Beyond A Wicked Kiss Read Online Free PDF

far."
    "Indeed." South pushed himself upright in his chair. "I suspect the return will take somewhat longer."
    Eastlyn chuckled softly, the first any of them had laughed since coming together. "Especially if your intention is to arrive at some end. You cannot travel halfway, and halfway again, and expect to get there, South. Or did they teach you something different on board His Majesty's vessels? If they did, I should like to know." He raised his glass of port, his expression sobering. "How long will you remain in London?"
    "Another day," said South. "Two at the most"
    East nodded. His voice dropped so that it could not be heard beyond their small circle. "You will call on us, will you not?" he asked. "If there is a need."
    "If there is a need," Southerton repeated in the same grave intonation. "I would not have any of you compromised."
    One of Eastlyn's chestnut-colored brows rose in a perfect arch. "So that's the way of it."
    None of them needed to hear anything else to know that South was engaged in ferreting out a spy. It was the sort of work that was often laid in West's own lap, and for once he was grateful not to have pulled the assignment. It said something about the nature of the trap if South's peculiar talents were being put to good advantage. West clearly recalled more than one occasion at Hambrick where South had had to use considerable gray matter in evading their enemy, the bishops. For his part, West would have preferred another brawl, but Southerton liked to talk his way out of things.
    West grinned as Eastlyn's next question showed he was drawing upon the same recollection. "You won't have to recount the entire history of Henry's reign, will you?" East asked. "If you have to extricate yourself from some exceptional coil, I mean. I don't think I could sit through that again."
    North nodded. "I am with East there. You cannot expect so much of us this time, South."
    West found himself moved to contribute to this observation. "No matter that it was a score of years ago. The memory resides painfully in my arse." That comment immediately drew three pairs of amused glances. He returned their gaze, his own innocent. "What? Cannot a duke speak of arses?"
    "A duke may speak of anything he wishes," South said. "Especially one so recently acquiring the title, the lands, and the fortune."
    "You mean some allowance will be made for a bastard son suddenly acquiring legitimacy," West said.
    Southerton continued as if there had been no interruption. "But unless you want others to hang on your every word and have the same come back to you, it is usually a thing better done quietly."
    "Bloody hell," West said under his breath. "Bloody, bloody hell."
    His disconsolate manner first raised identical grins from the rest of the Compass Club, then their rousing laughter. They fell into the moment without examining it too closely, letting their laughter speak for them when they could find no words that would do so well.
    * * *
    The rain did eventually slow to a drizzle. Mr. Dunlop—for she had finally learned his name—was insistent that she vacate the stoop before members of the club began to take their leave. There was no point in arguing or pressing him for further information. She counted herself as fortunate that he had resigned himself to the inevitable of sharing his shelter. He had even become something of an amiable companion, lowering his guard enough to allow her to learn what she needed to know. For the first time since arriving in London, she permitted herself to hope.
    Standing at the corner where an iron gate marked the perimeter of the property, she could see gentlemen stepping out of the club. They left alone or in pairs, all of them pausing on the lip of the first step to adjust their brushed beaver hats so the rain did not mark their faces. They wore kid gloves and caped greatcoats. Some of them carried walking sticks. Now that the rain had nearly subsided, it did not seem to inconvenience them overmuch.