Page 66 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
“You know it is.”
How strange, the way the world could tilt on its axis with a few innocuous words.
“Careful, Agent. A woman could get ideas, hearing you say such things.” She dragged her stare down. “You clean up well.”
“High praise, coming from you.”
“Remember,” she said, reaching out to straighten his cravat. “You have to play the idiot to perfection while I inhabit the role of a rich socialite. Our aim is to have these illustrious men of science regard you as a malleable fool in desperate need of education, all while fawning over your gracious and obscenely wealthy spouse.”
Callahan arched a brow. “This is hardly my first foray into subterfuge.”
“Yes, but it’s your first performance with me,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
He turned at the last moment, his lips brushing hers. “I’m sure I can keep up.”
*
The symposium’s opening ball was full by the time they walked into the ballroom.
The air was thick with expensive perfume, cigars, and fresh flowers. Scientists were gathered in small groups, while rich businessmen and lords mingled among them.
“See anything worth nicking?” Callahan murmured in Isabel’s ear.
She slid him a scathing look. “This gown is far too tight for petty theft.”
“Apologies. I forgot that the notorious Spectre has standards. Shall I ask what priceless trinkets Lord Ripon keeps in the family vault? Only the best for my fake wife.”
“I’ve turned over a new leaf, haven’t I?”
“Truly a loss for criminal society.”
Isabel hid a smirk behind her champagne flute. “Shall we mingle?”
They exchanged pleasantries with the other guests. Isabel watched Callahan slip into his vapid persona; Jamie Ashford was a man whose gravest concerns in life seemed to be the precision of his cravat’s folds.
“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?” she asked.
He flashed a smile. “I’m the very model of noble comportment.”
“Indeed,” she muttered, silently vowing to flay Wentworth alive for assigning them these particular identities. She was going to stab someone by the night’s end, that was certain.
“There’s our man.” Callahan inclined his head towards a group. “Ramsgate’s the one with grey hair and spectacles. Appears to be expounding on . . . gallstones, perhaps? Hard to tell.”
Isabel picked out their target easily enough. “Then let’s go introduce ourselves.”
Tightening her grip on Callahan’s arm, she tugged him through the crowd.
“. . . a truly fascinating case. You see, the circumstances of the gallbladder’s rupture—”
“I beg your pardon,” Callahan interrupted. “Did I hear mention of internal organs? How captivating!”
Ramsgate’s mouth hung slack, his diatribe curtailed. The other men blinked as though startled out of a daze.
“I—well, yes.” The older man peered at Callahan like some curious new species of beetle. “Though I’m not certain—”
“Oh, you must forgive my husband.” Isabel bestowed a winning smile on the befuddled assembly. “Jamie does have such a morbid fascination with the gorier realities of science. Why, just the other evening, he bored me absolutely to tears with the riveting particulars of a ruptured spleen.”
Callahan released a booming laugh. “Guilty as charged, my sweet! Though, in my defence, the details of that grisly business did make for a cracking good tale. Get it?” He thumped the nearest man on the shoulder, heedless of his wince. “A cracking good tale? On account of the ribs giving way?”
