Liar.Joan suppressed the impulse to shake her head at the falsehood Lord Archby had told. If she wasn’t convinced by his body language, the viscount’s reaction would have told her the same. The light from the windows dimmed around him, as if swallowed up by the sin he’d committed. Irritated with the lie, she breathed calmly through her nose and turned her attention to the viscount. “And what inspires you, Viscount Burton?”
He greeted her question with a twitch of his lips. “I enjoy the fox hunt.”
“A noble sport,” she replied politely, wondering if anything of true interest would ever be introduced as a topic. At least, of interest to her. “And you raise foxhounds, I assume?”
“Yes. Which, I might add, are the most adorable pups you’d ever see.”
Now that was intriguing. “And that I have no problem believing.” She grinned.
“Do you enjoy animals, Lady Joan?”
“Indeed, especially those of the adorable variety.”
The viscount nodded. “Then I shall notify you when I have a new litter to display for your adoration.”
“I look forward to that,” Joan replied, feeling more at ease.
The social hour carried on in a similar fashion, leaving her quite exhausted from all the attention and conversation when it was finished. At last, she took her leave from the parlor and went to seek solitude in the library.
As she turned the brass doorknob and pushed the door open, the evening light filtered across the rug-covered floor. The chaise lounge near the fire promised respite, and she made her way over to it with gratitude. Joan reclined on the soft brocade fabric, allowing her mind to wander to the afternoon’s events.
She was able to eliminate her interest in several gentlemen and found several others diverting. It was an odd season in her life. She was reminded of the verse in Ecclesiastes: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” It was a season, hopefully, for love. What a worthy adventure.
She sighed wistfully, only to be startled when the library door swung open wider, revealing a quite determined-looking Morgan.
“Ah, there you are. Finished with holding court and not a moment too soon. Come with me, will you?” He waited for her nod and then left the room.
Joan stood and followed him to his study.
Morgan closed the door with a muted click and then went to his desk, his forehead furrowed.
“There’s a situation, and I am at a loss for what to do, Joan,” he started, his stare lingering on the desktop as if searching it for clues.
“I will help in whatever capacity I can,” she assured him, curiosity nibbling at her thoughts.
“It’s not that I doubt your ability. Rather, I doubt whether it is prudent to ask for your assistance.” He met her look.
“You fear for me?” Joan asked, reading the truth in his eyes.
“Yes.”
She nodded once, then leaned forward, splaying her hands upon his desk. “I fear nothing but treachery.”
Morgan’s lips twitched, not with amusement but with the weight of decision. “With the War Office, all is loyalty or treachery. There is no middle ground.”
“Then it is good that I fight on the right side of it.”
Morgan sighed. “That you do. That you do.”
“So? What is it?”
Morgan withdrew a rolled linen paper from his front coat pocket. It was held fast with a single red ribbon. “We have received several…riddles. They all are related to different parts of the Bible, and we think they hold some sort of significance for those who wish to create dissent in England. Napoleon is on St. Helena and will not escape again, but that doesn’t mean the French loyalists and the few French sympathizers in England are willing to give up completely on their cause.”
“I see. Is that one of the riddles?” Joan held out her hand.
“Yes.” Morgan handed the paper to his sister.
The ribbon slid off easily, and Joan unrolled the paper and held it flat against the desk as she read it.