One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,53

a day’s acquaintance to determine their level of preparation, your ladyship,” he reassured her. “But as to the quality of your instruction, I confess I find myself surprised at the depth and breadth of knowledge you have been able to impart. Your own education must have been quite—”

“She attended Mrs. Plinkton’s Academy for Girls, in Bath,” said Mrs. West, as if that settled the matter.

“A fine institution,” he agreed, though he’d never heard of it. No girls’ school was entirely responsible for teaching Amanda what she knew, in any case. Of that he felt certain.

But Amanda, still focused on her sons’ future, showed no inclination to solve the mystery and said nothing more.

The meal was very nearly over. He fished about for some change of subject, something that would cast off the gloom that now hung over Amanda and restore the charmingly defiant spark to her eyes.

Then Mrs. West dabbed her lips, set her napkin aside, and said, “Stanhope.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“No, no. I beg your pardon. I was only thinking of the name. There’s something familiar about it.” A footman replaced her empty plate with a crystal dish of custard, and Mrs. West took up her spoon. “Are you by any chance related to Sir Langley Stanhope?”

Silver clattered onto china, and for just a moment, he feared he had been the one to drop his fork. But no, the noise had come from the end of the table, from Amanda, who was looking at him now with an expression for which he had no name.

Following a sidelong glance at the commotion, Mrs. West continued, “I remember reading about it in the papers when he was knighted…something he’d done…” She waved a spoonful of custard through the air. “Oh, what was it?”

A man did not rise to his level in the intelligence service without having run the risk of exposure. But the situation in which he found himself now was somehow worse. Damn that knighthood and damn every mention of. He would not be addressed as Sir Langley by anyone, least of all the Countess of Kingston.

“I could not say, ma’am,” he replied, mustering a tone of utter boredom. “No relation, I’m afraid.”

“Then who are your people?”

Langley hesitated. “I have no family, Mrs. West.”

Mrs. West made a noise of mild disappointment, or perhaps sympathy. The boys, knuckle-deep in their custard cups, appeared to have heard none of the exchange.

But Amanda’s surprise at the mention of the knighthood had turned to narrow-eyed scrutiny. She looked as if she were trying to sort out whether he were telling the truth—about any of it.

Would she demand an explanation?

Would she be satisfied by the one he was prepared to give?

Abruptly he waved off dessert, nearly knocking the glass of custard from the footman’s hand as he bent to place it in front of Langley. “Nothing for me, thank you. I’ve little taste for sweets. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am.” He pushed to his feet, bowed first to Mrs. West, and then Amanda. “Your ladyship. I’ll bid you all good night.”

“Tomorrow’s lessons to prepare, Mr. Stanhope?” Amanda tilted her head at a slight angle, a pose at once of curiosity and challenge. For just a moment, he thought she meant to tell him he hadn’t permission to leave.

Dinner. Then…

“That’s right,” he agreed.

He should say nothing more. Go upstairs to his garret and call the match between them a draw.

Instead, he boldly met her eye. “And I’ve just remembered I need something from the library.” After all, he was supposed to be focused on finding a book.

With that, he turned and strode from the room.

Cheating, perhaps. But he played to win.

Your move, my lady.

Chapter 10

No matter how tempted, Amanda could not very well jump to her feet and follow him from the dining room without raising suspicions.

So she finished her custard, careful to scrape every last dollop from the cup as she always did; she bid the boys goodnight and sent them upstairs with a kiss on each cheek, following the usual rounds of protest and professions of indignation; she sipped a leisurely cup of tea with her mother in the drawing room, then announced her intention to write a note of thanks to the Hursts before she retired.

Finally, she stood, hand on the library door, foolishly hesitant about what she might find on its other side.

When she entered, Langley was standing with his back to her, examining the bookshelves, a candlestick held aloft in one hand. Other candles had been lit at that end of the room,