Their erstwhile stepbrother, who had just been introduced to them as the Cavalier Saint-Honoré, couldn’t help but be aware of their reaction to his presence, but he preserved a perfect sang-froid, letting his gaze pass vacantly over the brothers Grey, meeting neither one’s eyes. He was chatting to Prévost in Parisian French, and so far as Grey could tell, was actually pretending to be a Frenchman, damn his eyes!

Percy. You … you … Rather to his surprise, he was unable to apply a suitable epithet. He neither liked nor trusted Percy—but once he had loved the man, and he was sufficiently honest with himself as to admit it.

Percival Wainwright—his real name was Perseverance, but John was willing to wager that he was the only person on earth who knew that—was looking well, and well turned out, in an expensive and fashionable suit of puce silk with a striped waistcoat in pale blue and white. He still had delicate, attractive features with soft brown eyes, but whatever he had been doing of recent years had given him a new firmness of expression—and new lines bracketing his mouth.

“Monsieur,” John said to Percy directly, and bowing to him, continued in French. “Allow me to introduce myself—I am Lord John Grey, and this”—he nodded toward Hal, who was breathing rather noisily—“is my brother, the Duke of Pardloe. We are honored by your company, but find ourselves curious as to what … stroke of fortune should have brought you here.”

“A votre service,” Percy replied, with an equally civil bow. Did John imagine the spark in his eye? No, he did not, he concluded, and he casually let his hand fall on his brother’s knee, squeezing in a manner intended to suggest that one word out of Hal and he’d be limping for hours.

Hal cleared his throat in a menacing tone, but likewise bowed, not taking his eyes off Percy as he did so.

“I am here at the invitation of Mr. Robert Boyer,” Percy said, switching to English with a slight French accent. He tilted his head slightly, indicating a portly gentleman at a neighboring table whose wine-colored suit was the exact shade of the burst blood vessels in his bulbous nose. “Monsieur Boyer owns several ships and holds contracts with both the Royal Navy and the army, for the supplying of victuals and other necessaries. He has some matters of importance to discuss with the major general and thought that I might be of some small help with … details.”

The spark grew more pronounced, but Percy luckily refrained from anything overt, given that Hal was staring holes in his striped waistcoat.