Page 44 of A Spy’s Guide to Seduction

“I danced with her at Lady Vange’s party last night. Whoever wrote the note we intercepted thinks Walhouse is within reach and interested in government documents.” Lynley kept his face expressionless, aware of Goldsworthy’s scrutiny and the big man’s capacity for seeing through the holes in a story.

“That’s a new slant on things, lad,” Goldsworthy said. His eyes shifted back and forth in thought.

“What’s the old slant?” Lynley asked.

Goldsworthy frowned. “We suspect that when Walhouse worked as Chartwell’s secretary, he leaked information about the mission of an agent named George Fawkener to Malikov. Walhouse had a motive. His family was deep in debt, and his father was Fawkener’s nearest male relative. If Fawkener stayed missing or dead, Walhouse’s father, Lord Strayde, would inherit the estate.”

“So Walhouse gained personally from stealing papers about Fawkener. What’s the connection to Ravenhurst?”

Goldsworthy shook his head. “Malikov is the connection there. He was a frequent guest at the house. He was with Ravenhurst in the park during the Radical Race when there was an attempt on Jane Fawkener’s life.”

“When did the Ravenhurst papers go missing?”

“Sadly, that’s where the link breaks down. The papers disappeared shortly after Malikov’s arrest. The Russian was in a cell, and Walhouse had fled. George Fawkener himself searched Walhouse’s room and found no Foreign Office material.”

“Someone else must have known about the Ravenhurst papers.”

Goldsworthy let out a snort of disgust. “Ravenhurst has a damned loose tongue. Half of fashionable London knows he prides himself on the contents of his red box.”

He tossed the gloves back at Lynley.

“You think the gloves are a dead end?” Lynley thought of the message he’d found in those gloves—I depend on you—a message he now knew was intended for Walhouse. He couldn’t make sense of it. Who needed to depend on a man cut off from family and friends, in hiding from the authorities?

Goldsworthy waved one of his huge hands. “No, lad. If you want another go at Walhouse, have at it, but try not to tip off the family or the servants. We’d still like to catch the fellow. You can use Wilde to get you into the house if you need to search the room again. He’s got ties to the cook.”

Goldsworthy returned to the study of his papers, and Lynley went in search of Wilde.

* * * *

“Lynley, explain the plan to me again.” Emily had lost the argument about what role she was to play in the search of Clive Walhouse’s room. Another day of spying, and once again she was to be the “distractor.” She had agreed because it made sense, and because he had been willing to tell her something more of the case. But she drew a line at what she was willing to do.

“If you think I’m going to knock over the tea table in Lady Strayde’s drawing room, or throw china, think again.”

Their carriage pulled up at some distance from the Walhouse townhouse. Teddy Walhouse, Lord Strayde, continued to occupy the house that belonged to his cousin George Fawkener, even though Fawkener had returned alive from a mission abroad. Apparently, George Fawkener was both indifferent to the property and generous to his family.

“Could you faint?” Lynley asked.

“You know me better than that.” She laughed.

“You’ll think of something. And remember—”

“I’m not to mention the missing brother. I know.”

He leaped down, shut the door, and signaled the coachman to drive on.

It was a bright April day. The street bustled with activity. The neighborhood bells rang one, the perfect hour for a morning call. No moonlight. No kiss, no backward glance, just partners moving forward to trap a spy. It was as if the kiss in the carriage had never happened. She did not understand how he could be so wholly unaffected while his kiss had kept her awake for hours, her body bubbling with energy like a spring-fed brook.

The plan was for Lynley to meet a confederate of his in the guise of a former servant known to the staff in the kitchen. Emily meanwhile was to pay a call and create enough distraction for Lynley’s confederate to sneak Lynley up to Clive Walhouse’s room for a search. She had no idea what he hoped to find. Like her, Lynley would be making up the plan as he went along.

He liked that. He liked uncertainty and risk, and she had to admit that she did, too. That was why the kiss in the carriage had stayed with her. She had liked it because it had been risky, like going in disguise to see Malikov, not because her heart was softening toward Lynley. She had to be clear about these matters.

Once again, she noted the calling cards on a silver dish as she handed her hat and gloves to a footman. She followed him up one branch of a forked staircase under the eye of Admiral Nelson’s famous spyglass pointing down at her from a magnificent painting on the wall.

In the drawing room, the butler announced her to Lady Strayde and Allegra, sitting on a black and gold striped sofa chatting with another lady and her two daughters. The girls had their backs straight, hands folded primly in laps, bosoms proudly lifted.

Emily strode forward. The three girls, younger than Roz, stared. Emily wondered whether she should have brought a cane or a Bath chair, or worn an old maid’s cap, but she had forgotten about the ring, Lynley’s ring. It was the ring to which every female eye in the room immediately turned. She took the offered seat, keeping the ring in view, as the first pleasantries were exchanged.

Emily recognized the scene as one she’d endured in her first Season, the girls obliged to sit demurely silent while their mothers exchanged competing narratives of their daughters’ triumphs in society.