Chapter 4

Every member of the ton for miles had accepted the invitation on short notice to attend the newest Duke of Westmorland's first ball. Rolland wished he could've rejected his own invitation. He detested the stuffy, smothering crush of a ballroom, and he had no great love for dancing—even if the music was exceptional tonight. How was he supposed to catch a traitor when the matrons of eligible daughters thought he needed to promenade through every set? The candlelit chandeliers and elegant trimmings might dazzle everyone else, but he'd rather be sailing on turbulent seas than paying court to coquettish females.

It had been far too long since he'd mingled with proper Society, and it was nothing like the purposeful hours he'd spent with his crewmen. Regardless of his blundering words and missteps on the dance floor, women seemed to care only that he was a young captain home from war, with an abundance of prize money and a title to inherit. He'd never regretted wearing his uniform before, but he did now. He scanned the room brimming with finely dressed guests to reassure himself that his father was still being carefully guarded, but his mother captured his attention first.

She was weaving through the masses toward him with yet another young woman in tow. There was only one path to the door, and he took it. He was no coward in war, but in the ballroom, there was no other word for it.

His father waylaid him just outside the drawing room door, without a trace of shame for having escaped his guard. "Walk with me." In an old habit, he smoothed down the dark hair at the back of his head that had matched Rolland's in color until it had started to pepper with gray, before clasping his hands behind his back.

"Shall we slip outside?" Rolland glanced at the front door not twenty paces away, longing for the fresh air on the other side.

"To the library."

Rolland was a few inches taller than his father and had achieved the respect of many, but that didn't negate the singular air of his father's parental authority. With a sigh and a nod, he ignored his route of escape and followed his father obediently down the corridor toward the front of the house.

"You've had a few days here. How are you settling in?"

Rolland glanced over at his father, wondering how to answer. There was no use discussing the frustratingly slow healing of his injury or his pathetic reason for escaping the ballroom, so it was best to settle on a safe answer. "It's always good to see you and mother again."

"Even if your mother is introducing you to every unattached young lady present tonight?"

Rolland withheld his groan. "She means well."

"Yes, but she possesses romantic notions we cannot afford to get mixed up in. You do recall my letters? I have someone else in mind for you."

"I remember." He'd hoped he'd have a little more time before the inevitable happened. "Who is she that you cannot even tell Mama about her?"

"Your mother will know soon enough, as will the rest of England. Her name is Miss Shields."

Rolland frowned, trying to connect the faceless name to a memory or any piece of information that he might have heard about her. "Lord Caspar's daughter?"

"The very same." His father motioned him into the empty library before continuing. "Lord Caspar's opinion holds great weight in parliament. He's driven, with a strong vision for England. We need to be completely unified before we present to our allies, and a marriage between our families will serve such a purpose. You know more than anyone what happens when the world powers are out of balance."

He knew well. War. It was always war. And it had already taken too much from England and the rest of Europe. This marriage was no simple favor his father was asking. Everyone knew the outcome of the Congress of Vienna was more important than ever. It had the potential to throw one country against another or, conversely, finally allow them to find peace. Getting the committee united was not only ideal but imperative. Miss Shields and he were merely small pawns in a massive historical movement.

"This Miss Shields," Rolland began. "Have you met her?" Would such a triviality even matter?

"Once or twice, and she is highly sought after, for good reason. Regardless, we need this connection, Rolland. Lord Castlereagh is our key representative, and he has offended too many here at home. Lord Caspar, on the other hand, is a popular man. A marriage between our families could sway public opinion in our favor more than anything else. It shows unity of feeling. Do you understand?"

"I do. Will Lord Caspar and his daughter be joining us, then?"

"He is an extremely busy man and regretfully cannot attend the house party, but after it is through, an introduction shall be made without further delay. Prepare yourself to make a good impression, and don't get attached to anyone else in the meantime."

"As you say." At least in this Rolland had nothing to worry about.

"Good." His father put his hand briefly on Rolland's good shoulder. "Now, hurry back to the ballroom before your mother comes to hunt you down."

Rolland retreated from the library, another weight added to his shoulders. A footman stepped into view—one of Marcus's hidden guards—allowing Rolland to comfortably walk away.

It was obvious his father was too concerned about politics to worry about the threat on his life. Folding his arms across his chest to keep from tearing the suffocating cravat off his neck, Rolland thought on his father's words. Rolland wasn't one to play political games, but if it was for the greater good of his country, how could he do otherwise now? He'd committed long ago to take up the torch every soldier carried and sacrifice his will for his country.

"There you are," came a welcome voice from behind him.

He turned to face Marcus, another member of his small circle of most trusted friends, and bowed. "Your Grace."

Marcus chuckled. "If I knew you'd bow to me, I might have taken up the dukedom sooner."

Rolland saw right through his sarcasm. Outwardly, Marcus appeared the same with his broad shoulders, the dirty-blond hair curling over his ears, and an easy smile on his mouth, but Rolland wasn't fooled. "If only suddenly attaining a dukedom was as easy as all that."

"No," Marcus said. "There's been nothing simple about any part of this process. But enough about me; it's been good to see you again. Alive, too." Marcus eyed him now, as if waiting for Rolland to tell him about his injury. It wouldn't happen, though, and Marcus seemed to come to the same conclusion, so he said, "What do you think of our grand plan? It's off to a good start tonight."

"Grand?" Rolland scoffed. He liked strategies that surprised the enemy, but nothing about a house party with all their suspects as guests felt right. "Why am I the only one unconvinced about this whole thing?"

"You're right to be wary. We all are. That's why we have contingencies in place." Marcus pointed to the footman standing guard over the library.

Rolland sized up the guard that his father had already managed to lose once. He was of a decent stature and had the bearing of a good soldier. "Very well. I'll do my best to show a little more faith, provided you don't start playing matchmaker like everyone else."

"Come now, you know I value my life." Marcus made a pretense of visibly shivering.

"I appreciate a duke who knows his place," Rolland joked back, when really the idea of Marcus being intimidated by him was laughable. Marcus might not be a trained military officer, but none of the four members of their underground intelligence group were without their strengths—physical or otherwise. Lord Cadogen was a skilled swordsman with animallike cunning, Lewis was a skilled cipherer and a good shot, and Marcus could read people and outwit and outmaneuver them. Rolland had his own skills honed in the navy, and he liked to think his injury did not make him any less of a contribution. The four of them did not spend a great deal of time together, but there was a circle of trust that bound them together and spanned time and space. Their collective strengths would be an asset to his father, and he knew he could depend upon his friends, even if he did not have complete faith in their plan.

"Speaking of my title," Marcus grimaced. "None of this Your Grace business. My ears haven't adjusted to it, and I find it altogether irritating."

"I cannot imagine the difficulties you've faced. Tell me why you complicated your life all the more by throwing this confounded house party so soon after accruing the dukedom and taking a wife."

Marcus's blue eyes darkened, and a serious demeanor settled over him. "I did it as an act of friendship, Rolland."

Rolland stopped in his tracks. He didn't doubt Marcus's sincerity, but it was still hard to swallow. "Friendship is a talent of yours, many would say, but this goes beyond that. It was a dangerous move for you and the duchess."

"I won't deny it, but it's also a calculated risk. When Cadogen wouldn't give up on me, it made all the difference. I can say right now I wouldn't be married to Tansy or have stepped into the role of duke otherwise. After hearing about your father, I thought it my chance to do the same for you."

Lord Cadogen was easily the most famous member of their group, with or without his mask. Most feared him, and for good reason. While searching for a murderer who'd killed his family, Cadogen had become involved in a government spy network. Rolland, Marcus, and Lewis had been eager to aid their country too, and somehow they'd all become unofficial agents and occasionally spies for England. Rolland could not claim to be particularly close to Cadogen, who kept his secrets carefully guarded, but he did consider him a trustworthy friend. No one could have predicted that a woman would come into Cadogen's life and finally end his quest for answers. Oddly enough, a woman had been the one to bring Marcus's intricate past to light as well.

Rolland cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend, but I am glad Cadogen was there for you when you needed it. Her Grace is fortunate to have found you. It's with her in mind that I worry about your generous offer to host this madness." He knew what death looked like better than anyone. Life wasn't something to mess around with.

Marcus disagreed, apparently. "Nothing is ever too generous between friends like us." He lowered his voice, reading Rolland like no one ever could. "We all have chains that tie us down. You might be the only one who can free yourself from yours, but I'm not going to stand by and watch you lose another person in the process. Besides, Tansy agreed wholeheartedly, so you cannot use her against me."

Rolland stared at Marcus. He'd not expected such a candid, honest response, and he knew not how to respond. He did have his share of chains, and apparently, they hadn't gone unnoticed. Seeing that his friend would not be dissuaded, he motioned to the ballroom just beyond them. "In that case, we should return to your guests to make sure we haven't missed anything promising."

Marcus's nod carried understanding. Together they walked back into the frightening battleground where they were outnumbered by the fairer sex. Rolland caught Marcus sharing an intimate smile with his new bride, a stunning woman with blonde hair, flanked by several other women, before leading Rolland to the head of the room, close to the orchestra. If there was to be a secluded spot in the ballroom, Marcus had managed to find it.

"See anything worthwhile?" Rolland asked, eager to keep the subject on anything but his past. Unfortunately, narrowing down suspects was never as simple as searching through a crowd.

"Evan Lewis has never looked happier." Marcus's eyes rested on their friend in the dance line. Opposite him was a flaxen-haired woman with fluttering eyelashes and a coy smile. "I don't think it's because we are finally reunited again after two long years."

"Do you approve of his choice?"

"Miss Yearsley?" Marcus gave him a pointed stare.

"That is Miss Yearsley?" She was the only female on their suspect list, and apparently, she already had Lewis wrapped around her finger. Rolland grimaced. Miss Yearsley's intended had died a mysterious death last year. Lord Brunswick had worked on a few bills with Lord Castlereagh and Rolland's father. Shortly before their engagement, Miss Yearsley had been accused of being an informant, and Lord Brunswick had been key in resolving the allegations. She was either involved with something nefarious or was a very unlucky woman. "Great. He's smitten," Rolland said, stating the obvious.

"The right woman can do that to a man, you know."

Rolland watched Marcus's eyes wander toward his wife again.

Rolland wrinkled his nose. "For heaven's sake. If Cadogen's countenance is as love-sodden as yours when he arrives, I might have to find the mask he's abandoned and force him to wear it and perhaps borrow a spare for you." This wasn't the beginning to the house party and spy hunt he'd imagined—there were only discussions about marriage and romance. He left observing Miss Yearsley to Lewis and scanned the crowd again, searching for specific faces and hoping for obvious clues, like discreet signaling or furtive glances. Anything unrelated to love would suffice at the moment.

The beautiful, clear notes of violin music pulled his eyes toward the musicians to the side of him. The short notice of the ball had forced their hosts to hire a traveling troupe of Roma musicians to perform for the night. Many frowned on having what they called Gypsies in attendance, but Marcus, being a duke, could take liberties others wouldn't dare to. He had the ability to break or form social standards and was of the opinion that no one was more musically inclined than the Roma, and Rolland was inclined to agree.

One musician caught his particular attention, capturing it completely. A woman playing the violin—predominantly a male's instrument. There was something terribly familiar about her, although he claimed no acquaintance with any Roma nomad. Her dark-brown hair was nearly hidden by a scarf weaved through her hair like a crown around her head and tied at the nape of her neck, and the traditional style of clothes she wore differed greatly from the Greek fashion popular among the ladies of the ton . But it was her large almond-shaped eyes that fascinated him, and her exaggerated movements that resembled a dance.

His head tilted and he observed her more carefully. A few notes later, he was completely spellbound by her marked skill. The tune seemed to wrap around him like a siren possessing him. The woman's eyes shut in concentration, unleashing more magic in the effort. He took an unconscious step toward her, as if doing so would force her eyes to open so he might know what color they were. If he could view them up close, he was certain he would remember where he had seen her before.

"Rolland?" He felt a tug on his jacket sleeve.

He blinked, registering his friend's voice. "What?"

It was Lewis, his blond hair slicked back and a grin on his face. When had he joined them?

"How many days have you been on land, and your manners are still abysmal." Lewis tsked his tongue. "Let me remind you, normally when a man greets his friend, the exchange is reciprocated."

Rolland frowned, fighting the desire to turn back and watch the violinist. "Forgive me. I was distracted. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I told you he's changed, Marcus."

"Of course he's changed," Marcus said. "He's just returned from war."

Lewis tugged on his gold waistcoat. "I suppose that's reason enough. I overheard your mother saying you've been altogether too serious, and I cannot believe it's just because you have your father's safety in mind. Not to worry. We'll have a little fun rooting out a traitor, and you'll be your old self in no time. It'll be just like our days at university."

Rolland remembered those days fondly. The past few years, they had each continued to do their part in aiding their country, but mostly, they'd acted separately. Seeing his friends again did take him back, although there were differences that had not been present before. There was a gleam of confidence in Lewis's eyes that exceeded his usual manner, and even Marcus was more self-assured. They'd all changed, hadn't they? As for him, apparently he had more of a love for music than he could ever have attested to before.

He glanced over his shoulder again, only to have Lewis elbow him.

"You're not dancing enough. I hope to convince the duchess to throw a smaller country ball at the end of the house party. For my sake, do try to look like you're enjoying yourself so she sees how splendid my idea is."

When Rolland didn't respond, the conversation turned toward their suspect list that he'd memorized, using nicknames in case someone overheard them. His eyes unintentionally slid back to the dark-haired woman adjusting the peg of her violin. Not one to be bewitched by a beautiful woman, for some reason, he could not look away when she tucked the instrument under her chin and lifted her bow once more. Immediately, her intensity returned as she strung out her notes with practiced ease.

Rolland believed everyone carried a story with them. He respected those not meant to be shared, but he was strangely curious to know hers. Did she always play so passionately? Was there something on her mind that drove her fevered notes?

The directions of his thoughts gave him pause. Had the war made him so suspicious that he was obsessing over a violinist? He dismissed the idea. Or perhaps his parents and friends were getting to him and he had found a woman who'd caught his interest. There was good reason the English frowned upon women playing the violin in public. It gave a man ideas. Rolland forced himself to look away. He already had a list of guests to investigate; there was no need to think twice over a mere musician.