Page 86 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“Just us?”

“It would have been just your father and I this evening as Braxton took Aiden to the castle to go hunting. Elspeth pleaded so hard to go along we finally relented. Greer is spending the night at Melton House as she’s going to a party with Tilly this evening, and they weren’t sure what time they’d be home.

Another soft sound echoed out of her Father, and Amalie suddenly realized why her father seemed annoyed. For the first time since Valeran had broken her heart this afternoon, Amalie bit back a smile. She pulled back from her mother to sit upright on the sofa, then arched her eyebrows at Lady Patience.

“Am I to conclude from Father’s disagreeable mutterings that Valeran has earned his ire for a different reason altogether? Is it possible Father was expecting something besides rumbledethumps for dinner?” Her question made Lady Patience gasped, and Amalie glanced at her father, who made a sound as if he were choking.

“That is a completely unsuitable topic for general conversation, Lady Sommerville,” her mother exclaimed fiercely as her cheeks flamed with color.

“What is? I was simply talking about what Mrs. Lester is serving for dinner this evening. What did you think I was talking about?”

More color darkened her mother’s cheek, and the Laird of Crianlarich chuckled. When his wife glared at him, he grinned.

“Aye mo ghràdh, I’d like tae ken what ye were thinking.”

“The two of you are incorrigible,” Lady Patience huffed with exasperation. “And it’s your fault, Julian. You encouraged her, all the children, to be audacious, reckless, and utterly disdainful of propriety.”

“Would ye have me, or our children, for that matter, any other way, mo ghràdh?” The question earned him a stern glare from Lady Patience, and Amalie bit back a laugh. Squeezing her mother’s hand, Amalie steadily met her mother’s gaze.

“I’ll have dinner in my own home,” she said with a smile. “I am a Rockwood, and we never run from our problems.”

The sudden sound of the doorbell ringing followed by quiet, male voices made Amalie wonder if her brother had returned with his two proteges in tow. The sight of Wills and Harry walking into the parlor made Amalie frown. There was a grim, pained expression on both of her cousins' faces, and her heart sank. Something terrible had happened. The minute they broke the news to them, Lady Patience released a soft cry of grief, while Amalie remained stiff and upright where she sat, absorbing the shock. The sight of her father holding her mother tight against his chest as Lady Patience cried softly made Amalie long for Valeran. She needed his strength now, more than she ever had. It was something she knew her husband would offer without hesitation. Valeran might not love her, but he valued her as a friend, and that was enough for her at the moment.

§ § §

At the sound of the front door crashing open, Valeran’s head snapped up from one of the Braille letters his secretary had reorganized for him an hour ago. Anger tightened his jaw at someone bursting into his house uninvited. A second later, Jamie roaring his name made him frown with resignation.

When his friend had left earlier, he’d been reconciled to the man not speaking to him for several days or until his anger cooled. But the fury in Jamie’s voice said his friend intended to resume their argument. With a sigh, Valeran rounded his desk and heard Boswell grunt. The butler’s unusually loud reaction was followed by an extended squeal as the soles of the man’s shoes skidded across the foyer’s marble floor.

“Val.”

Jamie roared out his name again, and for the first time, Valeran heard more than rage in his friend’s wild, vicious bellow. Pain and even fear swirled through Jamie’s shout of fury. Foreboding slid through Valeran as he strode toward the door. He wasn’t even halfway across the floor when another crack splintered the air, and Jamie crashed into his study.

“It’s Peter.”

The anguish in the two words made Valeran grow still. Jamie’s cousin had joined the Secret Intelligence Service more than a year ago. Peter was a quiet man and had begun to make a name for himself in the foreign section as someone who could ferret out information even he and Jamie had found difficult to find.

“What’s happened?” he asked quietly as Jamie halted in front of him a few feet away.

“He’s gone.” The pain vibrating through the air between him and his friend made Valeran draw in a breath of deep-seated dread. Although he already knew the answer, he forced the question out into the air.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He’s dead. The bastard slit his throat last night. Knowles’s dead too.”

Peter Rockwood had joined the foreign section more than a year ago. He was the first on Jamie’s cousins his best friend had brought into the Secret Intelligence Service’s foreign section. Born in the East End, the young man had been forced to pick pockets for a crime lord until he’d been rescued and adopted by his parents. Valeran knew their son’s death would be a terrible blow to Percy and Rhea Rockwood along with the entire Rockwood clan.

“Sit down, and tell me what you know.”

Valeran deliberately kept his voice calm and steady as he caught his best friend by the arm and pulled him toward a fireside chair. Beneath his hand, Valeran could tell Jamie was in shock as his best friend was shaking badly.

“When Peter and Knowles didn’t report in this morning, Rufus and Harry went looking for them. They took Wills with them, expecting to find Peter just wounded.”

Valeran’s gut twisted in his stomach. What the hell had the other three been thinking to go into the East End together, when another of them was missing? Jamie had recruited Harry to work for the Secret Intelligence Service almost two years ago. The man was a relatively seasoned agent, he knew better than to go out into the field with another member of his family. It was a standing order Jamie had enforced when his cousins had joined the foreign section.

Defeat radiated off his friend as Jamie bent over and buried his face in his hands. Striding to the liquor cabinet, Valeran’s hand trembled as he did the one thing he rarely ever attempted. Fingers finding the top edge of the glass, the lip of the decanter clinked against it, and he poured brandy into the snifter until liquor sloshed out over his hand. Tipping the glass slightly to drain off some of the alcohol, he returned to the fireside chairs and offered the brandy to his friend.

“Here. Drink.”