Alastair was still sleeping when she slipped out into the main cabin. She took her room key and her black leather boots, and tiptoed out into the corridor. Outside the door, she tugged on her footwear, tied each boot, and hurried on her way.
An elderly lady and gentleman smiled at her as she breezed past. She wished them a good morning and kept going. She had reached the end of the corridor and was about to enter the main area of the ship when she heard someone call out.
“Claire, darling!”
She closed her eyes. God must truly hate her. Straightening her spine, Claire turned. “Lady Wolfred, good morning.”
Now that she knew the woman’s identity, the resemblance between her and Alastair was unmistakable. She was a tall woman—a little taller than even Claire herself—and lean. Her coloring was the same as her son’s, though her eyes were lighter and her bone structure more delicate. She stood before Claire in an olive green jacket and matching Turkish thin the sarousers. A wide-brimmed hat and polished maroon boots completed the ensemble. Lady Wolfred was definitely a woman who marched to the beat of her own drum.
“Where’s that dear boy of mine?” She peered over Claire’s shoulder as though she expected Alastair to pop up behind her.
“Sleeping, ma’am.”
Eyes sharp as a lightning strike locked with Claire’s. Obviously she was where Alastair had gotten his flinty gaze, not the augmentation. “Sneaking out while they’re asleep never goes well, my dear. I was just about to scrounge up some breakfast. Join me.”
“Actually, I was just on my way—” Her stomach growled, betraying her.
Lady Wolfred smiled—the same lopsided twist her son favored. “It will wait. Come. There’s so much for us to discuss.”
“Balls,” Claire muttered under her breath, following after the woman like a puppy.
The older woman paused and turned with a much more genuine smile on her face. “My mother used to say that when she was vexed.”
That would teach her to open her mouth. “I know. Alastair told me.”
A pale ginger brow rose. “Did he? Hmm.”
Claire didn’t know what she meant by that, and she didn’t care. She should simply tell the woman she was busy and do what she originally intended, but she couldn’t bring herself to be rude to Alastair’s mother.
Plus, she was curious as to what sort of woman raised such a man. Snooping could wait. Howard wasn’t going anywhere.
Had she really just thought that? She could not lose her focus or stray from her path, not now. She’d given up her freedom for this; she would damn well see it through.
The dining room wasn’t nearly as full as it had been the night before, it being still a little too early to be considered “decent” by most of the passengers.
“I do so enjoy this time of morning,” Lady Wolfred admitted as she seated herself at a small table near a window. “One has a few hours of quiet before the idiots tumble out of bed. I’m in desperate need of some coffee. You do drink coffee, don’t you?”
Claire nodded. She was still thinking on the “idiots” remark. “I did just tell you that your son was still in bed, didn’t I?”
The skin around Lady Wolfred’s eyes wrinkled. “Oh, my dear, I would never refer to my dear boy as an idiot. A fool, occasionally, but his mind is as sound as the Tower of London. You do realize he’s not asleep?”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced up as a waiter filled their cups with rich, hot coffee, and waited for him to depart before saying, “What do you mean? He was sound asleep when I left.”
The older woman poured a generous amount of cream into her cup. “That boy takes after his mama, and he is up early unless he has good reason not to be. Second, if the two of you are sharing a cabin, which I can only assume you are—shockingly scandalous, you know!—then he most certainly is awake, because he has thause, it blasted ear of his. I thought he overheard things he shouldn’t as a child, but he never misses anything now.”
Claire stared at her. “His ear?”
The lady nodded, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Still, Claire liked her. Or, at least she thought she did. “Some new Warden technology. They augmented his hearing. He’s had so much done, sometimes I wonder if he’s more machine than man, but then he smiles and I know he’s still my boy.”
“He’s not a machine,” Claire retorted, depositing far too much sugar into her cup and not caring one whit. “He has too much feeling to be a machine.” Augmented hearing? And here she thought she’d been so quiet sneaking out. How long before he came and found her? He probably had a heightened sense of smell as well and could track her like a damn bloodhound.
Lady Wolfred watched her over the rim of her cup, like a cat watching a plump little bird through a window.
“You’re not a Warden, are you?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not.”
“You’re not Company, either.” It was a statement, not a question.
Claire hesitated, just a split second. “No.”
Lady Wolfred studied her with an unblinking gaze. “But you used to be, and now here you are, worrying not that my son might wonder what you’re up to, but whether or not he was hurt when you sneaked out.”
Claire’s head snapped up. “I am not worried about either of those things! Now I see where your son gets his infuriating tendency to think he knows everything.” Damn. So much for not wishing to be rude.
But now she also knew where Alastair got his ability to read her like a dime novel.
To her surprise, the older woman laughed—loudly. The handful of passengers in the dining room glanced at them curiously.
“Smile, darling. Wouldn’t want them to speculate as to why you’re glaring daggers at your future mama-in-law.”
Claire flashed a grin so bright, she hoped it blinded the woman.
Lady Wolfred gave her an assessing look. “Yes, you’ll do nicely, but if you’re not Warden and you’re not Company, then you’ll need to decide just where your loyalties lie, my dear, if you want my son.”
“My loyalty is with myself. What makes you think I want your son?” She should have just denied it outright, but she was curious. At least she knew why Alastair confused her so much; he’d obviously been raised by a madwoman.
“Please. If you are half as bright as you appear, you’re smart enough to know a good catch when you see one.”
“Yes, well, perhaps your son is smart enough to know a bad choice when he sees one.” That revealed a little more than she was comfortable with, but it was out there now. No taking it back.
“Yes,” Lady Wolfred slowly agreed, setting her cup on its saucer. “I would hope that he is indeed. Tell me, Claire, what is it you and my son are after? Or should er?“YeI ask, whom?”
She obviously knew what sort of work her son did. In fact, she talked like a woman who had spent a great deal of her life on the fringe of one sort of intrigue or another. Hadn’t Alastair said she had been involved with the Wardens along with his father? Perhaps the lady might be of some assistance.
“We’re looking for a man who can change his appearance with little effort. We think he’s probably traveling with a doctor or a man with some medical experience. If you’ve spent a great deal of time around agents, then you know the type. They won’t sit with their back to a door. They watch everyone. They’ll lead conversation but never add to it.”
Lady Wolfred took a sip of her coffee. “I know exactly who you want. His friend is Dr. George Stephens. They came on board with all of us yesterday morning, joined some of us for luncheon, but were absent during dinner. Friendly boys, but quiet. His friend’s name is Richard. No, Randolph. No, wait.”