Page 55
“Whom do you distrust?”
“You.”
He bowed. “As you should. Well met, ma’am.”
As he turned towards the door, she spoke again. “Major?”
He looked back.
“Do not mistake political sympathy for treason.”
The remark landed more heavily than she could know.
Baines kept his expression light. “I shall keep an open mind.”
Lady Beckenham’s brows lifted. “Then you are unlike every gentleman I have ever met.”
He left before she could examine him any more closely.
He found Mr. Pembroke in the library. More accurately, he found Pembroke asleep in the library with an open volume resting upon his chest. Baines stood over him. “Pembroke?”
Nothing.
“French cavalry.”
Pembroke woke violently.
“What?”
Baines grinned. “Good morning.”
“You are a menace.”
“I am.”
Pembroke sat upright and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Near eleven.”
“Good God.”
“You have missed breakfast.”
“Oh, dear.”
Baines sat down on a faded sofa opposite him.
Pembroke appeared younger than he probably was, chiefly because his expression had never acquired caution. He possessed the easy manners of a man brought up with money and the political certainty of one who had never been required to test theories against hunger.
He was full of potential as a spy—both harmless and dangerous.
Baines allowed his gaze to wander towards the book which had fallen crookedly across Pembroke’s knees. He recognized the volume as histories of the Civil War, which might mean Pembroke possessed an unexpected scholarly bent, although the fact that he had been sleeping beneath it suggested the book had been of greater service as a soporific than an intellectual exercise.
“Improving your mind?”
Pembroke glanced down. “Attempting to.”
“And how does it fare?”
