“Well, I suppose it was inevitable,” White Haven said, frowning at his brother. “They have to free up the cash to pay for their vote-buying schemes somehow.”

“No,” William agreed, “something like it probably was inevitable, and to be candid, it doesn’t really surprise me. In fact, to be completely honest, what did surprise—and dismay me—was the other thing my sources have reported to me.”

“Other thing?” Honor looked at him sharply, puzzled once again by the curious spikes of uncertainty and unhappiness radiating from him. One of the frustrating things about her ability to sense emotions was her inability to sense the thoughts behind them. As in this case. She was reasonably certain that the unmistakable anger threaded through William’s emotions wasn’t directed specifically at her, yet she was obviously a factor in his distress, and whatever had angered him was tied directly up with her somehow.

“Yes.” William looked away for a moment, gazing at the life-sized portrait of Paul Tankersley that Michelle Henke had commissioned for Honor’s last birthday. It hung facing Honor’s desk and work station, and he let his eyes rest on that smiling face for just a second. Then he drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to look at both Honor and White Haven simultaneously.

“According to my sources, High Ridge and his allies feel confident that they’ve found a way to severely damage your and Hamish’s credibility, Honor. It’s as obvious to them as it is to us that you two would be our most effective spokesmen against this insanity, but they believe they’ve come up with a way to largely neutralize you by… diverting you from the topic.”

“It’ll be a cold day in Hell first!” White Haven snarled, but Honor felt her belly tighten as the emotions behind William’s blue eyes washed through her.

“Drop the shoe, Willie,” she told him quietly, and he sighed.

“Tomorrow morning,” he told her in a flattened voice, “Solomon Hayes’ column will carry a report that you and Hamish are lovers.”

Honor felt the blood drain from her face, but even her own shock paled beside the sudden, white-hot spike of fury she tasted from White Haven. William lacked her own empathic sense, but he didn’t need it, and his face was a mask and his voice flatter than ever as he continued.

“You both know how Hayes works. He won’t come right out and say so unequivocally or name names to support his allegations, but the message will be completely clear. He’s going to suggest that you’ve been lovers for over two T-years now… and High Ridge’s pet columnists are already drafting op-ed pieces designed to fan the flames. That’s apparently the real reason High Ridge rescheduled the opening debate in the Lords—to give the lynch mob time to get a good start. They’ll be careful to project an image of fair-mindedness and insist your personal lives should have absolutely no bearing on matters of public policy, but they know exactly how crippling such charges will be to both of you. And the public’s admiration for you both, as individuals as well as naval heroes, will make the backlash even worse, especially since there won’t be any way to disprove Hayes’ story.”