Page 77 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

She startled, jerking the wheel sharply to the right, and course-corrected with another swift revolution to the left. “Sorry,” she exhaled. “I forgot you were back there.”

That was humbling enough to dampen Sidney’s lovesick flutterings and force him to ask the question that had needled him after she left. She’d been exceedingly considerate of his feelings, after all; it was his turn to be a supportive friend, much as he didn’t care to hear this particular answer.

He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the front bench. “Are you worrying about Craddock’s safety? With Leland damned on his testimony, he might need to lay low too.”

Ginevra’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Perhaps I ought to be concerned, but Donald has become such a menace that I hope he’s walking on tenterhooks.”

Sidney resisted the urge to twine his finger through an auburn curl at her shoulder. “Rather harsh on your fiancé, aren’t you?”

“My what?” Gin turned, gaping at him over the seat in horror. “Where did you hear that?”

“Watch the road or I won’t tell you—!”

Dutifully—if disgruntled—she turned around, and Sidney exhaled. “The first time I went to Watkins’s seminar, Craddock cornered me and told me off for going to the Botanic Gardens with you. Said you two were engaged to be married, and it wasn’t seemly for us to be seen together alone. I told him to take it up with you since you’d invited me.”

“The nerve of that man.” Ginevra’s hands tightened on the wheel with a menacing flex. “Sometimes, I feel as though I could murder him.”

Elation billowed through Sidney. “Are you not engaged, then?”

“We are most certainly not. I will marry a squash before I marry that man … and I should hope the party disabused him of the notion once and for all.”

Ginevra was so obviously annoyed it felt cruel to laugh, even if the revelation made the car feel far too cramped to contain Sidney’s delight.

This time when he leaned back, he dozed off with ease.

The car was silent and still when Sidney next stirred, the steady drum of rain on the roof absorbing the night. Gin had turned around on the front bench and was gently shaking his shoulder. “We’re here,” she said.

Sidney sat up, rubbing his eyes, and peered into the darkness. “How far to the house?”

“It’s down the lane a bit. I thought it best to walk so he doesn’t hear the car.”

“Do you have a brolly?”

Gin lifted an umbrella from the front seat. “Will you share it with more grace this time?”

“If you let me hold it.”

Gin snorted and opened the canopy in tandem with the car door, and Sidney followed. She did relinquish the handle with only a few grumbles about her backside growing damp, and they proceeded up the drive guided by her minuscule torch. Thick trees lined the way, and it wasn’t until they’d walked several minutes that Sidney spied the outline of a house looming in the night. Gin clicked off the light and slipped it into her coat pocket.

It was a fraction the size of Chiseldon Park or Foxley Hall, but a very grand cottage, nonetheless. That a don could afford such a luxury—even one needing renovation—supported their suspicions of how the Kremlin’s money might have been spent. The house, however, was dark.

“Still think he’s here?” Sidney murmured.

“I’m sure the man loves his beauty sleep, even as a fugitive. Let’s look around the back before we decide.” Gin nudged Sidney toward a side gate leading into the garden. The gate’s hinges proved broken, and progressing without noise took Sidney a few minutes of patient finessing while Ginevra held the umbrella. When at last they slipped through, Sidney cast a wary glance at the black windows. Ginevra might think Leland a fool, but the man had proven how slippery he was. If he was smart, he was already watching them.

The garden was an overgrown mess. There was a haphazard path through the brambles, and Sidney caught Gin more than once from stumbling before they stopped behind a large tree. There were two entrances on the back of the house: a pair of glass double doors that opened into a sunroom and a single door off what Sidney guessed was the kitchen.

But on the upper floor, a faint light glowed in a window.

“That’s candlelight,” Gin breathed. “Someone is definitely here.”

A soft crack in the undergrowth made Sidney whirl Ginevra behind him.

“It’s me,” a soft voice whispered. Hughes materialized from the edge of the garden, his trench coat collar flipped up against the rain. He peered at them from under his hat brim.

Gin prodded Sidney in the back until he stepped aside. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Hughes flashed a smile. “The people in charge worked out their communication issues. Your man said you two might need backup until the police arrive if I was still in the area. Lucky for you, I holed up in the village awaiting further directions.”