or drink anything served in your house, but I am a slave to my curiosity. The punch is always bad, but it is never bad the same way twice.” He eyed it. “Military Intelligence is snapping at my heels. I’m running out of time, Eunice. This may be the one I lose.”
Eunice made a derisive sound.
“Am I sniveling on your shoulder?” he said. “I suppose I am. Why should everyone else have the fun?”
“I do not suppose you fail very often.”
“No.”
“Then you won’t this time. You are proficient at what you do, Adrian. Perhaps the most skilled in the world. How are you planning to get her out of England, if the worst happens?”
“With dispatch. Sebastian has the
In the salon next door, metal crashed and clattered. Voices rose in consternation. Coyning-Marsh and the three dons led a general exodus in that direction.
Adrian said, “Then there is the matter of Colonel Reams.”
There were other military men in the room, other regimentals, but the gaudy scarlet uniform of a Guards colonel stood out. Reams looked at home in the company of medieval armor—brutal, direct, muscular, unimaginative.
He’d come up behind Jess. He waited, not saying anything, till she sensed him and turned around. If he’d succeeded in disconcerting her, she didn’t show it. Gravely courteous, holding herself straight as a rapier, she nodded.
“It would make more sense to send her out of England now,” Eunice said. “She shouldn’t have to face someone like Colonel Reams, alone.”
“She isn’t alone. She has you. And Sebastian. And me. And a growing contingent of the British Service dedicated to protecting every hair on her head.”
“Why are you keeping her in England, Adrian? If you’re planning to use that lovely child against her father —”
“I’m using her to help him, strangely enough, though I doubt she believes me. And that lovely child has killed three men that I know of, one of them before she was ten. She can deal with Colonel Reams.”
The colonel put a hand on Jess’s elbow and gestured toward the archway into the hall. Expressionlessly, she shook her head. She listened, with that same stiff lack of response, to a fast, close-set, hectoring string of words in her ear. His bulldog body pushed close, bullying with muscle and the barking voice.
Across the room, Sebastian watched, looking more and more menacing.
“That is blackmail the colonel’s trying, or possibly threat.” Eunice’s mouth set in distaste. “Or he may be asking for a bribe. Can Reams arrange for her father’s release?”
“No. You see everything, don’t you?” Adrian said. “I hope Sebastian doesn’t kill him on the premises. There are miles of dockyard and alley available for the purpose. And I want to help.”
“Can Reams arrest her?” Eunice answered herself, “I think not. Not with Bittern so interested.” On the other side of the room, the second secretary of the Foreign Office, Lord Bittern, held a cup of punch and watched Reams, his face even less revealing than Jess’s. “She’s being very determined and resourceful, playing one off against the other. All the same, it would be best if you found this traitor of yours rather quickly. I will not have Jess kidnapped and married off to some Foreign Office nonentity to secure our interests in Turkey. And Sebastian would have to live abroad if he killed someone important.”
“The only consideration that keeps several men alive today. ” Adrian kept an eye on the colonel. “I will intervene before Sebastian commits mayhem. Do you know, there is no conversation so private as one in the middle of swarming multitudes. I wonder which of them arranged this? Jess, I think.”
“She’s not surprised to see him here.”
“The world of espionage lost a great master when you decided to devote yourself to good works. So Jess meets the offensive Reams under the civilizing influence of many pairs of eyes. And what does he have to say that Jess finds so interesting? If he will just turn ever so slightly . . . Did you know one can make a very good guess what people are saying by watching their lips? It takes some practice. Reams says, ‘I don’t see any reason why you won’t . . . something . . . something . . . it will cause difficulty . . . good faith.’ And why would the colonel be talking about good faith? No. Look back this way, you abominable lump of offal.”
Men crossed Adrian’s line of vision, moving from armor to armor.
“Out of my way, good people. Ah. There we are. He’s saying, ‘. . . influence to get your father...’ I can guess what that’s about. ‘. . . the special—’ ” Adrian’s voice cut off abruptly. “I don’t like this. That was ‘special license.’ Jess, my very dear, I cannot believe you have allowed the colonel to talk you into anything that stupid.”
Eunice said, “I’ll get Sebastian.”
“THERE’S no hurry, anyway.” Jess had learned that from Papa. The man in a hurry always lost the dicker. “We can do this another day.”
“I’ve already made arrangements.” Reams had to keep his voice down—men nearby were already looking in their direction—so it came out a low, thick growl. “The minister expects us early tomorrow morning. Everything’s settled. I have friends coming.”
Hurst taught her about lying. He taught her to fold napkins into fancy shapes and how to fire thirty different kinds of guns. Hurst thought he could just walk in and look miserable and she’d forgive him. Hah.
He was watching her, him and Sebastian. It made her feel safe, knowing they were there. She was just neck-deep in irony tonight.
“Are you daring to doubt my word?” Reams turned red, all mottled, and shuffled his boots back and forth like he was about to stomp on something. “You’ll get the list when we’re married. That’s soon enough.”
“I’ll have it in hand then. But I see it the night before.”
The veins in his neck stood out. “I am an officer and a gentleman and I give you my bloody, damn word. Don’t cross me.”
And there was some gentlemanly language for you. “It’s a big step. Marriage. That’s a contract. I need to see if you keep your contracts.” Of course, he wasn’t planning to keep a particle of any agreement. Did he think she didn’t know?
“You want to see this? It’s so important you’ll insult me to my face?” He twisted around and pulled the paper out of his coat. “Then you can see it. What date? What? Tell me.”
He’d brought the list. He’d been planning to keep the bargain all along, if he couldn’t intimidate her. Bluffing.
She said, “Show me May fourth, last year.”
That started off a crackling and snapping search of the two pages of notes, him twisting the pages and stopping to glare at her. “You shouldn’t know that date. Just saying that date makes you guilty.” He spread his lips, showing yellow teeth, and it didn’t look at all like a smile. “You’re lucky I don’t haul you in myself.”
Bluffing again. If he could have laid hands on her, he would have. Men who bluffed were the easiest ones to bluff right back.
“I shouldn’t show you any of this.” He said it just loud enough for her to hear.
When Papa traded cloth, sometimes he’d signal her to make a shuffle like she was getting ready to leave. Helped to speed up the bargaining. She’d give a twitch and maybe put her hand on her reticule. Just a glance at Papa and moving barely enough to startle a fly.
She did it now. She let her attention drift . . .
“Here.” He thrust the list out at her. He’d clamped the page up tight, then pinched and creased it till only the one thin entry showed. He pulled it away before she could see it.
She waited, not saying anything or budging an inch, till he brought it out again and held it up in front of her and gave her a chance to read. He was seething the whole time. He’d go off in an apoplexy, one of these days.
The line he showed her was genuine. This was the date, place, the memorandum stolen. It matched what she knew, and the colonel had no way of knowing which date she’d want to check. This was a list of the secrets
