“She wore no bonnet,” Regan said. “Never does, as you know. There is no mistaking that golden hair.” He took another sip of port.
“Why hasn't she already stormed Madame Duvall's?”
The earl laughed. “How many wives expect to find their husbands at a brothel two days after their wedding?”
Kiernan narrowed his eyes. “You know a great deal too much about my life these days."
He rose, crossed to the secretary and scribbled a note to his cousin to discreetly search for a newcomer, a woman with golden hair and…how did he describe her figure? He decided against the extra description. If Phoebe was in Dornoch, Androu would pick her out of the crowd without any trouble. If she was here, he would congratulate her on her excellent tracking skills—then paddle her pretty bottom. He had a great deal more to learn about his wife than he thought. Kiernan paused while signing the note. What if he wasn't the reason she was here? He cast Regan a glance, then went to the door and called for Phillip. The butler appeared a moment later and Kiernan gave him the note.
"Please have this delivered to Androu immediately." Phillip gave a small bow and started to turn, but Kiernan said, “Oh, and Phillip, please inform Mather we will meet at our friend's place. We've had too many unexpected visitors today for my liking. You will find him at Rhoda’s. He may stay there until our appointed meeting time. He's likely to murder me in my sleep if I ask him to leave her before necessary.”
Phillip bowed and left the room.
Kiernan closed the door, then returned to his seat and said to the earl, "Start at the beginning.”
Regan took another drink, then said, “I know my turning up here is odd—odd enough, I suppose, that I do owe you an explanation. Though, after I’ve told you my story, I hope you’ll see your way to show me the same consideration. I find it just as strange finding you here. First, I must ask you keep this information to yourself, and don’t interfere.”
“Has this anything to do with me?”
“No.”
“Then, I can't see a problem. I don’t make a habit of interfering, you know.”
Regan cleared his throat and Kiernan scowled.
“You’ll never let me live down my matchmaking debacle, will you?” Kiernan asked.
“Neither will Phoebe,” Regan laughed. “Though it didn't turn out all that terrible for you."
No, he had to agree, it hadn't turned out badly at all.
"Now, as to my being here," Regan said. "I’m on the trail of a criminal.”
Kiernan paused with his glass halfway to his lips. “What criminal would that be?”
Regan grinned. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Who would have thought of me as a doer of justice, righter of wrongs?”
Kiernan took the forestalled sip. “Not I.”
“Well, you would be right. The long and short of it is, I’ve been commissioned by the government to keep an eye on Lord Ronald Harrington.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Harrington is being investigated on matters of national security.”
“National security?" Kiernan blurted, then cursed the government official who had commissioned Stoneleigh in hopes he would stumble upon the secret other real British spies had failed to find. When Kiernan discovered the idiot's identity, he would whip him for throwing Regan in his path. "Lord Harrington has an unimpeachable reputation," Kiernan said. "Not to mention, you're no spy.”
“No, I'm not. But it came to the notice of a certain someone in the government that I'm an acquaintance of his and," he shrugged, "well, he asked me to help out.”
“And out of the goodness of your heart you agreed?”
“It's something of an adventure.”
“I’ve never known you to apply yourself to anything for longer than a month.”
“Not so. I did graduate Cambridge with honors.”
“Only because your father threatened to enlist you in the military.”
“Can you imagine?” Regan looked aghast. “Not even a commission.”
“What’s behind this, Regan? I don’t believe you would follow a suspected spy all the way out here for the Crown.”
“No. I wouldn’t.” Regan leaned forward. “I have a particular interest in Harrington, or, rather, a friend of his. I’m of the mind that Harrington is involved.”
“Involved in what, the treason he's suspected of?”
“Well, as to that,” he laughed, “I can't say. No, this involves my father.”
"Your father? How is the marquess involved in this?”
Regan shook his head. “No, not Stoneleigh, my real father.”
"Your real father? Regan, you've gone mad."
“I know, it’s a devil of a mess. About two years ago, I discovered some letters written to my mother from a Lord Henry Ballmore. Quite personal, love letters, in fact. Seems she was to marry Ballmore, and she was pregnant at the time.”
“Bloody hell,” Kiernan whispered.