“Stay away from her,” Aidan warned, his voice louder than he intended. He noted several heads turned in their direction. He ground his teeth.
“What? Are you thinking of courting her again?” Candelstone mockingly asked.
Aidan shook his head. “We have gone our separate ways, but I won’t see her hurt again. She has been through too much due to you.”
Candelstone laughed harshly, his lips curling at the corner. “Looks like Blessingame taught her well. She’s an asset to the country.”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed. He wanted nothing more than to grab the man by his lapels and slam him against the wall. Only the knowledge that would bring more distressing rumors down on Lady Blessingame stopped him.
Lady Malmsby rapped Candelstone’s arm with her fan. “Candelstone, you are supposed to be retired,” she said severely. “It’s time you stopped playing spymaster. Leave that poor woman alone, or I shall see they send you to some inhospitable government outpost—and you know I can do so,” Lady Malmsby warned.
Lady Oakley nodded agreement.
Whispers rose throughout the room following the Duchess’s statement.
Candelstone straightened around in his chair and leaned forward. “No one is above our King and our country,” he hissed at Lady Malmsby.
Lady Malmsby compressed her lips as she snorted. She turned to look across the table at Lady Oakley. “Sally, I believe it is your deal.”
Aidan dropped his staying hand from Mr. Rutherford’s shoulder. He nodded toward his mother and Lady Oakley, then turned to leave the room.
Satisfied with the results of the encounter with his brother-in-law, Aidan smiled.
* * *
Bella leanedher head back in the wing chair, her eyes closed. Before journeying to London, she hadn’t cried in a long while. Hadn’t allowed herself to. Now in two days she was making up for forfeited tears. Her brother’s betrayal hit her hard. Andrew wasn’t an unintelligent man, he simply lacked sensibility. Unfortunately, Lord Candelstone had early in their association learned to make use of this gap in her dear brother’s personality.
She opened her eyes. Her brother sat across the room, leaning forward, his head down, elbows resting on his knees and his hands dangling between his legs.
He must have felt her regard, for he looked up then, his expression one of dejection. They looked much alike save for his blond hair to her dark brown hair. Both had firm chins, which on him lent him a masculine beauty that on her took away any pretense of feminine beauty. Thinking of her appearance, she wondered what Aidan Nowlton had ever seen in her to draw his admiration. He was a man who lived with beauty every day with the paintings and other art pieces in his gallery. Perhaps that is why he could believe the lies Harry wove.
She sighed. Best not to think of that time. It was the past, and like the water flowing down the Thames, it had vanished in the fullness of time into the vastness of the ocean.
“Bella,” her brother plaintively said.
She shook her head. “No Andrew. Don’t speak.”
“But I—”
“No!” Bella asserted. She rose from the chair. “Don’t.” She walked toward the door.
“Where are you going,” Andrew asked, rising to his feet as well.
“For a walk in the garden.”
“I’ll come with you!” he said eagerly.
“No. I wish to be alone, to allow the coolness of the evening to soothe my heated countenance,” she tossed out with dramatic mockery. “Allow me that.”
Her brother shifted from one foot to the other. “If you are certain…”
“I am certain,” Bella said. She opened the door. “Go enjoy the ball. Dance with a young lady or two. Perhaps you’ll find your love,” she said whimsically, as she smiled gently at him.
Bella descended the back servants' stairs to avoid seeing anyone—especially Aidan Nowlton. She didn’t know how she felt about him now, in the fullness of knowledge as to how they both were deceived and manipulated.
Her tears belonged to the girl she had been. Strange they should come now. That girl no longer existed. She had seen too much, done too much, lived in a world of deceit for so long that truth and lies blended together. Loyalty to a mission trumped loyalty to people. In retrospect, she saw she’d grown callous.
She pushed down on the handle of the glass-fronted door leading to the terrace. With the London ballroom near the top of the mansion, few people descended the stairs to walk the terrace and garden.
