Beguiled by Her Betrayer

She was interrupted by the door opening. The butler entered with a footman at his heels. ‘The refreshments, Your Grace.’ There was silence while the tea service was placed on a small table between her and Quin, and tiny savouries and cakes laid out.

‘You are a liar and a spy and a deceitful, conniving toady,’ Cleo threw at Quin the moment the door closed behind the servants. Quin’s lips firmed into a hard line, but he said nothing.

‘Augusta, Lord Quintus was simply doing his duty. His mission was clear: to establish whether or not your father was a traitor and to return you to me. And never let me hear you call a gentleman’s honour into question in such a manner again.’

Or what? she felt like retorting. But that would be childish and there was nothing of the nursery about this situation. She kept her shoulder turned to the duke and spoke directly to Quin. ‘I never trusted you and yet I made allowances, I gave you the benefit of the doubt over and over again. I could have left you to die. I could have turned you over to Laurent. And all the time, fool that I am, I was—’ She caught herself just in time before her hurt and her anger and her fear let those five damning words escape. Falling in love with you. ‘I was obediently doing just what you asked.

‘Yes, I understand you had to stop the correspondence passing through my father’s hands. And, yes, I see that deception was necessary until you had established his innocence.’ A thought struck her. ‘What exactly were you supposed to do if he was guilty?’ Quin’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. ‘Oh, I see. An assassin as well as a spy. But what have I got to do with this? My mother’s family cast her off and showed not the remotest interest in me for twenty-three years.’

‘When the position you were in was brought to my attention as a result of the intelligence about your father’s correspondence I deemed it time for you to be removed from his ambit,’ her grandfather interposed. ‘I had understood that his way of life was eccentric, I had not realised that it had descended into squalor.’

‘Squalor!’ Cleo threw up her hands, palm outwards. ‘Look at these. Are those the hands of a woman who has allowed her surroundings to descend into squalor? I worked, Your Grace. I cooked and I cleaned and I washed. I did it for my father when my mother died, I did it for my husband when I was tricked into marrying him and then I did it again for my father when I was widowed. And my mother did the same, for years. Where were you while we were doing that?’

‘Your mother made her choice when she ran off with that wastrel,’ the duke said, his voice frigid. ‘You were, all of you, remote from England.’

‘Oh, I understand now.’ Cleo felt the anger drain from her, leaving her calm and strangely cold. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. But then Father threatened to create a scandal and all of a sudden the Ashfordham family name is at risk, so I have to be removed from Egypt and turned into a milk-and-water miss who is of no trouble to anyone.’

Her grandfather’s stony expression told her that she had hit the target squarely. He opened his mouth, presumably to deliver another frigid set-down, when Quin got to his feet.

‘If you will excuse me, I believe this is a family conversation and I am de trop. Good day, Your Grace. Goodbye, Miss Woodward. I am certain you will soon feel at home here.’ He turned towards the door.

‘Deverall, I am most obliged to you,’ the duke said, getting to his feet. ‘You, and the department, will not find me ungrateful.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace, but I can assure you the satisfaction of delivering Miss Woodward safely back to her family is more than reward enough.’ There was a snap in his voice and she could tell, for all his politeness, that he was angry. ‘This is where she belongs, not in Egypt, and it was my pleasure to see her here safely.’

Despite his words just now, Quin bringing her to her grandfather would result in the advancement of his career, she could see that. A duke must have great power and influence and when the price for securing that influence was simply the liberty of one insignificant female, why, not a single diplomat amongst them would question it for a moment.

She made herself stand and walk to where Quin stood. He watched her come, unmoving, even though he must have been expecting a slapped face. When she reached him she stood on tiptoe and kissed his warm cheek, inhaled the familiar scent of him. Under her lips she felt the muscle contract. ‘I forgive you,’ she murmured with acid-drop sweetness. He shook his head, his eyes dark with some emotion she could no read. ‘After all, betraying a woman who means nothing to you, in return for such patronage as the duke can give, makes perfect sense.’