A Spy's Honor (4 page)

“Goodness.” She yanked her hand back as if scalded. “I…I’m sure we shouldn’t—”

For once, someone other than he was flummoxed. He brushed a lock of her hair back, accidentally dislodging a pin. “Of course we shouldn’t. We’ll have time aplenty after the wedding,” he said. But that inflammatory statement only brought on thoughts of lying about in a cozy bed with Claire for days.

Time to think of something else. “Would you like breakfast? Let’s see what Philip managed to tuck away for us.”

They dug into the bread and cheese the footman had packed and soon were well settled into the first full day of their four-day trip to Gretna Green.

Many hours and much conversation later, twilight descended. John had never talked so much in his life, including reading aloud from the Bavarian travelogue he had tossed into his valise. He regretted not a second of it. Though they were both travel weary, the time had flown by, and now that the carriage was cloaked in darkness that buzz of desire sprang up again between them. He might be able to steal another kiss or three.

Claire inched over until their thighs touched, and she melted against him in a familiar way. Marriage to her was indeed going to be a grand thing. She rested her head on his upper arm and looped her hand around his lower arm to trace his fingers.

“Allerton told me you clerk at the Foreign Office. What do you do there?”

“I translate documents.”

“Ah, so you’ve put your French to good use. I never quite mastered reading it, though I can understand the spoken word well enough.”

“I mostly translate German and Italian. Sometimes Spanish, though there isn’t a great call for that one.”

Claire tipped her head up to stare at him with disbelieving eyes. “You speak all those languages? That’s amazing, John. You’ll be the British ambassador to Rome someday. Or Vienna. The possibilities are endless.”

“I’m not sure about that. It’s just a clerking position. One that Allerton arranged for me.” Still, he liked that Claire had high hopes for him.

“Do you like it?”

“I do, mostly. It can be tedious, but when I discover a secret hidden in the documents that can help our government…well, I do find that thrilling. I may not be fighting bravely like our soldiers, but at least I am doing something.”

She stared at him. “If you joined the diplomatic service you would have all kinds of opportunities to help in the fight against Napoleon.”

High hopes, had he thought? Perhaps overly high hopes. Like his brother. “Claire… I appreciate your enthusiasm for my career, but I’m not… I don’t…” He sighed. “I am not outspoken or polished or affable. Allerton wants me to take a higher position with Lord Castlereagh, but…I do better with paper than with people.”

“I think you do very well when you put your mind to it—as you did with my father and Lord Landry. You might not ever be as poised as Allerton, but I think your talents will be recognized at the Foreign Office.” She smoothed her hand over the back of his. “I assure you, I know what it’s like to have an older sibling who is physically more attractive, has a brighter personality, who is, in essence, more perfect in every sense.”

John stiffened. No, he would never be as strong or powerful—in any sense of those words—as his brother. How wonderful that his future wife realized it too.

Claire huffed out a breath. “Emily is so lucky.”

Why had she turned this from the two of them growing closer into a glorification of his brother? He disengaged his hand from hers. “I think—”

The carriage swayed violently. They were tossed to the opposite side, John landing atop Claire. He scrambled off her as the coach shuddered to a stop. “Are you all right?”

“Stand and deliver!”

A sickening thud sounded, and John knew the coachman was either dead or incapacitated. Fear warred with excitement on Claire’s face as she stood.

“A highwayman?”

John’s expression must have spelled doom, for he couldn’t think of a way this would end well. He barely weighed ten stone and had no weapon. At the moment, he couldn’t even get his eyes to blink, let alone move any other muscle. He’d suffered this same debilitating immobility during every beating doled out to him by the bullies at Harrow.

“Toss out your valuables!” The thief’s voice was coarse and he sounded more than a little angry. A moment later the carriage door flew open and the masked highwayman aimed a pistol at them.

“John? I left all my jewelry behind, but what about your watch? You must hand it over.”

The terror behind Claire’s words echoed in his heart. But, not his watch. He couldn’t part with his father’s watch.

Think, John. Use your mighty brainbox to devise a way out of this
.

“Hand it over, along with all your coin, or the lady gets a bullet.”

The pistol swung toward Claire.

“John, please.”

If he handed over the watch, the brigand might still shoot one or both of them. But if John could fling it past the highwayman, distract him, then he might be able to swing himself up and kick the burly oaf in the head.

“I ain’t got no patience this night. Gimme the valuables now.” The man’s eyes never wavered from Claire.

“John!”

She was sobbing now, and her cries were agony to his ears. Either he proved himself a man right now or he died trying.

He righted himself and reached for the watch, fumbling with the fob.

“What in—?”

John glanced up at the highwayman’s exclamation, just in time to see the man go flying past the carriage as if charged by a bull. Loud scuffling with much groaning ensued. Then there was silence.

Claire beat him to the door. She hung halfway out.

“Allerton!” She jumped out and was gone from John’s sight. But not his hearing. “Oh, I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t come! John was just as frightened as I. He couldn’t move. It was so terrible…”

Her words pierced him like the sharpest rapier. She thought him a coward. She thought him weak.

She was right.

John staggered to the door and leaned against the jamb. His brother, dusty but sturdy, had Claire wrapped securely in his arms. The highwayman lay senseless at his feet.

Allerton to the rescue once again.

Chapter Two

Hertfordshire, February 1817

“Will you marry me?”

Lady Claire Talbot paused in the act of forming a snowball. He wasn’t serious. They might be bosom friends, but there wasn’t anything the least romantic about their relationship.

She peeked around the stout oak she’d taken refuge behind but saw only the long shadows of her groom and their two horses stretching across a carpet of pristine snow. Weak afternoon sun slanted through the trees. An idyllic scene for certain, but where was Stephen? She resumed molding the icy snow between her gloved palms.

“I am in earnest, Claire.”

He wasn’t using her Christian name just because he’d proposed; they’d fallen into that informal habit months ago. But this was a ruse to get her out into the open where she would be a perfect target. Stephen Cahill, Viscount Kensworth, loved to win at all costs. He most certainly
would
stoop so low as to lure her out with a proposal of marriage.

She set aside her snowball and began shaping another. And another. Best to have an arsenal at the ready.

“Your silence is unnerving. Come, Claire, a man deserves an answer to an offer of marriage.”

Another glance around the tree showed her Stephen, greatcoat swirling and boots crunching in the snow as he turned in a slow circle searching for her. Without hesitation she gathered up the snowballs and charged while his back was to her.

She threw as she ran, first hitting him on the shoulder. When he turned in surprise, a second blast of cold snow hit him squarely in the face.

“Why, you little—!” He spluttered as Claire giggled and ran for the cover of the nearest beech tree.

Sagging against the trunk, she paused to catch her breath—a difficult task when she could not stop laughing. But her laughter turned into a squeal of shock when a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Stephen effortlessly hauled her back against his hip and carried her out into the clearing.

As he set her back on her feet he admonished, “Shame on you, taking advantage of a man when he is most vulnerable.”

She felt a moment’s contrition, as he obviously hadn’t been armed with a snowball. But when he reached behind her head and pulled the hood of her cloak up, sending a shower of snow over her hair and face, her guilt vanished in an instant.

“Ohhhh!” She quickly shoved the hood back but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Nicely done, my lord.”

Stephen reached out and brushed the snow from her hair. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Claire looked up. A smile played around his lips, although his green eyes were serious indeed. “But that was a ploy—”

“No, I was perfectly serious.”

“You aren’t in love with me.” She stated it as truth. This seemed an odd time for him to talk of marriage, for he’d shown no interest in courting her over the past two years. When he was in residence here at his estate, not a week went by that he and Claire didn’t see each other. Most of their time was spent discussing Stephen’s true passion: Parliamentary reform.

He stared at the snow-covered ground and countered, “You aren’t in love with me either.” After a moment he raised his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “We are, however, fond of each other and enjoy one another’s company. That seems to me to be an excellent foundation for wedded bliss.”

His wasn’t a romantic, on-bended-knee proposal. Her first offer of marriage hadn’t been either. Nor her second. That didn’t matter, though, because over the past few years Claire had ruthlessly suppressed her fanciful notions. Everything had changed. She hadn’t accepted Mr. Dutton’s offer two years ago and she wasn’t inclined to accept Stephen. And her refusals had absolutely
nothing
to do with a certain gentleman she hadn’t seen in five years.

She looked up. Stephen was a handsome man, tall and broadly built, with straw-colored hair worn a little longer than usual. Despite that, she’d never thought of him in a passionate way. Well, perhaps once when they’d first met. But that romantic thought passed. There was no spark between them. Stephen was like a brother.

Her eyes drifted shut as she tried to imagine marriage to him, but an intrusive image supplanted Stephen’s face. This man’s black hair fell in disarray around his thin face. Behind his spectacles, his dark blue eyes were serious but kind. If
he
proposed to her in such a romantic setting as this frosted forest, she would accept in an instant. As she had the first time.

Her eyes flashed open. No, she would not. She hadn’t seen him in forever. She’d had no direct word from him in all that time, and she had determined long ago that whatever she’d felt for him all those years ago he was most definitely
not
her True Love. She’d even determined not to speak his name again. So she pushed aside thoughts of the man and focused on the one in front of her.

“Stephen, I don’t know what to say.” She fiddled with the ribbons of her cloak. “I have never given a single thought to marrying you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he burst out laughing. “Well, at least I am assured you are not a fortune hunter at heart.”

“Please say you are not taking pity on me,” she said, hoping her words came out as lightly as she wanted. “Society may consider me on the edge of the shelf after five Seasons, but I would like to think three and twenty is not
quite
so old.”

He laughed. “It’s the other way round. I need a wife. Whig leaders like Lord Stratton are strongly urging me marry. I’ve made progress within the party, especially for someone with my, er, less than estimable background. But they say I need a wife and hostess or I’ll not rise to the top. Someone intelligent, politically aware, able to influence society… You are all those things and more.” He cupped her chin and ran his gloved thumb across her lower lip. “I need a wife, but I want
you
, Claire. We’ll make a dynamic pair, don’t you think?”

She was more intrigued than she wanted to be. She loved hearing Stephen’s zealous arguments for reform, arguments which arose from his humble upbringing in poverty, a fact which didn’t matter to her in the least except that it made his observations that much more insightful. In addition, over the last couple of months she’d even begun debating the merits of said reforms with him, and just last week he’d asked for help in writing a speech he was to give in the House of Lords. She’d been thrilled to help him.

“We would do very well together,” she replied. “But…”

“Stubborn woman. I knew I would need more to convince you.”

“Very well, then. Convince me.”

He reached out and looped her arm through his, setting out across the field. “Reason number one: You would become Lady Kensworth and yet would not have to leave the bosom of your family.”

He paused, undoubtedly knowing how much that last would mean to her. Her mother had succumbed to consumption when Claire was a young girl, and after his repugnant scheme with Lord Landry her father…well, the less said there, the better. She now lived with her sister and brother-in-law and couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from them. Or from her nephew and niece.

“A point decidedly in your favor,” she admitted to Stephen. Seeing her family once a year or less was not how she wanted to live her life. She wanted to be there when Marden was breeched and when Olivia wore her hair up for the first time. Though, a nasty little part of her noted the black-haired man who tormented her dreams would keep her close to her sister and the children as well.

A groan escaped her lips.

“What was that?” Stephen asked.

“Nothing, nothing.”

They both started when a rabbit cut across their path, his long legs pushing deep into the snow as he made for the wood on the other side.

Claire stopped and faced Stephen. “Have you any other arguments?”

He sighed. “I thought for certain the nearness to your sister would be enough. Very well. Reason number two: I can keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed, and I promise to be more than generous with your pin money.” He drew her gloved hands into his own, his green eyes sparkling. “But here is my best and final argument: I will not allow my cook to put kippers on your breakfast table.”