A Spy's Honor (20 page)

While she was still enthralled with the kissing, he slipped a hand inside her wrapper and swept his two fingers beneath the heavy curve of her breast. At last she rewarded him with a moan. He rubbed his thumb upward, across her nipple. More seductive moans, more arching.

All her fervent ardor aroused him to unbelievable heights.

She must have felt it, for Claire wrenched herself from his embrace and simply stared at him for a moment, her cheeks flushed, her breathing ragged.

“I’m to be married.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She hoisted up her nightdress and raced up the steps without another word.

“God, do I know,” John repeated. He leaned an arm against the wall and rested his head there.

After a minute he had recovered himself enough to think more clearly.

Enough was enough. He must put a stop to this.

***

The next morning, after many hours of contemplation and little sleep, John rapped on the door of his brother’s study. Allerton responded promptly, and John entered. Unlike Romford’s study from the night before, this one was organized and tidy, much like Allerton himself.

His brother was already hard at work with two ledgers open before him and a pen in his hand. His smile was ready and welcoming nonetheless. “Good morning.”

John merely nodded, for he didn’t much feel like smiling. Perhaps after he initiated his plan.

He sat down in front of the desk and leaned forward. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“By all means.”

There was nothing Allerton liked better than to order someone’s life.

“Would you be so good as to ask your man of business to find rooms for me to rent?”

Allerton stared. His easy manner faded, and his blue eyes turned as dark as a midnight sky. “You have been returned for a sennight. After a five-year absence.” A pause. “Mother will be disappointed.”

John looked upon his brother’s unyielding countenance with resignation and sighed, finally acknowledging the impossibility of leaving. He’d wanted to escape so desperately that he had convinced himself no one would care. They would
all
be disappointed if he left: Allerton, Emily, his mother. All but Claire.

“Never mind,” he muttered and then rose.

Allerton came around the desk as he strode toward the door. “Far be it from me to dictate where you live. You are a bachelor, free to do as you please.”

No, he wasn’t free. Not at the moment. Not after he had seemingly deserted his family for so many years. He owed them his presence. He had once before allowed his incorrigible passion for Claire to drive a continent’s distance between him and his family. He had no right to do so again.

“Certainly,” he said, forcing a smile. “I simply did not want to inconvenience you or the staff, what with all the wedding preparations.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Allerton scoffed. He reached a hand to John’s shoulder and steered him back toward the desk. “We’ve missed you. Despite all the new additions, the family has been incomplete without you.”

Taking his seat once again, John said, “I have missed your company as well.”

Allerton nodded and waved a hand through the air. “Eventually Emily and I will return to Hertfordshire, Claire will move to Kensworth House, and you will make a new life for yourself—apparently as a Whig MP.”

Bloody hell. He couldn’t seem to go more than half a day without hurting someone. He was so accustomed to focusing on his missions. No wonder the government preferred solitary spies. He had forgotten to talk to Allerton about his plan for joining the opposing party, and his brother had obviously heard of it from someone else. “I apologize. I meant to speak with you…”

Allerton sank into his chair and eyed him sternly. “I can help you stand for Parliament. Haven’t I said as much in the last few days?”

John sucked in a breath and spewed out more lies, or perhaps half-lies. “I don’t know if it’s because of the time I spent on the Continent or because of how different things are here in England now, but I find myself more in agreement with the Whigs than I do with the Tories.” John shook his head. “I do not mean to turn my back on the principles of father’s and your party, but I want to find my own way on this, Allerton.”

“Reyburns aren’t Whigs.”

“We aren’t dastardly spies either, but here I am.”

“Your foray into spying shocked me.” Allerton tapped his pen on the ledger. “No, actually it surprised me; your
success
at it shocked me. I thought the intelligence service would have you continue with translations, or perhaps break codes.”

John ignored the cutting remark seeded into that statement and took the opportunity to speak honestly for once. “They tried to, but I insisted on being given a chance in the field. I had a lot to prove. To you, to myself.”
To Claire.

“And so you did. I’m proud of you, John. You probably always had it in you, but you were so damn quiet and studious…. You are different on the inside than what everyone sees. But you are still a Reyburn. The election in Sedley is approaching. You’ll make an excellent Tory candidate.”

John stood and flattened his palms on the desk. Using the experience he’d gained over the last few years, he kept his tone even. “If and when I want your assistance, I will ask for it. As for now, I intend to explore the Whig side of things with Kensworth and Stretton.”

Allerton cleared his throat. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made an error in judgment. But at least Kensworth has sound ideas, accompanied by the keenness to put them into practice.”

Were they speaking of the same Lord Kensworth? The one who was going to introduce John to the illicit Hampden Club? Who had made errors in judgment? But John said none of this.

“One more thing,” his brother added, an indolent slouch belying the urgency of his words.

“What?” John asked.

“You must do something about Claire—
you idiot.”

Allerton may or may not have added the epithet. John was distracted by mounting irritation, but regardless he could hear the word implied in his brother’s tone.

“She’s none of my concern,” he said.

“You cannot let her marry Kensworth.” Allerton was sitting up now, a hand fisted on the desk. “I know you love her. If you tell her, she will break it off with him. Kensworth will recover, but if you let love be stolen out of your hands—”

John stalked to the far end of the room. “It’s too late. I wish to God you had never come after us, but I made the greater mistake in not offering for Claire again after we returned to London. She now intends to marry Kensworth. You yourself said he is a fine man, and I’m inclined to agree with you. It would be dishonorable of me to interfere.” Even if the finality of his words was like a fist wrapping around his heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. “I’d rather have Kensworth as a friend than an enemy.”

“Once she is married, all hope is lost,” Allerton said. “I do not care how much you love her, after that wedding ceremony I will not tolerate indiscreet behavior on your part. Now is your opportunity. Don’t miss it.”

John stared at his brother. “I’m a Reyburn, and I would not behave so dishonorably. Also, I’m disappointed in your efforts on behalf of your ward. She is engaged to a healthy, wealthy, titled man with a beautiful and profitable estate. I myself have nothing to offer.”
And even if I offered it, she would refuse.

He turned and strode out of the study, leaving a fiercely muttering Allerton behind, and despite the failure of his plan, despite being stuck in the house with Claire for the foreseeable future, John walked down the corridor with a lightness in his step. It had taken twenty-six years, but he’d stood up to Allerton at last.

Chapter Fifteen

“Emily?”

Her sister turned from the dressing mirror and smiled. “Good morning, dearest.”

Claire stepped into the room. “I need your help.”

Emily pushed a stray blonde strand behind her ear. “In choosing between Kensworth and John?”

Good Lord, had she failed to be discreet? “What can you possibly mean?”

“Allerton and I are not blind,” her sister declared. “We’ve seen the way you and John look at each other, and no one missed the scandalous way you danced together the other night. And after our talk the other day, I can only surmise that you are clearly struggling with your feelings for Stephen.”

Claire plopped onto the divan. She had failed miserably. But John and her complicated feelings about him would have to wait. “The only decision to be made at the moment is whether or not to marry Stephen. Our relationship has…changed.”

Her sister sighed and crossed to sit gracefully beside her. Emily had always been graceful, but since becoming duchess she was even more so. Even while with child. Which just proved the unfairness of life.

“Here you are, inconveniently engaged to one man when your True Love returns.”

Claire threw her sister a withering look. “I never claimed that John is my True Love.”
At least, not aloud
.

She honestly didn’t know how John felt about her. He wanted her physically; she couldn’t deny that. He’d never spoken of love, though. And, truth be told, she didn’t know if she even loved him. He had changed—as, no doubt, had she—but she couldn’t even begin to determine how those changes affected her feelings. He had been a spy. He hadn’t been wandering aimlessly as she’d thought, but he had been untruthful about his time on the Continent. And what was he to do now he was home? The war was over and his services were no longer needed. While she would admit she was still half in love with the memory of the old John, she wasn’t entirely certain about this new one.

What she did know was that she didn’t love Stephen. Not as he deserved. Therefore she couldn’t marry him.

“If I break things off with Stephen, we’ll need yours and Allerton’s support.”

Emily stroked her cheek. “You know we’ll always be here for you and John.”

“I meant Stephen and I. Stephen, really. If I cry off, the scandal might ruin his political career. I can’t be responsible for that.”

“We’ll do whatever is necessary. You needn’t—”

Emily broke off as Olivia marched into the room, arms swinging. She stopped in the center of the rug and lifted a bright brass cylinder to her eye. A telescope.

“Land ho!” the little girl cried in an incongruously deep voice.

“Did your papa buy you a new toy, sweetling?” Claire asked.

“I found it. It’s mine,” she declared while pointing the lens at her mother. “But it doesn’t work.”

Oh dear. Claire stood and held her hand out toward the child. “Emily, I thought you were going to address this naughty habit?”

Olivia collapsed the telescope and then pulled it back out to full length. Only when her mother called her name did she deposit the pilfered item in Claire’s hand.

Emily swept up her daughter and began lecturing her, and Claire extended the telescope and brought it to her eye, aiming it toward the window.

Instead of bringing the trees from the square into focus, all she saw were letters. She adjusted the instrument, and the letters sharpened into words. A list. Of names. Kensworth’s leaped out at her. How very odd.

She looked through the lens again and recognized Lord Stretton’s name, along with peers she knew by acquaintance. A few had lines drawn through them. Stretton’s and Kensworth’s did not.

Lately, all things odd in this house were associated with one man.

“Olivia, where did you take the telescope from?”

Her niece lifted her head from Emily’s shoulder and swiped away a tear. “From Uncle John’s room.”

Claire cast a look at Emily, whose shoulders sagged. “I know. It isn’t easy to reason with a three-year-old.”

“I’m going to return this to John.” And find out what he was up to that involved her betrothed. Which Kensworth still was. For the moment. He couldn’t possibly be spying on Stephen or any of his fellow countrymen. Though, now she thought about it, he hadn’t denied it when she’d asked that very question the night before.

He was in the library, seated at a table, tapping a pencil against his temple. When he saw her, he rose. “Good afternoon.”

Claire held up the telescope, but John’s expression didn’t change. She tried to quash the flutter in her stomach and the sudden acceleration of her pulse as he came around the table, looking distinctly well-turned out in a grey coat, black breeches and a burgundy embroidered waistcoat. She must focus.

“What is the meaning of this?” she said. “Olivia stole it from your room.”

“That doesn’t mean it is mine.”

“Do not attempt to play games with me.”

“Very well. It is mine. Kindly hand it over.” His words were polite, but there was a layer of cold authority.

She ignored his tone and his request. “John Frederick Reyburn, tell me you are
not
spying on Kensworth for the Tory government. And those other gentlemen. They are all Whigs. That much I know.”

He stalked toward her, his mouth drawn tight and his hand held out.

She’d seen all she’d needed to, so she passed the telescope over. But she added, “Tell me.”

John pocketed the telescope in his coat. “They are merely the names of men I thought could help me obtain a seat in Parliament.”

“Spying might have taught you to think quickly, but don’t take me for a fool. No one keeps such a harmless list secreted away like that.”

“Believe what you want,” John muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I am not an imbecile. You admitted to me last night that you were a spy and—”

“Lower your voice, please.”

She did but did not temper her anger. “What, no one else in the family knows of the despicable business you are involved in? Spying on your countrymen, John? On my fiancé?”

His head dropped, and for a moment she thought he was overwhelmed by shame. Then his hard-edged gaze rose to meet hers. “I am working for the good of our country. Do you think I
want
to investigate any of the men on that list?”

Whatever John or the Tory government thought one of these men had done, Claire knew Stephen wasn’t the culprit. He was too honest, too industrious and enthusiastic in his work, all for the good of the country. Not even John could convince her otherwise. “Leave Kensworth alone.”