Free One Night of Scandal by Nicola Cornick Page A

been traced from Dorset to London to Suffolk, where she had mergedeffortlessly into local society. The only clue that they had was that many of the Midwinter ladies belonged to a reading group run by Lady Sally Saltire and Richard and his elder brother had long been suspicious that the group was a convenient means of passing information. Yet if this were the case, it meant that the Midwinter spy could only be one of four or five people, all of whom seemed most unlikely suspects.
    There was Lady Sally Saltire herself, of course. This was a difficult call, for Lady Sally had been an old flame of Justin Kestrel’s before her marriage and Richard knew that Justin, secretly but passionately, still carried a torch for her. Then there was Lily Benedict, who publicly gave the impression of being a devoted wife to her bedridden husband. Richard knew that this, at least, was a pretence. Lady Benedict had given him to understand discreetly but quite clearly that she would be receptive to his attentions. He had neglected to take her up on the offer. Lady Benedict’s sultry charms seemed stale next to the breath of fresh air that was Deborah Stratton.
    Richard grimaced. If neither Lady Sally nor Lady Benedict was the culprit, that only left Helena Lang, the vicar’s vulgar daughter, or Olivia Marney, the cool and gracious chatelaine of Midwinter Marney Hall…
    Or Deborah Stratton, of course.
    There were other ladies who came and went from the reading group, but these five were the core. And one of them had to be the spy.
    Richard sighed. Olivia Marney was enigmatic, for she wore her coolness as a barrier against the world. He could have sworn, however, that she was not a traitor. And as her husband, Ross, was a friend of his, it made matters even more difficult.
    And then there was Deborah.

    Richard knew that he was as averse to Deb Stratton being the Midwinter spy as Justin was unwilling to suspect Sally Saltire. There was a deep and irrational instinct that told him the Deb was not the woman they sought. Richard was accustomed to acting on logical sense rather than pure feeling and he found this state of affairs as amusing as it was bewildering for, despite Deborah’s wariness, he knew he was drawn to her by something that went deeper than reason, something that was deep in the blood.
    Richard picked up the copy of the Suffolk Chronicle that carried Deborah’s advertisement. He was almost certain that it had nothing to do with the Midwinter spy, but even had he not had an interest in Deborah herself, it was something that he could not let pass.
    He laughed to think of her wallowing in the mud of the duck decoy. No matter that she had refused his invitation. He would find a way to see her again, and soon.

Chapter Five
    ‘O ne reply?’ Deb said incredulously, as she stood in the Bell and Steelyard Inn the following week. ‘Only one? Are you sure?’ She upended the mailbag and shook it hard. One letter dropped out on to the floor of the coaching inn and lay there amongst the wood shavings and scraps of paper. Deb frowned in disbelief.
    ‘Are all the men in Suffolk slow tops,’ she said crossly, ‘that they are all so backward in coming forward?’
    The innkeeper looked blank. ‘Beg pardon, ma’am?’ he said.
    ‘It was a rhetorical question,’ Deb said, sighing. ‘Perhaps I should have advertised for a dishonourable man and then, no doubt, I would have been inundated with offers…’
    As though in response to this thought, she heard a familiar, mocking voice from behind her.
    ‘Good morning, Mrs Stratton. Is there some kind of difficulty?’
    Deb scooped the letter up and stuffed it in her reticule. Lord Richard Kestrel was standing in the door of the mail office, a smile on his wicked, dark face. Today he looked immaculate in buff pantaloons and a green coat that Deb was obliged to admit suited him very well. Last week, inhis riding dress, he had looked a man of action. Today, that power was held under tighter