Page 109 of His Wife, the Spy
“I told you no one would care, but you didn’t listen.” Raines’s face twisted. “You know what would ruin our family? Embezzlement.”
“What did you do?” Graydon demanded. “Philip! What did youdo?”
“Spencer said if I stopped Ramsbury’s investigation, the threat to you—to us—would disappear. There was only one way to end it.”
“You shot at me during the hunting party?” Jasper asked, wanting to be certain whatstoppedmeant.
Raines bobbed his chin in the barest of nods.
“And again on the highway?”
“I had a blade. Collins had the pistol,” he sneered. “He lost his bottle when you fired on us.”
They had come on either side. “You were after Annabel as well.”
“Spencer reasoned that we should hedge our bets. If you were gone, we would have time to straighten matters before she or Warwick resumed pursuit. If she was gone, you’d lose your heart for it.”
By now, Graydon had his head in his hands. It would take just a quick flick to shove his fingers in his ears.
Jasper had a white-knuckled grip on his chair, so tight that the curved wood gouged a trench in his palm. “And here in London?”
“She knew too much.” Raines’s eyes were hollow. “You got in the way.”
Jasper launched himself from the chair and reached the other side of the table in four long strides. Raines was in his hands, his face under Jasper’s fist in the space of two breaths. He didn’t know he was roaring until Kit wrestled him away.
“Take a breath.” Kit thumped his chest to urge compliance. “Breathe. Again. Again.”
Raines was a whimpering, bloody mess. Graydon was in tears. While the prime minister was still seated, his eyes were wide.
“My apologies, Lord John. Lord Graydon.” Jasper would not apologize to Raines. Ever. The whelp should be grateful to walk.
“Thank you, Jasper.” The prime minister didn’t smile, though there may have been a gleam in his eye. “Perhaps you should go home to your wife. I can manage the rest.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Lady Ramsbury?”
Annabel looked up from Jasper’s correspondence, grateful for the respite. After yesterday, she was tired of numbers and thinking. “Yes, Stapleton?”
“There is a lady here insisting to see his lordship.” Stapleton looked over his shoulder as though expecting to see the guest waiting. “She is quite insistent on waiting.”
Something in his demeanor, perhaps the way he saidlady, made her cap the ink pot and stand. “Speak plainly, Stapleton. Please.”
“She is not the sort who should be in polite company, and I think she should be gone before Lady Lambourn and the young misses return home.”
No matter what he thought, the visitor had already gotten her bluff in. Tongues would wag until dinner if they were seen shoving a reluctant woman out of the house and down the front stairs. “Ask her to wait in the drawing room. I’ll be just a moment.”
Stapleton nodded and left her to check her appearance in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes were the only remainders from her late night bent over figures. It would be easy to assume they were from a night spent dancing or at a midnight supper.
Society was the perfect disguise. No wonder Jasper chose it.
Annabel descended the stairs and went to the drawing room. Waiting there was a red-headed young lady wearing far too much rouge for an afternoon in Mayfair, and a dress more suited for evenings in scandalous parts of the city.
“Good afternoon. I’m Lady Ramsbury. How can I help you?”
“Sally Howard, your ladyship.” After a curtsy, Sally handed over a calling card. “The marquess left this with me if I should ever need it.”
The card carried Jasper’s name but Sally’s perfume. Annabel recognized the scent. He’d kissed her but come home smelling of Sally. The servants had laughed.
