Secrets of a Lady

but the most superficial sense. “You first.” Charles fixed his younger brother with a firm stare. “Why, Edgar?”

“Orders.” Edgar leaned against the high back of the bench. “You got some people in the government very nervous, brother. Sneaking off to meet with Spanish rebels in the early hours of the morning is hardly conventional behavior, even for you.”

Damnation. It was one possibility Charles hadn’t considered. “You were sent to trail us?”

Edgar nodded. “Lord Castlereagh summoned me to the Foreign Office this morning. He gave me one of those damned cold looks of his—no offense, Charles, but at times he reminds me of you—and asked me if I knew what the devil my brother and his wife were doing conferring with Raoul O’Roarke before dawn.”

“How did he know—” Charles scraped his hand through his damp hair. “The Foreign Office have spies watching Carevalo and O’Roarke?”

“Not spies exactly. But I think they engaged one of the clerks at Mivart’s to send them word of any suspicious behavior by Carevalo. Surely that doesn’t surprise you. It’s common knowledge that Carevalo’s trying to muster support for a rebellion against a government that our government consider an ally.”

“That our government are going to great lengths to prop up.” Charles dropped his hands to the rough wood of the table. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to follow Carevalo when he left Mivart’s?”

“No. The clerk who’d been hired to keep an eye on him couldn’t leave his post. No one expected Carevalo to leave the hotel. Isn’t he coming back?”

“I seriously doubt it. Go on. What exactly had the Foreign Secretary heard about Carevalo and O’Roarke and Melanie and me?”

“That O’Roarke arrived at Mivart’s late last night, and Carevalo left unexpectedly in the early hours of the morning. That you and Melanie then arrived at an hour when no self-respecting members of the polite world would be out of bed and spent some time closeted with O’Roarke. I said it was news to me, I didn’t even know O’Roarke was in England and I thought you’d spent last night at the Esterhazys’. Castlereagh replied that you had, that he’d been at the Esterhazys’ himself, as had Carevalo, who spent a lot of time talking to Melanie.”

Melanie opened her mouth as though to interject something, then appeared to think better of it.

“Why—” Charles broke off as a waiter approached their table bearing three mugs of steaming coffee liberally laced with brandy. He curled his fingers round the warmth of the mug. He hadn’t realized how numb they were. “Why was Castlereagh so interested in what Melanie and I might have been discussing with Carevalo and O’Roarke?”

“Oh, admit it, Charles.” Edgar took a long swallow from his mug and clanked it down on the table. “Your friends at Holland House have been doing their damnedest to put the Spanish liberals in power for years. When a prominent Opposition politician pays a clandestine visit to a Spanish rebel, it’s bound to raise interest. You may disagree with Castlereagh, but it’s understandable that he’d be miffed at the Opposition carrying on a separate foreign policy behind his back.”

“So Castlereagh set you to spy on us?”

Edgar flushed in the murky light of the oil lamps that hung from the coffeehouse ceiling. “He didn’t put it quite so baldly. He said I should find out what the hell—devil you were up to. He said I was to consider myself on leave and he’d make it right with my superiors. I knew damn well that if there was any truth in Castlereagh’s suspicions and I asked you straight out, you’d refuse to tell me or fob me off with some story—”

“Thank you.”

“It’s true. If you thought you were doing something good for Spain, you’d hardly spill it all to Castlereagh just because I asked you.” Edgar took another deep swallow from his mug. “Castlereagh’d had a report that you were seen going into the Drury Lane. I must have got to the theater just after you left. I went in and made inquiries.” He shook his head. “Who the devil is Helen Trevennen and what does she have to do with O’Roarke and Carevalo?”

“Later.” Charles pushed his mug aside. “If you were making inquiries in the theater, you couldn’t have followed us when we left the Drury Lane.”

“No, but the porter had heard you direct Randall to the Marshalsea. Why—no, I’ll finish my story first. When I got to the Marshalsea, I saw your carriage waiting in front, so I waited, too. It was raining by then—of all the foul- smelling places to have to stand about. The things we do for our country.”

The coffeehouse door banged open and shut to admit two young men with books over their heads in place of umbrellas. A blast of chill wind tore through the heavy air. “Finally you came out of the prison and got into a hackney,” Edgar continued, “though I must say it was dashed hard to keep up with you. Did you know you were being followed?”

“We thought we might be.” Charles glanced at Melanie. “So much for our subterfuge.”

Edgar wiped a trickle of liquid from the black enamel of his mug. “Your subterfuge very nearly worked. I almost went off after the first hackney, and if it hadn’t taken you so long to get the third one, I would have lost you for sure. I say, Melanie, are you all right? You were walking rather oddly.”

“I daresay you would be too if you’d been wearing my half-boots.” Melanie had been sitting very still beside Charles, her untouched mug clutched between both hands. “You followed the hackney to Bow Street?”

“Yes. I seem to have spent most of the day waiting on rainy street corners.” Edgar sat back, arms folded across his chest. “So much for my story. Any chance you’ll tell me the truth, brother mine?”

“As a matter of fact there is,” Charles said.

At the table behind them, a lawyer and his clerk were droning on about a contract. Charles took a sip of the coffee and brandy, mostly to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts, although the fiery jolt did not come amiss. Only the truth would ensure that Edgar stopped prying into their visit to O’Roarke. Though they were not as close as they had been as boys, he knew he could trust his brother. With all but the truth about Melanie. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Edgar to keep that secret.

He set down the mug and recounted the story of Colin’s disappearance in brief, factual terms. He omitted only Melanie’s revelations about her past as a spy and her links to Raoul O’Roarke.

Edgar’s expressive face went pale with shock, then dark with rage. “By God. Christ, Charles, I’m sorry.” He looked into his mug for a moment. Then he pushed his bench back, scraping it against the broken floorboards. “What are we doing sitting here? There’s no time to be lost.”

“Sit down, Edgar.” Charles gripped his brother’s wrist and forced him back into his seat before they had half the coffeehouse staring at them. “Of course there’s no time to be lost. Which is why we can’t afford to go blundering about without knowing what we’re doing.”

“I’m sorry.” Edgar raked his fingers through his hair. “I’d give my right arm—You know that, don’t you? Why didn’t you send word to me when it first happened?”

“We haven’t stopped to breathe, let alone tell anyone. Besides, your links to the government would have put you in an awkward position. I don’t think Castlereagh and others would be too sanguine at the prospect of putting the ring into Carevalo’s hands.”

Edgar’s eyes widened. “Charles, do you seriously think anyone in the government would put political considerations before a child’s safety?”

Charles returned his brother’s gaze. “Without a doubt.”

Edgar stared at him for a moment. “Do you think I would?”

Charles studied his brother. However strained their own relationship had become in the years since their mother’s death, there was no doubting Edgar’s love for his nephew and niece. “No. Of course not. But there was no need to put you in the middle of the dilemma.”

“No need.” Edgar dragged his gaze away from Charles and took a long swallow from his mug. “Oh, all right, I won’t argue with you. But I’m in the middle of it now. I’ll do whatever I can, that goes without saying. Tell me how I can help.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. “But I think it would be best if you—”

“For God’s sake, Charles, I know you pride yourself on never needing anyone’s assistance, but you can’t afford a misstep here. I love Colin like he’s my own. Unless Lydia’s and my marriage changes in more ways than one, Colin’s the closest to a son I’m ever likely to have.” Edgar slammed both his hands down on the table. “Let me help.”

The last three words were a plea. For a moment, Melanie was gone and the Fraser brothers were locked in a silent confrontation across the scarred table. It was an odd sort of intimacy, an intimacy that they had not shared in years. In their childhood, each had been the central person in the other’s world, allies against their father’s