Quint nodded. “The second prong of attack?”
“You must attend every rally, every plebeian meeting, every reform society gathering. You’ll give rousing speeches, and your name will be all over the Times.”
Quint began taking notes. “I’ve already received several invitations to speak. I’ll have you accept for me. Hire Black and Clarion to write my speeches.”
“Black is working for Fairfax now.”
Quint looked up. “Get him back. Pay him whatever he asks. No one turns a phrase like Black.” He went back to his notes, his hand writing furiously but not as quickly as the rapid-fire ideas in his mind. He loved this feeling at the beginning of a political campaign. He felt like a general, eager to rally his troops and yell, “Charge!”
“I’ll need you to return to London today,” Quint told Meeps in between shuffling through papers and scratching notes. “I want you to talk to Graves, prepare the way for me—”
“My lord, you know I will be happy to, but we still have one more avenue of attack to discuss. Perhaps the most important one.”
Quint stopped writing, but he did not look up. “I know. My wife.”
“She must host the party to end all parties. Fairfax has proven himself. Invitations to his affairs are some of the most highly sought. There is not an MP in Parliament who doesn’t seek his favor the week before one of his wife’s soirees. You must do the same.”
Quint sat back slowly, and his attention drifted to the window overlooking Ravensland’s lawns. Catherine, in one of her new pale muslin gowns, was a cloud of yellow and white among the green landscape as she meandered closer. Her dress was simple and pretty, her dark hair caught up in a knot on top of her head. Her face was peaceful, with a slight smile that hinted she knew a secret. He knew some of her secrets, too. He’d shared them with her last night.
She was beautiful and innocent, and no match for Lady Honoria and Fairfax. He’d seen her all but wilt when she was surrounded by people and noise. How would she ever host an affair?
“Is that your wife?” Meeps said, peering out the window closest to his chair.
“Yes. I’ll speak to her about the party. She can begin to plan it as soon as we return to London.”
But Meeps was still staring out the window. “She’s lovely. I don’t remember her seeming so lovely before.”
Quint steepled his hands. “When we return to London, we’ll make sure she is the admiration of the ton. No one will forget how lovely she is.”
Meeps looked at him. “And you think that’s possible?”
Quint sincerely hoped so.
AS SOON AS SHE ENTERED the house, Catherine noticed that the door to Quint’s study was closed, but she did not think anything of it. He was awake, and he was only a few feet away. She could not wait to see him.
She hurried through the foyer and with a quick tap on the door, opened it, and said, “Are you finally out of bed? Thor and Hazard are waiting for their morning ride.”
Quint was indeed behind his mammoth desk, as she’d expected, but he rose awkwardly when she entered and glanced to his right. There another vaguely familiar man was also rising from one of the armchairs, and the heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Oh, I see you are busy. I am sorry.” She turned to close the door, but her husband’s voice stopped her.
“Lady Valentine, please, join us.”
Catherine did not want to join the men. The man with Quint looked harmless, but new people made her uncomfortable. She could never think of anything to say. But, dutifully, she turned around and, closing the door behind her, stepped into the room.
“Please.” Quint gestured to one of the couches near the hearth. She was accustomed to sitting in the armchairs, but Quint’s guest was in her usual spot. She went to the couch and arranged her skirts carefully so that she did not have to look at the men right away. Quint came to sit beside her.
“Lady Valentine, you remember Mr. Meeps. He is one of my advisors.”
Catherine glanced up at the pale, red-haired man. He was thin, wore small glasses, and dressed completely in black. He looked like a clerk. “Sir, it is a pleasure.” But it was not. If a political advisor had come all this way to speak with Quint, it meant something important was happening in Town. It meant the end to this short-lived idyllic time alone with Quint.
Apparently, she was to be involved as well. She did not want to be involved.
Meeps nodded at her and retook his seat in her chair. She looked at Quint. It was strange to see him like this. After all they had shared last night, here she was sitting beside him, acting as though they were complete strangers. Why, she knew what he looked like without his trousers on. He knew what happened to her when he . . .
Her face began to heat, and she decided not to think of that at present. But it was difficult when every time she looked at her husband, images from last night came rushing at her. She wondered if he had a similar feeling, but he seemed completely at ease.
No, that was not exactly true. He was saying something to Mr. Meeps, but his gaze kept darting back to her. He had the look of the jailer whose duty it is to escort prisoners to their executions.
The jailer looked at her, a sympathetic and yet determined look on his face.
