How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (2 page)

 

After paying off the hackney driver, Will glanced up at the elegant town house on Upper Wimpole Street. He'd been to Sir Dominic Hunter's home three times in the last four years, when he'd been in London on Wellington's orders to share intelligence with the powerful spymaster. Although Dominic had initially recruited Will into the ranks of the Intelligence Service, it hadn't been long before he'd facilitated Will's transfer to the duke's staff of exploring officers—military men with the skills to draw maps, gather intelligence, work with local guides, and avoid capture by the enemy.

Dominic had selected Alasdair, too, plucking him from the Black Watch and transferring him to Wellington's staff. Alec had been a perfect fit for the job as a military intelligence agent. He spoke fluent Spanish and Portuguese, could sketch like a bloody engineer, and was as crafty as the devil himself. The spymaster had also suggested to the duke that Will and Alec partner on the majority of their missions, even though the usual way of things was for exploring officers to work with Spanish guerrillas who knew the terrain and the local politics. But Dominic had been insistent that Will and Alec work together, and Wellington had eventually agreed.

Why Dominic had been so intent on the partnership was a bit of a mystery, but the spymaster was known for taking a close interest in the lives of the illegitimate children of the royal princes. Aden St. George, for one, a former captain in the Royal Dragoons and one of Dominic's best spies, was a by-blow of the Prince Regent. It hardly seemed coincidental that three royal bastards had been recruited into England's spy service. Will often thought that Dominic had a secret purpose in store for him, and for Alec and Aden, too.

Of course, the war was now over, so what Dominic wanted hardly mattered anymore. No more skulking behind enemy lines, wearing absurd, filthy disguises, and taking risks that could have landed Will in a French prison. No, that part of his life was finished. He had other ambitions now, ones that would not be served by continuing his work in espionage. While men from good families had served in the Intelligence Service during the war, it was hardly looked on as a respectable profession for an officer and gentleman.

Will
wanted
a respectable life and career, one that would allow him to overcome the stigma of his parentage
and
his modest financial situation. In order to do that, he had to leave his current life far behind.

He came out of his reverie when two middle-aged women, their parasols taking up most of the sidewalk, sailed by. One made a pointed reference about “ill-mannered soldiers.” Will stepped hastily back, just missing a poke in the eye from one of the absurdly frilly parasols.

When the older of the women threw him a withering glance, he responded with his most charming smile and tipped his hat with a flourish. The woman sniffed and muttered “Jackanapes” loud enough for him to hear, and he was hard put not to laugh. God, it was good to be back in England. Here, the greatest danger he faced was getting poked in the eye by a parasol or receiving cutting looks from the doyennes of the
ton
.

Grinning to himself, he ran up the steps of Dominic's house and lifted the knocker. The door swung open to reveal a plainly garbed, older man, one of Dominic's former field agents who now worked in his household. He took Will's hat and gloves and then turned him over to the butler, who had appeared as if by magic from the back of the house.

“Ah, Smithwell, still sneaking up on everyone, I see,” Will said, twitting the solemn fellow.

“I leave sneaking to the lower orders, Captain Endicott,” Smithwell replied with magnificent disdain. Smithwell loved to play the role of starchy butler, even though he had once been one of Dominic's more ruthless operatives. “Sir Dominic asks that you wait in the morning room until he is ready to see you.”

Will sighed, knowing he might be waiting for some time. Dominic was often called to deal with urgent matters on a moment's notice, and he was not someone to be rushed. This meeting seemed like a waste of time anyway, since Will had no intention of accepting any mission Dominic might try to thrust upon him. In fact, today would be the day that he tendered his resignation from the spy game, once and for all.

Smithwell led him to the morning room that faced onto a small garden behind the house.

Will paused on the threshold, momentarily taken aback. He'd waited in this room before, and he remembered elegant but austere appointments in muted shades of blue and gray, complemented by well-made but plain furniture. Now, though, the room dazzled with yellow walls and red and yellow striped curtains that framed the large bay window. The old furniture had been replaced by plump-cushioned couches and comfortable armchairs covered in riotously gay floral fabric. It was as if the windows had been flung open and a summer garden had been transported indoors. The effect was enhanced by large vases of yellow roses, two on the mantelpiece and another on a round table in the window.

The room was so unlike Dominic, a man who rarely looked anything less than grim, that Will let out a bemused laugh.

“It's like being in a damn lady's boudoir isn't it? If I didn't know better, I'd think poor old Dominic had lost his mind,” said a familiar voice.

Will turned to see his cousin leisurely rise from a wingback chair tucked into a corner alcove filled with bookcases. “Alec! I thought you were tied at the heels to your regiment in Paris.”

Unlike Will, who'd spent the last several weeks mopping up the remnants of Napoleon's army, Alec had marched to Paris with the troops enforcing the occupation.

“Aye,” Alec sighed. “I had a rough go of it while you were off adventuring on the frontier. I envied you, you lucky bastard.”

Will snorted his disdain. “Yes, I'm sure Paris was torture for you.”

Alec, no doubt, had taken the sojourn as an opportunity to drink and wench his way through the city. No matter where he went, women always threw themselves at his feet. Will had often been forced to save his cousin's hide, dragging Alec off before some irate father or husband came after him with a shotgun or old blunderbuss and even, on one memorable occasion, a machete.

Alec gave him an evil grin but didn't rise to the bait. “When did you arrive back in London?”

“Just yesterday, although I've been in England for a few weeks. I was visiting with Aunt Rebecca in Hampshire. I wanted to see how she was getting along after my uncle passed away.” Will still had trouble believing that Uncle Philip was dead, and it had troubled him greatly that he'd been unable to return to England in time for the funeral.

Will, the grandchild of a baronet, had been sent to live as the ward of Philip Endicott shortly after his birth. Uncle Philip, a cousin of the family, had been a prosperous gentleman, living a comfortable existence with his wife, Rebecca, in the Hampshire countryside. Childless, they had generously taken Will in, treating him as their own son and helping to minimize the scandal of his birth. Since Will's mother had died when he was less than a year old, the Endicotts had been the only family he'd ever known. His father, the Duke of York, had begun to exert influence on Will's life once he turned sixteen, but no one could replace Uncle Philip.

“How is your aunt?” Alec asked in a sympathetic voice.

Will shrugged. “Well enough. Uncle Philip's nephew inherited the property and the manor house, but my aunt has been amply provided for. She's taken a house near Basingstoke, close to her sisters.”

Alec scowled. “And what about you? Did your uncle make any settlements on you, or have you been left out in the bloody cold?”

Will glanced at the trolley next to the fireplace that held a number of decanters. “What are you drinking? Looks like we have a wait, so I might as well join you.”

He poured a splash of what he knew would be the finest cognac into a cut crystal glass. Years fighting the enemy didn't stop Dominic from occasionally availing himself of a little French contraband.

“By the way,” he asked, wanting to avoid a discussion of his financial affairs, “what the hell has come over Dominic?” He made a vague gesture at the plush, softly feminine furniture. “This is hardly his usual sort of thing.”

Alec inspected him with a narrow-eyed gaze, obviously debating whether to pursue the conversation about Will's present situation. There was little point and little to report. Though Uncle Philip had left him a genteel competence that was more than kind, it would hardly allow him to live the life of a gentleman. At least a gentleman who lived in London or wished for advancement in his military career.

“Sir Dominic recently married. Hadn't you heard?” Alec's sardonic gaze indicated he wasn't fooled by Will's dodge.

“I'd always thought him wedded to his work,” he replied, genuinely surprised. “Who was the lucky lady?”

Alec rolled his eyes. “I haven't a clue, and I must say I'm not interested in the subject. And your unsubtle evasion—which, really, is rather pathetic in an agent of your caliber—suggests that your uncle did
not
make a provision for you. Did everything go to that bloody fool nephew of his?”

“He did what he could, but most of the estate was tied up either by the entail or my aunt's marriage settlements.” When Alec began to curse, Will held up a hand. “Uncle Philip was more than generous, and what he left should keep me going until I can get a promotion or a position in one of the ministries.”

Alec let out a sigh and dropped into an elegant but fragile-looking chair. It creaked alarmingly under the impact of his imposing frame. “I wish you would let me help you, laddie. You know I have more than enough.”

More than enough was an understatement. Alec was heir to a wealthy Scottish earldom, of which his grandfather was the current titleholder. Under Scottish law, titles could be passed down through the female line, and Alec's mother—now long dead—had been the only child of the Earl of Riddick, and dutifully married when she'd had her brief affair with a royal duke. Along with Alec's aristocratic lineage came a generous allowance, one that he'd always been willing to share. But Will refused to take charity from his cousin, loath to become his or any man's dependant.

“And you know I'm not going to do that.” Will swirled the amber liquid around in his glass before taking a swallow. They'd been over this a hundred times, and the outcome was always the same.

Alec's frustration was evident. “Well, don't blame me if you end up in the poorhouse.”

Will laughed. “I won't. Now, why don't we change the subject?”

“Suit yourself.” Alec's amicable tone set Will instantly on guard. “While you were in Hampshire, did you happen to visit with any of the local gentry?”

Christ.
His cousin was truly incorrigible. “I didn't have the time.”

Alec raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “You couldn't find one wee minute to stop in and visit with old friends? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” he said with a clear warning note.

Naturally, Alec ignored it. “How sad that you didn't have time to drop in on your old friends, Viscount and Lady Reese. I believe they have daughters, do they not? Twins, I think you said.”

After setting down his glass on a ridiculously pretty and fragile table, Will propped a shoulder against the mantelpiece. “You do realize I can still take you?”

Alec let out a guffaw. “Try it, and see how far you get. Now, back to the lovely Reese daughters and when you plan to see them. One in particular, I should say.”

“Christ, man. You saw the girls once at a review, hundreds of yards away. And that was three years ago. You have no bloody idea what they look like.”

When Alec started to argue, Will seriously contemplated hauling his cousin into the garden and giving him a bit of home-brewed. After his financial situation, Will's least favorite topic was Miss Evelyn Whitney, his childhood sweetheart for lack of a better term. Not that
he
would ever use that word in describing her. In fact, he rarely talked about Evie at all. But he'd apparently said enough over the years to give Alec an indication of his feelings for her.

Or, more correctly, what his feelings for her
used
to be. Evie was part of the past—a fondly remembered past, but one that no longer had any bearing on his life.

The fortuitous entrance of Smithwell spared him from having to forcibly shut his cousin's mouth.

“Finally,” Will muttered as the butler ushered them upstairs to Dominic's study.

“Coward,” Alec muttered back.

“Remind me how old you are again?” he retorted as they reached the top of the staircase.

Alec flashed him an evil grin but held his tongue since Smithwell was tapping on the door to Dominic's study.

“Captains Endicott and Gilbride, Sir Dominic.”

The butler stepped aside to allow them to pass. Will went in first but came to a sudden halt when he saw who was waiting for them. Alec plowed into his back, almost knocking him off his feet. Good Lord, they
were
like a pair of idiotic schoolboys, or so the long-suffering look on Dominic's face suggested.

“Please come in, gentlemen,” he said in a disapproving voice. “You don't wish to keep his Highness waiting, do you?”

“No, Sir Dominic,” Will replied, trying not to wince at the reprimand.

He strode into the room and bowed to the man sitting in one of the leather club chairs in front of Dominic's desk. “Forgive me, sir. I wasn't expecting to see you today.”