"That is an incredible leap to make!" Lucas exclaimed. "If you want to comfort Grenville, Amelia, that is one thing. He is surely grieving for his wife. But to come to such wild conclusions, that is another. Leave well enough alone." He suddenly looked past her.

Amelia felt her nape tingle and she slowly turned.

Simon stood in the doorway, smiling politely at them. She did not know how long he had been standing there.

"Good day, Greystone. I was wondering when you would call," he said calmly.

"Grenville." Lucas bowed his head, and then he gave Amelia a warning glance. No look could have been clearer: she was wrong. She was not to believe what she was thinking, and that was that. She was taken aback.

Simon sauntered into the room. "Would you care for a gla.s.s of wine? I believe it is about that time," he said. He turned blandly to Amelia. "Miss Greystone? Please have Lloyd bring a bottle of my best claret."

Amelia looked back and forth between both men, almost fearing a battle. But she realized that no battle was going to occur. Simon wasn't exactly looking at Lucas-and Lucas wasn't glancing at him directly, either.

"I have come to inquire after my sister," Lucas said.

"Yes, I imagined you would do so."

Amelia backed out, stunned.

Lucas and Simon knew one another-far better than they had ever let on.

WHEN AMELIA HAD LEFT, Simon went to the door and opened it, to make certain she was not eavesdropping. But she was gone. Grimly, he closed the door and turned to face Lucas. Greystone stared coldly at him in return.

Simon recalled the last time he had had a conversation with him. They had shared a drink last summer, when he had briefly been in the country. Then, they had spoken only of events in France, and how it impacted Britain. In fact, he felt almost certain that they had never had a personal exchange in the three years or so that they had been secret allies in the war effort and under Warlock's command.

"She is going to uncover you," Lucas said.

"I heard. She has been regaling you with stories of my odd behavior." He meant to be indifferent and he shrugged. But Amelia was the most determined woman he knew, and he was becoming afraid that she was not going to give up the tack she was on. His behavior wasn't helping. He cringed whenever he recalled pointing a gun at her temple last night.

"She is suspicious."

"Yes, she is," Simon said as mildly. He wasn't surprised that Greystone had called on his sister. He had expected such a call, sooner or later, just as he had expected Greystone to object to Amelia being his housekeeper. "Your sister is rather inquisitive and she is very clever."

Lucas strode to him. "You have lost all common sense, to bring her into your household. But frankly, Grenville, right now I do not care if she discovers what you are up to. I care that you have put her in danger by bringing her into your home." His gray eyes blazed.

Simon remained outwardly calm. But Lucas had just voiced his own fears. "How so?"

"How so?" he exploded. "Last summer, the radicals here in town tried to use Amelia against Julianne," Simon started. Lucas continued fiercely. "Julianne was asked to spy for the Jacobins. When she refused, Amelia and our mother were threatened. That is why Garrett remains with them at all times!"

"I did not know," Simon said slowly. But he felt himself flush. Hadn't he known all along that it was better to stay away from Amelia, and that to bring her close could only put her in jeopardy? Lucas would be even more agitated if he knew just how much danger Simon was placing her in. But he said, "You should calm down. I asked her to take this position for the sake of my children. My enemies can't possibly know that we have any relationship outside that of employer and housekeeper. They cannot know that they could use her against me if they wished."

Lucas flushed. "Ah, yes, now we get to the reason I am livid. What exactly is your relationship if not that of housekeeper and employer?"

"She is my neighbor, and we are friends."

"Funny-Amelia never once mentioned that you are friends! Haven't you forgotten the most relevant point?" Lucas mocked.

He was taken aback, but he did not let his surprise show. But Lucas had been just as protective of Amelia ten years ago, when he had forbidden Simon from calling on her. And maybe it was time to be rather candid with Amelia's brother now. "Greystone, we have never discussed what happened a decade ago."

"No, we haven't. When Warlock introduced us a few years back, there was no point. So many years had pa.s.sed that discussing the past seemed irrelevant and inflammatory. The war was my sole focus, but, then, I did not know your wife would die and you would reel Amelia back into your life."

"You are making it sound as if my intentions are dishonorable. They are not."

"Amelia is an innocent, in spite of her age," Lucas flashed. "She will always give everyone the benefit of the doubt-even you. To make matters worse, you have lost your wife and you are grieving. She feels sorry for you, never mind your callous disregard for her feelings ten years ago! And I know you will use that to your advantage. I am warning you-lay one hand on her, and I will be the one to bring you down."

Simon tensed. "You are a patriot. You would never betray me to my enemies."

"Really? Touch her and you will find that I am your worst enemy."

And Simon realized that he meant it. "I brought Amelia into my home to take care of my children-not to abuse her. I have regrets, Lucas. I am sorry I pursued Amelia as I did, ten years ago." He would not tell him that he could not regret the time they had spent together. "But even then, I respected Amelia far too much to take advantage of her. I certainly respect her too much now." But as he spoke, his heart drummed. Last night, he had been a heartbeat away from making love to her. He had been recalling having her in his bed, beneath his body, ever since.

Lucas snarled, "You broke her heart."

His tension spiraled. "As I said, I have regrets. Amelia and I have discussed the past and agreed to put it behind us. I am very concerned for my children, Greystone. I did not ask her to take this position impulsively. I thought about it at great length. With Lady Grenville gone, I needed someone I could trust to care for my children, both when I am in the country and when I am not. And if one day I do not return, at least I will die knowing that Amelia is here, doing what is in my children's best interests."

"That was a pretty speech," Lucas said. "Since when is a man of your stature 'friends' with his housekeeper? And since when can a pair of lovers ignore the history they shared?"

Lucas would be furious if he knew that they had not been able to put the past behind them, not at all. "It is an unusual arrangement," Simon said. "Can you at least admit that she is wonderful with children, and that my children sorely need her? That I am right to trust their futures with her?"

"She needs children of her own," Lucas said flatly. "And I am going to begin looking for a husband for her immediately."

Simon was shocked and then dismayed. Greystone thought to find her a husband?

"Oh, I see that does not sit well with you!"

"No." He managed a smile. "I happen to agree with you, Greystone. She deserves a family of her own." But all he could think of was his children. What about William and John? What about Lucille?

And how would he manage, without her?

"Really?" Lucas approached. "I want your word, Grenville, that you will not touch her. I want your word that you will keep her safe."

Simon realized he hesitated. In that moment, all he could think of was how it had felt to have Amelia in his arms last night. All he could remember was the terrible, maddening urgency, the utter desperation he had felt. In her arms, there was no war, and death did not shadow him.

"You cannot give me your oath?" Lucas gasped.

He flushed. "My intentions are honorable." And he knew he must not let another moment of insane pa.s.sion overwhelm them. Amelia deserved more than he could ever give her. "So, yes, I am giving you my word. I will treat Amelia with the respect she deserves." But even as he spoke, he trembled, because somewhere deep inside, he hated making such an oath. But his next promise came from his very soul. "I will keep her safe, Greystone. I swear. I would die to keep her safe."

"Good." Lucas turned as a knock sounded on the door and Lloyd appeared with the bar cart. Amelia stood behind him, pale, her eyes wide and bright. She looked back and forth between both men.

"I'm afraid I am not staying," Lucas said. "Enjoy your claret, Grenville. Amelia, walk me out."

She inhaled. "I see no blood has been drawn. I am grateful for that." She glanced worriedly at Simon.

"I have no intention of fighting with your brother," Simon said tersely. Softening his tone, he said, "Why don't you see him out."

Giving him a last worried glance, Amelia turned. Simon watched Amelia and her brother leave. Then he poured a gla.s.s of wine and downed it. His first oath felt like a lie. His second one felt like a premonition.

THE SALON DOOR LOCKED, Simon faced himself in the Venetian mirror that was hanging over a small, marble table with gilded legs. It was almost midnight. He continued b.u.t.toning up the black-velvet coat he had just put on, staring at his pale reflection. He had whitened his skin with asbestos, a chalklike product favored by many n.o.blewomen, and he had lightly rouged his lips. He was also wearing a bright reddish-gold wig.

He looked very outlandish, rather effeminate, and not at all like the Earl of St. Just. He was fairly certain that his disguise would pa.s.s muster, at least at first glance.

As for getting out of his home without discovery, Amelia was upstairs, keeping sentinel on the boys. He had claimed that he believed John had had a fever earlier in the evening. She had told him he was imagining it, but he had insisted that he thought his younger son was becoming ill. He had told her that it would put his mind at peace if she would stay with the boys for a while that night, just to make certain John was not becoming sick. When she had seemed doubtful, he had told her he would read in the library-and he had promised to stay out of her way.

He finished b.u.t.toning up the black coat and he smiled grimly at his eccentric reflection. Amelia would not leave John's side, he was certain, for several more hours, allowing him to escape the house in disguise and undetected. When he returned, he would leave his disguise in the stables.

The plan was not perfect, but it would do.

Satisfied, he glanced at the bronze clock on the mantle of the fireplace. He was going to be late. He was supposed to meet Marcel at midnight, and he would not be there in ten minutes. But that was the point. He had no intention of being the first to arrive at the tavern.

Simon snuffed out the three candles that had been burning, and slipped out of the library and into the dark hallway. He did not carry a taper, and he had made certain to extinguish all the lights when he had gone in earlier.

A horse was saddled and waiting for him in the stables, the groom sworn to secrecy.

Simon strode down the hall. The entry was also unlit, but he had no intention of going out the front door. He would exit through the terrace doors of the ballroom, as he had done a few days ago at dawn. The stables could also be reached from the gardens outside.

But he had to cross the entry hall, and he did so swiftly and soundlessly. He had just entered the west wing when he felt the hairs on his nape p.r.i.c.kle.

And he felt someone else's presence.

Simon turned slightly, searching the darkness of the entry hall and froze. Amelia stood at the opposite end, a tray in her hands, with a single taper set on it.

He could see her perfectly, as he was in the shadows and she was illuminated, but she could not see him-not yet.

"Who is it?" she gasped, setting the tray down abruptly and lifting the taper high.

What was she doing downstairs? He turned to go, but just before he did, their eyes met.

She cried out. Ducking his head, he ran down the hallway, but he did not hear her following. Simon rushed outside in disbelief. Amelia had not only seen him, he was certain that she had recognized him!

As he strode across the gardens, he looked back at the house. The ballroom remained in blackness. When he did not see the light of a single candle appear, some small relief began. She wasn't following him.

Maybe, just maybe, she thought him an intruder. He cursed as he reached the stables. He was going to have to invent a plausible excuse for leaving at midnight in disguise, in case she had recognized him.

The groom rushed forward with his horse, pretending not to notice his absurd and effeminate ensemble. Simon thanked him and leaped astride. Then he trotted swiftly from the stable yard. As he entered the drive in front of the house, he saw a light burning in one window by the front door. He had not a doubt that Amelia stood there, watching him. He cursed again.

She was so d.a.m.ned nosy!

He spurred the gelding he was riding into a canter and loped down the drive. She was also impossibly brave. d.a.m.n it!

London was mostly in blackness as he left Lambert Hall behind. The great houses lining the square were cast in shadow. As he hurried through Mayfair, finally leaving the stately mansions and townhomes behind, he debated the stories he could tell her. The groom had wondered if he was going on the town to pursue boys, he was certain, but Amelia would never believe that. He supposed he could tell her he had gone out to meet a mistress. But he would still need an excuse for such an elaborate disguise.

She would be hurt, he knew, if he convinced her he had a lover. Simon cursed again.

Thirty minutes later, he reached the inn where he was meeting his contact. A moon had emerged from the clouds drifting across the night sky, along with a scattering of dull stars. A stable boy had come out of the inn's stables and he handed his gelding to the boy, giving him a shilling. The boy gaped at the handsome sum. Simon said, "Keep my mount out front. I may only be a moment or two, or I may be an hour."

"Yes, my lord," the boy said quickly.

"Where is the back entrance?"

The boy directed him around the side of the main building. "Right there, my lord, but it leads to the kitchens."

"Good lad." Simon gave him another shilling and strode swiftly toward the back door. He had no intention of going in the front, where Marcel would see him before he saw Marcel.

He forgot about Amelia now. He forgot about his sons. Now, it was only the dangerous game of meeting an adversary that could be the death of him if he did not outwit him at every twist and turn.

Pots were clattering and dishes clanking as he entered the kitchens, which were almost cleaned for the evening. No one did more than glance at him cursorily as he strode through. The hall outside was small, narrow and poorly lit. As he traversed it, he could hear the raucous sounds of the inebriated patrons in the public room.

He paused in the shadows of the hall on the threshold of the common room, scanning the crowd. Perhaps two-dozen men were present, with five or six barmaids and prost.i.tutes. He did not bother to look at any of the women, and he dismissed all but four of the men.

But those four men present were gentlemen of some sort. He stared at a heavy, gray-haired man who was drinking rum or whiskey and pinching a voluptuous, barely clad barmaid. The man was clearly drunk. Simon dismissed him instantly.

Another gent, in a pale blue coat and a white wig, also seemed deeply in his cups. Simon glanced at the third gentleman, who was playing cards very intently with the fourth man. He studied them for some time, but both men were engrossed in the poker game they were playing and neither looked up even once.

He looked back at the heavyset, gray-haired man with the barmaid. He was most definitely drunk, to the point of falling over.

And Simon felt that he was being watched. He jerked his gaze back to the man in the white wig and the pale blue coat. The man was drinking his ale, but Simon was almost certain he had caught him staring.

He stepped back into the shadows, his gaze unwavering as the man turned his back mostly to him, to watch the gents playing poker. As he did so, he noticed the man's pale complexion and his hooked nose. Suddenly he froze, in shock.

Was that Edmund Duke?

Duke was Windham's clerk.

He inhaled, certain he was staring at Duke-who was every bit as disguised as he was.

Windham was the War Secretary. There was a mole in the War Office. Paget had said that the mole worked closely with Windham.

Could Duke be the mole? Was Duke Marcel?

Or was Duke one of Warlock's men? Had Warlock sent Duke to spy on him?

Simon did not know. But he turned and rushed down the hall and through the kitchens and outside. "Boy! Bring my horse!" he shouted.

And a second later, he was galloping away, covered in sweat.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

AMELIA WAS AS STILL as a statue. She wasn't sure when she had crept into his rooms, but it had been shortly after he had left the house. In disguise. She did not think she had done more than breathe ever since.