“But you must tell me all,” Carlisle said with a rueful look.
Scarlett came forward on the arm of her dark, imposing chief clerk, Todd Carlton. They were a striking couple, she with her wild auburn hair with traces of fire, and he so dark that he reminded Inès of a monastery near Blois on the Loire, long gone to the vicissitudes of the revolution. The monks there had once worn black robes with black hoods. They grew Vernay grapes along the river and kept to themselves. Many feared them, saying they were the stewards of the devil.
Inès marveled at the two of them, so close physically, so close professionally, so distant—it seemed—romantically. They were not stewards of any devil, but the organizers of Scarlett Hawthorne’s infamous and secret espionage ring. They were not lovers, but colleagues, friends perhaps, each fulfilling the other’s needs in all else. Neither was married, nor had been. Yet Carlton was Scarlett’s constant companion in business and in Society. No other man ever accompanied her. Above all, they acted like a devoted married couple. A mystery to Society, they certainly were.
“We were honored to be invited,” Carlton told Evan and Inès. “We do wish you many years of happiness.”
“Enjoy your new lives,” Scarlett told them both, and shook their hands.
As both excused themselves, Evan murmured for Inès’s ears alone, “Both are enigmas.”
“They seem perfectly suited,” she whispered. “Are you certain they are not intimate?”
“Yes. In all else, but not that.”
Inès leaned closer to her new husband, and the might she felt in his arm made her yearn to leave here. “Let’s go soon.”
He circled one arm around her waist and held her ever so near as a tall, slim man approached. “I wish you to meet the prime minister. Good morning, sir.”
William Pitt, the son of a previous leader of the British, was a pleasant, distinguished man who wished them both great happiness. “Your husband, countess, is invaluable to me.”
She pushed away the irony of that. Today was her wedding day, not one to plan for tomorrow and the horror she would bring to this accomplished politician. “I am so very glad. I find my husband invaluable as well.”
Pitt grinned. “He is a bright fellow with many fabulous ideas.”
“Ah,” said Evan, “would that you thought all of them fabulous.”
“Perhaps I will.” Pitt bowed to Inès. “Forgive me that I depart so soon. I have meetings, and this morning, I am not especially eager for any of them.”
Evan startled, his gaze drifting to the prime minister’s hand pressing into his ribs. “Are you well, sir?”
“Very. Do not trouble yourself with me. A pleasure, madam, to meet you. I will see you often after you return from your honeymoon.”
“I look forward to it, sir.” That was no lie, but the baldest truth delivered in heinous honesty. She could not help it. Here in her midst was the very man who was her quarry. The one she had wished for…and never hoped to corner, let alone meet, and with her husband on her wedding day. Oh, how damned she was! She wanted to run away and hide! Take back her vows! Save her husband from her hideous necessity!
Oh, God! What have I done?
Pitt strode away, his lips drawn tight, the picture of a man in pain.
A hand to her own ribs, Inès doubled over and gasped for breath.
“What’s wrong?” Evan leaned over her.
“I…I must have eaten too many scones. I will be fine. Fine.” She straightened. She had to continue, didn’t she? Find a way to save the man she loved. The one man she loved dearly.
She gazed at him.
“You are sure?” He brushed a tendril from her cheek.
“Very.”
“All right.” He squeezed her hand. “Here are the Ramseys.”
“Well,” Ramsey greeted them in his dark, heavy bass voice, “we hope you both are prepared for your completetransformations.” He, who never looked pleased about much, grinned at them both as he shook hands with Evan and kissed Inès on her cheek. “I wish you every happiness, Inès. You deserve it. Never will I forget what you did for Amber in Paris two years ago.”
“You saved us,” Amber added, and gave Inès a kiss on each cheek.
Evan took that in, and looked as if he were proud of her.
