Sherbrooke Twins

“Oh, I wasn’t-that is, goodness, is that Mr. Taylor I see over there, beckoning to me? Thank you, Miss McCrae for the dance. Jason.” And Tommy was off, nearly galloping across the ballroom.

“What was that all about?” Judith asked, as she stared after Tommy. “He acted like he was scared to death of you.”

“He had good reason to be.”

“Why? You didn’t say anything to him. Come, Jason, what was that all about?”

Jason gri

She came up on her tiptoes and sniffed his throat. “So do you.”

He never knew what she would do next. It was sometimes u

“That shy young man? I doubt that very much. The dance was over. You didn’t intervene in anything at all. What was that about my necklace? Did I tell you that it belonged to my mother?”

“No, you didn’t. It’s unique.”

“So Tommy was admiring it. What, pray, is wrong with that?”

“Shy Tommy was staring at your breasts, not your necklace. He was sly, but I could tell.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking up at him. “I thought he was modest, dreadfully shy, not sly. Goodness, a budding young rake?”

“That’s Tommy all right,” Jason said. “I see people coming this way. Let’s dance.”

“The people you’re referring to,” Judith said as he slipped his arm around her and danced her to the middle of the floor, “are all young ladies. After you. Unfortunately they’re clutched together in a gaggle, not at all a good stratagem. Perhaps I could give them other approaches-to circle you, perhaps, or to form a wedge and force you into a corner where they would have their way with you. Lower that supercilious eyebrow. You know very well they’re not coming to see if I know any new gossip or to compliment me on my necklace. Actually, I shouldn’t want to be alone in a dark room with them.”

“Nonsense,” he said. He whirled her around and around until she was laughing, holding on for dear life, and her perfume smelled like-what? Not roses. He didn’t know.

“Oh goodness, there’s Juliette Lorimer frowning at me. She must think you’re James. Can’t she tell you apart?”

“Evidently not,” Jason said, “even though my shoulders are so much broader than my brother’s.” He danced her through a throng of glittering gowns and jewels. So much wealth, she thought, so many beautiful women.

Jason slowed a moment and gri

“I could have eaten the entire loaf-unsliced-in under three minutes. I had a mere taste, only two slices. You should have seen Lord Montague-he actually hid the plate from me behind his back.” And she started laughing. “What a wonderful gentleman he is. And so very handsome.”

“He is going to be my brother’s uncle-in-law. Amazing, that.”

“So Corrie finally succumbed?”

Jason shrugged. “Evidently so. James is a good talker, he could convince a vicar to share the coins in his collection plate. Corrie wasn’t a big challenge. She also says you’re as pretty as Juliette Lorimer. I think you might be prettier. Thing is, unlike Juliette, you’ve got kindness in you, not to mention more wickedness than one would dream possible in a gently nurtured girl.”

“Ah, and I have guile, Jason. Lots of guile.”

“Not that I’ve ever seen. Indeed, sometimes I think you too candid, too open, what you feel is there for all to see on your face. Take care, Judith. The next time you accept a dance from a young gentleman who looks i

She laughed, actually laughed at what he’d said. She clutched her fingers into his coat, and laughed more.

He became alarmingly stiff. “I saw nothing fu

“No, no, it’s not that, Jason. While you said it, you were looking at my bosom.”

“That’s quite different,” he said, and stopped because the music had ended, at least five seconds before. He lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Lovely necklace,” he said, and left her not two feet from her Aunt Arbuckle.

He heard her laughter float after him. He didn’t dance with any other lady, merely thanked his hostess and took his leave. He wanted to tell James what had happened at Covent Garden.

They had to find Georges Cadoudal’s son before he managed to get his hands on one of them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LORD KENNISON’S TOWN HOUSE

LONDON

“There is nothing more to be said, Northcliffe. I know nothing at all about any of this.”

Douglas Sherbrooke nodded. “I know that, but the fact is, you knew Georges Cadoudal. You were in Paris when he died after Waterloo. Back in 1815?”

“Yes, of course. It isn’t a secret.”

Douglas looked down at the relic who was old enough to be his own father. A powerful man, was Lord Ke

He had to make certain that Georges was dead, and Lord Ke

Lord Ke

“Yes, I know.” Mad and a genius, was Georges. “He had family, did he not, my lord?”

“Yes, certainly. A son and a daughter. The son is about the age of your boys. I understand you knew his wife, before they were married.”

Janine, he thought, who’d pretended I had impregnated her because she’d been too ashamed to admit to her lover, Georges, that many men had raped her. He nodded. “Yes, I knew her. I never saw her again though, not after 1803. It was a very long time ago, my lord.”

“Poor Janine, she died of the influenza before Georges was killed. Georges’s sister-in-law came to live with them, kept the house. You ask me, Douglas, I’d say that she was a little bit more fond of Georges than a sister-in-law should be. But no matter. They were both past their first youth. And now Georges is long dead. You didn’t shoot him, did you, Northcliffe?”

Douglas was staring thoughtfully into the fireplace, watching the flame lick around a new log, burrowing in to catch fire. He shook his head, still looking into the flames. “I quite liked Georges, but maybe he never believed that. I can imagine someone shooting him because, from everything I heard over the years before Waterloo, he never ceased in his attempts to assassinate Napoleon. So many men would have liked to cut his life short, and evidently someone did.” He did look up now. “It wasn’t me. I was at home, with my two ten-year-old sons and my wife. I had nothing more to do with politics by then.”

“Ah, but a couple of years before, you were in France.”

“Yes, but that was a rescue mission, nothing more than that. Nothing nefarious. I didn’t see Georges.”

“Whom did you rescue?”

Douglas shrugged. “The Conte de Lac. He died five years ago, at his home in Sussex.”

“Could anyone have believed you were there to kill Georges?”

“No, that’s quite impossible. It also makes no sense. If someone believed that I was responsible for Georges’s death, why would they wait fifteen years for revenge?”