A Spy's Honor (30 page)

Claire clasped her hands, resisting the urge to smooth the anxiety from his face. When was the last time John had done something for the pleasure of it? He’d told her he worked incessantly on the Continent to stave off loneliness. Now he’d returned to his family but the government still had him working, apparently alone, on a dangerous plot.

“I will find out what Stretton was up to,” she volunteered. After all, she’d found out where he was. What were a few more details if she could glean them from similar sources?

“No, I didn’t mean for—”

She smiled up at him, trying to look confident and positive. “You needn’t work alone, John. I will be nothing but circumspect, and I will have your answer soon. Besides, it will be better if we separate. I am still looking out for Kensworth. You concentrate on…whatever else you need to do.”

“Claire.”
He was attempting to look stern and forbidding but was failing completely. If anything, she would say that hope had returned to those blue, blue eyes. And he needed her help.

“If we solve your mystery soon enough, perhaps you
can
escort me to
Macbeth
.”

John said nothing. Looking up, she found him gazing hungrily down at her, that delicious, familiar streak of longing blazing through his eyes. Claire was lost in the heat of his gaze. She could barely breathe, let alone think—until he suddenly focused on something across the room.

He straightened, assumed a more dispassionate air and said, “Kensworth has arrived.”

Claire took a sip of her champagne, swallowing past the small lump of guilt which had once again situated itself in her throat. She had assigned herself a number of duties this night, and swooning at John’s feet had not been among them.

She glanced toward the ballroom entrance before turning back to John and saying, in reluctant dismissal, “Thank you for the dance.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Shall I escort you over to him?”

“Y-yes. Please.”

She’d not wanted to make the walk through the crowd alone but hadn’t wanted to impose on John. Since he offered, she slipped her hand onto his black wool sleeve, and as they delved through the crowd, Claire took a deep breath and held her head high.

Again, she felt only the slightest bit of censure from those they passed, but she was far more concerned about Stephen. His standing in Society, while generally positive, was still tenuous.

Claire involuntarily tightened her grip on John’s arm, and John glanced down at her. She looked straight ahead, gritting her teeth, feeling as if she had been trapped in a corner by a bear. The last thing she wanted was everyone to think she had thrown Stephen over for him, even if that were true. She just wanted to live her life in private.

Emily was already speaking to Stephen, her eyes sparkling, and as Claire and John drew up the two gentlemen bowed their heads to each other. Then John retreated, but not before giving Claire’s elbow a reassuring squeeze. Oddly, the action made her toes tingle.

She held out her hands and smiled. “Kensworth, how glad I am you came!”

It
was
good to see him, and she would do everything to make certain he came through this situation unscathed. He was one of the very best men she knew.

***

John stood a fair distance away from the ballroom’s grand staircase, but because of his height he had no trouble viewing the initial encounter between Claire and Kensworth.

He wasn’t out of place in observing the tableau; almost everyone in the room had their eyes trained on the formerly affianced couple’s greeting.

Some amongst the crowd might be scoffing at the scene, claiming it to be entirely false, but John could see that despite its staged appearance the affection between the couple remained natural.

He didn’t begrudge them their friendship. More than anything he was grateful they were just friends and nothing more. No longer betrothed. Someday, he hoped they could all be friends.

Although, he meant to be more than friends with Claire. He’d unobtrusively begun his courtship by asking her to dance. Their intermingled families made his plan that much easier to undertake. No one could whisper about the gallantry of a brother-in-law dancing with a sister-in-law. Which was good. He wanted neither to be seen as the knave who had broken apart an engagement, nor did he wish to tarnish Claire’s reputation or betray Kensworth. But he wanted to court her as she deserved, as he’d intended when he first returned to London, to give her the romance, the flowers, the love tokens she’d always craved. He hadn’t romanced her the first time—not that there had been time—and neither had Kensworth.

But, first things first. His duty was to prevent the prime minister’s assassination.

The crowd had begun to lose interest in the uneventful meeting of Lady Claire and Lord Kensworth, and John wandered away, his mind straying to the conversation he’d had with her. He worried about Claire pursuing Stretton—and yet he appreciated her help. Appreciated the feeling of proffered companionship more than she would probably ever know.

He lifted a glass of champagne off a passing tray and spotted Kensworth striding through the crowd alone, so John made his way over. When he’d heard the news this morning he had tempered his reaction in order to spare the viscount. What he had to say now was best done in private.

“Kensworth. It’s good to see you. Might I have a word on the terrace?”

“Lord John.” The blond Viking nodded solemnly and strode to the nearest door, leaving John to follow.

The night was chilly and a fine mist dampened the flagstones of the small terrace. No one else had seen fit to venture outside.

Kensworth turned to John, his hands linked behind his blue coat. He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

A more enthusiastic greeting might have made John’s duty easier. Nevertheless, some things must be said. “I wish to apologize. For you and Claire to end your—”

“You are not sorry in the least to see the end of my engagement,” Kensworth said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

John sighed. “No, I’m not, but I am sorry for any pain you’ve endured. I did not set out to hurt you, and if I thought you—” He cut himself off, afraid to pour salt into Kensworth’s wound.

The viscount spread his feet and glared. “If you thought I what? Finish your thought. Don’t spare me.”

John stared off into the rain-cloaked night, unsure how far to go. It wasn’t as if he could reasonably maintain any hope of having Kensworth as a friend if he ended up marrying Kensworth’s ex-fiancée, so he blew out a foggy breath and said, “If I thought you loved her more than I do.”

Kensworth stalked a few feet and gripped the wet balustrade. “You’re right,” he mumbled, but John heard him. He turned back. “You’re right, damn you. I thought I truly loved her, but if I did I would fight for her.” He shook his head and tiny drops of water flew from the blond strands. “I wish I had it in me, but I don’t. Not for this woman. Perhaps not for any woman.”

“If you act as if your life is a Cheltenham tragedy it will surely turn into one,” John said, betting the best way to bolster Kensworth’s spirit was to not pander to his sentimental tone. “Claire claims everyone has a True Love. You must simply search anew for yours.”

“You can afford to be a pragmatist,” the viscount replied in disgust. “You have found your woman.”

“Found her
again
, you mean. Do not pretend our path has been clear.” John paused. “I am not even certain how we will reach the end.”

Kensworth tilted his head. “Of course you will propose. Won’t you?”

“Eventually.” John threw back the rest of his champagne and then set the glass on the thigh-high stone wall surrounding the terrace. “I don’t want to bring a scandal down on you.” He might not, however, be able to prevent one regarding the assassination attempt.

Kensworth rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, the way she talks about you—or won’t talk about you. Marry her and be happy. I will survive, and I will try not to begrudge the disgustingly sweet air the two of you will surely inhabit.”

How like Kensworth to want him to act impulsively and ignore the consequences.

“Shouldn’t you be demanding to know the name of my second, not encouraging me to offer for your former betrothed?”

Kensworth shrugged. “You were right; I must carry on. I’ve tried to dislike you from the moment I met you, but I have failed horribly. Duels are for enemies, and I do not number you among mine.”

John would like to think not, but a matter of treason still stood tentatively between them.

To Kensworth he said, “I would like nothing better than to be friends,” knowing he meant the words literally though such might not be possible. “Thank you.”

He thrust his hand toward Kensworth, and the man shook it without hesitation. Then the viscount said good-night and slipped past John into the house.

John stood in the misty darkness a moment longer, contemplating how much gossip a second dance with Claire would cause, when farther along the terrace a large figure suddenly exited the house and crept quietly down to the garden. As John watched, the burly blond pushed against the gate in the back wall and disappeared.

Now, where was David Cahill sneaking off to? John forced aside tantalizing thoughts of Claire and another waltz. To free himself to pursue her, first he must catch an assassin.

Stealthily, he followed David out the garden gate.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Claire was searching for Kensworth. A dance between them would sink half the gossip floating around; unfortunately he was nowhere to be found. Neither was John, but she told herself that was neither here nor there.

Well, she had other work to do. Leaving her sister with a friend, she drew a bracing breath and sought out the Strettons.

“Good evening, sir, my lady.” Fortunately she had more than a passing acquaintance with the portly baron and his handsome wife, thanks to Stephen’s political ambitions.

“Lady Claire, how good to see you.” Lady Stretton squeezed her hand warmly, and Claire knew that this woman, unlike many others in the room, meant the greeting.

Lord Stretton sketched Claire an ungainly bow. He wagged his finger at her and said teasingly, “You could have gone far with Kensworth, my dear.”

“Stretton! Do mind your tongue,” Lady Stretton admonished, her blue eyes flashing. She seemed unaware of her husband’s playful tone, and Claire noticed how rigidly Lady Stretton held herself away from her husband. At previous Allerton dinner parties, one would have been hard pressed to slide a piece of paper between the two of them.

“It’s quite all right,” she said, knowing the truth of Stretton’s sentiment. She could have risen on Stephen’s star and become a great political wife. However, she, like John, didn’t need the glaring light of the public eye upon her. She could help her country in much quieter ways.

“I know I’ve given up a worthy gentleman, but I’m certain
he
will be the better for it.” She smiled and turned the subject to meet her ends. “I hear you’ve recently visited Scotland?”

Lady Stretton glossed over the beauty of the Highlands in order to extol the virtues of her first grandchild. Even Stretton interjected a grand statement or two about the child’s abilities.

Claire let them have their say, nodding and agreeing whenever appropriate. Finally Lady Stretton seemed to have exhausted herself on the subject and Claire asked a more pertinent question.

“Were you returned in time to witness Lady Doncaster’s behavior at the Malmford soiree?” Said event had taken place on the night Stretton was in Wanstead.

“Yes,” said Lady Stretton.

“No,” said her husband.

Claire pretended not to notice their contradictory answers.

“Stretton was home with the ague. Lady Don should clearly be kept at home; I do wonder at her husband’s judgment,” Lady Stretton said with a brittle smile, as if she felt the same about her spouse.

Claire nodded. “I feel sorry for her. She was always such a social creature. It must be terribly difficult for her to be shut away from everyone simply because she forgets herself now and then.” But after that, at the first opportunity Claire slipped away. She had what she needed. If she were a betting woman, she’d say that Stretton was conducting an illicit liaison, and his wife knew it.

Now to find out who Stretton’s paramour was.

Searching the room, Claire spied out an old schoolmate. “Eliza! Don’t you look especially lovely tonight.”

Eliza Cranstoun’s eyes lit up as if she’d been handed the crown jewels, but her words were sympathetic to the point of nauseating. “Oh, you poor darling! The distress you’ve been through. How can you abide the strain? What can you have been thinking to give up Kensworth?” Her dark eyes narrowed and her voice lowered to a whisper. “Did he treat you so abominably, then?”

Knowing Eliza to be an incomparable disseminator of gossip, Claire fed her only what she wanted circulated. “Oh, no. Kensworth is a fine, honorable gentleman. We simply didn’t suit.”

“Pish!” Eliza hooked her arm through Claire’s and leaned her pale face close. “He must be a terrible brute, as big and brawny as he is.” She shuddered, but Claire didn’t think it was in fear. “Tell me, did he hurt you? Was he more than you could bear?”

Remembering Lord Landry, Claire wanted to retch. She’d always known her schoolmate was fast, but today the woman seemed an absolute horror. “Kensworth is as gentle as a kitten, and he’s done absolutely
nothing
wrong. In truth, he deserves someone much better than me.” She continued quickly, unwilling to give Eliza more time to contemplate Stephen. “But listen, I wanted to ask you about something else. I, well, I’m not certain I should mention any names…”

Eliza steered her to a corner of the room. “If you cannot ask me, you cannot ask anyone. What do you want to know?”

Chewing her lip, Claire hesitated before saying, “I fear the Strettons’ marriage is in trouble. They don’t seem as close as they used to be.”

“Hmm, I wonder how much longer before everyone else figures out that all is not well there,” Eliza mused with some pleasure.