A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(18)

Miss Grey’s uncomfortable air seemed to have as much to do with Edgerton’s presence, however, as with Miss Wilhern’s unerring attention to himself. When Edgerton drew near Miss Grey to offer his arm and walk her into dinner, she turned and cringed, her eyes widening as she hesitated to take Edgerton’s proffered arm. She had no choice, however, just as Nicholas had no choice but to smile at Miss Wilhern and walk her into the dining room.

During dinner, Miss Wilhern talked nearly nonstop. Nicholas only had to glance her way and ask an occasional question to keep the conversation going. It worked out well, since his mind was more occupied with getting into Mr. Wilhern’s study and looking for the diary than with Miss Wilhern’s chatter.

“What do you do when you’re not in town?”

Miss Wilhern was staring up at him, waiting for his reply. She had been asking him about his family’s estate, Glyncove Abbey in Lincolnshire.

“I suppose I shall see little of Glyncove Abbey, now that I’m a lieutenant in the army,” he said, hoping his regret did not show on his face. “Indeed, I haven’t seen it these two years or more. But I once was fond of riding and shooting, like other young men.”

“Have you always wanted to be an officer?”

He caught Miss Grey looking his way and was captured by her blue eyes shining in the candlelight. Her eyelids fluttered as she glanced away. Edgerton leaned down, bringing his face near hers, and she ever so slightly leaned away from him.

“I did not always want to be an officer,” Nicholas admitted, turning his attention back to Miss Wilhern. “I had at one time intended to make the church my profession, but my father encouraged me to enter the army.”

“I am sure you would have made an excellent clergyman.” Miss Wilhern smiled at him. “But I must say, you look much more handsome in your uniform than you would wearing a pulpit gown.”

Miss Grey shot her cousin a disapproving look.

“I probably should not say so, but it is true.”

Nicholas couldn’t hide his amused smile. Miss Wilhern’s adoration might be gratifying in a base, shallow way, but she wouldn’t make a very sensible wife. In fact, she rather reminded him of the fiancée who had thrown him over for an older, wealthier man. Certainly he had come to realize that losing her was a blessing in disguise, but the humiliation was not something that was easy to forget.

While Miss Wilhern was distracted by Miss Grey’s look of reproof, he turned his attention to Mr. Wilhern and began a friendly conversation about shooting and other country pursuits.

“You must come to my estate after we go back to the country and shoot with me,” Mr. Wilhern told Nicholas. “I believe my pheasants rival any in Britain.”

Nicholas thanked him and said, if his duties would allow him someday, he should like to visit.

Miss Wilhern immediately claimed his attention again by exclaiming, “Oh yes! You must come to Wilhern Manor! You can shoot all you like and see our beautiful lake and gardens. I have the perfect horse for you, and we could go riding every day.”

He pretended not to think her enthusiasm unwarranted and tried to sound polite but noncommittal. “That indeed sounds pleasant.”

Soon dinner was over and the ladies adjourned, leaving the men in the dining room to smoke and drink.

A few minutes later, a footman came in with a note for Nicholas Langdon.

“Excuse me,” Nicholas said, rising from his chair and taking the note. He walked out and stuffed the folded paper in his pocket. McDowell’s signal came at just the right time.

Finding himself in a dark anteroom, he looked both ways. He didn’t see or hear anyone coming, so he slipped out and headed in the direction where he hoped he would find Mr. Wilhern’s study.

Men’s laughter sounded behind him from the dining room he had just left, the men still sitting and telling amusing stories. He came to a closed door and carefully turned the knob. There was only a slight click when the door opened. He darted inside and closed the door behind him.

His heart was beating so hard it vibrated his chest. The room was dark, but enough light was coming through the windows to help him see the outline of the furniture so he wouldn’t trip. He moved toward the desk at the other end of the room.

He bumped into a stool in front of a tall bookcase, making a slight noise as it scooted a couple of inches over the wood floor. He paused a moment and then continued to the desk. He opened the top drawer, but it was difficult to see what was inside. Thrusting his hand in, his fingers came into contact with what felt like several pens and a glass bottle of ink. He felt around some more, feeling papers. Nothing else seemed to be inside.

He closed the drawer and opened a smaller, deeper one on the right. He could see nothing in the dark drawer, but he put his hand in and encountered what felt like smooth leather. It was a book. His heart thumping harder than ever, he pulled it out and held it up to the light coming through the window.

It was similar to the stolen diary, but it was not the one.

Voices sounded from outside in the hall. One of them was a man’s voice—Mr. Wilhern’s.

His chest tightened as he dropped the book back into the drawer and closed it as quietly as possible. It gave a slight squeak. Nicholas held his breath.

Mr. Wilhern was still speaking in the corridor, just outside the study door. Should he try to hide? Or should he leave and claim that he had the wrong room, that he thought he’d been entering the retiring room? He moved carefully and silently toward the door. He wasn’t sure there was anywhere to hide. So he waited.