A Spy's Honor (40 page)

He looked askance at her.

“The newspapers aren’t naming you, though.” She pulled the
Times
off a side table. “They are, however, vilifying a man named Harry Watson. It seems he shot at Liverpool. Was he involved with David?”

“No. He was my liaison with Sidmouth.” John sipped his tea. “He was supposed to make certain Liverpool and Sidmouth didn’t show up at the theatre, but they did anyway. I don’t believe Watson was shooting at the prime minister. That’s not in his character.”

Claire glanced at the newspaper again. “Well, it says he lured Liverpool and Sidmouth out of the theatre by telling them they were needed at an urgent meeting.”

John took a bite of the buttered toast she handed him. “Probably true. I think he altered one of my earlier reports too. I would guess he wanted to play the hero. I told him when and where the assassination was to take place. I was getting Stickney and Bates away from their wagon when Watson fired and hit Stickney. His second shot set off the gunpowder.”

Claire hesitated before recounting the rest of the newspaper article, knowing the information would upset him. But what was the point in denying it? He had been there and would suspect as much as she was going to tell him. “Bates and Stickney are dead. Two others are injured. David is in custody And”—she sighed—“Kensworth is wretched. I don’t know how he will go on.”

“I feared for him just as much as you did.” John rubbed his eyes. “Do you know where my spectacles are?”

Retrieving his spare pair from the side table, she unfolded them and slid them onto his face herself. That way he had to look at her. She stared into those blue eyes and whispered, “You must be wretched too.”

He shrugged and stared at his tea cup. “I botched the mission.”

She reached for his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous! Liverpool and Sidmouth are safe. As for David, this Watson fellow and the others, they brought their troubles on themselves.” Gently, she swiped her thumb back and forth across his knuckles. “Not that I don’t pity them, but…you and Kensworth are the innocent ones, and yet you are injured and he is inconsolable.”

Pushing his tea cup away with one hand, he snatched the other away from her. “I don’t understand why you are here. Why I am here.”

Willfully she grasped his hand again and slid to the floor, on her knees, unmindful of her skirts. His round-eyed expression almost made her giggle, but this was serious. “Because I wanted to ask you a question. John, will you m—”

“Stop! Claire, get up,” he beseeched her. “You cannot propose to me.”

“Sometimes, John” —she leaned in—“you are an astonishing prude! I most certainly can ask you, and I think it is time I did. Things have not worked out well the previous two times when you did it.” She waggled a finger at him, eyes teasing. “You, however, are full of common sense and will not be so foolish as to say no.”

Or, she hoped he wouldn’t say no. If there was anything she’d taken from their argument, from the night they’d shared, from all the time they’d spent together, it was that he loved her. She was risking everything, as he had done.

In silence he lifted her about the waist and positioned her back on the sofa. She tucked her knees up under her and leaned sideways against the velvet-cushioned back, no longer feeling quite so blithe. “Let me put the question off for a moment and tell you something. You broke my heart all those years ago, John.”

His blue eyes searched hers. “I know.” Then he let his bandaged-covered forehead come to rest against hers and whispered, “Because I broke mine too.”

Warm tears slipped down her cheeks and she was unable to speak for a moment. Finally she kissed him on the forehead and said, “No, I think
I
broke your heart. With my unthinking words and my romantic expectations. I thought I had grown up in the last five years, that I had put all those fanciful ideas aside. But I hadn’t. I still wanted you to be my hero and sweep me off my feet.”

“I
want
to be your hero.”

“Hush.” She leaned closer, taking his hand again. “You are my hero and no further action is required on your part. I love you, John. Another thing I realized—I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I ever could. You are the only man I’ve ever wanted, and I will love you no matter what you do, no matter how many times I have to tend your injuries, no matter where we’ll live or how many times you’ll have to run off—”

He squeezed her hand. “You say
I
talk too much?”

Very well.
“Honest answer. Will you marry me?”

His eyes shone brilliantly, and his smile threatened to turn into a grin. “Yes.”

He was so beautiful. And he was hers. Grasping his shirt, she drew herself against him and kissed him. A crushing, intimate kiss that made him groan the way she liked. His arms snaked around her and, as he fell back against the pillows, she came too, stretched out against the length of him.

He broke off the kiss for a moment. “You might not want to hear this, but I think it’s a good thing we’ll have a nice long engagement. We need time, Claire. Time to court, however secretly, to get to know each other more deeply, to enjoy each other’s company.”

“This might be the only time I say this, John, but you are absolutely right. I love you, but…I’m still a little afraid.”

“I know.” He swept a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her tenderly. “Our future is still uncertain. But whatever it holds, we’ll be together. I’ll find hundreds of ways to smother that little doubt in the back of your mind.”

“Hundreds?”

“Yes. For instance, I was serious about intending to stand for Parliament on my own.” He nibbled on her earlobe.

“Oh, please don’t do that for me. I’m not my mother, you’re not my father. I will be fine during your absences.” She was certain of as much, and she held his gaze. “John, you are an excellent spy, and I don’t want you to give it up. I want you to be who you want to be.”

“Ah, but I want to give it up. That is my choice entirely, and the only thing you have to do with the whole business is having to suffer my presence day in and day out.”

“I can do that.” She grinned like a fool and kissed him madly, letting herself melt against his hard body, thrilled by his rough, unshaven kiss.

The click of the door opening only registered in her mind afterwards. The dowager duchess’s gasp first brought her back to the present. Then Allerton and Emily began speaking at the same time.

Claire buried her face in John’s neck and felt him smile against her ear. “They were right. You
are
a ravisher of bedridden men.” Louder, he said, “No need to worry; I’ve agreed to make her the happiest of women.”

“You’ve made a good start,” Emily muttered.

“Would it be so difficult for the two of you to wed without an attendant scandal?” Allerton complained.

With John’s help Claire righted herself and sat primly on the edge of the sofa, her cheeks heated to near boiling.

“Children!” the dowager duchess reprimanded them in her best maternal voice. “It appears your brother is sufficiently recovered and in need of our felicitations.”

***

John stood long enough to embrace his mother and receive a hearty handshake from Allerton before subsiding to the sofa once again. As Claire was taken into her sister’s arms, he patted the seat next to him. “Will you sit a moment, Allerton?”

“Of course.” He flipped his tail coat up and sank heavily next to John. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you were trying to stop the prime minister’s assassination.”

John’s head still pounded, but he had things to say. “I appreciate, Allerton, more than you can imagine, your taking on the role of father for me all those years. It must have been trying for you since you had lost Father as well. However, I’m grown now and I have my own life. My own. I’ve made my way in the world and I will continue to do so, as I see fit.” He turned to look at Allerton. “What I need now is a brother. Someone to confide in. Someone with whom to discuss the issues of Parliament. Someone to mock my choice of waistcoat. I—”

“You want me to stop telling you what to do?” Allerton asked, black eyebrows rising.

“Well, yes.” John grinned. “You can always start in on Marden, you know. He is your son.”

Allerton looped an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll do my best, brother.”

“Even if I’m a Whig?”

“Yes,” his brother answered on sigh. “You may even try to bring me round to your side before you take your arguments to Parliament, though you shan’t succeed.”

“Emily, Allerton…I think we’d best let John rest.” John’s mother fussed over him, settling the pillows behind his back and adjusting his bandage. “There. Now, Claire, do be mindful of his injuries.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Her words were polite enough, but John noticed she hurried everyone out of the room and closed the door firmly.

“Lady Claire,” he said when they were alone. “I don’t believe I’ve told you I love you. At least not today.”

She rushed back to the sofa and sat on the edge. “I know it anyway.”

He took her hand. “May I ask you a question?”

“By all means, but I’m afraid I’m already betrothed,” she joked.

“Honest answer,” he made her promise. He tugged on her hand, and she fell against his chest. “May I kiss you?”

“Anywhere you wish, sir.”

Epilogue

Four months later

John hurried through the sweltering corridors of Bellemere. August had swept in on a hot westerly wind, turning his brother’s Hertfordshire estate into one huge greenhouse. He prayed the weather would break before the wedding.

His destination now was any place outside in the shade. He meant to recline against a tree trunk, with Claire by his side, and read the novel
Emma
to her. If he could bestir himself, he might even pick her a posy of wildflowers. For the time being, it was pleasant to have absolutely nothing to do.

A maid stopped his progress. “His Grace requests your presence in the study.”

What was Allerton doing locked in his study on a day like today? “If he thinks to try to talk me over to the Tory side again…”

Allerton had done his best to remain a brother instead of a domineering father, but he still liked to raise John’s hackles by trying to dissuade him from the Whig cause, even though John wasn’t a voting Member of Parliament yet. Perhaps he should let Claire talk his brother over. Sometimes she spoke about reform more enthusiastically than John.

The study door was open. Claire was inside, chatting with his brother. Maybe she’d had the same idea.

He greeted Allerton and then settled his hand at the small of Claire’s back, telling her, “I was just looking for you.”

She smiled. “I was looking for you too.”

“You’re welcome,” Allerton grunted. He came around the desk with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to stand for Parliament after all, John.”

No. He was not going to waste his energy arguing today. He turned to Claire. “Would you care to accompany me to the pond?”

“Ahem.”

With reluctance he looked back at Allerton, who smiled devilishly.

His brother held up a roll of paper tied with ribbon. “This was delivered. Letters patent granting you the title Viscount Reyburn, for your services to His Majesty’s government.” Allerton held out the papers. “If you still wish to represent the Whigs, you’ll have to do so in the House of Lords.”

John took the papers, uncertain what to say.

Claire squeezed his arm. “It’s meant as an honor, John, not as another blow to Kensworth.”

He’d never dreamed how comforting it would be to have someone know your thoughts without speaking them. The title
was
an honor, but a bittersweet one. Now it seemed as if he had everything and Kensworth had nothing.

He and Claire had postponed their wedding all these months in order to spare Kensworth more scandal. David had been tried for high treason and, despite his status as Kensworth’s brother and John’s testimony, had been found guilty. He had been hanged less than a week later. Harry Watson had been sentenced to transportation to Van Diemen’s Land.

Kensworth hadn’t spoken to John since that fateful day at the hunting box, though he had responded to a few of Claire’s letters, his despondency more than obvious. He was entirely alone now, as Robert and Mrs. Cahill had removed themselves to France to avoid the scandal.

“You’ll be able to do so much more for reform working in the House of Lords,” Claire remarked.

“Yes, but now I’ll have to face
him
across the benches,” he replied with a nod toward his brother. However, he’d have an opportunity to speak with Kensworth, perhaps to even repair their friendship.

“I will go easy with you for the first few months,” Allerton said. He stuck out his hand. “Thank you for all you’ve done for England. I know you made many sacrifices.”

John shook his hand and finally smiled. “My work has just begun.” He turned to Claire. “The pond?”

Her brown eyes shimmered wickedly. “I would love to.”

They escaped out a side door and headed across the lawn. The pond had become their secret hideaway. They’d found a sheltered grove near the northern edge that allowed them a fair measure of privacy. Not wanting to welcome a scandalously early baby, they always managed to practice a modicum of restraint.

Within the grove, Claire leaned against the nearest oak tree and pulled John close, slipping her hands around his neck. “The wedding is only two weeks away.”

“Mm-hmm,” John murmured, hungrily kissing her jaw.

“Also,” she whispered, “that viscountcy will need an heir.”

He grinned down at her. “I love you.”

Then he sank to the ground, drawing her down atop him, and showed her how much. And indeed, the heir arrived nine months later.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

While the Tories and Whigs played a prominent role in early British politics, they weren’t political parties per se. I took the liberty of making them seem so for this story in order to connect with modern readers. Both names, Tory and Whig, were originally insults hurled by the opposition in the seventeenth century, but they stuck. Neither ever formed into an official party but were instead considered a sentiment, a way of thinking. While families and influential groups often clung to a tradition of one sentiment or the other, they sometimes changed their minds. In general, the Tories were considered more conservative and were associated with Anglicanism (religious conformity) and the squirearchy while the Whigs were considered more liberal and supported the causes of the wealthy merchants and bankers and religious nonconformists. The Whigs were prominent supporters of the anti-slavery movement, Catholic emancipation, and limited parliamentary reform. The Tories, however, had the support of first King George III and then his son, the Prince Regent.