Page 2 of The Spy and His Lady Love
Wentworth looked in deep conversation with his duchess, so her dance partner bowed off and made haste, she noticed, in the general direction of the darkness. Had he attended tonight’s masquerade with his mistress? Had she been awaiting his attentions in the shadows while they danced? She refused to acknowledge the slight panic in her heart. She had no interest in the man. Or did she?
“Didyou enjoy yourself this evening, Penelope?” Emma, the Duchess of Wentworth, queried during the carriage ride home.
“Yes. Although I didn’t see the point of my being here this evening as I couldn’t tell who anyone was.”
Wentworth, who sat opposite her and beside his wife, said, “Precisely. I wanted your first venture into society to be under the cover of a mask. I wanted you to be at ease. I didn’t want all occupants of the room to stop speaking and stare at you when you entered. Which, I might add, will happen. People willgo out of their way tosnub you and make you feel inferior. Tonight I wanted you to have fun and dance.”
“Thank you, I think.” She’d been warned about members of the ton and how they would treat her with disdain and cut her direct. She’d yet to witness it. Since Wentworth had rescued her from poverty after her mother passed, she’d attended only intimate dinners held in their home. Or a home of a family friend. Tonight was her first foray into public, and she’d survived intact. Next time she best prepare tobe crucified.
Relievedthat no one recognized his true identity, Harry Sinclair, left Lady Penelope with her preoccupied brother. No one knew that the Duke of Newbury, Harry Sinclair, didn’t really have a cousin named Hugh. The disguise was a convenient way to do undercover work for the War Office and for Harry to go about town without having to pretend to be the crippled duke. The man all of thetonpitied and stayed away from.
After he left Penelope he continued watching her from the outer fringes where dimly lit ballroom met darkness. He didn’t want to admit how much she intrigued him with her innocence, quick wit, and inquisitive nature. If only he could protect her from members of the aristocracy when Wentworth introduced her out in polite society for the first time. Tonight didn’t count as it involved masks.
He had hoped Mr. Smythe would be in attendance because he had secret business to discuss with the head of the Bow Street Runners—business he didn’t want anyone to know about. This would’ve been the perfect place to conduct such a clandestinemeeting.Mr. Smythe had had the good fortune of marrying the granddaughter of a countess and being welcomed into the inner circle of Wentworth’s friends.
Perhaps tomorrow night would bring on the opportunity. Wentworth planned another small gathering at his estate for the evening meal. Another gathering, Harry believed, to find a worthy husband for Penelope. The duke had an excellent head on his shoulders. The sooner he married off the natural-born daughter of the late duke, the better. Harry would hate to see Penelope hurt by the beau monde. He was in the market for a wife. Perhaps he would consider her.After all, she wasquitecomely.
When the hired hack dropped him off down the block from his home on Park Street, Harry paid the driver, pulled the collar up on his black cloak, and lowered the brim of his hat at the same time he removed the mask. His eyes and ears on high alert, he scanned the street and surrounding homes, looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary.Having two identities, andoftentimesmore, made Harry diligent when guarding his secret life. If not, he could find himself dead and his body dumped in the Thames. Icy chills snaked up his spine causing him to shiver. He was mortal, after all, and not above being murdered. He’d had a pleasant life until now, and he intended to keep living it on his own terms.
Having convinced himself no danger lurked in the darkness, he snuck through private yards and gardens, through openings in fences and onto his property. He entered his estate through a hidden door into a secret hallway that led into his private chambers.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” cried Harry’s valet, Edmond, in relief. Edmond may be his valet, but his proper occupation was working for the War Office as a spy under his command. He and Harry served in the army under Wellington and fought alongside each other at Waterloo.
“Thank you, Edmond. You may retire for the night. I’m staying in and no longer need your services this evening.”
Edmond bowed. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
There were times Harry still forgot he’d inherited his uncle’s dukedom. His grandparents mustbe rollingover in their graves at the turn of events. Their second son and the black sheep of the family had run off and married a peasant’s daughter. Conceived one child, a son, and that son was now the feared and pitied Duke of Newbury. Only several people knew the accurate story. Harry intended keeping it that way.
