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Mariah closed her mouth and poked him in the arm. He knew what she was thinking. The grandson of a viscount was at least a plausible match for the daughter of an earl, and despite her bluster, Mariah didn’t want to leave her parents forever. He knew that.

Camden gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh, you’ll claim it, young man. You’ll claim it to marry the girl you want and take the seat in Parliament you’ve got your eye on. Either Doncaster or I will see to that, I expect.”

Harry said nothing, his nerves pulled taut.

Camden laughed again. “Thought I didn’t know? Why? Just because your name’s Sinclair instead of Farrington?” He came closer, until he and Harry were almost nose-to-nose. “Why do you think you’re here?” Camden asked very softly. “Who do you think put your name in Stafford’s ear?”

Harry could barely hide his astonishment. Camden? The heartless old man who had sworn never to see his mother again as long as she lived with his father? Camden had tapped him for this? It was more than shocking; he would have wagered that Camden hadn’t even known of his existence.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” he said, scrambling for his wits. Good God. For thirty years his mother had believed herself banished from her family forever. She was happy with his father—Harry didn’t doubt that—but she had regretted losing her brother and sisters, her mother and father. Was Camden relenting? Or did Camden have some other purpose in promoting him?

The viscount snorted again. “You know exactly what I mean.” He crooked his fingers and Stafford stepped forward. “Has he served you well?”

There was irony in Stafford’s eyes as he glanced at Harry. “Indeed, sir, very well. One of my ablest men, although more independent than anticipated.”

“Very good.” Camden glanced at Doncaster. “She is your daughter. I cannot tell you what to do. But I shall claim him, even if he will not have me. I bid you good night, sir. Madam.” Without another word he turned and walked out of the room, Stafford in his wake. Brandon met Harry’s eyes for a moment, then left the room as well and closed the door.

“You might have mentioned your connection to Camden earlier,” said the countess in the suddenly quiet room.

Harry flinched, dragging his eyes away from the door Camden had just departed through, looking back to his companions. “I don’t have one.”

She shook her head. “Do not be a fool,” she said gently. “A man in politics must use every connection he has.”

“I’m not—” Harry began without thinking, then stopped when Mariah stepped on his foot.

In the intervening silence, everyone turned to look at Doncaster. The pulse in the earl’s temple throbbed rapidly, and his eyes flashed fire. “The man who marries my daughter,” he began ominously, “cannot be nobody.”

“Papa, you could—” Mariah started to say, before her father held up one hand.

“Yes, I could,” he said through his teeth. He turned fierce eyes back on Harry. “You cannot marry my daughter, then, unless I make you somebody. I have a pocket borough in Yorkshire—the Aldhampton seat. If you want it, you shall have it.”

Harry’s stomach took a plunge as his heart took a great leap. Doncaster would never have said that if he didn’t mean to give his consent. Not only the wife he wanted above all else, but the political start he dreamed of. Somehow he managed to keep his composure and nod.

Mariah did not; with a happy exclamation, she flung her arms around Harry’s neck. “I told you Papa would help! And now you shall be able to do something, to help people like that poor girl in Whitechapel!” She beamed at her father. “How wonderful you are, Papa!”

Doncaster didn’t look wonderful. “If you are a damned Whig,” he growled, a muscle twitching in his jaw, “I beg you, do not tell me now. I cannot take it tonight.”

Harry swallowed a grin, sliding a quick sideways look at Mariah. “No, sir,” he agreed. “I shan’t.”

Doncaster closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed. He looked at Mariah, glowing with happiness and still clutching Harry’s hand. “This is what you want, darling?” he asked, as if to assure himself one last time. “It is not a flight of fancy?”

She shook her head. “Not a fancy, Papa. I am quite certain. I love him.”

The earl looked at Harry.

“With all my being, sir,” Harry said, answering the unasked question.

Doncaster sighed once more. “I suppose I must give my permission, then.”

A while later, after Mariah had given her mother a rambling explanation of her acquaintance with Harry, and the earl had quizzed Harry closely on several points of his recent employment, Harry excused himself and stepped into the hall. Brandon was leaning against the wall, nodding off. He raised his head at Harry’s appearance.

“Congratulations are in order, I see.”

“And an apology,” said Harry. “I lied to you.”

Brandon nodded. “I knew it. For such a good actor and practiced liar, your affections were pathetically obvious.”

He had to laugh at that. “I don’t think I’m meant to be a spy.” Brandon made a face of agreement. “What made you fetch Stafford?”