Chapter Nineteen
One could onlyput off a summons from the Duchess of Camine for so long.
Percy normally found Charlotte’s commanding and insulting presence refreshing, but being pulled away from his lovely wife—where a week’s worth of carnal depravity in his bedchambers left him none too eager to return to polite society, or pants—had him less than pleased.
He was shown to a secondary drawing room, the one that wasn’t used for normal callers, and proceeded to wait in the ungodly bright room with its gold, filigreed wallpaper and eastern-facing windows. The only thing acceptable in this torture chamber were the plush rugs underfoot in a most agreeable almond brown, a perfect match to his wife’s eyes.
Percy’s irritation came back with violent vengeance. By the time the door had opened and the Duke of Camine had entered, he was half-blind and spitting for a fight.
“What the hell is this? I came, so where is your wife?” If this was a stupid social formality to reinstate their acquaintances after his marriage, he was going to break something.
Hamish leaned an arm on the mantel and grinned. “The honeymoon is going well, I take it?”
“Bugger off. I could be there still if it weren’t for this unwelcome interruption.”
Hamish took pity on him. “There’s a man here. Called this morning. Charlotte is with him now, interrogating him.”
That was what had happened to the main receiving room. As much fun as watching another man crack under the scrutiny of a relentless duchess sounded, Percy doubted he’d been called here like a dog to admire Charlotte’s ability to render a man to ash.
“What has that to do with me?”
Percy didn’t like how his friend’s smirk slipped. “The caller is uniformed and in possession of official orders.”
Percy froze, something like dread fighting its way to the surface. After he’d revealed his past to Danny... It had to be a coincidence. “Have you seen these orders?”
Hamish shook his head. “Confidential.”
The men shared a knowing look. Hamish didn’t know the extent of Percy’s past, but he knew enough to know ‘confidential’ was a blanket term for ‘covert,’ especially when it came to agents notofficiallyon any public record.
“Charlotte will keep him entertained, orrestrained, until you make a decision one way or another,” Hamish said.
Gratitude never came easily to Percy, but he offered it now sincerely. “My thanks, Hamish.” Whatever the ‘orders,’ they couldn’t be good. But despite his book length of skills and talents, he wasn’t a soothsayer. “I’ll see him.”
Hamish nodded and went to the bell pull.
Two minutes later, the door to the drawing room opened and the Duchess of Camine entered, expression severe—a byproduct of a one-sided conversation with an unwilling partner—while the uniformed man in question followed, his buttons and boots polished to a high shine that would pass any inspection, and a crown on his shoulder that indicated an officer of years and rank.
Strait-laced, confident: Percy took stock of the man’s personality by his airs alone. The fact the major had served atleast eight years didn’t bode well either. Since when did ranked officers make recruit calls?
When the major’s gaze landed on Percy, recognition evident in his hard stare, Percy knew he was fucked.
Expression wooden, Charlotte offered introductions, her displeasure at being thwarted unmistakable when she announced the officer’s name and rank first against protocol. “Your Grace, this is Major Wallace with Her Majesty’s Army. Major, this is Percy Cole, Duke of Grandfellow.”
Wallace stepped forward, his feathered bonnet giving the man’s highland station away. “I apologize for not approaching you sooner.” His gaze cut to the duchess. “I was waylaid by outside forces who assured me you were indisposed.”
Not just the force of a duchess, Percy thought. His gaze narrowed. “You had me followed.” It wasn’t a question. Those trained eyes he’d felt on him hadn’t been his imagination. A Highland soldier would know how to keep himself hidden during surveillance.
Wallace nodded. “My orders were to keep you in sight until your orders were received.”
“Orders from whom?”
Wallace didn’t respond but had the good mind to step back at the feral grin curling Percy’s mouth.
It was always easy to hold one’s tongue... until someone skilled threatened to slice it open.
Percy sighed at the need for restraint. He had few reservations the Duchess of Camine would stop him from bleeding the man dry, but the carpets in this room really were exquisite.
“What do you want with me, then?”
