One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,18
afternoon.”
Philip glanced skyward. “It’s going to rain.”
“Not for some time yet, I’m sure.” Earlier, she had noticed the thickening clouds, but now she did not look their way. “But if it does, think of it as a chance to see where the bees go. Inside, inside.” She spread her arms to usher them toward the house, then paused. “Oh, dear. I must’ve dropped one of my gloves beneath the bench. I’ll just—no, Jamie,” she warded him off, “I’ll get it. Go inside.”
She walked toward where she had been sitting, taking care not to hurry. Jamie and Philip, quickly reabsorbed by their earlier squabble, paid no attention. Hardly had she reached the back of the garden when a low voice coming from beyond the fence said, “Sit down. Don’t turn. Pretend to look for your glove.”
Obligingly, she sank onto the bench and leaned forward, as if searching the ground beneath it.
“Lord Dulsworthy never returned the book.”
“Oh?” She wondered if her reply, sent from somewhere near her knees, could be clearly heard. “That’s not like him. He’s always so…responsible.”
“Can you think of any reason why he might keep it?”
Amanda started to shake her head, then a laugh squeezed itself from her lungs. “Maybe he’s trying to get you in trouble at the bookshop. He didn’t seem to like you very much.”
An answering chuckle, more than a trifle wry, came from behind the bushes. “I have that effect on some people.”
“What happens next? Did you—did you want me to go to his house and look for it?”
A pause. “Are you on such familiar terms with the gentleman?”
She sat up, clutching both kid gloves in her lap. “Before I answer that, I wish you to tell me who you are and what this is really about.” A daring glance over her shoulder was rewarded with a glimpse of his profile, the rest of him hidden by overgrown shrubbery. She ought to have turned and faced the house again immediately, but instead she rose slowly and stepped closer to him. To her surprise, he moved further into the clear.
Yesterday, in the comparative dimness of the entry hall, her own eyes still recovering from the bright outdoors, she had taken an impression of him. Last night, the near darkness had added few details to the picture. But now, she saw him in the clear light of day—albeit shadowed by greenery.
His brown hair was a few shades darker than her own, a rich walnut sort of color under the midday sun. But his eyes were lighter than hers, more hazel than brown. No spectacles, of course. And his features were lean, sharp, as she’d noted before. Sharply handsome. Definitely not the face of a boy. Five and thirty, at least, and she found herself intrigued by the sort of living he’d done in those years. He was…well, dashing was the first adjective that came to mind.
Most intriguing of all, though, was the flash of red that caught her eye, the color of his coat beneath his greatcoat. She stepped closer still, looking him up and down all the while. “You’re a soldier?”
Too late, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and crossed them, trying to hide the uniform beneath. Why didn’t he want her to know?
A moment passed, a few seconds, perhaps, though it felt longer. At last, he ground out, “Major Langley Stanhope, your ladyship.”
Silently she mouthed the name, committing it to her memory. “A pleasure, sir. So I take it that the cookbook is—”
“Isn’t a cookbook, just as you said last night. It may be the most priceless piece of military intelligence we have. The agent who collected it discovered he was being followed and needed a way to hide it. I gather you happened to be coming out of Porter’s bookshop with a similar package.”
“He—he bumped into me on purpose?” Absently, she rubbed her arm and elbow, though they no longer ached. “Yes, of course he did. Causing me to drop my book on the pavement. And when I—or rather, my footman—picked it up…”
“The switch had already been made. That agent managed to send a message, alerting us to what had happened. I had only to discover who had purchased a copy of Pascal’s treatise on geometry and switch the books back. Or so I thought.”
A nervous laugh bubbled in her chest. “It’s—it’s a birthday present for Jamie. My older son. I don’t suppose he would have been too pleased to unwrap a French cookbook.”