When a Scot Loves a Lady Read Free Page B

twinkled.
    â€œSecond that, Blackwood. Never like to see a lady in tears,” mumbled Yale with a sleepy air.
    â€œThe lady would not be morose if you weren’t dragging her into retirement with you so abruptly,” Gray commented.
    â€œTut-tut, old man. Mustn’t scold during our good-bye party.” Yale’s eyes were barely creased open, but that signified little. After working with the Welshman for five years, even Leam did not always know when his friend was truly foxed or merely pretending it.
    It mattered nothing—Yale’s acting, Constance’s reluctance, or Gray’s insistence. Leam was through with secrecy and living like a Gypsy. He’d never much cared for it in the first place and now, at thirty-one, he was far too old to be in this game.
    â€œI take it we shan’t see Seton tonight.” Gray’s voice remained even. “Shoddy of him bowing out like this without even appearing to do it in person.”
    â€œJinan has never been fully the Club’s man,” Leam said. “You are fortunate he sent word even to me.”
    â€œWyn, what did you mean with that comment about the guillotine?” Constance tilted her head.
    Yale’s slitted gaze went to Gray. “Perhaps our august viscount will explain. Have news of French doings, do you, Colin?”
    â€œHow you know that I shan’t ask.” The viscount reached to a box on the mantel and drew forth a folded paper. “The director wishes a last task from the pair of you.”
    â€œNo.” Leam’s voice fell like an anvil.
    Gray lifted a brow. “Allow me to apprise you of the task first, if you will.”
    â€œNo.” Leam’s jaw tightened. “I am through with it, Colin. I’ve told you so any number of times. I am going home. Full stop.”
    â€œBut French spies, old man…” Yale murmured. “’S what got us into this in the first place, haring off to Calcutta to save England from informers and all that.”
    French spies had not sent Leam to India five years ago. His desperation to escape England had. And they all knew it.
    Yale flashed the viscount a glance. “ Is it spies this time, Colin?”
    Lord Gray passed him the paper. “The director and several members of the Board of the Admiralty believe so. Informants to the Home Office have identified Scots—Highlanders—whom they believe to be potential threats for leaking information to the French.”
    Constance’s clear brow furrowed. “But the war is over.”
    â€œThe concern is not French aggression, particularly, but Scottish rebels.”
    â€œAh.” Yale sipped his drink thoughtfully.
    â€œIndeed.” Gray’s face remained grim. “Scottish insurrectionists may be currying favor with certain French parties to gain support for a rebellion.”
    â€œWhat could Scottish rebels have that the French would be interested in?”
    â€œNot much, if they were merely northern rabble. But our director and several members the Board of the Admiralty have reason to think the rebels are being fed sensitive information directly from a member of Parliament.”
    Yale whistled through his teeth.
    â€œUnless you believe I am one of those insurrectionists,” Leam said, “then I haven’t any idea what it has to do with me. Leave it to the Home Office where it belongs, or to the fellows in Foreign, like you should have five years ago. It’s none of my business and never should have been.”
    â€œYou didn’t mind it at the time.”
    Leam met Gray’s knowing gaze stonily.
    â€œIt is honorable work, Leam.”
    â€œBelieve you’re saving the world all you wish, my noble friend. But since the war ended we are no more than glorified carrier pigeons and I’ve no taste for it.”
    The snapping of a log in the fire seemed to punctuate his statement.
    â€œSymbolic nonsense,” Yale mumbled. Without a breath