“It is as unending as it is tedious. When I resign myself to it, likely I will never leave Middlesex again.”
A thought occurred to Isobel. Perhaps she’d seen this before, and wouldn’t that be ironic. Was she being taken in by a second man who preferred skittering around the world to settling down? Before she could stop herself, she said, “You’re afraid to grow up.”
“On the contrary,” he said flatly, “the work I’ve done for the Foreign Office has hardly been child’s play. Representing the Crown in foreign courts, keeping andtrading national secrets, saving British lives—it was not the work of a boy. And I was good at it. In contrast, I’ll be rubbish at calculating the price of wool or the date of the last frost. And I’ll die if I’m forced to sit behind a desk.”
“You will notdie,” she said, a reflex, and she could tell by his bitter expression that it was the wrong thing to say. She scrambled to add, “You will have a family—a duchess and children to sustain you and give you purpose.”
Another bitter look. Isobel puzzled over this. She could understand not wanting a provincial life of a country squire, but Northumberland did not seem like a loner or even a rakehell. It was not a stretch to envision him with a wife and children. She looked closer, watching his expression—and then it occurred to her.
“They’ve a wife picked out for you already,” she guessed. She felt a sharp jab, like a knife digging into her side. “Your mother and sisters have already chosen someone.”
It doesn’t matter, she told herself.It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, and you knew this. You’ve known this all along.
He shook his head. “A wife is a priority to my mother, but she knows I do not respond well to being ‘managed.’ ”
Isobel was swamped with relief. There was no reason for it; she had no right to care. Even so.Relief.She took hold of the railing to steady herself.
“I didn’t mean to distress you,” she said. “It’s none of my business and clearly you take your responsibility very seriously. Forgive me for prying.”
“I am not distressed by you,” he said.
Shehaddistressed him, and she regretted how farshe’d pushed. She scrambled to turn the conversation around. “Will you . . . tell me something you relish about being a spy?” she asked.
He looked up. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me... about your favorite mission.”
“Favorite?”
“Why not? I’ve made you say what you don’t wish. Regale me with a tale of glory.”
“I’ve never thought of my work in these terms. My favorite jam, however, is raspberry. Undoubtedly.”
“So very clever,” she tsked. “You know what I mean. I’d be shocked if you did not, in fact, have a favorite.”
“Favorite...” he mused, looking at the sky. She followed his gaze, watching bright stars wink to life in a cloudless sky. He flipped his coin in the air and caught it. “Do you mean most successful? Most impactful? Most fun?”
“How about the one that is the most opposite of what your life will be like as a duke.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, that would probably be the time I escaped from a Spanish dungeon.”
“No,” she marveled.
“Yes.” He flipped the coin and caught it.
“And how did you manage this?”
“Timing, I suppose. Observation. Some convincing French, an academic pursuit that I resented until the moment the words came out of my mouth.”
“That is the most insufficient answer I’ve ever heard,” she said. “Unacceptable and you know it. After you’ve spent weeks pumping me for every detail of my entire life.”
“I’m not sure ‘pumping you’ is an accurate description of what I’ve done, although . . .” He raised an eyebrow.
Isobel swallowed. “Tell me what happened. I am a sick woman.”
“If I tell you, can we talk about this mission?”
“Yes. But I was always going to tell you what I can.”
