Page 70 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
“Do me a favour?” he said through clenched teeth. “The next time you feel compelled to add lurid details to our cover story, kindly refrain from sullying my reputation. That story had me out as some kind of rutting beast with the morals of an alley cat. It’s a wonder you didn’t send the whole garden into fits of apoplexy.”
“I was blending,” she said, pasting on a bright smile for the benefit of their onlookers. “In case you’re unaware, scandalised hens make for far more cooperative witnesses than suspicious dowagers. It’s called establishing trust. For intelligence purposes.”
“Be that as it may, I’d prefer it if you refrained from casting doubt on my moral character in public.”
“Oh? Was it not to your liking?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “And here I thought you’d be flattered to add debauching virgins to your list of fictional accomplishments. Or was it the bit about fleeing angry husbands that stretched credulity? But let’s not pretend I was so far from the truth. Our meeting in New York wasn’t exactly proper, was it? You cornered me. Pushed me against a wall. Looked like you were going to kiss me.”
His eyes flashed. For an instant, she was back on that New York terrace with his body caging hers.
“And as I seem to recall,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, “you had a knife at my jugular not a moment later.”
“And what a pity. We were having such a nice time until then.”
The air between them crackled. They were close – too close. Isabel could see the faint stubble darkening Callahan’s jaw, smell the subtle notes of his cologne. She forced herself to take a slow breath.
“Ramsgate,” she murmured, dragging them both back to the task at hand. “He was having words with a man earlier. It seemed tense.”
Callahan’s demeanour shifted, sharpened. She watched the shrewd intellect take over. “You catch what about?” he asked, all business now.
She pressed her lips together. “Not enough before the interruption.”
“I’ll see if our host is of a mind to gossip.”
He steered them towards the marquess, who stood in a group at the far end of the garden.
“Ripon, old boy!” Callahan’s voice boomed out as they approached, his manner shifting into that of the affable, slightly dim-witted American. He clapped the marquess on the shoulder. “Wondrous party, simply wondrous. I’d love to talk to you about those delicious canapés!”
Ripon lifted a brow but made no other comment as he detached from his coterie. Isabel had to admire the man’s composure – clearly, he’d had other clandestine dealings at social gatherings.
Callahan let the exuberant mask fall away the moment they were out of earshot of the other guests. “I need a name.”
If Ripon was thrown by the abrupt shift, he didn’t show it. “I’m listening.”
Isabel jerked her chin toward the men clustered near the fountain. “The tall one. Dark hair. He and Ramsgate seemed to be in quite a heated discussion earlier before he went storming off.”
Ripon scanned the crowd, nodding to a duchess across the lawn. “That would be Viscount Harrington. The man’s insufferable. You’d think Queen Victoria herself was visiting, the way he carries on.”
“How so?” Callahan asked.
“Demanded the largest suite in the east wing. Had my staff rearranging furniture half the night. Something about needing quiet for his” – Ripon’s fingers sketched quotation marks in the air – “important work.”
“He’s a scientist?” Isabel asked.
“Biochemist.” Ripon took a sip of his drink. “As for the argument, I wouldn’t trouble yourself. These academic types bicker over comma placement in journals nobody reads.”
“Still,” Callahan said. “Nothing loosens tongues like a receptive ear attached to a sympathetic nod.”
“Tread carefully, Agent. Nervous boffins make for dreadful company. And do please be a bit less irritating with that accent.”
With that, Ripon returned to his group of admirers.
“Do you think Harrington knows about Ramsgate’s research?” Isabel asked Callahan.
“Maybe,” he said, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’ll see what I can extract in conversation.”
She nodded, an idea taking shape. It was risky, but then again, when had that stopped her? “Then I’m to the withdrawing room,” she said, patting his arm. “It’s quite warm out here. I need a rest.”
Callahan narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious of her sudden desire for propriety. But he said nothing as she strode away.
