"Your brother-in-law was mistaken, Your Grace." The old man met his eye before saying, "Lady Rivenhall has been in London for well over a year. It could not have been she who interrogated the Earl of Wessex on the peninsula. I am sorry."
Gilbert sat back, dazed. He stared into his glass and was surprised when the old man’s voice, which had been so grave mere moments before, now became buoyant.
"And the twins? I believe they are nearing one year, are they not?"
The duke glanced up in time to nod at Lord Ferth as he passed. "Yes, the dowager duchess intends to invite the entire ton to the celebration; however, my wife is standing firm in favor of a small gathering."
"Quite sensible," the old man said, but Gilbert scarcely heard him, so troubled was he by the information he had just been given and now must conceal from his wife.
Chapter Nine
Saturday evening finally arrived.
Not that Aidan wanted to meet Sarah’s selection for bride, but he had arranged to speak with Glenbroke after they dined.
He bounded up the stairs of his sister’s home looking every inch the English gentleman, just as Sarah had ordered, and was admitted into the drawing room with the other guests. He nodded a greeting to Christian St. John who stood on the opposite side of the room with cousins Lady Pervill and Lady Appleton, then gave his sister an armful of roses as he kissed her dutifully on the cheek.
"Well, when is my future bride arriving, and by the way, who is she," he teased, glancing down at her as her lips pinched with annoyance.
Her green eyes were mere slits when she glared at her husband who stood blissfully unaware of her ire as he poured himself a sherry from an exquisite crystal decanter.
"I am going to throttle Gilbert."
"Only right the duke should warn me of your deceitful intentions." Aidan grinned, revealing his dimples. Sarah smiled as well and then turned to face him, making him exceedingly uncomfortable.
"It will just be the six of us for dinner, Aidan."
His brows furrowed as his head whipped around to view the two cousins conversing with Christian St. John and the Duke of Glenbroke.
"You’re not serious?"
"Deadly."
"Which one have you claimed as my bride?"
Sarah’s laughter rang out, causing the others to turn toward the siblings. "Come now, Aidan, you could no more handle Juliet than catch a fly."
"So Felicity is more manageable?" he asked with irritation.
"Think of it as compatible. Felicity is a stunning, charming, intelligent lady and would make you a splendid wife. I have thought you perfect for one another for quite some time."
Aidan was reeling. "Have you spoken to her about the possibility?"
"Of course not, what sort of sister do you take me for? Besides," she grinned. "Felicity would be mortified and would most probably not speak to me for a month. Juliet and I thought it best to just let you handle the matter."
"Juliet!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"She approached the subject several weeks ago. I think she is concerned about Felicity nearing her twenty-second year with no husband in sight."
Aidan chuckled. "Come now, it is not as though Lady Appleton is a wall flower. The girl has refused six offers for her hand already."
"Seven." Sarah sighed. "I know. She says she is not in love with her suitors, but I was certain she would accept Lord Summers. The man is an absolute pleasure to look at."
"Sarah." The word held his disapproval.
"Therefore, brother dear, if appearance is not a primary concern for Felicity, you might just have a chance," she said, adding an impish grin.
Aidan rolled his eyes at his sister just as dinner was announced.
The Duke of Glenbroke escorted his irritating wife. Lady Pervill wrapped her arm firmly around Christian’s, which, very cleverly, left him to offer his to the elegant Lady Appleton.
He hated to admit when his sister was correct, but he had considered Lady Appleton before he left for the peninsula. She was exceedingly beautiful and by far the most gentle creature he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Any man would be lucky to take her for wife.
Dinner was excellent, and his observation of Lady Appleton distracting enough that Aidan very nearly forgot why he had come. Then the ladies were excusing themselves, leaving the three men to their port.
Glenbroke turned to him the moment the doors had closed, asking, "So, what do you think of your bride?"
Aidan grinned with amusement and Christian’s fair brows furrowed. "What bride?"
The duke’s silvery eyes met the Nordic blue of the befuddled Lord St. John. "It would seem my wife has decided that Aidan should offer for Lady Appleton."
Christian’s face registered shock. "Lady Appleton? You jest?"
Aidan was mildly insulted. "And what, pray tell, Christian, is so amusing about my paying court to Lady Appleton."
Lord St. John looked from the duke to Aidan and back to the duke then he rushed headlong into the hole he had dung for himself, "Well…well, nothing, old boy, I just never imagined…you and Lady Appleton?"
The duke roared with laughter and Aidan’s scowled, irritated. "Damn it man, the venture was only proposed an hour ago. Lady Appleton would make any man an excellent wife."
"Yes, she would, but not for the likes of you."
"The likes of me!"
"You must admit you are a bit of a lecher."
"A lecher!"
"Well, perhaps not a lecher, but most assuredly a rake."
"As are you," Aidan pointed out.
Christian grinned. "That I am, but I am not offering for Lady Appleton."
"Who said anything about an offer?"
"Well, I certainly hope you are not paying court in order to seduce Lady Appleton, because Gilbert and I would be forced--"
"Seduce her!" Aidan’s voice was beginning to rise and the duke’s laughter increased with it. "Are you mad, Christian, or merely feverish?"
"Well, then what are your intention toward the girl? It is not as though you need time to become acquainted with her. Either you want to marry the woman, or you don’t."
Aidan just stared at Christian’s audacity, saying, "Glenbroke, would you kindly ask this meddlesome bastard to join the ladies, because he is most assuredly behaving like one?"
Christian smiled as he rose. "No need to toss me out, Glenbroke. I can only assume that you gentlemen have no objection to a stunning male specimen, such as myself, spending time alone with your women?"
The duke nodded his consent while Aidan vehemently objected. "Felicity is not my woman."
"Felicity?" Both of Lord St. John’s brows lifted, and he met the duke’s laughing eyes. "Such familiarity. Can a ceremony be far behind?"
"Sod off, Christian," Aidan tossed over his shoulder as Lord St. John reach for the brass doorknob.
"And to you, Lord Wessex."
And then he was gone, leaving an irritated Aidan alone with the very amused Duke of Glenbroke.
Aidan rubbed his temples when he felt the twinge of a headache coming on. He reached for his port and took a substantial portion in his mouth before turning to his brother-in-law.
"Well, have you located Lady Rivenhall?"
The duke sighed with regret, sitting up and leaning his muscular forearms on the polished mahogany table.
"Aidan, are you sure that Lady Rivenhall is the woman who interrogated you in France."
"What do you mean? Of course I am sure. It is hardly something a man would forget."
Gilbert raised both brows and with great reluctance said, "The Foreign Office has already investigated Lady Rivenhall." Aidan waited. "She has been living in London for over a year, Aidan. She could not be the same woman."
"She drugged me!"
"Perhaps she was waiting for Lord Reynolds, and you frightened her? Did you accuse her of being a French spy?"
Aidan’s brows furrowed as he thought back to Albuera. He had been half dead, confused. He felt a moment
of uncertainty as he remembered the note. Last room on the left. Perhaps, it had been a lover’s note. Perhaps her reaction was due to fear for her reputation?
And then he remembered her knife, the way she used it? He remembered the recognition in her stunning eyes, the physical attraction between them. He was not wrong.
He knew it, felt it.
"She is the same woman, Gilbert, and every day the woman is allowed to operate without detection is a day she could be passing information to the French. I cannot allow it."
The duke looked at him with alarm. "The Foreign Office has already investigated her, Aidan. There is nothing else you can do."
"I beg to differ, Your Grace. I intend to unmask this traitor and turn her over to Whitehall." Aidan rose and bowed to the superior man. "If you would relay my regrets to my sister."
"Where are you going?"
Aidan flashed his teeth in a fierce grin. "Hunting."
***
London, England
June 30th, 1811
Lady Rivenhall sat in a private box at Vauxhall gardens. A black and white mask twisted in her hands as she awaited the arrival of her English operative, Falcon.
He had not been pleased to be contacted, but she saw no alternative. The problem of the Earl of Wessex would have to be resolved, and quickly.
"How are you, my dear?" The elderly man asked as he entered their private dining area. The orchestra became muffled as the heavy velvet flap fell into place and the old man settled with a heavy sigh into the seat opposite her.
"Very well, thus far, my lord."
The old man laughed with approval. "You never were one to beat about the bush, Celeste. I had hoped we could enjoy a meal before conducting our business." He lifted a trembling tray of fruit and cheese toward her. She declined with a shake of her head. "Very well." He set the tray on the black silk tablecloth. "I know of your meeting with the Earl of Wessex at Lord Reynolds’s ball."
Her blue green eyes opened wide. "How could you possibly--"
The question was interrupted with a wave of the old man’s hand. "It is of no importance. However, I have just received information that changes your assignment considerably." His brandy colored eyes locked with hers.
"Lord Wellesley plans to launch a campaign against Napoleon in one month’s time. Ships transporting soldiers as well as supplies will arrive on the southeastern coast of Portugal in hopes of trapping the Emperor’s troops between the Pyrenees and Wellesley. You realize, of course, what this means?"
Celeste nodded.
"You always were a clever girl, Celeste, but let me be clear. You must unearth this traitor before Wellesley sets sail or Napoleon will be awaiting his arrival." Falcon paused, holding her eyes until he was satisfied she understood the seriousness of the situation. "You found nothing to implicate Lord Reynolds?"
"No, I have searched his home and he seems a bit---"
"Incapable." Falcon chuckled. "The man is a complete buffoon. Always thought him highly unlikely. No, our Lion is a very clever fellow. You might never find any documents to prove his guilt."
"Then how am I--"
"His seal. With an intercepted communiqué, Lion has provided in wax the proof we need to hang him. It is his arrogance that will betray him. He might very well leave his Lion’s seal with his others."
"Why in heaven’s name would he be so careless?"
A smile spread across Falcon’s weathered features. "You are very young, Celeste. To Lion it is not carelessness, it is a game. Half the men I employ have been recruited because they enjoy the thrill of the hunt, because they enjoy deceiving people to prove to themselves that they can."
"And the other half?"
"The other half…" He placed his hand on hers. "Are patriots, serving their country despite their fears, despite the danger." Her eyes met his and she was thankful when the old man sat back, saying, "Find the Lion’s seal. You have four weeks in which to prove one of these four men a traitor."
"All of four weeks?" Celeste laughed, placing the mangled mask on the table.
Falcon smiled, revealing teeth yellowed by age. "I have seen you bring an entire roomful of men to their knees in one evening, my dear. Four men in four weeks is child’s play for your considerable skills."
"It is not the four gentlemen I am concerned with, it is the one." She fought to conceal her apprehension as she held the old man’s eyes, saying, "Wessex will not stop until he has denounced me as a spy." Or killed her outright.
Falcon eased himself against the plush cushions and ate strawberries for a good five minutes before answering. "Then you will have to give him a reason to wait until your assignment is complete."
Celeste’s brows furrowed in disbelief. "You are not suggesting--"
"Seduce him."
Her heart stopped, and she shook her head, sending her diamond ear bobs swinging. "You do not understand, my lord. The Earl of Wessex is not the sort of man to be satisfied with a stolen kiss in a darkened garden. He will want. . ."
"I know, my dear," the old man said regretfully. "But I see no alternative. Wellesley is relying upon us to plug this leak, and you are the only person capable of doing so."
Celeste blinked, trying to rid herself of her lightheadedness. Falcon put a scotch in her right hand, and she downed the contents in one gulp.
Her breathing began to slow when the old man added, "I am sorry, Celeste. I have told the Duke of Glenbroke that you have been in London for over a year. Suggesting, even, that the earl’s injury had confused his memory. All you need do is nurture Wessex’s doubt with your charms." He paused. "It is, of course, entirely your decision."
Celeste swallowed and answered before allowing herself time to think. "It is a privilege to serve the crown, my lord."
"Excellent. I thought perhaps. . ." Falcon continued talking, but she did not hear him. She covered one shaking hand with the other and tried to control her fear. Tried to understand why the Earl of Wessex threatened her so.
She had been in physical danger before, had allowed men to kiss her, caress her. She had even befriended the Empress Maria Louisa in hopes of gaining information. And while she had been scared, terrified really, for her safety, she had never before feared for her heart.
Aidan Duhearst threatened her very soul, and she could not withstand another injury. Her heart had been severed the day her father was murdered by the French and what little remained still bled. She would have to protect her heart from the noble earl and pray that her fortifications would hold.
Chapter Ten
Smoke drifted across the flames of the few candles illuminating Dante’s Inferno, leaving a haze that mirrored the foggy minds of the patrons of the popular hell.
Aidan had been searching for Lady Rivenhall at every ball, soiree, musicale, opera, and fete for the past five days and he needed a respite. He tossed a card to the middle of the green baize table and scooped up the trick.
"Have you seen Lady Pervill of late, Wessex?" Lord Robert Barksdale’s wide grin was decidedly lascivious.
"Pervill?" Lord Fairfax interjected. "Lady Appleton’s the thing, old boy."
"Lady Appleton is lovely, but Lady Pervill…," Barksdale shook his head, causing his long brown hair to brush his collar. "Something about that little vixen stirs my blood."
Lord Fairfax shrugged. "Speaking of beauties, I attended Lord Reynolds’s event last week and saw a delicious bit of muslin, blonde with enormous green eyes." The man whistled his appreciation. "Damn near caused me to drop Lady Wagner on the dance floor when I saw the girl."
Aidan tensed, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Ah, you refer to Lady Rivenhall," Barksdale said while nodding at a doxy. "Lord Elkin was quite taken with the woman, asked her to his house party at his estate this weekend. Didn’t see her myself, but from what Elkin’s says, I certainly will want to?"
"Elkin’s back?" Lord Fairfax asked, his brows drawn together.
"Arrived in London last week," the young lord confirmed. "It se
ems the emperor interfered with Elkin’s enjoyment of the continent." Aidan watched Barksdale’s hand slip to the young whore’s backside. "Have you been entertained this evening, Rose?"
"Been waitin’ for you, haven’t I, me lord."
"Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me," Barksdale said as he stood. "I could not possibly leave our little flower unattended."
Aidan waved away the strumpets that had descended upon them the moment their card game disbanded.
"Are the twins available?" Lord Fairfax asked the woman with hair a shade too red.
"They’re already seeing to the duke, me lord." She giggled. "But me and Sally is just like twins." She paused for effect. "We do everyfing togetha’."
Fairfax swallowed. "Right, I suppose a room is available?"
Aidan sat alone at the corner table, thankful for the dim lighting that hid his black mood. He would have no difficulty in procuring an invitation to the weekend gathering from his childhood friend.
His lips curled in a contemptuous smile as he tried to imagine the look on Lady Rivenhall’s stunning face when saw him. He tossed back the remainder of his scotch and made for the door, carefully avoiding the young buck casting up his dinner in the corner of the crowded room.
"The Duke of Glenbroke’s townhome," he snapped at his coachman when he made his way outside. Detecting the annoyance beneath Aidan’s usually placid countenance, the man cracked the whip with no attempt at polite conversation.
Aidan sat in the darkened carriage contemplating the traitorous lady. Would the Crown hang a woman? No, there would be a trial, and he would need more than just his word to convict them. He needed proof of her treachery, proof that she was the same woman from Albuera.
The landau rolled to a stop, and Aidan was bounding up the stairs to his brother-in-law’s home before the footman could reach for the handle of his carriage. The duke’s devoted butler opened the door to the home with a superior tilt of his nose until he recognized the caller.
"Is he in?" Aidan asked as he pushed past the smaller man, tossing him his beaver skin hat and greatcoat.
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