not. Thieves in the army are usually flogged or hanged. Do you have a preference?’
‘Why don’t you just shoot me and get it over with?’
‘Very well, then.’ And before Tony could process the action, St John produced a pistol and put a bullet into the wall next to him.
Tony rolled to the left, covering his head with his hands as the sound of the shot echoed in his ears. ‘What the hell are you doing in my house, firing a weapon? Are you mad? The ball missed my head by inches. You could have killed me.’
St John righted the wing chair and sat in it, arms folded. ‘The ball missed you by several feet, just as I intended. I am an excellent shot, especially at such close range. But I am pleased to see you have recovered the will to live.’ He gestured to the wreckage of the room. ‘And the ball in the woodwork is the least of the problems here. Explain this, please.’
Tony looked at the mess he had made of the room. The mirror was broken, and Patrick had not bothered to replace it. It was just as well, for he had a fair idea of what he must look like after who knew how long without a razor or change of linen. He did not need to see his reflection.
Broken glasses littered the cold fireplace, and empty bottles littered the floor. Patrick had continued to bring the bottles for a while, after refusing him glasses, and hiding the windows behind the curtains so as to remove temptation. And now he refused him brandy, hoping to starve him out. It had made Tony so angry that he’d thrown a small table at the head of his retreating servant.
And missed. He glanced at the chipped plaster of the wall and the pieces of broken table on the floor below it. ‘When you came, did I still have a servant to let you in?’
‘Yes. Patrick is most concerned about you. He sent me up alone and told me not to turn my back on you if there was anything left for you to throw. Now tell me, what happened to this room?’
‘A woman,’ Tony said with finality.
‘On the contrary, my man, I think it was you who did it.’
‘A woman happened to me, you idiot. And I happened to the room.’
‘What a relief. I thought it might be serious. Get yourself a bath and a shave and another woman. And then get back to work.’
‘There are no other women. None but her,’ Tony said sourly.
St John sighed. ‘May the good Lord spare me from melodrama. Are we all to suffer for your broken heart? Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Wellford was miles above you, in case you hadn’t noticed. I don’t see why—’
‘How did you know?’ Tony demanded.
‘Let me see.’ St John tapped his chin. ‘Perhaps it is because I am a spy, you moron. I set you to watch her. You were nervous when I suggested it. You have been distraught since the moment the project was completed. And you look like a gaffed flounder whenever I mention her name. As I was saying, the Dowager Duchess? I am most relieved to find that she had no part in any of this. She is a lovely girl. A favourite of my wife’s. What I’d have told Esme if I’d had her friend arrested for treason, I cannot say. And they are both quite angry with me for my part in this, although I expect to find forgiveness in time.
‘Tony…’ his tone became quiet and sympathetic ‘…Constance is charming, pleasant and totally out of your league. Far be it from me to let the cold light of day into your tragic fancy. While you have enough money to support a wife and a brood of little Smythes in sufficient comfort, I would suggest you choose a woman who is not a renowned beauty, accustomed to a thirty-room mansion and a coronet. Unless you wish to spend the rest of your life tossing furniture against the walls of a darkened room.’
Tony sat on the floor, trying not to notice the shambles he’d made of his life. He’d held on to the dream for so long that it had seemed quite natural, when the moment came, to have Connie fall eagerly into his arms. He’d had no trouble believing what he’d wanted to believe, that there was much more to it than there actually had been. He’d been a glamorous diversion, and an answer to so many of her problems, that she had succumbed to temptation, only to regret it later.
Perhaps, if he had taken time to court her, instead of simply seducing her, she’d have taken the whole thing more seriously. Perhaps not. It was a bit late to un-ring that particular bell.
And now Stanton was staring at him, waiting for a response. If he did not think of her, or the last few weeks, or any of the foolish assumptions he’d had over the last thirteen years…If he could focus on the task immediately in front of him, he would be able to move forwards, and put some space between himself and the whole situation.
He pulled himself up to his feet, leaning on the corner of the mantel. He could feel the brandy still fogging his brain and muffling the sound of his last argument with Constance, as it echoed endlessly in his head. Perhaps, if he had something to do with his time and kept very busy, he could ignore it all together.
Perhaps he would fall off an ivy trellis or out of a window somewhere and never have to think of anything again. But he could not stay locked up in his rooms, alone with the knowledge that the dream that had sustained him for many lonely years was over.
He brushed imaginary dust from his stained shirt, and lifted a stubbled chin to his guest. ‘Very well, then. I’ve made an ass of myself, and you have seen it. But the worst of it is over, I think. If you still wish to employ me, then give me time to bathe, shave and change. And then tell me what you want taken.’
St John smiled as if nothing unusual had occurred. ‘Good man.’
‘Susan, you know I don’t take milk in my tea.’
Her maid looked at her with guilty eyes. ‘I thought perhaps, your Grace, you might wish to try something more fortifying. Now that autumn is here, I mean. It wouldn’t do to take a chill.’
‘Fortifying.’ She looked at the tea. It was wretched stuff, but Susan was right. It was probably more nourishing. She took a sip.
Susan added, ‘If you are not feeling well, your Grace, there is a lady in Cheapside that sells certain herbs. And when brewed up in a tea, these tend to clear up the sort of malady that you might be coming down with.’
‘No!’ Her hand went instinctively to cover her belly. She relaxed. ‘I am sorry, Susan. I did not mean to shout so. You were right the first time to put milk in my tea. No matter how I might complain, it is good for me. And perhaps an egg and a bit of dry toast. Could you bring it to my room? I do not feel like going downstairs until I am sure that I will not be sick.’
There was no point in pretending any more with Susan, who knew her cycle almost as well as she did herself. She was two months gone with child.
‘Very good, your Grace. But…’ Susan left the statement open. She dare not ask the question, but she wanted an answer, all the same. Something must be done. They must leave London and retire quietly to the country where she could have the babe in secret. Or she must take the herbs and end it.
‘Please, Susan. A little breakfast, perhaps.’
‘Very good, your Grace.’
Her maid left the room, and she turned to the window, staring out into the garden. The trellis below her was bare, and she could see that it had been as if she had installed a ladder to her bedroom window. The garden
