Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) (21 page)

Strickland asked, “Have you been recruiting without telling me?”

“You know I recruited my brother to help me while Tristan is away.”

“And yet it was a very different young man who accompanied you to Lady Whitewood’s tonight.”

Morgan stiffened at the fact that Strickland knew Phil was involved.
Right now, he thinks she’s a man.
Morgan wanted to keep it that way.

He fished the copied letters out of his pocket, the only evidence he had against Lady Whitewood, and the only way to distract Strickland. “I found these in Lady Whitewood’s house, along with other coded correspondence indicating that she was in contact with Harker and with an unknown man known as Monsieur V. She is certainly a French spy.”

If Strickland had someone inside Lady Whitewood’s home, he would already have known that. Which meant he had to have been keeping an eye on Morgan, instead. Did Strickland have agents inside Phil’s home? Her maid seemed loyal, but Morgan hadn’t examined the rest of the staff too closely. It might already be too late for Jared.

Morgan’s stomach flipped. He couldn’t give up. If he sat idly by while Phil’s brother was arrested, she would never speak to him again.

He handed the correspondence to Strickland. “These had a code I wasn’t familiar with. I haven’t had a chance yet to look at them.” How much did Strickland distrust him?

The spymaster waved his hand. “Send over copies in your report and let me know the minute you decode them. The information might be time sensitive.”

He still trusted Morgan enough to let him do his job. Perhaps that didn’t extend to field work, but Morgan found himself wishing he wasn’t embroiled in this kind of danger anymore. It had seemed terribly exciting while he’d been barred from it, but now that his slip-ups put Phil in danger as well…he wanted his safe job, decoding messages from his desk, creating ciphers, and training new recruits.

“I’ll send a runner when I’m finished with deciphering the letters.”

Strickland nodded. “Good.” He passed a hand over his face. “We suspected Lady Whitewood while Harker was still alive, but we could never place her at any of the information exchanges we caught wind of.”

Quietly, Morgan admitted, “I know why she’s never there.”

Strickland didn’t say a word, but the way he straightened in the chair spoke for him. Morgan had his full attention.

“She blackmails men into spying for her.”

The spymaster leaned back in his chair, waiting for more. He fiddled with the cravat at his neck, an idle gesture. When Morgan provided no more information, Strickland asked, “Do you have proof of this?”

“I do. I have contact with one of the men she has been coercing.”

“This hasn’t made it into any of your reports.”

Morgan straightened his spine. “You said you wanted the puppet master. I knew that wasn’t the man in question. To be honest, after reading her correspondence, I’m more inclined to believe the spy you’re looking for is Monsieur V.”

Strickland said nothing. His gaze bored into Morgan, as if the spymaster tried to read his secrets from nothing more than his expression. By will alone, Morgan didn’t look away. Sweat beaded along his neckline, not only from the stagnant air in the study. He ignored it as his comfort plummeted.

When the itch grew too great, Morgan swiped the back of his neck, wiping away the line of sweat. He met his superior’s gaze as he confessed, “I am freeing my source from her influence, along with any other patriot she’d sunk her claws into. This can’t be allowed to continue.”

Strickland’s eyebrows climbed. Morgan was stating an intention—he wasn’t asking permission. What was the point of winning a war if the people they were tasked to protect became collateral damage, anyway?

“Are you going to tell me who this source is?”

Morgan clenched his jaw. “I will not.”

You either trust me in this, or you don’t.
Considering that Strickland had assigned a spy to follow Morgan’s movements, it seemed more likely that the spymaster didn’t trust him.

“I could hazard a guess,” Strickland warned.

The duke clasped his hands together again. “It would be just that, a guess, until such a time as I rectify the situation. Then I will, of course, report to you in full.”

With a harrumph, Strickland stood. He paced to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. Morgan never took his eyes off of the spymaster, though the set of the man’s shoulders remained as casual as if they spoke of the weather instead of the weight of the war.

His back still turned, Strickland swirled the liquid in his glass. He sipped before he asked, “This unnamed source. Will he agree to become a double agent for us, to pass us information and give Lady Whitewood only what we tell him?”

Morgan hesitated. There it was, a solution that spared Jared the hangman’s noose. But in so doing, it kept him in a dangerous position. Morgan couldn’t answer for him, not without speaking to the young man—and likely to Phil, as well. “I don’t know,” he answered softly.

The door smacked into his shoulder as it opened behind him. Jared, not seeming to realize that he’d marched in on a private conversation, let alone walloped a duke in so doing, stormed abreast of Morgan and announced, “I do. I’ll do it.”

P
hil watched the spymaster
, Strickland, enter the dark, humid London air. The front door swung shut behind him with a note of finality. Her ears rang.

She looked to Morgan for confirmation. Surely she couldn’t have heard right. Jared was supposed to be set free of spying, not drawn even deeper into the web as a double agent. His face was set, his jaw determined.

Her chin wobbled. “How did this happen?”

With aching clarity, she recalled the day Mr. O’Neill had come into the invention room. At first, she’d thought Papa had returned from the fair where he’d gone to display his inventions. Instead, their butler stood in the doorway, his face drawn as if he carried a great weight. God, she’d thought she’d split in two from the grief of the news. Jared hadn’t been any better. She’d clung to him, her only living family, and they’d somehow survived that troublesome time. If someone were to come to her door and tell her that
he
had passed on… She didn’t think she could bear it. Not her baby brother.

She pressed her hand to her mouth to contain a sob. “Jared, how could you? Don’t you realize how dangerous this will be? We were going to get you out of this devilish business.”

His face hardened. He drew away from her. “I’m not a child.”

The pain in her chest gained a sharp edge. She felt as though she was drowning beneath the weight. “I know, but—”

Morgan stepped in, cutting off the light from the candles beside the door. He steered Jared past the staircase and into the parlor. “She’s worried about you. Let me speak with her alone a moment. It won’t help anyone if you get into a row.”

Jared’s chin turned mulish. Phil recognized that look. He was about to argue with Morgan instead. Although they stood the same height, Morgan had ten years’ experience on Jared and didn’t look concerned.

“I’m going to do this,” Jared warned.

“Did I speak a word otherwise? I want a moment alone with your sister.”

The younger man’s mouth eased from its stubborn line, but he still looked surly.

Morgan leaned his head closer and lowered his voice. Phil strained her ears to hear.

“It’s been a long night. We’re all tired. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the sitting room? I’ll bring Phil in to join you once she’s cooled off.”

Phil bristled. What did he mean by that?

Her brother nodded and slipped into the parlor without further argument. He must be wrung out after the day. Come to think of it, so was she.

When Morgan turned to her, she lost all desire to fight with him. He looked just as concerned as she felt. He held out his hand and she slipped hers into it, letting herself be led to the staircase. They sat on the hard steps, their thighs and sides pressed together in the narrow space. When he lifted his arm to encircle her shoulders, she laid her head against his chest.

“I know how you feel, Phil, but arguing won’t help.”

His words rumbled through his chest, vibrating against the side of her face before they emerged softly into the air. She sighed, burrowing her face deeper into his waistcoat.

He laid a kiss on the top of her head before he added, “My younger brother is a spy as well.”

“Gideon? Is he in the thick of danger the way my brother will be?”

Morgan lifted his head. She turned her face up to meet his gaze. The angle of the shadows made his face unreadable. “Gideon, no. At least, not yet. But Tristan is always doing fieldwork. In fact, if he wasn’t on his honeymoon, you would have met him and not me. I usually contribute from behind a desk.”

Her brother was going to be looking the enemy in the eye every time he went on an assignment and that scared her to death. But knowing that Morgan wouldn’t be doing the same made her giddy. He’d come to mean so much to her. She couldn’t stand to lose him any more than she could her brother.

“Is it wrong that I’m relieved to hear that? You have so much to offer. You don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way.”

He kissed her forehead. As he pulled away, their eyes met. The air between them charged with energy and promise. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Phil didn’t so much as breathe, for fear that she would spoil the moment.

Despite the longing on his face, Morgan pulled away again. He loosened his arm around her shoulders as he shifted marginally, as far as the steps allowed. The shoulder opposite her was pressed against the wall.

He cleared his throat. “I believe you now, but believe it or not, I used to be jealous of my brother’s forays into the field.”

“Why?”

With a sheepish look, he shrugged. “I felt like he was contributing more than I was.”

“How can you say that?” She shook her head. “You have so much to contribute! Just look at the speed with which you decoded those messages tonight. I can’t imagine being able to do so as fast.”

A smile played across his lips as he ducked his head. The light shifted across his cheeks, showing them a bit more pink than usual. “We all have our place. I can’t stop my brothers from spying, but I can be there to support them as they need it.” His smile turned rueful. “At this point, I’m going to have a full head of gray hair by the time I turn forty. I can’t help but worry about them, and I’m not asking you to stop, either.”

“But I can’t keep Jared from doing this.” She’d known it the moment he’d confessed what had happened. He wasn’t the sweet, heartbroken fifteen-year-old who had leaned on her when their parents died. Hell, he would be a father soon, if they were able to reunite him with Claire.

Morgan squeezed her shoulders. “You can’t. I intend to have a long talk with Jared about his future and the dangers involved, but ultimately, it will be his decision.”

She sighed. “Do you think there’s a chance it won’t be necessary? If we arrest Lady Whitewood…”

“A double agent would be an immeasurable help to Britain.”

She turned away. “I don’t care a whit about Britain. I care about keeping my family in one piece! He’s all I have left.” Tears sprung to her eyes, and she wasn’t quick enough to blink them away this time.

When she tried to rise out of Morgan’s embrace, he tucked her into his side once more. He rubbed her back as she wept into his collar.

“I know. Believe me, I know.” His voice was tight with worry, but warm with understanding.

He did know. He had to face it every day. How could he be so strong when he watched his brothers dive into danger? She didn’t know how she was going to be able to stand aside and let Jared do it all by himself. She fixed things. That was the sort of person she was. But this couldn’t be fixed.

Morgan whispered, “You have me now, too. And my family. They’re no substitute for yours, but I’m sure you’ll come to love them just as much.”

He spoke as if they were married, or would be soon. Was he proposing to her? With her eyes swollen from crying and her face no doubt blotchy, it wasn’t precisely the proposal she had envisioned. She didn’t say a word, but relaxed into his embrace.

After a while, Morgan’s chest stirred beneath her cheek. He urged her to her feet. “Come, my dear. Let’s find your brother and mine. We still need to formulate a plan to deal with Lady Whitewood and her blackmail. Let’s not think on the problems of the future until we’ve solved this one.”

She nodded and slipped her hand into his as they rose. When she started to toe off her boots to leave them beside the front door, he looked at her askance.

She shrugged. “I think better without shoes.”

With a smile, he swooped in to press his mouth against hers. She indulged him for the moment, while they could. After all, they weren’t likely to find much time alone for the next long while.

M
organ and Phil
went over the details one more time of their carefully crafted plan to release Jared's lover and baby but still allow him to work as a double agent. Satisfied, they headed toward the drop site. Morgan’s stomach had shrunk into a tight, hard knot. He stood next to Phil and Jared as they prepared to lay their trap. The tall buildings in the alley muffled the sounds of London’s nightlife. Although they were outside of the clean, safe streets of Mayfair, they hadn’t strayed too far. Morgan didn’t want the night to turn to disaster through the interference of London’s cutthroats and ne’er-do-wells.

A thick fog blanketed the alley this evening. Between the mist of the fog and the drizzle sprinkling from the sky, his exposed skin had a film over it and the outer layer of his clothes was damp.

Catching his hand, Phil gave him a small smile. What small measure of light filled the alley came from the lantern at her feet. Ahead loomed the junction of two alleys where they would execute their plan. The spies he’d dispatched had spent the last two days leaving various rumors, each with the same kernel at the heart: that an inventor was working for the Crown to create a device that would change the tide of the war against Napoleon. By this time, Lady Whitewood’s spies should have intercepted one or more variations of that rumor and deduced where the location of the meet was from the scraps of knowledge circulating. He hadn’t wanted to make it too obvious, or else the French spy might smell a trap. In order for this to work, it had to be her who arrived to intercept Phil, no one else. He had reached out to as many spies as could be spared in order to keep Lady Whitewood’s known associates—and possible spies—occupied so that she would have no choice but to come herself.

“I’ll be fine,” Phil murmured.

She was to be the bait in this plan, and Morgan couldn’t even stand beside her in case she needed him. He’d argued with her on that point, it was too risky. But her stubbornness and independence—the very things he loved most about her—won in the end. Though their rumors hadn’t named precisely who the inventor was, it was well known that Phil—or cousin Phil—sold inventions. Morgan wasn’t sure if Lady Whitewood knew Phil was really cousin Phil, but since most of London did and, since most of London knew that Phil would trust her designs to no one, they figured it would be in their best interest to have Phil meet with the “spy” from the Crown and hand over the designs. Putting Morgan in that role might have raised Lady Whitewood’s suspicions.

In the end he’d had to settle for taking a secondary role. He would be hidden here, further down the alley, with the blasted fog obscuring his view of the proceedings. Gideon had reluctantly agreed to be the lookout. At first he’d proven resistant to the idea of remaining out of sight on the sidelines, but once Morgan had pressed upon him the importance of the role, he had agreed. Not only was Giddy given the light-enhancing goggles and tasked with ensuring that no one sneak up on the meeting, but only he and Morgan were able to make the sound indicating danger. Morgan had settled on the bird-whistle his family had used when playing in the woods as children. Innocuous enough, but distinctive to his ear.

Jared, as the go-between, was less than pleased—but, to Morgan’s surprise, his chafing at his role stemmed not from desiring the glory but from the fact that his sister played the bait. Not that, in this instance, there was any glory to be had. Jared knew he had to stay out of sight. If Lady Whitewood saw him where she was expecting to intercept a meeting between English spies she might guess that he had become a double agent and flee before they could capture her.

Once Lady Whitewood arrived and tried to snatch the plans Phil carried, she could be arrested for treason and interrogated. Morgan would satisfy himself with knowing the names of anyone else who knew about Jared’s lover and child and then he could see to it that no one else would threaten them. Once he was finished with her, he would send her to Strickland for further questioning. The plan seemed straightforward enough.

Unfortunately, he’d often found that even the simplest of plans tended to turn awry.

“Gideon is in place,” Jared announced, his voice soft.

Phil squeezed Morgan’s hand and let it drop. “I suppose it’s time.”

He clenched his hand, wishing he still had hold of her as she strode away from him to the center of the intersection. She carried the lantern with her and placed it at her feet, illuminating her silhouette. She wore a dress tonight, despite her protests. His spies had spread the rumor that Miss St. Gobain, not her “cousin Phil,” was the Crown inventor. Morgan wanted to ensure that Lady Whitewood recognized her.

Phil turned, craning her neck as she looked at the building, on the roof of which Giddy laid in wait. What was she doing? She would give away his position. Morgan hadn’t had time to train her before they put the plan into play, but he’d thought that not looking at her backup would be common sense. She ran her hand over the rolled up parchment that held their fake invention design, and stepped toward the building where Giddy rested.

Morgan headed her off. “What are you doing?”

She tore her gaze away from the roof to tell him, “Gideon is wearing my LEGs wrong. He won’t be able to see anything.”

He caught her by the arm as she started to move past him. They’d laid a ladder against the side of the building, where the light of the lantern didn’t reach, in order for Jared to reach Giddy easily and relay messages.

“Let Jared do it. You have to wait for Lady Whitewood.”

Phil shook her head. Her mouth was mulish. “Jared doesn’t use my LEGs. He won’t know how to fix it.” She thrust the parchment into his hand. “Hold this a minute. I won’t be long.”

“Phil…” Her name faded into the fog as she did the same. Morgan gritted his teeth. They didn’t have time for this.

He chafed as the seconds lengthened. How long did it take to scamper up a ladder and fix a pair of goggles? At this rate, he might have to pretend to deliver the plans in her place.

A crow’s caw penetrated the air, making his blood run cold. He and Giddy had settled on two separate signals in case of emergency. A warbler if someone approached, and a crow if someone was in imminent danger.

Phil.
Morgan bolted for the ladder, needing to assure himself that she was safe. He palmed the pistol in his pocket with his free hand. The metal handle imprinted itself against his skin.

Jared, instructed to keep out of sight lest Lady Whitewood recognize him, met him at the base of the ladder. Morgan scanned the shadows, but the fog was too thick. He saw nothing. Where was Phil?

“What’s wrong?” Jared asked.

Morgan couldn’t formulate the words to answer him.

Giddy whistled and slid down the ladder in a long leap as they made room for him at the bottom.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asked, his voice hard. Where was Phil? His chest ached, threatening to split in two if the answer wasn’t ‘safe and sound at home nursing a cup of tea.’ Unfortunately, he knew better than that. She would never leave the job unfinished, not with her brother’s safety hanging in the balance.

“It’s Phil,” Gideon said, his voice terse. He tapped the night goggles which he was still wearing. “I finally figured out how to get these things to work just in time to see two men grab Phil as she started up the ladder.”

No.

“Where did they go?”

Until Jared caught him by the arm, Morgan didn’t realize that his muscles had coiled, ready to chase after Phil.

“If you leave, what will happen with the meeting? Won’t Lady Whitewood get suspicious if no one shows up? She may not fall for it a second time.”

Morgan shook the young man off. “We’ll figure out something else.” He didn’t have to mull over the dilemma of serving his country or saving the woman he loved. Phil’s safety was paramount. Lawks, he never would have agreed to this if he’d thought for a moment she would be in danger, out of his sight.

“Let me do it.”

Morgan gritted his teeth. Every second he spent arguing was another second that Phil’s kidnappers used to get further away.

“We don’t have time to argue,” Gideon snapped. “I can follow them by rooftop. I’ll make the crow caw as I go. Morgan, you can follow that to catch up.” The ladder creaked as Giddy climbed it.

“Be careful,” Morgan said, an automatic reflex that his brother didn’t bother answering. Knowing that Gideon was on the trail, Morgan was able to take a full breath, then another. He battled for clarity. Could they complete the mission for Britain and save Phil at the same time?

His instincts said no.

“Lady Whitewood knows your face. The moment she recognizes you, she’ll realize the rumor is a trap.”

“She won’t see my face. She doesn’t know me that well and I’ll turn up my collar and keep my hat low.”

Jared demonstrated. The light of the lantern, still set in the junction of the alleys, didn’t illuminate far enough for Morgan to tell whether or not the ruse worked.

“If she even suspects…”

The call of a crow punctuated the air toward the north. The muscles in Morgan’s back relaxed a bit, knowing that his brother was on Phil’s trail. With the light-enhancing goggles, hopefully he would be able to follow Phil without trouble. He, too, was armed with a pistol, as were Phil and Jared. Morgan hadn’t wanted to take any chances of something going awry tonight…as it obviously had.

“My future is at stake,” Jared argued, his voice flat.

Another caw.

“I know what will happen if she suspects. She won’t. She’ll think I’m the English spy Phil was handing the plans off to.”

Caw.
Fainter, this time. Gideon was moving out of hearing distance. Morgan cocked his ears for the sound of a gun report, in case Giddy had to use his pistol to keep Phil alive. They didn’t know what these brigands wanted with her. They could be opportunists or they could have been sent by Lady Whitewood.

The thought chilled Morgan.

The young man added, “I only need to fool her long enough for her to try to steal the design. Once she does, it doesn’t matter if she sees my face, because I can arrest her.”

Morgan didn’t want to leave Jared to complete his first mission alone, but every fiber in his body urged him to go after the woman he loved. The crow calls were getting quieter and fewer between.

Lady Whitewood was only one woman. Jared should be able to handle her, even untrained as he was.

“You won’t have backup,” Morgan warned. “If something goes awry, it’s up to you to fix it.”

“Go and save my sister. I can look after myself.”

Those were the only words Morgan needed to hear. Maybe he would get an earful from Phil later about leaving her brother—in fact, he hoped he did. It would mean that she was alive to berate him. Once he had her in his arms, neither one of them were ever venturing into the field again. He would shut them up in his office and lock the door. Or better yet, his bedroom. He did need to father an heir, as his mother constantly reminded him.

He handed his pistol to Jared. “Just in case you need a second shot.”

The young man nodded and stuffed it into his pocket. He reached for the rolled parchment.

Morgan shook his head, pulling it out of reach. “We need to go through with the handoff. Whitewood will want to be certain these are the plans before she takes action and she is expecting Phil—or her cousin—to hand them to the English spy. By now, rumors of my association with your sister have probably circulated. I’m easily recognizable. In case Lady Whitewood has someone watching, it will look like I’m passing the designs off to you on Phil’s behalf. I’ll wait by the lantern. Count to twenty and come out after me.”

Jared didn’t argue. Good. No matter how he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear his brother’s call at all anymore. What if he lost Gideon’s position? It would be tantamount to losing Phil.

He squared his shoulders. He had to do this right. After that, he didn’t care if the world crumbled around his ears, so long as he found and saved Phil.

His heart throbbed painfully in his throat as he took measured strides to the junction of the alleys. He skirted the shadowed edge to come into the light from another angle. Once he reached the lantern, he stopped. He counted the seconds as he strained his ears for the sound of a bird call. Nothing.

By the time he counted to ten, Jared strode from the alley opposite him. His jacket collar stood stiff, shielding his neck. The brim of his hat obscured his eyes as he ducked his head, hunching as if to ward away the chill of the fog.

Jared stopped as he came apace with Morgan. “You’ve got it?” His voice was lower than usual, disguised.

Morgan nodded with approval. He handed the rolled-up parchment to Jared. “It’s all yours,” he said, trying to impress into the tone of his voice a warning for the young man to look out for himself.

Jared met his gaze, nodded, and tucked the paper under his arm. Morgan turned his back, taking the north alley away from the meet-up. The moment the shadows and fog closed in around him, he broke into a sprint.

Phil was in danger and he hadn’t another second to waste.

Off the main thoroughfare, the road was packed dirt strewn with sludge, the origins of which he didn’t want to contemplate. His boots squelched as he squinted through the night, trying to avoid chunks of cobblestone or rubbish that might trip him. A cat yowled as it scampered out of his way.

Ahead, he heard a faint caw. Relief weakened his knees and he nearly tripped over the pigeon carcass that the cat had been ripping to shreds. He found his footing and put on a burst of speed. Phil needed him.

He staggered to a halt as he heard another sound, this one from behind him. Was that a warbler? The thick fog obscured the alley more than four feet away.

There it was again, louder. His heart beating quickly, Morgan mirrored the call. Muffled footsteps sounded, growing louder. A figure separated from the fog, tall and lean.

“Jared?”

He panted as he slid to a halt next to Morgan, bracing his hands on his knees.

“Why aren’t you at the exchange? There’s hardly been time for Lady Whitewood to attempt to steal the plans and for you to arrest her.”