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Authors: Elisabeth Kidd
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soundness of the ideals you describe so eloquently.”
The Russian studied her for a moment before answering. Maddie turned her most trusting and candid gaze on him, suspecting at the same time that he was not taken in by it. But whatever her momentary doubts about Teddy’s motivations, she was certain of her own determination to find him. That fundamental truth must show in her face.
Kropotkin smiled and nodded, as if to concede the argument to her. “I will make inquiries for you, dear lady. But I must warn you not to expect too much, for even I cannot prevail upon persons to whom secrecy is a way of life to reveal their secrets. Surely, you must have learned that from your husband, who has kept at least one secret from you, has he not?”
He patted Maddie’s gloved hand as he spoke, but the faint echo of disbelief behind his words came through to her despite his exquisite politeness. Indeed, although his manners were infinitely better than Devin Grant’s, she could see that he clearly believed her no more than Grant had.
But at least he had promised to make inquiries. She had sought no more than that, so she made up her mind to accept the favor gracefully and then changed the subject of conversation. They were discussing the best source of Russian sables in London—a subject Kropotkin doubtless considered more likely to interest a lady than political theories—when Maddie spotted Laurence Fox across the lawn from them and smiled at him to signal that it was all right for him to approach them again. But Laurence shook his head faintly and made a slight motion of his hand to his left. Maddie’s eyes followed his direction, and her stomach gave an uncomfortable little lurch.
Coming toward her, with an easy stride and an expression of barely suppressed ill-humor that Maddie had no doubt stemmed from something she must have done, was Devin Grant.
Chapter 5
“You know the most unexpected people,” Devin Grant remarked five minutes later.
They were walking in the direction of the viewing boxes, Mr. Grant having detached Mrs. Malcolm from Mr. Kropotkin after an exchange of polite inanities that had very nearly caused Maddie to lose her temper. But if she could be friendly to Peter Kropotkin, she told herself, she could certainly be civil to Devin Grant.
“You knew him too,” she objected, putting up her chin and looking straight ahead in a way that she hoped would put this mere hired detective in his place. She hoped also that it might banish her first, instinctive reaction to his tall figure, fashionably dressed in dark green trousers, a green-trimmed gray coat, and a gray top hat that did not quite shade the angry flash of his dark eyes. It was that anger that quickly cooled the blush that rose inexplicably to her cheeks.
“I knew who he was,” he said, “which is not quite the same thing as being intimate enough to be seen strolling around a public place hanging on his arm and chatting as if he were an old friend.”
“Mr. Grant, are you by any chance about to lecture me on how I may behave? I should warn you that I will not only not take kindly to it, but I’ll more than likely do just the opposite of whatever you deem proper behavior. And then I’ll probably fire you.”
He had no doubt that she would do just that. Taking her firmly by the elbow, Grant had all he could do to keep his own temper in check. She had made it clear on their first meeting that she was not going to sit at home—or in her posh hotel suite—waiting for him to bring her a report, but he had assumed that when he did come around to doing so, she would be there to receive it. Instead, she had gone jaunting off to the races; and there, when Devin did finally seek her out, she seemed not in the least interested in hearing what he had to tell her. Consciousness of the injustice of such an assumption, not to mention the ridiculous schoolboy disappointment he felt at her not being overjoyed to see him, only added to his
The Russian studied her for a moment before answering. Maddie turned her most trusting and candid gaze on him, suspecting at the same time that he was not taken in by it. But whatever her momentary doubts about Teddy’s motivations, she was certain of her own determination to find him. That fundamental truth must show in her face.
Kropotkin smiled and nodded, as if to concede the argument to her. “I will make inquiries for you, dear lady. But I must warn you not to expect too much, for even I cannot prevail upon persons to whom secrecy is a way of life to reveal their secrets. Surely, you must have learned that from your husband, who has kept at least one secret from you, has he not?”
He patted Maddie’s gloved hand as he spoke, but the faint echo of disbelief behind his words came through to her despite his exquisite politeness. Indeed, although his manners were infinitely better than Devin Grant’s, she could see that he clearly believed her no more than Grant had.
But at least he had promised to make inquiries. She had sought no more than that, so she made up her mind to accept the favor gracefully and then changed the subject of conversation. They were discussing the best source of Russian sables in London—a subject Kropotkin doubtless considered more likely to interest a lady than political theories—when Maddie spotted Laurence Fox across the lawn from them and smiled at him to signal that it was all right for him to approach them again. But Laurence shook his head faintly and made a slight motion of his hand to his left. Maddie’s eyes followed his direction, and her stomach gave an uncomfortable little lurch.
Coming toward her, with an easy stride and an expression of barely suppressed ill-humor that Maddie had no doubt stemmed from something she must have done, was Devin Grant.
Chapter 5
“You know the most unexpected people,” Devin Grant remarked five minutes later.
They were walking in the direction of the viewing boxes, Mr. Grant having detached Mrs. Malcolm from Mr. Kropotkin after an exchange of polite inanities that had very nearly caused Maddie to lose her temper. But if she could be friendly to Peter Kropotkin, she told herself, she could certainly be civil to Devin Grant.
“You knew him too,” she objected, putting up her chin and looking straight ahead in a way that she hoped would put this mere hired detective in his place. She hoped also that it might banish her first, instinctive reaction to his tall figure, fashionably dressed in dark green trousers, a green-trimmed gray coat, and a gray top hat that did not quite shade the angry flash of his dark eyes. It was that anger that quickly cooled the blush that rose inexplicably to her cheeks.
“I knew who he was,” he said, “which is not quite the same thing as being intimate enough to be seen strolling around a public place hanging on his arm and chatting as if he were an old friend.”
“Mr. Grant, are you by any chance about to lecture me on how I may behave? I should warn you that I will not only not take kindly to it, but I’ll more than likely do just the opposite of whatever you deem proper behavior. And then I’ll probably fire you.”
He had no doubt that she would do just that. Taking her firmly by the elbow, Grant had all he could do to keep his own temper in check. She had made it clear on their first meeting that she was not going to sit at home—or in her posh hotel suite—waiting for him to bring her a report, but he had assumed that when he did come around to doing so, she would be there to receive it. Instead, she had gone jaunting off to the races; and there, when Devin did finally seek her out, she seemed not in the least interested in hearing what he had to tell her. Consciousness of the injustice of such an assumption, not to mention the ridiculous schoolboy disappointment he felt at her not being overjoyed to see him, only added to his
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