“The enemy does seem to have good information,” conceded Neville. “But all the more reason why we must be extremely cautious. What information did those papers contain?”
“It was correspondence from spies on the coast containing plans for the naval defense of Cadiz and other places.”
“Which spies? Give me the names!” demanded Neville. “They must be warned. Their very lives are in danger.”
“I think we have some time,” said the admiral, walking to a wall of books. He climbed up a small ladder and pulled a tome from one of the top shelves. Opening the book, he pulled out a large envelope with an elaborate red seal.
“What is that?” asked Grant.
“Why are these men here?” asked Neville, pointing at Grant and Thornton. “They are not government agents. They have no business here.”
“They are my friends,” said Marchford in a quiet tone that crackled with authority.
Neville glowered under bushy eyebrows but said no more.
“The letters were written in code,” said the admiral. “The code is contained in this envelope. I had one made myself, did not trust the Foreign Office. Without this, those letters are useless.”
“Our people should still be warned,” said Neville, taking out a small notebook.
“And so they shall, but not by you,” said the admiral. “These are my men. I will see to their safety.”
Neville’s eyebrows once again slammed down over his eyes. “But what about the code? It cannot stay here; surely you must see that.”
“Yes,” conceded the admiral. “I suppose you are right.”
Mr. Neville stood and stretched out his hand for the envelope.
“Marchford,” said the admiral. “There is no man I trust more. Will you keep this safe?”
“Yes, Admiral,” said Marchford, taking the envelope, even as Neville sputtered.
“This is exactly the sort of thing that must not happen. Private residences are not a safe place for information of vital importance to the Crown.”
“Plug your own leak, Neville,” demanded the admiral. “Until then, I’ll not trust your office.”
Neville stood up straight, reaching his full, albeit diminutive height. “I will need to interview each member of your staff, and I will need a full guest list. Let us at least acknowledge the painful truth that a member of your staff or a guest in your home is a thief working for our enemy.”
The admiral’s shoulders sagged. The truth was undeniable. “Yes, yes, of course. Lady Devine will provide you this information.”
Grant bowed his way out of the room and left with his friends.
“Such excitement!” declared Grant. “And I thought debutante balls were a bore. Why, nothing could be further from the truth!”
“I’m so glad the drama could serve for your amusement,” replied Marchford.
“It does not appear to have pleased you, my friend.”
“No, indeed,” said Marchford lowering his voice, “for it is likely that someone on the guest list is a spy, and I will, no doubt, be the next target.”
***
“What do you mean you do not have the code?” A delicate figurine launched through the air and smashed to slivers on the hearth.
“I brought you exactly what you asked for,” the spy defended himself, stepping to the side as a vase was hurled toward his head. It smashed on the floor behind him.
“Not good enough! How am I to read this gibberish without the damned code?”
The man ducked as a plate was flung at him.
“Now get me that code. I cannot hold my patience for long!”
If this was patient, the spy was loathe to see angry, and yet getting the code would prove problematic. “The code was given to the Duke of Marchford. He runs his house like a vault. The servants are above bribery, I’ve tried. He has a footman on guard in the study where I suspect the code is being kept. He even has a man sleeping in the study.”
“I do not care to hear your petty problems. Every man can be bribed or killed. Do not tell me that a mere footman is going to prevent Napoleon’s victory.”
“It is not just the footman. The butler keeps the front door locked. There is no way in!”
A red hot poker was removed from the fire and slowly raised level with the spy’s eyes. “Smash the window, poison the footman, bribe a visitor, blackmail a lover, I don’t care how you do it, but bring me that code!”
Thirteen
“You can do this.”
“Pardon?” asked Marchford.
“You look apprehensive. Thought you needed encouragement,” said Grant with a sly smile.
“I am fine. We will pay a morning call on Lady Louisa and then continue to Tattersall’s. Unless you would like to go there directly, I do not wish to impose on your time.”
Grant laughed. “Oh no, you are not getting out of speaking with your fiancée that easily. Besides, what have I to do? I am utterly at my leisure.”
“Remind me to do something about that,” muttered Marchford.
They pulled up outside the Bremerton household and handed the reins of the barouche to Marchford’s tiger, who had jumped down from the back in a flash. They entered the house and were ushered into a formal sitting room.
Lady Bremerton met them with a wide smile. Marchford’s prospective bride barely acknowledged him. Grant easily procured a chair for himself next to the lovely Miss Talbot and abandoned Marchford to pursue awkward conversation with Lady Bremerton.
“I hope you enjoyed the ball, Miss Talbot,” said Grant in a tone he knew would raise an eyebrow from his mother, or any mother, for that matter.
“It was indeed an enjoyable event,” said Genie without rising to the bait of his seductive tone. “Did you have an enjoyable evening, Your Grace?” Genie asked Marchford. If Grant hoped to monopolize her conversation, he was doomed to disappointment.
“Yes, enjoyable evening,” said Marchford in a flat tone that conveyed it had been anything but.
Silence fell briefly, but Genie picked up the conversation with a determined smile. “I believe you were quite successful at cards, Aunt.”
“Silly girl, you ought not speak of such things,” chastised Lady Bremerton. “But since we are all almost family, I will only say that I had a fine evening. Lady… well that’s not important, she fancied herself quite the card player, but she left disappointed. Some of those ladies were betting deep, let me tell you. People think it is the man who is susceptible to gambling, but I have seen evidence to the contrary.”
“Certainly, I can tell you often it is the lady of the house who runs afoul of her vowels,” added Grant.
“Vowels?” asked Genie.
“A gambler’s term for IOUs,” explained Grant with a wink to Lady Bremerton.
“Honestly, Mr. Grant, you ought not speak of such things to Genie. She is backward enough as it is.”
Grant glanced at Genie, but she accepted the insult without qualm. He got the distinct impression her aunt was frequently critical. He did not care for the way Genie’s quiet acceptance made her eyes dim. He did not care for it at all.
“Shall we all go for a ride in the park?” he asked, surprising nobody more than himself. He could not remember the last time he did anything as flat as taking ladies for a ride in the park.
Marchford raised an eyebrow at him. “A ride in the park?”
“Why yes, it is a lovely day for it,” exclaimed Lady Bremerton, ignoring the dark clouds framed in the window before her.
“I believe a ride in the park would suit me. Do let’s go, Cousin,” said Genie, lending support to Grant’s scheme.
Lady Bremerton encouraged all the young people to go along, while bowing out of the ride herself. It was rare that Grant found himself on the same side as a marriage-minded matriarch, but in this case, his plan to provide Genie some time to escape the house coincided nicely with Lady Bremerton’s goals of putting her daughter into Marchford’s company.
Several minutes later, they w
ere seated in the stylish barouche, open to the weather, trying to ignore the brisk wind and the drop in temperature. It may have been late spring, but the London weather could be unpredictable, and Grant hoped to have some time with the ladies before encroaching rain put an end to the proceedings.
During the short ride to St. James Park, it was clear Grant and Genie were going to be responsible for the majority of the conversation. Marchford responded only when directly called upon to do so, and Lady Louisa spoke not at all.
When they arrived in the park, Genie declared her interest in taking a stroll, so the entire party alighted while the groom walked the horses.
“Shall we walk the length of the canal to the ordnance?” asked Genie. “I read in a guidebook that on the north side is a Turkish piece of ordnance brought here by the British Army and I have been desirous to see it.”
“It is too far,” stated Louisa, revealing that she could speak after all, if only to shorten the excursion.
“Surely it cannot be as far as all that,” protested Genie with a winning smile. “My guidebook also suggests venturing into the garden to see the landscaping. It says it must not be missed. Perhaps I could walk ahead, for I am a fast walker and I’m sure I could return soon.”
Grant paused a moment at this speech. Fast walker? This was St. James. People came to be seen, not to rush about in an uncivilized manner. Yet for all her lack of polish, Miss Talbot was a vision to behold, so he said, “I shall walk, er, quickly with Miss Talbot, and we shall return in a trice.”
Before either Marchford or Louisa could offer protest, Grant offered Genie his arm and they sallied forth, leaving the inarticulate affianced in their wake. Fortunately for Grant’s sensibilities, Genie’s pace was only slightly faster than was socially acceptable and she showed no tendency to scamper.
Genie cast yet another glance over her shoulder at Marchford and Louisa.
“Surely you are not wishing to return?”
“Oh no,” breathed Genie. “I only wished to see if perhaps they would initiate conversation after we left.”
“It appears that Lady Louisa is not much of a conversationalist.”
“Oh, but she can be. We have had lovely talks. She has been very kind to me, even when my aunt, well, you know how I have been a disappointment.”
“Not to me.”
Genie looked up at him, her blue eyes and blond curls framed by her bonnet. “Thank you.”
Grant had the sudden urge to kiss her. Her full, rosy lips drew him toward her. How could he possibly resist? Her eyes widened and her lips parted. He leaned closer and… realized what he was doing.
He pulled back and found that they had stopped in the path, Genie looking up at him wide eyed. He must have lost his mind. She was a debutante, the marrying kind, not his type at all. “Pardon me, your bonnet, who made this lovely creation?”
“I did. Do you like it? I thought, compared to the beautiful bonnets I’ve seen in London, this might seem a bit shabby. I did put on fresh ribbons.”
“Quite right, very nicely done,” said Grant, only now taking notice of the bonnet. Miss Talbot was right; it was a shabby thing. “Shall we press on?”
“Yes, let’s. I have a guidebook here in my reticule.” To his horror, she pulled out a red bound volume of The Picture of London: A Correct Guide to All Curiosities, Amusements, Exhibitions, Public Establishments, and Remarkable Objects in and near London.
“How… helpful.” If anyone saw him leading around a debutante holding a guidebook, his reputation would be in tatters. “No need for that, though. I can serve as guide. Here now, put that thing away. You have me to guide you.”
Genie complied, but after receiving inadequate answers to her questions about the park, its management, the notable sights, she whipped out the handy guide once more. “It says the ordnance is decorated with several Egyptian devices and is ‘done in great taste.’”
Fortunately, the uncertain weather kept many Londoners away and Grant was grateful not to meet any intimates along the path. They walked along the canal lined with lime trees until they reached the ordnance, where Genie was properly impressed, then ventured into the trees of the wooded park.
“This is lovely. I am glad to see it!” Genie strolled about, her eyes shining with delight.
“It is lovely indeed.” But Grant was looking only at Genie.
“Oh dear.” Genie looked up at the darkening sky. “I do believe it is starting to rain.”
“Let us hurry back to the coach.” Grant offered his arm and walked back at a faster pace, with an eye to his polished Hessian boots. His enjoyment of Genie’s company did not extend to a disregard of his boots. If he returned with them ruined, his valet might weep, poor man.
The weather was indeed unstable, and the few raindrops were soon joined by others, until throngs of raindrops plagued them from above. The rain turned into a deluge, and Grant found it necessary to seek shelter or face death by drowning. He took Genie’s hand, and they both ran along the path. He expected complaint, as he would get from any finely bred London female, but Genie had been raised in the country and was made of sterner stuff. She merely smiled and ran along with him.
Finding a large willow tree, he ducked under the branches, pulling Genie next to him. The space was crowded with multiple branches, forcing Grant to pull her close. This was a disaster, stuck with a debutante under a tree in the torrential rain with his boots surely ruined.
Far from seeing the horror of the situation, Genie’s eyes were dancing. She screwed up her mouth, trying not to smile.
“My boots are ruined,” said Grant, stating his most pressing concern.
Genie began to laugh.
“I see you have no regard for my boots!”
“I do apologize!” said Genie between giggles. “But here we are stuck under a tree and all you can think of is your boots?”
“You would too if you knew how much they cost.”
“Yes, indeed. I did not realize they were so dear. I am sure my bonnet is quite ruined too.”
It was no great loss, but Grant said nothing. Despite the chill, he was suddenly quite warm. Genie stood next to him, close, inches away. He could touch her merely by shifting his feet. He would not, of course, but he wanted to. When was the last time he had been so attracted to a debutante of all things? When had he last been attracted to anyone this way?
Genie started to shiver, standing still in the cold. He guessed her long pelisse was borrowed from Louisa, since it was fashionable in style, but it was also made of muslin and not intended for inclement weather.
Grant put his hands on her delicate shoulders and gave them a gentle rub. “You are soaked, poor thing. Here, take my coat.”
“No, no, I couldn’t. You would be too cold.”
No, he wouldn’t. He was not cold at all. He was practically sweating he was so hot. He unbuttoned his coat, but Genie shook her head.
“Here, we can both be warm.” He opened his coat and wrapped it around her, drawing her to him.
“I do not think… is this proper?” Genie put her hands against his chest but leaned close to allow him to wrap his coat around her.
“No, not proper I fear,” confessed Grant. He was truthful, even if he was a cad. Genie felt delicious. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, reveling in her small frame, her gentle curves. She laid her cheek on his chest and he had to stifle a sigh. This was what he wanted. He wished he could stay under the tree forever, boots be damned.
His arms around her rubbed her back. He wished to reach further down but dared not; he could not let this get out of control. Yet in plain truth, it was already out of control. Genie sighed and melted into him. There was no other word for it. She fit with him—warm, soft, perfect.
Genie looked up at him, her blue eyes deep and inviting. “I am quite warm now, thank you.”
Grant was beyond warm. He prided himself on his ability to avoid complications with the gentler sex, but with Genie, he was a stupid schoolboy.
“I think it is letting up a bit. Perhaps we should try again to make it to the carriage?” Her voice was airy, her breathing fast, and he could feel every time she inhaled, pressing her bosom against him.
“Perhaps,” murmured Grant. He did not care about the carriage or his reputation or anything except the blue of her eyes and the rose pink of her lips. He leaned down closer, slowly. This was the time she should pull away, but instead, she tipped her head up to him. This could not happen; it must not. He stopped moving and yet still drew closer. As if moving of their own accord, their lips met. For one beautiful moment, he pressed his lips to hers and a tingling shock coursed through his body, energizing, waking parts of him, stinging him to life.
He pulled back slowly, taking a gulp of cool, moist air. What was he thinking? “I should not have done that.”
Genie pulled back from his embrace and turned from him so her ugly bonnet hid her face. “I do apologize.” She ducked under the branches out of the protection of the tree.
“No, it was entirely my fault,” said Grant, though he did not wish to apologize for doing something he enjoyed, something he felt must be done. He followed her out from under the tree, where he was greeted by brisk winds and more rain. She would not look at him, keeping the brim of her bonnet down to hide her face.
He offered his arm and they walked briskly down the path, yet something sick and uncomfortable turned in his stomach. He stopped short, holding her hand. Still she did not look at him.
“It may not have been the right thing to do, but I will never regret having done it,” said Grant.
Genie turned to face him, her eyes liquid blue. “Me neither.”
He smiled at her.
She smiled at him.
And they both scampered to the carriage.
Fourteen
“You must understand that the code needs to be kept safe,” said Mr. Neville.
What the Duke of Marchford understood was that government agent Edmund Neville was terribly dull and fatally repetitive. Perhaps that was his training—drone on until his victim conceded just to make him go away.
Amanda Forester Page 10
