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heartless, cruel, or completely without regard for your honor as a woman."
"Of course, I am not without regard for my own honor," she said through gritted teeth.
"We Northumberland Ballingers care a great deal for our honor. We would fight to the
death for it."
"Then the engagement stands. We are both committed now. We have gone too far to
turn back."
There was a sharp cracking sound and Augusta looked down at her fan. She had been
clutching it so tightly she had snapped the fragile sticks. "Oh, bloody hell."
Harry smiled and reached down to catch her chin on the edge of his hand. Her long
lashes swept up, revealing her deeply troubled, hunted gaze. He bent his head and
brushed a kiss against her parted lips. "Trust me, Augusta. We shall do very well
together."
"I am not at all certain of that, my lord. I have given this much thought and I can only
conclude we are making a grave mistake."
"There is no mistake." Harry listened to the first strains of a waltz drifting through the
open windows. "Will you honor me with this dance, my dear?"
"I suppose so," Augusta said ungraciously as she jumped to her feet. "I do not see that
I have a great deal of choice in the matter. If I refuse, you will no doubt tell me that
propriety demands I dance the waltz with you simply because we are engaged."
"You know me," Harry murmured as he took her arm. "I am a stickler for the
proprieties."
He was aware that Augusta was still gritting her teeth as he led her back into the
brilliantly lit ballroom.
Much later that evening Harry got out of his carriage in St. James Street and walked
up the steps of a certain dignified establishment. The door was opened immediately and
he stepped at once into the uniquely comfortable, solidly masculine warmth afforded only
by a properly managed gentlemen's club.
There was nothing else quite like it, Harry reflected as he took a seat near the fire and
poured himself a glass of brandy. No wonder Augusta had come up with the notion of
entertaining Sally and her friends with a parody of a St. James Street club. A man's club
was a bastion against the world, a refuge, a home away from home where one could
either be alone or find companionship, according to one's personal whim.
In a club a man could relax with friends, win or lose a fortune at the tables, or conduct
the most private of business, Harry reflected. He himself had certainly done enough of
the last during the past few years.
Although he had been forced to spend much of his time on the continent during the
war, he had always made it a point to drop in on his clubs whenever he had been in
London. And when he had been unable to keep tabs in person he had made certain to
ensure that one or two of his agents had memberships at the more important
establishments. The sort of secret intelligence one could glean in this environment never
ceased to astound Harry.
He had once learned the name of a man who had been responsible for the death of one
of his most valued intelligence officers here in this very club. The killer had unfortunate
accident a short while later.
In another, equally dignified establishment farther along St. James, Harry had
contracted to buy the very private journal of a certain courtesan. He had been told the
lady enjoyed entertaining the many French spies who, disguised as emigres, had been
sprinkled about London during the war.
It was in the course of deciphering the childishly simple code in which the lady had
written her memoirs that Harry had first come across the name Spider. The woman had
been killed before Harry had had a chance to talk to her. Her maid had tearfully explained
that one of the courtesan's lovers had stabbed her mistress in a jealous rage. And, no, the
distraught maid had absolutely no idea which of her employer's many lovers had done the
deed.
The code name Spider had haunted Harry for the duration of his work for the Crown.
Men had died in dark alleys with the word on their lips. Letters from French agents
referring to the mysterious Spider had been discovered on the persons of secret couriers.
Records of troop movements and maps thought to have been meant for the Spider had
been intercepted.
But in the end the identity of the man Harry had early on learned to think of as his
personal opponent on the great chessboard of war had remained a mystery. It was
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