Free The Berkeley Square Affair (Malcolm & Suzanne Rannoch) by Teresa Grant Page A

forward-thinking he is, he’ll never get past certain things.”
    “Then we’ll have to make sure he never learns the truth. While evading Lord Carfax.” Manon twitched her muslin tippet smooth, as though armoring herself for the fight ahead. “Simon doesn’t know about you, does he?”
    “No,” Suzanne said.
    “But?”
    Suzanne stared down into her tea. “I’m not sure. I’ve always found it harder to dissemble with Simon than with the rest of Malcolm’s friends. Perhaps because he’s an observer and an outsider as well.”
    “I’m never sure how much he sees, either,” Manon agreed. “I’m only comforted by the fact that if he knew the truth he wouldn’t do anything about it.”
    Suzanne smoothed her hands over her lap. There was a brown smudge on the amber sarcenet she hadn’t seen before. Probably applesauce. These days Jessica’s food ended up everywhere. “I know Malcolm. He won’t rest until he learns the truth.”
    “The truth about Harleton and his father won’t necessarily lead him to you.”
    Suzanne rubbed at the smudge out of instinct. “It could lead him to any number of former Bonapartist agents. I can’t stand by while my husband destroys someone who was once an ally.”
    “So you’ll oppose him?” Manon asked as though they were discussing stage combat tactics.
    “If necessary. What else have I done all these years?”
    “But it’s different now. You left that behind.”
    “One can’t ever leave it behind truly. You know that. I should understand it.” Suzanne locked her hands together, conscious of the pressure of her wedding ring. “I knew my life would be a balancing act. I have to face the fact that it may not be a balance I can maintain.”
    Manon stretched out her hand. “Suzanne—”
    Suzanne closed her fingers round her friend’s own. “Of course I’m terrified. How could I not be?”
     
    Suzanne looked up at the sight of the figure crossing Berkeley Square. Jessica dozed in her lap, having fallen into a milk coma, so Suzanne was careful not to move. Malcolm opened the gate of the square garden and stepped inside. Something in his posture told her the added weight his interview with Carfax had placed on him. Her heart lurched for a host of reasons both personal and practical.
    “Daddy!” Colin scrambled to his feet from the flagstones where he was lining up his lead soldiers round a castle built of blocks.
    Malcolm forced a smile to his face, though it didn’t drive the shadows from his eyes. “Excellent job with the fortifications, old chap.” Malcolm knelt down beside Colin for a few minutes, conferring over the arrangement of the soldiers. After a few adjustments, Malcolm got to his feet and moved to the bench where Suzanne sat with Jessica.
    He dropped down beside her as though his bones ached. “Carfax confirmed it. Apparently he’s suspected Alistair for years. He was hoping I’d stumble on proof.”
    “Oh, darling.” She touched his arm, aching with sympathy, while at the same time she felt as though the square’s gnarled plane trees were closing their branches round her.
    “I don’t know why—” His fingers curled inwards. “I should be used to the ground being cut from beneath my feet and my perception of reality being turned upside down. It’s happened often enough.”
    Suzanne looked down at Jessica, her head tucked into the crook of Suzanne’s elbow, one hand curled round Suzanne’s breast. “It’s different with your father.”
    “Possibly.” He touched his fingers to Jessica’s head. “There’s more. Carfax has a theory about who killed Alistair and Lord Harleton and is after the Hamlet manuscript.”
    He quickly outlined Carfax’s revelations about the Dunboyne leak and the five suspects.
    Suzanne swallowed, a host of possible scenarios racing through her mind. “The General Cyrus we knew in the Peninsula?”
    Malcolm nodded. “Shock waves would reverberate through the British army if he proved to be a traitor. His