The Secret Life of Lady Julia by Lecia Cornwall Page A

noticing that the clasp of a bracelet was loose? And all the time it was him.
    Viscount Merritton had become Tom the Thief.
    And yet, a few big stones, as Donovan put it, and he’d be back among the class he was born to, the gentle folk. Respectable again.
    Except he wasn’t one of them anymore.

 
    Chapter 11

    S tephen found Julia in the garden. Actually, he heard her laughing before he saw her.
    She was sitting on the grass playing with her son, her face rapt and loving. It was for this very reason that he had objected, as diplomatically as he could, to Castlereagh’s suggestion. But the future of Europe, the prestige of England, hung in the balance, and under those ponderous circumstances there was little he could do.
    The child’s nurse looked up, catching sight of him before Julia did. Stephen waited, cringing a little inside as she alerted Julia, loath to interrupt such a happy scene.
    Julia looked up at him, her eyes wide, lips forming an Oh of surprise, her face flushing as she picked up the child and rose from the grass.
    Stephen’s breath caught in his chest. The autumn day was mild, and Julia glowed in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. She was embarrassed at being caught playing in the garden, and her blush put the late blooming roses to shame. She rested the child on her slim hip and waited for him to traverse the cinder path to reach her.
    He recalled how Doe had carried her child like that, smiled at him with the same maternal love, made a beautiful mother just like Julia did. He glanced at Julia’s boy, who had turned to watch him approach, trying again to recognize the child’s father in the round baby features, but he looked like every other infant, and most especially like the plaster cherubs that adorned every single corner, doorway, and pillar inside the palace.
    Julia kissed the baby’s forehead and handed him to his nurse.
    “I wish to speak to you,” Stephen said, more crisply than he’d intended, all too aware that he was interrupting. He stopped a short distance from her and folded his hands behind his back as the nurse strolled along the path with the child.
    Julia folded her hands at her waist. “I am sorry for intruding on your meeting, my lord. I didn’t think the room was occupied. I assure you it will not happen again.”
    She thought he’d come to reprimand her. He unclasped his hands and waited until the maid had moved out of earshot. “You didn’t tell me you spoke so many languages,” he said, and realized he sounded peevish now. He smiled, but it felt like a grimace.
    She caught her lower lip in her teeth. “I didn’t think it was important.”
    “Not in London, perhaps.” Or for an earl’s daughter, or a duchess. “But here, well . . .” He straightened his shoulders. “You see, a peace conference is a delicate thing. Knowledge is power and leverage. Do you understand what I mean?” He could see she did. She was clever. And beautiful—though he tried to ignore that—and she was Arabella Gray’s granddaughter. He rattled on. “Part of our diplomatic mission here in Vienna includes doing our best to gather knowledge of what the other delegates want, so we know ahead of time how they will vote on an issue we hold dear, and if they might be convinced to change their vote if it does not fit with ours.” He waited to see if she understood.
    “I see,” she murmured.
    “In the next few weeks there will be a great many private meetings before and after the public ones. Forming alliances in peace talks, I daresay, is nearly as important as having allies in war. More so, since we cannot simply shoot those whose opinions we do not like.” He was babbling, but how did one ask a lady to be a spy? Lord Castlereagh imagined it would be a simple matter of appealing to her sense of patriotism. Lord Stewart, who was in charge of such unsavory things as espionage, had simply wanted to order her to do it. Stephen had suggested he might speak to her more gently,