Page 41 of A Spy’s Guide to Seduction

Ravenhurst blinked at him. “I won’t?”

“Go home.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Ravenhurst’s voice grew shrill.

“You’re a gentleman and the father of two young sons. You have a duty to the Foreign Office.”

“What do you know of my Foreign Office duties? Are you the one who’s taken papers from me?” Ravenhurst staggered forward and tried to take Lynley by the lapels. The glass hindered him, so that he ended up clinging to Lynley’s coat with one hand. Lynley reached out to keep the man from falling.

* * * *

Emily wished for anything solid, a cobblestone, a cricket ball, rather than a pair of gloves in her hand, something she could chuck at Lord Ravenhurst’s fuddled head. She could not hear what the man had said to Lynley as she and Allegra stepped up to them, but she could guess at the folly of it from the tense, expectant faces of the onlookers. Lord Ravenhurst was enacting a drama.

When he grabbed Lynley’s lapel, she could not refrain from crying out.

“Lord Ravenhurst.” Emily used her most quelling voice, like her old governess calling unruly charges to order in a park. Her mother would cringe to hear of it.

Ravenhurst spun her way, managing to stand only because Lynley had a grip on his shoulder.

Emily ducked and stepped between the two men. It was a bit like being caught in a children’s game of falling bridges. She reached for the glass in Ravenhurst’s hand.

“Could you release Lynley’s lapel, Ravenhurst? I fear you are damaging his valet’s work.”

“You were looking for me, Lady Emily?”

Lynley disengaged Ravenhurst’s hand from his lapel.

“Yes. If you could spare a moment.” Emily managed a smile for Ravenhurst and turned to Lynley. “Miss Walhouse is here for the waltz you promised her.”

His brows lifted, and a brief flicker of amusement flared in his dark eyes.

With a bow to his new partner, Lynley led Miss Walhouse to the floor. Emily could hear the murmur of Lynley’s voice, deep and easy, as he charmed Miss Walhouse. She could see the girl’s somewhat stunned expression looking up into Lynley’s face.

Emily signaled a passing footman to take the empty glass from her hand. “Lord Ravenhurst, could you give me your arm? There is a question I want to ask you about Foreign Office policy on elephants.”

“Elephants?” he breathed.

Emily tucked her arm in his. His breath nearly knocked her back on her heels. “Yes. Shall we take some air?”

Resolutely, she turned away from the sight of Lynley holding the golden-haired young beauty in his arms as the music started. Emily had no cause for pangs of dismay at the sight of another woman taking her place in Lynley’s arms. It was not really her place. They were spy-catching partners, not lovers. Their betrothal was a ruse to deceive society. She was simply eager to tell him what she’d discovered about the gloves. Well, it could wait until she got Ravenhurst out of the way.

Chapter Sixteen

Talk may be the most important element in both courtship and marriage. Not gossip, nor conversation about philosophy or the affairs of the nation, but talk that is play, talk that is a game. It is through talk that men and women chiefly play. With the exception of the hunt and cards, men and women play few games together, and yet, play, liveliness of mind, is essential to any relationship that is to last longer than a fortnight.

—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London

Behind them in the grand apartments of Vange House the party continued hardly abated, though the neighborhood bells were sounding four. Lynley was glad to leave the heat and din behind and breathe cool night air as he led Emily to their waiting carriage. They’d caught no spy, and he’d been too long apart from her.

Grooms and footmen bustled about, moving the line of waiting carriages along, but the noise faded away under the last stars.

“Did Ravenhurst share his views on elephant policy?” Lynley asked as he handed her into the carriage. They were alone. There were distinct advantages to being engaged. Her father, having made his bow to Lady Vange, had left hours earlier.

“Sadly, no.” She yawned. “It was necessary for his lordship to commune with a potted orange tree on the terrace. When he had emptied the contents of his stomach, I sent him home.”

She sank onto the seat. Lynley settled beside her, leaning back against the cushions and stretching his legs out. A carriage was a fine and private place, though not designed for a man of his height. The door closed.

“Are you going to thank me?” she asked.