Page 24 of The Spy and His Lady Love
Chapter 7
“He what?”Penelope must have heard Thomas wrong.
“I’m sorry. His Grace has sent a missive saying he has to postpone the wedding due to unforeseen circumstances. And hopes you understand that he is not breaking off the engagement.” Her brother’s eyes narrowed to slits; his anger palpable within the four walls. “If he cancels, I’ll have him murdered. The bloody bastard, ‘unforeseen circumstances’ my arse. He better come up with something better when I pay him an unannounced call this afternoon. This could ruin you. If I could get my hands on his neck?” Penelope cringed as he used his hands and pretended to strangle someone. It almost made her feel sorry for Newbury.
“Why don’t I call it off and be done with him.”
“No,” he bellowed.
“If I call off our engagement, there will be talk, but no scandal and I will not be ruined. Which means so much to you.” She waved her hand. “The announcement will not come as a shock when you consider whom I’m affianced to.”
He went silent and Penelope could see by the light in his eyes he was thinking on it.
“Perhaps Mr. Sinclair would be willing to marry you. After all, you come with a large dowry. Not that I’ve heard anything good or bad about his finances. He is also next in line to inherit should Newbury croak.” He paused and looked at her with renewed interest.
The idea of marrying Mr. Sinclair had her insides in an uproar. She wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t find him interesting and more than handsome. However, she found Newbury brought out the same thoughts. “Seeing’s how Mr. Sinclair and Newbury are the only relatives each man has; I refuse to cause a rift between them. Marrying Mr. Sinclair is not an option.”
“Fine. But I’m paying a visit to Newbury today nonetheless.”
Holedup in his study for hours awaiting Smythe’s arrival, Harry had ideas and plans jotted down on paper scattered all over his usually impeccably neat desktop. His thoughts kept swinging back and forth between the murders of his colleagues and his postponement of his wedding. After sending a message to Wentworth that morning, he’d heard nothing. He expected a scathing remark from the affable, well-liked and admired, duke.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” the butler, Greeves, said as he entered the study and bowed. “Mr. Smythe has arrived.”
“Thank you.”
Smythe walked in, clothes and hair mussed and the man’s eyes huge with shock.”
“Sit. You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell, even worse.” He collapsed into a chair and closed his eyes.”
“Here, take this.” Harry had expected his stressful arrival and had a glass of whiskey waiting.
The ex-Runner’s eyes popped open. “Thank you. I believe I need several more of these to numb my brain.” He downed the glass, coughed, and held it out. “Another, please.”
Harry filled the glass to the brim this time and went around his desk and sat. His hand picked up his own glass and took a long sip and enjoyed the heat as it went down his throat and coated his stomach. “Was it that bad?”
Smythe’s entire body shuttered as he wisely sipped his drink. “Worse. The disbelief and then hatred on the faces of those I’ve worked with for years shocked me. I expected some loyalty to me for all I’ve done.”
“How did your wife handle it when you told her what would happen?”
His eyes lowered and focused on the glass clutched in his hand. “She is worried for me. She’s a wise and remarkable woman for someone so young as eight and ten. We agreed she would stay with her sister, the Marchioness of Amesbury, for the foreseeable future.”
Discussing Smythe’s young wife had Harry’s mind conjuring up Penelope’s lovely face. How, when she smiled, it lit up her blue eyes the color of the midday sky. She must be furious with him for postponing their marriage.
“Excuse me again, Your Grace, but the Duke of Wentworth is here to see you. I explained you were not receiving visitors, but he insists upon speaking with you. You must quickly get on your disguise.”
No sooner had the valet finished speaking, did Wentworth barge into the room.
Harry stood and rounded the desk. “See here, Wentworth.”
Wentworth looked from Smythe, who he acknowledged with a nod, and then Newbury. “Sinclair?” He frowned and paused for several long drawn out moments. “Did the valet just call you, Your Grace?” His eyes flew from Smythe to him and back to Smythe. “Who is this man to you?”
Harry knew the two men were friends. They may not have started out that way in the beginning when Wentworth hired the Runner to work for him, but over the years they became close friends. Smythe looked to him with a cocked brow and resigned look. “I’ll let him answer.”
Blue eyes, very close to Penelope’s, pierced into his. Only a violent storm brewed in these. Destined to kill anyone in its path. “I’ll explain all if you’ll please take a seat.”
Wentworth took the seat beside Smythe with a huff, never taking his eyes off Harry. Until Harry broke the contact by turning his back and pouring the duke a nearly full glass of whiskey. It gave him time to arrange in his mind how he would explain the deception.
