A Game of Spies (Hearts in Hazard 2) Read online

  Grasmere had been an ill fit, too. Not once during his July visit to his former home had he felt settled. The estate was his parents’ home; it would be his brother’s—although Dominic was rarely in evidence.

  The rooms he’d taken once he left hospital, they were another ill fit. A place for his possessions, a place for his head and weary body to rest. Not home. Definitely not home.

  “Does your father want his younger son to select a lovely butterfly like our hostess?”

  “That is more my mother’s wish, sir. She understands, however, that I must pursue before I can net. London has many lovely butterflies. When I select one, she will be welcomed to Grasmere.” There, he had answered Nazenby’s unspoken question. He would disappoint his parents if he introduced them to a lovely butterfly. Expecting a bride, they would be appalled to discover he only pursued a spy.

  London’s dreaded spycatcher, however, was pleased. “So we progress. We must not discount the other young men in the hunt. Lady Eaton reminded me of that just this afternoon. This late in the year, society is very thin. We cannot depend solely on these twice-weekly salons. We need a daily presence. Only a close association will help us find the source. Come, Lady Eaton expects me to meet her in the card room. You play cards, I think? You can find more than one game in the card room.” On that broad hint he led the way from the grande salon and its lovely hostess.

  Nazenby had obviously changed the original plan of his pursuit of this French spy. What did he plan now?

  They progressed along the reception hall. Sir Roger stopped occasionally and presented Giles to a few people. He could not decide if the introductions were casual or pointed, but he’d been out of England for so long that he was grateful to have faces connected to names he had only heard or read about.

  They entered the quieter enfilade. Fewer candles created a more intimate scene than the countless candelabra and reflecting mirrors in the drawing room. Nazenby strolled about, occasionally stopping to view the play of cards. After a quarter-hour they entered the petite salon and stopped near Lady Eaton’s table by the fireplace. The fashionable dowager was gowned in purple silk and wore a striped turban with feathers. She noted their entrance with a smile but continued her game. Giles took the opportunity to scan the room. He glanced over the people talking and laughing and intent on their various games. Who did the spycatcher think could give him a constant entrance to the Sourantine household?

  And then he saw her, the woman Nazenby must want him to pursue. No, he thought, not her. Not Josette Sourantine. She was pretty, a pale candle flame against the night-dark windows, a faded flame if he matched her to Celeste’s vivid beauty and vivacity. She was more intelligent than most men could tolerate. And doomed by her height. Only inches shorter than he was, he remembered, and he overlooked most men. Inexplicably, he didn’t want to hurt her.

  He didn’t know her well enough—only two hours across a whist table, that was all.

  And he hunted for a spy and a traitor to England, people who passed vital information to France, information that would get soldiers like himself shot to pieces.

  Why, then, this reluctance to involve her?

  He turned to the spycatcher, who always had an answer. “What do you know of her, Sir Roger? An émigré like her sister-in-law?”

  “Daughter of one. Father came over several years before the Revolution. Married a wealthy mill-owner’s daughter. His family we don’t know. Possibly a chevalier of his own making. The Terror was convenient to a number of émigrés with more pretensions than blood.”

  “An adventurer?”

  “Perhaps. Vincent Nemours had no qualms marrying his daughter into the Sourantine family, and Nemours is a known chevalier d’honneur.”

  Josette Sourantine laughed at something Tobias Kennit said. The candlelight sparkled all around her. Why had he ever thought her pale? With a shake of her head, she played a card, and Lord Musgrove leaned forward to take the trick. A youth just a hair past university partnered her, and he looked to be losing.

  Giles had enjoyed their game of whist. They had trounced the opposing Tobias Kennit and Edward Garland. He had no liking for either man, known rakes the both of them. He had relished their defeat. Josette Sourantine’s flashes of wit and her brilliant card play were to be prized. When she smiled, the whole world had sparkled. Yes, he had looked forward to another partnership with her.

  Nazenby had more in mind than a game of cards. The older man played to catch spies, and he played to win. If Giles refused to court her in order to gain entrance to the house, who would be sent in his place? A man who would not care if she were hurt?

  He dropped his gaze from Josette. Lady Eaton’s game had ended. She greeted them then introduced her tablemates, her young friend Mrs. Davenport and the men partnered against them, Rafe Lockhart and Robert LeBrun. As they chatted, Giles had to will his gaze not to lift to Josette Sourantine.

  The game resumed. Nazenby leaned on his Malacca cane. Giles allowed himself another look at the table near the terrace doors, closed against the mid-November chill.

  Lord Musgrove spoke to Josette, but she only smiled and shook her head. Kennit dealt. She gathered up her cards and spread them, reading them with the practiced glance of a gamester. And like a gamester she didn’t organize them, not wanting her opponents to guess her hand. A mistake her partner fell into as he diligently sorted his suits. She gave a little shake of her head and lifted her lashes to scan the room.

  And saw him.

  Giles saw her stiffen. Then she smiled, just a touch wider, and inclined her head. He bowed. She played her next card as if she’d never been distracted.

  Musgrove had noticed. He looked to see who had caught her attention. When he saw Giles watching them, he frowned. That frown caused Kennit to glance around. The black-haired rake gave him a level look then called for more wine.

  Josette Sourantine played like a gamester. The daughter of a suspected adventurer, she must have learned all the tricks that helped a rogue survive. She chose as her usual table partners a rake and a peer not known for his discrimination. Together, they fleeced a youth just out of university. Josette Sourantine was not an innocent who would be hurt by a simple deception. She could be as deeply involved in the spying as the Frenchwoman was. If that were the case, then Giles need have no scruples. Why, then, do I hesitate?

  Sir Roger stepped closer. “Well?”

  “You are right. We have a suitable butterfly in here. You will excuse me?” He walked away to begin his hunt.

  Chapter 2 ~ Friday, November 15

  Josette hadn’t expected her heart to flutter when she saw Lord Hargreaves.

  Why did he affect her so? He had attended exactly four of Celeste’s salons. In his regimentals he had stood out from the other men. Gossip named him a war hero; his limp certainly fueled the report’s danger. Ever observant, Josette had watched him but could not divine what drew him to their salons. He had had the occasional tete-a-tete with Celeste, but a two-week absence did not denote a serious flirtation. Partnered with Josette against Tobias Kennit and Sir Edward Garland, he had played a fast game both brilliantly and ruthlessly. Yet he was no gamester, for he had walked away, pocketing his winnings without a backward look.

  Now he had returned, as striking in a dark suit as in his regimentals. He had come in with Sir Roger Nazenby. The older man conversed with Lady Eaton, and Lord Hargreaves looked about the room. A half-smile lightened the stern cast of his lean face.

  Kennit jarred the table, bringing her attention back to the game.

  “Your play, fair goddess,” Musgrove prompted.

  She flashed a glance around the table. Kennit scowled at her. Harder to read, Musgrove had half-lidded his eyes, never a good sign, although his tone had remained pleasant. Busily recounting the tricks stacked at each player’s elbow, Costell had noticed nothing.

  Josette inhaled deeply, willing her concentration back to the game. She did not want to land in the suds, a real danger with Costell’s wil
d play. Yet as the next round of cards started, she again lifted her gaze to Lord Hargreaves. He was nearer, slowly moving among the tables to watch the course of play. He reached their table as the last card was played. He stood and watched Kennit take the last trick.

  Like the child he still was, James Costell pushed out his lower lip while Kennit and Musgrove tallied their winnings. Then he looked across at her. “Another round?”

  He asked it with such hopeful brightness that she could not deny him—although another such round would find her owing money. She did not want to be in Kennit’s or Musgrove’s debt. She liked them as whist partners, but Kennit was a libertine and Musgrove—. She eyed the peer’s ready smile and gilded hair and the exquisite fall of his cravat. Musgrove she still had not managed to define.

  With Hargreaves at hand, she doubted she could play with the ruthless skill needed to win back what she’d lost. “Only if we play penny stakes.”

  “Only if we switch partners,” Kennit interjected, “and I’ll not take you tonight. Costell.”

  “I cannot help the fall of cards,” he defended.

  “You cannot take such risks with your declarations, Costell.”

  “Nothing risked, nothing won. You yourself told me that, Mr. Kennit.”

  “Takes a little savvy as well,” he drawled. “You haven’t shown much of that.”

  “Mr. Kennit!” Belatedly, Josette realized that people beyond their table were listening. “Lord Costell, I shall gladly partner you at cards. Whenever you wish.”

  “Play with more attention and less distraction,” Musgrove murmured. Josette blushed, for the distraction was her fault. “Miss Sourantine may seem an omniscient goddess when she can predict our hands, but she is not omnipotent.”

  “No, Lord Musgrove, I leave that to you and Mr. Kennit.”

  Costell pushed back from the table and stood. “You are right, of course. My mind is on something else.”

  Kennit grinned. “Madame Sourantine’s red hair and perfect form?”

  Josette frowned at him, not wanting to increase the young man’s fascination with her belle-soeur. Celeste was a decade older than the youth.

  Costell flushed. He bowed stiffly and stalked away.

  And Lord Hargreaves placed his hand on the abandoned chair. “May I play as fourth?”

  Musgrove assented. Josette smiled a welcome.

  “Mademoiselle Sourantine, we partnered so well before, will you accept me again?”

  “You will not,” Kennit snapped. “I’ll not be trounced again. Musgrove, take Costell’s seat.” He gathered up the cards and shuffled.

  As the men exchanged chairs, Josette leaned forward. “Lord Musgrove, I am a little distracted tonight. I hope I do not cast you in the suds as I did Lord Costell.”

  His affable expression reminded her of the marbled Greek Apollo in the museum. “You, divine Miss Sourantine? I am not worried. I know my new partner will not over-declare.”

  “I am well acquainted with Lord Hargreaves’ style of play, sir. You were not here when last he honored us, but—.”

  “I told him,” Kennit interrupted. He flipped out the cards. “I told him I was saddled with Garland that night.” He gave her a hard look from his glittering blue eyes. “And there should be no more distractions.”

  Chastened, Josette gathered up her cards. When she looked up from fanning them, she found Hargreaves’ gaze on her. Such a waiting look was not unusual in play, but his eyes seemed to flicker over her. As if he catalogued her every feature, as if never before had he marked her appearance or behavior or conversation.

  She looked away and resolved to concentrate.

  With three months’ experience, she knew Musgrove had a similar gaming approach to hers. They counted the cards in their heads and worked out their opponents’ hands with the turn of each trick. Years of play helped them anticipate what a skilled opponent would play and when. He always declared conservatively, depending on Kennit to play at the edge of his declaration. The two men were well partnered: Musgrove coolly rational while Kennit capitalized on flashes of risky brilliance.

  A sole evening as Hargreaves’ partner had revealed that he was as bold and brilliant as Kennit. With ruthless efficiency, he seized on any weakness and knocked down his opponent’s plans with each following turn of card. Josette squared her shoulders. She would not be the weak one.

  She played the first card, a diamond six, deliberate bait, and learned much of the opposing hands as each man topped her card.

  Kennit always spoke little and then only of the cards. On his mettle, Musgrove chose not to speak at all. For the first four tricks, Hargreaves played silently. Then he startled her when he snapped a card down and asked if she had enjoyed their first partnership.

  “Oh! Indeed I did, Lord Hargreaves. You were a great surprise to me.”

  “How so?” Hargreaves asked.

  She watched Kennit play under Musgrove then glanced at her hand. What is Kennit doing? He should have taken this trick. “I expected the usual evening. You quickly changed my mind.”

  Musgrove gathered up the cards and played an eight club to lure out a high card.

  “I suppose my presence is never a challenge,” Kennit interposed.

  “You are always a challenge, sir.” She batted her eyelashes at him. He laughed and played the king. He laughed again when she trumped him.

  Hargreaves played the expected low card, giving Josette the trick. “Do you often play throughout these salons, M’selle Sourantine?”

  “I play more than I should. My belle-soeur, however, asked that I serve as hostess here until the supper.” She gathered up the cards and added them neatly athwart the stack at her elbow. Then she set out her last good card. “Then Celeste would have me dance and talk and dance some more.”

  “You do not like dancing?”

  “I do like it, but I am often eclipsed.”

  “I’ll dance with you.” Kennit took the trick then turned up a trump as his last card.

  Josette played a useless heart, her hand exhausted. “You, sir, never leave this card room. You are perfectly content here. As is Lord Musgrove.”

  “You are here, lovely goddess,” her partner claimed. “We are content to bask in your glory.”

  “But you are not content here, are you, M’selle Sourantine?” Hargreaves’ soft voice implied intimate knowledge of her preferences.

  “Not when Costell’s her partner,” Kennit drawled and grinned at her brightened color.

  They finished. The men passed the cards to her waiting hand. Musgrove kept the tally. As she shuffled and dealt, her heightened senses knew Lord Hargreaves watched her. Her expertise might label her as much a gamester as Tobias Kennit. Is that how he judges me? Is that how he judged me a fortnight ago?

  When she quickly fanned her cards, he said, “You have played for a long time.”

  “From infancy.” She covered Kennit’s diamond and took the hand, an unexpected win. Musgrove murmured satisfaction. She flipped out a useless club and turned to Hargreaves. “Papa said this was a better talent than playing the harpsichord. My elder brother Edmund had no head for it, and Albert has no patience. Papa taught me everything he knew.”

  “Which is a far range,” Kennit drawled. “I wish I had met your father.”

  “He would have trounced you, sir.”

  “An adventurer, M’selle?” Hargreaves asked, as softly as before.

  She flashed a glance at him. A soft voice for hard questions. Did he think to milk information from her? Did he expect to lure her into secret revelations? She had no secrets. And what if she did? What he learned did not matter. A marquess’s son, he was far above her level. Celeste had aspirations of a title, but Celeste always had aspirations.

  The little spurt of anger dissipated. Josette even managed a guileless smile as she played an innocuous club to lure out a higher card. “My grandfather called him an adventurer. He was not pleased when Mama eloped with my papa. But Papa did not fulfill his ‘worst fe
ars’, as Grandpapa said.”

  As she wanted, he played the club knave. “Your grandfather is—.”

  Musgrove quietly played the winning queen.

  “William Newland of York. He owns several spinning mills, sir.” She enjoyed Kennit’s scowl as he had to play under Musgrove’s lady. She enjoyed Hargreaves’ scowl even more. Her partner took the trick and returned her smile then opened with a mid-range trump.

  Hargreaves took that trick and shifted suits before returning to his questions. “You mentioned an elder brother Edmund.”

  Sadness dimmed her artificial smile. “My belle-soeur’s late husband. He died four years ago, in a riding accident.”

  “And your brother Albert?”

  “My younger brother. You will find him in the grande salon. Flirting. I have an even younger brother and a sister, sir. They are with Grandpapa in Yorkshire. Do you wish to know their names?” She smiled sweetly as she asked the facetious question. And took the trick with one card higher than Hargreaves’.

  “Enough conversation about family,” Kennit growled. “Talk about horses. Or the theatre. Or Brummel and fashion. Or even Bonaparte. Just get your mind on the cards.”

  “I apologize.” He topped her opening card. “Happy now, Kennit?”

  “Not until Musgrove goes down.”

  Musgrove went down. Kennit’s brow cleared as he played a low card and let his partner take the hand. They finished the game in virtual silence, but Musgrove and Josette had managed to best the other two.

  Sir Roger Nazenby came to watch their play. Celeste had scored a coup with his returned attendance at their salons, another coup with Lady Eaton’s first attendance at their salons. Having seen him enter with Lord Hargreaves, Josette studied the elegant man standing behind her partner. She knew him by reputation only, one of the old families. At some long ago point, she had heard something more, but she could recall neither the words nor the person who told her. Was it a warning? The memory didn’t ring like one. She puzzled over it until Kennit took a trick she had expected to win.