A Spy's Honor by Charlotte Russell

than that. He wanted to be part of her life if she’d have him. Wanted to fulfill the promise that had been cut short all those years ago.
    He bent at the knees and uttered her name again, wanting her to look at him, wanting her to see how he had never forgotten her, to see what he’d become for her.
    She looked away, her brown eyes blazing. “Perhaps I was a little infatuated. Certainly I was caught up in the danger of the moment, and how could I have been anything but grateful for the heroic assistance you offered in keeping me out of that awful man’s clutches? Thank goodness my maturity and current circumstances now allow me to see that any emotion I felt at the time wasn’t about you but the adventure we were sharing.”
    With intense effort John kept from wincing, and before he could even think Claire’s gaze refocused over his shoulder. Someone else had entered the room.
    A smile broke upon her face.
    “I beg your pardon.”
    The voice behind John was deep, slightly mistrustful, and did not belong to his brother.
    He tore his eyes away from the pretty vision of Claire and rose to greet the man who sauntered into the room, young, blond and absurdly muscular, like a Viking warlord trapped in a finely-tailored coat, striped waistcoat, and fawn trousers.
    “I don’t believe we are acquainted,” the man said.
    Claire sat, speechless, her smile now a bit dazed. The Norse god-like creature sidled nearer to her in a presumptuous sort of way. A chill ran down John’s spine.
    “No,” he replied, “we are not acquainted.” He swept a glance over the man, who was definitely brawnier than John but of the same height, gave a decent bow, and said, “Lord John Reyburn.”
    The man’s stiffened posture eased as he returned the bow. “Of course. The duke’s mysterious brother. My pleasure.”
    Out of the corner of his eye John saw Claire jump up and approach. Her voice shook as she finished the introduction. “Lord John, this is Lord Kensworth.”
    Viscount Kensworth? Impossible. His family’s neighbor in Hertfordshire must be seventy if he was a day.
    The blond man watched Claire, who examined the rug. When she said nothing further he slid a few inches closer to her but addressed John. “The new Viscount Kensworth, of course. You’ve been gone many years, haven’t you? I must say you have excellent timing, though.”
    John balled his fists, not wishing to hear more and yet at the same time wanting his suspicion confirmed. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ask Kensworth to what he had so excellently timed his arrival.
    Claire turned away from both of them and returned to her wing chair, answering Kensworth’s question. “He has been away for five years.”
    Four years, ten months and six days .
    “His visit is completely unexpected,” Claire continued, sounding rather unhappier than he would have hoped.
    “Unexpected, yes,” John agreed. “For me as well. It will be a lengthy visit, however.” Which was a lie, but no one else in this room needed to know he would slink back to Europe if Kensworth was about to announce what he feared.
    Claire blinked rapidly then took a deep breath—lifting her glorious bosom—and raised her chin. “How lovely. I am certain your family will be delighted.”
    Meaning, she was not.
    Kensworth circled around the sofa and sat on the arm of Claire’s chair. “Welcome home!” he said with a smile so wide it had to be false. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about you or where you’ve been, as Claire rarely mentioned you.”
    That statement was a relief rather than an insult. The thought of Claire discussing him with this man burned his gut. “There isn’t much to say about me.” John rushed his next question, knowing the response would not be to his liking but stupidly craving the truth. “How do you know the family, my lord?”
    He had wisely moved across the room, out of range of Claire’s exhilarating scent. He was never so grateful for the distance as when