Diana laughed musically. “You flatter me, sir. But pray don’t stop.” She touched his hand. “Give me news of the court. How is the dear queen managing in this adversity? I do so wish I could be with her to lend her my support. And the poor little princess, Henrietta. Such a fragile child. She must be feeling it very badly.”

“I was at Oxford two months ago,” Brian said. “Their Majesties’ courage is an inspiration to all who serve them.” He didn’t think it necessary to add that although he had certainly been in the city of Oxford, he had not once attended the court-in-exile and his only view of the king and queen had been from the street when they’d attended church one Sunday.

“I wish I could persuade my husband to…” Diana stopped, lightly dabbed at her eyes with the corner of a perfumed handkerchief. “Forgive me, Mr. Morse. It’s not for me to offer criticism of my husband’s decisions, but I feel so… so dishonored. My duty, my loyalty, is to my sovereign, and to find myself in this invidious position… forgive me,” she repeated and buried her face in her handkerchief.

Brian patted her knee, his little eyes sharp. He scented the possibility for mischief here. Very useful and productive mischief. “Sometimes, my dear madam, one must follow one’s conscience even if duty dictates otherwise.”

Diana looked up. Her countenance bore no disfiguring signs of distress. “What do you mean, sir?”

Brian coughed delicately. “Personal loyalties… matters of personal conscience… I don’t believe that even your husband would expect you to abandon your conscience simply because his own takes him along a different route. And you and I know, dear Lady Granville, that Lord Granville is gravely mistaken in his decision. To stand against the king is to stand against God himself. The king has a divine right to rule. He is God’s anointed representative.”

This gravely sententious speech was music to Diana’s ears. “I do so fear for my husband,” she murmured. “What will happen to him… to all those… who have stood against the king when this rebellion is put down, and they must face the king’s wrath?”

“It’s a grave prospect indeed,” Brian said. “And Lord Granville cannot have considered that his own family will share his fate.”

Diana shuddered. “My own father is thinking of declaring for Parliament also. There will be nowhere to take shelter.”

“Perhaps… but, no, I couldn’t… couldn’t suggest such a thing.” He rose and began to pace in apparent agitation around the warm, firelit room.

“Oh, yes, pray do speak your mind,” Diana begged.

“It seems so… so ungrateful when Lord Granville has welcomed me with such generosity… and yet…and yet I cannot endure to see you suffering so, my lady.” He came back to the sofa and knelt before her, taking her hands. “If you would trust me.”

“Oh, but of course I trust you.” She squeezed his hands. “What is it you would say to me?” Her eyes shone with eagerness.

“Why, that maybe you could with your own actions mitigate your husband’s offense in the eyes of the king.”

“Work against my husband?”

“Not exactly. But perhaps if you could find a way to help the king’s cause without your husband’s knowing…” His tongue flickered over his lips. This was dangerous ground, but Diana was regarding him with such open wonder that he could already taste his triumph. What a coup. To subvert the wife within the very confines of a rebel stronghold.

Cato was a powerful man. An honorable man whose support for Parliament would make an enormous difference to the cause… would legitimate it in the eyes of many waverers. If he could be undermined on his own territory, from within his own walls, he would lose all credibility. And Brian Morse, the instrument of his downfall, would receive the immeasurable gratitude of a sovereign once more restored to his rightful throne.

“How?” Diana whispered, no less aware than Brian of the danger. But before he could answer, the door opened.

“Good God, man, what are you doing on your knees?” Cato demanded. “I assure you my wife is already spoken for.”

Brian scrambled to his feet. “Oh, my lord, I was… was…”

“Mr. Morse was helping me look for a particular shade in my embroidery silks,” Diana said calmly.

“I see.” Cato bent over the basket of silks. “Perhaps I can help.”

Diana merely smiled at him. “Come now, my lord, you know you have no interest in anything not connected with this dreadful war.”

Cato shrugged. “Perhaps so.” He reached for the bellpull.

“Has something occurred to upset you, my lord?” Diana rose and fluttered across to him, laying a concerned hand on his arm.

“Just this damn war,” he said shortly. “Ah, Bailey… bring wine.”

“Anything in particular troubling you, my lord?” Brian inquired, bending to poke the fire.

Your supremely annoying presence, and a whole hornets’ nest of suspicions about Portia Worth. “Where’re the girls?” Cato asked, seeming to ignore the question. “It’s suppertime, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Diana said. “Should I send for them… or for Olivia?” She smiled up at her husband, continuing with all sweet concern, “I’ve been thinking, my lord, that we are perhaps too ready to include Portia in the family. I don’t think her influence on Olivia is really to be encouraged… particularly after this latest escapade… such a terrible business. I know you don’t wish to slight your brother’s child, but… but I think she would be happier taking her place more with the servants.”

Cato tried to control his irritation. He had no intention of taking Diana into his confidence. “I disagree, madam. She seems to have persuaded Olivia to leave her bed, at least. And that can’t be bad. I have my own reasons for wishing her to remain within the family circle… at least for the time being.”

Diana looked most put out. “Am I to know those reasons, sir?”

Cato shook his head. “There’s no need to trouble yourself about them, my dear. I have matters well in hand. Ah, Bailey…” He turned as the butler returned with the wine. “Tell Lady Olivia and Mistress Worth that we’ll be taking supper in ten minutes.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Bailey bowed himself out.

Diana compressed her lips but held her tongue, and when Olivia and Portia entered a few minutes later, she smiled warmly at Olivia and kissed her. “I’m so happy to see that you’re feeling better, my dear child.”

Olivia smiled faintly and surreptitiously wiped her cheek as she turned away.

Cato appeared abstracted at the supper table, leaving the conversational burden to Diana and Brian. But he was watching Portia. She behaved with perfect decorum, saying very little, answering politely when spoken to. There was nothing in her demeanor to suggest he had a Decatur spy under his roof. He had sensed that she had not been telling him the whole truth about her sojourn in the Decatur compound. He had had the same conviction when he’d questioned her about her first meeting with Decatur. Perhaps Giles was right. The sergeant was convinced that there was something wrong about the girl’s dealings with Decatur.

He wasn’t aware of how closely he was watching her, until Portia suddenly raised her eyes from her plate and boldly met his gaze. That challenge was there again. Perhaps she could no more help it than his brother had been able to. And perhaps she was mocking him with it, just as Jack had done… thinking she was making a fool of him.

He determined to talk with her again. Probe a little more deeply.

After supper he summoned Portia to his bastion sanctuary. She sat demurely facing him across the big table, trying to hide her unease. She was under no illusions about Cato. He was sharp as a needle. And he must not- could not-know the whole truth of her encounter with Rufus Decatur.

“How many conversations did you have with Decatur?”

Portia considered. “Only one really. When I first arrived and he realized I was not Olivia.”