do.”
“No,” Ashton said. The single word held a raw grief, just beginning to break through the shock. “But I want to understand—”
“So do we all,” Wellington told him. “Your wife wasn’t the only one to lose her life tonight. We lost one of our most valued agents. We need to discover precisely what happened to both of them.”
“How—”
Wellington jerked his head at Malcolm. “Rannoch investigated a murder in Vienna.”
“Murder?” Ashton said. “No one’s suggesting Julia was—”
“No, of course not. But Rannoch’s good at unraveling puzzles and putting the pieces back together. Malcolm?”
Malcolm had already seen where the conversation was leading. In truth, he wouldn’t have been best pleased to have the matter put in someone else’s hands. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“You’ll tell me what you discover?” Ashton said. “At least whatever relates to Julia?”
Malcolm looked into Ashton’s pleading eyes and found himself saying, “Yes, of course,” though he knew even as he framed the words that it might be a difficult promise to keep.
“Do you want someone to see you home?” Wellington asked. “I can understand you’re not—”
“No, I’ll manage. I just—Oh, Lord.” Ashton grimaced. “Cordelia. She’s here. In the ballroom. Just arrived in Brussels. She’s been looking for Julia. We’ll have to tell her—”
“I’ll do it,” Davenport said.
Ashton looked at him for a moment, blinking through his own distress. “Are you sure—?”
“No.” Davenport gave a twisted half smile. “But when it comes to Cordelia I don’t think it’s possible for me to make matters any worse.”
6
“ C ordelia. What in God’s name are you doing here?”
Cordelia Davenport turned from her conversation with Caro and Suzanne Rannoch to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped golden-brown hair and an all-too-familiar smile striding along the edge of the dance floor.
“Major Chase.” Cordelia extended her hand. “Why shouldn’t I come to Brussels? All the world seems to have flocked here. I’m not usually so behind the fashion.”
George brushed his lips over her hand, a bit stiffly. He met her gaze as he straightened up. “For God’s sake, Cordy, it’s dangerous.”
“I doubt Wellington would care to hear you say so. You know Lady Caroline, of course,” Cordelia said, grateful for the mask of social convention. “Have you met Mrs. Rannoch? Her husband is on Stuart’s staff.”
George nodded at the other two ladies with one of his quick, disarming smiles. “Forgive my informality. Cord—Lady Cordelia and I have known each other since we were children. I’m in the habit of worrying about her.”
“A fatal mistake, Major Chase,” Caro said. “Cordelia could look after herself at the age of six, and nothing puts her in such a temper as being fussed over.”
George grinned. “With Cordy I’ve always been slow to learn my lessons.” The look he turned to Cordelia was a mix of ruefulness and regret. It reminded her of the way he’d used to turn his head to meet her gaze one last time before he stepped into the carriage to return to Eton or Oxford, knowing it would be many months before they met again. Against all instincts to the contrary, her throat went tight.
George turned to Suzanne Rannoch. “I knew your husband a bit as a boy when he used to visit the Mallinsons at Carfax Court in Derbyshire. Always thought he’d do something remarkable.”
“He was frighteningly clever,” Cordelia said, recalling the tall, gangly boy with intent eyes and a quick wit. “And inclined to spend all his time in the library.”
Suzanne Rannoch smiled. “Some things don’t change.”
“I hear Wellington claims Rannoch’s the civilian he could least do without,” George said.
“My husband would say one can’t believe everything one hears in Brussels these days.”
“You seem very sanguine, Mrs. Rannoch.”
“As a diplomat’s wife,
“No,” Ashton said. The single word held a raw grief, just beginning to break through the shock. “But I want to understand—”
“So do we all,” Wellington told him. “Your wife wasn’t the only one to lose her life tonight. We lost one of our most valued agents. We need to discover precisely what happened to both of them.”
“How—”
Wellington jerked his head at Malcolm. “Rannoch investigated a murder in Vienna.”
“Murder?” Ashton said. “No one’s suggesting Julia was—”
“No, of course not. But Rannoch’s good at unraveling puzzles and putting the pieces back together. Malcolm?”
Malcolm had already seen where the conversation was leading. In truth, he wouldn’t have been best pleased to have the matter put in someone else’s hands. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“You’ll tell me what you discover?” Ashton said. “At least whatever relates to Julia?”
Malcolm looked into Ashton’s pleading eyes and found himself saying, “Yes, of course,” though he knew even as he framed the words that it might be a difficult promise to keep.
“Do you want someone to see you home?” Wellington asked. “I can understand you’re not—”
“No, I’ll manage. I just—Oh, Lord.” Ashton grimaced. “Cordelia. She’s here. In the ballroom. Just arrived in Brussels. She’s been looking for Julia. We’ll have to tell her—”
“I’ll do it,” Davenport said.
Ashton looked at him for a moment, blinking through his own distress. “Are you sure—?”
“No.” Davenport gave a twisted half smile. “But when it comes to Cordelia I don’t think it’s possible for me to make matters any worse.”
6
“ C ordelia. What in God’s name are you doing here?”
Cordelia Davenport turned from her conversation with Caro and Suzanne Rannoch to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped golden-brown hair and an all-too-familiar smile striding along the edge of the dance floor.
“Major Chase.” Cordelia extended her hand. “Why shouldn’t I come to Brussels? All the world seems to have flocked here. I’m not usually so behind the fashion.”
George brushed his lips over her hand, a bit stiffly. He met her gaze as he straightened up. “For God’s sake, Cordy, it’s dangerous.”
“I doubt Wellington would care to hear you say so. You know Lady Caroline, of course,” Cordelia said, grateful for the mask of social convention. “Have you met Mrs. Rannoch? Her husband is on Stuart’s staff.”
George nodded at the other two ladies with one of his quick, disarming smiles. “Forgive my informality. Cord—Lady Cordelia and I have known each other since we were children. I’m in the habit of worrying about her.”
“A fatal mistake, Major Chase,” Caro said. “Cordelia could look after herself at the age of six, and nothing puts her in such a temper as being fussed over.”
George grinned. “With Cordy I’ve always been slow to learn my lessons.” The look he turned to Cordelia was a mix of ruefulness and regret. It reminded her of the way he’d used to turn his head to meet her gaze one last time before he stepped into the carriage to return to Eton or Oxford, knowing it would be many months before they met again. Against all instincts to the contrary, her throat went tight.
George turned to Suzanne Rannoch. “I knew your husband a bit as a boy when he used to visit the Mallinsons at Carfax Court in Derbyshire. Always thought he’d do something remarkable.”
“He was frighteningly clever,” Cordelia said, recalling the tall, gangly boy with intent eyes and a quick wit. “And inclined to spend all his time in the library.”
Suzanne Rannoch smiled. “Some things don’t change.”
“I hear Wellington claims Rannoch’s the civilian he could least do without,” George said.
“My husband would say one can’t believe everything one hears in Brussels these days.”
“You seem very sanguine, Mrs. Rannoch.”
“As a diplomat’s wife,
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