The Spy and His Lady Love

by Christine Donovan

  He’d learned in the army to be ready for anything. When you least expect an attack, expect one. Of course, he wasn’t in the army anymore, but still. One could never be too careful. His cover could be revealed. There already were rumors he worked for the Secretary of War. Any sane person would laugh and think it ridiculous, but not all. Being a spy put Penelope in danger. Once they wed, he would plan for two bodyguards to accompany her everywhere.

  “Is it just me, or is everyone staring and whispering?” Penelope turned her head to look at him, sending his heart pounding at her blinding beauty.

  “Yes. Let them enjoy themselves. Any moment another gossip worthy couple will come along and their attention will shift to them. We will be long forgotten.” He lied, of course. They would spark gossip for some time to come. How could they not? A bastard daughter of a duke and a crippled, hideous duke to be joined in holy matrimony. Not something that happened in aristocracy every day. Probably never.

  One side of her mouth quirked up. “Thank you for making light of it. But I’m too old to believe such nonsense.”

  “Forgive me.”

  “I forgive you.” As she spoke the words, her hand drifted over his thigh, as though she were going to touch him. She gasped and pulled it back. Her cheeks reddened.

  “You can touch me. I don’t bite. At least not anymore. My nanny used to tell stories about me biting other children. Didn’t last long once she put vile cleaning soap in my mouth each time I did.”

  Her giggles were music to Harry’s ears. A ride in the park on a sunny, mild day should be void of tension and unease.

  “How long have you been out of the army?”

  “Since Waterloo. The army didn’t need a cripple. I sold off my commission, came to London, and became a duke. A fairy tale ending.” He sounded bitter, but he wasn’t. Until she knew his secrets he had to make it all appear real.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” His nerves tightened with guilt. Deceiving her would have dire consequences for him soon. “Sinclair said he took a turn around the ballroom last evening with you. I hope he behaved himself.”

  Her cheeks reddened once again. “Yes, he was quite the gentleman.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Harry pulled on the reins. His horse was getting antsy with the crawl of carriages on Rotten Row. Cinnamon wanted to stretch her legs. I do too, girl, I do too. He told me he wanted to waltz with you, but you have not been given permission yet.

  “Will you ever dance again, Your Grace?” she asked in a soft voice shocking him with her question.

  “Perhaps. But don’t worry if you like to twirl around the dance floor, Sinclair or some other gentleman will be available. You need not worry about missing out.”

  She gasped or coughed. Or coughed to hide her gasp. He’d bet on the latter. “I wasn’t worried about putting away my dancing shoes. I was more concerned that you felt left out.”

  Laughter bubbled up and out. “Most gentlemen of my acquaintance use dancing when courting a lady. Once they secure the lady and marry, I believe most of them would be glad to never step on a ballroom floor ever again. More likely they are to be found in the game room most host and hostesses set up for just that reason. Along with bored husbands are single gentlemen hiding from the marriage mamas or overly forward debutantes hoping to snag a wealthy title.”

  “You make socializing sound dreadful. And that’s not my experience with Wentworth and several of his friends. They appear to enjoy dancing with their wives.” She paused, then smiled. “The more I think on it, the more I realize Wentworth, Myles, Bridgeton, and several others are the exception.”

  Penelope didn’t care if Newbury could never dance. She was being polite. Because truthfully, she didn’t know what the extent of his injury to his knee was. For all she knew, he would heal in time and be swinging her around the dance floor in the future. As for Mr. Sinclair, she would hide in the retiring room for hours to avoid dancing… or waltzing…with him as she’d done at the masquerade ball. Her insides could not take any more guilt in being drawn to both cousins.

  Would they ever exit the park? It felt as though she sat in the carriage for hours. Small talk wasn’t her forte, so if she had to start discussing the weather she would scream. And wouldn’t that cause quite the scandal.

  Her mind wandered, not for the first time. For one moment she thought she sat next to Mr. Sinclair and had to remind herself it was Newbury. She had to keep reminding herself of his disfigurement. While sitting down driving the carriage, his perfect features facing her side, it was easy to forget who she was with. He resembled his cousin. They could be twins. Icy chills crawled up her spine. Perhaps Mr. Sinclair wasn’t a cousin at all, but a by-blow from Newbury’s father. That would explain the likeness between the two men.

  “Mr. Sinclair needn’t dance with me. I’m perfectly content to sit and watch.” It wasn’t a lie. Dancing caused her undo stress. When Mr. Sinclair held her close during that one waltz, even before she knew his true identity, it caused her heart to speed up and her body to tingle. Guilt bothered her as well. And after what happened on the veranda, they needed to keep their distance from each other.

  A big sighed escaped her lips as she realized they’d pulled up in front of Wentworth Manor.

  “Are you attending the opera this evening? Wentworth invited me to his box.”

  Her heart sank. She’d so been looking forward to her first opera. And it being Don Giovanni made it more exciting. Now she’d be sitting next to Newbury and tense the entire evening. “Yes.”

  “Splendid, I’m unfortunately unable to attend, but I accepted on behalf of Sinclair. I hope you enjoy the opera.”

  A footman stood waiting for Penelope who had been rendered speechless at the idea of spending the night in a dark box with Mr. Sinclair.

  “Please forgive me for not exiting the carriage and bowing properly, my dear.” He reached for her gloved hand. Her eyes widened and her heart accelerated. He raised her hand up to his full lips, turned her wrist over, and placed his warm lips on her pressure point. She inhaled and held her breath, totally captivated. If she closed one eye, which she did not, and concentrated on the good half of his face, he turned into the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Handsome as Mr. Sinclair. “Until I see you again.”

  Once inside the house, Penelope entered the drawing room to find Emma sitting alone sipping tea and nibbling biscuits. “May I join you?”

  “Yes. Please join me for refreshments as I recover from my day. I spent most of the afternoon with the children. We spent time running around the gardens and then playing in the nursery. I’m exhausted.”

  Perhaps Emma would be too exhausted to attend the opera that evening. Tired enough that Wentworth would cancel their plans.

  “I see your mind working.” Emma looked at her with compassion. “I’m not so tired I must stay home this evening. Besides, the more time you spend with the duke, the more comfortable you’ll become with him.” She poured tea for Penelope and handed her the delicate china cup and saucer. The S, for Seabrook, not visible from the bottom of the cup. But Penelope knew it was there. A reminder of who her family was.

  “That’s not it.” She reached for a cube of sugar and plopped it in her tea. She enjoyed her tea extra sweet. “When he dropped me off, just now, he said he wouldn’t be attending this evening and his cousin, would be taking his place. I don’t understand why? Besides taking a drive in the park, do you think he doesn’t want to be seen out in public with me again so soon?”

  More compassion from Emma and for the first time Penelope realized how young she was. Because she was married to Wentworth and had two children, she forgot Emma was only one and twenty. “That is not why he’s not attending the opera. Since Wentworth only extended the invitation yesterday, perhaps he has another engagement?”

  Thinking about that, Penelope still wasn’t convinced. It felt as though he were throwing Mr. Sinclair and her together. The question was why? “I tried to expla
in he need not always send his cousin in his place. But he didn’t seem to take my words under advisement. Also, after the other night I don’t trust Mr. Sinclair.” Tingles danced up her spine, and she shivered. “He looks at me as though I’m his dessert. Like he wants to consume me. Most improper since I’m affianced to his cousin.”

  Emma gasped. “Indeed, most improper. If you don’t mind me prying, how does the duke look at you?”

  She had to fight not to laugh. Since the duke only had one eye, at times it was difficult to get a glimpse into his feelings. Except today, when he kissed her bare wrist, she witnessed the same hungry look in his one eye that she’d seen in Mr. Sinclair’s two eyes. “Until today, I never noticed how he looked at me. Today he looked very much like his cousin. He looked at me with interest and want.” Thinking about interest and want, she said, “I heard the duke has a mistress? Will he keep her after we wed?”

  The feel of Emma’s small, warm hand touching hers calmed her thoughts. “I don’t know the answer to either of those questions, however, he appears to be an honorable man. Wentworth would hardly marry you off to a gentleman who wasn’t. Perhaps after you wed, you can broach the subject of his mistress with him.”

  Now Penelope laughed. “I would never bring that up. How embarrassing. I can just imagine his reply. ‘Yes, my dear, I have a mistress. Men have needs. Who is to fill those needs when a man is single? A mistress. And after a man weds, he has certain desires he can’t ask his wife to perform for him. So, yes, Penelope, I have a mistress.’”

  Emma joined her in laughter. “I can’t imagine Newbury saying such nonsense. Which brings up something else. Do you need the night before your wedding speech about what happens between a husband and wife beneath the sheets? Bella, Amelia, and myself would be happy to enlighten you?”

  Did she? Certainly not. She’d witnessed firsthand people procreating while living under the viscount’s roof. Had nearly lost her virginity to the viscount. Servants partook in matters of the flesh often and not always in private. “I believe I’m well versed on that subject.”

  “I thought so.” Emma frowned and looked thoughtful. “I’m sorry for what you and your mother went through. I believe if Thomas knew of you sooner, he would’ve sent for you and your mother. Once he found out my papa died and left me under his guardianship, he, along with Myles, traveled to Massachusetts to meet me. He waited until I finished Miss Beauregard’s Finishing School before sailing back to England with me in tow. Between the travel time and the months in New Bedford running Hamilton Whaling Industries, nearly a year transpired. All because he felt obligated to honor my papa’s wishes. Traveling to Northern England would have been nothing to Thomas.”

  “I’m grateful he came.” Thinking back on her predicament, after her mother passed, had Penelope’s insides knotting up tightly. She’d fled the viscount's house and found shelter with the local midwife, never expecting Wentworth would come for her or even respond to her missive. To her shock and dismay, he came with Mr. Stuart Spencer. Sebastian had traveled to her first but had been attacked by thieves and left for dead. Thankfully, his now wife, Teagan and her brother Lachlan Murray, had found him and nursed him back to health. Not a day went by that she didn’t wonder how she got so lucky. How a duke could welcome into his family his dead father’s natural born daughter. Dared anyone in polite society to contradict him when he introduced her as his sister. Even stood up for her with his own servants when they were less than respectful to her.

  Those servants quickly found themselves with letters of recommendations, payment of wages owed, and an escort out the door. Tears pooled in her eyes at the length the Seabrook family had gone for her. Even the Dowager Duchess treated her kindly and with respect. If anyone had a right to treat her with contempt and distain the Dowager had.

  “Perhaps you would like to rest before the evening meal and the opera. It will be a late evening again tonight,” Emma suggested as she stood. “It’s what I plan to do.”

  Sighing deeply, Penelope replied, “A rest sounds wonderful. Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “None of this, Your Grace, you must remember to call me Emma. At least when in the privacy of our home.”

  Penelope’s maid helped her undress down to her chemise and tucked her into bed. “Please wake me in plenty of time to dress for this evening, Clarisse.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Bone weary from the tug and pull of her emotions regarding Newbury and Mr. Sinclair, Penelope closed her eyes and was happy just to rest. Torn between her loyalty to her newly betrothed and her attraction to his cousin was wearing on her. On the ride through Hyde Park today, she found herself being pulled toward the duke. Surprisingly found herself interested and attracted to him. Of course, it helped that she sat on his good side. It seemed as if she rode with Mr. Sinclair. Was it possible they were brothers and not cousins? If that were true, why the secret? In fact, whenever in either of their company, instinct had her believing they both had secrets to hide. Why? And what were they?

  Perhaps she would broach the subject with Mr. Sinclair this evening. He had said she could ask him anything pertaining to the duke. What she wanted to know was, who was he? Who was the real man behind the eye patch and scar? Sleep must have befallen her because before she knew it her maid was waking her up.

  “I would like to wear the sky-blue gown this evening with the matching cloak.”

  “Yes, milady. That gown will look lovely with your eyes.”

  Sitting in the Seabrook family’s private box at the opera with Wentworth, Emma, the Earl of Bridgeton, and his wife and her half-sister, Amelia, Penelope’s eyes kept going from the empty seat beside her to Bella sitting across from them in the Northboroughs’ private box. The lamps were still lit, but by how quickly the hall was filling up she knew the performance would start any minute. Where was Mr. Sinclair? She wanted to think she would be relieved if he never showed, but the truth was she would feel rejected. By both Newbury and Mr. Sinclair.

  An attendant came into their box, snuffed the lamps and closed the curtains. Attendants worked diligently to darken the entire place and then the stage lit up and the opera began. Leaning forward, her heart pounding, Penelope became engrossed in the performers and singers on stage. Never had she seen such beautiful costumes, heard such lovely voices, or seen more gorgeous people. So transfixed by what transpired on stage, she never noticed when the seat beside her filled. Not until his gloved hand reached for hers and squeezed, shocking her. She pulled away and whispered, “You startled me.”

  He leaned close, his minty breath tickling her cheek. “Please accept my humble apologizes. I meant no harm.”

  If she didn’t know Mr. Sinclair was going to take the duke’s place, she would swear the duke himself sat beside her. But she knew better. There had been no clicking of his cane, which would have notified all occupants of the box the duke arrived. Possibly, even all occupants of the opera house. Which saddened her. No wonder Newbury stayed home. She may as well come to terms with that knowledge because in two months it would be her new reality as his duchess. She must become accustomed to people staring and whispering. As if they weren’t already.

  Before Mr. Sinclair spoke again, she felt the heat of his body leaning toward her and the warm air of his breath. “Have you attended the opera before?”

  “No. And please be quiet.” Since he joined her, the opera had lost her attention as all her nerve endings prickled with awareness of the man beside her. Shame on her. Since when was she a wicked person? Led by her emotions instead of her mind? She was duty and honor bound to Newbury. Why couldn’t Mr. Sinclair move to the country and leave her be? Pain pierced her heart at the thought of him leaving even though it would be best for all parties.

  The lights came on one by one and even though she’d never been to the theater; she knew it was intermission. Their lamps were lit, and the curtain thrown aside. She turned toward Mr. Sinclair and gasped.

  “May I escort you downstairs for some refreshments
?” Instead of Mr. Sinclair, the Duke of Newbury stood before her, offering his hand.

  Her entire being paused, and she stammered, “But I…I thought you weren’t attending?”

  He chuckled. “I changed my mind, so I cancelled my prior engagement.” The brow to his good eye rose in silent question. “Are you disappointed I’m here instead of my cousin?”

  She recovered quickly. At least she believed she did. Her lips curved up into a smile as she placed her hand into his and stood. “Thank you. I’d love something to quench my parched throat.”

  His brow rose higher. “You didn’t answer my query.”

  Her eyes moved around the box and was shocked to find it empty of anyone but the two of them. “Forgive me. No. I’m very pleased you decided to attend. I was surprised because I didn’t hear you enter the box.” She cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is…”

  “I understand. I managed without my cane. Not an easy feat, but I didn’t want to disturb anyone from enjoying the performance.” One side of his mouth quirked up as he held up his cane with the metal lion's head. “I have need of it now with the crowd gathered about.”

  As they exited the box, Penelope and Newbury made their way awkwardly downstairs, being greeted by those members of the ton they were acquainted with. For her, the list was very short. For the duke, many bowed their heads and mumbled, “Your Grace.” She got the impression he was well respected, but people didn’t know how to handle his disfigurement so they almost ignored him or grumbled out his name or title. Uncomfortable pain reached her heart. How sad for Newbury. His peers should respect and honor him for his losses in defending the country against Bonaparte. His injuries weren’t that hideous. In fact, the more time she spent with him, the more attractive he became. His injuries blending into the background. The black patch as Emma said made him resemble a pirate. As did the scar. Penelope could think of Newbury as a romantic pirate who sailed the seas in search of his bride. And didn’t some pirates have a peg leg?