Page 31 of A Spy’s Guide to Seduction

“I have to say that looking at these names, it’s hard to imagine a spy in the group.”

“Anyone with diplomatic ties or foreign interests?”

Emily shook her head. She recognized most of the names. They were old London families with unblemished reputations. Even Archer, though she did not know the young man, had an older married sister who was the epitome of respectability. No one on the list appeared to be the sort who had stolen confidential government documents to sell to Russian spies.

“Anyone with embarrassing vices that an unscrupulous person might threaten to expose?”

“Not that I know of. Lady Derwent is known for her excellent dinners. Mrs. Gilbey-Wilkes is extraordinarily long-winded, and Lord Illingworth must be right on every debatable point, but such faults will not make them spies.”

“Then, we are back to Archer.”

Emily shook her head. “We start with Lady Ravenhurst, I think,” she said, deciding she could handle a bite of toast.

He regarded his plate. “Why?”

“Because she’s at the center.” She took the saucer from under her dish of tea and put her finger in the center. “And because one always pays morning calls to thank a hostess for her hospitality. We want to see how she appears, whether she is in distress over the events of the other evening, and most importantly, we want to see who leaves her cards. They will all be displayed in the entry.” She drew her finger around the rim of the saucer.

For a moment he said nothing, just watched the movement of her finger. Then he lifted his gaze to hers. She could not fathom his expression.

A week earlier she had sat in the same place, at the same table, with her father, who had barely acknowledged her presence. Her heart gave a funny skip under Lynley’s regard. She changed the subject. “I do know Archer’s older sister, Beatrix. She’s married with two small children. I can pay her a visit.”

“Good.”

“Of course, it might be awkward to begin a series of inquiries about the scrapes into which her brother has fallen.”

He nodded and addressed his attention to the eggs and bacon on his plate, as if, like her father, he’d forgotten she was there.

“You really don’t know London protocol, do you?”

“I don’t. Hence, our partnership.”

“Let me tell you,” she said, “a little of how it works.”

“Enlighten me.” He dug into his eggs as if she had no influence on his nerves or appetite in any way. She looked at her plate. Why should her appetite suffer while his clearly remained unimpaired?

Her toast was too dry, and she reached for a pot of marmalade. “It’s all in the timing, and in the use of one’s calling cards. You don’t have cards, do you?”

“I do.” More of his eggs disappeared.

“With a London address?”

“Alas, no.”

“Should we have some cards printed? Sir Ajax Lynley, Baronet, of Lord Woodford’s green and peony damask sofa.”

“Again, I bow to your superior knowledge of polite society, but I doubt that address would suit sticklers like my aunt.”

“Apparently, you don’t want anyone, including your fiancée, to know where to find you.”

He didn’t deny it. “In any case, you will use your own cards when you make these calls.” He put down his fork, his plate empty. Marmalade dripped from the toast in her hand.

“Well, then, let’s consider the timing.”

“Let’s,” he agreed.

“I must call on Lady Ravenhurst at her next at-home day. The best time will be as her first visitors are leaving. With a little bit of care I may contrive a few minutes alone with her. On the other hand, politeness dictates that with Archer’s sister I must be among the earliest visitors, and cannot count on any private conference.”

“Fair enough. I’ll look forward to your findings.” He put his napkin on the table, and stood. “If you’ll pardon me, I’ll be off.” He offered a bow and strolled toward the door.