“I never would have pegged you for a dandy,” Lord Marcus MacInnes, the Earl of Weston, drawled as he neared Will, coming to stand next to him. “Yet here you are, Clairemont, shopping. On New Bond Street. Will wonders never cease?”
Will eyed Weston, relieved to have the seasoned Corinthian on the case. The Scotsman’s fashionable appearance and devil-may-care attitude had proven to be the perfect cover for Corinthian business in the past, and Will had high hopes it would serve their efforts well now.
“You’ve caught me, then,” Will responded sarcastically. “Though one has to wonder just what you’re doing here.”
Weston grinned. “Well played, Clairemont.”
The door to Pomeroy’s opened suddenly and Lady Lucinda and Lady Northrop stepped over the threshold, followed by their maids, who carried several wrapped parcels. The sight put an abrupt halt to their conversation.
“Drop back and follow us,” Will said in a low tone, keeping his facial expression relaxed and uninterested.
Weston clapped Will on the back and laughed. “Of course,” he replied, his jovial action belying the true nature of their interaction.
Will moved quickly, easing behind a passing tall, elderly gentleman escorting a very rotund lady gowned in black. He used the couple as concealment until they were close to Lady Lucinda’s party. Then he slowed, letting space lengthen between himself and the elderly couple.
“Lady Lucinda, Lady Northrop.” He approached the two women and their maids.
He held back a smile at the surprise and, if he wasn’t mistaken, pleasure that appeared on Lucinda’s face.
“Your Grace,” Lady Northrop began, her expression markedly less cheerful than Lady Lucinda’s. “I must admit to some surprise at finding you here,” she said.
Will bowed, smiling at Lady Lucinda before turning to Lady Northrop, a look of bewilderment clouding his face. “Indeed? I cannot imagine why.”
Lady Northrop’s ears turned scarlet at the tips as they almost always did whenever they met. “Surely I am not the only one to marvel at the sight of Iron Will strolling down New Bond Street. Or would you have us believe you’ve suddenly become obsessed with the cut of your waistcoat?”
Will spread his hands, palms out, in a plea for mercy from Lady Northrop. “Ah, you’ve caught me out. In truth, I could not have cared less for any of this.” He paused, gesturing at the surrounding shops. The fashionable set thronged the walkways and street, to see and be seen. “But of late I’ve found myself quite taken with the notion of self-improvement.”
He looked at Lday Lucinda, lifting an eyebrow in a silent request for confirmation. “Lady Lucinda, have I not demonstrated a marked desire to prove myself a gentleman in every way?”
He dared her to answer truthfully. The narrowing of her eyes told him she knew he was referring to their interlude in the park.
“I wouldn’t dream of judging you, Your Grace, though your ‘marked desire’ is most convincing.” She finished off the sentence with a serene smile, and he half expected her to drop into a polite curtsy.
“Be that as it may,” Lady Northrop cut in, “I pray you will remember that a well-cut coat alone does not make the man. A true gentleman is one in both manners and heart.”
“Time spent with you is always edifying, Lady Northrop,” Will assured her solemnly. He offered an arm to each lady. “Would you care to instruct me further while enjoying ices? We’re nearly to Gunter’s”
Lady Northrop looked confused for a moment, clearly searching for the words to refuse him without violating the code of manners drilled into all genteel young girls long before they entered society.
“That would be most gentlemanly of you,” Lady Lucinda responded, taking Will’s arm.
Lady Northrop’s mouth opened and closed in a vaguely fishlike fashion as the two waited patiently for her response. Finally, she settled her gloved fingers on Will’s coat sleeve. “It would be rude of me to deny your request at this juncture, would it not?”
“Yes,” Will and Lady Lucinda said in unison.
“Very well.” Lady Northrop glanced over her shoulder before catching Lady Lucinda’s eye. “Perhaps we should have your Mary tell the coachman we’ll be a bit longer and then send our maids home?”
Lady Lucinda agreed, and moments later Will escorted the two women down the street toward Gunter’s.
The three walked in silence the short distance to Berkeley Square, curious looks from fellow pedestrian meeting their every step.
Will leaned toward Lady Northrop, dropping his voice to a murmur as he asked, “Lady Northrop, have you engaged in some sort of scandalous behavior that I should be aware of?”
Lady Northrop’s eyebrows shot up and she gaped at him.
“Everyone is looking at us,” he explained, all innocence.
Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth opened, but she lost her opportunity to reply when Will drew them to a stop.
“Ladies,” Will said, holding open the door and stepping back to gesture them inside.
The fashionable crowd inside turned to see who was entering, their heads swiveling almost as one and then nodding in the expected polite greeting to both Lady Lucinda and Lady Northrop.
Their expressions of surprise, shock, and utter dismay when they recognized Will were laughable. He fought back the urge to bare his teeth at them, simply for the amusement of hearing them all gasp, and instead intercepted a waiter. “A table for three,” he said gruffly.
The waiter jumped to attention, motioning to a fellow server to make room in the already crowded parlor for the trio. A table and three chairs were brought out and set near the window; the waiter bowed to Will’s party and gestured for them to follow.
Will could have sworn he heard a unified intake of breath as they made their way to the table, utensils full of fanciful sweets stopping just short of gaping mouths.
“Lady Northrop, I beg your pardon,” he said, settling his frame into his chair after assuring the ladies were comfortably seated.
“What for?” Lady Northrop asked suspiciously.
“Clearly it is Lady Lucinda who has inspired such interest,” Will said sardonically.
Lady Lucinda responded by arching a brow at him in amusement. Lady Northrop sniffed her disbelief and the two turned to question the hovering server about the cakes available.
No sooner had the trio ordered than the tinkling of bells signaled a newcomer. The door swung wide and a footman appeared, dressed head to toe in scarlet livery, his gold buttons and embroidery bright enough to reflect and perhaps substitute for the midday sun. The man swept the room with a supercilious gaze, stepping back with a low bow to usher in a woman.
Her spectacular mane of auburn curls was fashionably bound beneath a charming deep forest green hat. Her matching pelisse clung to the curve of her shoulders, draping expertly over the gown beneath. The woman surveyed the shop’s occupants, her emerald green eyes reflecting the pleasure she felt at such attention.
She walked across the room to join a group of women clustered at a table, the hum of whispers beginning anew.
“Lady Swindon certainly does know how to make an entrance.” Lady Lucinda commented.
Lady Northrop rolled her eyes in response and unfolded a linen napkin. “That is one way of looking at it,” she confirmed, arranging the snowy white square over her lap.
Will kept his eyes on the window, hopeful that the two were finished.
“Are you acquainted with Lady Swindon, Your Grace?” Lucinda asked.
Will’s instinct was to growl a particularly fervent oath, but even he knew that such a response was beyond the outer bounds of propriety. Fortunately, the waiter arrived with the requested ice, tea and plate of cakes before he could speak. The brief interruption allowed him time to manage a politer reply. “Yes, we are acquainted.”
“Would you be so kind as to introduce me?”
Will turned to Lady Lucinda, not quite sure he’d heard her correctly. “I’m sorry?”
Lucinda dabbed at her mouth, looking up at him through her lashes. “I’m not acquainted with Lady Swindon, though I have heard a great deal about her. I find her interesting, and would like to meet her.”
Will slowly continued to spoon the cold ice into his mouth. When he’d reached the bottom of the bowl, he looked at Lady Northrop, whose bland stare told him she wasn’t about to offer help in any way. He turned his attention to Lady Lucinda, who eyed him expectantly.
He wondered how long he would have to pretend he hadn’t heard her before she released the request.
Lady Lucinda smiled sweetly. “I do wonder, Your Grace, if you would introduce us?”
A great deal longer than this, apparently.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath before dropping his spoon on the table with a clatter. “She is not like you, Lady Lucinda, not in any way.”
Lady Lucinda looked into his eyes, her brows furrowing. “Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?” she asked softly.
“She may have a title, but she does not possess any of the qualities that someone in her position should.”
“Not unlike you, Your Hrace,” Lady Lucinda responded. “And yet, look at how well we are managing.”
“Oh, my,” Lady Northrop whispered, her gaze focused just beyond Will’s shoulder.
Will and Lady Lucinda turned to see what had upset Lady Northrop, only to find Lady Swindon herself approaching.
Will’s last encounter with the woman had not gone well. She’d convinced a footman to allow her entry to his town house and Will had found her disrobed and wild-eyed in his bed, begging him to take her back.
She’d been reasonable enough in the beginning, joining in long nights of lusty sex with unabashed enthusiasm and no expectations beyond the carnal. Which was exactly what Will had hoped for from the young, beautiful widow.
But then she’d married the aging Lord Swindon, turning her from a widow to the wife of a respected acquaintance. He’d ended the affair as gently as he could, but the woman clearly still held a grudge, if the expression on her face was any indication.
“Lady Swindon.” Will said politely, standing. “You’re looking well.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a gracious nod, her emerald eyes taking in the trio. “Your Grace, how kind of you to say so,” she responded coolly before turning to Lucinda. Her frosty gaze examined Lady Lucinda’s face as if committing it to memory. “Lady Lucinda, your reputation precedes you.”
Will shifted, resting one hand on the back of Lady Lucinda’s chair. The implied intimacy of the act was duly noted by the redhead and her eyes narrowed.
“Lady Swindon.” Lady Lucinda nodded, a sincere smile on her lips.
Lady Swindon’s creamy complexion pinkened as she glared at Will. “Really, Your Grace. She is charming. So very charming,” she murmured in a tone that could cut glass, before turning her attention back to Lady Lucinda. “You’ll have quite a time of it taming this one, Lady Lucinda.”
“We shall see,” Lady Lucinda replied resolutely, then glanced at Will and Lady Northrop. “Your Grace, I do believe it is time for us to be off.” She turned back to Lady Swindon, inclining her head in a gracious nod. “Good day.”
Lady Swindon forced a smile before returning to her seat.
“Lady Lucinda,” Will murmured as they rose and she took his arm, “I believe I underestimated you.”
Lucinda looked up into Will’s face. “Do not let it happen again, Your Grace.”
The Young Corinthians Gentlemen’s Club was not the most exclusive club in the city. Its membership boasted titles from baron to duke, but these barons and dukes (and quite everything in between) were not always of spotless reputation and respectability, which was why so many of them held the club in such affection. They darkened its doors at all hours of the day and night, comfortable in the knowledge that their fellow patrons could not afford to be judgmental, and, therefore, would not be.
The men enjoyed the comfortable armchairs and daily newspapers, complimentary bottles of sherry, and a limited selection of well-cooked English dishes. The brandy was a touch above good and the gambling opportunities plentiful. The Corinthians Club was what every gentlemen’s club should be: an escape from the daily duties that men in such a position endured.
It neither stood above the other clubs nor fell beneath, but rather maintained a constant level of comfort that its members had come to expect.
In all ways but one very important, and very clandestine, exception. For within the walls of the club the Young Corinthians conducted their business, perfectly hidden within the normal daily rhythms of catering to London aristocrats.
Staffed entirely by Corinthians and with a sufficient number of secret passageways, concealed entryways, and meeting rooms to satisfy even Carmichael himself, the club, it could be said, was an indispensable member of the Corinthian team.
To Will, it was simply home. He’d never really felt comfortable in the ducal mansion. The specter of his father cast a shadow so dark and wide it was well nigh impossible to escape the late duke’s influence without walking out the door.
And so Will had—walked out the door, that was, hastening to the Corinthians Club at every available opportunity, business or not. He’d spent more birthdays there than he cared to admit and celebrated the successful conclusion of countless missions. In many ways, the club afforded Will a life he’d never known outside of its walls. The enduring relationships and satisfying work he’d found in Carmichael’s organization were far more meaningful for him than anything his family offered.
Little else outside the Young Corinthians held a place in Will’s heart.
Until now.
He appeared to be obsessed with Lady Lucinda.
Clearly this had come about because her life was in grave danger. Any man, or at least any man trained by the Young Corinthians, would find it difficult to ignore a woman in such straits.
It had nothing to do with her beauty.
Or her sense of adventure.
Or her intelligence.
Or her—
He stopped. He literally stopped moving. He had, in theory at least, been reaching for his glass of brandy. But he had stopped, because it seemed to be the only way to force his bloody brain to stop as well.
Of all the things he needed in his life, a mental catalog of the many attributes of Lady Lucinda Grey was not among them.
“Are you planning on drinking that brandy or have you decided to perform a magic rite for its continued safety and good health?”
Will looked at Carmichael, then looked at his arm, still frozen in space, hovering over the table.
He looked like a damn fool.
“Sit,” Will said, motioning to the chair near him.
“What were you doing?” Carmichael inquired, settling in.
Will lifted the heavy crystal glass to his lips and swallowed, the liquor burning pleasantly down his throat. “Thinking, Carmichael. I can’t recommend it highly enough.”
Carmichael lifted a brow. “Work or pleasure?”
“Both, actually,” Will replied, then half heartedly retrieved the day’s paper from the mahogany side table next to his chair.
“I trust you’re not mixing the two.”
Will took the paper in both hands and opened it wide.
Carmichael called to a footman to bring him a brandy. “You don’t read the paper, Will.”
“I do,” Will replied gruffly.
The liveried servant set Carmichael’s drink on the table and disappeared.
“Give me a moment,” Carmichael said, then took a hearty sip of his brandy, swallowed, paused to consider, and shook his head decisively. “No, you still do not.”
“Bloody hell.”
“You know where we stand on such things. Personal interest has no place in Corinthian business.”
Will dropped the Times in his lap and reached for Carmichael’s brandy. “Just a moment, won’t you,” he said before throwing his head back and draining th
e glass. “Yes, I still do. Now, shall we talk about something else?”
“As you wish.”
Will appreciated Carmichael’s concern, but he could not bring himself to discuss the problem that was Lady Lucinda. Not only would Carmichael likely tell him in great detail why Will’s interest in her was forbidden to an agent, but Will feared he would be disappointed in him. To engage in anything other than what the mission demanded with any asset—which clearly defined Lady Lucinda—was forbidden, but to contemplate relinquishing one’s position in the Corinthians for a woman? The mere thought of surrendering his significant role within the brotherhood for something as inconsequential as love was simply too ridiculous for words. Such things had always mystified Will.
Northrop’s choice of Amelia over his field position was beginning to make some sort of odd sense to Will—and this scared the hell out of him.
Regardless, he knew his duty and all that he owed to the Corinthians, and to Carmichael. To fall short in the eyes of his mentor was too much to risk.
Will roughly folded the paper and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The incident in the park, then.”
“Anything of particular interest?” Carmichael asked.
“No, though he’s doing what I’d expected of him, I’ll give him that,” Will answered. “One attempt and nothing more. Garenne can’t abide failure of any kind.”
Carmichael nodded in acknowledgment. “His next move?”
“He prefers to work alone. He won’t want to hire associates, but considering the mark, he may have to.” Will paused to rub his temples. “Kidnapping a well-protected, prominent member of society is a far different proposition than assassinating an agent in the field. If he chooses to hire assistants, depending upon their number and skill, he could strike at any time. And my guess would be that he’ll choose somewhere less public.”
Carmichael toyed with his gold watch, the engraved head of a lion catching the candle’s light. “You’re comfortable with the number of our men assigned to the situation?”
“He’s not human, old man, so no, not even a thousand agents would put my mind at ease,” Will answered. “But we’ll catch him, that I know for sure.”
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