Eloquence and Espionage (6 page)

*

Ariadne realized she was drumming her
fingers on the stone balustrade and forced herself to stop. For one
thing, the movement was better suited to a villain planning dire
deeds than a heroine pining for her true love. For another, it
didn’t do the least bit of good in calming her nerves. She only
wished she’d brought her journal and pencil that she might record
her thoughts. Writing always focused her, took her away for a
moment to another world where good triumphed and right was never
inconvenienced by a stone in a slipper or the too much chocolate
before bedtime.

She heard the door snick open behind her,
and her heart leapt (goodness, that cliché was true too!). Turning,
she saw the shadow of a man walking toward her. The moonlight
revealed curly blond hair and a gamin grin.

“I hoped I might find you out here,” Horatio
Cunningham said.

Ariadne beamed at him, happiness bubbling
up. “And I hoped you’d be the one to find me.”

He came to stand beside her, and they shared
a conspiratorial smile. He leaned the elbows of his evening black
on the balustrade. “What a fine night. The stars shine like the
light in your eyes.”

“Very good,” Ariadne said with a nod.
“You’ve been practicing.”

He cast her a glance. “What gentleman
wouldn’t practice when preparing to meet great beauty?”

Oh, but she could fall in love with this
man. “And what exactly do you plan for your great beauty?”

He straightened, and her heart hammered so
hard she felt it to her toes. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

A request for a dance? The promise of a
kiss? A proposal of marriage? “Anything,” she murmured, swaying
closer.

He leaned closer as well, until she could
smell the spice of his cologne. “Do you think Priscilla Tate truly
intends to marry Nathan Kent, or do I stand of chance of winning
her affections?”

Ariadne straightened, staring at him.
“What?”

He straightened as well. “I suppose it is
presumptuous. I haven’t the fortune and address to win such a
beauty. But I cannot stop thinking about her!”

Oh, the ignominy! Over the years, she’d
accustomed herself to Priscilla or Daphne or even Emily getting the
lion’s share of attention, but even from him? No, that simply
wasn’t in the script.

She narrowed her eyes in sudden suspicion.
“Have you ever dressed like a Roman centurion?”

Even in the moonlight she could see him
blink. “No. Do you think that would help?”

Ariadne pointed to the ballroom, holding her
trembling finger stiff from sheer force of will. “Out. Now. And
never darken my door again.”

“But I haven’t darkened your door,” he
protested, backing away from the fury that must be written on her
face. “That isn’t even your door.”

Ariadne followed him. “Leave, or I shall
scream and you will find yourself forced to offer for me to save
your sorry reputation.”

Faced with such dire consequences, he
ran.

She shook her head as she lowered her
finger. Coward. Priscilla had tried to tell her a few days ago that
Mr. Cunningham was not the man she thought him, but Ariadne hadn’t
wanted to believe her. Still, it was rather disappointing to find
that her sterling hero had feet of clay.

Or no feet at all, as the case would be.

“He wasn’t worth your time,” said a warm
male voice from the darkest corner of the balcony. “You are well
rid of him.”

Ariadne sucked in a breath. “If you are here
to ask after Daphne or Priscilla or Lady Emily, you can follow him
through the door this minute.”

“Why would I want to ask after any of them
when I came here for you?”

A shadow detached itself from the wall and
strode toward her. Though she’d been waiting for just this moment,
she backed away until she bumped into the balustrade. Moonlight
glided strong brows, a leonine nose, firm features softened by a
generous mouth that was curling even now in a smile. The black of
his evening coat suited him, as did the perfectly tied cravat, the
white-on-white Marcella waistcoat. Like his clothing, he was a man
of extremes.

He was certainly not Archibald Stump or
Freddie Pulsipher, and she knew he wasn’t Horatio Cunningham. With
fifty-fifty odds, she lowered her gaze and dipped a courtesy. “Lord
Hawksbury.”

He jerked to a stop. “My word, but you’re
clever. What gave me away?”

She smiled as she rose. “My friends and I
were able to lay our hands on Lord Rottenford’s guest list. Between
Priscilla’s knowledge of Society and Emily’s family connections, we
narrowed the list down to four men who might have been dressed as a
Roman centurion that night. You were the most logical.”

He shook his head, in admiration, she hoped.
“Well done. Then you must realize why I keep my pastime a
secret.”

“Of course. Think of the scandal should it
become known that the heir to the Marquess of Winthrop was a
spy.”

He took a step closer. “Rather say
intelligence agent, and do not say it overly loud. The walls have
ears.”

“Apparently so,” she said, glancing to where
he had been hiding. She swallowed. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it, I fear. I was on my way to join
you when Mr. Cunningham slipped through the doors first. You didn’t
seem to notice me behind him.”

He sounded disappointed. Was it because of
her lack of skill or her response to the other man?

“I thought he was you,” she explained.

“That much became evident quickly. But I was
also under the impression that you
wanted
him to be me.”

Could he see her cheeks reddening? She
turned to gaze out into the gardens below just in case. “Don’t be
silly. That would be rude.”

He touched the bare skin at her shoulder
with his gloved hand, sending a shiver through her. “Don’t you
think we have enough secrets between us?”

She refused to look at him. “Oh, very well.
Yes, I thought Mr. Cunningham a fine fellow, but it’s clear he’s as
shallow and callow as most of the young men in London. Is that what
you want to hear?”

He turned her to face him. “No. I want to
hear why you’ve been so intent on discovering the identity of a
centurion you happened upon at Lord Rottenford’s masquerade.”

He was determined to winkle out her last
secret. But she had some winkling of her own to do.

“And I want to know why you decided to
become an intelligence agent and who exactly you’re helping,” she
countered. “Perhaps you’d agree to trade information.”

With his back to the moon, she could not be
sure of his face. “I regret that I am not at liberty to confide my
purpose. The security of the Empire and all that, you
understand.”

“Then I regret that I cannot divulge my
motives,” Ariadne replied. “The sanctity of my person and all that,
you understand.”

He leaned closer. “You forget. I am skilled
in all manner of persuasion.”

He was so close she could feel the warmth of
him through the satin of her gown. “And you forget,” she murmured.
“I am proof against your seduction.”

“Pity,” he said. Then he kissed her.

It truly was the most amazing thing. Like
fireworks exploding in the night sky over the Vauxhall Pleasure
Gardens, like her first sip of champagne with the bubbles rising
inside her, like having penned the perfect line that she was sure
would be whispered in awe for centuries. Her hands wrapped around
his neck of their own accord, even as his hands braced her waist,
anchoring her against him.

As if from a million miles away, she heard
her father’s shocked voice. “Ariadne?”

Lord Hawksbury straightened. Beyond him,
frozen in the light from the open doorway, stood her father. Though
she could not see his face either, she could hear the frown in his
voice. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lord Hawksbury released her and stepped away
until the light caught his face. Odd that she hadn’t noticed the
chill of the night until now. She was positively shivering.

He sketched a bow. “Lord Rollings, forgive
me for not coming to you directly, but your daughter’s beauty and
wit captured my heart, and I could not wait to seek your blessing
lest some other gentleman steal her away.”

Her father glanced at her. “Are you speaking
of Ariadne?”

She wanted to slip between the standards of
the balustrade and escape her mortification. A shame she’d never
fit.

“I am,” Lord Hawksbury assured him with a
glance back at her as if to prove it. “I am delighted to report
that she shares my feelings and has agreed to be my bride. With
your kind permission, of course, my lord.”

What! Ariadne stared at him, finding words,
even thought, impossible. Her father looked nearly as stunned. He
recovered first.

“Of course. Certainly. I’m delighted at the
prospect.” He took a step back. “I’ll just go find Lady Rollings. I
know she will be over the moon . . . that is, tremendously pleased
by this development.” Taking another step back, he nodded to
Ariadne. “Congratulations, my dear. This is more than I’d hoped for
you.”

She knew her smile was strained as he
disappeared out the door. She marched up to Lord Hawksbury and
slapped his arm.

“What was that? I never said I’d marry you.
You never so much as asked!”

He winced as he followed her father to the
door and closed it, blocking off the light once more. “And what did
you want me to say to your father? ‘Pardon me, my lord. I’m merely
an intelligence agent attempting to seduce your daughter into
giving up her secrets’?”

Was that truly the best he could do on short
notice? “I expect you to have a better answer than leg-shackling
yourself to me. Do you engage yourself to every woman you kiss in
the name of the King?”

“Certainly not! I don’t kiss most of the
women I meet as an intelligence agent.”

That ought to have been gratifying, but he
ran a hand along his strong chin as if even now thinking up another
tactic. “Never fear. I won’t hold you to it. But it is a good plan.
The French spy I’ve been seeking must have been wondering why
you’ve been following me. This engagement will prove that it was
simply romance, not intrigue. Just play along for the next few
weeks, and then jilt me.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “What man
wants to court a lady who cannot keep her word?”

“They won’t blame you. One look at my
family, and they’ll know exactly why you refused to marry me.”

He made the comment lightly, but pain
simmered under the words. The realization was like cold water on
the fire of her temper. What had she and the others missed about
his family that made him an unpresentable suitor? She did not think
he would answer if she asked, but she made a note to herself to dig
deeper into
Debrett’s
. If only she had her journal to make a
note instead!

He seemed to assume she’d agreed to the
plan, for he was already reaching for the door latch again. She
wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.

“Why only a few weeks?” she asked, moving
toward him. “What do you have planned?”

“Nothing that need concern you.” He returned
to her side. “I hate to leave you now, but it’s best if I inform my
father before the gossip reaches him.” He reached out to touch her
arm. “Will you be all right?”

Now he wondered about the consequences?
Perhaps quick thinking made him a better intelligence agent, but
she still felt it wiser to consider the potential ramifications
before acting.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ve been
dealing with my mother for years.”

He started to move away. She caught his
hand. “But you are not to disappear again! I know your name now, my
lord. I can learn your direction. As your supposed betrothed, I
have some rights.”

In the moonlight she could see him frown as
if he hadn’t considered that either. “Such as?”

“You will call on me tomorrow,” she informed
him, dropping his hand. “We will determine what is most suitable to
maintain the ruse, my reputation, and your . . . vocation. I shall
expect you at two.”

He inclined his head. “Your servant, madam.”
He stalked to the door and let himself out.

My word! She drew in a deep breath of the
cool night air and clasped her hands together to keep them from
shaking. She was betrothed. Well, not really, but still. What would
her mother say when she learned of it? What would Daphne and her
friends say?

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
She had barely stepped back between the potted palms when her
sister pounced on her.

“What happened?” she demanded, looking
Ariadne up and down as if inspecting her for cuts and bruises. “I
saw Father’s face as he left the balcony. He looked as if he’d just
jumped the biggest fence of his life and wasn’t sure how his horse
had managed to land on the other side.”

She knew how he felt--delight and dismay
mingling. “I found my centurion.”

“And?” Priscilla asked, joining them with a
swish of her creamy skirts. “I refuse to believe it was Mr.
Cunningham.”

“I thought I saw someone follow him, but I
couldn’t be certain,” Emily added, coming along as well.

“You did,” Ariadne confirmed, “although I
didn’t notice him at first in the darkness. And it wasn’t Archibald
Stump.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Well, it can’t
have been Freddie Pulsipher, for I can see him standing just there
near the window. Or did you notice him through the glass and
recognize him?”

“Girls.” Lady Rollings glided into their
midst, hands clasped properly before her rich gown. “Your father
just gave me the news, Ariadne. It seems congratulations are in
order.”

“Congratulations?” Daphne interrupted,
glancing between Ariadne and their mother.

Ariadne swallowed. “Yes. I have agreed to
marry Lord Hawksbury.”