The Spy and His Lady Love

by Christine Donovan

  Her soft, animated voice traveled through the air and warmed him. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t make out what she said, hearing the tone proved enough to entertain him. As far as Harry could tell, the only downfall to this evening was his attire—dressed as the injured, lame, and hideous Duke of Newbury. How could he possibly win over Penelope? He never would consider taking a wife if he hadn’t inherited the dukedom and all the responsibility that went with it—an heir and a spare. Prinny hinted at wives and heirs and spares every time they spoke. The Prince Regent knew his secret, so it was easy for him to believe Harry could attract a wife.

  Bored and standing on the fringes of society, in more ways than one, Harry hobbled over to Wentworth who had joined Penelope. The banging of his cane connecting with the wooden floor had all eyes turned his way causing him to cringe. Oh, how he hated the pitying looks on their faces.

  “Wentworth, may I beg a formal introduction to your guests?”

  “How remiss me .” Wentworth said. “Your Grace, may I present Lord and Lady Northborough,” then he turned to face his sister and brother-in-law “Isabella, Myles, the Duke of Newbury.”

  “Countess.” Harry rigidly bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “And I yours, Your Grace,” Lady Northborough replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Harry didn’t blame her. She must wonder how her brother could hope for a match between him and Penelope. Many others must wonder the same thing. What did Wentworth know others didn’t? Was there a chance he knew his true identity? Impossible. Not unless Wentworth had a secret identity as well. If he did, Surely Harry would know.

  He inclined his head to Northborough. “A pleasure to meet you, Northborough.”

  Northborough nodded his head. “Yes.” The earl’s eyes looked him over from head to toe. “Did you sustain your injuries fighting Bonaparte at Waterloo?”

  Harry hid a chuckle when Northborough’s wife elbowed him in the side then looked at Harry, blushing a becoming shade of pink. Wentworth cleared his throat and said, “Excuse Myles. He has a habit of speaking before he thinks.”

  “Quite all right,” Harry said with a grin. “I’d rather people acknowledge my disfigurement openly than pretend I’m fit as a fiddle. And the answer to your question is, yes. I sustained my injuries at Waterloo. A particularly nasty battle.”

  “The gash on your face looks rather recent,” Penelope said, which brought gasps to everyone’s mouths.

  “It is, and it isn’t. I reopened the old scar recently after taking a rather nasty fall. Having one eye and a leg which refuses to bend makes me clumsy.” He chuckled, which he turned into a coughing fit. Must not have them thinking he was healthy inside. Unhealthy inside and out and a rich duke. Excellent marriage material. If Wentworth believed it numbered his days, he was more likely to convince his sister to marry him. Convince her he would not live long. She would be a young, rich widow and then could marry for love. Love…what a silly notion that some members of the ton held out for love. Harry only needed a willing wife to give him an heir and spare. He got everything else he needed from his childhood friend and mistress, Rose. Thinking of Rose, when and if he married, would he break his marriage vows by keeping a mistress? He didn’t believe so.

  Why had he decided to pursue Penelope? Because he had no other prospects and she intrigued him because of her background. She appeared to have a bright spark inside. And he couldn’t forget beauty. If he was inclined to lose his head or heart to a woman, it could be Penelope. Good thing he wasn’t so inclined. Another reason she suited his purpose was he didn’t want a spoiled young lady of privilege who hadn’t a mind of her own. One who expected her suitor to spoil her and treat her like a princess. No indeed. Penelope would not expect that of a prospective husband.

  “Does it hurt?” Penelope’s velvety voice intruded on his musings.

  This time Wentworth interceded on his behalf. “Newbury is not here to answer questions about his injuries. Perhaps there are other, more appropriate questions you’d prefer to ask him?” But further questioning of any kind was stalled by the announcement dinner was served.

  Harry escorted the Duchess of Wentworth into the large, stately dining room and was pleased to be seated beside her with Penelope on his other side. Sitting across from someone was nice as you could enjoy the view, but conversations across dinner tables were forbidden. Now he could engage Penelope in light conversation and get to know her better. He had thought about her constantly since dancing with her at the masquerade. Not that she would know Hugh who she met the other night, and he, were one and the same. Something that would only be disclosed if they did become betrothed.

  Could the night get any worse? Penelope mused to herself as she found herself sitting beside the hideous duke at the spacious dining table. Well, that was rather harsh. He was only hideous on one side of his face. The side facing her. The other side was handsome. How unfortunate to be disfigured. His thick, dark hair hung loose to his chin, no doubt to help in hiding his black patch and scar. Fortunately for him, when sitting down one didn’t notice his lame leg. Perhaps if she sat on his good side she could forget, for a time, about his shortcomings.

  Sitting next to him now, she wondered if he was a good conservationist. “Your Grace,” Penelope said as the first course landed in front of them. “What have you been doing the past several years to occupy your time since leaving the army?”

  Pausing midway to his mouth with a spoon full of turtle soup, he hesitated then continued on with his soup. It took several moments before he placed his spoon down next to his bowl, removed his napkin from his lap, and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with large, powerful hands. For a man with such robust hands, his movement was surprisingly graceful. She could almost forget about his shortcomings.

  He didn’t bother to turn toward her. His lips did, however, turn up into a smirk or smile, she couldn’t tell which. “I keep busy. Between my many holdings and being a duke and all that entails, the socializing, the House of Lords and such, I find I have little time to myself. Which is good.”

  “Why is not having time to yourself good, Your Grace?”

  “What an inquisitive mind you have, Lady Penelope.”

  Something about the way he said it made her wonder where she had heard someone say those same words to her before. It would come to her in time. His mannerisms were familiar as well, and she’d only dined with him one other time. She wasn’t proud of herself for how she’d acted that night at Spencer House. Penelope knew they attended only so Wentworth could meet the allusive duke and gauge whether he would be marriage material for her. It seemed the duke passed her brother’s test because here he was seated next to her. She would try to keep an open mind about the duke. She, who really had no right to be considering taking a duke for a husband, her being a bastard and all.

  Unfortunately, being born a bastard did not take away one’s pride. And Penelope had pride enough for two. Not to mention stubbornness and her curious nature. She may understand her station in life, even if her family ignored it. Just because they had accepted her, didn’t mean other members of the ton would.

  “I should apologize for my curiosity, but it won’t do any good.”

  Now he turned his head. His one starling blue eye unsettled her. Along with his smile. A genuine smile that had her tingling because truly his handsomeness and how it affected her shocked her. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to this man. The disfigured and pitied duke? She did admire him so. Because if their lives were reversed, and she had his afflictions, she’d never leave the house. She would die an old spinster relying on the kindness of Wentworth.

  “I beg your forgiveness for asking such a personal question. Perhaps we should eat before the food gets cold,” she mumbled.

  “Yes, indeed. Perhaps we should.” Was that amusement she heard in his voice?

  For what seemed like an eternity, one course after the next came and went and Penelope barely nibbled on the food. She was
ashamed of herself for thinking unkind things about the duke after glimpsing the kind gentleman behind his shortcomings. She didn’t mean shortcomings as insulting, she couldn’t come up with a sufficient word to use. He deserved everyone’s respect for the war hero he was. And she felt so beneath him. How could Wentworth think the duke would consider marrying her? A bastard nobody who was far from innocent by ton standards.

  It took forever for the ladies to leave the gentlemen to their cheroots and brandy and retire to the drawing room for gossip. Emma and Penelope sat together on a mauve velvet settee. Penelope glanced across the room to the two young ladies who’d joined them. One could not have an uneven number of males and females for dinner. Wentworth had invited eligible ladies also looking for husbands. Viscount Dayton and Mr. Percy were in the market for wives.

  “Do you think Lady Julia Finley and Miss Sophia Trembley were horrified when the Duke of Newbury arrived?” Penelope queried.

  “I’m quite convinced they were,” Emma replied, “but both ladies hid their feelings well. Even with his…issues…His Grace is still quite a catch. If you concentrate on his good side, he is strikingly handsome.”

  “Emma?”

  “Not as handsome as my duke, but handsome, nonetheless if you don’t look too closely at his scar and eye patch and forgot his injured leg. Some people compare him to a pirate. What young lady doesn’t dream of a handsome, dangerous, debonair pirate kidnapping her and sailing off into the sunset to a deserted island so he can claim her as his?”

  She couldn’t hide her giggles. “No wonder you write and sell so many gothic novels.”

  “Shhh. Please remember it’s under a false name and not everyone in the family knows. However, talking about pirates has let lose my imagination. I can hardly wait to retire and put pen to ink. My faithful readers will love a good treasure hunt with a handsome pirate. I will make him a good pirate who works for the Crown. The Crown sends him on the hunt for the notorious Blackbeard. While sailing through a storm he rescues a fair maiden from a sinking vessel bound for the Americas. Little does the good pirate, I shall call him Scarborough, realize the fair maiden is actually Blackbeard’s eldest daughter.”

  Penelope sighed and her body turned languid. “When can I read it?”

  Emma laughed. “I have not written a word. But thank you for helping me come up with a plot. Here are the gentlemen returning to us. Really, if you look closely at the Duke of Newbury and past his afflictions, he is handsome like my pirate will be. I think I’ll model him after the duke.”

  If she looked closely enough, Penelope could see Newbury as a pirate. Although there was another man who reminded her of a pirate. Hugh, whom she’d danced with at the masquerade. With his mask and his devil-may-care attitude, he could very well be a real-day pirate.

  “Pardon, Lady Penelope, Your Grace, I don’t mean to intrude,” the Duke of Newbury said as he acknowledged both of them. “I was hoping to interest Lady Penelope in a game of chess?”

  She could lie and say she didn’t play when truth be told she loved chess. Had been taught when in Viscount Hadley’s employ by the old butler who had taken pity on her. They would play at night, and Penelope knew it was his way of looking out for her when her mother couldn’t. “I would love to, Your Grace.”

  “Shall we, then?” Newbury said as he offered his hand, obviously the one not clutched to his cane. Never would she understand why ladies of the ton needed to act helpless when gentlemen were around. She was perfectly capable of standing up from a settee by herself. In fact, she did it many times a day. Such silly etiquette games society played. “Thank you.” When their hands connected, an odd warm vibration traveled from beneath her glove, up her arm, and settled inside her chest. How odd. Hands still joined, Penelope looked at him and he at her. A puzzled expression crossed his features momentarily. No doubt similar to the look she gave him. Pulling her hand back, she led the way to the chess table across the room, near a large picture window overlooking the back gardens. Although it was dark outside, Penelope knew the gardens were there as she’d taken refuge inside the terraced walls many times since arriving in London.

  “White or black, my dear?”

  Had he called her dear? She’d never been asked by a man what color she wanted before. They took it upon themselves to assume she wanted white. Or they wanted black. Either way, it was a novelty to be asked. When she played with one of her sisters, she took black. “Black.”

  His one eye glimmered with amusement. “Black for the lady it is.”

  “You don’t mind?” She wished the words back the moment she spoke them.

  “No. Why should I care? Black, white, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It’s my experience most men prefer black. They think white is the weaker color.”

  “Nonsense.” He leaned slightly forward and whispered, “Don’t you mean weaker sex by referring to the color white as being female?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Actually, I believe the weaker sex to be males.” She lowered her eyes, afraid of what she might see.

  Laughter, deep and throaty, rang out in the air. Her eyes popped up and her soft nervous giggles joined his laughter. “I don’t believe anyone has ever found humor when I’ve expressed my thoughts about what sex is weaker.”

  “Pity, Lady Penelope. They obviously had no sense of fun or adventure.”

  “And you do, Your Grace?” Oh dear. She was flirting. But how could she not. His musical laughter did strange things to her insides.

  His expression changed from amusement to seriousness in the blink of an eye. “One cannot live as I do without it. Shall we play?”

  “Yes, of course.” Penelope considered herself a better-than-average chess player. She’d often beat Wentworth or her other brother, Sebastian, who was presently visiting Scotland with his wife and the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth. Newbury put her skills to test. Five moves into the game he said, “Check Mate.”

  “Would you care for another game?” If someone had told her earlier today, she would enjoy the Duke of Newbury’s company she would have told them they were daft.

  “Thank you. Another time, perhaps.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he awkwardly stood and bowed formally. “It was a pleasure. Goodnight, Lady Penelope.” He paused and frowned thoughtfully. “I forgot to mention that you met my cousin, Mr. Hugh Sinclair, last night at the masquerade. He seems quite taken with you.”

  She hurried to stand and curtsy. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”

  Watching him leave, leaning heavily on his cane, but still appearing young, fit, and vibrant, Penelope puzzled. She couldn’t believe the insufferable and intriguing gentleman she’d danced with last evening was related to Newbury. Or perhaps not. They seemed of the same build and height.

  Once in bed, beneath the counterpane, her eyes closed, she envisioned Emma’s pirate and he resembled Newbury right down to the scar. She found the pirate rather attractively handsome. And fell asleep having pleasant dreams of her and her pirate.

  Chapter 3

  “How was your evening, Your Grace?” Edmond asked as they climbed into the carriage with the Newbury ducal crest painted on the sides.

  “Surprisingly amusing.”

  His valet cocked a brow. “I would’ve thought the young ladies present would beg a headache to get out of dining with you.”

  Harry chuckled. “Actually no. Perhaps the other two young ladies in attendance would have if I’d sat next to them or lavished my attentions on them. However, I didn’t pay them any heed. Now, Lady Penelope, she was like a breath of fresh air. She even proved a worthy chess opponent.”

  “Truly?”

  “My surprise as well. Perhaps there is more to the young lady than I originally believed. Actually, between the other night and this evening, I do know there is more to her. She has none of the false silliness as other young debutants. Nor does she cringe away from hideous me. Neither does she seem jaded because of the circumstances from her birth. She doesn’t hide the fact she’s a bastard at
all.”

  “Perhaps you have found your duchess?”

  Days ago he didn’t believe so. Today Harry hoped he had. Penelope stirred feelings inside him he’d thought dead and gone. Ever since leaving the army, he’d been numb inside. And when he wasn’t numb, he had nightmares that could drive any sane man mad. Thank God he wasn’t any man. And much of his return to sanity he owed to reading scientific textbooks and having studied and learned meditation. Also, his former mistress, Rose helped him. She’d known him since his childhood. Anyhow, some numbness was good. It made him an excellent spy. His feelings didn’t get involved in his cases. He preferred it that way.

  If he took Penelope for a wife, would he allow his budding feelings for her to surface? Could he deal with the onslaught of emotions? Hide his nightmares from her? Time would tell. Meanwhile, he’d send a missive to Wentworth asking for an audience. Time for marriage negotiations before some other bloke saw all Penelope had to offer. Regardless of her birth status, she came from a wealthy, influential, titled family. He needed to sign the betrothal papers before some poor aristocratic gentleman offered for her, spent her dowry, and shipped her off to the countryside to wallow and die. The sudden ache in his chest worried him.

  Sitting at his large mahogany desk in his study, Harry’s hand cradled a glass of fine scotch whiskey. He’d long since given up on getting any sleep tonight as his mind wouldn’t settle down. Several things worried him. One being the case he was working on. The case of a highly regarded Baron rumored to have worked with Napoleon during the later years of the war. News had him still spying on his own country for the French even now. The prince was beside himself as the Baron had spent many years at court as his confident. Now to hear rumors of his deceit and treason? The Regent wanted to see the Baron hang. Harry wanted to see the man hang for all the soldiers and innocent people who died because of his treasonous crimes. For his own injuries and those of his battalions as they fought valiantly at Waterloo.