The annual gathering of the Food and Spice Association was always in Washington at the finest country club in town. Almost a hundred businessmen from across the country had already gathered on the terrace overlooking the manicured grounds by the time Gray arrived. Normally the men at this meeting were fierce competitors, but during the three-day conference, they sheathed their swords and worked toward resolving common problems.

And one of those problems was headed straight toward Gray. Dickie Shuster was a reporter for The Washington Post who pretended to cover business and politics, but what he really craved was gossip. While attending events such as these, he was always on the lookout for who drank a little too much or who cast covetous glances at another man’s wife. With his striped jacket and floppy bow tie, Dickie looked like a dilettante, but it was an illusion. A few years ago, he’d caught wind of a Russian diplomat who spent too much at the horse races. While investigating the diplomat’s spending, Dickie pulled on a thread that led all the way back to inflated armament sales from a German company to the Russian czar, resulting in trials for embezzlement and collusion. Gray had never underestimated Dickie Shuster since.

“Gray!” Dickie crowed as though they were old friends. They weren’t. He carried a highball glass and an overly wide grin. “Can I get you a mint julep? There’s nothing like a splash of Kentucky bourbon on a warm summer evening.”

Gray declined. He rarely drank at business meetings, and never when reporters were present. “How’s the newspaper business?” he asked cordially.

“Fruitful as always.” Dickie lowered his voice and turned to face him. “What’s this I hear about your brother’s vendetta against the Magruders? It sounds like it’s heating up again.”

Given that three generations of Magruders were holding court on the other side of the terrace, Gray wasn’t inclined to reply. Clyde Magruder, the heir apparent, sported a new gold walking stick but the same oily smile.

“I would never presume to speak for my brother.”

“But you must admit Luke can be a wild card,” Dickie pressed. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to get news straight from his family instead of from rumors on the street? You know how the street can get things wrong.”

“Or perhaps there’s no story at all.”

Dickie smiled and shrugged. “If I can’t get news about Luke, how about your sister? I saw her at the White House the other day, and she looked absolutely ravishing. Mouthwatering, even.”

Gray stiffened. No man wanted to hear his sister discussed in that tone, and especially not by a reporter. The further Caroline could distance herself from reporters, the better.

“I’m not about to discuss my sister,” he said, looking around the gathering in search of someone else to talk to.