“I dislike being threatened.”
“So do I. Sir.”
Rapping his knuckles against the desk, Sir Edmund grunted. “Come to White’s tonight and we’ll discuss it.”
“I…have business matters to attend to tonight.” Hugh swallowed.The Brotherhood of Ravens, in fact.“But perhaps you could come to dinner at my house this week? And with your wife, Lady Twyford?”
His superior glowered. “My wife does not attend functions, Number Five. Ever.”
“Ah. I see. Perhaps next week at your club, then?”
“It will have to do. Off you go. And have your boots cleaned.”
“Sir.”
Hugh hobbled to the door and saw himself out before pausing to waggle his toes.
“Cramp? A cuppa’ll cure that.” And a chipped mug was thrust before him.
Just what he needed for once. A mug of the strongest brew in all England, and he shoved a hand around it to…
The mug was stone cold.
“Mrs Benson…”
“You’ve always enjoyed me brew. Always.” Black stubby lashes fluttered and she gripped fists to her trolley. “I tell them all, I do. If a fellow like you says it’s a brew to make the angels weep, then it must be good. A gentleman of such taste.”
Hehadsaid that.
But not meant it in quite the way Mrs Benson had taken it.
That’s where spurious flattery got you.
So he raised it to his lips.
England expects…
And downed it in one.
Swallowed.
“I’d been about to say, Mrs Benson, that I couldn’t recall an occasion when I needed it more.”
In actual fact, his innards were now colder than a gravestone facing north on a frosty night.
Mrs Benson dabbed at her moist eyes. “You’re such a good lad. Despite what His Nibs in there says.”
With a pressed-lip smile, Hugh hobbled off, down the stairs and out into the fairly fresh air of Whitehall.
Today was turning into a bloody nightmare. What else could go wr–
He narrowed his eyes, as across the road that Thomas chap was chatting to his cousin Lady Thurwood.
So he struggled over.
“My lady? What a surprise to see you in Whitehall.”
Limpid blue eyes widened and a gloved hand rested upon her décolletage. Had he eliminated her from his list too soon?
“Mr Cadwalader, what a pleasure. I was just bringing my poor cousin Thomas his lunch. He never gets a moment, you know. I’d like to give his superior a good talking to.”
Poor cousin Thomas shuffled his feet, a flush rising above his cravat. “I’d best return.” And he rushed off as though the quill-pushers from hell were on his tail.
Hugh twisted and gave his most disarming smile. “May I escort you to your carriage?”
“Of course, and…” Her arm snaked through his, the scent of lavender drifting, lips pursing. “Perhaps home? I have the afternoon free and we could re-enact your manful ensnarement of me on Oxford Street.”
“No time, my lady.” He patted her hand. “I have a boot malfunction to attend to.”
