Page 14 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

Yesterday, in the comparative dimness of the entry hall, her own eyes still recovering from the bright outdoors, she had taken an impression of him. Last night, the near darkness had added few details to the picture. But now, she saw him in the clear light of day—albeit shadowed by greenery.

His brown hair was a few shades darker than her own, a rich walnut sort of color under the midday sun. But his eyes were lighter than hers, more hazel than brown. No spectacles, of course. And his features were lean, sharp, as she’d noted before. Sharply handsome. Definitely not the face of a boy. Five and thirty, at least, and she found herself intrigued by the sort of living he’d done in those years. He was…well, dashing was the first adjective that came to mind.

Most intriguing of all, though, was the flash of red that caught her eye, the color of his coat beneath his greatcoat. She stepped closer still, looking him up and down all the while. “You’re a soldier?”

Too late, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and crossed them, trying to hide the uniform beneath. Why didn’t he want her to know?

A moment passed, a few seconds, perhaps, though it felt longer. At last, he ground out, “Major Langley Stanhope, your ladyship.”

Silently she mouthed the name, committing it to her memory. “A pleasure, sir. So I take it that the cookbook is—”

“Isn’t a cookbook, just as you said last night. It may be the most priceless piece of military intelligence we have. The agent who collected it discovered he was being followed and needed a way to hide it. I gather you happened to be coming out of Porter’s bookshop with a similar package.”

“He—he bumped into me on purpose?” Absently, she rubbed her arm and elbow, though they no longer ached. “Yes, of course he did. Causing me to drop my book on the pavement. And when I—or rather, my footman—picked it up…”

“The switch had already been made. That agent managed to send a message, alerting us to what had happened. I had only to discover who had purchased a copy of Pascal’s treatise on geometry and switch the books back. Or so I thought.”

A nervous laugh bubbled in her chest. “It’s—it’s a birthday present for Jamie. My older son. I don’t suppose he would have been too pleased to unwrap a French cookbook.”

He held up a finger. “I’d appreciate it if you said nothing more of the book. Now, regarding Dulsworthy’s house,” he prompted.

“Oh, yes. Right. I do occasionally call on him at his home, on matters of business. We share the guardianship of my sons, you see.”

“During such a call, would you be a liberty to explore—?”

She cut him off with a shake of her head. “He would consider that highly improper.”

Understandably, Major Stanhope’s—Magpie’s—concern for the fate of the book was no ordinary concern. But how could she possibly poke around in George’s house?

Realizing she had balled her gloves in her hands, she smoothed them over one palm, soothing herself by stroking the pliant leather. The answer to her quandary lay upstairs in the drawer of her writing desk—unless Mama had got to it already.

“Tomorrow night he is giving a ball.” In my honor, if the gossips are to be believed. “He’s been quite beside himself with preparations. Doubtless that’s the reason he forgot to return the—ah, the item. I’ll be going, of course,” she added after a brief pause, although she’d been trying for days to concoct an excuse to avoid it. “I can try to slip away and look then.”

“A ball,” Major Stanhope repeated, and his eyes narrowed, as if he were performing some complicated calculation—or trying to see something beyond the range of his vision. “Interesting. I’ll try to find a way to get inside, take advantage of the bustle to look around.”

An unexpected wave of disappointment crashed in her chest. Was this to be the end of her adventure? “I can do the looking,” she offered.

“No. I don’t want you to take an unnecessary risk.”

“Any right-thinking Englishwoman in times like these would surely be prepared to take risks, Major Stanhope. Or—or should I call you Magpie? It’s kind of exciting, isn’t it?”

His features settled into something closer to a scowl of disgust. “Lady Kingston, you don’t know what you’re saying. You haven’t the first idea of the danger involved—”

“No,” she agreed. “I suppose I don’t. What happened to the man who made me drop the—the item?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

His expression was inscrutable. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“I don’t know what became of him,” he said after a moment and with obvious reluctance. “He hasn’t been heard from since.”

A hard lump rose in her throat, which she at first struggled to speak past. “I—I’m sorry to hear that.” Then she thrust her chin forward. “But now you can’t say I don’t know the risks. And I still want to help, Major Stanhope. I want to do something.” His expression didn’t budget. “Please. You haven’t the first idea how dull my life is.”

It was an incredibly foolish, childish thing to say, the sort of excuse Philip would give for rule-breaking, for scrambling up one of the tall trees in the square when his grandmother wasn’t looking.

Mind your step.

Nevertheless, it drew a sort of half smile from Major Stanhope, along with a shake of his head. “And it’s my job to see it stays that way. I won’t involve a civilian. Particularly not a lady.”