“All I can tell you is that they were finely dressed and clearly Englishmen. Londoners, I’d say.”
“What did you hear, precisely, that led you to believe that I was somehow involved?”
“Nothing!” she said breezily. “I decided something was afoot with you all on my own when I noticed you rarely interacted with anyone and watched King Maksim like a hawk. Very suspicious behavior, Mr. Brendan.”
“Did you consider that perhaps not all persons who attend a ball are inclined to chitchat?”
“I do know that to be true. In fact, you reminded me of it. What was it you said? You did not engage in idle chatter or something. Very chivalrous.”
He was beginning to feel a little warm at the back of his neck. He didn’t remember the exact words he’d used, but he very clearly remembered trying to move her along.
Mrs. Honeycutt settled back, her smile effervescent. “You watch King Maksim like a governess watches her charge.”
Marek’s neck warmed even more. “If it will disabuse you of your fantastic ideas, I will tell you that I was watching someone else very near to the king. I will also tell you that I am not involved in anything treacherous, and in fact, quite the opposite—I want to prevent any harm to the king. I am steadfastly loyal to him.”
Mrs. Honeycutt glanced at her butler. Donovan lifted his chin so slightly that Marek was surprised he noticed it. “What is the look between the two of you? Is there more? Is there something you’ve heard that might help me discover who is behind such talk?”
Donovan shrugged. “Aye, tell him, then.”
Marek looked between the two of them. “Tell me what?”
“Should I?” Mrs. Honeycutt inquired, sounding uncertain.
“He seems harmless enough,” Donovan said, and his gaze slid to Marek.
He didn’t think he liked being called harmless, but that was neither here nor there. “Tell me what?” he asked impatiently.
“Very well.” Mrs. Honeycutt folded her hands neatly in her lap, as if she was about to impart something very dire to him, something like his puppy had gone missing. “Earlier today, four Weslorian soldiers arrived in London on a Scottish merchant ship.” She pressed her lips together, clearly anticipating a notable response from him.
But Marek didn’t understand what this meant or why she would think it important. What was remarkable about four Weslorian soldiers arriving on a Scottish ship? “And?”
“And?Don’t you think it’s at least a little odd? Why would four Weslorian soldiers arrive today on a ship flying a Scottish flag when so many Weslorian ships have arrived in the last two weeks?”
“I can think of any number of reasons. Perhaps they’ve been sent to provide extra security for the king and it was the fastest way to get them to London.”
“Yes, but,” Mrs. Honeycutt said, and lifted one elegant finger. “It could also be that a Scottish ship is a way to arrive here in the middle of the peace talks without anyone noticing.”
“You noticed.”
“I didn’t notice. Someone very close to me noticed.”
“Really?” he drawled, and looked at Donovan.
“What does it matter? He heard it from two of the sailors and told me, and it seems very odd, knowing all that’s been said.”
She had a point, and it gave him a tiny bit of pause. He happened to notice the clock on the mantel. Dromio would be looking for him if he wasn’t already. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“You wantmore?” She smiled. “No. Nothing.”
He stood up. “If I may, Mrs. Honeycutt, it seems to me that you’ve made quite a leap to a conclusion that is not supported by any facts. But thank you for telling me what you’ve heard. I will leave you to your...evening.”
She quickly stood, too. “Is that all?”
“Je.”He bowed his head and started for the door.
Donovan walked out ahead of him, no doubt to open the door and kick him down the steps when he passed.
But Mrs. Honeycutt darted forward and stopped him with a hand to his arm. Marek glanced down at her hand. Her skin looked translucent next to the black of his coat. Her fingers were long and slender, and for some reason, made him think of a harp. They looked like the sort of fine fingers that could bring a harp to life.
