Richard sat back and relaxed his shoulders against the stonework with a sigh. ‘I beg your pardon. It must seem most uncivil of me.’

‘It does,’ Deb said, determined not to be deflected, ‘and you have not answered my question yet.’

Richard laughed. ‘No, I have not.’

There was a small silence whilst Deb waited and Richard declined to elaborate. Deb could feel his gaze on her and could sense the rapid calculation going on in his mind as he weighed what she had said. She shivered a little in the cool shade. She understood what was going on. He was trying to decide whether he believed her. He was deciding whether or not he trusted her.

‘I thought it looked like some kind of code,’ Deb said, taking the bull by the horns.

Richard raised his brows. ‘Did you?’ he said.

Deb gave a sharp sigh. ‘Will you stop being so evasive, my lord? What is on the sheet of paper? And what-forgive my bluntness, but I know no other way-does this have to do with you?’

Richard hesitated, then looked her straight in the eyes, meeting her candour with equal frankness. ‘This, Mrs Stratton, is a coded letter.’ He looked at her and said deliberately, ‘A letter from a spy.’

Deb felt winded. She blinked at the paper in his hand and then at his face. ‘A spy’s letter? You mean it is written in code because it is a secret message?’

‘Exactly that,’ Richard said.

Deb felt a clutch of fear that she might have bitten off considerably more than she could deal with here.

‘And your part in this?’ she whispered. She waited, holding her breath, whilst there was a small pause.

‘I told you that I once worked for the Admiralty,’ Richard said, with a faint smile. ‘In point of fact, I still do.’

Deb felt a curious rush of relief. She studied his face, dark, impassive, a little grim. ‘What are you-a spy catcher?’

‘For want of a better word,’ Richard said, grimacing.

Deb got to her feet and took a pace away from him. Her perceptions of Lord Richard Kestrel, which had already been shaken thoroughly over the last couple of weeks, underwent another shift.

‘You have indeed perfected your disguise, my lord,’ she said. ‘I should never have thought it! The gambling wastrel of a rake, who cannot manage to remove his boots without the help of a valet.’

Richard winced. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I am sure I was never quite as bad as you describe.’

Deb stared at him, shaking her head. ‘It seems impossible, my lord.’

‘That there are spies in Midwinter or that I should be here to capture them?’

‘Both!’ Deb rubbed her forehead again. ‘I cannot believe it-not here in Midwinter…’

‘It is as possible for a spy to operate here as in any other place,’ Richard said. ‘It is more likely here, in fact, given the strategic position of the harbour and the proximity of the French coast.’

Deb stared at him, her face suddenly pale as she thought through all the implications. ‘But if the secret message was in the book of poetry…’ Her eyes widened. ‘You thought the letter was mine?’ she whispered. ‘You thought that I was the spy?’

‘I found the paper in your book,’ Richard pointed out, with a slight smile. ‘What was I supposed to think?’

‘Yes, but-’ Deb flung herself back down on the stone seat and let her breath out on a sharp sigh. ‘I told you that it was not my book.’

‘You did tell me that, yes. Am I supposed to believe everything that people tell me?’

Deb flinched as she took his meaning. There was no particular reason why he should accept her word and yet she found that she had assumed he would. She wanted him to trust her. It seemed excessively important to her. She bit her lip, fighting an absurd and unexpected desire to cry.

‘I assure you,’ she said with dignity, ‘that I had nothing to do with this.’ She met Richard’s level, penetrating gaze. ‘Do you still suspect that I did?’

There was a long, taut silence, and then Richard shook his head slowly. There was a smile in his eyes now. ‘No, I do not believe you to be a traitor, Mrs Stratton. I never did, although I may well have let my feelings get in the way of sound judgement.’

Deb stared at him. His head was bent and he was examining the inside cover of the book intently. He glanced up suddenly and caught her gaze. His mouth curved into the shadow of a smile. ‘Of course, you could be playing a deep double game!’

‘Richard-’ Deb said, on a note of entreaty. She felt very vulnerable. She coloured and corrected herself. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’

‘Richard will suffice,’ Richard said, his smile deepening. His hand covered hers in a brief, reassuring grasp. ‘Be easy, Deborah. I am only teasing you. I doubt you could deceive me, for you are one of the most transparently honest people that I have ever met.’

‘I am forever cursing my inability to hide my feelings,’ Deb said, a little shakily.

Richard smiled and for a second his hand tightened over hers before he removed it. ‘Do not,’ he said softly.

Their eyes met and held. ‘Oh, dear,’ Deb said helplessly, feeling all the attraction that she had worked so hard to repress rushing back, ‘this is very unfortunate.’ She frowned, trying to wrench her thoughts away from Richard Kestrel and back to the matter in hand. It was extremely difficult to concentrate.

‘The spy,’ she said. ‘The person that you are hunting…If the message was in the book, the spy must belong to Lady Sally’s reading group.’

Richard nodded. ‘We think that she does.’

Deb shot him a troubled look. ‘But it cannot be so. It is not possible.’

‘What is impossible? That there should be a female spy or that she should be a member of your reading group?’

‘Either. Both!’ Deb made a wild gesture. ‘There is only Olivia and me, and Lady Sally and Miss Lang and Lady Benedict!’ Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘It must be one of us, yet it cannot be…’

Richard’s steady gaze did not waver from her face. ‘It must be one of you,’ he repeated implacably.

‘Not Liv!’ Deb said. Her gaze was pleading. ‘I could never believe her a traitor!’

Richard shook his head. ‘No. I doubt that Lady Marney is the one.’

‘Then it must be one of the others.’ Deb frowned. ‘Miss Lang is silly and vulgar and I do not like Lady Benedict, but that does not make her a spy…’ She gave a gusty sigh. ‘There must be some mistake.’

Richard’s face was still. ‘There is no mistake, Deborah.’ He shifted on the seat. ‘Nor is this to be taken lightly. This person has killed more than once and may well kill again. She is passing secrets to the French that endanger the lives of thousands of innocent people. She has to be stopped.’

There was a silence. Deb’s gaze fell on the book and she picked it up. It bore absolutely no distinguishing marks and, thinking back to the meeting of the reading group, she could not think of any way of telling the books apart. She picked it up and opened the pages at random. It smelled of a very faint scent; not perfume or flowers or polish, but something else. Deb sniffed at the spine. She could not place the smell, but she knew that she would recognise it if she smelled it again.

‘How providential for you that I accidentally left my book behind,’ she said, ‘or you might never have seen the letter-’ She broke off as she caught the edge of Richard’s rueful grin. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.

Richard’s grin broadened. ‘That was no accident,’ he said.

Deb stared at him, the hand clasping the book sinking into her lap. ‘What do you mean it was no accident? I left Midwinter Marney in a hurry and forgot that the book was on the table!’

Richard stood up and stretched. ‘You may think that is what happened, but the truth is rather different.’ He slanted a smile down at her. ‘I saw the coded letter when I brought you your cup of tea, Deborah. You were looking very absorbed and very furtive, and I knew I had somehow to persuade you to forget the book and give me the chance to have a look at the code.’

Deb stared in amazement. ‘Oh! You mean that you…When you were talking to me…’

‘I deliberately diverted your attention,’ Richard confirmed. ‘I needed to distract you.’

‘You mean that all that outrageous flirtation was designed to make me forget my book?’ Deb’s tone was stormy and her feelings were not soothed when Richard nodded, still smiling.

‘It worked, did it not? You stalked out like an outraged duchess and I picked up the book and followed you.’

Deb clenched her hands. ‘Oh, you…you hateful wretch!’

‘I know,’ Richard said resignedly. ‘I am a cad and a deceiver.’

‘You are without a doubt the most odious man I have ever met!’ Deb said wrathfully. She jumped to her feet. ‘We have all seen you and your brothers, mingling with us all and flirting and inveigling yourselves into our good graces. Now I discover it was all a means to an end…’

Richard’s gaze was dark and amused. ‘I cannot deny that we set out to charm the ladies of Midwinter,’ he said smoothly, ‘but-’

‘Oh, do not seek to make excuses,’ Deb said, cutting him off sharply. She felt cheap and betrayed. ‘How can there be any justification for the way you behaved?’

Richard had also got to his feet and, although he was not touching her, his gaze held her as still as though he was forcibly restraining her.

‘I was about to say that my behaviour towards you was always sincere, Mrs Stratton,’ he said. ‘With you, I feigned nothing.’

Deb fought her emotions and the insidious instinct that told her he was telling the truth.

‘You would say that, wouldn’t you?’ she retorted. She let her breath out on a huge sigh. ‘I would be a fool twice over if I believed you!’ she added bitterly.

Richard said nothing, but his dark gaze challenged hers and Deb was the first to look away.

‘I do not know if I can trust a word you say,’ she complained, in a more moderate tone.