Page 44 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Jamie’s question possessed the same rage as when he’d asked Valeran if he’d bedded Amalie. Had his friend actually fallen into his role as Miriam’s champion, or was Jamie harboring the possibility Lady Chattfield’s lies might be true?

“No. We both know who set things into motion the other night, Westbury.” His voice echoed with a savage anger as his sightless gaze shifted from Jamie to Miriam. “As to our conversation, Lady Chattfield, you’re clearly confused. You suggested I might try to make you jealous by seducing Miss Rockwood, which I did not do.”

“Are you actually standing here telling me you didn’t seduce the poor woman?”

Miriam’s waspish words made Valeran go rigid with outrage, fighting to contain the volatile emotion. When he remained silent, Lady Chattfield uttered a sound of outrage, contempt, and disgust.

“I’ve already heard from reliable sources that you were wearing nothing but a robe, and Miss Rockwood’s nightgown was torn and falling off her.”

“Someone has obviously embellished the night’s events,” Valeran’s words were clipped, his control over his anger tenuous at best. “Miss Rockwood was not ravished, and she did not look as if she had been.”

“Surely you don’t think a man with your reputation will find it easy to convince anyone you had no intention of seducing the timid creature,” Miriam uttered a gasp of feigned dismay. Once more, the woman turned to Jamie. “Forgive me, Lord Westbury. I feel so terrible for your cousin. I would never have thought Val would do such a disreputable thing. I can only hope Miss Rockwood isn’t terribly traumatized by Sommerville’s lascivious behavior.”

The woman’s flagrant expression of sympathy was so disingenuous Valeran’s grip on his tightly reined anger slipped. Narrowing his gaze on Miriam’s rail thin shadow, he found himself comparing it to Amalie’s soft curves. Lady Chattfield lacked not only the beautiful, lush physical attributes his bride possessed, but the fire as well. Valeran had always known Miriam was a shallow woman, who possessed the tongue of a viper, but today she’d revealed she was the lowest form of reptile.

“I did not seduce Miss Rockwood. And if you even think about spreading malicious rumors or lies of that sort, I will make you live to regret it.” Valeran’s words were soft, almost deadly, and he saw Miriam jerk. A second later, the woman straightened.

“Don’t you threaten me, Sommerville.”

“It was not a threat, my lady. It’s a warning. Ignore it and you will wish you hadn’t. I’ll bid you a good day.”

The grim note in his voice made Miriam start again. Satisfied he’d made his meaning clear, Valeran spun around on his heel and headed toward the square shape of light that was the doorway. A second later, he came to an abrupt halt. Slowly, he turned to face the woman, his blind gaze narrowing on her shadow.

“And I failed to clarify one last point. Never at any stage of our acquaintance have I ever been remotely inclined to make you jealous,” Valeran said with icy derision. “Something an intelligent woman would have realized the first time I side-stepped one of your numerous invitations to visit your bedchamber.”

“How dare you,” Miriam exclaimed in a voice sharp with outrage.

“That’s quite enough, Sommerville,” Jamie snapped, but Valeran heard the understanding and approval in his friend’s voice.

“Again, I’ve outstayed your chilly welcome, my…lady.” He paused slightly, to emphasize his sarcastic words and stress she was anything but a lady. Grim satisfaction barreled through him the instant Miriam sputtered incoherent sounds of outrage. “I’ll leave you in Lord Westbury’s tender care. No doubt he’ll soothe your bruised vanity.”

Mouth tight with fury, Valeran stalked out of the salon. Unlike his usual controlled pace, Valeran quickly descended the steps of Chattfield House, and Cochrane had to scramble to open the back door of the vehicle. Savagely, he ordered the man to take him home, then threw himself back against the well-padded seat cushions.

It was the third time in less than three days he’d lost control where a woman was concerned. And Amalie had been the reason every time. The first two instances had been driven by his powerful, uncontrollable desire for his bride. Miriam’s accusation he’d ravished Amalie had hit closer to home than he wanted to admit.

But it had been Lady Chattfield’s lies and feigned sympathy for Amalie that had aroused a rage Valeran had struggled to control. The woman’s behavior had convinced him at the first opportunity, Miriam wouldn’t hesitate to spread malicious gossip about Amalie.

Lady Chattfield might not be the cleverest of women, but she understood his threat of retribution. It would make the woman think twice before injuring Amalie with gossip. Thank God, the woman was Jamie’s problem now. Grateful to be done with Lady Chattfield, the tension in his body eased, and he sank deeper into the padded cushions of his seat.

Eyes closed, Valeran dragged air into his lungs as his mind shifted toward his earlier meeting with C and the man’s pointed questions. For the first time since joining the Secret Intelligence Service, he’d deliberately withheld information from a superior. What had begun several months ago as a need to find justice for his family had now evolved into something much more troubling.

Two weeks before going to Callendar Abbey, Ellerbie had suddenly stopped frequenting his old haunts to patronize pubs filled with sailors serving on Prussian merchant ships. Ellerbie particularly seemed to prefer the Princess of Prussia over other establishments. The foreign section had been watching the pub for months as it was a strategic location for the Kaizer’s spies to send information back and forth across the channel, but nothing had come of it.

Up until two days before leaving for the Abbey, Valeran had been poised to give C the information he’d gathered on Ellerbie. Then one of his best informants had reported Ellerbie meeting with an unidentified stranger. Valeran had decided to wait until he returned to London for more information before telling his superior. He’d received more than he bargained for last night after he’d returned from the Abbey and entered the East End.

According to Billy, the stranger meeting with Ellerbie had stood in the shadows, his hat pulled low to obscure his facial features. It was an obvious sign the man didn’t want to be identified. The two men had seen arguing, when the stranger had threatened Ellerbie. The man being threatened hadn’t surprised Valeran. Ellerbie could be belligerent and surly one moment, then jovial and pleasant the next.

But it was the weapon Billy had described that had made Valeran’s blood run cold. The stranger had been wielding a switchblade of German design. From the boy’s description, it was the kind of knife most likely used to slit Featherstone’s throat.

Tonight he planned to return to the East End with the hope he could learn more about the man Ellerbie had met with. Then he could provide C with a complete, detailed report. While he had nothing to go on when it came to the stranger’s involvement in Featherstone’s murder, it he was lucky, he might learn something valuable. Finding the bastard who’d slit the agent’s throat was imperative. The possibility of more men in the foreign section dying was as horrifying as the knowledge their quarry had the potential to cripple the foreign section for a long time.

Years ago, Valeran had realized intelligence was critical to minimizing the damage an enemy could do to the Crown. If the bastard who’d killed Featherstone wasn’t stopped, he could easily reduce the foreign section of the Secret Intelligence Service to a handful of agents. It would be a catastrophic event the Crown might never recover from.

The Prussians wouldn’t just have the advantage of running their intelligence operations unchecked. It meant the bastards could easily bring the Empire to its knees if it came to a war. As he contemplated the matter, Valeran’s muscles tightened with the same dread he’d experienced two weeks ago.

Chapter 13

Valeran’s fingers glided over the raised dots on the letter he’d received yesterday in the post. He’d been corresponding with Helen Keller ever since learning of her efforts to educate people about blindness and hearing loss. He’d first heard of the remarkable young woman when his secretary was reading the London Times to him more than a year ago.