‘I tell you, Greg, you are foolish to linger here.’ Theo frowned at his heavy-eyed guest. They were seated at the table in Theo’s room, a large breakfast set out in front of them. Greg’s plate was laden but his appetite seemed to have deserted him. He lifted his tankard with a shaking hand and gulped down the contents.
‘Don’t usually feel like this after a few glasses,’ he groaned.
Theo blinked to quell his own headache. ‘Agreed, old friend. But when we were young officers in Spain, we had fewer problems to trouble us.’ He gazed out of the window at the pale-blue sky behind the rooftops. ‘Just the next campsite, the next skirmish, the dances, our horses – oh, it’s no good to remember!’ He brought himself firmly back to the present.
Greg cleared his throat. ‘Your life is here now,’ he ventured. ‘And maybe between your diplomatic efforts and your charity work, your role will be more important for the outcome of the war.’
Theo’s black brows snapped down. ‘What do you know of my charity work?’
Greg propped his head on his hand to face the freezing blue glare. ‘Who else would know your movements? Who else would have to be informed?’
‘By Gad, who has been spying on me?’ Theo leaned forward, eyes narrowed. ‘Did William tell you?’ All at once the anger faded. ‘Sorry, Greg, I understand … all part of the dirty game we play. I told you myself, didn’t I, that I wanted some purpose in life. It seemed that the best thing I could do was to help my fellow soldiers when they have been wounded so badly they cannot help themselves.’ He pushed his chair back and strode over to the window. He drummed his fingers on the sill as he stood frowning across the street.
Suddenly he came back to the table and leaned both hands on it, looking Greg very firmly in the eye. ‘And that brings me back to my argument. Wellington’s campaign is on a knife edge. You have the letters that guarantee him the money for his new defences. His enemies here are wanting to know what has been agreed, so they can prevent him from gaining any further glory; the fools.’ He tapped his finger on the table. ‘It’s time you set off. You are in danger now. What we saw last night tells me that.’
‘Etienne de Saint-Aubin? He’s an aristo. He’s no supporter of Bonaparte.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But he came out of Lord Dalbeagh’s house and he is violently opposed to Wellington, let me tell you!’ Theo frowned fiercely. ‘Lord, don’t I wish I could go back to Wellington. I would not be hanging around here a minute longer than I had to.’
‘I only received the letter from the Foreign Minister yesterday,’ protested Greg. ‘Agreed, now I can leave, but my boat does not sail for another two weeks. There is plenty of time to get to Portsmouth. Anyway, I won’t go until after Caroline’s grand ball.’ His usually amiable face was stubborn.
Theo looked at him intently. ‘Why prolong the agony?’ When there was no reply he shrugged. ‘Very well, five more days, then. But you do not go out alone. They are after you and they are desperate.’
With a sigh, Greg nodded and refilled his tankard.
The next day, both gentlemen were heartily glad to get out of the house. Very smart in their buckskins and caped driving cloaks, they climbed into Greg’s curricle. The bay horses were restive after several days without exercise. Greg got rid of some of his own frustration in managing their high spirits.
‘They are not really broke to town traffic,’ he panted, as the horses sidled at every passing mail coach or barking dog. But Theo, wrapped in his own thoughts, only grunted. He stretched out his long legs to brace himself against the jolting of the carriage. Arms folded and face grim, he was dwelling on a pair of smiling brown eyes and a desirable mouth – and the scent of roses. His own mouth tightened.
They were driving into the City and the streets became narrower and more winding. At last Theo roused. ‘That is the third time you have driven us past Hoare’s Bank and on to the Mermaid Tavern,’ he drawled. ‘Are you checking if anyone is following you?’
‘Not really, old fellow. I was looking out for a certain person. This last time he was there. All is clear and now we will meet up at The Mermaid.’ He glanced at Theo. ‘You were asking how I get my information.…’
‘Oh, Lord! What else are you mixed up in?’ Theo discreetly felt the pistol in his coat pocket. ‘Why choose such an area of cutthroats and thieves to meet anyone? And who is going to look after your horses while we talk to this – person?’
Greg chuckled. ‘Why, you are. My informant will disappear if I bring anyone with me.’ He glanced at Theo’s frowning face and added, ‘Be easy. Jem won’t let me down.’
Theo walked the horses slowly up and down the road, keeping an eye on the door of the tavern all the while. He was thinking about Kitty Towers again. Why had she accused him of betraying Greg? Who would put such ideas into her head? She was a clever girl and her determination to use her abilities to help the less fortunate aroused his admiration. For a second he closed his eyes and remembered how charming she looked and sounded at the pianoforte last Monday evening. He had been within an inch of approaching her again to try and sort out their quarrel.
The curricle dipped as Greg jumped up. ‘You drive,’ he said tersely. ‘let’s get back.’
‘Bad news?’ Theo turned the carriage and dropped the reins slightly. The horses set off willingly. There was a lengthy pause. Then Greg gave an embarrassed cough. ‘Don’t know,’ he grimaced. ‘Oh, dash it, have to say it. You will not like it though.’
‘What will I not like?’ But Theo already had an idea.
‘Jem reports that – that Saint-Aubin took Miss Towers driving yesterday to Richmond Park.’ He stopped and glanced warily at his friend. Theo’s eyes were blue ice. ‘It means,’ went on Greg unhappily, ‘that we have to consider whether – whether—’
‘Whether she is a spy. Oh, for the Lord’s sake, Greg, that is ridiculous. You trusted her with your most important letter.’
‘I know,’ muttered Greg, ‘but people can be persuaded to change their views. And there is no denying she is on good terms with that Frenchman.’
Very upright, Theo frowned between the leader’s ears as he drove back towards Piccadilly at a shockingly fast pace. Greg wisely kept silent, not even protesting when Theo kept on past Stratton Street, past Hyde Park and on into the main road to the south-west. By the time he reached the busy commercial area nearer to the river, the horses were sweating. Theo slowed them to a trot and shot a glance at his companion.
‘I could fight you for your last remarks, you know.’
Greg gave a short laugh. ‘Damn it, old fellow, that temper of yours is still as fiery as ever. Do you think I like to tell you such things?’
Theo shook his head. ‘I understand – but you are wrong,’ he ground out. Then, with an effort to control his temper, he added, ‘Well, it was better to drive out here than to go back to my rooms. I would surely have throttled you there!’
‘You could have tried,’ retorted his friend cheerfully. ‘You never managed it yet, old fellow. Er – where are you taking us?’
Theo gave him a rueful grin. ‘You are going to see my hospice. It is not very big – I shall do more when I can raise the funds – but at least the poor devils here have a roof over their heads. There is enough land for them to grow vegetables and keep a few pigs and chickens. One or two are fit enough to chop wood and maintain the building. Between them they are managing. I am learning as I go along how to organize the whole business.’
‘It is a wonderful scheme,’ said Greg, much moved. ‘And I am honoured you are taking me there. This is also something to tell Wellington. You are doing as much for the war as when you were on active duty.’