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to me,’ he said perceptively, ‘that you are suffering an excess of remorse over this, Luc. We all know that espionage can be an unpleasant business, requiring the sort of actions one might not normally contemplate.’ He looked closely at his friend. ‘Are you sure that your feelings are not involved?’
    Lucas drew rings on the highly polished surface of the side table with his wine glass. He tried to block out the memory of kissing Rebecca and the promise of passion with which she had responded to him. That had not been part of his original plan. He had intended to draw her out and gain her confidence, nothing more, but the mutual attraction between them had made a mockery of his good intentions. And then it had taken little to change good intentions to bad ones…
    He had been reading the poetry of Ben Jonson the previous night. God only knew why—he was a man of action, not a scholar. He suspected that it was a book his brother Richard had left lying around and he had picked it up because he was bored and restless and thinking too much on Miss Rebecca Raleigh. He should have known better. Poetry never helped a man to think straight, and when he had stumbled across a line from the ‘Queen of Love’ he had paused and thought of her even more, for he seemed powerless to resist.
    ‘You will turn all hearts to tinder…’
    He told himself that he had kissed Rebecca because he had been testing her, suspicious of the innocence that cloaked her like a shield. He had wondered if that purity could possibly be genuine. Yet there had been nothing calculated about their embrace. Lucas himself was experienced enough to know the difference between real and counterfeitemotion, the type that men could buy from courtesans. There was nothing counterfeit about Rebecca Raleigh. He had acted on impulse and her response had shaken him. And when he had seen the confusion of desire in her face as he released her, he had been overtaken by such a wave of tenderness… He shook his head. That was no way for a rake to think. More to the point, it was no way for him to be thinking when he was conducting an investigation.
    Cory cleared his throat gently and Lucas glanced up.
    ‘I confess that I find it difficult to be detached about this,’ he said morosely, answering the question in his friend’s eyes. ‘I cannot conceive how it happened.’
    Cory’s lips twitched. ‘How many times have you met Miss Raleigh?’ he asked.
    ‘Twice.’
    ‘And what do you know of her?’
    ‘Very little, as yet.’
    Lucas realised that in terms of fact this was probably true, but that in terms of instinct, on a deeper level, he felt that he already knew Rebecca intimately. It was a disquieting feeling. The little that he did know prompted him to trust her, to take her into his confidence. He was sure that she could not be guilty of involvement in the Midwinter spy ring. Perhaps even her uncle had not known thenature of the business he was involved in. When Lucas had studied the pieces on display in Rebecca’s studio, his heart had sunk like a stone at the likenesses between the engraving on the glasses there and the ones in his possession. It was the first time he had visited an engraver’s studio not wanting to find the patterns he sought. But the style was unmistakable.
    ‘Ask her to tell you the truth.’ Cory was watching him, his face grave. ‘Either that, or disengage until Justin returns from Midwinter and can question her himself.’ He grimaced. ‘When do you expect him back?’
    ‘In a week or so.’ Lucas rubbed his brow. ‘I cannot disengage, Cory. We cannot take the risk that Miss Raleigh is involved with the Midwinter spies. If she were to suspect anything and disappear, we would have lost the lead. Worse, she would warn the others what had happened and then all our work would be destroyed.’
    ‘And if she is innocent?’ Cory questioned. ‘How will she feel to discover that you have approached her under false