But her dream of the morning was not to be. She heard a rustle at the door and then the quiet voice of Nora, her maid. “May I enter?”
Arthur’s eyes came open and went, instantly, to her face. “Lydia?” he murmured. He lifted an arm, rolled to his side, and caught her around the waist. He pulled her hard enough that her body half fell into his and pressed his face against her muslin-covered thigh.
Helplessly, she tangled her fingers in his hair. “Good morning.” He did not move, only murmured something inaudible into her lap. She breathed out a laugh. “Someone’s at the door.”
He turned his face just enough to blink reluctantly up at her.
Her lips curved as she looked at his face, almost boyish, all curling lashes and sulky mouth. “You probably ought to fasten your breeches.” It was with no little regret that she pulled away. “Hold on,” she said to Nora. “I’m coming.”
She crossed the room slowly, giving Arthur a moment to restore himself, and then tugged open the door.
Nora stood on the other side, looking fresh and crisp despite the early hour. She held a bundle of clothing in her hands. “Welcome home,” she said. “You look… rested.”
Lydia’s entire face went hot.
In retrospect, their behavior last night had been rather scandalous. She and Arthur had vanished halfway through supper and had not reappeared.
But—well—they were married.
After a fashion. If one did not put too fine a point on “were.”
“Ned said you were looking for Jasper and for an appropriate suit of clothes,” Nora announced. “I can’t help you with your scoundrel of a brother, but I’ve managed the rest.” She crossed the room to where Arthur had risen at her arrival and handed him the bundle of fabric. “Good morning, Lord Strathrannoch. This is the best I could do on short notice, but I’ve sent a request on to the tailor to have something ready for you by the afternoon.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. His voice was a trifle scratchy with sleep. “Thank you. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Lydia suspected she was as red as the footman’s waistcoat that Arthur had worn to dinner. She supposed she would have to get used to Nora finding them together in the bed in the morning, if they were to be married in truth.
Good heavens.
She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the heat radiating from her skin. “Nora,” she said, “I’d like to go over to the Stanhope residence this morning and speak to Selina. Can you—”
“To be sure.” Nora, efficient as ever, had already begun to set out the appropriate underpinnings and day dress. “I’ll go down and call for the carriage. Do you want breakfast?”
“No, thank you,” she said, and then hesitated, turning to Arthur. “Unless—that is, do you want to remain here whilst I go out?”
His jaw was set, his expression rather grim, but when heturned to look at her, his hazel eyes were soft. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t have you go alone.”
By late afternoon, their party had grown from two to five, and they found themselves not at the Stanhope residence, but at Belvoir’s Library itself.
They’d called on the duke and duchess early enough that the couple were still at breakfast, along with the duke’s adolescent brother and sister. Lydia had introduced Arthur—as herhusband, dear God, would it ever stop feeling like a passing fancy?—and then ushered Selina into a sitting room for a whispered conference about Davis Baird, Jasper, and the stolen rifle scope.
Selina’s dark brows, at odds with her honey-blond hair, had risen higher and higher as Lydia related the events of the past weeks.
“Good Lord,” she said finally, when Lydia ran down. “You’re certain that Strathrannoch’s brother has this device—this rifle telescope? And you believe he means to sell it to… these French agents?”
“I’m not certain of anything,” Lydia said. “But the Thibodeaux knew Davis well. And they were searching for Jasper. I cannot believe it’s a coincidence. If there’s anything you know—anything you have learned from the Home Office via Belvoir’s—that might help us find them, we need your help.”
Selina drummed her fingers along the arm of her chair. “I am not as involved with the Home Office as you seem to think. But—” She hesitated, straightening the seam of her glove before she spoke. “But you are right about your brother. He works for the Home Office. And I permit him to pass correspondence through the library. I could try to contact him.”
“Yes,” Lydia said. “Yes, please. If there’s any way to find him—”
“There might be,” Selina said slowly. “And I think…”
She trailed off. Her amber eyes had sharpened into an expression that Lydia recognized—an expression that occasionally terrified her, but in this particular instance sent a bloom of optimism through her instead.
Selina had a plan.
“You said you have Davis’s notes?” Selina asked. “His papers?”
