She’d addressed the other three; they merely smiled and looked at Jack. Suppressing a sigh at their lack of susceptibility, she did, too. With a few brief words, he outlined what they’d gleaned thus far and their current tack.
“Hmm.” After a moment digesting their news, she met Jack’s eyes. “Given we can achieve nothing more at the palace, I’ve grasped the opportunity to be seen with Sarah Haverling at an afternoon tea. Later, there’s a dinner we should attend, and two balls after that.” She arched a brow at him.
He held her gaze, then nodded. “I’ll call for you at eight.”
She inclined her head regally, then glanced at the other men, silent witnesses doing their best to appear inconsequential, or at the very least uncomprehending. The moment replayed in her mind; she wondered what they made of it, then shook aside the uncertainty that followed that thought.
Graciously, she took her leave of them; smiling, they bowed and withdrew, leaving Jack to see her to the hackney she’d left waiting.
They paused on the pavement; he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, caught her gaze, wryly smiled. “Benedict’s at eight.”
With a nod, she allowed him to assist her into the carriage.
Jack closed the door and stepped back. He watched as the carriage rattled off down the street, heading back to Mayfair, taking her back to the charmed circle into which she’d been born, in which she belonged…
Turning, he walked back into the club and climbed the stairs to the library. He entered the room in time to hear Tristan ask Christian, “Are all marquess’s daughters like that?”
Jack joined them where they stood in a circle before the fireplace.
Christian raised his brows. “My sisters do have a similar…aura. Not, however, to quite the same extent as Lady Clarice.” Christian smiled at Jack. “I imagine turning her from her path would not be easy.”
Jack humphed. “Try ‘impossible’—you’ll be nearer the mark.”
“Never mind,” Tristan said. “At least you won’t have to put up with any feminine softheartedness when it comes to dealing with this villain.”
Jack snorted. “More likely I’ll have to keep her from visiting too final a retribution on the fellow.”
“Too final?” Deverell looked surprised. “He is a traitor, after all.”
Jack frowned. While they’d been chatting his brain had been turning over all they’d learned. “Actually, I don’t think he is. He’s not our man, Dalziel’s last traitor, but only his henchman. And he’s a foreigner. His loyalties lie with the other side.”
Christian nodded. “A subtle but meaningful distinction.”
“Catching him is one thing,” Jack said. “Keeping him alive might prove useful.”
Still standing, they discussed a few further speculations, then Christian and Tristan departed, at the last wishing Jack good luck in the ballrooms that evening. Chuckling, they left. Jack cast a speaking glance after them, then moved to sink into one of the deeply cushioned leather armchairs.
Deverell crossed to the tantalus and poured two glasses of brandy; returning, he handed one to Jack, then sat, facing Jack across a small table.
Deverell raised his glass to Jack, then sipped; Jack echoed the gesture.
“I’m impressed,” Deverell said, a not teasing so much as appreciative light in his eyes. “I take it that’s the way the wind now blows?”
Jack considered denying it, decided there was no point. “Yes, but for God’s sake don’t do anything to tip her the wink.”
Leaning back in his chair, Deverell blinked. “Why not?”
“Because…” Jack let his head loll back against the leather; eyes on the ceiling, he said, “Her view of gentlemen of our class is not generally favorable. Avoid unless in possession of sound reasons to do otherwise sums it up. If you add the word ‘marriage’ to ‘gentlemen of our class,’ matters turn seriously sour.”
“Ah.” Deverell’s tone was understanding. “Bad experiences?”
Jack nodded. After a moment, he continued, largely to himself, “I’m facing an uphill battle to convince her to change her mind.”
Deverell grinned.
From the corner of his eye, Jack noticed. He frowned. “What?”
“I noticed you didn’t say ‘a battle to change her mind.’ You’re not imagining you can, not directly. Another subtle but meaningful distinction.”