Page 12 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
His muscles tensed and shuddered as he blocked a thrust from his opponent’s blade and answered with a forceful attack. Then, with a deft twist of his wrist, James disarmed him.
Approving murmurs and a ripple of applause sounded around them. James bowed his head briefly, catching his breath as the room came back into focus.
His friend William Sterling lowered his foil and wiped beads of sweat from his brow.
“Blazes, James,” William huffed. “If I had known you were going to fight like a man possessed, I never would have taken the bet.”
James chuckled. “Why do you think I did not suggest a bout of fisticuffs? You would surely have bested me, and then I would be the one composing a sonnet inyourhonor.”
William was the second son of an earl, and most men did not quite know what to make of him. He was a barristeranda boxer, possessing both a lightning-fast left hook and a brutal cross-examination in the courtroom. He was also a loyal friend.
William let out a groan as they fell in step together, sweat and leather heavy in the air. “Pray, do not remind me. Last time I lost a bet to Alex, I had to perform at Lady Radmall’s musicale and I have never been so humiliated.”
They placed their foils on the wall mounts amid shouts of congratulations. Among the men gathered at the edge of the room stood Thomas Whitlock. James had met Henry’s older brother only once, during a brief, somber encounter at the funeral.
Now, Thomas stood in conversation with two other gentlemen, lean and athletic in a plain dark coat. Hisresemblance to Henry was haunting, though he appeared the older and more reserved of the two. Henry had rarely spoken of his brother except to say that Thomas kept irregular hours and worse company.
Thomas’s gaze passed over James without the slightest acknowledgment before turning back to his companions.
A pressure built beneath James’s ribs. He reached into his pocket for the token again, hoping the cold weight of it would ease the acute sense of guilt and loss. He only hoped that finding Henry’s killer would bring them both some measure of peace.
They left the sparring room in search of their other friends. Angelo’s School of Arms and Gentleman Jackson’s next door were popular clubs for gentlemen of theton. James visited one or the other as often as his schedule permitted when in London. The practice kept him agile. And prepared. He never knew when he would need the use of those skills, though the ball tonight would require a different sort of discipline.
William cast him a quizzical glance as they slowed near the wall covered in ancient shields. “I have no wish to pry into your personal affairs, except, of course, that I really do. I received a letter from Hugh a few days ago. Is it true that you are finally betrothed to Kate?”
How much to tell him?He had no wish for everyone of his acquaintance to know of the bargain between him and Kate, but this was William. They had been friends since their early days at Eton.
Lord Nicholas Haverly, their close friend who had been observing the match, joined them with a wide grin. “You are betrothed?”
James ran a hand down his face, as though he might wipe away the conversation along with the sweat. “Not . . . precisely.”
William raised an eyebrow.
James might as well tell them since they would find out eventually. “The lady may have asked for some time to consider things.”
Nicholas let out a loud laugh. “Oh, that is famous! Wait until the others hear about this. James has met the one woman in all of England who does not blush at his smile or go silly over his handsome face.”
William’s laugh echoed as he clapped James’s shoulder. “Perhaps you have finally met your match, my friend.”
Kate rose in his mind, proud and defiant on the frozen path. “This is a matter of convenience, nothing more.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow.
William sobered. His friends had heard James dismiss love too many times to be surprised, though he was grateful none of them questioned why he had finally proposed to her. “Do you have a plan to secure her hand?”
“I am escorting her to Lady Wycliff’s ball tonight. I hope to find some way into her good graces, though I fear that may be an impossible task. We have agreed to a courtship of only five weeks.”
“Five weeks to fall in love?” Nicholas’s voice was incredulous.
“I do not need her to fall in love with me. I only need her to choose me.” It sounded far simpler than it felt.
His two friends shared a look, equal parts pity and amusement.
“Enough talk of marriage,” James said. “When shall we have the pleasure of hearing your sonnet, William?”
Even after James returned home and exchanged his fencing clothes for more suitable attire, his conversation with William and Nicholas rankled. Seated in his study, he paid little heed to the pile of estate business in front of him. He turned Henry’s token over in his hand, its weight failing to calm his agitation. He should have been thinking about Henry’s list or the investigation. And yet his mind remained stubbornly fixed on a single, vexing distraction. Kate.
She was occupying far too many of his thoughts, especially since he had not seen her since arriving in London yesterday. It was maddening. Even when she was not with him, she was still disrupting his focus. He spun the token on the desk.
He had carried out dozens of assignments for the Crown since Westmarch had recruited him as an agent, but none had unsettled him quite like this one. He pocketed the token with unnecessary roughness. He had a plan ready to put in motion for identifying the twelve names on the list, but time was already running out.
