A month ago, he thought,I had privacy, peace, and some last shreds of pride.He hurried away from the little nun.
When he reached the street, he remembered his errand. If the nun roiled his peace, Wentworth could destroy both privacy and pride.A month ago my belly was empty and my purse emptier.He could manage hunger if he had his pride.A month ago I didn’t know Nora Haley and her imp of a niece.What is pride worth compared to them?
“You’re Mrs. Haley’s,ah, friend?” The officious little clerk, Archie Campbell, let his voice trail off and his smirk show.
“My fiancée is no business of yours,” Jamie snapped, grateful the puppy didn’t recognize him from the cafe. He had enough of fools; he leaned into the man’s face. “Tell Wentworth I’m here and do it quickly, if you want to keep that pretty face of yours.”
Wentworth wasn’t much better. When the clerk ushered Jamie into his office, he looked up with undisguised distaste.
“One gathers you wish to help Mrs. Haley secure custody of the niece,” he intoned. “How noble.” He peeled back his upper lip when he spoke and twisted “noble” into something base.
“That woman appears willing to go to any length to obtain what she wants,” Wentworth went on with a dismissive sniff. Jamie felt like a fool for directing Nora to the pompous windbag in the first place.
“What my fiancée wishes and what the child’s father wished are one and the same,” Jamie retorted.
“Yes. Beaumont. Pity that. We could have used him.”
Used him how?Jamie shuddered to think. The old man made no pretense of being anything other than what he was: the Foreign Office’s agent in a country where England never let lack of formal relations get in the way of a healthy spy network. Cold fingers began to climb up Jamie’s spine.
“The woman possesses courage, though, or blind foolishness, defying Castellimonte,” Wentworth went on. On that at least, Jamie agreed. “Foolish or not,” the man shrugged, “The situation may unfold to our advantage.”
The cold fingers climbed higher. Wentworth’s eyes bore into Jamie, probing and assessing.
“Your name is Major James Bently?” Wentworth picked up a quill.
“As you well know.”The bastard wants to take notes?Cold fingers climbed another step.
“PeninsularWar?”
Good guess.Most of England’s lost veterans could claim the same. Jamie nodded.
“Waterloo?”
Again a nod.
“Unit?”
Jamie thought furiously. He rode with the Blues but his so-called reputation for bravery, or rat-stupid recklessness as he called it now, made him known among most officers in the Peninsula. “The 14thFoot,” he replied. It was the least distinguished, smallest unit he could conjure up.
“14thFoot? I don’t believe I know it,” Wentworth paused quill in mid-air.
“No reason why you should. Look, Wentworth, what does this have to do with Mrs. Haley?” Jamie demanded.
“If you wish Mrs. Haley to secure guardianship of her niece, I can help you. To do that, I require information,” Wentworth said.
Information. The coin of choice for diplomats. Wentworth didn’t bother to say that he could hinder Nora just as well.
“You know what you need to know about me. If my fiancée is satisfied, you should be,” Jamie snapped.
“My dear Major Bently, you are not at all what I expected. I believe there is a great deal more to know about you.” Wentworth skewered him with probing eyes.
Jamie stared back. The cold fingers reached the base of his neck and threatened to choke him. Wentworth looked away first.
“Be that as it may, I require information. You could be of assistance.” Wentworth put the quill down.
Jamie raised both eyebrows. “Information, Mr. Wentworth?”
“The Count di Castellimonte is of interest to his majesty’s government,” the man intoned.
