A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(19)

The voice speaking with Mr. Wilhern was Miss Grey’s. He tried to concentrate on what they were saying.

“Did you see anyone walking down this hall?” Mr. Wilhern demanded, his voice gruff.

“No, Uncle,” Miss Grey answered. “But we heard a commotion outside in the street. I hope it is not—”

A quick explosion, like a gun blast, sounded from the front of the house. Then another and another. Mr. Wilhern’s heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, growing fainter as he moved away from the door, no doubt to find out what was causing the noise.

Nicholas let out a pent-up breath of relief. That sound was McDowell setting off firecrackers in the street outside, to give Nicholas a distraction in case he needed it. But he had very nearly been too late. Did Miss Grey realize she had interrupted her uncle as he was about to come into the room and catch Nicholas going through his desk?





CHAPTER SEVEN


Julia placed her hand over her heart, which was beating as fast as the firecracker explosions outside.

Her uncle’s study door was opening. She stared down the hall, straining her eyes to see who would emerge. But she already knew. Mr. Langdon had slipped into her uncle’s study as she had been coming back from her room, to which she had retired to repair a bit of lace that had come unsewn from her cuff, to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. The sight of him sneaking into her uncle’s favorite room was so strange, she had frozen in place. After all, why was Mr. Langdon going into her uncle’s study, alone, during a party? Was he lost? But if he’d made a mistake, he would have immediately come out.

A few seconds later, her uncle had stomped down the hall, a strained expression on his face. The look made a lump come into her throat, but when he stepped toward the study door, something caused her to call out to him and stop him. She’d stammered and then asked, “Have the men already rejoined the ladies? It seems very early for that.”

She rarely made conversation with Uncle Wilhern. At first he didn’t even look at her, glancing distractedly up and down the hall. But then, he stared hard at her and asked her if she’d seen anyone walking in the hall.

Her answer had not been a lie exactly. She had not seen Mr. Langdon walking in the hall. She’d only seen a glimpse of him entering the study. She wasn’t sure what made her withhold that bit of information from her uncle, except perhaps that she didn’t want Mr. Langdon to experience her uncle’s gruffness. He could be quite impolite when he was angry. At the very least, it would have been awkward for Mr. Langdon, and something made her want to protect him.

Now he was leaving the study. She peeked at him over her shoulder as he very gently closed the study door. He turned in her direction and his eyes met hers.

He froze in midstep. His mouth opened and then closed, as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Miss Grey,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I got lost looking for the retiring room, and then I heard some loud noises from the street outside.” He closed the distance between them and smiled.

Something seemed to pass between them in that moment, as if he saw in her face that she knew he was not telling the truth. There was tension around his mouth as he stared into her eyes as if trying to delve into her thoughts, questioning whether she would reveal his secret.

“Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” She smiled up at his handsome face, cast partially into shadow in the dark hall. “I hope it didn’t remind you . . .” She stopped herself. How ill mannered of her to bring up his injuries. But she had to finish her sentence. “Of the war.”

“Not at all.” He made a small gesture with his hand. “War memories do not plague me when I am in pleasant company.”

He smiled benignly, but a flicker of some inscrutable emotion crossed his face, and she suspected, once again, that he wasn’t being entirely truthful with her. Was he plagued with painful memories of the fighting, of getting shot and wounded, of his friends dying? How could he not be? A pang of sympathy pierced her chest.

He held out his arm to her. “I shall escort you back to the ladies.”

She took his arm, a warmth steeling over her—which caused her to remember Phoebe and how jealous she would be to know that Julia had been enjoying Mr. Langdon’s attention. Fortunately, he gave her a small bow just outside the drawing room door and left her there.



Nicholas had to be cautious not to excite Mr. Wilhern’s suspicions. When he came back in from investigating the firecrackers in the street, Mr. Wilhern’s brows were lowered and his jaw twitched. But he changed his expression as soon as someone asked him what he had found outside.

“Firecrackers. Only some mischievous lad, I suppose.”

Once, after Nicholas had been staring down at his glass and glanced up, he’d caught Wilhern giving him a hard look.

After adjourning to the drawing room to join the ladies, Edgerton went straight to Miss Grey’s side. His cheeks were flushed from too much drinking, but surely he wouldn’t harass Miss Grey with so many people around.

Nicholas would keep an eye on him and make certain.

Other than making sure Edgerton behaved himself, Nicholas had no further agenda for the evening. He could not risk looking for the diary again tonight, though he still suspected Wilhern was the man who had sent the thugs to steal the diary from him. How strange to think a respected member of British society, a landed gentleman, could be a traitor to his country.