Page 61 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

“I’m sure,” Sidney murmured. All those visits to Olenev were for love letters? It was a mercy they had uncovered Marion’s connection to Robert Crowne before wasting precious weeks trying to find a code in Neville’s letter from a sweetheart.

A shadow crossed Watkins’s face. “Dr. Neville is a good friend, and it’s been difficult to watch the toll on his spirit. Perhaps I should have tried harder to dissuade him from such a foolish romance. But I suppose the heart doesn’t always lead in sensible directions.”

Sidney did not like the uncomfortable plucking sensation under his rib cage stirred by Watkins’s comment, nor the renewed urge to take the stairs two at a time. It was silliness and heartburn, a physical reaction to the stress of the night. Ginevra was just fine on her own—

A lone figure passed through the drawing room next door, and Sidney’s churning thoughts quieted. Marion Kirk had arrived at last.

She wore a pale pink dress with matching silk gloves and a white lace shrug that clung to her shoulders, the first time Sidney remembered seeing her dressed in something other than brown tweed. No need to slip inside as staff; elegance was the perfect disguise.

“I think I’ll find us more champagne,” Sidney said. Watkins nodded absently, still watching Neville, and he slipped out of the study.

Marion had stopped beside a love seat in the middle of the drawing room, greedily watching the dancers next door as though searching for someone. Sidney checked the footmen lining the ballroom for any sign of the identified agent, but he was nowhere to be seen. He wavered, caught between the need to keep a low profile and the desire to restrain Kirk. But when she opened the sequined handbag on her arm, a cold, manic gleam in her eyes, the decision was made for him.

Quickly, he stepped into her path, bumping her shoulder. “Sorry, Miss Kirk.” He didn’t mean to slosh quite so much champagne on her, but the Ginevra Maneuver, as Sidney now thought of it, was effective. Kirk startled, and the full force of her anger turned upon him.

“Do I know you?” she asked brusquely.

“Maybe not,” Sidney said. “But I know you. And I know you’re not supposed to be here.”

Marion stiffened, her eyes hooded. “None of these leeches should be here either.”

She glared over Sidney’s shoulder, and he turned. Watkins hesitated in the study’s doorway, her lips pursed. Before Sidney could delay her, the female don skirted around them and headed toward the stairs while Marion cast a nasty look at her backside. Watkins was probably fetching someone to haul Marion away, which was the expected thing to do. Only Sidney wanted Kirk in the Security Service’s care first.

He lowered his voice and drew nearer. “But you’re here for a specific reason, aren’t you? You’re trying to ruin the Damocles Club.”

“They deserve it,” Marion snapped, pulling away. “They maintain power by destroying those deemed beneath them.”

“Like your uncle, Robert Crowne?”

Marion’s attention locked onto him with burning intensity. “What do you know about my uncle?”

“I know he was sent down from Oxford when a boy died after a sconcing, and I know he was later accused of treason in Vosburg. The expulsion seemed harsh, but can you really hold the Damocles Club personally responsible?”

“Yes,” she spat. “That expulsion ruined his life.”

“Did they make him turn traitor too?” Sidney asked evenly in turn.

Marion drew back, staring down her nose at Sidney though he had her by a few inches. “My uncle was innocent of the charges against him in Vosburg, and yes, I blame the Damocles Club for that too. The evidence against him was asinine and weak, but all those officers were old Damocles boys still keeping their little cliques, even inside prison. They sacrificed the outsider as their scapegoat while the real culprit walked free.” Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned closer. “I’ve come here tonight to find the truth.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Destroying Donald at brag was as delicious as Ginevra had hoped. She’d always known he was an abysmal liar, and intoxication wiped away any lingering skill he might have retained for lying at cards. Hand after hand, he made rash bets while his debt tally ballooned in Ginevra’s favor.

Professor Leland enjoyed the show most of anyone. He had been one of the first to withdraw from the card game, but he lingered on the edges, cheering Ginevra and ribbing Donald. From the flushed contours of Donald’s angular face, those blows landed nearly as hard as the ones upon his purse. Usually, he brushed off teasing from his aristocratic shoulders. But from the defensive way he had discussed Leland at the doomed book party, clearly the professor’s good opinion mattered to him more than others.

The antepenultimate player folded, leaving Gin and Donald in a standoff, and she allowed herself a tiny frown. It was unlikely that Donald had a better hand, but she wanted to squeeze a few pounds more out of him. She toyed with her pearls, feigning indecision, and added fifty quid to her bet with an anxious titter of laughter. “It’s Mr. Webb’s money, after all, isn’t it?”

To her delight, Donald’s eyes narrowed. “A hundred,” he countered. “Now show me what you have.”

Gin shrugged and lay down her run of diamonds, and Donald’s face purpled. He threw his hand at the dealer unseen and stormed away, and the room erupted in shouts and whistles behind his back.

Hughes tipped his head at Gin. “You’re an impressive liar, Miss Bishop. And good at reading people.”

“Two necessary skills for a socialite, I’m afraid.” She glanced after Donald, who was now sulking in the adjacent room. At the exit to the balcony, he turned and glared back at her expectantly.

Hughes, however, leaned closer, his voice low. “I’d like a word in private, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Gin rose, but Donald stared her down, jerking his head toward the door with a presumption that refused to be ignored. “Only you’ll have to excuse me for a moment, Mr. Hughes,” she added through gritted teeth. “It seems I need to avert a strop first but then shall return.”