How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (10 page)

“Give it a few minutes,” Aden said, “then join us in the study.” He slipped away into the crowd, moving discreetly for a man his size.

“The bonny lassies will have to wait, I suppose,” Alec said in a morose voice.

“We can only hope they'll refrain from planning any additional conspiracies in our absence.” Will watched Evie as she shared a laugh with her sister. It was impossible to believe that she was involved in anything nefarious.

He and Alec strolled to the wide doorway leading from the ballroom to the upstairs landing of the mansion. Several people called out greetings or tried to engage them in conversation—in Alec's case, mostly women—but they made their excuses until they found themselves out in the hall.

A liveried footman waited for them at the top of the stairs. “This way, if you please,” he said with a bow.

He preceded them down the stairs and toward the back of the house, ushering them to a door where Aden waited for them. Their cousin led them in.

The study was a handsome, oak-paneled room with bow windows that faced out into the duchess' famous rose garden. At this time of night, the windows only reflected the light from several branches of candles, a few lamps on reading tables, and the wavering image of the man sitting in a leather club chair in front of the fireplace, drinking a brandy.

“Good evening, sir,” William said to his father.

The three cousins bowed to the duke.

“St. George, have a seat.” York waved a vague hand at the chair next to him. “I'd tell you lads to fetch yourselves a brandy, but there's no point shilly-shallying down here. The fewer who know we're meeting, the better.”

“Yes, sir,” Will took the chaise opposite his father. Alec, who obviously preferred standing, moved behind the chaise to take up a position behind Will. Whether to cover his back or hide behind him remained an open question.

His father launched into it without fanfare. “I understand from Dominic that you've made very little progress.” His thick brows pulled into a beetling scowl. “I trust neither of you needs me to point out the urgency of the situation.”

If Will had been standing, he would have been forced to repress the impulse to shuffle his feet. A slight noise behind him suggested that Alec was doing just that.

As for Aden, the bastard lifted a mocking eyebrow but kept his mouth shut.

“No, sir, you don't,” Will said. “And although Alasdair and I hoped to be further along in our investigation, we've made some progress.”

The duke looked regally down his long nose. “Are you suggesting that Dominic mischaracterized your report?”

Will managed to hold in a weary sigh—barely. “Not at all, sir.”

“Then it is
I
who misunderstand?” His father's eyebrows would have disappeared into his hair, if he still had any.

“Indeed no, and I would never suggest such a thing, Your Highness,” Will said, throttling back his frustration. There was no denying his father was a resourceful and accomplished commander, but like many men in power, he was often impatient and quick to judgment.

“Will, perhaps you can summarize what you told Sir Dominic yesterday,” Aden smoothly interposed. “That would be to my benefit as well, since I was unable to attend that meeting.”

Will looked at his father who grunted his permission.

Swiftly, he recapped what had transpired at Maywood Manor, with Alec adding additional information parsed from his conversations with Beaumont. Even on a second hearing, Will had to admit it wasn't much of a report.

“So, we're not really very far along, are we?” barked the duke.

“Only insofar as we can't rule out Beaumont's involvement,” Will replied as tactfully as he could.

“Can't rule it in, either. The man's a bloody saint, if you ask me,” Alec added with regrettable bluntness.

The duke's eyes narrowed ominously. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

“Only that Beaumont seems genuinely devoted to his charity,” Will hastily interposed, “which obviously doesn't preclude him from involvement in a conspiracy. It just means he's sincerely passionate about what he believes in.”

“Men who hold passionate opinions are sometimes revolutionaries or tyrants,” the duke said, “as we saw all too unfortunately in France.”

“Indeed,” said Aden. “We can all agree that we don't have enough evidence to rule Beaumont in or out as a suspect. Perhaps it would be best if we decide on our next course of action.”

“By
we,
you mean
us,
” Alec muttered. Will wanted to yank him down by the cravat and tell him to keep his mouth shut.

Instead, he nodded to Aden. “We have a plan to get closer to Beaumont. Alec has managed to convince him that he's interested in donating money and patronage to his charitable endeavors. Beaumont is enthusiastic and seems to have developed a degree of trust in Alec. My cousin will continue to work on that end of things while I poke around St. Margaret's.”

“Poke around when?” the duke asked.

“Tomorrow, I hope. Miss Whitney has agreed to show me around the building and introduce me to some of her charity cases.”

“Make sure that happens,” his father said, rising. Will and Aden rose with him. “Our sources in Dublin are no less concerned than they were a week ago.” The duke strolled for the door. “By the by, William, what's your impression of Miss Whitney? Any sense she's involved in this?”

“No, sir,” Will replied. “She's completely innocent, I'm sure of it.”

His father paused with his hand on the doorknob. “And what is the basis for that certainty?”

“I know her, sir.” Will resisted the impulse to spring emphatically to her defense. That would only make his father suspicious.

“You'll have to do better than that, my boy,” the duke replied with disdain before stomping from the room.

“Christ,” Alec said after the door had closed. “That was a lovely little disaster.”

“It could have gone better,” Aden admitted. “But Dominic and I will handle the duke. You two just keep your noses to the ground and stick to the plan.”

They discussed details for a few more minutes and then headed out to the hallway together. Aden took his leave from them at the front door. “I have a beautiful wife waiting for me, snugly tucked into bed,” he said, when Alec teased him about his eagerness to return home. “And her company is infinitely preferable to yours.” He flashed them a sardonic grin as he accepted his hat and cane from the butler. “Besides, I know how much you lads enjoy doing the pretty with the ladies.”

“Bugger you,” Alec called after him, shocking both the butler and the footman at the door.

Will started up the stairs. “I need to get Evie alone,” he said to his cousin. “I suggest you try your winning ways on Beaumont and make some more progress on your budding friendship.”

“Such a tough assignment for you,” Alec mocked. “I know how much you hate spending time with such a lovely girl.”

“You really are a complete ass,” Will said.

He ignored Alec's mocking laughter as they plunged into the ridiculous crush of the ballroom. Duchess Campworth's affairs were always too crowded, even at a time of year when London was thin of company. But she served excellent victuals and champagne, encouraged deep play at the card tables, and had a tendency to invite anyone involved in the latest, most salacious scandal. It made for an unbeatable combination when it came to attracting a crowd.

Over the mass of waving feathers and gigantic turbans, Will scanned the crowd for Evie. Alec, a few inches taller, finally spied her. “At the top of the room, near the refreshment table.”

Will wasn't much pleased to see Beaumont still hanging all over Evie, gazing into her pretty face with a nauseating expression of puppy love. Eden stood close by, laughing and flirting with the usual circle of idiots courting her favor. Evie all but ignored her sister, earnestly intent on conversation with Beaumont.

“Christ,” Will growled. “Beaumont never leaves Evie alone for a moment.”

“I'll take care of that,” Alec said. “Should be a waltz coming up soon. Why don't you take Miss Evelyn out for a whirl and then down to supper. I'll keep Beaumont and the terrible twin occupied.”

Will had to laugh at Alec's description of Eden. Evie's twin hadn't a bad bone in her body, but she had a knack for getting into mischief and keeping everyone around her in turmoil. It mystified him why she was so much more popular than Evie. True, Evie didn't flatter or flirt, but she was just as pretty as her twin and a damned sight easier to be with.

They reached their targets in good order, thanks to Alec's willingness to bull his way through the well-bred mob. As usual, Will followed in his wake issuing apologies, but for once he didn't mind. With perfect timing, he was able to elbow his way in front of Beaumont just as the orchestra struck up the waltz.

Ignoring Beaumont's mumbled protest, Will gave Evie his warmest smile. “Miss Whitney, may I claim the pleasure of this dance?”

She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and startled behind the lenses of her spectacles. “Oh, Will, when did you arrive? I haven't seen you all evening.” Then she winced, obviously embarrassed that she'd all but admitted looking for him. That naïve declaration pleased him more than it should have, but he knew better than to let her see that.

“We arrived some time ago,” he said vaguely, “but you were in a set. Besides, it's so crowded it took us forever to make our way to the front of the room.”

“It is a crush, isn't it? That's why Michael suggested we beat a retreat to a quiet corner behind the refreshment table.” She gave Beaumont, who was clearly fuming as he tried to edge around Will, an encouraging smile.

“Understandable,” Will replied, taking a casual step to the side to block Beaumont from reaching Evie. “Although any corner that includes Edie and her pack of suitors can hardly be called quiet.”

“I heard that,” Eden said loudly. She shoved her way through the aforementioned pack, showing no more compunction about stepping on toes than Alec had. “And I don't believe your excuse for one minute, Wolf. You and your oversized shadow arrived almost an hour ago, and you didn't even attempt to come see us.” She finished her complaint by directing an irate glare at Alec, whose only response was to give her an outrageous wink.

“Well, you're here now, and that's all that matters,” Evie said, directing a reproving frown at her twin.

“Indeed we are.” Will took her hand and threaded their fingers together. “Now about that dance.”

“Captain Endicott,” Beaumont began in an irate voice, “I'm afraid that Miss Whitney—”

“Mr. Beaumont!” Alec exclaimed, cutting him off. “Just the fellow I wanted to see. Why, only a half hour ago I was talking to a friend about the Hibernian Benevolent Association. He posed me several interesting questions about the services you provide to the poor unfortunates of St. Giles. I've a mind he might be willing to donate a tidy sum if we can satisfactorily answer his questions.”

Alec's slight emphasis on the word
we
and his chummy
we're in this together
manner did the trick.

Beaumont perked up. “Who is this person?”

Alec tapped the side of his nose. “Don't want to bandy his name about yet, but I can assure you that he's very plump in the pockets.” He leaned forward, affecting a conspiratorial whisper. “And he might be willing to speak to others on our behalf too.”

“Splendid,” Beaumont said. “After this dance with—”

Alec emphatically shook his head. “Don't think we can afford to let this one slip away.” He clapped a friendly but clearly restraining hand on Beaumont's shoulder. “We need to discuss this
immediately.
”

Beaumont cast a doubting glance at Evie, who seemed to be inspecting the toes of her dancing slippers. Then she lifted her eyes to cast a shy glance at Will. That look told him she wasn't the least bit averse to dancing with him and leaving her suitor to Alec's tender ministrations.

“Not to worry, Beaumont,” he said, gently pulling Evie to his side. “I'll take care of Miss Whitney.”

“Oh, I, I . . .” she stammered as he swung her into the waltz.

As he twirled her around, Will caught a last glimpse of Alec leading Beaumont away by the elbow, while Eden—whose suitors were drifting away—directed a killing glare at Alec's back. Will had to stifle a laugh. Yes, it was rude of them to abandon her so precipitously, but Eden had left legions of suitors in the dust. The little jab to her pride would likely do her good.

When he moved through the next turn, Evie's full breasts brushed his chest, a lush slide of silk and soft, tempting flesh, and all thoughts of Eden blew away like mist before a strong wind. And when he looked down at Evie's pretty face, taking in her flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips, his mind seemed to go fuzzy around the edges.

It took him a few moments to figure out why—all the blood was apparently draining from his head, heading rapidly for points farther south.

Evie sucked in a deep breath that pushed her bosom right into Will's broad chest. When a cascade of sensations sizzled through her body, she didn't know whether to faint from humiliation, snuggle in closer, or try to pretend she wasn't the least bit affected by his embrace. Obviously, choice number three was the only sensible course of action, though her body disagreed with that assessment.

Oddly, Will also seemed disconcerted, peering down at her with a puzzled look. A faint flush glazed the hollows of his cheekbones. She could swear his pupils had dilated, making the light blue of his gaze stand out in dazzling contrast. It also took her a moment to realize he was holding her much too tightly. If she needed any confirmation, the shocked expressions on the faces of elderly chaperones as Will swept her down the dance floor provided it.

She winced. As lovely as it felt to be in Will's arms, she hated being fodder for gossip.

When she tried to insert some space between them, he resisted. Startled, she glanced up at his face. A smoldering intensity had replaced the puzzled expression in his eyes, and he stared down at her now with an almost predatory gaze. Everything inside her seemed to go still, as if something momentous was about to happen. She felt like a bird or small animal anticipating the advance of a mighty storm, one that had the power to change the landscape forever.

As Will swept her through another turn, the crowd parted in a garish whirl of color, and she caught a glimpse of Michael and Captain Gilbride. Eden trailed in their wake with a cross expression on her features. As if Evie had called out to her, her twin's head whipped around and their eyes locked. Evie could see a flare of alarm in her sister's eyes, and Eden's right hand came up in a short, choppy wave. Then the dancers swirled together again, cutting Eden and the others off from view.

But the warning from her twin had been clear.
Trouble ahead, Evie. Ignore at your peril.

And she suddenly remembered that Michael would soon be asking formally for her hand in marriage, which meant she had
no
business feeling anything but friendship for Will. How many times did she need to be reminded of that?

Then she also remembered how dreadfully awkward she felt whenever she waltzed. The feel of a man's arm encircling her body had always been disconcerting—especially since her lamentably generous bosom showed a tendency to get in the way, invariably leading to much tripping over her own feet. Even with Michael she could never feel entirely comfortable, despite his being a most decorous and careful dancer.

But to her vast surprise, she'd forgotten how poorly she waltzed as soon as Will took her in his arms. She felt so light that dancing with him seemed to come as naturally as breathing.

Of course, a moment later and all too predictably, she stumbled badly.

Will quickly righted her and slowed the pace. “Evie, are you all right?”

She'd managed to stub her toe against his rock-hard shin, but she repressed a groan.

“I'm fine,” she said, trying to again force a few inches between them. Now that she'd come to her senses, she was painfully aware of the heat burning between them at every point where their bodies connected.

Irritation pulled his brows together into a scowl. “For God's sake, stop wriggling around like an eel. Either something is wrong or you're a considerably worse dancer than I remember.”

That pulled a startled laugh from her throat. As enjoyable as it was to have Will's arms around her, especially with that exciting but altogether too dangerous look in his eyes, she found it much easier to manage him when he acted like the Will she'd always known—a familiar friend rather than a lover.

But when he tried to pull her tight into his muscular form again, she hissed, “You're holding me too close. People are beginning to notice.”

Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of her mother on the edge of the dance floor, with her fan paused in mid-wave as she stared at them. But instead of throwing daggers at her with her eyes, Mamma tilted her head and gave Evie a sly smile. That look so alarmed Evie that she tripped over her feet again.

Will heaved a sigh and steered them toward the edge of the dance floor.

“We don't need to stop dancing,” Evie said. “You just need to stop squeezing me so tightly.”

An oddly speculating look darkened his gaze, but he didn't answer until he'd maneuvered them past an enthusiastically oblivious couple. “If I don't get you off this floor, I'm afraid you're going to kill yourself. Or me.”

“I'm not that bad,” she grumbled.

She hated that she was so clumsy, and she hated the rush of heat to her face even more. Will must think her little changed from the awkward schoolgirl he'd rejected so many years ago. That wasn't the case, even if he couldn't see it. Too bad she couldn't find a way to communicate that fact without sounding like a complete ninny—or like she wished for him to make advances to her.

“No, you're not,” he said, easing her into a fortuitously empty space by a marble column. “In fact, you were doing beautifully until a few minutes ago. What threw you off your feed?”

“What a remarkably inelegant way of expressing your point. What put me
off my feed
was the way you were squeezing my ribcage until I could barely breathe.”

A lazy grin curled up the corners of his mouth. Evie
did
feel breathless, even though he was no longer touching her.

“I liked squeezing you.” His purring voice sent fairy fingers dancing down her spine. “I must say, you felt very nice in my arms.”

It took all her willpower not to gape at him. “Will Endicott, surely you're not flirting with me,” she asked, trying to sound severe. Though she should be aghast—for a hundred reasons—at the moment she found it difficult to work up the appropriate outrage.

The tiny part of her brain that remained rational, however, buzzed in circles, trying to understand why he was acting so out of character.

When Will's gaze deliberately flicked down to her bosom, Evie was painfully aware that her nipples were doing their best to poke through the thin fabric of her undergarments and dress. Not that her nipples seemed to mind his notice. In fact, her brain had obviously disconnected from her body the second he had taken her into his arms.

“And would you mind if I were?” he asked in a husky, altogether unfamiliar voice.

Evie had to resist the temptation to slap her palm against her ear, wondering if her hearing had gone bad.

Before she could formulate a semi-coherent response, Will's head jerked up and his smiling lips rolled in on themselves, stretching tight and thin as Evie became aware of a commotion behind her. It was substantial enough to compete with the strains of the orchestra, the chattering voices, and the clicking of shoes on the dance floor.

As Will snapped to attention, one of his hands came to her elbow to gently turn her around. When she did, she found herself staring straight at the medal-covered chest of a rotund figure, clothed in an imposing dress uniform.

“Good evening, sir,” Will said, bowing to the Duke of York.

Evie stared, blinking like a simpleton. She knew, of course, that the duke was Will's natural father but she'd never met him, only seeing him from a distance at reviews and the occasional ball. The usual responses seemed to twist in on themselves and her mind went completely blank.

Will's elbow nudged her from her daze.

“Y-your Royal Highness,” she stammered, dropping into a deep curtsey.

As she rose, she cast a nervous glance around her. The duke was accompanied by several officers and his hostess, but they hovered some feet away as if to give them a modicum of privacy. She sensed, however, that they were clearly all straining their ears to eavesdrop.

“Captain, introduce me to the lady,” the duke barked.

Evie repressed the instinct to flinch and smiled politely as she forced herself to gaze up into the duke's round, florid face. It took all her discipline to resist taking an involuntary step back, since His Highness regarded her with something like antipathy.

Why, she hadn't a clue.

“Of course, sir,” Will replied calmly. “This is Miss Evelyn Whitney, the daughter of Viscount and Lady Reese.”

If anything, the duke's scowl went from bad to worse after the introduction. Evie dropped into another deep curtsey, just to be on the safe side.

“Are your parents about?” the duke asked in the same blunt manner. “Perhaps you can find them while I have a chat with Captain Endicott.”

Evie flinched, staggered by the rude dismissal. Will went stiff beside her, silently radiating disapproval of his father's tactics. The fact that the duke's followers were listening with avid eagerness made the situation doubly distressing.

She struggled to maintain a semblance of dignity. “Of course, Your Highness.” She nodded a good-bye to Will, trying not to show how rattled she felt. But when Will's hand again grasped her elbow, pulling her up short, she let out a little gasp.

“I should be most happy to speak to you, sir,” he said quietly, “after I have escorted Miss Whitney back to her party.”

The duke's narrowed gaze signaled how little he appreciated his son's defiance. “I'm sure Miss Whitney can find her way back to her mamma, William. She's not a chit of a girl, after all.”

That last bit was clearly not a compliment.

Evie glanced nervously at Will, and her heart sank when she saw his jaw go rock-like. She mentally groaned at the idea of him defying his powerful father in public—and all out of a misguided sense of loyalty to her. She honored him for it, but neither of them would benefit from the gossip that would surely follow on the heels of an ugly little scene.

As if sent from heaven, Gilbride appeared through a small gap in the crowd, moving to stand next to Evie. For a big, dominating man who seemed to bull his way through life, he had a remarkable ability to move with cat-like stealth.

“Your Highness,” he said, giving the duke a respectful bow. Then he smiled down at Evie. “May I escort you back to your party, Miss Whitney? Your mamma sent me to fetch you.” He cocked what looked like an ironic eyebrow at Will's father. “With your permission, sir.”

The duke waved an impatient hand. “Yes, yes, go on.”

Forcing herself not to look at Will, Evie took Gilbride's arm and let him lead her away through the crowd. He chatted amiably all the while, sounding like a featherhead, even though Evie was coming to conclude he was far from it. His arrival had been too well timed to be anything other than deliberate, and he'd handled the situation with polite efficiency. When she was no longer choking back a dreadful sense of humiliation, hoping the floor would open up and swallow her, she would make a point of thanking Gilbride for his welcome intervention.

Halfway up the ballroom, she could no longer resist looking over her shoulder. Will and his father stood where they had left them, although the duke's entourage had widened the circle around them. Apparently, at that point they feared a prince's displeasure more than they wished to overhear his conversation with his son.

Evie's heart sank as she took in Will's stone-faced expression. He listened politely to his father, and nodded his head once in agreement. But she knew what that blank expression meant. He was furious, but as embarrassed by the little scene as she was. That she had caused the scene, however unintentionally, made her stomach cramp with dismay. She and Will had just started to heal the wounds between them and this episode would surely destroy any chance of reconciled friendship.

Without Will ever having to tell her in so many words, she understood how important it was for him to please his father. Years ago, when the duke had decided to pay for his schooling and his commission in the army, Will had been overjoyed. His father's private acknowledgment had been one of the defining milestones of his life. Openly defying the duke out of loyalty to her, even over something so inconsequential, would surely have repercussions.

“It's not your fault,” Gilbride said in a quiet voice as he steered her around a clutch of languid dandies. “You did nothing wrong, and neither did Wolf.”

It took a moment to swallow the lump in her throat before she could answer. “Thank you for your kindness, sir. I'm not sure why the duke was so gruff with us, but I would hate to be the cause of any unpleasantness between Will and his . . . and the duke.”

Gilbride let out a sardonic snort. “Most members of the royal family excel at unpleasantness, at least the dukes do. One eventually gets used to it.”

“But—”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Truly, Miss Whitney, you have nothing to worry about. Wolf is more than adept at handling his father. You needn't be concerned.”

He gave her another one of his winks, though this one seemed friendly rather than flirtatious. Evie thought she rather liked the big Scotsman, no matter what Eden might say about him.

But as they rejoined her family and friends, Gilbride's jesting persona reasserted itself. She was now more than half-convinced he was playing some sort of role. That hardly sounded rational, but there seemed to be no other explanation for his rapid shifts in behavior.

“Hallo, hallo,” he exclaimed in a booming voice that made her sister grimace. “Look who I stumbled upon in my stroll around the room. I knew Miss Evelyn would be as eager as I am to snabble up the lobster patties at supper, so I convinced her to toddle back with me.” He finished his clownish speech by giving Mamma, who was staring at him with her mouth slightly open, a buffoonish grin.

“Oh, for God's sake,” Eden muttered, taking Evie's arm. She made a shooing motion at Gilbride with her free hand. “Thank you for retrieving my sister, Captain, but there's no need to waste another minute on us.”