Penhurst smiled, then turned his head to stare out of the window. ‘Of course not. I am merely suggesting that if anything interesting comes up in conversation then you should subtly delve a bit deeper and share your findings with us. Your dearest friends. We all enjoy a bit of gossip now and then.’
This claim, from a man who rarely deigned to speak to her, was laughable. Yet true to form, he was already displaying all the signs of his usual aloofness, rudely presenting his back to both Clarissa and his wife signalling he was done with the conversation because he found the sight of the familiar streets of Mayfair more diverting than he did them. But then again, he found everything more diverting than poor Penny. Clarissa’s mind was whirring. Penhurst had been uncharacteristically civil and interested. The timing surely wasn’t coincidental?
She tried to banish the thought as soon as it entered her mind, but Seb’s talk about smugglers infiltrating the highest echelons of society had coloured her thoughts and, despite knowing she was being ridiculously fanciful, her suspicions were aroused. Penhurst was a foul individual with dubious morals. He dallied openly with several mistresses here in town while poor Penny lived mostly alone on his Sussex estate with their young son. While she was sure her friend knew of his infidelity, becauseeveryoneknew of his infidelity, they had never discussed it. Nor had they ever discussed the bruises which marred her skin or the lack of sparkle in her dear friend’s eyes since she had become the viscount’s wife two years ago. As awful as it was, just as Clarissa had cautioned before the wedding, Penhurst had been a fortune hunter and his interest in his bride had been purely financial. Once he had control of that impressive dowry, he had immediately stopped being the ardent suitor. The switch had been abrupt and cold. Instantaneous. To such an extent, a very different viscount had walked out of the church from the amiable groom who had arrived. Was it too fanciful to believe that vile, selfish, money-grabbing man was capable of aiding smugglers for his own gain as well as being a callous bully? Probably. But since meeting a genuine spy, something she had never expected to happen in her wildest dreams, Clarissa couldn’t help wondering why Penhurst was suddenly keen to hear gossip. And from her. His suddenlydearestfriend.
* * *
Seb was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, but Westbridge was front and centre as always. Disloyally, the first word which popped into her head waspeacockand she quickly banished that, too. As a duke, he was bound to stand out and as others sought his favour there was no point hiding in the alcove. She had never hidden there either through choice for much the same reasons, so she could hardly castigate Westbridge for doing the same. Although alcoves now certainly had their charm, especially as she had come to realise they were exciting places to be. In the right company.
Handsome, tough, brave and endearingly shy spies hid in the shadows.
Her eyes did a quick sweep of the secluded corners for Seb and when she drew a blank, Clarissa allowed her feet to take her on a course towards her would-be fiancé. Her Duke smiled appreciatively as she approached and lingered over kissing her hand. She willed herself to feel the same peculiar heated fizzle she had with her spy and experienced a moment of disappointment when nothing happened.
‘Will you grant me the first waltz?’
It was progress, although nowhere near the level of possessiveness she needed to evoke. A truly besotted man would insist on both waltzes. Every waltz from this point forward. Till death do us part. ‘Alas, I have already promised that honour to Lord Millcroft.’ If he ever turned up. ‘But the second is yours. As always.’ She enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his expression cloud with jealousy. Barely two days in and her new plan was working wonders and for the first time in weeks, she was enjoying being at a function. ‘Talking of Lord Millcroft—have you seen him?’ Clarissa let her gaze wander on purpose; letting her Duke know that he wasn’t the sole occupant of her thoughts.
‘No. And nor do I want to. He is too brash for my liking. Too confident for a man of his rank.’
Brash and confident. Seb would be pleased to hear those back-handed compliments and she swelled with pride knowing she’d had a hand in his spectacular performance. ‘Do you think so? Personally, I found him most charming.’ Clarissa would ask Penny to invite Seb to the Penhurst house party. This very moment. His presence would drive her poor Duke mad. ‘If you will excuse me...’ She didn’t bother waiting to see if he minded and went off to corner her.
Penny was with a gaggle of married ladies at the refreshment table, and happily agreed to include Seb in the entertainments because she still felt guilty at having to invite Clarissa’s nemesis. Now all she had to do was find a way to convince the man to take five days out of hunting down his dangerous smugglers in the highest echelons of society and accompany her on a trip to Sussex.
* * *
Seb tossed the third ruined cravat on the small pile on the floor and snapped his fingers impatiently for another. Gray tutted and passed him one. ‘Please let me do that. I’ve never seen a man make such a ham-fisted mess of dressing before.’
‘I can tie a damn cravat!’ A plain, no-nonsense, no-fuss cravat. The frothy concoctions fools like the Duke of Westbridge sported were apparently beyond him. He pulled one end too tight and the starched linen instantly crumpled in a ruined knot. If Gem preferred frills, he would suffer frills. ‘Hell’s teeth!’
A withering sigh came from the mattress where the second-in-command of the Invisibles was lounging, dressed as a coachman. ‘You are well past fashionably late...’
‘I know the blasted time, Gray!’
His friend uncrossed his long legs and rose from his comfortable position with an air of exasperation. ‘For once in your life, accept some help. What is it that you are trying to achieve?’
‘Something fancy.’ He’d be mocked senseless if he admitted he didn’t know the actual name of the knot he was trying to duplicate. ‘Fitting for a ballroom.’
Gray snapped open another overly starched neckcloth and Seb lifted his chin to suffer the indignity of being dandified by his subordinate. When he had finished, Gray stepped back to admire his work, then nodded, gesturing to the mirror. ‘You’ll do.’
The simple knot in the reflection filled him with rage. ‘What’s fancy about that? Any idiot can tie a plain cravat.’
‘But only a real man can carry it off with such casual elegance. Up against that foppish Duke your lady-love prefers, you will appear superior. A man with your savage maleness shouldn’t try to curb it with frills. Be manly. Ooze confidence in your ability to thrash the life out of every other fellow in the ballroom. Trust me, Seb—less is always more. Especially where the ladies are concerned. For once, instead of trying to blend in, stand out. Your lady-love won’t know what’s hit her.’
‘She’s not my lady-love!’
‘I thought the ruse was that Lady Clarissa was supposed to be more enamoured of you than her Duke?’ Gray’s eyes were twinkling with mischief and Seb knew he had been royally tricked into revealing more to his wily friend than he had intended.
‘Ah, yes. Of course. That blasted tie has put me off my game.’ That tie and that woman. The one he absolutely had a soft spot for. A foolish waste of his time when his attention was better served elsewhere. As if she would miraculously toss away a duke for a knave. A fortune. A mansion. High status. It would be laughable if it wasn’t tragic. ‘Perhaps Ishouldallow you to be my valet? I need a clear head, not one blighted by cravats.’
‘Yes,my lord.’ Gray grinned, dipped his eyes and bowed. ‘I live to serve. Now, get in the damned coach.’
Taking a carriage the few yards between Grosvenor and Berkeley Square struck Seb as a ridiculous waste of time when he could have walked it quicker. The long line of waiting conveyances spilled so far outwards that it took a good twenty minutes to be deposited at the Bulphan town house. However, as this was how things were done he suffered it and used it as an opportunity to go through tonight’s plan with Gray.
Six Invisibles would be mingling with the other waiting drivers and groomsmen in the crowded mews, tasked with targeting the Penhurst staff. The long wait, camaraderie, raucous games of cards or dice and the fortifying nips of the rum each of his men carried had proved time and again an excellent source of information. For some peculiar reason, the aristocrats these people served assumed that because they were seen but not heard, their servants couldn’t hear.
As they pulled up outside, Gray leaned forward, straightened Seb’s lapels, then slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck.’
It was the aloof Lord Millcroft who stepped out.
