Kuni tilted her head. “I don’t recognize that gesture.”
“Oh…of course not. It’s something only Wynchesters know. We do that when we feel something deeply, and mean with all our heart whatever it is we just said.”
Only Wynchesters.And the duchess had just shown Kuni.
“Wewillfind a way to help Mr. and Mrs. Goodnight. I will see to it personally.” The duchess rolled her shoulders and gave a slow, terrifying smile. “Heartless and miserly Mr. Throckmorten is our problem to solve. Would you like to be part of the solution?”
Kuni’s chest tightened. Her situation had not changed. She was not here to help the English people, she was here to aid the Balcovian king. She was a Royal Guard, not a Wynchester.
But what kind of person was she if she did not use her talents and limited time to defend those who could not defend themselves? The king was not helpless. Reinald and Floris were two of the best. Kuni’s report might be incomplete, but it still contained valuable insights.
Who did the laborers have on their side? Certainly not their government. Was she like these “gentlemen” who believed the plights and deaths of children were none of their concern? Was Kuni like her brothers, who believed royalty, not peasants, were the ones worthy to be guarded?
Or was she going to do whatever she could to improve this untenable situation while she was still here? Even if a less-than-impressive report risked the role she’d spent her life fighting to achieve?
Decided, Kuni snapped her heels together and stood at attention. She could not stand back and allow others to suffer.
“All right. I’m in. Teach me how to fight dirty.”
26
While Chloe and Kunigunde were at Westminster, Graham worked on his secret album of painstakingly compiled intelligence. Dusk had fallen hours ago, and the book was almost finished. Once the newest pages were dry, he would place the book in the bookcase. It was his commissioned intelligence, not a spare copy, but all the same… Perhaps the volume might catch her eye as she was browsing past. His efforts could be helpful to both their missions.
Meanwhile, more than a fortnight remained of their flirtation right here in his home.
Plenty of time for ravenous kisses to turn into a hunger for something more. Perhaps even for something permanent. He was courting her, no matter how few days remained. Whether Kunigunde could be convinced to consider his suit, on the other hand…
Carefully, he copied in the essence of his interview with a footman who no longer worked for the Prince Regent at Carlton House.
He could not help but wonder what questions Kunigunde might have asked the man. Her Balcovian perspective meant she could see things in a way he might not. Notice details he could otherwise have overlooked.
There was nothing Graham liked better than collecting other people’s perspectives. With Kunigunde, there was an extra layer of longing. He wished his clandestine assignment and her mission could have been done in partnership with each other. He saw no need for both of them to duplicate effort in solitude.
He wanted to work at her side, together.
It would be a welcome change from his usual. Marjorie was upstairs in her studio. Elizabeth was off practicing her voice impressions. Jacob was outside rehabilitating Lady Leonatus. Tommy and Philippa were snuggled together on a couch in the library, Philippa with a tome on God-knew-what, and Tommy sewing gold buttons onto a pink costume.
Graham was here, alone in the salon with his books. He held the last interview up to the light. The ink had dried. It was safe to turn the page. He enjoyed cutting and pasting and transcribing—he was proud of every single volume in his collection—but the work would be much improved with a partner.
The right partner. Kunigunde. It washerhe wished were seated beside him. He could imagine laughing together about this factfinding escapade or that. Perhaps debating whom to interview or what maps to include or which newspaper articles deserved a place in an album.
The thought brought a smile to his face. Then again, he always smiled when he thought of her.
This was it. The final page in the album. The last opportunity to provide critical information. He thought for a second, then dipped his pen in the standish and added a few lines of text. The album would not be complete without mentioning the presence of—
“What are you working on?”
Kunigunde.
He barely refrained from making an undignifiedEep!of surprise. Why was she back so early? Where was Chloe?
Graham slammed the book closed—shite, the wet ink!—and tossed as many blank sheets of paper as he could over the incriminating evidence, without attempting to seem like he was actively covering up the scene of a deception.
It did not work.
Amused, she brushed away the blank pages to lift the cover of the journal. “Are you hiding bawdy etchings of…”
Buckingham Palace. Extremely lewd…architectural illustrations of room configurations. Bawdy measurements of…each door and window.
