heard it said,” Lady Chartier said without the least bit of humility, obviously pleased with the compliment. “Which puts me in the mood to dance! If you will excuse me, I think I shall find my husband and insist he waltz with me again.” She smiled prettily. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Brendan.” She glanced at Mrs. Honeycutt, and a look passed between the two of them, some mutual understanding that Marek did not care for. He felt as if he had been whisked back to his thirteenth year. On a crisp, cool Sunday afternoon, he’d stood in the churchyard while Sarana and Felicia, two girls from his village, had whispered about him. He’d been just as inept at social chitchat then as he was now, and just as partially deaf. He guessed it was true that some things never changed.
Lady Chartier smiled and walked away, and in what was becoming rapidly predictable to him, Mrs. Honeycutt did not. Her smile was winsome and she asked, “Shall I leave you to sulk on your own, Mr. Brendan?”
“Sulk?” He didn’t know that word.
Mrs. Honeycutt’s smile deepened. “It means ill-tempered.”
“I am not ill-tempered, Mrs. Honeycutt. Unfortunately, the ability to chatter idly is not in my nature.”
One of her eyebrows arched above the other. “What makes you think my chatter is idle? I don’t know you well enough to decide if you’re truly morose, although I knew a gentleman like you once. Never saw even a corner of his mouth lift in a smile. When he died, it was discovered that there was an exceptionally large tumor in his stomach. Do you suppose you have a tumor in your stomach, Mr. Brendan?” A saucy little smile curved the corners of her mouth.
The last time a woman had smiled like that at him, he’d kissed her. The idea rumbled around in some remote reach of his brain. Marek didn’t understand her, and in these circumstances, he didn’t want to understand her, her comeliness notwithstanding. He didn’t care how her eyes sparkled enticingly in the light of a thousand candles. She was becoming a nuisance and he had other much more important matters weighing on him. Which led him to the question once more—why was she bothering him? “Mrs. Honeycutt, if I may... Who are you?”
She laughed. “I’ve told you!”
“Je, but for the life of me I don’t understand your—” he tried to think of the word in English, and gestured impatiently “—bother.”
“My bother! How delightfully charming.”
He’d insulted her again, which had not been his intent. His English was quite good, except when he was flustered. “Why are you following me?” he asked. Better to get to the heart of the matter than continue to misspeak.
She blinked as if the question caught her by surprise. She averted her gaze, and for a moment, he thought she would flee.
But, of course, she didn’t flee. She tapped a finger against her lips, considering his question, and was he imagining it, or did she look a bit guilty?
“You are following me.” Something in his chest tightened with the realization. Was she the only one? Were there others?
Her smile faded. She sighed. And then she nodded. “I am.”
Marek was stunned. He’d expected her to deny it, to offer some excuse. When she didn’t, it set him back even more. “You are following me?” he asked with disbelief.
“Yes!” She sounded remorseful. “I am, I am, Mr. Brendan, but I didn’t mean for you to realize it.”
He looked around them, half expecting guards or soldiers or someone to leap out and take him. But when none did, he frowned. “But why?”
She toyed with her earring. Bit her bottom lip. Sighed heavenward again. “This is very difficult to explain. The truth is that I have a gnawing suspicion about you.”
His heart leaped. If she suspected him, who else did? “What sort of suspicion?”
Mrs. Honeycutt glanced down at her feet. “That you are—may be—plotting a...”
He didn’t hear her clearly. “A clue?” he repeated uncertainly.
She looked up. “Not a clue, a coup. A coup d’état.”
He stared at her. “Why in heaven would you suspect such a thing? What have you heard?”
She looked as if she meant to say one thing, but then her eyebrows rose. “What have you heard?”
He wasn’t going to play games with her. He suddenly shifted forward, so much that she leaned back a little. “Tell me the truth, please, Mrs. Honeycutt. What do you know?”
She slowly straightened. “That’s what I would like to ask you, Mr. Brendan. What