Page 46 of His Wife, the Spy
“Please, God,” Annabel whispered, “let him be with a mistress.”
Chapter Ten
“In that whitewaistcoat, you might as well be a lighthouse,” Kit said as he pulled open the coach’s door. “And you came with livery?”
“Your note said it was urgent.” Jasper stripped to his shirt sleeves. After rolling them to his elbows, he snatched the lap blanket Annabel had used on their trip home and wound it around his shoulders, hoping to hide the glare of his starched shirt and keep the fog from soaking through his clothes. “I didn’t think to change for a visit to the dockyard.”
Kit cast an eye over the hasty disguise. “That will work so long as the gaslight doesn’t glint off your shoes.”
Jasper wasn’t scuffing his shoes for anyone. “What’s the game?”
Kit looked up at the driver, Lawrence. “Meet us in Hyde Park at the end of Upper Grosvenor, please.”
The mention of Spencer’s street made the walk from the docks to the park more appealing. Still, it was a lonely feeling to watch the easiest way home clatter over the cobblestones and into the shadows.
Home. Until a fortnight ago, Jasper had never thought twice about visiting sources under cover of darkness. Tonight, for a half-second, he’d considered shirking his duty to queen and country—and to Kit—to stay home with his wife. To continue kissing her until she unlocked the door between them and let him into her bed.
“Why are we on the docks in the middle of the night?” Jasper shoved his hands into his coat pockets, seeking what warmth he could find in clothes meant for indoors.
“Abel Collins came ashore from Cardiff a few hours ago.” Kit led the way across the rough streets and made their way to a shabby, but busy, pub. “He’s stopped in here, and as far as I know he hasn’t left.”
“Waiting for the party crowd to clear the streets, no doubt.” Balls went on into the wee hours, mostly because everyone in attendance could sleep until noon.
For years Jasper had teased his grandfather about leaving dances before midnight supper. But the longer he worked in Parliament, the more difficult it had become to keep up with things if he slept the day away. It was a fine balance between what he needed to do in the daylight and what he could learn by lurking in ballrooms.
Tonight, he’d been happy to ignore gathering useful intelligence to ride in Hyde Park alone with Annabel. She’d given him a piece of gossip in return—a mining scheme. Was it a coincidence that Kit was investigating a mine as well?
One of the things he respected the most about her was her mind. She’d proven it tonight with her ability to connect random conversations with something from the newspaper and make a clear decision.
Perhaps her review of his grandfather’s old journals hadn’t been as fruitless as he’d originally thought.
It was an uncomfortable thought, because he wasn’t used to misjudging people and because he didn’t want to misjudge her. Despite their beginnings, despite what he knew of her employer, he didn’t want Annabel to be a spy.
The most redeeming evidence he could point to was her honesty, which was brutal at times. He’d rarely heard a woman be so harsh about her own father.
He and Kit entered the pub and waded through the rowdy crowd to the bar. Whiskeys in hand, they found a table in the corner that gave them a view of the room. Collins was easy to find. He was a large man with a square jaw and a well-tailored but cheap suit.
Jasper fiddled with his glass, spinning it first one way and then the other. He didn’t want to drink it. If he touched his tongue to the correct place on this bottom lip, he could still taste Annabel’s kiss. It had been years since he’d sampled a woman who tasted of innocence and sin at the same time.
“If you don’t drink that, he’s going to get suspicious,” Kit said from behind a smile.
Two young women who were more undressed than not, and who didn’t seem to mind, approached in a practiced amble. Recognizing an opportunity, Jasper gave them his most welcoming smile.
“Hello there, handsome.” The blonde woman dropped into Kit’s lap, causing the table to screech against the floor. “You gents are far too fine for the docks.”
Her red-headed companion tumbled into Jasper, knocking him and his chair against the wall. “That’s a right smart shirt, duck. Looks like Savile Row.”
There was no way to lie his way out of it. Jasper tipped his glass and let the liquor burn a path down his throat. “You have a good eye, my girl.”
“I wasn’t always this.” She winked, and the painted mole near her eye wrinkled. “I’m Sally. This here is Bridget.”
Bridget was already ordering a second round of drinks for the table.
“I’m Edgar,” Jasper said, offering one of his many names. It also belonged to his second favorite, and only exiled, uncle.
“Why’s a toff like you on the docks dressed for a dance, Eddie?”
“My pal Cecil just put his feet on dry land after three years at sea. We made for the first pub we could find.”
