Richard was smiling reminiscently. ‘I have met Mrs Stratton before. She certainly has the capability and the intellect to organise an enterprise like this.’
‘If you know her already,’ Lucas suggested, ‘why do you not renew the acquaintance?’
Richard laughed. ‘Because she will not give me the time of day, dear brother. We fell out-rather badly-when I asked her to be my mistress last year.’
Cory smothered a laugh. ‘Turned you down, Richard?’
Richard toyed with his brandy glass. ‘I made the mistake of not preparing my ground properly,’ he said. ‘I made some rash assumptions about her virtue-’ He broke off and looked around at the circle of cynically smiling faces. ‘Damned if I know why I’m explaining myself to all of you!’ he said. ‘A poor sort of help you can give anyway. Justin cannot douse an old flame, Cory is suffering from unrequited love and you, Lucas-I swear you do not have a heart to lose!’
‘Thank you for that masterly summary of our romantic entanglements,’ Justin said smoothly. ‘Returning to the matter before us, do you wish to try your hand at seducing Mrs Stratton again?’
Cory did not miss the odd look in his friend’s eyes as Richard answered his brother. ‘No, I do not want to try to seduce Mrs Stratton again. But…I would not mind pursuing the acquaintance if I can persuade her to be civil to me.’
‘Another mark up to unrequited love,’ Lucas murmured irrepressibly.
‘Thank you,’ Justin said, his lips twitching. ‘Now, I need one of you to devote yourself to Miss Lang, the vicar’s daughter. Reverend Lang is an interesting case. He is a disappointed man, turned sour waiting for a preferment that never came. His allegiance may have turned sour as well, and may have infected his daughter.’
Cory nodded. He could see the logic in that. Disaffected clergymen could be the very devil to deal with.
‘Is that all?’ Lucas enquired.
‘Not quite.’ Justin pointed to the village of Midwinter Bere. ‘There is also Lily, Lady Benedict. Her husband is a housebound invalid and she seems devoted to his interests.’
There was a pause. ‘These ladies are all members of Lady Sally Saltire’s reading group,’ Cory said slowly.
‘Reading group?’ Richard Kestrel looked interested. ‘Tell us more.’
Cory shrugged. ‘I do not know much more to tell other than that they meet every week at Saltires.’
Justin and Lucas exchanged glances. ‘What a marvellous way that would be to pass on information if one were so inclined,’ Justin Kestrel said feelingly. ‘This reading group-does it have any other members?’
‘Only Miss Odell,’ Cory said. ‘I doubt that she could be involved, though. The Odells are but lately come to Midwinter.’
‘It’s not impossible, though,’ Richard pointed out. ‘Where was Miss Odell recently, Cory? Was it not London?’
Cory scowled. He knew where this was going. Richard was about as subtle as a runaway carthorse. ‘I believe it was,’ he said coldly.
‘And she has travelled a great deal-’
‘Not in Dorset,’ Cory said, between shut teeth. He felt a rush of fury. It was absolutely ridiculous to imagine that Rachel could be a French spy. He did not dispute that she was intelligent and resourceful enough to do it, but to imagine that she was a traitor was absurd.
‘I am merely suggesting that she should not be left out of the investigation,’ Richard murmured. ‘We must be sure-’
‘Richard,’ Cory said warningly, ‘if you are thinking to get up a flirtation with Miss Odell on the strength of this, then I suggest that you think again!’
Richard raised both hands in a pacifying gesture. ‘Wouldn’t dare, old chap. You’d probably call me out. Besides, you are the one who knows Miss Odell the best. Perhaps you should take the matter on.’
Cory grimaced. ‘My feelings notwithstanding, Miss Odell and I are like brother and sister. If I start making up to her after all these years she will think me run quite mad.’ He sighed. ‘There is no need. I give you my word that Rachel is no more a French spy than I am.’
Lucas and Richard exchanged a look of covert amusement that Cory fortunately missed. ‘No exceptions,’ Richard pointed out blandly.
Cory gave an irritable sigh and held on to his temper-just.
‘If anyone is to flirt with Miss Odell then it should be me,’ Lucas said, blander still. ‘I’m not as dangerous as Richard and it will be my pleasure.’
Cory clenched his fists and slowly released them. He had never previously had any urge to inflict an injury on Lucas Kestrel, who was one of his best friends. There was always a first time, however. He took a deep breath and looked into the other man’s amused hazel eyes as he tried to clamp down on his fury.
‘I try to think of Miss Odell as a little sister, Lucas,’ he said heavily, ‘so I am hardly likely to encourage one of the greatest rakes in the whole country to flirt with her.’ He looked at his friends. Justin was watching him quizzically, there was a laugh lurking in Richard’s eyes and Lucas was grinning openly. Cory let his breath out in a long sigh. He was unhappily aware that his feelings for Rachel were as transparent as glass. He raised a warning hand.
‘Not another word…’
Justin shook his head. ‘We were not going to say anything at all, Cory,’ he said innocently. ‘Other than good luck, of course!’
Cory sighed. ‘I am happy to keep a watching brief at Midwinter Royal House,’ he said. ‘If I might change the subject slightly, I have already observed that there are some odd things going on there.’
To his relief, his friends took the hint.
‘Such as?’ Lucas asked.
‘Smugglers have been using the burial mounds to store their booty, for one thing,’ Cory said. ‘There is a lot of disturbance at the eastern end of one of the fields. It made a good hiding place, especially with the legends warning people to keep away from the treasure. I imagine they were not best pleased to hear we were to excavate there.’
‘Smugglers,’ Richard said thoughtfully. ‘A good line of communication with the enemy.’
‘Maybe.’ Cory grimaced. It seemed that they were positively surrounded by treachery. So much for Rachel’s view that the Midwinter villages were a haven of peace.
‘Well, whatever you do, please do not interfere with my brandy supply,’ Justin said with feeling. He topped up his glass. ‘Would anyone care for more?’
The glasses were refilled.
‘I suppose,’ Lucas said, ‘that we should be particularly careful in our dealings with the ladies. I cannot speak for the rest of you, of course, but I do not think we would wish our flirtation to be misconstrued as having a serious purpose. None of us wants to end up in parson’s mousetrap.’
There was heartfelt agreement to this. ‘How damnably ironic would that be?’ Justin said, and they all laughed to think of it.
It was two nights later when Cory Newlyn made an unheralded visit to Midwinter Royal House and slipped through the gate into the stable yard. There was a half-moon, small, silver and bright, above the line of the stable roof. It was a perfect night for a spot of illicit activity, be that smuggling, piracy, spying, or perhaps a little tomb robbing, all of which Cory was certain might occur in the Midwinter villages at any time. The wind had dropped during the evening and barely a whisper stirred the tops of the tall pines down in the burial field. Cory prepared for his own covert activity.
He leaned back against the wall of the stables and waited silently to see if anyone else was moving in the quiet night. It was about two o’clock. Cory had spent a pleasant enough evening at a dinner at Midwinter Marney Hall. His head should have been full of plans for the night, but instead he had found his thoughts had been full of Rachel Odell. To his own disgust he could feel himself becoming as lovesick as a youth in his salad days.
Rachel had looked utterly charming in her pale pink evening gown. With her chestnut hair and brown eyes she had the rich colouring to carry off a shade that looked so insipid on many of the blonde debutantes. The dress was demure and high-necked, but Cory could not help but admire the way that the material draped so gently over Rachel’s curves, concealing but outlining her full breasts and the generous curve of her hips. He suspected that Rachel’s dressmaker had cheated her. Without a doubt Rachel had told the woman to make her a gown of irreproachable modesty, but the modiste, with an eye to her professional pride, had created an outfit most flattering
