Ariadne and Sinclair located the spy master, on the edge of the crowd, giving orders, and let him know their suspicions. They were swiftly led to a waiting carriage.
“I hope you’re wrong,” Lord Hastings said as he took his seat across from them, Lord Trevithan at his side. “Your father was once greatly admired. I hate to think of him betraying his country.”
“He betrayed his calling and his family,” Sinclair said, voice wooden. “His country could not have been far behind.”
Ariadne squeezed his hand in support. Even her imagination balked at thinking about how she’d feel if their roles had been reversed. She was only glad to see the French spy in the custody of Jamie Cropper, Daphne, and her new friend as Lord Hastings’s carriage passed the group on the street. At least Lord Winthrop would not have assistance from that quarter.
The family butler was quick to let them in. “Lord Winthrop is in his study,” he said, leading them in that direction. “But I don’t believe he was expecting you.” He glanced at Sinclair for guidance.
“It’s all right, Adams,” Sinclair assured him, though he sounded as if he’d run a great race.
“We’re old friends,” Lord Hastings added.
The butler hurried ahead to open the door. Lord Winthrop was still in his chair, leg up on the hassock. A bottle of brandy stood at his elbow, the liquid already half gone. His eyelids lay heavy on his flaccid cheeks, but Ariadne did not think he was asleep.
“Hastings, Trevithan,” Lord Winthrop greeted them without bothering to rise. “And Miss Courdebas and my heir as well. Did I have the poor taste to miss the wedding?”
“No, Father,” Sinclair said, coming to stand in front of him. “But it appears you had the poor taste to spy for the French.”
Of course he denied it. Why not? Who would take the words of a Frenchman or the guess of a young girl on her first Season over the insistence of the legendary Lord Winthrop?
“Have you gone mad?” he blustered, bulk trembling in his agitation. “The prosperity of the Empire was once dearer to me than a wife. Why would I endanger that union by consorting with the French?”
Oh, but he could still turn a phrase when pressed.
Sinclair did not look impressed. He strode to the desk and grabbed a handful of papers.
“Ambition? Money? That’s all you care about.” He tossed the parchment back down, and one piece fluttered off the desk and floated closer to Ariadne. She bent to retrieve it.
“Money.” Lord Winthrop sneered the word. “That was denied me, and with it went ambition. I once dared to dream, and those dreams became nightmare.”
“Then why not accept France’s offer to spy for them?” Lord Hastings suggested. “You must know that France would never defeat England. I suppose you thought you were being wise to profit at its expense.”
“Wise?” Trevithan raised his dark head. “His agent nearly killed Emerson.”
Lord Winthrop’s brows drew down. “What are you talking about?”
Lord Hastings and Lord Trevithan were quick to berate him for his part in the evening’s affairs, but Ariadne couldn’t help glancing down at the paper in her hand. It was the beginning of a note from Lord Winthrop to another Parliamentarian, inviting him to tea to discuss a matter of great importance. The wording was vague, full of trite platitudes, ingratiating comments. Ariadne blinked, then raised her head.
“He didn’t do it,” she said.
Lord Hastings and his man were so involved in their argument with Lord Winthrop they couldn’t have heard her. But Sinclair came around the desk to her side. “What do you mean?”
The tone was terse, sharp, all but demanding an explanation. He wanted to hear his father might be innocent. She thrust the letter at him.
“If this is an example of the sorts of missives being used to further the French plots, your father is innocent,” Ariadne told him. “These are not the words of one of England’s most celebrated leaders.”
Lord Winthrop heaved himself to his feet, forcing Lord Hastings and Lord Trevithan to fall back. “Listen to my son’s betrothed! I have done nothing wrong.”
“Oh, you’ve done a great deal wrong,” Sinclair said, fist closing on to the page, “but perhaps not this.” He drew in a breath as if drawing in strength with it. “Where is your secretary?”
Lord Hastings and his man were watching Sinclair’s father. Lord Winthrop frowned. “Symthe? He has retired for the night, upstairs, first door on the right. Shall I have Adams fetch him?”
Lord Trevithan was already on his way to the door. “No need. I’ll find him and deliver him to Newgate for further questioning.” He paused to glance back at Sinclair. “Coming, Hawksbury?”
Ariadne looked his way. This was his vocation, the way he honored the past. Though she wished to keep him at her side, she knew she must let him go.
“I’d like to remain,” he said, gaze brushing hers before turning to Lord Hastings. “If I may, sir.”
Lord Hastings nodded, then turned to his old friend. “It seems we’ve wronged you, Winthrop, and for that I apologize. You know my role often requires me to act as less than a gentleman for the good of the Empire.”
“You and your cadre,” Lord Winthrop acknowledged.
Lord Hastings did not look concerned that his old friend knew his secret. “You are very fortunate in your heir and his bride-to-be. I’ll leave them to tell the tale. Miss Courdebas would be only too delighted, I’m sure.” With a nod to Ariadne, he strode after his man.
“I expect someone to explain,” Lord Winthrop said in the quiet that followed. “Immediately.”
Sinclair sighed as if a burden had slipped from his shoulders. “Your secretary has been using your influence for the good of France. He made it possible for a French agent to attack the Duke of Emerson tonight at Almack’s.”
“At Almack’s?” Lord Winthrop asked, falling back into his seat with a squeak of protest from the chair. “Is nothing sacred?”
“Apparently not,” Ariadne said. “But your son and James Cropper of Bow Street were able to stop the attack before His Grace was harmed.”
“And your sister helped Cropper catch the fellow,” Sinclair reminded her. “I imagine a knighthood might be involved.”
“I will insist on it,” Lord Winthrop assured her. “And I must thank you, Miss Courdebas, for supporting an old man too caught up in his own misery to realize he was being duped. I’ll not forgive myself for that.”
Sinclair shook his head. “So now you’ll hold a grudge even against yourself.”
His father shifted on the chair. “Do not disparage my gifts, boy. I can hold a grudge closer and tighter than a miser his purse.”
“To your own detriment,” Ariadne told him. “You call it a gift. I call it a curse.”
“I’ll call the constable to haul you before the magistrate if you don’t leave me be this instant,” Lord Winthrop countered with a scowl.
Ariadne beamed. “Now that was a specific threat. A shame I don’t believe you.”
Sinclair was staring at her. “Why do you doubt him? He once threatened to ruin my grandparents if I so much as spoke to them again.”
“And I would have done so,” Lord Winthrop warned. “Liars. Cheats. Denying me what I perjured myself to attain.”
“And so you deny me my family?” Sinclair stepped forward, hands fisted. Then he stopped and glanced at Ariadne, and she could see the fire reflected in his dark eyes. “His income could not support his ambitions,” he explained. “So, he lowered himself in his own estimation to marry the daughter of a wealthy Scotsman. He thought he could keep my mother hidden, visiting her only as required to gain an heir. He spent her money, begged more from my grandfather. He provided no medical attention when she was ill. I think he hoped she’d die, relieving him of an embarrassment.”
Lord Winthrop shifted again, and for the first time Ariadne saw him pale. “Now, then,” he murmured. “Never that.”
Sinclair continued undaunted. “But what he didn’t realize is that the last of her money was entailed to her heirs. The income came to me on her death, with my grandfather as trustee. Father was so angry he threatened to ruin my grandparents.”
“That’s why you refused to see them,” Ariadne realized. “You were protecting them.”
Sinclair nodded. “And you. I was afraid what he might do if he thought I might truly come to care for you. He destroyed everything I ever loved.” He reached out a hand to touch her cheek, the caress raising a longing inside her.
“It seems I have greatly wronged you, Sinclair,” his father murmured. “I will not stop you from seeing your grandparents, if that’s what you want. And as for Miss Courdebas, you have my permission to marry her.”
Sinclair took a step back, staring at Lord Winthrop. He had lost so much at his father’s hand that Ariadne wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him accept the offer to marry her, just to prove he could. She didn’t want him that way.
“It was all a ruse to cover Sinclair’s work with Lord Hastings,” she told Lord Winthrop. “Your son has no interest in marrying me.” She would not have imagined just saying the words would hurt so much.
Sinclair took her hand. “You and I can talk further, Father. For now, allow me to escort Miss Courdebas home.”
And so a short time later she was once more seated across from Sinclair in a carriage, this time one belonging to his father. It was beautifully appointed, with brass and polished wood surrounding the plush blue velvet, and she couldn’t help her bounce on the well-padded seat as they set off.
“Thank you,” he said, a shadow in his evening black. “You defeated a French spy and my father’s arrogance in one night. Lord Hastings will be sure to offer you more assignments.”
She beamed. “Perhaps he will. And I promise to try to see my next assignment more objectively. Though, I must say, I don’t like keeping secrets from those I love.”
“Neither do I,” he agreed. “It appears my father knows of my vocation in any event. And right now, I find myself more interested in the future than clinging to the past.”
She was glad for him. But she couldn’t help thinking about the future herself. “And so I shall have to tell my mother we aren’t engaged after all. I can imagine how she’ll respond.”
He shifted across the carriage to sit beside her and take her hand, fingers firm and strong as they wrapped around hers. “Perhaps you don’t have to tell her.”
Ariadne sighed. “No, I must. There is no reason to prolong the ruse.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Perhaps it needn’t be a ruse. Perhaps, Ariadne Courdebas, amazing woman that you are, you might consider marrying someone like me. I may never be as eloquent as you, and I hereby foreswear espionage, but I will love and admire you all the days of my life.”
Ariadne trembled, fingers of her free hand reaching for the journal that was home on her dressing table. Oh, but even if the journal had been there, she wouldn’t have stopped the moment to record it. It was simply perfect as it was.
“There is no perhaps, sir,” she told him. “There is only yes. Yes, I love and admire you as well. Yes, I will marry you. Yes, yes, yes!”
“Repetition?” he said, cocking his head.
“Emphasis,” she assured him, reaching up to draw his head down to hers.
And, for a while, the touch of their lips was far more eloquent than any words ever spoken.