The Spy and His Lady Love

by Christine Donovan

  Catching the Baron was why he wanted the Runner Smythe’s help. Since Smythe had newly married into the Bridgeton family, he now had the opportunity to socialize with the aristocracy. Become acquainted with the Baron in a social setting. Not just at functions, but at clubs such as White’s and Brooks’s. It was rumored the Baron had a gambling problem, which could be the reason he sold English secrets. Not that Harry cared for the reason. Treason was treason any way one looked at it.

  Harry couldn’t go undercover himself. Baron Littleton would recognize him. And he would never believe Harry would go against the Crown. A Runner, one jaded and angry at being demoted, would be perfect. Hence, Smythe.

  Harry found himself being escorted into Smythe’s office on Bow Street in the Covent Garden Neighborhood. Not a big office for one so important and powerful.

  “Your Grace.” Smythe bowed and gestured toward a hard wooden chair facing his desk. “Please have a seat and tell me how I may help you today?”

  Harry had thought long and hard about approaching Smythe as Hugh Sinclair, but if they were to work together, which he hoped they would, there couldn’t be secrets between them. Even if it put him in a precarious situation, seeing’s how he was friends with the Seabrooks. “I have come for an employment opportunity.”

  Clearly, he’d shocked the Runner as he sat down at his desk and looked puzzled. “I don’t understand?” He paused and offered refreshments, for which Harry declined.

  “May I be blunt?” Harry said, well…bluntly.

  The Runner leaned forward, looking more curious than shocked now. “Yes. Please do.”

  “There are rumors I’ve worked for the War Office since the war ended with France.”

  “Yes. I heard as such.”

  “They are true. And I was hoping, with the head of the War Office’s permission, to offer employment to you.”

  Smythe’s jaw dropped. “Pardon, Your Grace, but did you offer me a job? You do realize I have one already.”

  Harry’s chuckled. “Yes. However, I plan to have you demoted so you will quit and go undercover with me and my men to catch a spy. A spy for France who is at the top of our most treasonous list.”

  “Have me demoted? Want me to quit?” Smythe’s eyes widened. “Forgive me if I seem shocked.” He leaned forward. “The truth is, I am shocked.”

  “Rightly so. If I were in your shoes, I’d be shocked as well. Your name has come up several times at the War Office. You have been in our sights for potential employment for some time now. We,” he cleared his throat, “I believe you would be an exceptional asset to our operation.”

  “What if I refuse? Will there be repercussions to my job here?” Smythe asked, looking uncomfortable.

  “No. No demotion, no nothing. If you accept the job, the demotion I speak about would give you a cover story for wanting to commit treason against the Crown. If you decline the offer, nothing changes for you. However, please take some time to think it over. Although the work is dangerous, as your work is now, you would have more free time. I believe you are newly married, and I imagine the long hours of a Runner leave little time for your wife. Working for me is sporadic. The hours are unset and many times work happens out at social events in the evening.”

  Harry leaned on his cane to stand. He could not reveal himself until Smythe agreed to work with him. “Send word to me tomorrow, or better still.” He placed his calling card on the Runner’s desk. “Call upon my residence. Good day.”

  Once in his black carriage, Harry pondered what the Runner’s answer would be. One moment he looked intrigued and the next shocked and uneasy. His answer was anybody’s guess. Now off to the Duke of Wentworth’s for his offer of marriage to Penelope.

  Thomas Seabrook sat in his study going over the account books his steward left with him after their morning meeting. The duke was pleased to see revenues from several of his holdings increasing and his tenants profiting nicely as well. The tenant farmers had suffered for years under his father’s leadership. Thomas had been trying to make up for his father’s mistakes since taking over the dukedom. Seeing progress pleased him. Lessoned the guilt he’d carried around for years since learning of his father’s behavior, which nearly bankrupted them. If he’d not married his lovely American wife, Emma Hamilton, he might have found himself in debtors’ prison. Not something he relished experiencing. How fortunate for him Emma fell in love with him and agreed to be his duchess even if the events following their nuptials had her threatening to sail back to Massachusetts and abandon him.

  A knock on his study door snapped his mind back into focus. “Yes.”

  His butler opened the door, bowed, then handed him a card. “The Duke of Newbury to see you, Your Grace.”

  Thomas had been expecting this meeting. A sliver of guilt nagged at his insides when he thought of his newly found half-sister marrying the duke. Although, if you didn’t take into account his injuries, the gentleman had much to offer. He seemed affable. He was rich and would no doubt take excellent care of Penelope, at least when it came to finances. And if they were intimate in the dark, Penelope could pretend the duke was a whole man. Thomas tensed. What a bastard he was. If he accepted the duke’s offer, Penelope may never forgive him.

  “Welcome, Newbury. Please have a seat.” Thomas tried not to stare at the young duke as he awkwardly maneuvered into the room and onto the soft leather chair, using his cane and swinging his leg wide as it didn’t bend at the knee. Then sitting awkwardly with his lame leg out straight. He is a war hero; he deserves my respect and admiration.

  “Thank you for seeing me. I believe you know why I’m here.”

  Obviously, the duke wasn’t one for mincing words. Wanting to get right down to negotiations. “Yes. I have an idea, but please enlighten me.”

  Harry had spent little time in Wentworth’s company, but he knew about him. After taking over the title, when his ne’er-do-well of a father had died, Wentworth did everything he could to unlink his family name from scandal and the gossip sheets. Wasn’t easy since Wentworth had quite the reputation for the ladies and was known to the mamas as a rakehell and a poor one at that. Harry could only imagine how it pained Wentworth’s self-respect to bow down to the parents of young debutants hoping to marry into a fortune. How fortunate for Wentworth the tides changed, and he found his American Heiress.

  Wentworth could be a hard man, but a fair man. And he loved his wife. One un-redeeming quality Harry could over-look. Openly admitting to loving one’s wife was embarrassing as far as Harry thought. He had no delusions of falling in love with Penelope. He was not capable of love.

  “I have come to ask for Penelope’s hand in marriage.” He nearly choked on the words. Words he never thought he would utter. Damn Prinny for insisting the Sinclair line continue with his offspring. He’d be happy to grow old and die alone.

  “I gathered that.” Wentworth stood and went to his sideboard. “Would you care for some brandy?” He placed two glasses on his desk, picked up a square crystal decanter, and splashed amber liquid into one glass, paused and raised his brow awaiting the reply.

  “Yes. Please. Thank you.”

  The duke poured his glass, walked around his desk, and handed it to him. “I have a great supplier; this is the best brandy in England.” Instead of sitting back down at his desk, he leaned against the dark wood, savoring his drink.

  After taking a sip, Harry had to agree to the fine quality of the liquor. “Smooth, goes down easy with a slow burn in the belly. If you would share the name of your supplier, I would be forever grateful.”

  Wentworth chuckled. “I’ll have a case sent to your residence. Now let us get down to the business at hand. Lady Penelope has a sizable dowry. Since you appear to be financially solvent, I want half set aside for pin money and the rest invested for her future.” The man stared into the amber liquid thoughtfully, then looked at Harry. Really looked at him, and he had to fight the urge to fidget. Wentworth was no fool, and Harry would have to be careful when he stepped
out as Sinclair, lest he figure out they were one and the same. And he planned on stepping out as Hugh at all the upcoming social events. Starting tonight at the home of Lord and Lady Malden. A small, intimate affair with dancing. Harry could hardly wait to have Penelope in his arms for a waltz again. Even if he had to play at being his pretend cousin.

  “Agreed.”

  “I will post the banns in a sennight to give my sister time to adjust to being betrothed to you, and I will send out invitations to a betrothal party in Lady Penelope and your honor in a fortnight. When, pray tell, will the ceremony take place?”

  Harry hadn’t thought that far in advance. Could he get away with a long engagement? Or should he tie the parson’s noose soon and get it over with? The latter would be less painful for all. Especially Penelope as he couldn’t imagine how stressful it would be being engaged to him of all people. “Soon. I will leave all the details up to you and your sister.” As Harry reached for his cane, his hand fumbled, and the cane clattered to the floor. Wentworth stepped forward. Harry held up his hand to stop him. “I can manage.” He leaned forward, his fingers reaching out until he contacted hard wood, curled his hand around the handle, pulled it close, and maneuvered to a standing position. “One more thing, Wentworth. Will Lady Penelope be attending the ball at Malden House this evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Splendid. My cousin, Mr. Hugh Sinclair, will be in attendance. I will ask him to pay his respects to Lady Penelope on my behalf as I’ll not be attending.” He bowed stiffly, one leg straight out to the side. Harry fought a smirk. It always amused him to play the cripple. Not that it was amusing as it made him feel sorry for anyone who was truly crippled. “Good day, Duke.”

  Wentworth bowed. “Good day to you, Newbury.”

  Two things Harry had needed to accomplish today were done. He spent the rest of the day at the offices of the War Secretary. Only half his mind payed attention to the conversation going on around the meeting table. The other half was on Penelope and tonight’s ball.

  Chapter 4

  “You knew this day would come,” Wentworth said as he frowned at Penelope.

  Her brother had called her down to his study and gave her the news. Her insides quivered at hearing she was to marry the Duke of Newbury. Truthfully, she didn’t know how she felt. It relieved part of her that the entire shopping for a husband was over. The other part was frightened out of her mind at the thought of her wedding night and all the nights after.

  The days would be easy. Most gentlemen slept late and attended clubs in the evenings. They spent very little time at home in the company of their wife. But the nights when he came home stinking of liquor and wanted his legal rights as a husband had her heart beating in despair. Perhaps his injuries rendered him incapable of performing his husbandly duties. I can hope, can’t I?

  “Yes. I did. But I was hoping for more time.” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears.

  “Newbury has the reputation of being an exemplary man. There are no rumors of him treating his mistress with anything but generosity and kindness. If I believed he would treat you any differently, I would not have agreed to this marriage.”

  Her heart stopped. So, he could perform in the marriage bed. But perhaps he loved his mistress and wouldn’t want to bed her. She knew it was false hope. He was a duke and needed heirs, and she was the only one who could give him them. “When will the ceremony take place?” Truthfully, she didn’t care. The sooner the better, so she could get her wedding night over with. A nagging in the back of her mind rang out. Will the duke be disappointed with me?

  “You and Emma can begin planning. Two months’ time should be sufficient. A minor affair, family and close friends at Stoney Brook Manor. The ceremony in the small chapel on the grounds. Does that agree with you?”

  Did it? And did her input really have any bearings on Thomas’s already made decisions? Did she really even care? She should be so grateful for Wentworth and his taking her into his home as his sister. It wasn’t that she wasn’t. She was eternally grateful. Without him, she would be destitute in the English countryside, forced to do unspeakable things to stay alive. If she’d been fortunate, a well-to-do country gentleman would have made her his wife. If she’d been unfortunate, she’d have been forced to sell her body. Her self-respect. Her soul. Her stomach churned at the thought.

  “I know I’ve told you before, Thomas, but thank you for rescuing me. I don’t know how long I could’ve hidden from Hadley. I’m trying to be positive about this marriage and not dwell on the duke’s shortcomings. I will be the Duchess of Newbury, which means absolutely nothing to me. To you and the members of the ton, it means a great deal. I will try to make you proud. Be worthy of the title of duchess. Be a loyal and kind wife to the duke. Make him never regret his decision to marry me.” She paused thoughtfully. “Why is he marrying me? My birth is scandalous and my upbringing less than stellar. I’m convinced there are mamas of debutants willing to throw their daughters at the duke, even crippled as he is? So why me?”

  Wentworth pulled on his collar and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. “The only person who knows the answer to the question is Newbury. Perhaps you should ask him?”

  She fought down her nervous laughter trying to escape. “Perhaps I will broach the subject someday but not anytime soon. Do you mind if I retire to my room and rest before tonight’s ball?”

  “You may go.” He looked thoughtful. “One thing, Newbury is not attending this evening, but his cousin, Mr. Hugh Sinclair, will be. Expect him to pay homage to you.”

  Homage to her? What did that mean. Why wasn’t Newbury attending? She’d much rather spend the night in his company and get to know him better since they would wed soon. The time she spent scandalously waltzing in Mr. Sinclair’s arms haunted her dreams. Harry’s face as a pirate and Hugh’s mask covered face blurred together in her dreams and became one unsettling her. She had woken up several nights lately in a sweat-soaked night rail and a scream on her lips.

  As the coach carrying Wentworth, Emma, and Penelope finally pulled up beneath the portico of Malden House after waiting in the endless queue of carriages, Penelope’s stomach rolled with unease. It would be the first time that she would be introduced and attending a society ball. Emma had warned her the gossips’ tongues would wag fast and often tonight. However, Wentworth would dare anyone to disrespect her in his presence. If only her insides would settle down because she was terrified of these people. She followed Wentworth and Emma up the grand staircase to the receiving line and tried to recall all Emma told her would occur. What happened was a servant bellowed in a loud voice, “The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth and Lady Penelope Seabrook.”

  Her breath held inside her lungs as she waited for someone, anyone, to contradict the title of lady before her name. No one did, although it became uncomfortably quiet on the landing. Wentworth motioned her forward, not giving her time to dwell on the quiet and said, “Lord and Lady Malden may I present Lady Penelope Seabrook, my sister.”

  Penelope curtsied. “Lord and Lady Malden, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Lady Malden, an attractive woman of later years, smiled warmly at her. “Welcome to our home, Lady Penelope.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yes, welcome,” Lord Malden said in a booming voice.

  “That went well,” Wentworth whispered as he escorted his wife and sister, each on one arm, into the warmly lit ballroom already full to bursting with bodies. As all eyes looked their way, conversation paused throughout the room. Her brother stiffened beside her and glared at the room, daring anyone to be rude to her. Slowly the conversations picked up again, and everyone went about their business. Penelope inhaled in much-needed air and breathed, “Thank you.”

  Wentworth looked at her, his features tense, then changed before her eyes to relaxed, and he grinned. “You’re welcome. I did what any dutiful brother would do. Aye, this must be Mr. Hugh Sinclair com
ing this way as he resembles Newbury.”

  Her eyes fell upon the gentleman slowly making his way toward them, and her insides tumbled at the uncanny resemblance to Newbury. Well, to the Duke of Newbury’s good side. Not to mention the height and build. He looked more like Newbury’s brother than a cousin. Since the night she’d met him, he had a mask on, she was seeing his face for the first time. He had the same dark hair and deep blue eyes. He was dressed in formal wear, and goose bumps broke out on her exposed flesh as she recalled her waltz with him. How he’d held her improperly close and said intimate things to her.

  Her eyes were riveted to his face as he smiled. “Your Graces, Lady Penelope. Newbury asked if I would introduce myself so I may be of assistance tonight in any way possible.” He bowed quite dramatically. “Mr. Hugh Sinclair at your service.”

  Wentworth nodded his head. “Yes, Newbury told me you would be in attendance. How unfortunate he wasn’t able to attend himself.”

  Mr. Sinclair’s eyes dimmed. “Yes. Unfortunate indeed.”

  “Duchess, Lady Penelope, may I present Mr. Hugh Sinclair.”

  Emma curtsied, lifted up her white gloved hand and Mr. Sinclair took it, bowing over it. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.”

  He turned, bowed her way, making Penelope drop into a curtsy. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Sinclair.” His eyes sparkled as he looked his fill at her, and she shivered with awareness. Awareness he should not be making her experience.