Page 129 of While You Were Spying

Ethan said nothing, merely waited.

“But if I were to...say, generate a list of possible candidates, it would probably be a relatively short list.”

“Well connected politically.” Ethan kept his voice relaxed, casual, as if they were discussing horse racing or a boxing match.

Nitterling nodded and picked up his brandy. “A member of the peerage.”

“Unmarried. Possibly come into his property.”

“Possibly.” Nitterling swirled the brandy. “A man who needs money, though.”

Ethan rubbed a hand along his chin. “Does Grenville have any likely suspects?”

“No.”

Ethan’s hand froze. “Why the devil not?”

“Because there’s a war on right now, and he’s short of men. You’re out of commission and your brother is in France, I’m certain doing all he can...”

He trailed off and Ethan picked up the obvious thread. “But Alex is new and relatively inexperienced. Grenville doesn’t think he’ll find the man we want.”

Nitterling held up a hand. “Pray don’t misunderstand. We all have the utmost respect for Selbourne’s capabilities. Grenville has no doubt your brother will find the smugglers and uncover the operation.”

Ethan wished he had that brandy now. “Hell of a lot of good that will do if the ringleader remains unknown.”

Nitterling spread his hands. “What’s to be done?”

Ethan opened his mouth to tell the earl what was to be done, what he knew had to be done, and shut it again just as quickly. He couldn’t go to France right now. Couldn’t go for a thousand reasons, and Francesca’s safety was at the top of the list. He needed to be here, needed to protect her. He needed to stay away from France and his former role in the Foreign Office to keep from further endangering her. But sitting idly in Yorkshire while his country needed him would be harder than he’d anticipated. Suddenly he needed to see Francesca. To remind himself why he was still here.

“I think I’ll find my wife.” He stood and Nitterling followed.

“She’s in good hands. I heard my son secure the first dance with her.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ethan muttered as he started for the door.

He did a quick survey of the dining room as he passed and, not seeing Francesca’s beribboned chocolate curls, headed up the stairs to the first floor and the ballroom. When in his initial perusal of the guests he still didn’t locate Francesca, he did a more-thorough search. He spotted the usual gaggle of rakes and rogues, but they’d cornered some other young woman, leaving him to wonder where Francesca could have gone. He’d been in Nitterling’s library for a little over an hour, but surely if she’d fallen ill someone would have come to fetch him.

Perhaps she’d needed some air. Ethan imagined that Templeton would have been only too happy to escort her through the gardens. Ethan stepped onto Bellerive’s terrace, ignoring the attempts of various members of Yorkshire Society to secure his attention, and scanned the estate’s manicured lawns. They were brightly illuminated with light from hundreds of torchiers and lanterns, and Ethan could clearly discern the half-dozen or so couples who’d braved the cool night air to walk amongst the sculpted paths. Francesca and Nitterling’s son weren’t among them.

Ethan clenched his fists around the stone balustrade encircling the terrace. Francesca and Templeton. He didn’t like the way his mind paired the two. He liked the sharp but insidious feeling of jealousy pricking him even less, but he couldn’t seem to stop it.

Ethan whirled around and barreled through the ballroom. He didn’t know where Templeton had taken Francesca, but the devil help the rakehell when he found out.

He strode down the halls of Bellerive, ignoring the startled gasps of the busy footman he collided with, throwing open one door after another, stepping into each room and searching it quickly with his eyes.

By the time he reached the end of the hall, Ethan was frustrated, angry, and chagrined by his lack of control. He almost didn’t open the last door. He knew he was allowing his past to cloud his judgment of the present. He knew he was acting like a fool—a jealous husband. And what did he have to be jealous of? Francesca loved him. Any idiot could see that.

But his palm was already wrapped around the door handle, so he thrust it open anyway. Immediately the couple inside sprang apart. The only the light came from the fire, but Ethan saw it all quite clearly.

Francesca and Templeton.

He froze. For a moment it was seven years earlier and he was staring at Victoria, her blond hair a splash of gold on the ebony desk and George Leigh splayed on top of her. He felt the same rush of rage overwhelm him as he stepped inside the room and closed the door with a deceptively quiet snap behind him.

“Ethan!” Francesca was saying. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you.”

He didn’t look at her. He’d deal with her later. His stare was focused on Templeton. The man was backing away from Francesca, eyes wide, holding his hands out, palms forward.

“Interesting,” Ethan said, still advancing on Templeton. “Because I’ve been looking for you,wife. I looked for you in the dining room, the ballroom, and the gardens.” He flicked a glance at her. “Where did you look for me?” He inclined his head at the room. “Certainly you didn’t expect to find me in here.”

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