Page 83 of Irresistible
Actually, obsession felt just about right.
He glanced toward the liquor, thinking he should have poured some whisky. Except he needed to think, painful as that was.
The man he was waiting for strolled into the library and straight to the liquor. The library was the only room where one could serve oneself. Everywhere else, a footman delivered the libations.
Glass of port in hand, Oliver Kent made his way to a chair next to Dougal. “Evening, Fallin.” He eyed Dougal’s empty hands resting on the arms of his chair. “Nothing to drink?”
“Not yet. I’m woolgathering.”
“Plenty of wool to gather in Scotland,” Kent said with a low chuckle before he sipped his wine. Holding the glass up as he swallowed, he narrowed his eyes at the port. “Lucien always has the very best. How does he manage that?”
“Mrs. Renshaw and Lady Warfield are excellent procuresses.” Dougal shouldn’t know that, but since he was on the membership committee, he was privy to the workings of the club. Mrs. Renshaw managed things such as what liquor was served and the menus offered in the dining rooms, and Lady Warfield, the bookkeeper, ensured they obtained the finest quality of goods. Occasionally, Lucien lent assistance, particularly with the wine.
“Indeed? They are to be congratulated.” Kent took another taste, then set the glass down on a small table between their chairs. “Are you anticipating your next assignment?”
Normally, Dougal would have answered yes. “There aren’t going to be any more assignments for me,” he said resignedly. Saying it out loud to Kent, making it real, he was surprised to find it didn’t carve a hole in him. Finishing his career with Jess somehow felt…right.
“I knew this was coming, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”
Dougal didn’t tell him why, that his father was ill. He supposed he’d spent too long keeping secrets that he didn’t see a point in sharing such things. There was one thing he did want to mention, however.
“I’d hoped to settle something before I left,” Dougal said. “Those missions last spring—”
Kent held up his hand. “No need to continue. I know you were upset, particularly after Giraud was murdered, but I’m fairly confident he was working against the office.”
Dougal angled himself toward Kent. “Do you think he was assassinated?”
“I’m almost entirely convinced.”
“Why only almost?”
“As it happens, I’m awaiting a final piece of information that will confirm it.” Kent plucked up his glass with a bit of a flourish.
“Why would this have been kept from us?” Dougal asked. “You questioned me extensively about both missions. We should have known.” Dougal should have at least been made aware. They’d been his bloody assignments.
Kent swallowed a drink of port. “You know how secretive everything is. Don’t waste time going over it in your mind. What would be the point in tormenting yourself when you are about to embark on a new endeavor?”
He had a point, but Dougal didn’t like unsettled business. “You’ll let me know when you’ve confirmed this was what happened?” How many times had Dougal recollected both events trying to determine when they’d gone awry and how? If he’d known Giraud had been involved with the delivery chain with the bad message, Dougal might have been the one to uncover the man’s murder. Except Dougal had been occupied with his family. At least someone in the office had been on the case.
“Of course,” Kent said.
Dougal almost asked if Kent had withheld information from him until now. It seemed unlikely he wouldn’t have known about Giraud’s involvement. But Kent was right—there was no reason for Dougal to dwell on this.
“Are you truly finished with the Foreign Office?” Kent asked softly, his gaze fixed on Dougal. “Or might I be able to persuade you to come back and help from time to time?”
“I can’t imagine how that would happen, but I would always like to be of service to the Crown.”
“Excellent.” Kent finished his port and started to get up.
Dougal pinned him with a serious stare. “Just know that my priority is now my family. It has to be.”
“I understand.” Kent reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Your father is a fortunate man to have you as a son. Your bond is forged in something far stronger than blood.”
“What’s that?”
“Love.” Kent gave him a warm smile, then stood and departed, depositing his empty wineglass on a table near the library door.
Dougal leaned back in the chair, feeling as though he’d ridden across England. And Scotland. Had he really just terminated his affiliation with the Foreign Office? Not entirely, it seemed. Kent was clear that Dougal would always be welcome.
