He would be a happier man if he had never known such closeness. Yet though he still ached for the loss, he could not be sorry that he had once had it.
He was returning to business when his butler entered to announce "Lord Aberdare is here to see you, my lord."
"Nicholas!" Lucien rose and shook the hand of his friend, who had entered on the butler's heels. "I didn't know you were coming to London."
"No more did I. But Rafe summoned me here for that vote about the peace negotiations in Ghent that he is putting before the House of Lords."
"Good Lord, he brought you all the way from Wales for that?" Lucien waved his guest to a chair as he reseated himself. "Mind you, Rafe is right-since the war with the Americans has turned into a stalemate, it makes no sense for Britain to demand territorial concessions. Rafe's resolution requests that the government soften its position and accept existing boundaries, which is the only way a settlement will be reached. But even if the resolution passes, it won't carry the force of law."
"True, but when the House of Lords barks, the government listens, and Rafe needs every vote he can get. That's why he sent for me." Nicholas dropped casually into a chair and stretched out his legs. "It's time to put an end to a war that never should have started in the first place."
"That's certainly true. It was mad to slide into a brawl with the United States when we were fighting for our lives against Napoleon. The sooner we make peace, the better."
"Particularly since our upstart cousins have begun winning the battles," Nicholas said wryly.
Lucien asked, "How is my favorite countess?"
"Clare is as calm as always." Nicholas gave a rueful smile. "I'm the one who is quivering with nerves. She claims that there is no reason to worry because she comes from a long line of sturdy peasant women who were back in the fields cutting hay half an hour after giving birth. No doubt she's right, but I'll be glad when the baby has arrived."
Lucien pulled the mechanical penguin from a drawer. "I made this as a christening gift. You can take it back to Wales with you now."
"What have you done this time?" Nicholas wound the key. When the penguin started doing backflips, Nicholas collapsed back in his chair, helpless with laughter. "What a strange and wonderful mind you have, Luce," he gasped when he could speak again. "Clare will love it. But what will you do to match this if we have other children?"
"Penguins can do other things. Swim. Slide on their bellies. Dance. We'll see when the time comes."
Nicholas reached for the penguin again. As he did, he saw the sketches of Jane that lay on the desk. He lifted one and studied it. "An interesting face. Full of character and intelligence. Are you love-smitten?"
"Absolutely not," Lucien said repressively. "That is merely a female who is more trouble than a sackful of cats."
His friend chuckled. "Sounds promising. When can we expect an interesting announcement?"
Lucien rolled his eyes. "Don't try to persuade me of the advantages of marriage. There is only one Clare, and you found her first. Since I refuse to settle for anything less in a woman, I am condemned to spend the rest of my years a bachelor. Your children can call me Uncle Lucien and talk behind my back about my eccentricity."
Nicholas, intuitive as a cat, must have heard the bleakness under the surface levity, for he gave Lucien a sharp glance. "Apropos of nothing," he said slowly, "Clare said that the reason the Fallen Angels became so close is that none of us had a real family, so we had to invent one."
It was truth so unexpected and accurate that it momentarily silenced Lucien. At length he said, " 'Apropos of nothing,' indeed. What is it like to live with a woman who sees too much?"
"Sometimes alarming." Nicholas grinned. "Mostly wonderful."
Lucien decided that it was time to change the subject before his envy became too visible. "Have you heard any interesting news from your Gypsy kinfolk?"
Nicholas's smile faded. "That's one reason I wanted to talk to you. A distant cousin with whom I traveled on the Continent recently sent a message to Aberdare. He says that there are persistent rumors that Napoleon intends to make a triumphant return from exile."
Nicholas had spent several years wandering through Europe with his Gypsy relatives. The Rom went everywhere and heard everything, and the information he had sent back to London had been invaluable. Hoping that this time his friend might be wrong, Lucien said, "One would expect such rumors about the Corsican. He's a living legend."
"True, but this goes beyond what might be expected," Nicholas replied. "My cousin said that agents of the emperor have been moving secretly through France, testing the temper of the people, and have concluded that the majority would support the emperor again. He has also heard whispers that there are powerful men among the Allies-British, Prussian, and Austrian-who would help because they want Napoleon to return. Apparently they found war to be a profitable business."
"Jackals," Lucien said with barely suppressed violence. The fighting might have ended, but he should have remembered that greed and violence were eternal. It was time to stop thinking about an elusive lady and concentrate on his real work. "Likely the rumors are no more than speculation and idle talk, but one can't take chances. I'll make inquiries. I'll also send word to my counterparts in Prussia and Austria. If there is a plan afoot to restore the emperor, perhaps it can be nipped in the bud."
"I hope so," Nicholas said gravely. "I surely do hope so."
The night was darkly overcast, but dry, perfect for criminal activity. Dressed entirely in black men's clothing and supplied with thin, strong rope and a grappling hook, Kit launched her career as a burglar at the town house of Lord Nunfield. The sardonic, amoral nobleman was one of her prime suspects.
The house next to his was temporarily vacant, so she was able to scale it without fear of being heard. From there it was simple to cross to the roof of Nunfield's house.
Lights in the basement indicated that the servants were spending a quiet evening in their own sitting room. The upper house was dark. After securing her rope around a chimney, Kit looped the line around her body and lowered herself to the level of a back window. It was strenuous work, even for a someone who had always been athletic to a most unladylike degree.
Luckily, the window she had chosen was fastened with a simple latch she could open with a knife. She paused to catch her breath inside, for she was panting heavily, as much from nerves as from exertion. This time if she was caught, there would be no way she could explain away her presence.
When her pulse steadied, she set to work. She had become adept at searching, and she was able to go through the upper floors of Lord Nunfield's modest dwelling very quickly. Though she paid particular attention to the master's bedchamber, she checked every room.
It all went flawlessly. Unfortunately, she found nothing of interest. By the time she leaned out the window and caught her dangling rope, she was inclined to think that Nunfield was not her man. Her next sortie would be to the town house of Lord Mace.
As she scrambled up onto the roof, she told herself that the evening had been successful in one respect: this time she hadn't been caught by the alarming Lord Strathmore.
For that, at least, she could be grateful.
Rafe's proposal to make a speedy settlement with the United States brought a surprisingly large number of peers to the House of Lords. The issue produced a brisk and occasionally virulent debate. Rafe himself was eloquent in promoting his resolution, and Lucien and Nicholas also gave brief speeches of support.
Debate continued until past midnight. When the matter was put to the vote, Rafe waited stone-faced, as if indifferent to the result. Lucien sat on his friend's right and kept a running tally of the results. It was going to be close, very close, and the chamber was silent with tension.