B00Q5W7IXE (R) (3 page)

The woman laughed. “Actually, I would have guessed tenors, but this is clearly a...”

“Soprano,” Blue supplied.

Helena’s tongue seemed tied in knots. She tried to speak but no words formed on her lips. This Sophia did not look like Helena had imagined a spy might, had she ever even thought to envision female spies.

Sophia was short in stature, her chestnut hair pulled into a ribbon of glossy curls secured at her nape with a strip of lilac satin. Her brown eyes danced with barely disguised amusement as her gaze flicked from Blue to Helena, clearly understanding exactly what she’d just interrupted.

Her companion, on the other hand, was long and lean with short, dark blond hair and gray eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He had the chiseled features of a Grecian statue, and he assessed her as quickly as a general might a map of troop movements.

The woman’s lips curled. “Adrian, I do think we have interrupted our friend and his...lady at a most inconvenient time.” Her eyes twinkled with delight, belying the tinge of regret in her voice.

“So it appears,” the man she’d called Adrian said, settling across from Blue and Helena and rapping on the roof with his walking stick. Apparently, they had no intention of retreating until a more convenient time to meet. “Beg your pardon for interrupting. Are you en route to the Ely Ball?”

“You know we are,” Blue replied.

“Good. Thank you for offering us your coach.”

Blue brushed at his sleeve. “I did no such thing, and I give you no pardon. If you have something to say, perhaps we might arrange—”

Sophia interrupted. “I do think introductions are in order.”

“Isn’t that against the rules?” Blue said, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Rules! I’ve known you long enough to break the rules. Following them is Adrian’s job.” She pointed to Blue. “You go first, sir. Or is it lord?”

It occurred to Helena that though this couple might be well acquainted with Blue, the spy, they knew nothing of Ernest, the man.

Blue gave a last yank of his sleeve. “Helena, this is Lord and Lady Smythe. Viscount”—he nodded to Adrian—“this is Lady Ernest Bloomington.” He cleared his throat. “My wife.”

Sophia gasped and then covered her mouth to hide what sounded like delighted giggles. Adrian’s mouth twitched slightly, but he showed no other outward sign of having heard anything unusual.

He was definitely a spy.

“Lord
Ernest
,” Adrian said.

“He actually prefers to be called Blue,” Helena said, finally finding her words.

“Oh, that’s too bad now, isn’t it?” Sophia said between chuckles. “He will henceforth be known as Ernest. No! Ernie! We shall call him Ernie!”

Adrian pulled his lower lip in, obviously containing his amusement. Even Helena ran her tongue along her teeth to stifle a grin.

Blue crossed his arms and glared.

“Wait a moment!” Sophia ceased giggling and straightened suddenly. “Bloomington? Your parents are the duke and duchess?”

“Will that amuse you as well?” Blue asked.

She sobered. “No, not at all. That’s actually quite unfortunate. But I am being rude beyond belief.” She made a small bow to Helena. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ernest. We are old, dear friends of Ernie. We met...ah, how did we meet again?” She looked at her husband and then Blue.

“Helena knows I used to work for the Barbican group,” Blue said, voice curt. “Since she is a civilian, I thought it best not to reveal your codenames.”

That must have been the reason he had stumbled upon first saying Sophia’s name. It had started with an S-A...

Sally? Sadie? Satyr?

Adrian and Sophia exchanged a look, and then she rose and insinuated herself between Helena and Blue.

“You do not mind if your lady wife and I chat for a moment, do you?” Sophia asked. “Female matters.” She waved a hand. “You go over there and converse with Adrian.”

With a heavy sigh, Blue rose and lurched to the other side of the carriage. He sat beside Adrian, crossing his arms over his chest once again in a blatant display of displeasure.

“What a lovely gown,” Sophia said. Her own was a deep purple in color. “Very festive. Are you looking forward to the ball?”

“Not particularly.” Helena tried to glance at the men. Blue had his head cocked toward Adrian, who spoke in low tones.

Sophia’s face popped into her line of vision. “Still, it is lovely to go to a ball, especially a Christmas ball. I have a young son, just a baby, and I must confess this is only the third time I have been away from him for more than a moment or two. Do you have children?”

Helena sat back, inching to see around Sophia’s other side. “No, we haven’t any children yet.”

“Oh, but that was a very indiscreet question on my part,” Sophia said, leaning to block Helena. “You must be very newly married.”

Helena huffed with frustration. “Actually, no. We have been married for quite some years. Why is it you do not want me to see or hear what the gentlemen are discussing?”

“Really? You have been married for some years? I find that fact quite astonishing. Where have you been hiding?”

“I was performing on the Continent. Are they discussing a mission?”

Sophia waved a hand. “Who knows what men talk about.”

Helena had a feeling that Sophia knew very well what not only men, but the two men seated opposite, liked to talk about.

“What sort of performer are you? Oh, but of course! You’re a soprano. That wasn’t a quip, was it?”

“No.” Before the woman could begin blathering again, Helena clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Lady Smythe, pardon me, but if you say another word, I will be forced to stuff this”—she lifted the first object she encountered on the seat beside her—“blanket down your throat.”

Helena removed her hand, and Sophia made a show of pressing her lips together.

“Now then, why are you here? My husband is retired from the Barbican group.”

“Precisely what I was just saying,” Blue added, his voice rising. “I’ve retired. Must I put it in writing?”

“Baron would only tear it up,” Adrian said. “You’re too valuable to retire.”

Helena drew in a fortifying breath. Would the Barbican ever release him from its hold?

“
You
retired,” Blue said, pointing an accusatory finger at the couple.

“Not true,” Sophia answered. “We consult from time to time.”

“And recruit,” Adrian added.

“Recruit elsewhere.” Blue rapped on the roof and the coach, once again, jounced to a standstill. He pushed the door open and a gust of freezing air ruffled Helena’s gown.

“Good night, Lady Smythe, Lord Smythe,” Blue said.

“Consider what I said, Blue,” Lord Smythe murmured before stepping into the chilly darkness. He held out a hand for his wife.

“Good night, Ernie. Enjoy the ball.”

Blue slammed the door and rapped the roof again. He all but threw himself into the space beside Helena.

The coach lurched into motion. Inside silence reigned. Finally, Helena cleared her throat.

“Should we leave them out there? It’s bitterly cold.”

“Good,” Blue said with a scowl. “I hope it snows.”

But his gaze returned to the window and his hand went again to his pocket, smoothing over the material like a lover might a lock of his beloved’s hair.

Was it the Smythes or his wife he wished left out in the cold?

Three

The clock had just struck midnight when Blue led Helena into the Ely ballroom. The butler announced them, but the company currently danced a lively reel and no one took much notice.

The large rectangular room—in which as a child he’d often played hide-and-seek—was draped in evergreen garlands, sprigs of holly, and dozens of arrangements of Christmas roses. Throughout the room, kissing boughs of evergreens, mistletoe, and apples hung from red ribbons. Couples paused under the boughs to exchange chaste kisses before continuing their promenade around the ballroom.

Thoughts of kissing led him back to Helena. She stood beside him, peering about the room with avid interest.

“I don’t think you saw the ballroom when you were last here.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “I saw the drawing room and your father’s wrath before we fled like the naughty children we were. I truly hope we have finally been forgiven.”

“It’s Christmas. Even the Duke of Ely cannot hold a grudge at Christmas.”

She raised a brow, and he lifted the invitation, waving it before her nose. “Just in case, I have brought this. We were officially invited.”

At least
he
was.

“We should find my parents.”

She nodded, and reluctantly placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

The duke and duchess stood across the room, where they would have a splendid view of the guests entering and leaving. He was in no hurry to speak with his parents, but he could hardly put it off without breaking custom.

Not that he gave a damn about custom. Correction:
Blue
did not give a damn about custom.
Ernest
was the son of a duke and a man of property—or he would be if he ever bought land. Ernest Bloomington adhered to social customs.

As they neared, the duchess’s chin went up and she shifted. Helena’s hand on his arm tightened. Blue had the distinct feeling he was walking into an ambush, but he forced his legs to move forward, despite the warning bells clanging in his mind. He bowed to his mother and father.

“Duke. Duchess.” Blue inclined his head to each in turn, as Helena curtsied and murmured a greeting. “You remember my wife, Lady Ernest.”

He might abhor his name, but there were times it proved useful.

Standing before his parents, Blue marveled at their diminutive size. In his memory, they towered over him like neglectful giants. In reality, they were both short of stature. He was a head taller than his mother and a few inches taller than his father, even though he was only of average height.

Both of his parents had blue eyes, but no one in his family had eyes as vividly blue as he did. As a child, every stranger he met remarked upon the unusual color. He’d been told his grandmother, a highly regarded beauty in her day, had eyes the same color. Blue had never met her, having been born five years after her death, eighteen years into his parents’ union.

The duke and duchess smiled stiffly, their attention focused on Blue.

“Ernest, dear. How good it is to see you after so many years,” his mother said. She must have been about seventy now, and her hair had whitened and thinned, though she still looked healthy and agile. “You look well.”

“As do you.” Blue put his hand on Helena’s back, keeping her close and tacitly drawing attention to her. His parents’ gazes never even flickered toward Helena.

“Have you been in Town long?” his father asked.

“Yes, almost two and thirty years now.”

His father’s lips turned down, the extra skin around his wrinkled cheeks sagging further.

“You never call,” his mother chided.

“Why haven’t you applied to White’s for membership? Your brothers have all been accepted.”

“I have no interest in White’s, Duke,” Blue said. “I prefer to spend my evenings at the opera.”

The duke opened his mouth as though to retort, but the duchess stepped forward and clasped Blue’s free arm in her bony grip.

“Come with me, dear. I want to introduce you to my lovely friend.”

Blue glanced at Helena for agreement, but she was watching the dancers. No doubt his parents’ snub left her with little interest in their conversation.

“Helena—” Blue began.

“Oh, I am sure she would rather dance. Edward!” She snapped her fingers and one of Blue’s older brothers crossed to them. Edward was about four years Blue’s senior and taller than Blue, but with a rapidly receding hairline.

Edward bowed to his mother and nodded to Blue.

“Dance with Miss Giles,” the duchess said.

“She is not Miss Giles,” Blue protested.

“Darling”—Helena gave him a steady smile—“I’ll be fine for a few moments with Lord Edward.” She extended her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

Blue suddenly regretted the velvet trim on his coat. The room felt far too heated at the moment.

Blue resisted a backward glance, just barely, and allowed his mother to lead him away. He smiled and nodded at the guests who bowed and curtsied to the duchess as she wended her way through the room. In their eyes he spotted curiosity. Blue was probably the least well-known of the Ely offspring, and that was not by accident. Now that he’d renounced his position in the Barbican group, it was past time he took his place in Society once again.

Oh, but he was already having regrets. Dare he hope his parents would warn up to his wife as the evening went on? Could he tolerate the ball long enough to give them opportunity to make amends? He had been in worse places for reasons that mattered far less than his wife. He would not be sad to take his leave from his parents, however. Helena would have her dance, he would meet whatever elderly matron his mother had in mind, and then he and Helena would be once again ensconced in the carriage and off to bed.

He touched his pocket once again, felt the coded vellum inside. Perhaps if he had a moment later, he might...

No. He had retired. He had promised Helena. He would not give in to temptation.

“Here we are,” the duchess remarked, indicating a small circle of ladies with a gloved hand.

One of the ladies turned and gifted him with a wide smile. “Ernest! You came!”

Blue smiled with true feeling at the sight of his younger sister. They were only fourteen months apart in age, and he’d always been closest to her. Far closer than to his older siblings, the eldest of whom was eighteen years his senior.

“Eleanor.” He bowed with a flourish and kissed her outstretched hand. “How good to see you.”

“And you. Where is your wife? I had hoped to meet her.”

Blue gestured toward the dancers but had no time to answer before the duchess cleared her throat.

“Lady Albina, may I present my youngest son, Lord Ernest.”

A tall brunette with lovely brown eyes made a slow, graceful curtsy.