Courting Miss Vallois. Gail Whitiker

      ‘We’ve found them, my lord,’ Inspector Rawlings said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. ‘And by all accounts, in good health and fine spirits.’

      For a moment, no one spoke. Not the portly detective whose long-awaited words brought to an end a search that had begun nearly eighteen months ago. Not the beautiful, dark-haired lady whose briefly closed eyes spoke more eloquently of her feelings than words ever could. And not the tall, slender gentleman whose clandestine missions in France had been the reason for the investigation in the first place. Nothing disturbed the silence of the April afternoon but the steady ticking of the mantel clock and the rattle of carriage wheels on the cobblestones below.

      ‘And there is no doubt in your mind that it is Sophie Vallois and her brother, Antoine?’ Nicholas Grey, Viscount Longworth, asked at length.

      Rawlings shook his head. ‘None whatsoever. I’ve had my best man on it for months. There can be no mistake.’

      ‘Thank heavens!’ Lavinia Grey said with relief. ‘To know they have finally been located. I cannot imagine what their life has been like.’

      ‘Neither can I,’ the inspector admitted. ‘But I suspect they did what was necessary in order to protect themselves from those who would have murdered them in their beds.’

      Lavinia’s slender fingers tightened on the arm of the loveseat. ‘Surely it was not as dire as that.’

      ‘I wish I could say otherwise, but to those loyal to Bonaparte, what Miss Vallois and her brother did would have been viewed as an act of treason. The two would have had no choice but to lose themselves in the back streets of Paris.’

      ‘Which they did most effectively for the best part of three years,’ Nicholas murmured. ‘Are they aware of having been followed?’

      ‘No, my lord. Budge is my best man. He could follow the Prince Regent into the privy and not arouse suspicion. Begging your pardon, my lady.’

      Lavinia inclined her head, though the dimple in her cheek suggested amusement rather than annoyance. ‘And my husband’s letter. Was it delivered?’

      ‘According to my information, it was put into Miss Vallois’s hands at half past four on the afternoon of the tenth,’ the inspector said, checking his notepad. ‘That being the case, you should be receiving an answer very soon.’

      ‘If the young lady has any intention of replying.’ Nicholas moved towards the fireplace, seeing in the flames the sweetly innocent face of the child he remembered. ‘She might not even remember who I am. And if she does remember, she may wish to have nothing more to do with a man who was so instrumental in ruining her life.’

      ‘You did not ruin her life, Nicholas,’ Lavinia said with a touch of exasperation. ‘Miss Vallois and her brother helped you of their own accord. It isn’t fair that you should shoulder all the blame for what happened as a result.’

      Nicholas smiled, touched as always by his wife’s unconditional support of his actions. She was a remarkable woman, able to comprehend the rationale behind what he did without convoluted explanations or lengthy justifications. Her quick, intuitive mind would have made her an excellent intelligence agent had she chosen to turn her hand to it. And as he walked across the room towards the brocade loveseat where she sat, he thanked God—and his commanding officer—that she had not. ‘You are, as always, the voice of reason and logic. Even if the logic is somewhat prejudiced in my favour.’

      ‘Of course it’s prejudiced, darling. I am your wife. How could it be otherwise?’

      ‘Not all wives agree with their husbands.’

      ‘Not all husbands are worth agreeing with.’ She smiled up at him. ‘You have always been a most delightful exception.’

      Nicholas bent to press a kiss against her dark, shining hair. ‘And you the reason for it.’

      Across the room, Inspector Rawlings cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but shall I inform my man that his continued surveillance is no longer required?’

      Nicholas glanced at his wife. ‘Well?’