damn it, man, perhaps you do have blood running through those veins! I'd have wagered the kingdom on its being icy water." He slid his gaze back to Stanton. "So that's the woman who brought you to a boil, eh? Shall I beg an introduction?"

Stanton reached for any distraction. "Your highness, about your presence here—" It might be throwing oil on the fire, but anything to get George's greedy gaze off Alicia. "With our enemy loose and possibly still nearby, you are not safe enough here."

The warning did the trick. George's eyes narrowed. "You think the Four have me well leashed, but you forget. There is nothing you can do to me. Steal my crown as you did my father's? My little Charlotte is overyoung, but I'm sure my brothers can regent for her. You'll likely have better luck with one of those puppets on your strings anyway."

He turned slightly to bow to a nearby lady, then turned back to Stanton. "I will not be caged, Wyndham."

A footman approached one of George's entourage, who then whispered to another person in blinding gold braid, who then whispered to another, finally moving up the chain of command to the man allowed to whisper in the royal ear. George listened impatiently. "Very well," he told the man, who sent the message back down the chain to Cross's footman once more.

The musicians paused and everyone's gaze turned to the dais at one end of the room.

Cross stood there, hands outstretched. "Esteemed guests, I am very proud to present to you our master of ceremonies, our very own Prince Regent, Prince George the Fourth—this week's Lord of Misrule!"

Rapturous excited murmurs moved in waves about the hall. Stanton closed his eyes briefly. Bloody hell. Not only was this a week-long orgy of food and sin, but Cross had resurrected the ancient rite of Saturnalia—albeit a few weeks early.

George took the dais.

"In the finest of ancient pagan Saturnalia tradition, and in accordance with our own amusement, we must have a Lord of Misrule—one man who will set the tone of the festivities. Our king for a week—whom we must obey. One man who will embody every wicked thought, every scandalous deed—every lascivious wink!" He accompanied that with a broad and gleeful wink of his own. The gentlemen guffawed. The ladies winked back.

Stanton folded his arms, feeling ever more uncomfortable and out of his element. He longed for his quiet house, or even the cramped Chamber of the Four. Give him an international incident to resolve and he was fine, sharp and incisive. However, surround him with vivid social intercourse and his quick mind slowed and his voice had to fight past a bog of wary distance.

He tried to relax his brooding scowl, for it was imperative that he seem to be one of the mob, but those near him tended to sidle away despite his best effort.

George clasped his hands over his belly and looked benignly upon them all. "I have a surprise for you, my darlings."

The Prince Regent slid his gaze in Stanton's direction and smiled. It was not a friendly smile.

Oh, damn.

"As your ruler," George pronounced, "I promise to always care for your pleasure and prosperity. That said, I fear I cannot go on. I declare that I shall abdicate my throne!"

A moment of shocked stillness followed. Stanton moved closer to George, just in case the capricious and unhappy prince meant to do something dangerous. The crowd of guests began a worried murmuring.

George raised both hands to quiet the growing hum. "Do not worry, for I have decided upon a better man to lead you all."

Stanton stepped up on the dais, ready to stop George with physical force if necessary. He could not be allowed to toss such a torch into the current political climate. England might never recover!

Unfortunately, George seemed all too resolute. "As my last act as your ruler, I declare…"

Stanton was only a few yards away. Five more steps and he would be at the Prince Regent's side.

Even as George watched Stanton's approach from the corner of his eyes, the prince threw his hands wide. "… that Lord Wyndham shall be crowned your new Lord of Misrule!"

Oh, no.

«
^
»

It was Stanton's own personal hell on earth. That was truly the only way to describe it. Stanton stood on the dais with all eyes upon him, the Prince Regent's arm slung across his shoulders, while everyone present waited for his reaction.

It seemed like an hour, but was likely only seconds—yet Stanton was able to fully calculate the result of various futures based on his possible reactions.

He could shrug off his prince and ruler and stalk from the room. Tempting, but what would that do to his mission? He did not wish for a certain mysterious gentleman to wonder too hard upon why Wyndham might come to this event if he wasn't intending to take part.

He could politely try to put the crown back on George's head.

"It's done. You're entirely stuck, Wyndham," George whispered in his ear. "You might as well enjoy it."

Close your eyes and think of England.

George was right. He was stuck. However, he absolutely refused to enjoy it.

He stepped forward, out from the unwanted embrace of the prince, and cleared his throat. He need not have bothered, for every eye in the room was fixed upon him,

"As your new Lord of Misrule, I declare the first law of Saturnalia to be…"

He caught sight of Alicia, who stood with one hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide above it. She was either trying very hard not to scream, or failing rather badly not to laugh.

Very well then. If he must, then he would serve his own purposes as well.

"I declare that until midnight tonight, everyone here must tell the absolute truth!"

He saw frowns cross several brows in the sea of faces before him. The silence grew. He'd bungled it, he feared. He wasn't accustomed to playing this sort of game.

Then Alicia leaned forward to cup her hands about her mouth.

"Then I shall go first!" Her voice carried through the nearly silent hall perfectly. "My lord prince, I fancy your very large… hands!"

Laughter erupted around her. "And I, your highness!"

"I too!"

"I fancy Lord Wyndham's superior shoulders!"

The laughter and cries increased as people became more enamored of this game of bawdy confession.

Which, of course, was not quite what Stanton had in mind.

As soon as possible, Stanton slipped from the dais to stalk across the hall to where Lady Alicia stood. She was grinning at him, clearly enjoying the moment of his downfall.

"You were quite correct," she teased. "You are indeed a complicated fellow."

He gazed at her without expression. "You aren't helping matters."

She flapped a hand at him. "Oh, pith and tosh. You wanted to blend in. Now you're blending."

"Ruling this madness is blending in?"

"It is if everyone thinks you are playing a part instead of being your own annoying poker-up-your-arse self."

"I don't have a poker up my—" He shut his mouth, clenching his jaw against such a childish denial.

She patted his arm with mock sympathy. "Now, now. You wanted to pass as one of us. Now, no matter how you go on about honor and duty and all that, everyone will think it the height of irony and the party will go on."

He gazed at her now with his head tilted. " 'One of us'?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"You said, 'You wanted to pass as one of us.' " He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You cannot truly think you are anything like these people?"

She looked startled, then seemed to consider the matter. "I suppose I do. After all, everyone here is wellborn or wealthy, yet lives outside the general rules of Society."

He folded his arms. "Nonsense. Having a mind of one's own is not synonymous with being as amoral as a cat."

She gave him a startled look. "I… that is…" She shrugged, obviously frustrated. "Oh, bother. Just when I believe I have my own mind sorted out, you grow annoyingly perceptive!" She threw out her hands. "Then I have no recourse but to go out and prove you wrong!"

Ha. Victory stole through Stanton's veins as he watched her stalk away, her skirts atwitch with irritation. He was taking far too much pleasure in baiting her, but the rush of triumph when he bested her was sweet indeed—

Prove him wrong?

He cast his gaze about the room urgently. She wouldn't.

He found her in intimate conversation with that willow twig of a green boy, Lord Farrington. Her hand rested on the fellow's lapel as she stood on tiptoe, leaning far, far too close. Farrington's gaze fell blissfully to her bodice as he nodded eagerly to what she whispered in his ear.

Bloody, bloody hell.

He could drag her aside again, but it wouldn't stop her. It seemed nothing short of an iceberg would stop the H.M.S.
Alicia
. He would do better to hang back and guard—er, observe. After all, she had made it clear she meant to speak to every gentleman on the guest list.