Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

personal expenses. Arnold does. Our prisoner, Thomas Jones, was listed as receiving payments of nominal amounts over the last six months which bears out what Jones has told us. No other gentlemen were listed as receiving funds from Arnold. All the other entries were the usual merchants on Bond Street. By the by, the man spends a fortune on cravats.”
“So, it appears Arnold isn’t the only traitor working at Whitehall.” He reached for Gillian’s hand. “We have news as well. Fitz decoded the note Gillian found. It’s an invitation to a meeting at an old abbey. Whitney and his duchess are hosting a house party this week at their country estate, Whitings where there so happens to be some old abbey ruins on the property. We may be one step ahead of our prey this time.”
Cross looked over at Sturm before speaking. “We could be walking into a trap. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re right, but we have no choice. Every clue must be investigated.”
Sturm leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “We do have reports to write. We could add a few clues of our own. Could divert whoever is passing on our particulars, a bit more to report. We may buy ourselves more time to run these fellows to ground.”
“Excellent notion that. Write your reports. Send them to Whitehall. Join us at Whitings as quickly as you can manage it. Best friends since Eton, couldn’t miss the celebration of our marriage and all that. Have Fitz assign others to look for Thomas Jones.”
He patted his wife’s hand. “Dearest, will there be room for our friends?”
To his delight, Gillian caressed his face and kissed his cheek. The gel gave as good as she got. “As large as that old pile is. Of course, I will see to their rooms personally. I am ever the dutiful wife intent on seeing to my new husband’s happiness.” She grinned.
Moreham rather enjoyed seeing her obvious mirth. He wondered when she’d last done so. The duke and duchess were not prone to joviality, so he wondered if Gillian had ever had a reason to laugh.
Moreham looked back at Cross and Sturm. “Gillian and I are going to travel to Whitings in the morning. Whitney asked us to see to the last-minute details for the house party.”
“Interesting so the four of us will have the house to ourselves. Plenty of time to look around.” Cross surmised.
“Yes, and to also decide which room should be yours and who should be given the rooms on either side of you.” Gillian added.
Moreham decided all had been said that was needed. He stood and took Gillian by the hand.
Gillian stood, and the two men bowed to her. “I hope you will consider our home yours. James holds both of you in high regard. I hope you will come to bestow the same friendship on me.”
Cross glowered at him first then Gillian. “Gillian? James? What are you two talking about? Is this some newly wedded language no one else knows?”
Gillian being closest leaned forward and whispered. “This is all an act, for the servants. Moreham is concerned our ruse will be uncovered.”
The ever observant Sturmbridge added. “Really? Ingenious of him. You both sound like two people besotted with each other. Those sly glances at each other when you think the other isn’t watching or reaching out to touch the other. All very convincing. I must remember your tricks if I ever find myself with a marriage of convenience. That is what you have, isn’t it?”
Hearing Cross and Sturm point out their mannerisms did make it sound as if they were rather besotted with one another. A consequence he could not allow to become a reality. Moreham ushered his friends out of the house with all haste. Their comments about his marriage and how besotted he appeared had unsettled him. It was time to have a talk with Gillian about this farce of a marriage. It would not do for her to have any ideas about a happily ever after for them.

Chapter 8
Moreham returned to the library to find Gillian had already left. He lingered long enough to say good night to Timmie then hurried up the stairs to have that chat with his wife. Gillian was in the sitting room waiting if her rigid posture was any indication. No doubt she wanted to talk as well.
“I’m glad you didn’t tarry. I think we should clear the air so to speak.” She sat on the settee near the fire. She lifted her chin as if daring him to join her. Not one to allow another to dictate his actions, he feigned disinterest. He preferred to have a civil conversation with Gillian rather than a heated discourse. Besides, this was his mission, not hers.
“We are leaving at first light in the morning. An early evening is best. We will be able to talk during the journey to Whitings.”
Gillian started to speak but shook her head and rose from the settee. “Very well, I bid a good evening, my lord.” Her voice icy cold.
They still had the specter of Whitney hanging from the gallows between them. He would always be the man who exposed her uncle’s crime and she would always be the lady who helped him do so.
She was not a simpering miss. She would survive the scandal. He would see to it.
Gillian bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room with all the elegance of Queen Charlotte. Moreham picked up his wine glass and drank the liquid in one swallow. He was such a fool. The only woman to catch his attention had just walked out the door and he’d done nothing to stop her.
His friends would laugh hysterically if they knew he had deliberately given his wife a dislike of him. What sort of gentleman would do so?
Hours later, Moreham tossed his pen down forcefully enough to send splatters of ink across the ledger page. His clerk would give him a censorious look when he discovered the fouled entries.
Moreham