"He's an earl, of course. That has to be a lure. But I can't help but wonder whom she's working for."

  "Why should she be working for anyone any more than Julien is?"

  "Don't think I haven't wondered the same about Julien. But women who go into intelligence are different."

  Gisèle's fingers curled inwards. "Different how?"

  "Everything is a mission. Look at your sister-in-law."

  "I've told you before. Whatever I think of Malcolm, I think Mélanie really does care for him."

  "She's a very good actress. So is Kitty Ashford. And they both play a long game."

  Which could also be said of her. "If Kitty's playing a game, it's with Julien, not us."

  "Probably." Alistair was silent a moment. "How do you think she feels about her children?"

  "Most women love their children."

  "Don't be naive, Gisèle. Your own mother should have taught you how complicated a woman's feelings for their children can be. And how much or little they can impact her actions."

  "Kitty appears to be a very devoted mother. A much steadier mother than Arabella was, actually. No, that sounds dull, and she isn't at all. But I don't think she'd ever go off on a whim, as Arabella did. Or put the mission before her children. The way Arabella did. The way I did." Once again, truth could serve.

  "Don't be so hard on yourself, Gisèle. I'm inestimably grateful that you came to see me. And that you sent for Ian."

  "I wouldn't do it differently, sir." Another truth.

  "I'm glad you aren't so foolish. It doesn't change the question of what Kitty Ashford is up to and how her children might be involved. They play with the Rannoch children, I gather?"

  "I believe so. And the Davenports. They're all in and out of each other's houses."

  "What about your father?"

  Gisèle stiffened. In this there was no need to playact at all. "What about him?"

  "Malcolm presumably told him about me. He may no longer officially be Malcolm's spymaster, but they still talk. They still work together. I have no doubt Carfax—Hubert—still has Malcolm doing errands for him."

  "I expect he does, but you'll have to ask Malcolm about that and about what he's told Car—Hubert—about you. You can't imagine I have father-daughter chats with him. You'll always be my father." That again was true. She might not be happy that Alistair was her father, she might be working against him, but she would always think of him as her father. For better or worse, he was part of what had formed her.

  "No, I suppose not. At least, not all at once. Malcolm seems to quite comfortably think of O'Roarke as his father. But then, I think Malcolm always thought of O'Roarke as his father."

  "I think he did without admitting it."

  Alistair looked up at her. For a moment his gaze settled on her face, hard and yet at the same time entreating. "That you think of me as your father means a great deal. Never doubt that. But knowing Hubert Mallinson is your father must change the way you view him."

  Gisèle forced herself to honestly consider something that she generally buried beneath the exigencies of day-to-day existence. "I suppose so. I mean, I can't look at him precisely the same way. I can't look at him and not think about it—not wonder about the past and if I've inherited anything from him. But mostly I think the people who raise you are more important." So God help her, so far as Alistair had raised her. She hesitated, wondering if she'd damage her role, then decided the comment applied either way. "I expect Sandy Trenor thinks of Lord Marchmain as his father. Even knowing the truth about you, he may not easily be able to change how he views you."

  "Not at first, perhaps. But Trenor knows bloodlines matter. They always do, in our world."

  "And you still want an heir."

  "It's the world we live in. It's the way we tote up the values in our lives."

  "Is it true that Quen's your son?"

  "I believe so. But I'm hardly going to win him away from Glenister. Glenister appears to have gone amazingly soft."

  "Is that what patching up his relationship with his son is?"

  "He's gone sentimental."

  "And I take it there's more than sentiment to your reaching out to Sandy Trenor?"

  Alistair gave a slow smile. "Oh yes. A great deal more."

  Kitty dropped her cloak on the dressing table bench and stared down at the pile of black velvet. So much settled tonight, so much still up in the air. "Alistair wants to control Sandy Trenor because he's his son."

  Julien paused in the midst of removing his cravat, fingers taut on the linen. "So it seems."

  "Which might mean he's interested in Leo."

  "We don't know that he knows about Leo."

  "No." Kitty moved to Genny's cradle, smoothed the covers over her, tucked her stuffed unicorn in beside her. "But we don't know that he doesn't."

  Julien tugged the cravat loose and threw it into the laundry basket. "If he tries to do anything to Leo, I'll kill him."

  "Julien—"

  "I mean it." With barely any inflection, Julien's voice could wield the force of a stiletto slid between the ribs. But of course part of that was simply that he was Julien and one couldn't but be aware of what he was capable of. "Don't think I haven't thought of it in any case."

  "I don't think you can make Alistair go away so easily."

  "He'd be gone if he was dead."

  "It didn't work the first time." A thought occurred to Kitty. She looked at her husband for a moment.

  "No, I didn't have anything to do with that," Julien said. "If I had, it would have worked better."

  "Even if he were dead, I don't think it would stop what's happening. What the League are after. Or the people trying to control the League."

  "I don't know that the rest of them are interested in Alistair Rannoch's descendants."

  "Lady Shroppington was the one pressuring Sidmouth and Conant."

  "So she was." Julien frowned.

  "Julien." Kitty reached for his hand. "That's no answer."

  "Sweetheart." He looked into her eyes in one of those moments, rare even between them, when the mask fell away. "I do know that. I'm not the man I was. I don't want to be the man I was. And even then, I didn't—"

  "I know."

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Your belief in me is rather staggering. I think I'm supposed to say 'You make me a better man.'"

  "If you say anything of the sort, I'll clout you over the head or ask you if you're sickening with something." Kitty looked into her husband's eyes. "Alistair Rannoch is part of Leo's heritage. We're going to have to deal with that at some point."

  "Leo shouldn't be tainted by a biological accident."

  "It doesn't shape who Leo is. I'll be happier if he never has to learn of it." Kitty locked her arms in front of her. She'd come to terms with Edgar. As much as she ever could. Which wasn't really at all, devil take it. But the threat to Leo had hovered at the back of her mind ever since she'd learnt Alistair was alive. "But with my past, I realize it's better to armor our children against what may happen than think we can wrap them in cotton wool forever."

  Julien frowned. "Are you accusing me of doing that?"

  The thought of Julien's wrapping anyone in cotton wool seemed nonsensical. And yet—"You treat the children as adults. You're wonderful with them. But when it comes to Alistair, you are protective."

  "They deserve a chance to be children."

  "Which you never had."

  "I don't think you did either. I don't think most of our friends did. Perhaps why we're all making such an effort to do better."

  "Don't you think I want them to be children? Leo's growing up too fast as it is." She glanced at the nursery door for a moment. The boys had both been sound asleep when she and Julien looked in on them. "But you should know better than anyone that we have to prepare children for realities they're going to have to face. I thought we had time with Leo. I was afraid when I brought the children to England—it's one reason I wasn't sure I'd stay here—and rather terrified when I learnt Edgar was back from the Continent. But then he was dead, horrible as it was, and I thought perhaps Leo would never have to know."

  "He may never have to," Julien said in a low voice.

  "Perhaps. The more we learn about Alistair, the more concerned I am. Because it would be ruinous if he learnt it from Alistair."

  "He isn't Colin Rannoch," Julien said. "It's one thing to tell a child his biological father is a man he already loves and thinks of as his grandfather, who gets on with his parents with an amity I still marvel at."

  "That was difficult enough."

  "It was. But they got through it. This is different. It's not easy to wonder how much of one's father may be in one. Especially when one hates one's father."

  The quiet savagery in Julien's voice when he talked about his father always shook her, and at the same time made her want to take him in her arms. Kitty touched his face. "There's a lot of you in Leo. And me. That will always be true. More and more, as he grows up. I think we've made him strong enough to realize Edgar can't shape him. Nor can Alistair Rannoch."

  Julien's hands settled on her shoulders. "Kitkat—I wish I could have protected you from it."

  "I don't need to be protected, Julien. That's the last thing I need or want from you."

  "I know. Thank God. But you can't blame me for wanting to protect you. Wouldn't you want to protect me in the same circumstances?"

  "A fair point." She slid her hand behind his neck. "There's so much I wish I could have protected you from."

  "Well, then. You should understand."

  "It's the past. It's helped make us who we are, but it hasn't defined us. And I'm damned well not going to let it define Leo."

  Chapter 18

  "I'll talk to Julien about what we learnt from Bennet—about Georgiana Talbot, and Andrew, and Alistair's role—tomorrow." Malcolm tossed his waistcoat over a chair back, after his coat. "I don't think he knows more, but he may have insights. And I need to work out whether to confront Glenister."

  "Darling." Mélanie scanned her husband's face, shadowed with exhaustion. "We have time."

  "Not a great deal of time. We have to learn why this is so important to Alistair before he uses the information."

  "Yes. But he won't use it tomorrow." Mélanie pulled a handful of pins from her hair. "He lost a hand tonight, and according to Raoul, Sandy's standing up to him surprised him. He'll want to think through his next move."

  "Which may not take long. He caught us by surprise, moving as quickly as he did tonight. I'm not going to make that mistake again." Malcolm dug his fingers into his cravat and tugged it loose. "Alistair's information about Andrew's birth is one more piece of information he can put to use. He's already threatened to reveal the truth of your past and Raoul's. By now he knows we didn't meet his demands over that. And he'll be even angrier because we checked him tonight."

  Malcolm, worried about his family, was at his most stubborn. She loved him for it, even as it drove her to distraction. She pulled more pins from her hair and shook it about her shoulders. "He won't do it, Malcolm. Once he's played that card, he won't be able to play it again. He's too good a tactician to waste it simply in revenge."

  "Maybe."

  Mélanie went up to her husband and put her hands on his shoulders. "And if I'm wrong and he does try, he can't hurt me or Raoul. But I know it will be difficult for you."

  His arms slid round her waist. "I don't give a damn about talk."

  "I know, dearest. But you have enough of a battle making your ideas heard in Parliament without your wife's scandal causing a distraction."

  "My getting anywhere in Parliament is always going to be difficult given the positions I've staked out."

  Mélanie slid her hands behind his neck. "Your wife's being exposed as a former French spy would make it harder."

  "I can handle that. I'm concerned about—"

  "Protecting your wife. Who doesn't need to be protected."

  "My wife has her own career."

  "I can write plays in disgrace. If it's not safe for Simon to produce them, I can turn them into novels. Laura and I can write one together."

  Malcolm's gaze fastened on her own, level and open. "We could escape. We could be happy. We've proved it. But I don't want to do it."

  "Well, no. Neither do I. And I don't think we'll have to." She reached up to kiss him, then drew back. "But I don't like that I've put you in the position where you might have to."

  "I've said it before, sweetheart. You gave up far more by staying with me than I've ever risked giving up because of you. Don't make the mistake Bet almost made tonight by thinking differently."

  Mélanie saw Sandy and Bet leaving Berkeley Square less than an hour before. Sandy had held open the door, but hadn't given Bet his arm as he usually would. He'd seemed afraid to touch her. "Nothing's really settled between Sandy and Bet. Tonight just made them confront something that was always coming. And now they're going to have to face it."

  "Quite. I told Sandy tonight that they can stay with us should then need to."

  "Of course. You think his parents are going to cut him off?"

  "I think they might, depending on what he does next. I also said that with everything happening in Parliament I'm at the point where I could do with a secretary. Which is true. That would give them an income."

  "I love you, darling."

  "I hope they can be brave enough not to let conventions or scruples stand in the way of happiness."

  Mélanie tilted her head back to look into her husband's shifting gray gaze. "You always accuse me of being the romantic between us. But now you're sounding positively fairytale-like yourself."

  A smile played about his lips. "Yes, well, you bring it out in me."

  She echoed his smile, but fear tightened her throat. "Sandy and Bet aren't us, Malcolm. We can protect them against Alistair. But they have to sort out what risks they're willing to take themselves."

  Malcolm nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "All we can do is try to help them through the consequences."

  Bet set her reticule down on the polished satinwood of the dressing table in the bedchamber of Sandy's flat in the Albany. The aquamarine ring Sandy had given her gleamed on the dressing table, beside her hairbrush and lip rouge. She'd put it there when she'd left for the opera. She'd thought then that she'd never return here. And for all her relief at the night's events, she still wasn't sure how long she could stay.

  "Bet." Sandy spoke softly from across the room. "Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

  "Oh, Sandy, why do you think?" Bet spun round to look at him. "Grateful as I am that you confronted Alistair Rannoch, I was terrified for you."

  "We're supposed to be—we're supposed to share things."

  "You've been sharing a lot with me for a long time, Sandy. You've been very generous."

  "Generous?" Sandy took a step forwards and then checked himself. After those moments at the theatre, he'd scarcely touched her all night. "Is that what you think this is?"

  "It started with your being kind to me."

  "Kind?" Sandy scraped a hand over his hair.

  "You've been kinder to me than anyone I've known in my life. It's meant a lot—"

  "Is that it?" Sandy's gaze fastened on her face. "Is that what I mean to you?"

  Bet stared into the eyes she knew so well. "Sandy, you mean everything to me."

  "You must know I love you."

  For a moment she couldn't move. The words thrummed through her, touching a chord she hadn't known existed. She hadn't realized how much the words would mean to her. Or that she'd be able to believe them.

  "I know I haven't said it," Sandy said quickly. "I've never said it to anyone, actually. Not something we say in our family. Stupid to let that stop me. Bet, I can't imagine loving anyone more." He drew a breath. "I'll probably lose my allowance. And the flat. But Rannoch says he can give me a post as his secretary. And that we can stay with them if we need to."

  "Sandy, what are you talking about?"

  "What it will be like if you're willing to marry me."

  The world spun again. "You can't think—"

  "I know it won't be easy—"

  "You can't think I'd force you to give all that up."

  "You wouldn't be forcing me to give anything up. I'm the one who asked you."

  "Sandy. You don't have to do this."

  "Of course not. I'm doing it because I want to. Because I love you." Sandy crossed to her side in two strides and seized her hands. "I should have asked you a long time ago. I should have when we first met."

  Bet jerked her hands from his clasp. "When we first met—"

  Sandy flushed. "I know. I didn't behave well."

  He'd been three sheets to the wind, slumming in St. Giles with some university friends. He'd stumbled upstairs with her on a dare and nearly passed out before they were finished. "You were kind. Kinder than most men I'd known."

  "I should never—"

  "If you hadn't, we'd never have met." And that would have been unbearable, hard as this was now.

  He'd been apologetic the next morning. Had insisted on buying her coffee. Had asked, blushing, if he could come back. He'd bowed when he left, a sort of nursery reflex. She'd been charmed and thought she'd never see him again. But he'd come back the next night, with a bouquet of roses. No one had ever brought her roses before. He'd bought her dinner at a tavern that had her favorite pasties. He'd asked her about her family. In and about other activities. Which had also been distinctly agreeable. More agreeable than ever before, actually. She'd been sure the novelty would wear off but determined to enjoy it while she could. Her friends advised her to get as much out of Sandy as she could, but she'd hesitated to even ask him for payment. It cheapened something that she'd never known before. Yet she'd been afraid of taking it too seriously. Every time she saw him, she wondered if she'd see him again, but he kept coming back. And when they were together, sharing tea or brandy beneath a blanket in her room, eating pasties or drinking ale, elbows on a tavern table, talking nonsense or telling stories, it seemed as though they were in their own world, a world they could share, where they were equals and no one else inhabited the space. And then Sandy would mention a ball he'd been to, or a dinner with his parents, or his cousin's debut or a visit to Ascot, and it would come crashing down on her how different their worlds were. And that their shared world couldn't possibly continue.

 

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