Falconer's Heart Read online

  “You thought him capable of it when we were still in your own time.”

  “Yes, I did. He knows all the reasons why it would be disastrous to alter history, though. I didn’t even need to point them out to him. He wouldn’t do it.”

  “But someone is changing things. Remember those two renditions of the battle scene for Ciudad Rodrigo! They were so much alike. And you know very well there is only one person who could provide the necessary information to make them that way. Your cousin! At the moment I can’t even be sure that getting him out of the War Office will be sufficient. If he’s passing information directly to the French… Damn it, it’s all nothing but one of his games to him,” he exploded suddenly. “He has played the battles so often in mock recreation he is unable to see the suffering or horror of real war.”

  “Could he be passing information without being aware of it?”

  Belmont gave a short laugh. “He’d have to be incredibly thick in the head not to realize what he was doing. Or whom he was telling.”

  “What if it’s someone he knows well, someone he likes? No, I suppose he’d have to be pretty drunk to let something slip without realizing it. And that’s something David doesn’t do.”

  Belmont turned to gaze down at her. “He drinks like any other gentleman.”

  “I’ll bet he doesn’t have a hard head, though.” She looked up, her excitement growing. “That must be it. Someone he trusts is a traitor.”

  “We know most of them. And anyone with whom Warwick socialized would be closely scrutinized. He is an outsider and a newcomer, remember. We are not completely gullible in the War Office.”

  “You’ve got a traitor,” she repeated. “And it’s not David.”

  “Who then?”

  “Someone who must be above suspicion.”

  “Are you back to your conspiracy theory? I believe you mentioned something about that before we left the Court.”

  She stared at him as new ideas whirled in her mind. “Your Uncle Sylvester, Sir Julian and Lord Linton! Well, why not? Who could be more likely and less subject to investigation than three men closely connected to you?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “To me!” The words exploded from Belmont. His hands clenched and his tall roan danced nervously sideways. “Next you’ll be saying I’m the traitor.”

  “No, I was just trying to get your attention and wipe that ridiculous condescending smile off your face.”

  He glared at her. “Condescending?”

  “Yes, that look that means a poor female like me can’t possibly know anything about such matters, so let’s just humor her. I don’t like it.”

  “Apparently.” This time he sounded almost amused. “All right then, what do you suggest—bearing in mind the only sure way to stop the French from being assisted is to remove your cousin from my time and take him back where he belongs.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll go,” she snapped.

  They returned to the house in stony silence. Riki swung down from her horse quickly, before he could help her, and handed her reins to the footman who came running down the front steps.

  She strode into the house, drew off her gloves and barely prevented herself from flinging them onto the table. Down the side hall, the door to Belmont’s bookroom opened and Sylvester stuck his head out. Seeing Riki, he waved with his Madeira glass then disappeared inside once more.

  In spite of her ill temper, she smiled. She liked Sylvester. She hoped he wouldn’t prove to be involved with traitors in any way whatsoever. He had made that almost unprecedented call in Whitehall, though, and he’d shown up at the Court at almost the same moment as she and Belmont. He could have passed them in that carriage, and he also could have hit Hillary over the head.

  Hit Hillary over the head. The words repeated themselves, demanding her attention, driving all thought of Sylvester from her mind. She could hardly wait to argue with Belmont again.

  He did not return until late afternoon. When he strolled into the salon where she sat with Felicity’s long-ignored embroidery, she flung it aside at once and rounded on him, triumph lighting her eyes.

  “Why did someone hit Hillary at the Court? David wasn’t even there! Whoever did it must not have wanted to be caught trying to overhear us.”

  A slow smile lit his eyes. “Whoever he was, he wouldn’t have heard much, as I remember.”

  Warmth seeped into her cheeks. “You are hardly a gentleman to mention that,” she informed him in what she hoped was a fair imitation of the so-very-proper ladies of his time.

  His frown returned. “Don’t affect airs and graces. They don’t become you.”

  She glared back. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  “That I prefer you the way you are. Natural.”

  This offered a beguiling sidetrack, and firmly, though not without considerable regret, she turned back to the main path. “What if someone thought we went into the rookery to speak in private? That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Why would anyone be interested?”

  “Because,” she pointed out patiently as if to a child, “we advertised the fact I’m supposedly an American agent.”

  “If you are implying my servants—”

  “Of course not. But there were three people there who were not members of your staff and who might have more than a passing interest in what I might supposedly want to tell you.”

  “They wouldn’t hit Hil over the head to do that.”

  “They might if they had been startled and desperately wanted to avoid being seen.”

  “This is ridiculous.” He turned on his heel but took no more than three steps before he halted. “Linton has little interest any more in affairs of state.”

  “I think you’re wrong. He seemed very much concerned to me.”

  “You mean my sister insists that he stay involved.”

  That seemed possible. “It was he who told your sister that you had gone on a mission,” she pursued. “And she who told Sir Julian.”

  “And what have you to say about my uncle?”

  That momentarily stumped her. “I don’t know. I like him. I can’t really imagine him involving himself in the war, not even for money, which he always seems to need.”

  “He obtains as much as he requires from me or my mother. We will rule out Sylvester, if you don’t mind.”

  She let it pass. One hardly won assistance from a man when one accused his uncle of treason.

  “And Sir Julian had barely arrived,” he went on.

  “On a very flimsy excuse. There is something about Sir Julian I don’t trust. He could very well have been the one in that carriage following us in that very peculiar manner. You can’t tell me that person was up to any good.”

  He didn’t try. He merely watched her, an infuriating touch of amusement lighting his piercing eyes.

  Her mouth tightened. “I suppose you’ll next point out that a mouse like your brother-in-law would never have the nerve to involve himself in anything nefarious.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  Riki glared at him. He was right, of course—Linton simply lacked the nerve. Did that leave Sir Julian? She would have to find out how well David knew him—and how freely they spoke to one another. Irritated with Belmont and mad at herself for not being able to think up a scathing retort, she stalked off to change for dinner.

  She entered the drawing room where they gathered before the meal almost an hour later, dressed in a lovely creation of pale-green silk with a half apron of blonde lace. Belmont, who stood by the mantel, straightened on her entrance, then remained immobile, his gaze resting on her as if he were unable to tear it away.

  A wave of satisfaction washed over her. After all, she had gone to some effort over her appearance. Oh, all right, I dressed to please him. There, she’d admitted that fact to herself.

  The meal passed pleasantly, as meals tended to in this household, and they lingered at the table. At last Lady Prudence gave the signal for the ladies to rise,
and they made their way back to the drawing room. Belmont and Hillary did not remain over their wine but accompanied them. The viscount barely had time to take up his position once more by the mantel before Newly entered to announce the carriage. They gathered their wraps and set forth for the card party.

  As soon as they arrived at the Dalmonts’, their little group drifted apart. Felicity joined several other young ladies, daughters of government officials whose positions kept them in London even during the unpleasant winter months. Lady Prue, Riki noted, had already gathered about her a large and deferential court. That left Riki standing with Hillary and Belmont. She moved slightly away.

  Clarissa sat on the far side of the room, playing silver loo with three others. Her husband, at a piquet table nearby, leaned over his cards, peering intently at his elderly opponent. Sylvester stood at Linton’s shoulder, watching the play through his quizzing glass.

  “And where are you going?” Belmont asked Hillary.

  “Oh, just off with a few choice spirits.” Hillary grinned at his eldest brother. Before Belmont could read him a lecture, Hillary hurried off.

  Riki had little interest at the moment in Hillary’s enterprising undertakings. Across the room, she saw David. He bent low, offering a wineglass to a young woman seated on a sofa before him. Lovely golden curls fluffed about the beauty’s delicate face with its upturned nose and hollow cheeks as she laughed at whatever David said. Riki’s heart sank.

  She started toward them slowly, with Belmont at her side. Resignedly, she noted the full, reddened lips and the brilliant blue eyes. Riki had seen her cousin in the throes of an infatuation before and knew the symptoms all too well.

  The woman looked up, saw them making their purposeful way toward her, and said something softly to David. He glanced across and smiled broadly. Excusing himself, he strode quickly over to take Riki’s hands.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He pulled her back with him.

  He’s definitely head over heels this time, deep in trouble. Hiding her dismay, she accompanied him to greet the Vision.

  “Riki, this is Mrs. Marie Marley. I want you to meet my cousin, Miss Erika van Hamel, Marie.”

  “Your cousin?” The slightest trace of a French accent just touched her words.

  Riki stiffened, then realized why the name sounded so familiar. So this was Felicity’s close friend. At least the woman wasn’t likely to be a spy, but she posed another—and serious—threat to David.

  How could he resist a widow whose marriage had been as unhappy as Felicity had hinted Marie’s had been? She was so lovely, so fragile—just the sort of sad, wistful creature who brought out the knight errant in the stodgiest of men. And David was far from being stodgy. No wonder he was in no hurry to return to their own time.

  Mrs. Marley smiled at Riki in unmistakable invitation. “Will you sit with me? I wish so much to know Mr. Warwick’s cousin.”

  And Riki wouldn’t mind learning a little more about her, either. She excused herself to the others and allowed Mrs. Marley to lead her aside to a quiet sofa.

  “Have you known David long?” Riki asked.

  A soft flush stole into the woman’s cheeks. “No, not very long. We were introduced only a little over a month ago. Yet it seems as if I have known him all my life.” Her eyes strayed to where David sat opposite Sylvester, who shuffled a deck of cards.

  Riki bit her lip. Unless Marie Marley was a consummate actress, there was real affection for David on her side. I’m going to have my hands full. “Has he told you much about his home?”

  Marie shook her lovely head and a wistful sigh escaped her. “No, he never talks of himself or his past, only his plans for the future. That is why I am so glad to meet someone who has known him since childhood. I would so much like to learn of his family.”

  Felicity joined them and conversation turned to fashion. Fascinated, Riki listened to such obscure terms as “sontag sleeves”, “Spanish puffs” and “emarginate” without the least hope of comprehension. Instead she kept her eye on Marie while the other two ladies planned toilettes designed to take the ton by storm this coming season. Marie, she noted, kept her besotted eye on David.

  Riki glanced over to where her cousin gathered up the cards and shuffled for another game with Sylvester. That worthy signaled a footman to pour them each some more wine, and David laughed at something he said. They appeared to be on very friendly terms.

  Up rose her dreadful suspicions again. A friendly game of cards, a little too much wine, a joking argument about the war… It would be so easy for David to forget himself, to get caught up in his ruling passion, then retain none but the haziest recollections in the morning.

  In the far corner, Lady Prudence rose in a sparkle of purple satin. One gesture of her lavender-gloved arm sent her court scurrying, and Felicity rose at once.

  “Mama is sending out her minions in search of us. She must be ready to leave.” She clasped Marie’s hand. “We shall see you soon, I hope.”

  Somewhat to Riki’s surprise, Sylvester joined them as the family gathered by the door. He strolled up with his arm linked through Belmont’s, an expression of benign goodwill spreading across his wine-reddened countenance.

  “A trifle above par,” Felicity whispered to her.

  “We must broach a bottle of that Madeira your father and I brought home with us from that trip to France, Belmont,” the elderly gentleman declared as he happily—and quite uninvited—climbed into the already crowded carriage. He shook his head and sighed. “Before the war, that was.” He fixed Belmont with a stern eye, as if he held his nephew personally responsible. “Damn war, making it hard to get good wine. Had the devil of a time collecting my keg from the gentlemen. I’d give great deal to see the war over, my boy, a great deal.”

  “How did you get your keg?” Riki asked, disliking her suspicions.

  He gave her a sly wink. “Connections, m’dear. Connections. I know a few people in the right places.”

  Like spies or agents or whatever they called them during this time? The thought left her chilled. She couldn’t imagine smugglers being friendly—but then, she and Belmont had met up with a gang and escaped with their lives. Still, it would be interesting to know how well Sylvester and David knew each other. He might pass on information gleaned from her cousin in exchange for brandy, if he were indeed as broke as he implied.

  The carriage pulled up before the house in Half Moon Street and they all climbed out. Sylvester, still intent on his wine, accompanied them into the house. Belmont cast Riki a searching glance then led off his uncle in search of whatever treasures the cellar might hold.

  Riki started up the stairs with Felicity. “Mrs. Marley is very pretty,” she commented.

  “Beautiful,” Felicity agreed with a sigh. “How I wish I were fashionably fair. She’s as delicate as a rose, isn’t she?”

  And possibly as thorny, but Riki kept that reflection to herself. “She’s a widow, you said?”

  Felicity cast her a sideways glance. “You seemed well acquainted with Mr. Warwick,” she said, not in the least changing the subject.

  “For my sins, he’s my cousin.”

  Felicity stopped dead and stared at her. “Your—I had no idea.” A slight frown marred her normally smooth brow. “Are you particularly attached to one another?”

  Riki caught on. “If you’re matchmaking, you may forget it. We were raised as brother and sister and yes, I am fond of him, but no, we aren’t in love.”

  Felicity grinned. “Well, that’s all right then. I…I didn’t want you to be hurt. I don’t know Mr. Warwick all that well, but when I saw him with Marie tonight, I thought that at last she’d found someone who would make her happy.”

  “Hasn’t she been?” Riki asked promptly, seizing her opening. “I believe you said something about that once before.”

  Felicity nodded, her expression soulful.

  They had reached Riki’s room, so she obligingly invited in the other girl. “Tell me!” Rik
i sank down on her bed and patted the place beside her.

  “She is the daughter of émigré parents, as you may have guessed,” Felicity told her with all the hushed awe of one about to unfold a delightfully sordid tale to an appreciative audience. “They had absolutely nothing when they fled France. As soon as Marie was seventeen, her papa forced her into marriage to cover his gaming debts. And with the most odious man! An officer, you must know, though how he managed not to be drummed out of his regiment I have no idea. She lost a baby because he beat her so badly. I vow, it was a relief when he was killed at Talavera eighteen months ago.”

  Riki closed her eyes. An unhappy young woman would make the perfect tool for the French. She might well have encouraged David’s infatuation in order to gain information about the War Office. And then she would have discovered what a gold mine he was about strategy and the campaigns…

  “Do you know her very well?” Riki asked.

  “I met her through Clarissa, who cultivated her because she speaks such exquisite French.” Felicity made a face at her elder sister’s snobbish ways. “She—”

  “She?” Riki prompted as the girl broke off.

  Felicity regarded her through narrowed eyes. “You seem quite interested in her.”

  Riki shrugged. “As you pointed out, my cousin is taken with her.”

  “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Suddenly Felicity’s jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. “You came here because you thought an American was aiding the French…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “It’s Mr. Warwick, isn’t it?” Felicity pursued, torn between ghoulish delight at guessing a traitor and sorrow for Mrs. Marley.

  “No, pray, don’t even suggest such a thing!” Riki made hushing gestures but could see it was to no avail. “It isn’t that at all! We’re afraid someone is using him. You see, he’s a…a specialist on military strategy. If a clever person got him relaxed and talking about his favorite hobby, there is no telling what they might learn.”

  “What makes you suspect it?” Felicity, no slow coach, went direct to the point.