One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,34

good, milady,” he said, before folding the cloak over his arm and preceding her to the back of the house, he making his way to the servants’ stairs, and she to the narrow freedoms offered by Bartlett House’s garden.

From the windows of the morning room, she studied the hedges and vines and espaliered fruit trees that had been carefully planted to disguise the garden’s high walls and tall gate. She could still see through them, to the unyielding stone and cold metal. How had she ever persuaded herself that going into the garden was an escape?

But it was all the escape she had. She stretched forth both arms, swung open the French doors, and stepped out, letting the train of her skirts trail carelessly over the three wide steps that led down to the flagstone path, curving gently between flower beds on either side. As she walked, she fluttered her fingers through the sleeping flowers and stirred their scent. Roses, their perfume quite unlike the hothouse blooms George had sent, though it was enough to make her think of him, and of last night’s disastrous ball, and of—

Was that a noise? The house behind her and the walls to either side muffled the sounds of the great city. Surely, everyone closer at hand was asleep. The boys in their beds, the bees in their hive, the birds in their ne—

Her chin jerked up and her pulse began to knock as she peered into the shadows beyond the gate.

She wasn’t alone.

Chapter 7

What had Amanda been thinking of as she stood inside, looking out over the little garden?

Whatever it was, Langley had fully expected her to turn around and disappear into the depths of the house again. The night air was damp, all lay in darkness, and the hour was late. She certainly ought to be safely in bed.

When instead she pushed open the doors, making a surprisingly dramatic exit—or entrance?—he did not know what to feel.

On the one hand, this sudden enthusiasm for going out would cause no end of trouble. She would be more difficult to guard, to protect. If the men who had got hold of Hopkins managed to get hold of Lady Kingston, they would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to pry information from her. They would not be put off by her protests that she knew nothing at all about the contents of the codebook or its present whereabouts. Though she was a countess, they would not be chivalrous.

On the other hand, he had spent the whole evening watching her from afar, straining to bring her into sharper focus.

He could see her now.

Not with perfect clarity, no. But well enough.

She had shed her cloak, and in the deep darkness of the garden, the silvery stuff of her gown shone like moonlight, paler even than the skin of her throat and her arms. She moved with an easy, graceful stride among the flowerbeds. Above her brown hair—no hint of its golden warmth visible now, as it had been earlier beneath the lights of the theater—swayed a pair of creamy plumes, held in place by a circlet of diamonds that gleamed in what faint light they could find.

He slipped a hand inside his coat, reaching for the stubby jeweled handle of the damned quizzing glass he’d been toying with all evening. Billy had suggested the disguise, a dandy whose clothes and manner would draw all the notice, leaving him quite overlooked.

At first, Langley had protested the costume, until Fanny had said, with icy humor, “I thought magpies liked all the shiny bits and bobs,” and the need to clamp his jaw against a string of epithets had left him unable to tell Billy no.

But as it had turned out, the glass had been good for more than deflecting any theater-goer’s untoward curiosity about his identity. Still missing his spectacles, he’d found this little substitute unexpectedly useful for keeping an eye on…things.

He slid the quizzing glass from his waistcoat, the garment so fashionably tight-fighting that he swore he heard a little pop when he tugged the round glass free of the slit pocket. Slowly, he raised it to his eye to bring Lady Kingston into sharper focus, then stopped.

What the hell was he doing?

Standing guard, yes, of course—he’d relieved another soldier of his duty for the privilege of lurking all night in this stinking alleyway, wearing a kit even less comfortable than the footman’s had been, to make sure Lady Kingston and her family did not come to