Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

with the earl. The Phillips chit’s accusation, true or false, should have ended in marriage. He refused to do the honorable deed. I find that single act to be proof he is not worthy of you.”
Gillian remained standing in the middle of her bedchamber until the door closed behind her aunt, Gillian wilted and sank into the chair her aunt had vacated. No, the Crown’s best agent wouldn’t jeopardize his search for the truth by taking advantage of her. Moreham was far too intelligent to make that sort of mistake.
Gillian covered her face with her hands. What had she done? If, God forbid, he found his proof, he’d destroy them all.
After following Gillian and her groom back to the mews behind Whitney Place to ensure they arrived without incident, Moreham headed for home. No matter how he begrudged the notion, the chit was his responsibility now.
He needed her help. Regardless how distasteful he found that need to be. He’d considered himself a lone wolf. To be burdened with a society miss at his heels was the outside of enough. Her every thought flitted across her face for anyone to see. He would be lucky if the duke’s ward didn’t get him killed.
Moreham ignored his butler’s announcement about his breakfast and headed for his library. He needed time to recuperate from his encounter with that woman. He bypassed his desk and sat in the overstuffed chair he favored by the fireplace. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled hard in frustration.
Whitney was a traitor. He believed so with all his heart. The duke’s guilt was the only explanation for his support of Percy Arnold’s fortuitous employment at Whitehall in the one office dealing with the logistical details of supplying the British Army now on the Iberian Peninsula fighting the French. Gillian Browning was a lovely capricious lady who fired his blood, but he had a job to do and she would not dissuade him from that duty.
Moreham looked up at the portrait of his mother over the fireplace and groaned. His mother, what was he to do about her? Lady Philly was his mother’s dearest friend. He’d wager a monkey Philly had already written a note telling her of his meeting with Gillian.
His mother never hesitated to voice her opinion on or interfere in his life. The debacle with Miss Phillips had been only one of his mother’s schemes to marry him off. In that incident, he escaped the parson’s mousetrap because his mother saw to the girl’s departure before Gillian’s aunt and others could demand he marry the girl.
Miss Phillips was a squire’s daughter while Gillian was the niece of a duke. His mother would not pass up the chance to see him settled so lofty. He would be brought to his knees, or rather one knee in front of Gillian, to propose marriage if his mother had her way.
Time was on his side. His mother was visiting her sister in Richmond. Aunt Euphonia had contracted a cough and was in need of nursing. His mother had had no choice, but to decamp to her oldest sister’s house. He wished his Aunt Madeline had been the one to request his mother’s presence at her bedside. She lived in Scotland.
Gillian’s aunt, the Duchess of Whitney and his mother were nodding acquaintances. He shuddered to think what those two would make of his alliance with Gillian.
Though she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, Gillian was as blue-blooded as he was, perhaps more so. Then there was the dowry. Rumored to be fifty thousand a year. No wonder the fortune hunters dogged her every step.
Frustrated with his musings, Moreham left his chair and crossed the room to his desk where a stack of ledgers waited for his review. It was a sad day when he relished that mind-numbing exercise over his government work. He’d gladly work on the never-ending columns for the rest of his days to avoid thinking about Gillian. The only problem was not even those sheets of figures would prevent him from deliberating what might happen the next time he saw her.
“What is the world coming to when a gentleman takes the morning air in the park and sees his dearest friend riding with the lovely Miss Browning? By the way, the lady rides a magnificent bit of horseflesh. Will have to have my man inquire if Whitney’s stable has a gelding for sale. I’m always looking for young horseflesh to ride in the hunts in the fall.” Phillip Stockard, the 5th Earl of Crossley asked from the open library doors.
“Cross, leave the man alone. By my count, he hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night since this business started. Remember our days at Oxford? Moreham turns ugly when he doesn’t get enough sleep. Don’t want to have to fetch a doctor to tent to the bruises on your ugly faces.” Alexander, Viscount Sturmbridge, shoved Cross further into the room and closed the doors.
Moreham looked from one man to the other before standing and returning to the armchair he had only left moments before.
“What are you two doing here? Don’t you have your own responsibilities to see to this morning?”
Cross with a flick of his hand waved his questions away. “We’ll get to that bit of business after you tell all. Thought Whitney’s duchess declared that you were persona non grata last season. Can’t imagine that one will be pleased to hear of your cozy ride with her niece. We all know how protective the duchess is of the young lady.”
Moreham considered ignoring Cross’ inquiries, but he knew his friend wouldn’t desist until his curiosity was sated.
“The lady knows of our investigation and insists on helping. She’s worried I will plant false evidence against her uncle.”
Sturmbridge grinned and held out his hand. “Ten guineas.” The two friends were always making wagers. Sturmbridge, or “Sturm” as his friends knew him was an irreverent sort. Called himself an observer of human