Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (8 page)

“I doubt Erikson was working alone. I fear the real danger is still coming from within our own ranks.”

“There are only a dozen of us. I hate to think who it might be. Neil Taylor saved my life. Andrew Carson got me out of a dicey situation. Wilfred Isley lied to the authorities to give me an alibi. Every one of our men has proven their loyalty.”

“So had Erikson.” Was it a coincidence that Archer had named the men whose loyalty Ryan questioned? Or was it just an indication of how jaded and disillusioned he’d become that he suspected them all, and, as painful as it was, Archer, too?

Archer nodded and stood. “War is an ugly business, is it not?” He withdrew a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Ryan. “For you, Sutton, from Miss. Sullivan. By the by, I thought you were going to find another drop point. Any luck there?”

“As much as I’d like to eliminate it, Oak Hill is far too convenient and private to give up. There hasn’t been the least suspicion there, and that is the most important factor.” He slipped the letter in his vest pocket for later perusal.

“Will you be with us for a while? I feared, when I heard about Erickson and then you were summoned to Rotterdam, that you were being sent back. I must say that I’m relieved ’twas Cooper and not you.”

“It would appear I’ll be here indefinitely.” Ryan gave him a wry smile and stood to straighten his vest and button his jacket. The night was young, and he still had to make appearances at several affairs.

“I hope you will not think me impertinent, but you look as if you could use some rest. Would that have something to do with Miss Turner?”

“Faith! The things I do for my country!” Ryan sighed.

“I’ll take your job, Sutton,” the courier offered with a grin.

And suddenly Ryan realized that the price of information from the Privy Council had become too steep. He was sick to death of it. “I will be pleased to perform the introduction, Archer. But be warned. Janet Turner will be the death of you. If she doesn’t kill you with her excessive demands, her penchant for nearly public places will get you discovered.”

“Would old Roddy Peele finish me off if he finds out?”

Ryan grinned. “That might be easier.”

“I hear Lady Janet has some very odd tastes, Major. ’Tis said that if Roddy died with a stiffened shaft, she’d lift her skirts and sit upon it, thinking it madly exciting to mount a corpse.”

Ryan gave a rueful shake of his head. “I would put very little past Miss Turner.”

“I’ve heard even stranger tales.” Archer laughed.

Ryan crossed to the door. “I will not confirm gossip, Captain. Patriotism costs me dear enough as it is. But I’m done. Something has changed.” And then he realized what that something was.

Emily Nevins.

Chapter Eight

“Enchanted,” their host, Lord Kendell, pronounced before he lifted Emily’s hand to his lips. “Save a dance for me, dear child.”

She rather liked him. Sixtyish, sporting an elaborate powdered wig, and the possessor of a rounded belly, he was reminiscent of a jovial grandfather.

For the next hour she was introduced to a long procession of “Your Graces,“ “Lords” and “Sirs.” Some of them studied her with masked interest behind bland eyes. Some seemed disposed to a casual regard. Hiding any genuine emotion behind an air of indifference appeared to be the order of the day.

There were unlimited opportunities to ask questions here, but Emily schooled herself to caution. If it should be repeated to Mr. Dodge that she was asking questions about his character, finances, and dealings, she could be subject to a very ugly scene. But it was the only way she could think of to find out what the man was up to.

Aside from Lord Kendell, she rather liked Lord Rodney Peele. He was a fiftyish jolly sort and very good humored. He reminded her a little of Squire Davis and a little of how her father might have been had he lived to Lord Peele’s age. He was with a woman half his age—Miss Janet Turner—and Emily found the woman unsettling. She was a vision in gold, from her shining blond hair to the tip of her golden slippers.

Emily had heard whispers that the woman was Lord Peele’s mistress, and that his wife was sickly and rarely left their home.

“Beautiful, is she not?” Lord Peele murmured when Miss Turner was whisked from their group to dance.

“Very,” Emily answered honestly. Janet was everything Emily was not—blonde, stunningly beautiful, vivacious, and confident.

“So full of life and energy.” Lord Peele’s gaze followed Miss Turner. “Men envy me.”

“Then you are fortunate to have won her.”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Janet’s reputation is not quite acceptable, if you know what I mean, but I would have her no matter.”

Emily supposed it would be bad form to remind the man that he already had a wife. “Then you must be a happy man to have your heart’s desire.”

He patted her hand and gave her a wistful smile. “You have much to learn, Miss Nevins. One’s greatest desire is often one’s curse as well.”

The thought of Ryan Sutton flashed through her mind. “I shall try to remember that, Lord Peele.”

“Never mind. Will you honor me with this dance, Miss Nevins?”

She curtsied. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Peele.”

“You must call me Roddy. Or Peele, if you’d rather. Everyone does.”

She took his offered arm, ready to proceed with her purpose of coming to London. “I’m so glad you asked me to dance, Lord…Peele, because I understand you are a friend of my sponsor, Mr. Henry Dodge.” In truth, she had no way of knowing who might be a friend to Mr. Dodge, but a bold bluff was her best ploy.

“Dodge? Why, yes. I am acquainted with the man, but I would hardly call our relationship a friendship.” He led her into a minuet.

“Then you know him through business?”

“Not precisely, my dear. He is an investor in a few of the same enterprises I am. Does quite well.”

“I am certain his clients are pleased that he invests their money well. I know I am.”

“Oh, to be sure. But I believe the money he invests in this particular enterprise is his own.”

“And he does well?”

“Better than my own solicitor.”

Emily smiled sweetly as Lord Peele passed her under his arm. She didn’t know what to make of this information, but she had asked all she dared without arousing suspicion. She would have to find out more from other sources.

After Lord Peele, she was passed to Mr. Fredrick Albright for a dance, then Sir Edmund Jennings. Once again, she smiled ingenuously as the lanky man with sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes led her through the steps of an allemande.

“Sir Edmund, I must tell you how pleased I am that you asked me to dance. I understand you are a personal friend of my sponsor, Mr. Henry Dodge.”

“Do you?” The young man smiled. “Who told you that, I wonder?”

She frowned. “Hmm. I cannot recall. I’ve met so many people this evening, ’tis impossible to keep them all straight. Was I misinformed?”

“Henry Dodge and I are…acquainted,” he admitted.

“Have you met his daughter, Miss Theodora?”

“I have had that pleasure.”

“We are having quite a good time this evening. I do not mind telling you that I was reluctant to come to town, but I am finding the entertainments here vastly amusing.”

“I was under the impression that you were a fairly recent arrival. What have you done whilst here, Miss Nevins?”

“Shopping, riding lessons, and walking in Hyde Park, trips to the dressmaker, an excursion to Covent Garden, and a very little sight-seeing. I hope to do more before I return to Sussex.”

“Parliament, Westminster—that sort of thing?” he asked.

She nodded. Sir Edmund was going to be difficult to lead. Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t try.

She could feel herself blushing when his glance snagged on her décolletage. She resisted the temptation to look down to be certain she did not expose more than the dressmaker had intended. There was nothing she could do but endure his attention with good grace and resolve to attend her wardrobe the moment she could.

“I hope I will be seeing you at other events, Miss Nevins. You are not returning to…?”

“Sussex,” she supplied.

He smiled. “
Sussex
anytime soon?”

“I cannot say precisely when I shall leave, but I cannot think I’ll be in London more than a fortnight.”

His left eyebrow quirked. “Hmm. Then we shall have to think of some compelling reason for you to stay longer. A fortnight is scarce long enough to find your way, let alone become acquainted.”

“Alas, Sir Edmund. I have responsibilities at home. But Sussex is not far. I shall be returning on occasion.”

He inclined his head with a teasing smile. “I suppose I must learn to be content with that, Miss Nevins. It will tax me, but I shall bear up. I am certain you will make the most of the time you have. May I ask where you are staying during your visit?”

“With my trustee, Mr. Dodge.”

“Ah, of course.”

The dance ended, and Sir Edmund returned her to her group. When he bowed, she was a little sorry to see him go. She rather liked him.

Her next partner was Lord Jonah Devaux, a roguishly good-looking man of twenty-eight or nine, who swept her into a quadrille before she could demure, a spark of amusement lighting his hazel eyes.

“You may commence with your gratitude, Miss Nevins. Feel free to express it in any way you choose.”

“Pardon me?” Emily blinked, wondering if she had missed something.

“For rescuing you from that pack of wolves out there.” He tilted his head to indicate the men milling near the dance floor. “And thus for saving your feet from complete ruination. They’re wretched dancers, every one of them, so you’re much better off with me.”

“Ah!” She hid her smile and gave a regal nod. “Well, then, Lord Devaux, please accept my boundless appreciation.”

“Prithee, do not mention it.”

“I would not have, had you not asked for it.”

He grinned at her in such a boyishly charming way that she laughed. For all his teasing, Lord Devaux appeared to be a gentleman.

“I say, Miss Nevins, that’s a becoming piece of frippery you’ve got on. Shows you to good advantage, if I may say so.”

She laughed at this rough honesty. He and Squire Davis would have gotten along quite well despite their difference in age. “You are the only man who
has
said so. The others have not mentioned my gown at all.”

He passed her under his arm and made a low bow. “Well, they aren’t blind, so they must be…er, undone when they look. A man hates to be caught at attention, as it were. You bring a man’s blood up, Miss Nevins. Indeed, you do.”

Emily knew she should be shocked. She was certain Theodora would have swooned. “And you, Lord Devaux? You are different from the others?”

“Never think it! What makes me unique, Miss Nevins, is that I admit it. You are a damned fine-looking little wench, and I’d crawl across a burning desert to get at you.”

She dipped in a low curtsy at the end of the dance. “Burning deserts are a rarity in England, my lord, and I do not know you well enough to know whether I’d require that of you. Such drastic measures may not be necessary.”

He blinked in surprise. “Gads! Dance with me again, Miss Nevins?”

“Delighted. But only one more.” The next tune was a sedate minuet that would give her the chance to question him without others overhearing.

“Have you met my sponsor, Mr. Henry Dodge?”

“Dodge? Why, yes, I have. Met him a season or two ago.”

She could tell from his expression that he was holding back. “What do you think of him, my lord?”

“Bit of a prig, if you ask me. Not quite the thing.”

“How did he gain entry into society if he is ‘not quite the thing?’”

“Money, Miss Nevins, and his daughters. No comelier females since Job’s daughters. The wife must have been a rare beauty, because none of them favor their father. His presence has been endured for their sake. Miss Theodora is the last of them, but she is quite off-putting. Takes after her father in that regard.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And look here!” Jonah smiled down at her. “Now that he’s running out of daughters, he’s come up with a ward to outshine them all.”

“That is kind of you to say.”

“Not kind at all. It’s the plain truth.”

“What will happen to Mr. Dodge when he has no daughters or wards left? Will he cease to get invitations?”

“His money is almost as attractive as his daughters. Some will take that into account when making their guest lists, eh?”

“Just how much money does one need for that sort of consideration, my lord?”

“Heaps. More than the ordinary solicitor could scrape together.”

Emily nodded. The Dodge home on a fashionable London square, horses, coaches, Theodora’s gowns and jewelry and the servants had all seemed extravagant to her. Especially in view of her own enforced penury. Dodge’s practice must be thriving to provide such an income.

Halfway through the dance, Lord Devaux pinched her waist. “Damn me! They were right. No corset. I just lost ten pounds.”

“Pardon me?”

“We were taking wagers. Never mind. I’ll win it back.”

Taking wagers about her lack of underclothes?
Embarrassment recalled her natural reserve, and her cold mask dropped into place. “Indeed? And how will you redeem yourself, my lord?”

“I’ve made you angry. My most abject apologies, Miss Nevins. If it makes you feel any better, I am about to wager you are not the only female present un-corseted in order to recoup my losses. To prove my claim, I shall have to dance with every female in attendance.”

“And will your fellows accept your word?”

He laughed. “You must not understand the nature of a sporting wager. Should I find another un-corseted woman, I shall report it, and they will appoint another to dance with the woman to represent their interests. Pity me, Miss Nevins. My feet will suffer greatly on your account.”

Emily heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I forgive you, then, but only because you will pay so dear a price for it.”

He bowed and kissed her hand. “May I call upon you, Miss Nevins?”

“You may address your request to my sponsor, Mr. Dodge. You have
my
permission, Lord Devaux.”

Again he bowed, this time with a courtly flourish.

Emily watched him go, a little disappointed. Of the potential callers she had referred to Mr. Dodge, he was the only one she cared to see again. She’d already danced with him twice, so unless she decided to risk Theodora’s scorn and utter ruination, she would have to avoid him the rest of the evening.

Temporarily alone, she made her way to the punch bowl and took a cup from a solicitous servant. She drank it in a single gulp and reached for another.

“Drinking again, Miss Nevins?”

She didn’t have to turn. She would recognize the deep voice with the seductive drawl in the dark. Shivers ran up her spine, and her heartbeat accelerated. She assumed her most dazzling smile as she turned. “Mr. Button, what a surprise. Is there some reason I should avoid the punch bowl? Have you been here first?”

“Sutton,” he corrected with a laugh. “And ’twas you who drugged the drink that night. Have you eaten, Miss Nevins?”

His crooked grin nearly undid her. “I’ve not had a chance.”

“I thought not. I arrived an hour ago, and I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to find you at liberty since. There are some things we should discuss. May I escort you to the buffet?”

How could she refuse him? She took his offered arm and strolled with him in the direction of the dining room.

“You look fit, Miss Nevins, no limp discernible. A little thin, mayhap,” he commented. “I like what you’ve done with your hair. The curls make you look almost girlish.”

“Not at all long in the tooth, you mean? I am well, thank you.”

He laughed. “I’ve thought of you often. Are you having a good time?”

“Jolly.”

“I somehow doubt you, Miss Nevins. It must cost you dearly to be away from Oak Hill.”

“I have borne up under the burden, sir.”

“You’ve been discreet, and I thank you for that.”

“What would you do if you thought—?”

Ryan halted. He glanced down at her leg, shrouded in layers of petticoats. “‘Are you healing well?”

She glanced sideways at him. Had that simple question been a warning? If she talked, there could be another wound? She knew him capable of it, yet she knew it was a hollow threat. After all, he’d taken pains to avoid harming her.

The weight of his gaze made her aware that he was studying her gown with intense interest. Remembering Sir Edmund’s distracted glance and Lord Devaux’s rough honesty, she challenged him. “Do you like my gown, sir? ’Tis not like any of my country garb.”

He grinned. “I like your country garb better.”