An Affair with a Spare

by Shana Galen

  Slowly, very slowly, Beaumont moved back. As soon as he was out of range of her knee, she lowered it and let out an audible breath.

  “You might simply have said you had a headache.”

  “I don’t have a headache,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I am not attracted to you.”

  The fact that she was able to spew such a blatant lie and keep a straight face was testament to how determined she was to free her father. The fact that she could resist Beaumont at all was proof of how dedicated she was to stealing those codes.

  “I see.” He gave her a puzzled look. “You will forgive me if I’m at a loss. This has never happened to me before.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” Now that he was not standing so close and not looking quite so confident, she could almost speak to him as though he were a mortal man.

  He shifted awkwardly and raked a hand through his hair. All of which served to make him seem even less like a god and more like a human.

  “I mean, no woman has ever refused me before.”

  “Never?”

  “No.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Not a single woman?”

  “Not until now.” He looked increasingly uncomfortable and his voice was quiet and hesitant. Collette had the urge to apologize and to confess that she actually did find him incredibly attractive. But that was lunacy. She could not confess such a thing, even if such an admission would not beg for more information.

  Collette moved toward the terrace doors. “I take no pleasure in rejecting you, sir. Thank you for the dance.” She pulled at the latch on the doors.

  “I must escort you into supper.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she said. “I can find my own way and sit with Lady Ravensgate.”

  “But—”

  She held up a hand. “Please. I think it would be best if you and I do not speak again. Ever.”

  And she swept into the ballroom, feeling very much as she had when she’d been a child and had her favorite toy taken away.

  Five

  Rafe didn’t wait for Porter, the Master of the House at the Draven Club, to answer the door. He merely shoved it open and barreled into the wood-paneled vestibule, noting that candles in the large chandelier lit the room. Then Porter appeared, making his way down the winding staircase. He moved quickly for a man with only one leg, but Rafe signaled to him. “No hurry, Porter. I let myself in.”

  He shrugged off his greatcoat and tossed it on the suit of armor on one side of the vestibule. There was a perfectly good coatrack beside the door, but Rafe always hung his greatcoat on the suit of armor. Porter had ceased bothering to remove it. Rafe saluted the shield opposite the door. It bore eighteen fleur-de-lis, symbolizing the eighteen men of Draven’s troop who had died fighting for England.

  “The billiards room, Mr. Beaumont?” Porter asked.

  “Not tonight.” Rafe wouldn’t have been able to pot the ball if the damn thing was directly in front of the pocket. The French chit had muddled his mind. He’d made two wrong turns on his way from Montjoy’s ball to the Draven Club, and before tonight, Rafe would have sworn he could find the Draven Club in his sleep. “I want the dining room. And I want brandy.” He gave Porter a meaningful glance. “A lot of brandy, Porter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rafe started up the staircase, the royal-blue runner familiar and somewhat calming.

  Porter followed. “Is anything the matter, sir?”

  “Why should anything be the matter?”

  “You don’t normally drink to excess, sir.”

  “Oh, that.” Rafe reached the top of the staircase and turned toward the dining room. “There is no normal anymore, Porter. Up is down and black is white and front is back. Hasn’t anyone told you?”

  “No, sir. I regret to say no one has informed me of this change.” He opened the doors to the dining room. Rafe paused in the doorway and looked down at the silver-haired man.

  “Well, then I suppose the duty falls to me. Porter, it grieves me to tell you that the world as we know it no longer exists. And this new world will require much more brandy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rafe entered the dining room, spotted his friends Neil and Jasper at one of the round tables, and made his way toward another table. He sat alone and lowered his head onto the freshly starched white linen tablecloth. The benefit of burying his face in the linen was it eradicated the lingering scent of Miss Fournay—or was it Fortier?—from his nose. He’d spent far too much time the past week trying to determine what scent clung to her before realizing it was the crisp scent of juniper in bloom.

  Rafe attempted to ignore the rumble of voices at the other table. No doubt Neil, who was formerly the leader of Draven’s men, and Jasper, probably the troop’s best hunter turned bounty hunter, would try to engage Rafe at some point. Rafe intended to ignore them. If he’d wanted conversation, he would have gone home. There was always some woman loitering there, hoping to catch him and convince him to take her to bed. Rafe didn’t want company—female or male—tonight.

  After what seemed like at least a fortnight, he heard Porter’s distinctive steps and then two quiet thumps on the table alerted him that a decanter of brandy and a snifter had been placed before him. The splash of liquid was music to his ears.

  “You have my unending gratitude, Porter,” Rafe mumbled from the cushion of his arms.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Rafe lifted his head to sip the brandy and stared into the faces of Neil and Jasper. The men had moved noiselessly across the room and taken seats at Rafe’s table. Rafe groaned, sipped the brandy, and put his head down again. “Go away.”

  “Something bothering you, Beaumont?” Neil asked.

  Rafe didn’t answer.

  “He looks in high dudgeon to me,” Jasper drawled.

  “I’m happy as a lark. Now go away.”

  “So the brandy is celebratory?”

  Rafe looked up. “If I say yes, will you go away?”

  “No.” Neil poured two fingers of brandy for himself and Jasper. Damn Porter for bringing them snifters as well. “We’ll celebrate with you.”

  Jasper Grantham sipped his brandy. He had dark-blond hair and a ragged scar across one cheek. Rafe was used to the scar, but Jasper usually wore a mask to hide it when he was in public. Neil Wraxall, on the other hand, was dark of hair. He had the coloring of his Italian mother and clear blue eyes that always saw too much.

  “What are we celebrating?” Wraxall asked.

  “Don’t you have a wife and about two dozen children waiting for you at home?”

  Neil shook his head. “I trust Mrs. Wraxall has everything well in hand.” Which was the most ridiculous statement Wraxall had ever made because his wife was a walking beacon for trouble. And Rafe should know because he’d once had to babysit a dozen orphans while Neil sorted out some sort of trouble she’d caused. And that was before she’d burned down an orphanage.

  “And how are things with you, Beaumont?”

  “No rum dell on your arm tonight?”

  “If by dell you mean woman, Grantham, then the answer is no.”

  Neil and Jasper exchanged looks. Rafe could all but read the silent conversation. Finally, Neil spoke, his voice incredulous. “This isn’t about a woman, is it?”

  “A plague on the whole species,” Rafe said.

  Jasper sat back and crossed his arms, his expression smug. Neil looked perplexed but intrigued. He leaned forward, like an eager student. “Did you compromise someone’s virginal daughter?”

  “Ha!” Rafe drank again. “Nothing so simple.”

  “You agreed to marry one of them. Again,” Jasper guessed.

  “Hell’s teeth. I told you never to remind me of that…incident.”

  “Was there another fight? Your hair looks mo
re disheveled than usual.” This from Neil.

  “It is fashionably tousled, and no. No women were fighting over me.”

  “Did two of them proposition you again and you had to spend all night being pleasured by them?”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “No.”

  “Tell us about that time anyway.” Jasper drank again. “I can’t remember all of the details.”

  “Stubble it,” Rafe said. “This problem pales in comparison to those.”

  “Is this problem a brunette?” Neil asked.

  “With large…” Jasper made curving motions in front of his chest.

  Rafe opened his mouth and closed it again. For the first time, he realized Miss Fournay was exactly the sort of woman he preferred—beautiful, dark haired, and with ample charms. He’d been so focused on her as a mission, he hadn’t looked at her as a woman. Not that he hadn’t felt an attraction to her. When he’d been about to kiss her on the terrace, not everything he said had been pretty words designed to seduce her. He had been imagining his body pressed to hers and his mouth on hers. What man wouldn’t imagine it? Her plump lips and the straining of her bodice tonight were enough to give any man ideas.

  Jasper and Neil exchanged a look. Neil mimed the hammering of a nail.

  “What’s the problem?” Jasper asked. “Can’t decide whether to roger her on her back or against a wall?”

  “The problem is she’s a mission,” Rafe said. He had no compunction about revealing this here. The Draven Club was entirely safe. The men could talk about anything here and it would never leave the confines of the building. “Draven himself asked me to tease information from her. She’s suspected of being in league with the French.”

  “That sounds simple enough for you,” Neil said. “I gave you a score of assignments like that when we were at war.”

  “Yes, but…” Rafe sipped his brandy again, then poured more. “But something is wrong with this woman.”

  Jasper raised his brows. “Wrong how?”

  “She rejected my advances.”

  Silence hung in the air for a long, long moment, and then Neil and Jasper burst out laughing. Jasper all but fell out of his chair.

  “Bloody hell.” Rafe gathered his brandy and stood. He should have known better than to confide in those two.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Neil said, grabbing Rafe’s arm and wresting the brandy away. “I apologize. This is very serious.”

  And then he and Jasper started laughing all over again.

  “You think it’s so amusing? I’ll tell Draven to assign one or both of you. See how you do.”

  “I won’t live through one night. My wife would murder me.”

  Jasper gestured to his cheek. “I’d scare her away.”

  “You couldn’t do any worse than I am.”

  Neil grabbed Rafe’s arm again. “Sit down. It can’t be all that bad.”

  “She tried to knee me in the groin.”

  Both men flinched. “So she has some spirit,” Neil said.

  “I wouldn’t have known it until now. She barely spoke before. I could have sworn the chit was tongue-tied every time she looked at me. But she had plenty to say at the ball tonight. And all of it about hedgehogs.”

  “Is that a new cant phrase? I don’t know it,” Jasper said.

  “Perhaps she is presenting you with a challenge,” Neil said. “You’re not used to that. She wants to be chased.”

  Rafe shook his head. “I know that game, and this is not it.”

  “Then have you considered she really does have something to hide?”

  “Why do you say that?” Rafe asked Jasper.

  Jasper shrugged. “That’s the opinion of the Foreign Office. Maybe she fears you’ll pull the plug and all her secrets will spill out.”

  Rafe rested his hand on his chin, tapping his fingers on his lip. “She does seem skittish. I called on her last week, and I could have sworn she intentionally tipped over the tea tray.”

  “You were too close to something she did not want to tell you?” Neil speculated.

  “Or something she did not want me to see.” Rafe thought about the desk in Lady Ravensgate’s drawing room. It had been covered with an assortment of letters and papers. What if one of those had been from her French contacts? Something that might tie her to Fortier? But why would her father ask her to spy? He’d been an ally of Napoleon and now the Bourbons were back on the throne. Or what if the royalists had killed Fortier and threatened to kill her too if she did not work for them? But that made no sense. She could easily run away. Lady Ravensgate was not keeping that close a watch on her.

  Rafe sipped the brandy again. “Say she does have something to hide. There were plenty of women on the Continent who had secrets to hide. I managed to persuade them.”

  “Married women.” Neil pointed at him. “This one isn’t married. She might have limited experience with men.”

  “Then my task should be simple.”

  “Not necessarily,” Jasper said. “Your methods of seduction are not exactly subtle. You might scare her.”

  “You are schooling me in methods of seduction?”

  Jasper grinned. “Best day ever.”

  “You need to take another approach,” Neil said. “If she fights seduction, come at her another way.”

  Rafe swallowed his brandy and slammed the snifter down. “Hell’s teeth, but I don’t know another way! You called me the Seducer for a reason.”

  “Try gaining her trust. Become her friend.”

  Christ. The last thing Rafe wanted was to become friends with a woman. But, as he’d told Porter, up was down today and perhaps the last thing he wanted was the thing he needed.

  Or…perhaps he should approach her as though the world truly were upside down.

  “Look at the way his eyes lit up,” Jasper said in a mock whisper. “He has an idea.”

  “Who would you say is my opposite?” Rafe asked.

  “I don’t know.” Neil looked at Jasper. “You mean one of the troop? Guy was quite shy. He stammered every time he tried to talk to a woman.”

  Rafe felt a twinge of pain remembering Guy. He’d died in an ambush during one of their suicide missions. “And I talk to women easily. I talk…”

  “Ewan,” Neil said at the same time Jasper said, “The Protector.”

  “Of course. I should stop trying to figure out how to seduce this woman. It doesn’t work. If everything I do is wrong, everything Ewan does must be right.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Neil interrupted.

  Rafe ignored him. “I should ask myself, what would Ewan do? Better yet. I’ll ask the man himself.” He rose and started for the door.

  “Good luck wheedling a half dozen syllables from him,” Jasper said.

  Rafe looked over his shoulder. “Good point.” But at least none of those syllables would be about hedgehogs.

  If Ewan wouldn’t talk, he’d just have to make the man show him.

  * * *

  “That’s her,” Rafe said, pointing across the park to where Lady Ravensgate and Miss Fournay strolled. Miss Fournay certainly did not look like a spy in her apple-green walking dress and matching spencer and parasol. She was beautiful—much more so in the bright daylight than the yellow gloom of candlelight. The sunny day brought out the pink of her cheeks and the glints of gold in her hair. “The one on the green,” Rafe said, since Ewan hadn’t made any indication he knew who Rafe meant.

  Ewan nodded. Rafe waited. And waited. In a moment, he would have to rise from the bench and follow her, as she and Lady Ravensgate were moving out of sight. “Do you have anything to say?” Rafe prodded.

  “You dragged me away from the studio for this?” Ewan and Draven were joint owners of a boxing studio. As it had opened recently, it had nothing like the reputation of Gentleman Jackson’s, but Rafe had no dou
bt Ewan would win the hearts and minds of the pugilism enthusiasts in no time. For his part, Rafe could think of other pursuits far more enjoyable than taking a swing at another man in a ring. But Ewan Mostyn, otherwise known as the Protector, was big and brawny, with platinum-blond hair and a square jaw. If ever a man had been born to smash skulls, it was Ewan.

  “I should think you would thank me for taking you out into the fresh air and sunshine. It’s a fine day, and that’s a rare thing.”

  Ewan continued to glare at him.

  “I will have you back to knocking men’s brain boxes loose in no time. I simply want your opinion.”

  Lady Ravensgate and Miss Fournay had paused to speak with an older woman, the wife of a Cabinet member, if Rafe was not mistaken. The exchange looked innocent enough, but who knew what state secrets Miss Fournay might be stealing?

  “Why?” Ewan asked.

  “I thought I explained all this, old boy.”

  “Explain again.”

  Rafe sighed. “As I told you, the world is upside down.”

  “This time, make sense.”

  Rafe scowled at him, which had absolutely no effect on Ewan. “I can’t make sense because the world makes no sense.”

  “You are giving me a headache.”

  “No, that’s from all the skull smashing. And since your brain is probably scrambled, let me be brief. Up is down, right is left, and if I can’t change the world, I’ll trick it. Which means, obviously, I must become you.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And so you must tell me what you would do in…well, in your place.”

  “I do not have to be you?”

  “No. Why would you be me?”

  “Thank God.”

  “Ewan, pay attention. There is the chit. What would you do right now?”

  “Go back to the studio.” He started to move away, but Rafe grabbed his large arm and pulled him back. Rather, Ewan allowed Rafe to pull him back.

  “What would you do about Miss Fournay?”

  “Nothing. I’m married.”

  “Yes, but what if you were me?”

  “I’d probably kill myself.”

  Rafe was about to pull his hair out when he caught the quick smile on Ewan’s lips. The man was toying with him. One could never tell with Ewan. He was so stone-faced. No doubt he was enjoying frustrating Rafe. Rafe tamped his annoyance down. “Fine. Don’t help me.”