and reflect on the fact that doing so was nowhere near as exciting as reading in a French bookshop with Claire, or climbing into bedrooms with Claire, or Claire’s hand on him bringing the most personal of pleasures.
‘May I join you?’
Jonathon looked up from the French news to greet Preston Worth. He smiled at his old friend and motioned to the empty chair. ‘Please. I could do with some company. The weather has driven everyone to ground.’
‘Unless one fancies ladies’ tea parties.’ Preston took a seat and gestured for a waiter to bring him a drink. ‘I hear you’ve been doing the pretty. My mother tells me you came to Lady Morrison’s at-home the other day.’
‘Not on purpose.’ Jonathon laughed and held his hands up in mock defence. ‘I was looking for someone.’
Preston gave him a sly look. ‘Does it happen to be a brunette with chocolate eyes who’s taken a newfound interest in clothes and speaks flawless French?’ The allusion was unmistakable.
‘Cognac, her eyes are the colour of cognac, not chocolate and dammit, Preston, this is why one’s friends shouldn’t go into intelligence. Do I have no privacy?’
Preston smiled smugly and overlooked the dig about intelligence. ‘So you were looking for Claire Welton.’
‘She is my French tutor, as you well know, apparently.’ He was a bit chuffed Preston knew. For his sake and Claire’s, Jonathon would rather have kept that bit of information under wraps.
Preston leaned forward, triumph leaving his expression, replaced by sincerity. ‘Your secret is safe with me. Having friends in intelligence also means they know how to keep a secret. You can trust Owen and me. We are souls of discretion.’
Jonathon shifted in his seat. ‘Owen doesn’t know.’
Preston chuckled. ‘Doesn’t know or you think he doesn’t know? Owen knows the colour of the king’s underwear on any given day. The man knows everything.’ Preston paused. ‘Speaking of “everything”, how’s the French going? Is it coming back?’
Jonathon rapped the small drink table between them with his knuckles. ‘For luck,’ he explained. ‘I would hate to jinx things now. I think so, better than I hoped. Claire is a fine instructor.’ It had been on the tip of his tongue to mention the outing to the bookshop, but he thought better of it. He preferred the idea that he had some secrets at least.
‘Claire? First names and all? I would say that is progress indeed.’ Preston drained his brandy. ‘She’s a fine dancer, too, and don’t cut up at me for noticing. You’ve danced with her every night lately. It’s not a secret. Anyone who cared to notice could. Is that part of your tutoring as well?’ There was a veiled edge to his tone.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Jonathon answered with an edge of his own.
Preston twirled the stem of his snifter with an idle nonchalance. ‘I don’t know what it means, Jonathon. That’s why I’m asking you. Does it mean anything at all?’
Jonathon was glad the club was nearly empty. Preston’s voice suddenly seemed louder than necessary, but he couldn’t ask his friend to lower his tone without implying that perhaps something was indeed afoot. Implication was all the bone Preston would need to dog him about it until he confessed.
I took your sister’s friend out yesterday without a chaperon and ravaged her in a French bookshop until the shopkeeper threw us out. Then we finished what we had started in her bedroom last night. Just with hands, though, no damage done.
He didn’t need an especially creative imagination to know how that would go over. Preston had always been protective of his sister’s friends even when they were nine-year-old nuisances.
‘Ah, your silence condemns you, Jonathon.’ Preston gave the devil’s own grin.
‘I am helping her attract the attention of a beau she’s interested in. It’s a fair exchange for her tutelage,’ Jonathon replied, sounding far too defensive. His answer sounded like a denial. He hated himself for the words. They might have been the truth a few weeks ago, but it was only a slim part of the truth now. He wasn’t dancing with her to help her, but because he wanted to. He loved the feel of her in his arms, the caress of her eyes on him as they swept the dance floor. After yesterday, he wasn’t willing to share that caress. He certainly wasn’t willing to turn her over to a suitor. He was starting to feel jealous of this suitor she so desperately wanted to impress.
Preston lifted a brow. ‘Really? I was unaware she had a suitor. May hasn’t said anything. Who is he?’
‘I don’t know. She won’t say.’ Jonathon shrugged as if it was of no consequence. He refused to believe Cecilia’s assertion that Sir Rufus Sheriden had a longstanding interest that might be reciprocated. Claire had kissed him, he reminded himself, unable to help the smile that spread across his face at the memory, of Claire wrapping her arms about him and pulling him close in the bookshop, her mouth covering his. There were other memories, too, that mocked the idea her attentions were engaged elsewhere. How could she be when her hand... He had to stop right there. He shifted in his seat. If he didn’t stop, he’d be giving too much away to a man who was already canny.
‘What are you hiding? A man only smiles like that when he’s thinking of a woman.’ Preston’s eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘The question is, what woman? Claire or Cecilia?’ His voice dropped to a hush, his face registering the truth Jonathon couldn’t speak. ‘By Jove, you’re falling for Claire Welton.’
‘Yes.’ There. He’d said it; the new truth that he was just beginning to recognise. He was falling for Claire.
Preston nodded thoughtfully. ‘How far do you plan to fall?’
‘I don’t know.’ He might have already fallen, the descent complete before he’d even realised the danger. ‘Does one plan these things?’ He certainly hadn’t. He’d had a plan, a very detailed one until he’d sat across from Claire at the Worths’ dinner. That plan had slowly eroded ever since. The irony was that he’d only approached Claire in order to help that original plan, not derail it.
‘And Cecilia Northam? Where does she figure into all of this?’ Preston leaned forward, dropping his voice further.
‘I don’t know.’ Hadn’t he just said that?
‘What do you know? Perhaps we should start with that. In fact, let me start.’ Preston held up a finger for every item. ‘First, you need a wife to go with you to Vienna. Nothing buys respectability like having a wife at your side. That means the clock is ticking, old boy. You need to marry by summer’s end, sooner if you want to wedge in a honeymoon that doesn’t involve travelling to your post. Second, Cecilia Northam has been groomed to be a diplomat’s wife. Lord Belvoir wants a title and political position for his daughter. He wants a future prime minister for her if he can get it, this is a fairly open secret in the ton. Third, Belvoir and Cecilia want that husband to be you, also a fairly open secret. They are angling for an offer before June is out.’ Preston raised another finger and added to the list. ‘Fourth, Belvoir has the power to force your hand. If you don’t come up to scratch, it may not matter how good your French is or that you have personal connections to Owen Danvers. Belvoir can ruin your chances and see that the post goes to Elliot Wisefield. The man is vindictive enough to do it.’
Preston sat back in his chair. ‘It’s time for some risk analysis, old boy. Cecilia secures
