Read Online The Lady In Question by Victoria Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Alexander
Tags: Historical
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love?”
“I fear you have me at an disadvantage, ma’am,” he said cautiously. “I am not entirely certain what you are asking.”
She laughed in a humorless manner. “Nor am I, Gordon.” She snapped the book closed and offered it to him. “Why don’t you take this? You might find it enjoyable. I have another copy.”
He moved to her and accepted the book. “Thank you, my lady, I shall treasure it.”
“You shall have to tell me how you like it. I know I could certainly use something interesting to read. To occupy my mind.” She plucked her glass from the shelf and sighed. “I daresay my odd mood is due to nothing more than weariness and being in this house and the storm raging about us. Or perhaps it’s the realization that with the end of sorting Charles’s papers we have come to the end of my grand adventure.”
At once he was alert for any hidden meaning in her words. “Grand adventure, ma’am?”
“I…” She shook her head. “I am rambling, Gordon, which in and of itself is unusual. I never ramble. Or at least, I never used to. I find myself doing any number of things I never used to do.” She sipped the brandy thoughtfully. “I’m sure you noted, as did I, that I am now possessed of a significant fortune.”
“I am aware of that, my lady.” Between Wilmont’s family fortune and a number of shrewd investments, the man was astoundingly well off. The missing fifty thousands pounds was something of a pittance to such a man, and as such would have played no role, for good or ill, in his actions.
“Perhaps I shall use it to travel. I have never been beyond England’s shores and there is an enormous world out there more than willing to show a wealthy widow its offerings. And I have always wanted to see the canals of Venice and the ruins of Rome.
“Did your Lord Marchant travel, Gordon? Did he take you with him to see castles and cathedrals, great mountains and grand oceans? Have you had adventures abroad?”
“No, my lady,” he said without hesitation.
In truth, he had had far too many adventures in far too many places during the long years of the war. He had ventured into the grim back alleys and dark, disreputable sections of Paris and Marseilles, where information was bought and sold and a man took his life in his hands just to pass there. He had seen the battlefields of Spain and Portugal and the hidden lairs of partisans and mercenaries eager to provide assistance for a price, paid in coin or blood.
Even after the war, when official military intelligence was deemed unnecessary, he’d become part of a newly formed arm of the Foreign Office innocuously titled the Department of Domestic and International Affairs. Together with men like Wilmont and Mac whom he’d trusted with his life in the effort to defeat Napoleon, it was a unique intelligence service intent on protecting national interests from threats within the country and without.
“Time enough tomorrow, I suppose, to think about what I shall do with the rest of my life.” She stepped back to the desk and tucked the now-neatly-arranged documents into a large ledger. “It seems I have a great deal of time stretching ahead of me.”
There was a resigned dignity about her that clutched at something deep inside him. He was seized with an urgent desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. Tell her that her life would turn out well. Assure her, promise her, that he and he alone would make it all right. And if his lips met hers in the process…
He couldn’t, of course. Couldn’t pull her into his arms and kiss her lips still tasting of brandy or bask in the heat of her body next to his or feel the beat of her heart against his own. She was part of his job, nothing more. As distasteful as it was, she was bait of a sort, to lure whoever might be lurking out there. And no matter how tempting he might find her, she was still a new widow and the wife of his best friend. Dead or not, Wilmont deserved better from Tony.
Yet,
“I fear you have me at an disadvantage, ma’am,” he said cautiously. “I am not entirely certain what you are asking.”
She laughed in a humorless manner. “Nor am I, Gordon.” She snapped the book closed and offered it to him. “Why don’t you take this? You might find it enjoyable. I have another copy.”
He moved to her and accepted the book. “Thank you, my lady, I shall treasure it.”
“You shall have to tell me how you like it. I know I could certainly use something interesting to read. To occupy my mind.” She plucked her glass from the shelf and sighed. “I daresay my odd mood is due to nothing more than weariness and being in this house and the storm raging about us. Or perhaps it’s the realization that with the end of sorting Charles’s papers we have come to the end of my grand adventure.”
At once he was alert for any hidden meaning in her words. “Grand adventure, ma’am?”
“I…” She shook her head. “I am rambling, Gordon, which in and of itself is unusual. I never ramble. Or at least, I never used to. I find myself doing any number of things I never used to do.” She sipped the brandy thoughtfully. “I’m sure you noted, as did I, that I am now possessed of a significant fortune.”
“I am aware of that, my lady.” Between Wilmont’s family fortune and a number of shrewd investments, the man was astoundingly well off. The missing fifty thousands pounds was something of a pittance to such a man, and as such would have played no role, for good or ill, in his actions.
“Perhaps I shall use it to travel. I have never been beyond England’s shores and there is an enormous world out there more than willing to show a wealthy widow its offerings. And I have always wanted to see the canals of Venice and the ruins of Rome.
“Did your Lord Marchant travel, Gordon? Did he take you with him to see castles and cathedrals, great mountains and grand oceans? Have you had adventures abroad?”
“No, my lady,” he said without hesitation.
In truth, he had had far too many adventures in far too many places during the long years of the war. He had ventured into the grim back alleys and dark, disreputable sections of Paris and Marseilles, where information was bought and sold and a man took his life in his hands just to pass there. He had seen the battlefields of Spain and Portugal and the hidden lairs of partisans and mercenaries eager to provide assistance for a price, paid in coin or blood.
Even after the war, when official military intelligence was deemed unnecessary, he’d become part of a newly formed arm of the Foreign Office innocuously titled the Department of Domestic and International Affairs. Together with men like Wilmont and Mac whom he’d trusted with his life in the effort to defeat Napoleon, it was a unique intelligence service intent on protecting national interests from threats within the country and without.
“Time enough tomorrow, I suppose, to think about what I shall do with the rest of my life.” She stepped back to the desk and tucked the now-neatly-arranged documents into a large ledger. “It seems I have a great deal of time stretching ahead of me.”
There was a resigned dignity about her that clutched at something deep inside him. He was seized with an urgent desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. Tell her that her life would turn out well. Assure her, promise her, that he and he alone would make it all right. And if his lips met hers in the process…
He couldn’t, of course. Couldn’t pull her into his arms and kiss her lips still tasting of brandy or bask in the heat of her body next to his or feel the beat of her heart against his own. She was part of his job, nothing more. As distasteful as it was, she was bait of a sort, to lure whoever might be lurking out there. And no matter how tempting he might find her, she was still a new widow and the wife of his best friend. Dead or not, Wilmont deserved better from Tony.
Yet,
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