Page 9 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Four

Whereof what’s past is prologue; what to come,

In yours and my discharge.

—Shakespeare,The Tempest

Richard had considereda tavern. It seemed appropriate for a covert meeting. He’d changed his mind, coming to the conclusion there were too many ears in such an establishment and no guarantee some of those ears might not also use their mouths to spread what they overheard. He had no idea how sensitive his information was. Or legitimate. So it was back to White’s. The unusual time of their meeting might be noted, but one could, at least, rely on discretion. And at this hour, they would be sure to find a quiet corner.

The bow window sat empty. Brummel and his sycophants were probably still abed, getting their beauty sleep before their next showing. Richard could not grasp the fascination the town had with the man. He found Brummel insipid and vacuous. Worse, the man was grating, sitting in the window with his fawning toadies. What kind of man concluded that such self-centered idleness was how one should spend his days? Had Brummel nothing more of value to offer the world than the latest turn of his collar or curl of his hair?

Richard left his coat, gloves, and hat with the doorman, who assured him Walford had arrived and was waiting for him upstairs. At the top of the stairs, raucous laughter burst from the back cardroom. Doubtless some of the men he’d seen last night were still in there, continuing to throw away far too much good coin and, most likely, coin some of them didn’t have to spare.

He shook his head and turned toward the coffee room at the front of the building. The space was large, and there were only a few gentlemen about, all sitting in front of the windows that overlooked the street below. Walford had positioned himself on the opposite side of the room to them. Even better, he sat by the fireplace. He stood when he spied Richard.

“Thornwood,” he said as they shook hands. “Do sit. Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Richard took the large chair beside Walford so they might speak quietly. The leather was heated by the fire, and he sunk back into its warmth, the chill from the wind easing from his body.

“Anything at all?”

Richard shook his head, and Walford waved away the servant who was crossing toward them.

“And how is Lady Thornwood this morning?”

Damn and blast!He hadn’t even inquired as to her situation. She had truly married an insensitive boor. “She was on her own two feet” was all he said to Walford, which was at least the truth. How much those feet hurt, he’d no idea.

“Glad to hear it. Now to the business at hand.” Walford sat back in his chair, angling himself so he could comfortably watch Richard. Richard almost squirmed under his scrutiny. As a military captain, Walford must have been damned commanding.

“I have some information I need verified. Military, not political.”

“Interesting.” Walford tilted his head. “And why me? You must have many contacts who can provide any confirmation you seek.”

“It’s delicate and needs discretion. It involves my mistress.”

Walford sat straighter. “So the rumors are true? I know many do keep one, but I would not have thought it of you, Thornwood. I would not.”

“What? No,” Richard said as it dawned on him what Walford was insinuating. “What rumors?”

“That you keep a mistress. That she’s why you are in London far more than at your estates, because you prefer her company to your wife’s. I give little credence to gossip, and after what I saw between you and Lady Thornwood last evening, I am even more surprised.”

Richard was not offended by Walford’s bluntness. It was why he’d always liked the man. He shook his head. The damn geese gaggled about everything, and fabricated fantasies when they had nothing new to peck at. “Let me rephrase my sentence. It involves my ex-mistress. From my youth. Before I even met Elizabeth.”

Walford relaxed back into the chair, raising an eyebrow. “But she is back in your life again?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Richard ran a hand over his hair. Luckily, he’d smoothed it back and tied a queue at his nape; otherwise, he might run his fingers through it and look like the madman he felt he was becoming.

“She accosted me in the street, saying she needed my help and I’d appreciate hers. Said she had valuable information for the government. Information regarding the war on the peninsula. Slid me this as proof of her veracity.” Richard pulled the paper out of his inside pocket. “Told me the information was not public knowledge and that, should I check, I would find it accurate.”

Walford took the paper and unfolded it, reading quietly, his face expressionless. He glanced up thoughtfully before returning his attention to the missive. When he was done, he folded it and set it on his lap. “This claims to be Colonel Scovell’s deciphered code, apparently sent to Frenada last month regarding the French holding their lines.”

“So it’s true?” Richard had hoped Walford would dismiss it out of hand, but if the worried lines on his forehead were any indication, that wasn’t going to happen.

“I don’t know. But I did hear rumors Scovell had cracked a cipher out of Paris last year. So the fact his name is linked with this information is revealing. Good Lord, if thisistrue, she has access to operational intelligence.”

Richard raised his hand, and a footman crossed the room immediately. “A brandy, please.” He looked to Walford, who shook his head. “Just the one.”

When the servant was out of earshot, Walford spoke again. “Who is she, Thornwood, and what does she want?”

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