A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) (46 page)

BOOK: A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard)

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Thick dark lashes shaded her gaze. She lifted her skirt and examined the bandage. “So you believe this bullet was meant for me?”

“Our escapade in France, in particular La Rochelle harbor, was more than enough to blow your cover.” Finn dropped his head to one side and pushed a long lock of hair behind his ear. “Incredibly brave—as well as reckless—of you to go onstage last night.” His gaze darkened. “The moment your understudy took the fall, you must have known you were a target. Why, Cate?”

“There really was no choice, was there? Not if we wanted to get Francisco.”

“Now that we have the assassin in lockup, and all Yard men duly credited in the press—including my brother—mind if I ask a few more questions?”

“You are free to ask.” She cozied into her chair. “I may not be at liberty to answer.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned forward in his chair. “How does Chamberlain fit in? Or is it Nicolas Crowe?”

“He appears to be a highly valued agent. Other than that, I haven’t a clue.”

“They . . . or should I say
we
certainly went to a great deal of trouble to recover him.”

She met his skeptical gaze with a sly smile. “Honestly, Finn, he’s an enigma. Weeks ago, I was called in to a meeting. The name Nick Crowe was mentioned.” Finn raised a brow and she rolled her eyes. “There is a room on the third floor of the Admiralty. I only know it by the number on the door—thirty-nine.”

“No doubt some secret section over at the Admiralty.” Cate appeared to be a part of an ongoing operation he knew nothing about. Frankly, it rankled. “Quite a tricky business, operating for and against your brother. How exactly did you come to the work, Cate?”

“I was approached by an agent in Paris, from the Naval
Intelligence Division. They needed someone who could gain access to
Los Tigres
quickly, and I wanted answers. I had just lost my only brother under rather brutal circumstances.” Her gaze moved far away. “I wanted to find out what happened to Eduardo—who might have betrayed him, what had actually happened that day at the farmhouse.”

Finn poured two cups of tea. “I know so many intimate things about you: what makes you smile, what makes you irritable—what makes you moan.” He looked up from pouring. A lovely peach color blushed her cheeks. “But I have no idea how you take your tea.”

She smiled. “A spot of milk and half a sugar.”

“It seems clear that the splinter group set up the ambush in France.” He settled back in his chair with a cup. “How long have you suspected?”

“Long before the explosion, Eduardo shared his own suspicions with me. He was worried, Finn. So when he was killed, it seemed like the right thing to do—to go after the men who killed my brother. I had no wish to save
Los Tigres.
I do hope you know I am not political—”

“No, you are a ballerina who claims she is not adventurous.”

Cate snorted a soft laugh.

“For a time, I did not know if it was Scotland Yard or the Deuxième who fired everything they had at a farmhouse they knew was full of explosives.” Her eyes darted about as she moistened her lips. “In Barcelona, what part of us—?” She choked a bit on her words as her gaze met his.

“Are you asking if you were a part of my assignment?” Finn exhaled, more from relief than anything else. “I contrived
to meet you. I had no idea I’d have my heart broken by the baby sister of an infamous anarchist.”

She stared, eyes wide and dewy. “I didn’t meet you at the Plaça Reial . . .” She looked away. “I was in mourning—”

“I wanted to comfort you, Cate.” Momentarily he was back in Barcelona, sitting in the Café Almirall alone, his heart aching for her. For himself.

She leaned forward. “I know.” She squeezed his hand.

They fell into silence. Absently, Finn’s gaze moved from the mantel clock to a stack of unopened correspondence. “And what of this?” He picked up a package on his desk, still in its shipping wrapper. “Stamped and dated the day you left town, and it is addressed to me, from you.”

“Seven days ago.” She craned her neck. “You haven’t opened it?”

Finn stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “I thought I’d let you tell me what’s inside.”

“The jewelry is all there—except for the pin I sold to Fabian, which I assume Scotland Yard has recovered.” She met his gaze over a tipped cup. “I wanted you to believe I’d stolen it.”

He leaned on an elbow, cupping his chin. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

She returned his gaze, with eyes slightly narrowed. “I wanted to arouse your curiosity, Agent Gunn.”

“You never fail to arouse me . . . Agent Willoughby.” As it turned out, this young woman excited him in so many interesting ways. “You also managed to intrigue all of Scotland Yard.”

She peered over the arm of her chair. “Are those ginger biscuits?” Finn picked up the small plate and offered her the selection. She sampled a pale brown biscuit. “M-mm,
they’re chewy.” After a bite or two, a pale pink tongue licked a sprinkle of icing sugar off her lips.

He stirred his tea and waited for Cate to elaborate.

“The splinter group stole the jewels—aided by information gleaned from Eduardo in happier times. As you already have surmised”—Cate appeared to choose her words carefully—“the jewelry thefts helped to pull you and Scotland Yard into the game. The NID is desperately shorthanded. W.—my contact at the Admiralty—gave me the go-ahead to enlist you to help steal them back. I had no idea where the intrigue might lead, but it seemed like a perfect way to gain entrée to
Los Tigres.
Then the message arrived.”

“Eduardo was alive.”

Cate met his gaze and nodded.

He wasn’t sure whether to grin or frown. “Shamelessly used by another underfunded government agency.” All parts of Finn were on full alert and aroused. “And if, by chance, I was caught and tortured, I couldn’t possibly jeopardize your cover.” The idea of Cate as an undercover operative had always stimulated. He continued to stare. “Last evening was clever by half, Cate. You had to make it look as though you were part of the assassination team, as well as play a key role in thwarting it.”

She smiled. “Once we substituted the decoys, I worried less. After that, it was more about how to keep a certain British agent away from the theatre long enough to have the assassination attempt come off as authentic—as well as put Francisco behind bars.”

“Steely Agent Willoughby. I suppose there was no way to know for certain if your cover was blown.” His eyes narrowed some. “That ambush you arranged nearly got Hardy
and me killed. Nevertheless, I’ll take the little side operation of yours as a compliment.”

Cate swallowed the rest of her biscuit. “I’m afraid some of the characters who work for the Admiralty can be rather . . . zealous.”

Finn studied her. “And this W. chap—your contact—could he be William Henry Hall? Steel gray beard, white at the temples . . .”

She set cup to saucer and raised a brow.

“It seems you work for an arm of intelligence,” he lowered his voice, “even more secretive than my own.” Finn set his tea aside and rose from his chair. “Allow me?” Slipping his hands around her waist and under her knees, he lifted her. “Arms around my neck, that’s it.” He angled her legs carefully around the furnishings. “I don’t believe I ever told you how attracted I am to double agents.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes sparkled with interest.

“Indeed, I get these powerful urges—rather like a stag in rutting season.” He nodded at the doorknob of his study. “Would you mind, dear?”

Amused, Cate twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

“There is yet another puzzle I could use your help with, my love.” Finn bounded down the hallway and up the stairs. “Might an incorrigible, part-time double agent and
première danseuse
find a way to live happily under the same roof as an equally difficult intelligence agent with a nervous affliction?

“Once again, darling?” She turned the knob of his bedroom door and he kicked it open.

“You are so much more than an intelligence agent, Finn.”

Puzzled, he angled his head to read her expression. “Meaning?”

“You are a warrior—honorable, heroic, and perfectly modest about all of it.” He placed her on the counterpane of his bed and lay down beside her. “However, Agent Gunn”—she stroked his cheek—“ ’tis your soldier’s heart I love the most.”

Jillian Stone
won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart award for her debut novel,
An Affair with Mr. Kennedy
, the first adventure in her sensual and suspenseful new Gentlemen of Scotland Yard series. The second novel in the series,
A Dangerous Liaison with Detective Lewis
, is also available from Pocket Books. She lives in California. Catch up with her online at
www.JillianStone.com
.