Darian nodded grimly, that information having meant that Hawksmere could no longer play an active role in Maystone’s network of spies. Perhaps it was as well, now that Hawksmere was a married man, but even so...
‘I am also presuming, as you wished to speak with both of us this morning, that perhaps Lady Beecham and myself have so far not been exposed?’
‘That is so, yes,’ Maystone confirmed tightly. ‘I do not keep written records of my agents, as you know, but of the twelve in my network, only the two of you have never had reason to call at the Foreign Office or my home.’
‘And would not the fact that you have chosen to call at the countess’s home this morning have succeeded in alerting any now watching you to the possibility that she—’
‘I am not completely without the resource of stealth myself, Wolfingham,’ the older man snapped impatiently. ‘I left my home by the servants’ entrance, hired a hackney cab to bring me to within two streets of this house and walked the rest of the way. All whilst keeping watch for any who might be taking any undue interest in my movements.’
‘I apologise.’ Darian gave a rueful inclination of his head.
‘Apology accepted.’ Maystone nodded briskly. ‘Could we now return to the subject of these assassins and their infernal plots?’
Darian sank back into his armchair. ‘I presume you are now about to tell us what part you expect the two of us to play in foiling this plot?’
Mariah had been aware of the sharpness and acuity of Wolfingham’s intelligence, but she had also learnt a wary respect for his astuteness these past few minutes as the two gentlemen talked and knew, by the irritation in Aubrey Maystone’s face, that the Duke’s words had once again hit their mark.
‘What could the two of us possibly do that you have not already done yourself?’ she prompted guardedly; positively the last thing she wished for was to spend any more time in Darian Hunter’s company than she needed to.
Aubrey Maystone seemed completely unaware of her reservations as his next words instantly trampled that wish. ‘Mariah has already told me that she has accepted her invitation to go to Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house party in Kent this weekend. I now wish for you to accompany her, Wolfingham.’
‘But—’
‘I am aware it is not your usual choice of entertainment, Wolfingham,’ the older man acknowledged drily. ‘But in this instance it is too dangerous for Mariah to attend alone.’
‘Then why attend at all?’ she questioned sharply, her heart having leapt in alarm just at the thought of spending a weekend in the company of the judgemental Darian Hunter. He despised her utterly already, enjoyed thinking the worst of her, without the added humiliation of knowing he was watching her with those cold green eyes as she moved about flirtatiously at one of Clara Nichols’s licentious weekend house parties. ‘It will be no hardship to me to send my apologies to Clara Nichols.’
‘That is the last thing I wish you to do, my dear,’ Aubrey Maystone assured gently, before launching into an explanation of exactly why the two of them must attend the Nicholses’ house party together.
* * *
‘And to think that you once told me that such things as politics and intrigue bored you,’ Wolfingham drawled mockingly.
Lord Maystone, having stated his business, had now departed as abruptly as he had arrived, after stating that he would now leave the two of them alone together, so that they might discuss and consider his request, before giving him their answer later on today.
A request, as far as Mariah was concerned, that was so outrageous as to be unthinkable.
And yet...
She had never said no to anything that Aubrey Maystone had asked of her in the past and she could not bear to think of doing so now, either.
Except for the fact that this time it involved Wolfingham, a man she had serious reason to be wary of.
Her gaze flickered across to where Wolfingham now lounged in the armchair opposite her own, both the pot of tea and the decanter of brandy now empty, after almost an hour of intense discussion. ‘I believe you also allowed me to continue to think that you came by your bullet wound by engaging in a duel rather than disposing of André Rousseau?’
‘How delicately you put it, my dear Mariah!’ Wolfingham drawled. ‘But I also have reason to believe that you have greatly enjoyed tormenting me with the possibility of it coming about because of some tragic love affair?’ He arched a mocking brow.
Yes, Mariah had indeed enjoyed taunting the haughtily disapproving Duke of Wolfingham with the possibility of his having fought a duel over a woman.
Only to now know that he had come by his bullet wound after days of secretly scouting the French countryside for information to bring back to the English government. Followed by a hand-to-hand fight in which the other man—the Frenchman André Rousseau, a spy for Napoleon, both here in England and in France—had died and Darian Hunter had been shot.
‘It would seem that we have both had something to hide,’ Wolfingham bit out abruptly. ‘The question is, what do we do now in regard to Maystone’s audacious request of the two of us?’
It was outrageous, Mariah acknowledged with a pained wince. Worse than outrageous, as it involved herself and Darian Hunter giving every appearance, in public at least, of being intimately involved with each other. An affair they were to use as their cover when, if, the two of them agreed to attend the house party at Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house in Kent this following weekend.
Because the Nicholses had, apparently, been named in the plot against the Prince.
The Nicholses were notorious for giving licentious house parties once or twice a Season. Parties at which the Prince Regent, usually resident in a house nearby, always made an appearance on the Saturday evening of the masked ball, although Aubrey Maystone and other members of the government had succeeded in persuading the Regent into not attending this one.
The Prince Regent particularly enjoyed making an appearance at such parties as these, occasions not designed for the attendance of the young debutantes and their marriage-minded mamas, but for the older, more sophisticated members of the ton, where their risqué behaviour would not be frowned upon.
Mariah would never dream of allowing Christina to attend, for example. Having accepted her own invitation, Mariah had instantly made arrangements for her young daughter to spend the weekend at the home of her friend Diana Gilbert. Diana’s mother, Lady Gilbert, intended to chaperon her own daughter and Christina to a musical soirée on Friday evening and then a ball on Saturday evening, followed by church on Sunday morning, and Mariah would return in the evening.
Mariah had always made a point of attending the Nicholses’ weekend parties, when inhibitions became relaxed and information was more freely given.
A lowering of inhibitions that Mariah now accepted could—and according to Aubrey Maystone’s information, had—equally have been used to Lord or Lady Nicholses’ advantage.
Aubrey Maystone’s suggestion was that, the danger being high, Wolfingham would now accompany Mariah into Kent, posing as her lover. Explaining that it would not be unexpected, when the two of them had been seen talking and dancing together several times this past week or so, and apparently giving rise to a certain amount of gossip and speculation concerning whether or not there might be a relationship between the two of them.
Mariah could not claim to have heard any of that unwelcome gossip herself, but then she could not expect to have done, when that gossip was about her.
It would be an easy step, Maystone had assured, for the two of them to attend the house party together and so confirm the gossip and speculation.
But it was a pretence