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He briefly considered hailing a hackney and stopping in at his parents’ town house. If Lord and Lady Smythe had not heard he was in Town yet, they would soon. The viscountess wouldhave words for him if he did not come to call. But he wasn’t ready to see them yet. He wanted something to show for his work with the Royal Saboteurs first. He wanted to do something to make them proud.
Not that either his mother or father had ever said they were not proud of him. Quite the contrary. Will rather expected they would be proud of him if he became a ditch-digger. Somehow their blind love made it all the more imperative that he prove himself. Whenever he said as much to Lucy, she reminded him of all he had done while he worked for the Foreign Office. He’d gathered invaluable information that had saved lives and protected his queen and the country. But Will hadn’t earned that position. He’d received it because his parents were highly respected former spies. Not that anyone outside of the Foreign Office knew of their exploits. Thetonthought they were just another noble family. Will was just an errant heir to the title who liked to travel, and Lucy was a spinster always visiting friends.
Unlike Will’s first entrée into the “family business,” the invitation to join the Royal Saboteurs was solely due to Will’s skills and professional achievements as an operative. Yes, Baron had worked with his parents, but it had been Will’s accomplishments with the Foreign Office that garnered him an invitation to the Farm. Now Will had been given a mission, and he would fail or succeed on his own. If he didn’t ferret out Lady Averley or some other courtier as the Irish separatists’ accomplice, Lord and Lady Smythe wouldn’t be able to step in and save Will’s position in the Royal Saboteurs. Everyone knew Baron expected his agents to do whatever it took to complete the mission.
And this was not just any mission. This one involved the queen’s very life.
Will tucked his cold hands in his pockets and ducked his head against the wind in his face. Not for the first time, hewondered if he shouldn’t have passed on this mission. Baron had more experienced agents. Will had even pointed that out to his superior. But Baron had argued that Will was the perfect fit, and Will hadn’t wanted to contradict him. It was true he had a weakness for flattery, but he was also determined to prove that he had been invited to join the Royal Saboteurs on his own merits and that he deserved his place. His father always said Will was persistent to the point of irritation. It was an annoying trait in a child, but a useful trait in an agent for the Crown.
And so here he was. He paused and looked up at the shadow of Buckingham Palace in the distance. Somewhere inside was a traitor, and if that traitor was Lady Averley, Will would put aside his personal feelings for her and see her treachery revealed and punished.
SHE CERTAINLY DIDN’Tlook capable of treachery, Will reflected as Lady Averley climbed into the gig beside him and smiled under her straw hat festooned with pink and white flowers. She wore a white dress as well, which was quite plain and without pattern. He was aware white was a color of mourning, but he could appreciate that she had put away the gray and lavender for the occasion.
“You look lovely,” he said, taking up the reins and calling to the horse to walk.
“Thank you. Again,” she said, tipping her parasol to shade her face, though it was a cloudy day. He supposed with her complexion, she dared not risk it.
“Forgive me,” he said, addressing her statement. He’d complimented her when she’d met him in the reception hall at the palace. “I must remind myself to keep my compliments to one per day. Is that acceptable?”
She slanted him a look that said she thought he was ridiculous. “I don’t have rules regarding compliments, except that I prefer them to be rooted in reality.”
“Of course.” He steered the gig around a cart blocking part of the road. “No one likes false flattery.” He glanced at her. “I hope you don’t think I was false in my admiration.”
“Not false,” she said, her gaze on the passersby. “But perhaps overly effusive. But let’s not talk of that matter any longer.” She turned to look at him, and he felt his breath catch when he met her pale blue eyes. “I haven’t been to the museum in years. I don’t know why I didn’t think to go before.”
“I’m glad you didn’t or you might have refused my invitation.”
“I doubt many ladies refuse your invitations, sir.” She looked away, seeming to study a group of women selling flowers.
“I didn’t invite just any lady,” he answered. “I invited you. Our conversation the other night reminded me how I missed Lyme Regis. Did Lady Jocelyn consent to accompany you this summer?”
“Not yet, but I believe our conversation had a persuasive effect. She seems more inclined toward the idea.”
Will was unable to speak for a few moments as he negotiated a rather busy thoroughfare, but soon they were entering Bloomsbury, and he was able to give Lady Averley his attention again. “Will you go to Lyme Regis alone if Lady Jocelyn does not accompany you?” he asked.
Lady Averley blinked as though she had quite forgotten the conversation. “I don’t know,” she said. “I...”
Will glanced at her expectantly. She swallowed. “You drive quite well, sir.”
He raised a brow, surprised at the clumsiness of her change of subject. “Thank you. You seem surprised.” He slowed the horse as they arrived at the museum. The groom, seated behindthe body of the conveyance, jumped down and took the horse’s reins. Will dismounted, walked around, and held out a hand for Lady Averley. She gave him her hand and began to dismount, but somehow her slipper caught in her skirt and she all but tumbled down and into his arms.
Will had always possessed quick reflexes, and he caught her easily, his arms about her waist and their faces level for a long moment before he set her down. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she stammered, her face as bright as the red waistcoat he wore.
“It’s no trouble.” He set her down, releasing her, aware his heart was hammering faster than it ought after such mild exertion. “Are you injured?”
“Only my pride.” She ducked her head and pulled out her fan, concealing her face with her rapid movements. Will didn’t mind. He too needed a moment to collect himself. Strange that he should react so strongly to the feel of her body against his. He hadn’t even properly appreciated the softness of her flesh pressed against him before his heart was hammering so hard he could barely hear above the racket.
He offered her his arm, and she took it, not looking at him, and yet he was very aware of the touch of her gloved hand on his sleeve.
Ridiculous, Will thought as he led her toward the entrance of the museum. He was no poet, waxing lyrical at the mere touch of a lady. What was the matter with him?
“It’s quite formidable, isn’t it?” Lady Averley said, pausing to stare at the front edifice of the museum. Will took it in as well. The Greek architecture seemed out of place in London, as though the Parthenon had been built in the wrong country. The effect of the Classical style was stunning.
“It’s like something out of another place and time.”
She glanced at him, her eyes unreadable. “Shall we go in?”
“Yes.” He led her through the columns and into a court with steps leading to the upper levels. “Would you like to visit The King’s Library?” he asked, referring to the gallery built to house King George III’s collection of more than 65,000 books. “Access is by ticket only, but I have my methods.” He winked at her, and her face colored.
