Page 10 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

“I n that white waistcoat, you might as well be a lighthouse,” Kit said as he pulled open the coach’s door. “And you came with livery?”

“Your note said it was urgent.” Jasper stripped to his shirt sleeves. After rolling them to his elbows, he snatched the lap blanket Annabel had used on their trip home and wound it around his shoulders, hoping to hide the glare of his starched shirt and keep the fog from soaking through his clothes. “I didn’t think to change for a visit to the dockyard.”

Kit cast an eye over the hasty disguise. “That will work so long as the gaslight doesn’t glint off your shoes.”

Jasper wasn’t scuffing his shoes for anyone. “What’s the game?”

Kit looked up at the driver, Lawrence. “Meet us in Hyde Park at the end of Upper Grosvenor, please.”

The mention of Spencer’s street made the walk from the docks to the park more appealing. Still, it was a lonely feeling to watch the easiest way home clatter over the cobblestones and into the shadows.

Home. Until a fortnight ago, Jasper had never thought twice about visiting sources under cover of darkness. Tonight, for a half-second, he’d considered shirking his duty to queen and country—and to Kit—to stay home with his wife. To continue kissing her until she unlocked the door between them and let him into her bed.

“Why are we on the docks in the middle of the night?” Jasper shoved his hands into his coat pockets, seeking what warmth he could find in clothes meant for indoors.

“Abel Collins came ashore from Cardiff a few hours ago.” Kit led the way across the rough streets and made their way to a shabby, but busy, pub. “He’s stopped in here, and as far as I know he hasn’t left.”

“Waiting for the party crowd to clear the streets, no doubt.” Balls went on into the wee hours, mostly because everyone in attendance could sleep until noon.

For years Jasper had teased his grandfather about leaving dances before midnight supper. But the longer he worked in Parliament, the more difficult it had become to keep up with things if he slept the day away. It was a fine balance between what he needed to do in the daylight and what he could learn by lurking in ballrooms.

Tonight, he’d been happy to ignore gathering useful intelligence to ride in Hyde Park alone with Annabel. She’d given him a piece of gossip in return—a mining scheme. Was it a coincidence that Kit was investigating a mine as well?

One of the things he respected the most about her was her mind. She’d proven it tonight with her ability to connect random conversations with something from the newspaper and make a clear decision.

Perhaps her review of his grandfather’s old journals hadn’t been as fruitless as he’d originally thought.

It was an uncomfortable thought, because he wasn’t used to misjudging people and because he didn’t want to misjudge her. Despite their beginnings, despite what he knew of her employer, he didn’t want Annabel to be a spy.

The most redeeming evidence he could point to was her honesty, which was brutal at times. He’d rarely heard a woman be so harsh about her own father.

He and Kit entered the pub and waded through the rowdy crowd to the bar. Whiskeys in hand, they found a table in the corner that gave them a view of the room. Collins was easy to find. He was a large man with a square jaw and a well-tailored but cheap suit.

Jasper fiddled with his glass, spinning it first one way and then the other. He didn’t want to drink it. If he touched his tongue to the correct place on this bottom lip, he could still taste Annabel’s kiss. It had been years since he’d sampled a woman who tasted of innocence and sin at the same time.

“If you don’t drink that, he’s going to get suspicious,” Kit said from behind a smile.

Two young women who were more undressed than not, and who didn’t seem to mind, approached in a practiced amble. Recognizing an opportunity, Jasper gave them his most welcoming smile.

“Hello there, handsome.” The blonde woman dropped into Kit’s lap, causing the table to screech against the floor. “You gents are far too fine for the docks.”

Her red-headed companion tumbled into Jasper, knocking him and his chair against the wall. “That’s a right smart shirt, duck. Looks like Savile Row.”

There was no way to lie his way out of it. Jasper tipped his glass and let the liquor burn a path down his throat. “You have a good eye, my girl.”

“I wasn’t always this.” She winked, and the painted mole near her eye wrinkled. “I’m Sally. This here is Bridget.”

Bridget was already ordering a second round of drinks for the table.

“I’m Edgar,” Jasper said, offering one of his many names. It also belonged to his second favorite, and only exiled, uncle.

“Why’s a toff like you on the docks dressed for a dance, Eddie?”

“My pal Cecil just put his feet on dry land after three years at sea. We made for the first pub we could find.”

It was an easy story to fall back on. They’d done exactly that after Kit returned from the war.

Kit put a sharp elbow in his ribs. “Eddie here got married while I was gone, and his wife is driving him mad. Home life doesn’t suit him.”

It seemed traitorous to laugh the drunk guffaw that was expected, especially in a wrap that still smelled of Annabel’s cologne if he burrowed deep enough, but Jasper did it anyway. He’d been committed to Kit far longer. “She’s got the sharpest wit and the hardest boots I’ve ever seen.” He wiggled his foot, jostling Sally on his lap.

Her heat leached through his trousers and into his knee. The scent of roses and lavender clung to her like a week-old bouquet.

“So you’re down at the docks hiding from a nagging wife and a brood of whiny dukelings?”

Jasper took a sip of his second drink. He needed to keep his wits about him. “I’m not a duke.”

The girl shrugged her thin shoulder. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He lifted the girl and turned her to face him. The position hid his offer of a gold double sovereign and Sally’s wide eyes. “Tell me about the man on the opposite wall, please.”

“The lantern-jawed fella?”

Jasper touched her cheek, coaxing her gaze back to him. Annabel was softer and more delicate. He wanted to be home. “Is he a regular customer?”

Sally nodded. “Every month. Two visits. Once when he docks and again when he leaves the next morning. He gets drunker the second time, but he’s still a cheap bastard.” She rubbed her elbow. “And he’s none too gentle.”

Jasper looked over her shoulder, taking the measure of Collins’s companion. The man was dressed as a dock worker, but he was too clean to have put in a day’s work. “Who is he with?”

“Never seen him before.” This time Sally didn’t turn to stare. “Irish, I think.”

A round of harsh laughter went through the bar as the pretend wharfie slid from his stool and into Collins, spilling both their drinks.

“Thank you.” Jasper took her hand and pressed the coin into it, along with his calling card. “Keep both of these as our secret.”

Kit rapped the table before he stood, practically dumping Bridget onto the floor. Sally scrambled from Jasper so he could do the same. Collins was on the move.

Adopting the loose joints and rubbery limbs of a drunk, Jasper leaned heavily against Kit, and they parted the crowd like a plow through wet soil.

Once outside and away from the pub’s windows, Jasper stood straighter but kept his shoulder to Kit’s. “This seems a rather direct path.”

“Regardless of how he’s going, we suspect where he’ll end up,” Kit whispered. “This way will get you out of the cold more quickly.”

Jasper sighed. “You know, when I look in the mirror every morning, I’d swear I see a full-grown man.”

“Who isn’t dressed for the weather.”

“Because I was in a carriage for less than fifteen minutes with a brick for my feet.” And a warm woman in his arms. “And I had a coat that made you frown not half an hour ago because it couldn’t be disguised.” They dodged a wobbly couple using the wall to make their way home. “Truman would have—”

“Your valet’s name is Travis.”

Dammit. Why did he have such trouble with this? “ Travis would have built me a better disguise if you had told him to or written more than the pub name on your note.”

“There are too many eyes and ears in your house.”

Two too many. “She’s not lurking at doors and reading my mail.”

“That you know of.”

“She’s too busy with the Season.” Jasper smiled. He’d always thought he preferred a quiet house, where life revolved around him. Turned out, the house was more alive when it was full of giggly girls and a wife who read the newspaper after he left for Parliament.

“Speaking of.” Kit pulled him to one side of the street to avoid another couple so far in the shadows it was impossible to tell their intentions. “I’ve been called north tomorrow on business. You’ll be fine on your own?”

Jasper was always impressed at how seriously Kit took the job he’d given himself, but it chafed that he questioned Jasper’s instincts. He wasn’t a daft git with a death wish. “I promise not to get myself hanged while you’re away.”

Gaslights flickered ahead. They veered right to skirt the park and stay unseen. The cobbles smoothed out, allowing them to walk faster. Jasper straightened his posture but kept the blanket over his shoulders.

“Cold?” Kit smirked.

“The fog is clinging,” Jasper replied.

Admitting he was uncomfortable was better than confessing that the wool across his chin reminded him of how it scratched the back of his hand as he’d kissed his wife. She’d squeezed his fingers tightly, as though she were afraid of falling from a cliff—or running toward the edge and taking him with her.

Kit grabbed his elbow and pulled him behind a tree. “The chill has reached your brain.”

They were across from Spencer’s house, where a low light flickered in the window. Sir Reginald was working far into the night for a ceremonial chaplain who had only a handful of parishioners.

They didn’t have to wait long. Collins strolled down the street as though it was the middle of the day and he was headed to market. He rapped on Spencer’s door and was admitted without delay.

I have Some exploSive goSSip to Share…

Kit was right. Wales, Collins, the pub, the odd capitalization in Gareth’s letter—everything pointed to an alliance with Spencer. A plot Gareth should have never been aware of, much less involved in.

“We have him,” Jasper whispered as he watched the light in the window. A thrill shot through him, akin to aiming at his prey at the end of a hunt. If he couldn’t guarantee a completely honest Parliament, at least one rotter would be gone.

“We have him drinking with a business acquaintance after the gentleman arrived on the last ship from Wales,” Kit said. “We have a good start, but we need more answers.”

Minutes ticked by before Collins left the house, patting his vest pocket before he turned back toward the docks, his shoulders back and his chin high, tipping his hat to every passing carriage.

The house went dark.

Jasper met Kit’s steady stare. “Why the hell is Spencer sending money to Cardiff?”

The glint in Kit’s eyes was lethal. “And where is it coming from?”

*

“Freddie said his lordship came home at dawn, smelling of cheap women and cheaper rum.”

Annabel dropped against her pillows. It was one thing to hope her husband visited another woman rather than plotted to bring down the government, but it was quite another to hear the maids giggling over it. And yet another still to realize he’d chosen the docks for his dalliance.

“Perhaps you should wonder how young Frederick knows the scent of either,” Barnes snapped in time with her heels on the floorboards. “And if you insist on gossiping like girls in school, move away from her ladyship’s door.”

The latch rattled, and Annabel slipped her fingers beneath her eyes to make sure there were no misguided tears. She’d told Jasper to carry on as he had been. There was no reason to weep when he did it.

The girls scurried away before Barnes opened the bedroom door and entered, carrying a breakfast tray. “You’re awake, then.”

“It’s difficult to lie about with music lessons going on downstairs.” As if to prove her point, the battle between Jane and the piano began anew. Annabel forced a smile and swung her legs over the bed. “I’m perfectly capable of sitting at a table.”

“I thought you might want stay upstairs after last night.” Barnes blinked, and color stained her cheeks. “Your feet must ache—”

“I know you mean well, Barnes, but please don’t coddle me. His lordship…” Annabel paused with one arm in her favorite dressing gown, made of jade-green silk. She could either ease her maid’s mind or keep her agreement with her husband. “His lordship and I are both satisfied with our marriage.”

She sat at the table, and Barnes squeezed her hand before she poured coffee. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer tea, my lady?”

I’m certain I wish you would call me Annabel. “I am.” She poured a liberal amount of cream over the coffee and then dropped a cube of sugar into the cup. The square disappeared with a plop that sent the lighter color swirling toward the rim. Just the scent of it made her relax. “It was wonderful to sleep later than normal, though. Last night was exhausting.”

She’d woken with every creak in the floor, wondering if Jasper had returned. At dawn, she’d vowed to never spend another night like that again. She was not going to mope about the house and add kindling to the gossipy fire. She had a job to do.

More than one.

“I need to get started with my day. Mrs. Ferrand expects me for her charity luncheon.” Her social correspondence lay next to a plate of toast, eggs, and bacon. Annabel set the invitations aside in favor of the newspaper. “His lordship has left for Parliament, then?”

“He has, my lady.”

She ignored Barnes’s pity-filled glance as she opened the newspaper. It was only available to her once Stapleton determined it was no longer useful to Jasper. Still, reading about Parliament made Annabel believe she was learning something about the man she’d worried over all night. Even if it was only that he would be out of the house for the day.

“Thank you, Barnes.”

“Of course, my lady.” Barnes backed toward the door and left the room.

“I’m not the bloody queen,” Annabel mumbled as she scanned the headlines. She wasn’t even a real marchioness. It was only a title—a job—and a temporary one at that.

She ate while reading, gathering information about London and beyond, seeing familiar names and events, and reading complaints about the collection and allocation of the taxes. There was one story about how one poorer area of the city wasn’t seeing the improvements they’d been promised.

Another headline hinted at new unrest in Wales, tying it to mining wages and safety. Many miners, widows of miners, and mine owners felt overlooked in recent policy decisions.

Could it be that Jasper was behind the mining scheme meant to snare London’s greediest and most desperate investors? Had her father approached him, or had it been the other way around? And had she shown her hand when she explained her reasoning for it being a bad investment?

Perhaps he’d kissed her as a distraction, and his pleasure in it had been an act.

Annabel turned the page. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, pondering the meaning of that kiss. She had wasted a good sleep, and she wasn’t about to ruin a lovely day.

It was just a kiss. It had meant little to Jasper, so it should mean nothing to her.

She’d find the truth for Spencer, and he could either accept it or choke on it. It was time to accept that truth herself. She wouldn’t spend any more time here than necessary. It would be painful to leave, she already knew that, but it would be less painful if she hurried.

Society’s most scandalous marchioness made a cracking debut…

Annabel folded the paper, careful to put the gossip on the inside. No matter what had happened after the ball, or in the future, she’d meant what she’d told Jasper. He and his family had been kind to her when they didn’t have to be. Chippenham had insulted them, and she’d made him pay for it. She’d never be upset about how their dance had ended.

For sale, library of well-established collector. Varied titles include geography, science, and world history as well as popular novels. Several first editions available. Well curated and in impeccable condition. Buyers for the entire collection preferred, but a piecemeal sale will be considered. Inquire: Patton Booksellers, 14 Charlton Street, London.

She flipped the paper over to hide the announcement. She’d known her father would be forced to sell their library. Other than the entailed property, and the home the family now lived in, it was their largest asset. Still, seeing the advertisement was like reading the obituary of a dear friend. The only consolation was that she’d known Cleo Patton at school, and she knew the library was in safe hands.

For the second time that morning, Annabel dried her tears before they could make her eyes red. The best way to recover from grief was to face her responsibilities.

The stack of correspondence had grown every day since her wedding. It was taller today than yesterday, which was surprising, given last night. Even more stunning were the letters from women who applauded her reaction, women whose names she recognized, who had watched her leave the dance floor.

After accepting their invitations and a few others that interested her, she chose a visiting dress from the wardrobe and rang the bell for Barnes’s help in dressing and pinning her braids in the style she preferred.

As she slipped into her coat, the piano lessons had changed from a fight to a duet. Johanna was at the keyboard now.

Annabel stopped in the music room, where Jane was sitting with Rachel and Rebecca, who were yet to begin their lessons. The girls’ furtive whispers stopped when they saw her, and Annabel’s suspicions flared. She recognized a plot when she saw one, but she had no time to discover it this morning.

“Good morning, Lady Ramsbury.” Rebecca’s lips twisted around the words.

Rachel stood and enveloped her in a hug that made it seem they’d been separated for years instead of hours. “Pay her no mind, Annabel. She’s always sour lately.”

Annabel closed her hand over Jane’s shoulder. “How were your lessons, Jane?” Perhaps if she acted as though she had enjoyed the morning’s off-kilter serenade, the girl would gain some confidence.

“Awful.” Jane stared across the room as her sister played an intricate melody next to their smiling instructor. “He never smiles when I play.”

Oh dear . Annabel looked again. As focused as Johanna was on the keys, Jane was focused on the man turning the pages. He was young, and handsome enough to turn a lady’s eye, but Countess Lambourn wouldn’t take to a piano teacher as a son-in-law.

It was something else to solve. “I’ll return after luncheon. Enjoy your lessons.” She knew the routine for the day. Music, then dancing while the piano master was here to provide the accompaniment. After that, luncheon would include comportment and ballroom etiquette, followed by French.

It had been tiring to plan. It would be exhausting to do. But Rebecca and Rachel had much to learn, especially since a second Season wasn’t guaranteed.