Page 42 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Valeran’s muscles tightened as he skirted the truth once more. Although that had been true the night he’d heard Ellerbie’s voice, things had changed since then. The man had led him to someone Valeran thought might be connected to the Prussians. He didn’t like keeping C in the dark when it came to his excursions into the East End, but he knew it was the right decision. He couldn’t report on an assumption. He needed more concrete information.

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Valeran forced himself to appear unfazed by the officer’s silence. C frequently went without speaking for a minute or more simply to rattle people. Knowing the man might detect he was holding back information, Valeran decided to go on the offensive. Eyes narrowed, he focused his clouded gaze on C’s shadowy image, as he rested his elbows on the wooden arms of his chair and steepled his fingers.

“I understand you ordered Westbury to follow me.” The instant he spoke, C’s gray figure became immobile. A second later, the naval officer rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug.

“Yes. I was concerned for your safety.”

“Because I’m blind?” Valeran didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

“Since you’ve broached the subject, then yes. Your blindness could be—”

“My condition has never been a liability for you before,” he snapped. “I learned long ago to compensate for my limited eyesight. In fact, my being blind means I’m routinely dismissed as a threat.”

“You’re right, your eyesight isn’t a liability, but your safety, and that of the other agents…concerns me.” C stumbled over his words slightly before continuing. “You’re not any good to me dead, Sommerville. I’m tired of losing good agents.”

“I believe Westbury has apprised you of the altercation I was involved in two weeks ago at the Princess of Prussia. I needed no assistance then.”

“He did,” C said begrudgingly.

“Then I see no reason why my personal business should be anyone’s concern. But if I do discover anything related to our investigations, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Very well,” his superior grunted with irritation. “I’ll drop the matter—for now, but you should consider how your countess will react to your nightly visits to the East End.”

The man’s observation made Valeran’s cheek muscles tighten. C was right. Amalie was certain to ask questions. Then again, perhaps not. It was unlikely she would even notice he’d left the house, or at least she wouldn’t notice until she agreed to enter his bed. Valeran’s mouth tightened at the thought.

He had his work cut out for him when it came to earning Amalie’s trust. Not telling her about his work for the Crown could be problematic. While telling her might go a long way toward gaining her trust, it would probably alarm her as well. Amalie was smart enough to quickly realize Jamie was also employed by the Crown. She might not care what happened to Valeran, but she would definitely care about her cousin’s safety. With a small shake of his head, he dismissed the naval officer’s observation.

“I’ve three weeks to devise a plan of action where my future wife is concerned.” His reply earned him a loud snort of disbelief, but Valeran remained silent. After a long pause, C released a sigh of disgust.

“Since you and Westbury have come up with a reasonable solution to the problem of Lady Chattfield, I want your report on my desk the moment Westbury takes the Chattfield woman off your hands.” C leaned across his desk again. “Is that clear?”

“Understood.” At his quiet reply, his superior released another sound of disgust, and Valeran saw the man wave his arm in front of him.

“That will be all.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said as he stood up to leave the naval officer’s office. His hand was on the door knob, when C cleared his throat.

“And Sommerville, don’t do something stupid to make your wife a widow before the bloom of married life wears off.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And despite the circumstances, I hope your marriage is as happy as mine,” C said with genuine sincerity. “Despite my railing against the female penchant for gossip, my life without Clementine would be dull and dim.

Startled by the man’s unusual disclosure of something personal, Valeran bowed slightly in the man’s direction and bought a few extra seconds to hide his surprise. Quietly accepting the man’s best wishes, Valeran left the naval officer’s small office. Outside his commander’s door, he contemplated the head of the foreign section’s words.

The man clearly found married life satisfying, even vital to his well-being. There had been a softening to his harsh tone. Sir Cummings’s voice had emphasized how deeply he loved his wife. But Valeran and Amalie weren’t marrying for love, although it was impossible to deny the strength of their desire for each other.

Beyond that, his future countess couldn’t abide him. Not only that, but he’d backed her into a corner by threatening to announce she’d refused his offer of marriage, which hadn’t gone the way he’d planned either. His Scottish spitfire of a bride had turned the tables on him and backed him into a corner with her negotiations skills.

One kiss a day might not be enough to entice her to come to him of her own volition. Two would have been better. Valeran snorted softly at the ludicrous thought. He was lucky Amalie had given way and agreed to a daily kiss. Lips thinning with irritation, Valeran proceeded along the dimly lit hallway and out of the dull, unremarkable building that housed the Crown’s Secret Intelligence Service. Pausing on the small stoop, his gaze swept across the shadowy figures walking on the sidewalk and crossing the street.

Cochrane had dropped him off at the building’s entrance an hour ago, but he knew his chauffeur wouldn’t be far away. Two fingers between his lips, his whistle was loud and harsh enough to be heard over the noise on the sidewalk and street. To his left, two whistles flew through the air, and turning his head, Valeran saw Cochrane’s stocky shadow.

In what others would have described as a leisurely, confident stride, Valeran cautiously maneuvered his way through the throng of shadows. As he reached the Rolls Royce he’d bought last year, his driver quickly opened the automobile’s rear door and accepted Valeran’s cane.

Most people believed it was a fashion accessory, or in his case, an aid to move about in a world designed for those who could see. There were few who realized a steel rod was hidden inside the wood casing. A rod that made an excellent weapon. Little more than nine years ago, he’d used it to rescue Cochrane from a gang beating.

“Where to, my lord?” Cochrane asked as he adjusted the car’s gears.