To Wed a Scandalous Spy (16 page)

The Chamber in the dusty depths of Westminster Palace was unchanged from the last time Nathaniel had been there—a bit mustier, perhaps. Nathaniel was fairly certain that the Lion had been smoking in there again. Hopefully, the Prime Minister's more elder nose would not pick up the scent.

Nathaniel seated himself in the Cobra's chair. The Falcon and the Lion were already there, as was Lord Liverpool, who had once been the Cobra, before stepping "down" to serve as Prime Minister of England.

Of course, Liverpool wasn't seated at the table, although Nathaniel saw him eyeing the Cobra's chair. Was that misty longing he saw in the Prime Minister's eyes, or was it the dust lining the carving that was upsetting the man?

Nathaniel was well aware he was a second-string selection for the Cobra. Dalton Montmorency, Lord Etheridge, had been Liverpool's chosen successor. The Prime Minister had still not forgiven Dalton for stepping down to lead the Liar's Club when Simon Raines had chosen to leave for his lady.

Still, second-string or no, Nathaniel was the Cobra now, with all the power and burdens the seat bestowed. The honor was stunning and the onus backbreaking, but nothing could ever convince Nathaniel that it wasn't worth every abysmal hour of disgrace. He
was
the Cobra, no doubts, no regrets.

Liverpool was addressing the Three. "Sir Foster might try to contact the Cobra on his own. He ran before the final confrontation, so he could have no way of knowing how the Knights of the Lily met their end. He may well still believe the Cobra is loyal to the French." He turned his gaze to Nathaniel exclusively. "You could act accordingly in public. It may reassure him that he can approach you."

Nathaniel only nodded respectfully at Liverpool's managing tone. Rank was a delicate matter. The Prime Minister was only too aware that he was here only in an advisory capacity. There was nothing to be won by rubbing the man's nose in his voluntary demotion.

Not unless Nathaniel disagreed with him, at any rate.

"For the first order of business, I would like to announce that I will marry shortly."

The congratulations were warm, but Nathaniel could see the doubt his words had caused in the other two and Liverpool. "Yes, I know it is sudden. I met her upon the road to London, about the time I lost Foster…" Perhaps the less said about how, the better.

"She is from the country then," stated Liverpool. "Does she know of your current position in Society?"

Thinking of the mud streaming down Willa's hair, Nathaniel nodded shortly. "She does now."

"Hmm," was all Liverpool said.

The Lion reached across the table to shake Nathaniel's hand. "My best wishes for you both."

The Falcon did as well, although perhaps a bit more soberly. "I hope you will have a smooth life together."

Nathaniel twisted his lips wryly at the Falcon's choice of words. "I don't think that's too likely, do you?"

Liverpool leaned forward. "Are you sure she's simply some country miss? The enemy knows you are in a vulnerable position for this sort of thing—"

"If you are implying that she was thrown into my path, I can assure you, it was the other way around," Nathaniel said warningly.

"I think we've a good start to the Foster matter," the Falcon interjected smoothly. "But what of this Chimera?"

"Who?" Nathaniel asked.

"The unknown master of the French espionage activities in London," the Falcon explained. When Nathaniel only blinked at him, he shrugged. "Well, the operatives had to call him something!"

The Lion grinned. "The Liars have nicknamed the bastard, by God!"

The Three laughed at that. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw Liverpool grow stiffer and more rigid. Well, too bloody bad. With old Lord Barrowby out of the Chamber and Liverpool out of the Four, this was a younger man's game now. He, the Lion, and the Falcon were in their prime. The Royal Four could only be expected to become livelier by nature.

Still, best not antagonize the Prime Minister over nothing. Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Tabling the Chimera for now, since we don't know goose scat about the man, I read here in this report that Denny, Simon Raines's former valet, is still missing?" The fellow had disappeared when it had been discovered he had been leaking information.

The Falcon nodded. "The Liars haven't been able to find him."

The Lion looked skeptical. "Have they really tried, do you think? After all, he was practically one of the club for years."

Nathaniel shook his head. "You don't know the Liars. When one of their own jumps the Channel, they double their hunting frenzy."

The Lion nodded thoughtfully. "So it is safe to say that this Denny has indeed joined the other side?"

The Falcon grunted in agreement. "That or he's hiding out in some far corner of Wales."

The Lion turned a page in the Liars' report before them. "But they don't believe this Ren Porter is a danger?"

Nathaniel leaned closer to peer at the page. "What is this about Ren Porter?"

The Falcon blinked. "Didn't you hear of this? Oh, that's right. You've, been off on your estate since before he woke up."

"He woke up?" Nathaniel remembered Ren from their youth. He'd been a cheerful, curly-haired lad then. Later, he'd been one of the Liars betrayed by the club manager, Jackham. He was left for dead a few months earlier and no one thought he'd ever regain consciousness, but the Liars had arranged for some excellent nursing and it had apparently paid off.

"What happened to him?" Nathaniel asked.

The Falcon tapped his finger on the paper. "Shortly after he awoke, he disappeared. Apparently after a visit from Mr. Jackham."

"Co-conspirators, then?"

The Lion shook his head. "Not according to the Liars. They think Jackham may have taken advantage of Ren's muddled state to turn him away from the Liars, but they're hoping he'll find his way home."

Nathaniel rubbed his chin. "The Liars aren't beginning to leak a bit around the edges, are they?"

The Falcon shook his head quickly, frowning at Nathaniel. "The Liars are as strong as they were in your father's time as spymaster, if not stronger. The new training program is showing excellent results as well."

Nathaniel waved a hand, conceding the point. His personal feelings about the Liars had no place in the Chamber; he knew that.

"The next point of order is the Voice of Society," the Lion interjected smoothly. "The Voice still knows more than it should."

The Falcon nodded. "While the Voice is an irritant, it has never divulged enough to do real damage. Somehow, it is acquiring mangled rumor and hearsay, not facts. There is little we can do about the Voice as yet. It continues to disappear from one news sheet as soon as we begin to investigate, only to pop up somewhere else."

The Prime Minister shifted in his chair. "I say we penalize any paper that prints that tripe! Fine them if they run the Voice, and fine them if they run that liberal propagandist Underkind as well."

The Falcon studied the arched ceiling, and the Lion made no attempt to hide his grin. Nathaniel turned to Liverpool. "Mr. Underkind's cartoons are the least of our concerns at the moment, I would say. Besides, I believe Etheridge has Underkind covered."

A strangled sound came from the Falcon, surprising Nathaniel. Was that a laugh? Impossible. The Falcon
never
laughed.

Nathaniel continued. "As for fining the news sheets, I don't think they'll concede to the pressure. They make so much money from any edition that carries the Voice that it would be difficult to make it worth their while to stop."

He turned back to the three. "No, it seems we must tackle this issue from the other end. Finding Foster—"

"And Denny," added the Falcon.

"And Denny," conceded Nathaniel, "will make finding the Chimera much simpler."

He looked at the other Two. The words went unspoken, but he knew they all thought them.

We hope.

«
^
»

Across the street from Reardon House, hidden in the shadows of Grosvenor Park, a man watched. He didn't belong there, so he was careful not to be seen, but other cares—hunger, chill, weariness—were of no moment to him.

All he could feel was the darkness within. Betrayal. Vengeance. He turned the word over and over in his mind, polishing it until it shone like a fine piece of jet.

He'd lost everything. There was nowhere left for him to go, no life left for him to live. There was only perfect vengeance.

Of course, this vengeance could include several individuals, but none of them had escaped the hand of the law or of repentance. Only Reardon, the turncoat, only he had lost nothing. Reardon had kept his rank, his wealth, his life. And now he had the girl as well.

So much for a liar and a traitor.

Yet nothing for him. Except vengeance.

There were noises. Rustling, bustling noises. Doors opening and closing. Willa snuggled more deeply into the profound comfort of her bed.

No.

I am not waking up. I refuse.

Finally, the sound of water being poured. It had a galvanizing effect on her bladder. Now she had to wake up.

With a grumpy flounce, Willa flung back the covers and scowled at the bright daylight peeking through the slits in her bed draperies. Then came the fragrance of fine tea, such as she had not had for years, and forgiveness bloomed in her heart for the intruder.

"Miss? Will you be wantin' to rise now?" The soft voice came from outside the drapery to Willa's right.

Willa opened her mouth to agree, but nothing came out. Oh, she had forgotten. Her voice was gone. She rolled over to thrust her head out between the draperies.

It was very bright in the room. She blinked at the daylight streaming through the windows at a high slant. It must be near noon.

How astounding. The last time she had slept so late, she had been too ill from fever to do anything else.

"Good morning, miss. I've hot tea for you if you'd like."

Willa swiveled her head to see the pretty maid from her bath the night before standing pertly beside a lovely silver tea service on a table.

The girl was close to her own age, and her cheerful smile made the last of Willa's morning grouch slip away. She gave the girl a grin and a nod and popped back under her covers and settled against the pillows. She'd never had the luxury of being waited on like this, so why not savor every moment?

After pulling aside the draperies with brisk efficiency, the maid turned to prepare a cup of steaming tea for Willa.

"Would you like sweetening, miss? Milk?" She appeared puzzled when Willa only shook her head.

Raising her hand to her throat, Willa reminded her of its soreness, and the girl's face brightened.

"Oh, then the tea should help considerable, miss. Let's get some in you straightaway."

The tea was poured with more elegant economy of motion, and soon Willa was rolling the lovely hot stuff over her tongue and letting it slide soothingly down her sore throat.

"Is it helping, miss? Would you like some more?"

Oh, heaven. Willa decided she could definitely become used to this. What indulgence, never even having to pour one's own tea.

After two fabulous cups, Willa couldn't deny her bladder any longer. With a careful clearing of her throat, she ventured to speak.

"May I be alone for a moment, please?" Her voice was faint, not more than a whisper really.

The maid smiled. "If you need the chamber pot, there's one beneath the bed."

The necessities taken care of, Willa contemplated the inspiring possibility of staying in bed for a while. Then her stomach growled, reminding her how long it had been since she'd had a proper hot meal. In a place this fine, surely breakfast would be a memorable experience. Time to get dressed.

In the meantime, there was no choice but to redon her muslin, which Lily had brushed and pressed as well as possible. Oh well. There was nothing to be done for it.

This was Nathaniel's family, soon to be her own. They would no doubt understand. She was quickly cheered by that thought, not a difficult thing, since nothing was likely to keep her down for long, now that she had finally come to see London.

Following the directions given by Lily, she tripped lightly down the stairs that had almost vanquished her yesterday. Passing the odious butler in the hall, she sent him a sunny smile, just because he looked so very sour.

Stopping before a set of double doors, carved from a lovely golden wood, Willa hesitated. She wished Nathaniel were with her.

But she had never feared strangers, and she'd best not start being timid now, not when she had the entire city to meet.

She thrust open the door and entered with a determined smile on her face.

There wasn't a soul in the room. There was, however, a sideboard of steaming breakfast offerings. Eggs and sausage and light white rolls. The smell drew her like it had her on a hook.

Suddenly glad that no one was there to see her gluttony, she grabbed a plate and filled it to overflowing. After days of traveling food, this was heaven. There were even some things she had never seen before, fishy things and something else swimming in a custard sauce, but Willa decided to save trying them for later.

Right now, she was more interested in making speedy inroads into her heaped plate. Plunking herself down at the table, she began busily forking it in.

Clumsy with hunger, she knocked a roll from her plate and sent it to the floor. Hurriedly she scooted her chair back and leaned for the roll, only to find that she had kicked it farther under the table.

Getting out of her chair altogether, Willa knelt to crawl after the bun. She had just reached it when she heard the opening of the door and the rustling of skirts.

"My gracious! How… how uncouth!"

Of course, someone would come in now.
Not
a moment ago while she had been seated quite decorously at the table.
Not
two seconds from now, when she would have been there once more.

No, they had to come in now, while Willa's rear end wriggling under the tablecloth was the first sight that would greet their eyes.