“Walk with me.”
Reynaud raised an eyebrow at the order but fell into step with his boyhood friend without protest.
“I hear there was an attempt on your life last week,” Vale said in a low voice.
“Someone shot at me, certainly.” Reynaud frowned. “Miss Corning was in the line of fire.”
“Careless.”
“Foolish,” Reynaud corrected grimly. “When I find him, I’ll kill him.”
“Miss Corning means so much to you?” He felt Vale’s curious glance.
“Yes.” The knowledge solidified as he said it. Beatrice Corning did mean a lot to him—how much he wasn’t sure. But he knew he wanted to keep her close. Wanted to keep her safe.
“Indeed?” Vale said thoughtfully. “And does the lady know this?”
“Is that any of your business?”
Vale coughed as if covering a laugh, and Reynaud turned to glare at him.
The viscount held up a conciliatory hand. “I mean no offense, but the lady is exceedingly proper and you… well.”
Reynaud frowned down at the floor. Vale was right. Miss Corning was all that was proper in an English lady. Everything, in fact, that he no longer was. Perhaps that was why his voice was sharp when he said, “I’ll let you know when I want your opinion.”
“No doubt.” Vale’s voice was dry. “And I look forward to the day, but in the meantime, we have other matters to discuss. Did you know Hasselthorpe was shot at last summer?”
“No, I didn’t.” Reynaud glanced to the side of the room, where Lord Hasselthorpe stood with his usual cohorts. The Duke of Lister, Nathan Graham, and, of course, St. Aubyn the pretender were about him, all of them looking rather sour. “You think it’s related?”
“I don’t know,” Vale mused. “Hasselthorpe was winged in the arm—not a grave wound as I understand. He seems to’ve recovered entirely. He was riding in Hyde Park when he was shot. The shooter was never found. It does seem odd.”
“Hasselthorpe has aspirations to be prime minister,” Reynaud pointed out. “It may’ve simply been a political assassination gone awry.”
“Of course, of course,” Vale murmured. “But I can’t help noting that he was shot shortly after I tried talking to him about Spinner’s Falls.”
Reynaud halted and stared at Vale. “Really?”
“Yes.” Vale glanced about the ballroom. “I say, do you know where my lady wife and your Miss Corning have got to?”
“They went into the portrait gallery.” Reynaud nodded toward the hall leading off the ballroom. “Do you think Hasselthorpe knows something about this business?”
“Perhaps.” Vale started walking again, and Reynaud fell into step. “Or perhaps someone else merely thinks he does. Or the thing isn’t related at all and I’m merely chasing unicorns.”
Reynaud grunted. Vale might like to play the simpleton, but he’d known the man since childhood and wasn’t fooled. Vale was one of the most clever men he knew. “I thought at first that the attempt on me must’ve been Reginald St. Aubyn’s doing.”
“And now?”
“Miss Corning pointed out that he’d have to be a half-wit to try and kill me on his own front step.”
“Ah.”
“If the attempt against me is linked to the shooting of Lord Hasselthorpe, then it’s got something to do with Spinner’s Falls,” Reynaud said thoughtfully. “But what?”
“I think you know something,” Vale said.
Reynaud stopped, eyeing the other man narrowly. “What do you mean?”
Vale held up his palms. “I’m not accusing you. I just think you must have some information about the traitor that we haven’t considered.”