CHAPTER ONE
The pewter-dark clouds had scudded off to the east, and as the afternoon sunlight dappled over the regal townhouse’s back garden, it set the lingering raindrops on the leaves and petals to glittering like diamonds.
“Bee! Bee!” A tiny child quickened his toddling steps along the grassy verge of the graveled path, his chubby fingers gasping at the elusive buzzing sounds.
Arianna, Countess of Saybrook, smiled as she caught up with her young son. “Yes, yes—a bee.” She lifted him into her arms. “But unlike you, they don’t like to be cuddled. We mustn’t try to touch them, Lucas.”
A tickle to his cheek drew a gurgled laugh, but in the next moment he was squirming to free himself.
“You are far too recklessly inquisitive for your own good, aren’t you?” she murmured, acceding to his wishes and putting him down. “But I suppose that’s rather like the pot calling the kettle black. Your Papa and I are hardly patterncards of conventional propriety and restraint.”
A sigh. Their last mission for the Crown had been a particularly dangerous one. The thought of how close they had come to disaster—
“Milady!” Harriet, her son’s nursemaid, hurried out from the open french doors of the Music Room and began to cross the stone terrace overlooking the garden. “A gentleman caller has just arrived and wishes to pay his respects to you and His Lordship . . .”
Arianna turned and shaded her eyes, feeling a prickling of unease.
Damn the government.
She and Saybrook had made it quite clear to the head of state security that they had no intention of interrupting their plans for a quiet family summer free of skullduggery. Had Grentham dispatched George Pierson—he of the silvery tongue—to wheedle, knowing that she and her husband owed him a debt of gratitude for his courageous actions during the night of Napoleon’s escape from Elba?
However, the visitor was still too deep in shadow for her to make out his features.
Harriet slowed on seeing Arianna’s expression and shifted the blanket and box of wooden toys in her arms. She had been hired on a temporary basis the previous summer to accompany the family on a trip to Switzerland, but her cleverness, competence and cheerful disposition had earned her a permanent place in the household.
“José said that you wouldn’t have any objection as he is—”
“As he is an old friend.” A tall, sun-bronzed American naval officer wearing the distinctive epaulettes of a vice-commadore sailed out of the shadows after completing the nursemaid’s announcement.
“Patrick!” Arianna’s wary expression turned to one of delight. “What a lovely surprise! But fie on you for not writing to tell us you were coming. We would have met you in Portsmouth.”
“Alas, there was no time to write. You know politics.” A wry smile softened Vice Commadore Patrick Hamilton’s chiseled features. The two of them had first crossed paths during Arianna’s rebellious youth in the West Indies, when her various questionable activities had included gallivanting around the islands as a member of the Wolf & Lamb theatrical company. “I was summoned to Washington for an urgent meeting with our foreign minister regarding certain issues with both our northern and southern neighbors, and was informed that your British ambassador, Charles Bagot— with whom our government has very cordial relations—deemed it prudent for a delegation of our diplomats to pay a goodwill visit to London without delay.”
He hurried to join her and drew her into a brotherly hug. “Apparently the French and the Spanish governments have arranged an informal colloquium with your Foreign Office to discuss economic matters regarding free trade, tariffs, and other sundry restrictions in the West Indies and Spanish America. And so our new president, Mr. Monroe, decided that it was imperative for us to be part of it—regardless of whether we were officially invited.”
“And if anyone knows how to squeeze a few extra knots out of his ship, it is you . . .” Arianna glanced again at the gaudy gold braid and weighty fringe that festooned his shoulders. “By the by, congratulations on your new exalted rank.”
Her mouth curled up at the corners. “Am I expected to genuflect?”
Hamilton made a rude sound. “I feel like a prancing popinjay in this formal uniform. I much preferred my role as a real sea captain. I now spend half my time on bureaucratic matters—for which I have little patience.”
“And yet patience is considered a virtue,” she said dryly.
That made him laugh. “You’re even worse at it than I am. Unless, of course, motherhood has changed you.”
“I’m afraid I’m irredeemable.” Arianna pecked a kiss to his cheek. “But enough of politics. Come and meet Lucas.”
“I trust your son will be as avid a sailor as his mother.” Hamilton lifted the canvas valise he was carrying and began undoing the fastenings. “I’ve brought him a model of our celebrated Baltimore schooners, which are as fast as the wind.”
She waggled a brow. “Are you trying to seduce him into becoming an American naval officer?”
“I’m merely encouraging him to broaden his horizons at an early age. After all, curiosity is a trait that leads us to—”
“Get into trouble!” interjected Arianna.
A grin. “Yes, but that ensures life is never boring.” Before he could say more, an excited whoop rose above the buzzing of the bees as Lucas spotted the model ship.
“Did the lad just say ‘schooner’?” drawled Hamilton, as Arianna hurried to scoop up her son just before he tumbled face first onto the swath of grass bordering the walkway.
“It was definitely not ‘forty-gun frigate’,” replied Arianna as she smoothed the silky dark hair from the boy’s forehead. “Lucas, shake hands with Vice Commodore Hamilton.”
Hamilton took gentle hold of the chubby little fist that shot out to greet him and bobbed a bow. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance Sir Lucas.”
Arianna rolled her eyes. “You still haven’t a clue as to the proper hierarchy of aristocratic titles.”
“I should hope not!” He ruffled his fingers through the boy’s hair. “Sorry, lad. We Yankees are strict egalitarians, so you’ll simply be “Lucas” to your honorary Uncle Patrick.”
Lucas looked far more interested in his new toy than any discussion of ancient feudal hierarchy. “Sip-Sip!”
“Yes, and a very handsome ship it is,” said Arianna, struggling to contain her son’s exuberance as she indicated a path that cut between a gap in the boxwood hedge. “Let us stroll down to the fountain and let your lovely gift make its maiden voyage.”
“Allow me to take him, milady.” Harriet set the blanket and box of toys down on the grass and hurried over to pluck the toddler from her arms. “So that you may enjoy conversing with your guest without a hurricane raging between the two of you.”
Arianna smiled her thanks and allowed the nursemaid to forge ahead before accepting Hamilton’s arm. The soft crunch of gravel punctuated the airy twitter of birdsong as they started walking.
“Speaking of voyages . . .” After several moments had passed, Hamilton ventured to break the companionable silence. “I’ve been told that all of London is abuzz these days with talk of the current situation in the New World, and the myriad fabulous fortunes to be made by investing in speculative ventures as Spain’s colonial empire crumbles.
Her shoulders rose in a casual shrug. “Is that so?”
Seeing a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, Arianna quickly added, “Sandro and I have just returned from an interlude of peace and quiet in the country, and we made a point of distancing ourselves from the daily newspapers—along with all gossip and rumors that pepper their pages. So I’m afraid that I’m not au courant with the latest scuttlebutt.”
A pause. “To be honest, after the stress and dangers of last summer’s mission to Greece for the government, I am very much enjoying the simple pleasures of family life, and have no desire to become entangled in any sort of foreign intrigue.”
His expression tightened, and on seeing a shadow ripple in the depth of his gaze, Arianna guessed that his concern was about more than routine trade rules and regulations.
“What is it that’s really worrying you?” she demanded.
He hesitated for a long moment. “The imminent arrival of Euan MacEuan,” he answered. “Assuming he hasn’t already landed on these shores.”
Arianna waited for him to explain.
Hamilton looked surprised at her lack of reaction, and then repeated the name.
She made a face. “Who the devil is Euan MacEuan?”
He chuffed a humorless laugh. “The Man Who Would be King.”
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