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She took a long draft of the bitter ale then set it down carefully. “Now, please tell me why you risked coming to the house earlier. It will soon be dawn and I must return.”

Roland sat back, a smile still playing around his lips. “Calm down, I will see you home. Valentine said she will be on the lookout for you to let you in. You are safe.”

“Thank you, but there is no need. I asked the driver to wait.”

“Bon.”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “We know Bonaparte’s days are numbered. There is a growing royalist faction in Paris.” His expression turned grim. “Unfortunately, they are backed by the British. If Louis returns and is crowned king, it is the end of democracy for France. We must prevent that at all costs.”

She nodded, knowing already what he was telling her.

Glancing around him, he lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “We need you to go to Hartwell House.”

Her lips turned downward, the very thought of that place lowering her spirits. “Must I?”

He nodded. “We must know what the Comte plans. You are in his favor. Lord Liverpool and Castlereagh are working ever more closely with him as the successor in France once Napoleon is defeated.”

She could see no way out of it. “Very well. When do you wish me to go?”

“Immediately.”

9

A
s Rees made his way home more slowly this time, the night air felt cool against his cheeks. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his pantaloons and quickened his stride, no longer worried about following his quarry. The fog hung thick, and he knew dawn was just over the horizon. He’d get no rest this night.

Alone now, he continued puzzling the event. Had Valentine gone in Lady Wexham’s place? But it didn’t seem to have been more than an assignation. When she’d risen from the table, the man accompanying her had not been Monsieur de Fleury, but a stranger. Rees had only followed them to the corner, where the two had embraced before heading off in a different direction from Mayfair. Their deep kiss had left little doubt to the nature of their relationship.

The fog around him was lightening by the time Rees reached Lady Wexham’s house. Shivering against the damp, he glanced up at all the windows, making sure no one was yet up before walking to the front door.

With a start, he realized it was locked. He tried it again, but to no avail.

How could that be, when Valentine had not arrived ahead of him?

With little hope, he walked back down to the service entrance, but that, too, was locked and bolted, the way he had left it earlier in the night.

With a resigned sigh, he tried all the ground floor windows, but they too were shut tight. The back door as well as the stable doors in the mews were also bolted.

He finally ended up at the back kitchen garden and lay down on a cold, damp bench facing a flower bed, curling his body against the chill. It would not be long before one of the housemaids or footmen was up and unlocked the doors.

He woke to the sound of the scullery door opening. Quickly, he unfurled his body and crouched low behind the bench, but it was behind a screen of shrubbery.

He yawned and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He dug his watch from his pocket and rewound it. Five minutes later, he made his way to the front service entry, endeavoring to stay out of sight.

To his relief, it was unlocked. Quickly, he opened it and glanced down the basement entryway. He heard some servants’ voices in the distance, but the coast to his room was clear. Once again, he was thankful that he was at the front end of the house.

Once in his room, he shed his clothes. A maid had left a can of water for him outside his door, as was her habit. Thankfully, she would not have noticed that he had been absent from his room.

He washed and dressed. He hung up his black suit, eyeing it critically. A night at large and an hour sleeping in it had left it damp and wrinkled. He’d wait till it was dry and give it a good brushing.

Then he took up his Bible and prepared for his morning devotions. It would be a long day, and he needed all the strength he could get.

When Céline returned to the house, Valentine opened the door to her and bustled her in.

Céline leaned against the door a moment. “Am I ever exhausted!”

Valentine took her cloak from her and bolted the door behind her. “Come, I have your bed turned down and your nightgown laid out.”

Once they were in Céline’s room, Valentine quickly began to help her off with her gown.

Céline brushed her hands aside. “Tell me first about your evening. Roland said MacKinnon followed you.”

Valentine shrugged. “If it was not he, it was his twin.”

“Tell me exactly what happened. Roland could give me few details.”

Valentine stifled a laugh. “I led him all about Mayfair. What an
imbécile
to be so easily fooled. If that is what the Home Office employs, no wonder the British have not beaten us.”

“Never mind that, what happened when you arrived at the tavern?”

Valentine folded her arms across her chest, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “He took the bait. I spied him the moment he entered the tavern. There he sat across the taproom, trying to look as if he belonged there.” Her maid’s dark eyes gleamed. “I waited until sure he must have seen me, then”—making the motions with her hands, she pretended to draw back the hood of a cloak—“
voilà
, I revealed myself.”

Realizing she had been holding her breath, Céline released it. “Do you think he saw you?”

She gave an emphatic nod.
“Mais oui!”

Céline suspected there was more by the sly look in her eyes.

Valentine kept her waiting. “When we left again, I made certain he saw us.” Her lip curled upward. “I kissed Antoine full on the lips.” She cackled then, clapping her hands. “Arm in arm, we went off. I am certain MacKinnon saw us. He could suspect no spying activities after my display.”

Céline folded her arms, her lips pursed in thought. Would it suffice?

“
Eh, bien
, you and I are both exhausted.” Once again, Valentine began to undo the buttons on her gown.

Céline acquiesced without a word, too preoccupied to say anything more.

When she was under her covers and beginning to feel drowsy, Valentine gave one last chuckle. “I think you have had your revenge, madame, on your snooping butler.”

Céline’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I made sure to lock the door when I came in.”

“What do you mean?” Before Valentine had a chance to reply, the significance dawned on her. “You mean . . . ?” She drew in her breath. “Mr. MacKinnon had no way to get back in the house?”

Valentine nodded, looking self-satisfied. “I made sure to arrive before he did. He might have thought I was going off with my
amour
. Instead, I took a hackney back here. Hah, hah!”

Céline remembered how hard he had worked since daybreak for the ball. “Poor Mr. MacKinnon.”

“Bah! He is out to do you harm,
ma chérie
. You must have no pity on that man.”

Why did she? Her butler was clearly out to expose her and yet she felt a twinge of compassion for him.

Why was her heart softening after all these years?

As Rees feared, it was a long morning, in which he was kept running up and downstairs, delivering bouquets and cards to Lady Wexham’s private sitting room from the many guests who had been at her ball.

She, on the other hand, had still not stirred by noon. How nice to have the luxury of sleep after all those hours on the dance floor, he thought sourly. At least she hadn’t had to traipse across town and then be locked out of her house.

Rees stifled another yawn and brought in another posy of flowers. He glanced at the card, indifferent by now to all the gentlemen who had sent their compliments.

Lord Delamare thanked her for a delightful ball and hoped to call on her at another date, the note read.

Rees set the bouquet down beside the dozens of others adorning the tabletops. The maids were busy setting them in vases of all shapes and sizes. The sitting room looked like a hothouse.

What a debauched, idle life.

But better than a traitorous one, he kept telling himself.

He should be relieved that it hadn’t been Lady Wexham last night at the tavern.

Yet, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was involved in something clandestine. His mind kept returning to the mysterious caller. What astonished him more—which he had been unable to deny any longer to himself—was how much Rees wanted an honorable explanation.

The fact that she hadn’t been the one in the tavern didn’t clear her. It just seemed too coincidental that the same night she’d had a mysterious French caller, her maid would go out for a rendezvous.

It was just too convenient. He didn’t doubt Valentine had a lover. But why would she choose a night after a long ball? All the servants were exhausted after the preparations. Of course, a lady’s maid did nothing more than get her mistress ready for the occasion. Still, it just didn’t feel right . . .

Another knot he was trying to unravel was what he was to tell Bunting when he next reported to him. After last night’s debacle, Rees had come straight home. Bunting would wonder why he hadn’t been at the tavern. He’d have to go out again tonight, hoping his contact would be there again. If not, he’d have to try his lodgings.

What would he tell Bunting about Monsieur de Fleury?

How could he not mention him? The man was a Frenchman. If Lady Wexham’s story were to be believed, he’d just crossed the Channel to bring news of a sick aunt.

He harrumphed, stooping to pick up a fallen card from one of the bouquets.

He turned at the sound of a footstep, expecting for some reason to see Lady Wexham, as if thinking about her so much should make her appear. But it was only her sister-in-law. He pushed aside the disappointment he felt. Lady Agatha looked at him but gave no acknowledgment that she actually saw him. She wandered through the room, picking up a card here and there to read it, uttering an occasional “hmph!” Rees pretended to rearrange a bowl of white roses, all the while observing her.

But after circling the room once, she left without a word. How different her conduct from Lady Wexham’s, he couldn’t help thinking,
who always spoke a friendly word of greeting to her servants. Rees could have been an armchair or divan for all the notice Lady Agatha had taken of him.

A few moments later, Valentine entered the room. The abigail, too, ignored him and began to inspect the bouquets, openly reading the cards. Finally, selecting two she turned to leave the room again.

“Her ladyship is up?” The words were out before he could consider them.

She stopped, looking at Rees with disdain and a certain something else—amusement?—in her eyes. “Zat is not your affair. When my lady needs you, she will call for you.”

Before he could reprimand her, she flounced out of the room.

Anger flared in him. He had a short fuse today, his head pounding, his feet sore.

Dismissing the insolent maid as not worth the bother, he made his way back downstairs.

The front door rang again, and he yanked it open only to find a gentleman he recognized from Lady Wexham’s coterie—those for whom she was “in.”

Rees stepped back, his expression stiff. “Good day, my lord.”

Baron Winifred Shelbourne lifted his monocle. “Good day . . . MacKinnon, isn’t it?” he asked, stepping in.

He handed Rees his top hat and malacca walking stick. With a flourish, he swung off his greatcoat and held it out to Rees. “Be so good as to let Lady Wexham know I am here.”

Grinding his teeth against the man’s conceit, Rees took the things without a word. The man was a fop with his pomona-green cutaway and patterned waistcoat. His starched white neck cloth looked so stiff he could not bend his head, but stood looking downward at Rees even though Rees was taller by an inch or so.

“Her ladyship is not receiving.”

The young baron let his monocle fall, continuing to dangle it by its velvet ribbon as he eyed Rees. “She’ll receive me.”

Rees eyed him in what he believed was his frostiest butler stare. “I believe she is not yet up, my lord.”

The dandy smothered a yawn behind a gloved hand. “Oh, do be a dear man and announce me. She’ll see me in her boudoir if she is up, and in her bedroom if she is not.”

Rees reined in his anger with effort. “Very well, my lord. If you would care to wait in the sitting room.” He led him to the same room he had escorted the Frenchman to the evening before and opened the door.

At least it gave him an excuse to go to Lady Wexham’s room and inquire after her.

He knocked on her bedroom door, hearing a murmur of voices behind it. About time she was up.

Valentine opened the door a crack. “You? What do you want?”

“Baron Shelbourne is below and insists on knowing if her ladyship is receiving.”

Before she could reply, Lady Wexham spoke from within the room, “Who is it?”

Valentine shut the door in his face.

A second later, she reopened it. “Very well, show him up.”

She shut the door once again before he had a chance to ask where to show him. Surely not to her bedroom? He hadn’t believed Shelbourne when he’d suggested it. Perhaps to the hothouse of her private sitting room.

When he returned with Baron Shelbourne in tow, the dandy took the decision out of his hands, walking ahead of him as they reached Lady Wexham’s door and standing before it. “You may announce me.”

Rees knocked once more. Valentine opened at once, if not with a smile, then at least without the scowl or smirk she reserved for Rees. She dropped a curtsy, opening the door wider. “My lord, please come in.”

Rees managed to see Lady Wexham sitting up in bed against a pile of pillows. “Good morning, Winnie,” she called out cheerfully, “you may chat with me while I finish my chocolate.”

The door shut in Rees’s face once again.