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He brought over the straight-back chair and sat beside the desk.

She pulled her guest list forward to where he could see it as well. “I have listed them in order of rank. I will have William receive the guests at the door. Tom can escort the ladies to Virginia or Sally in the retiring room where they can leave their wraps. When they arrive at the drawing room, you will announce them right at the entrance. Have you done this at all in your other position?”

“I confess that I have not.”

She moistened her lips. “Let us take the first names, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. You must speak loudly enough to be heard above any din or music. The most distinguished guests tend to arrive quite late, you know.”

“I understand, my lady.”

His eyes met hers, and once again she felt caught by their steady gaze. For an instant, she felt the overwhelming urge to ask him straight out what game he was about. But no, she mustn’t be so foolish. Hers was not the only life at stake. She must protect Gaspard and Valentine at all costs.

But she couldn’t resist testing him a bit. She set down her list of names and sat back in her chair. “How is your uncle?”

There was the merest flicker in his gray eyes, as if her words had thrown him. “On the mend, thank you.”

He was quick to recover, she’d give him that. She smiled. “Perhaps I should visit him. He has been in the family so many years—long before I ever came to this household.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second—in alarm?—then just as quickly were shuttered as he looked down at her guest list. “I am sure my uncle would be touched, but I assure you it is not necessary. You have your ball. I am certain he would be distressed to know you had taken so much time and effort to travel to Yorkshire on his behalf.”

He looked once more at her, his gaze as calm and steady as before.

“I didn’t realize in all these years he had a niece, isn’t that funny? She must be a comfort.”

“She is his sister, actually.”

Point scored for MacKinnon. “Yes, of course.” She picked up a quill pen and ran it along her cheek. “I’m sorry he was so far he wasn’t able to return here after his fall. We would have looked after him . . . and you would have him close by.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “That is most kind of you, my lady, but really he is quite comfortable in . . . Leticia’s home.”

She arched her brows. “Your Aunt Leticia?”

“Yes.”

“Your family is numerous?” she asked innocently, intrigued by the tension she sensed in him. Perhaps he was only nervous because he still considered himself new in her household and under her protection. A part of her wished it were so . . . that he was only a simple butler.

“Ye—no. That is to say,” he said with a slight clearing of his throat, “there are few offspring of—of—my generation, but we are scattered.” A faint color tinged the upper portions of his cleanly shaven cheeks.

“Does Leticia have any children?”

The flush had spread to his jawline—a fine, strong jaw. She rested her chin in her hand, more intrigued than ever by this mysterious stranger in her household. “No,” he said after a few seconds had passed.

His slight hesitation and embarrassment, instead of diminishing his appeal, added to it. Her own cheeks grew warm at the thought. She realized she was enjoying the game—enjoying it too much.

She folded her hands and sat straight, focusing back on her list. “Very well, I shall endeavor to get through this ball first. Perhaps afterwards . . .” Let him believe she still intended a visit to his “uncle.”

“Now, when the duke and duchess arrive, you will announce them as His grace and . . .”

8

R
ees stifled a yawn. He was tired of standing there like a statue, surveying the dancers on the floor.

One thing he had learned over the past few weeks in her ladyship’s household. The butler and footmen did a lot of standing at attention.

Lady Wexham’s ball was a grand success if measured by how crowded the room was—and how warm. Rees longed to tug at his tight cravat, but he must continue dignified and unmoving.

The place overflowed with distinguished guests from dukes and marquesses, officers of the Horse Guards, members of parliament, and all the bedecked and bejeweled ladies they escorted.

Would Lady Wexham use such a venue to glean state secrets? He doubted it. He’d seen her do nothing but greet the guests he’d announced and make certain no one stood alone. He watched her skill in making her guests feel comfortable, bringing people together, then moving off after ensuring they were engaged in conversation. She seemed to float through the throng of people.

Floating was an appropriate word, he conceded, watching the airy gown swirl around her as she danced. He knew little of women’s fashions, but she never failed to impress him with her appearance. This evening, she wore some sort of filmy white overskirt over a pale pink gown.

Ostrich feathers of the same shade of pink graced her dark hair. Pearl drop earrings dangled from her earlobes, and ropes of pearls graced her neck.

Even though she directed everyone’s attention to the guest of honor, a shy young blonde who smiled at everyone presented to her but spoke little in return, it was Lady Wexham who outshone her, whether she meant to or not.

He deliberately looked away from the countess, disturbed with how much notice he was taking of her. He could no longer fool himself that he was merely keeping his eyes on her to catch her in any suspicious behavior.

She drew him with her beauty and femininity, with her charm and intellect, as no woman ever had. Sometimes, he had the sense that the attraction was mutual. He would catch her looking at him as if assessing him. The other day, sitting beside her desk, he felt as if she had been toying with him in some way. Or was it because her maid had caught him snooping?

He had prayed for wisdom and discernment. He mustn’t let himself be swayed by her beauty. He must watch his step very carefully. Why hadn’t Lady Wexham confronted him about it? Was she playing a game with him?

Was that why she looked at him in that thoughtful way?

Abruptly, he left the ballroom, deciding to check on Tom, who was still at the front door for any late arrivals. Rees glanced into the dining room on his way, where the table was set for a midnight supper.

In the entryway, he caught Tom yawning and smiled in sympathy. “Think you’ll make it to the end?”

Expecting a scold, Tom had snapped his mouth shut and straightened. Now his lips relaxed into a grin. “Yes, sir. Gaspard has a full table laid for us below for later.” He gestured up the stairs. “How are things on the dance floor?”

“Fine.” To relieve his own fatigue, Rees opened the door onto the mild night. The street lamps were lit. A carpet had been set over the
steps and down the walkway to the street and torches placed there to help light the way to the entrance.

Carriages lined the street with coachmen waiting for their employers. “Have they been offered refreshment?”

“Oh yes. The kitchens have seen a steady stream of coachmen and grooms for the last few hours.”

Rees glanced up and down the street. Things seemed relatively quiet. He paused at the outline of someone standing in the shadows near the corner. The person took a step, disappearing farther into the shadows.

Rees quirked an eyebrow at Tom. “How long has he been hanging around?”

Tom turned from looking at one of the carriages. “Who?”

Rees indicated with his chin. “Down there, see that person?”

Tom squinted. “No.”

“Just wait. He moved into the shadows.”

Rees engaged Tom in commonplace conversation, instructing him to keep his eyes in that direction, while Rees deliberately looked away.

After a few moments, Tom said in a low tone, “Yes, I see someone.”

“Notice him before? Perhaps one of the coachmen?”

“No, I don’t think so. But it’s hard to tell, with so many people coming and going.”

“Of course.” He pondered what, if anything, he ought to do.

“Maybe he’ll move away when the watch comes along.”

“Maybe.” Rees checked the case clock in the hall. “It will be another quarter of an hour. I’ll come back then. Let me know what happens.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rees made a tour of the downstairs rooms, and then walked to the basement to check on the activities in the kitchen. Although the maids and housekeeper were bustling about, and Gaspard was directing them like a captain from the quarterdeck, things seemed to be running smoothly. Rees stepped past them into the scullery and out into the backyard. Unlike most houses, where the backyard was used for
storing coal and other things, this one contained a large area devoted to both a kitchen garden and some ornamental ones.

The air was pleasant after the stuffy indoors. Rees made his way down a gravel path until he reached the alley separating the yard from the mews. A few lights still burned in the living quarters above the stables.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he peered down the alley in the direction where he had seen the shadowy figure. No one was about.

He made his way cautiously down the dark alley until he reached the end of the block, turned, and made his way toward the street, keeping his footsteps as silent as he could the closer he got to the corner.

He paused, seeing a figure lounging against the building.

Giving the man no time to react, he quickly stepped in front of him.

The man flinched and took a step away.

“Good evening, sir,” Rees said, looking him up and down. He appeared a gentleman, though wearing riding clothes—a dark cutaway, buckskin breeches, and tall boots.

The man nodded curtly. He wore a hat so it was hard to make out his features in the shadows.

“I am butler at the house yonder.” He indicated the lighted entry. “I couldn’t help but notice your presence in the vicinity. Are you a guest?” he asked, although it was obvious from the man’s lack of evening clothes that he was not.

The man hesitated a few seconds then said, “No—that is, I am acquainted with . . . Lady Wexham, but I see she is entertaining.” He spoke with a French accent. He motioned to his garments. “As you can see, I did not come prepared.”

Rees debated. “If you care to wait, I can give Lady Wexham your card.”

Again, the man considered. All the while, Rees was growing more and more suspicious of his behavior. Finally, he nodded. “Very well, I
shall accompany you to Lady Wexham’s residence and await her word. But, I do not wish to disturb her if she is engaged.”

They walked along the pavement until they reached the front entrance. Tom gave a start of surprise to see Rees coming from the street. “Good evening again, Tom. If you would show this gentleman to the front sitting room, I shall inform her ladyship of his presence.”

He took the card the man handed him, and with a bow left him in the footman’s care. It was not until he was up the stairs, out of sight of the man, that Rees glanced at the card.

Roland de Fleury.

He entered the drawing room and scanned it. He finally located Lady Wexham standing with a gentleman in uniform. A Major Clarendon, if Rees remembered correctly.

He made his slow way across the room until he reached her. She met his eye while still in conversation. He bowed his head and waited.

They weren’t talking of anything pertaining to the war but of the merits of the spa town of Bath versus that of Cheltenham.

When there was a lull in the conversation, she touched the major’s arm. “Excuse me a moment, sir.”

“Certainly, certainly, dear lady.”

When she turned to Rees, he leaned closer to her, breathing in a whiff of her perfume. “There is someone to see you.” He gave her the card. “He says he does not wish to disturb you.”

She barely glanced at the card before slipping it away somewhere in the folds of her gown. “Where is he?”

“In the sitting room below.”

“Very well. You may tell him I shall be down presently.”

Just as Rees was about to turn away, she spoke his name.

“Yes, my lady?”

She smiled, and he felt his gut tighten with longing. “Thank you, Mr. MacKinnon, for all your help with the preparations.” She looked around the room. “It is going well, don’t you think?”

Struggling against his inclination to stare at her, he followed her gaze. “Yes, quite.”

His glance returned to her, and for the next few seconds, neither looked away.

With a great effort of will, he managed to bow and walk away, shaken at the encounter.

Céline watched her butler depart. Only part of her mind wondered what he made of her mysterious French caller. The greater part was still caught up in the look they had exchanged.

It seemed that every time she had caught a glimpse of him this evening, he was observing her.

A part of her had felt almost . . . protected. But that was absurd.

Now, she had read admiration in his eyes . . . and longing. She was old enough to recognize that in a man’s eyes. She rarely paid attention, having grown inured to men’s flattery since her coming out. But life had taught her to view such displays with cynicism. Men were rarely what they appeared.

What shocked her now was her own response to Harrison MacKinnon. It was immediate and visceral and shook her to her very core, making her wonder if she knew herself at all.

She was no Valentine, ready to assuage her loneliness with any attractive man.

Céline had led a perfectly chaste life since the earl’s death. She had grown to conclude since her marriage that she was merely a cold woman. The earl had certainly accused her of it after she failed to produce an heir for him.

But this—what was this sudden longing she felt whenever her eyes met MacKinnon’s, to be caught up in his embrace? A butler, or a spy? She must be mad.

Feeling the calling card he had handed her, tucked now in the folds of her gown, she glanced around her to see if anyone had noticed her exchange with MacKinnon. It was Roland, her contact. She could scarcely believe he had risked coming openly to her house. The fact that he had, told her it must be important.