Without glancing up, Claire drew a length of blue silk thread through her sewing. "Oh, that's a shame. Especially since I hear they are going to be serving fresh peach ices, the best of the Season."

He smiled. "Then I shall be doubly sorry to have missed such a treat. Mayhap Cook can make some ice cream for us one evening when we are at home?"

She pulled another stitch through her embroidery. "I'll be certain to add the sweet to next week's menu."

"I cannot wait until then. Well, I have a few matters I must see to before I leave. I may be very late tonight, so don't wait up."

She sent him a smile. "All right. I hope your meeting isn't dreadfully dull."

He laughed. "I'm sure it shall be both dreadful and dull."

Walking to her, he bent down for a kiss. Her mouth was stiff at first, but then she closed her eyes and kissed him back. He was considering the pleasure of indulging in a second buss when he decided he'd better stop while he still had the willpower. "Have a good evening," he said, "and I'll see you in the morning."

Turning, he strode from the room.

Claire stabbed her needle deep into the cloth, her jaw clenched with anger, as she shot a narrow-eyed glare after him.

Mendacious cur!

How dare he lie to her again, and with such an affable smile on his face while he did it. There wasn't any meeting tonight, she knew that much. At least not one that had aught to do with business. As for his real destination, the possibilities made her stomach flip over with a sick twist.

How dare he kiss her as well, as though everything between them was fine. Although she supposed it was for him. When he'd bent down and covered her lips with his, she'd wanted to give him a good, hard slap across the face. Instead, she'd held still. Then she'd turned weak and wanting, responding to the undeniable pleasure of his touch in spite of her fury and despair. Even aware of his lies, she still wanted him, still loved him too.

But that didn't mean she wasn't hurt and furious. Nor did it mean she had to sit quietly and accept the situation as meekly as a lamb. Suddenly she realized that no matter how much pain it might cause, she had to know where he was going tonight.

Assuming she could find out, that was.

She waited patiently for Edward to depart, using the time between to pen her excuses for the Mortons' dinner. He wasn't the only one who could change his plans.

At a few minutes past six, she saw Edward leave, watching through the window as he drove away. Only then did she ring for Croft.

"There is something I forgot to mention to His Grace," she told the butler with a casual smile. "He's meeting on business tonight. Did he happen to mention where?"

"No, Your Grace. I can try sending a man after him, but I'm not sure if it will serve."

She kept the smile on her face despite her disappointment. "No matter. It can wait after all, I'm sure. Would you see that this note is delivered immediately?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

Taking the missive, Croft bowed and withdrew.

Hands tightened into fists at her sides, she considered what to do next. There had to be some other means of discovering where he'd gone. Suddenly she thought of his study. Mayhap she would find something there. Letters perhaps, or a bill.

The idea made her cringe, but she decided she had to know the truth.

Striding quickly downstairs, she moved along the hallway to Edward's office. Closing the door behind her, she didn't waste any time crossing to his desk. If he'd left anything behind, it was sure to be there.

She searched the papers and books on the top of his desk first, but found nothing of interest. Next she moved on to the drawers, or tried to, a tug proving them all to be locked. Knowing Edward was far too careful to leave the keys out in the open, she decided to take a more direct approach.

Sliding a hairpin from her short curls, which her maid had only just started putting up for her again, she twisted the metal into a new shape. Growing up, she'd learned how to put a hairpin to good use, since Marsden Manor had any number of stubborn old locks in it. Those skills came in handy now as she angled the pin just so and inserted it into the lock.

As she began to work the tumblers, her gaze fell on a framed miniature she hadn't noticed in her earlier search. Staring, she realized a painting was of herself as a girl. She even vaguely remembered sitting for the work. How unexpected that he would have such an item. Even more, that he would keep it here on his desk as though it was something to cherish.

Knowing that not to be the case, she had no difficulty turning her thoughts back to the matter at hand.

She searched, opening and looking through another pair of drawers before she found what she was seeking. Oddly enough, the information was on a page of today's Morning Chronicle, where Edward had scrawled a block of notations.

August 3

11:00.

Danberry Hall

Wherever the devil that is, she thought, a scowl creasing her forehead.

Just then a footfall came at the door.

She glanced up and found Mr. Hughes standing on the threshold, a look of astonishment on his face-as well as disapproval, if she didn't miss her guess.

"May I help you, Your Grace?" he said, striding into the room. "Was there something you required?" His tone bordered on the accusatory, as though she were doing something she shouldn't. Which, of course, she was, depending on one's point of view.

Ignoring his remark, she gave him an imperious look, an expression more than worthy of the Duchess of Clybourne. "Have you heard of Danberry Hall?"

Her question threw him off guard. "Well, yes, I think I have."

"Where is it located?"

"South of Guildford in Surrey, I believe. An old estate that fell on hard times after the last earl passed away. Went to a cousin, though I don't think he's in residence very often."

"Thank you, Mr. Hughes. You've been most helpful." Placing the newspaper back inside the desk, she shut the drawer.

He blinked with confusion. "You're welcome, Your Grace." Then he frowned. "A-About His Grace's desk-"

She strode toward him. "I suggest you lock it back up, assuming you have a key. If not, use this. It works astonishingly well."

With his mouth hanging open, she handed him the bent hairpin. Going out into the hall, she called for Croft and ordered the coach.

"They're in there right and tight, Yer Grace," Edward's lead man whispered in a voice too low to carry. "The boys er in position and ready at yer command."

"Excellent, Aggies," he told the wiry, baldheaded exBow Street runner, who Edward had convinced some while ago to do a bit of business for the government instead. The whole team, in fact, were former runners with a knowledge of backdoor dealings and underworld activities. He'd seen their skills at work and knew he could trust them with his life.

Edward checked his weapon, then secured the gun at his waist. He didn't plan to fire the pistol, but there was no sense going inside unarmed.

Glancing up, he surveyed his surroundings once more, the stone walls of Danberry Hall rising up like a looming grey shadow against the nearly moonless night sky. Insects hummed brightly in the moist summer air, frogs belching out deep-throated songs in the tall, unmown grass.

"I'll go first," Edward said. "You and Brown come in behind."

Aggies grinned, then raised his head to give the signal-two owl's hoots that let the others know the mission was in play.

Edward moved toward the house with fast, purposeful strides. Rather than burst through a side door or window, which seemed unnecessarily troublesome and dramatic, he walked straight up to the front of the house and knocked, careful to keep to the concealing night shadows. After all, the courier from St. Giles Street was expected, so someone inside was certain to answer.

A minute passed before he heard the metallic click of a lock being pulled aside and the creak of the old wooden door as it opened. "Haven't I told you not to use this entrance," came a censorious male voice. "And you're late. Again. Do you have the items?"

Edward gave a muffled assent and the door opened wider to admit him. He stepped inside. Low candlelight illuminated the worn interior of the once proud hall with its threadbare carpets and scuffed furnishings.

The other man turned, his eyes rounding as he caught sight of Edward. "What are you..."

"Not who you were expecting, eh, Dumont? So sorry to disappoint. I, on the other hand, am delighted, since I was hoping I'd find you here tonight. Seems I'm in luck. So, where's your partner?"

Recovering quickly, the Frenchman assumed a casual stance. "Partner? I don't know what you mean. I am here alone."

"No, you aren't. And you can drop the act, since we have your man in custody."

Dumont didn't react, only a small twitch near his right eye betraying his true emotions.

"Had quite a lot to say, your man, once we managed to loosen his tongue," Edward continued. "So, do you care to add your remarks now or would you rather wait until you can do it from prison?"

Dumont's brown eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear. Without warning, he shoved past Edward and bolted for the door. He made it outside, but was just as quickly marched back in, Aggies prodding him forward with a loaded pistol in hand.

"Got us one of 'em, Your Grace." The runner flashed a gap-toothed grin.

"Back so soon, Dumont. Once again, where is your associate?"

"I told you. I'm the only one here."

"How noble. I wouldn't have thought it of you under the circumstances."

Striding deeper into the house, he looked into two rooms, both empty. Turning around, he raised his voice, calling out at large, "I know you're here, so you might as well show yourself. I have men surrounding the house. There's nowhere for you to go."

When no answer came, he called again. "I will search if you put me to the trouble. Come out now and save us both a lot of bother."

Long moments passed again, and just when Edward thought he and his men would have to comb the house, the soft tread of footsteps came from the landing above. "What is all this, Clybourne? Or are you often in the habit of invading private homes in the middle of the night?"

"Only when I'm hunting for spies, Lady Stockton."

Philipa Stockton became visible as she moved out of the dim shadows and walked down the stairs. "Spies?" She laughed. "How absurd. And what are you doing to poor Dumont? He's my houseguest and you should be more polite."

"Oh, you may be sure I'll be especially polite when I'm questioning him. And you too, Lady Stockton. Or should I call you Wolf?"

Her eyes widened, unable to hide her surprise.

"Yes, I figured out the connection," Edward told her. "Although the spelling threw me off until today when I realized I'd omitted the 'e.' Your maiden name is Wolfe, is it not? Philipa Wolfe, whose father owned Danberry Hall until he ruined himself with gaming and drink."

Her insouciant facade cracked, her lip curling along one edge. "Yes, that would be my father, who squeezed every last cent out of this place, and out of me as well when he married me off at sixteen to that reprobate Stockton. The only good thing my father ever did was to break his neck when his horse refused a jump."

She strolled deeper into the hallway. "But having a bad father and an even worse husband doesn't make me a spy. Nor does the last name of Wolfe."

"Oh, but it does," Edward stated. "Not only do we have the money and papers we retrieved from the courier, we have this house as a coded rendezvous point and you as the contact."

"I'm afraid you have the wrong person," she defended. "As for the name Wolfe, it's no more than an interesting coincidence. The items you mentioned are for Dumont. He's the spy." Her lovely eyes brimmed with sorrow and regret as they turned toward Dumont. "I'm sorry to give you up, Rene. I tried, but it's no use. Surely you must see that?"

She looked back at Edward, pleading. "Clybourne, you have to believe me when I tell you that he forced me to let him use this house. He blackmailed me and left me with no other choice."

"Why, you lying little bitch!" Dumont spat back, clearly enraged.

"See how abusive he is? What else was I to do?"

Edward gazed at her, studying her beautiful, supposedly innocent face, and knew why her schemes had worked so well. She was a master at lies and guile and seduction.

"I might be inclined to believe that," Edward told her, "if not for the conversation I had with Lord Lymehurst today. I understand he caught you going through his office one night while he was supposed to be sleeping. Cut you off afterwards, I believe."

Philipa shrugged. "I was merely looking for pen and paper. He completely misunderstood."

"Did he? He knows now that he ought to have reported the incident, but he was too embarrassed at the time. In hindsight, he realizes how badly he erred, not only about his own judgment, but for his trust in you."

He fixed her with a hard stare. "How many men have you taken to your bed to get their secrets? How many lives have you cost with your lies? I'm certain once I have a chance to talk to more of your lovers, an interesting pattern will emerge. Particularly since so many of them have connections to the War Office."

Her face drained of color.

"Secrets have been going astray for quite some time," Edward continued. "We assumed there was a leak high up in the government. We just didn't realize how many someones it was and that they didn't even realize they were passing information. Very clever, Lady Stockton. A location here, a name there, who would ever connect all the small bits into a larger whole?"

Abruptly, her facade fell away. "It was a good plan," she admitted, a look of pride on her face.

"You did it for the money, I presume?"

"Of course. I care nothing for this war. It's all a great lot of nonsense thought up by men who like to squabble and fight. What do I care who wins or loses?" She set her fisted hands at her waist. "What does matter to me, though, is maintaining the style of life to which I am accustomed. The miserly widow's portion Stockton left me barely covers my basic necessities. Other women may be willing to accept reduced circumstances, but I'm not among them."

"Another woman would have remarried," Edward observed.

"Remarry! Why would I want to enslave myself again when I'd just managed to throw off the first set of shackles? Thank you, but I have no interest in marriage."

"Just in bedding men for their secrets?"

She cast him a look of derision. "You don't actually think I wanted to sleep with those men, do you?" Her pretty mouth curled in distaste. "Particularly Lymehurst. You may tell him that for me. He's a dreadful lover." Glancing away, she sighed. "No, out of them all, your brother's the only one who-"

"Who what?" Edward asked, his voice softening. "Who mattered? I believe you on that score, since Jack didn't have any secrets worth stealing, did he?" He studied her for a long moment, almost feeling sorry for her. Then his sympathy fell away. "Who is responsible for Lord Everett's murder? Was he your lover too?"