Lord and Lady Spy (16 page)

“Was there something in one of the notes she sent?” Sophia asked, appearing unperturbed.

“Over time, she sent several notes, saying Jenkinson was at his club. I’d instructed Jarvis to bring any correspondence from Mrs. Jenkinson to me right away, so on occasion I received these notes at my club. Not once was Jenkinson there, nor did he appear.”

“Perhaps he arrived after your departure.”

Linden shook his head. “I’m no henpecked gaby. If I’m flush in the pocket, I don’t leave the table, no matter what wench is waiting to toss up her skirts.”

“How very romantic,” Sophia drawled.

“I might make an exception for you.”

Adrian stood.

“Don’t plant me a facer!” Linden held up his hands. “You have no sense of humor, Smythe.”

“The point is,” Sophia interrupted, standing and shaking out her skirts, “Jenkinson told his wife he was going to his club and did not.”

“Exactly.” Linden had risen when she did. She held out her hand, and he took it, bowed.

“Thank you for answering our questions, especially at this early hour.”

Linden looked like he wanted to say something flirtatious but closed his mouth when Adrian stepped toward his wife.

“And? Have I solved the mystery? Do you know who killed Jenkinson?”

Sophia only smiled and angled for the door. “Good day, Mr. Linden.”

Adrian followed her, and Linden followed him. “Perhaps I’ll see you at Lord Dewhurst’s ball,” Linden said.

Adrian opened the door for Sophia, and she glided through.

“Save me a da—”

He slammed the door on Linden’s words.

“You’re right. This was a waste of time,” she said, adjusting her cap as they stood on the other side of the yellow door. “I’m sorry I—”

Adrian grabbed her, pushed her back against that garish yellow door, and claimed her mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss.

***

Sophia’s breath whooshed out, and the heat from Adrian’s body and persuasive mouth whooshed in. Her legs went suddenly weak, and she had to grab onto him to keep from sliding into a puddle over Linden’s boot scraper.

It would have been embarrassing if she’d had time to think before Adrian’s hand caught her around the waist and pulled her against his hard erection. His lips grazed her ear, and she clutched him tighter.

“I want you.”

“Here?” she managed. The idea excited her, and in the state she was in, she might even go along with it.

“No. Let’s take a cab home. I don’t want to wait.”

He pulled her off the stoop and along King Street, searching for a hansom cab. She had a moment to collect her thoughts. “Shouldn’t we see Melbourne? We need to tell him about the…” She gestured to the side street where, presumably, the dead assailant still lay.

“I’ll take care of it later.” He flagged a cab, and the jarvey called, “Whoa!” Adrian pulled her toward the conveyance, helping her into it then settling beside her. He gave the jarvey the direction then closed the curtains and kissed her again. This time his hand brushed her calf and traveled seductively up her thigh.

“Shouldn’t we discuss the interview?” she said, voice breathless.

“Later.” He bit her neck, and she had to fight not to arch it for him.

“It’s better to discuss it while it’s still fresh.”

He pulled back, looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You’d rather work than endure my caresses?”

“Endure? Your caresses are hardly something I have to endure. I just thought—”

He pulled away, sat straight on the threadbare squabs. “Perhaps you’d prefer Linden.”

Sophia shook her head. Was that was all of this was about? He was jealous of Randall Linden? “I’m not interested in Linden. He’s amusing, I grant you, but—”

“Oh, and you like amusing men. I’m not amusing.”

“Ah.” She licked her lips. “You’re Agent Wolf. I don’t expect you to be amusing.”

He glanced at her.

“I don’t want you to be amusing. I do think we should discuss the interview and call on Lord Melbourne—”

“I told you I would take care of it.”

Now she frowned and gave him a narrow look. “Why don’t you want me involved? Is there something I’m missing?”

He gave her an annoyed glance, and she felt her own annoyance break through the last haze of arousal. “Linden’s comment. He said Jenkinson lied about going to his club. You think there’s more to that?”

“Yes, but—”

“He has—had—a lover? He was meeting with the killer?” Dread was welling inside her. If Adrian knew something she didn’t, if he solved this murder, she would lose that position in the Barbican group. For a few hours, she’d almost forgotten they were adversaries, almost began to trust him.

Her mistake.

“I don’t know,” he was saying.

“Don’t know or don’t want to tell me?”

He moved across from her and parted the curtains slightly, probably to see her better. “Why are you so suspicious? Why don’t you trust me?”

How dare he put this back on her! “Why should I trust you?” she countered. “You’ve done nothing but attempt to use my affections to gain the upper hand and win the Barbican position back.”

The dark look on his face told her she’d gone too far. Well, so be it. She wasn’t afraid of him—Adrian Galloway or Agent Wolf.

“Is that what you think is going on? I made love to you only so I could lure you into complacency and then betray you later?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she shot back without thinking. But that was unfair. Damn it!

“What does that mean?” Adrian all but yelled it. “I’ve never betrayed you. I thought I made it clear last night, I never will.”

She clamped her mouth shut, annoyed at herself. She should never speak when she was angry. She said things impulsively, revealed secrets.

“Bloody hell, Sophia. When are you going to let me in? When are you going to trust me?”

“I don’t know!” she yelled back. “Maybe never. I want to trust you. I want to let you in, but then I think about Henry and—”

Adrian held his hands out. “Henry? Your brother? What the hell does he have to do with this? With us?”

Sophia swallowed. “Henry didn’t die in a carriage accident.”

Adrian fell back against the squabs so hard they creaked in protest. “Good God. Here we go again. Is anything about you what I thought?”

“I couldn’t tell you before I knew you were Agent Wolf.”

“So you lied to me.”

She gave him a searing look. “As though you never lied to me? How was I supposed to tell you Henry was an agent for the Crown?”

Adrian sat forward and attempted to look patient. He didn’t succeed, but the way he clasped his hands and set his mouth told her he was at least trying. “Is there anyone in your family
not
a spy?”

“My mother isn’t.”

“Now that we have that out of the way, tell me what happened to Henry, and pray try to explain what his death, which apparently was not by carriage accident, has to do with us.”

“Henry was betrayed by a double agent, a woman he considered a friend, a woman he had asked to be his wife.”

“Wait a moment.” Adrian held up his hands. “Are you telling me your brother was engaged to a female agent? I assumed you were the only one.”

She glowered at him. “Why? Haven’t I proven I’m every bit as good an agent as you are?”

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t say it, Adrian. You’ll only vex me further. In any case, as far as I know”—she have him a pointed look—“and obviously I don’t know as much as I thought, I am the only female operative. Rosemary and Henry were engaged when I was but ten. I don’t know how she became an agent for the Crown. I only know she and Henry began working together. She probably arranged that in some way. He fell in love with her, and she used his higher status to steal secrets.”

“What kind of secrets?” A dark look crossed Adrian’s face.

“The names of spies—code names, real names, personal information. Men died because their identities were compromised. Others had their wives or children threatened or taken hostage. Henry didn’t want to believe Rosemary was behind what was happening, but finally my father forced him to look at the truth. Henry confronted her, and she killed him.”

“How?”

“Poison. He died in agony, and she fled back to France. We later learned she had been working for the French government all along. Her code name was Épine Rouge.”

“Red Thorn. I’ve heard of her.”

The cab slowed, and the jarvey jumped down and opened the carriage door. “’Ere you are, gov.”

Adrian assisted Sophia, and she walked straight into the town house. The fight with the assailant, Linden’s interviews, and her memories of Henry had made her weary. She simply wanted to lie down and rest. In her room, she dismissed her maid, took off her hat and gloves, then sat to remove her boots. When she looked up, Adrian stood in the doorway.

The midday sun beaming through her open curtains flashed on his polished Wellington boots. He stepped forward. “Now tell me what Henry has to do with us. You can’t possibly believe I’m a double agent.”

She looked away from him, removed one boot, and started on the next. “I don’t trust anyone, don’t believe anyone, and it’s saved my life many times.” She removed the second boot, and when she looked up again, Adrian was before her. He pulled her up and into his arms.

“It’s a good philosophy, one I subscribe to as well. But you don’t need it with me, Sophia. I won’t betray you.”

She shook her head. “How can I believe that? We both want this position in the Barbican group. You have more reason than most to betray me.”

“I don’t need to resort to deception to win this position, not any more than you do. We’re working together, and Liverpool will choose the best man… or woman.”

She let out a small laugh. The fact that he acknowledged a woman could attain the position was progress.

“But let’s talk about the real issue.”

Sophia raised her brows, feeling prickles along the back of her neck. Whatever he was going to say, she knew she didn’t want to hear it. She tried to step away, but he held her shoulders, kept her close enough to feel his heat, smell the clean scent of his soap.

“The real issue is you’re afraid.”

Sophia huffed. “Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve taken more risks—”

“With your life,” he said. “Not with your emotions, Sophia. Not with your heart.”

She stepped away, breaking free of his hold. “I told you, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. There’s nothing else to say.” She turned away from him, moved toward her dresser—for what she knew not.

“Oh there’s a hell of a lot to say. This pertains to me as well, and I want to discuss it.”

She rounded on him, saw the surprise on his face. “You want a child. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Then go ahead and divorce me,” she spat. “You have reason. Marry someone who can give you what you want.”

“I want you.”

“You want something I can’t give you.”

He came for her, and despite the hand she threw up, he grabbed her around the waist and held her close. He touched his nose to hers, but she continued to squirm. “You can. You’re afraid to try again, and I understand why. I wasn’t there for you last time. We went through our pain separately.”

Now she stilled. He had never spoken of his feelings about the losses before.

“I grieved too, Sophia. I know I didn’t show it. I’m sure I didn’t feel the losses like you did, but I grieved. And I felt so helpless.” He released her now, raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “I wanted to
do
something, to make it right for you, and I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to comfort you. Instead, I let you shut me out.”

She couldn’t breathe. Just the simple admission that he’d grieved for their lost children made the tears she struggled to keep in check well up. He’d loved their babies too. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed to hear that,” she whispered. She put a hand to her eyes to dash the tears she so hated.

He crossed to her, caught her hand, and kissed the wetness on her cheeks. “Give me another chance. Let me be the husband I should have been.”

She wanted to, but inside everything felt tight and strained. She couldn’t risk another loss…

“I want only to be your husband, Sophia. I’m not going to force you to try and conceive. We can go on as we have. But I need your trust.”

“And the Barbican group?” she asked.

“We’re on the same side. I vow I won’t betray you.”

He was a man who kept his vows. She sighed, relief flooding through her. She didn’t know what would happen when it truly mattered, but she knew he would not intentionally deceive her. “I trust you,” she answered.

He raised his brows. “Do you?”

She frowned. She could never tell what he was thinking from one moment to the next.

“Yes.” For the moment.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Good. Then prove it.”

She didn’t like Adrian’s expression. It made her think of a wolf on the hunt. It took no amount of imagination to figure out where his code name had come from. She knew she would regret asking, but she did it anyway. “How can I prove it?”

“Take off your clothes.” He didn’t blink.

Neither did she. It was the perfect challenge. She’d never been naked before him in full daylight. To stand before him, exposed, left her defenseless. “Are you going to take your clothing off, too?”

“Not even my coat.” He’d given their butler his hat and gloves upon arrival, but otherwise he was fully dressed.

“And what’s to happen when I’m undressed?”

His smiled. “Undress, and we’ll find out.”

“Very well.” She walked toward the window, intent upon shutting the drapes on the window facing Charles Street.

“Leave them.”

She stilled, her back to him. “That’s rather daring.”

“Hardly. No one on the street can see this high, and the nearest neighbor with a view is across the street. But let’s make it daring.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. Now what did he have planned?

“Stand in front of the window.” His voice held a note of challenge, and his eyebrow lifted to echo the sentiment. He expected her to decline. She could see it in the way his lips curved.

But she wasn’t going to refuse, and she suspected he knew the risks of discovery excited her. “Very well. I need you to help me with these buttons.”

His grin widened. She went to the window and placed her hands on either side of the casement. On the street below, a carriage sped past and a servant from one of the nearby houses hurried along with a parcel under his arm. No one looked up. She did not think they would.

She felt his hands on her back. He started at the base of her spine and trailed them up the line of small, prim buttons. She shivered, picturing his long fingers opening the first of the small buttons just beneath her hair. Indeed, his hand brushed the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes. Perhaps if she focused on sensation—his fingers grazed her skin as he loosed the next button—she would not feel embarrassed.

Sophia was not easily embarrassed—there went another button. As Agent Saint, she had acted in a play on the Venice stage, masqueraded as a sparsely dressed dancing girl in Gibraltar, and pretended to be an opera virtuoso in Vienna—a ruse that didn’t last once she had to sing.

Adrian loosed two buttons quickly, and Sophia felt her bodice begin to give.

She wasn’t overly modest. She’d been naked in front of seamstresses and ladies’ maids on more occasions than she could count. She’d been almost naked in Cordelia’s garden last night. But last night it had been dark, and she doubted a seamstress cared one whit what she looked like without her clothing.

But Adrian cared. Adrian would be looking—closely—at every inch of her.

He opened another button, and she realized he was almost finished. Her underclothing would take a few moments to discard once he loosened her stays, but not nearly long enough to still her nerves.

Her body was far from perfect. Her hips were too wide, her waist not small enough, her legs a little on the stubby side. She’d always wanted to be tall and willowy, but no one in her family had much height, and she was no exception. In clothing, she could disguise her imperfections. The high-waisted fashions concealed waists, hips, and legs while revealing shoulders and breasts.

But even there she had help. Her stays gave her just enough lift. Now Adrian would see all of her flaws. What would he think? Her pulse kicked with both trepidation and arousal.

And wasn’t that exactly the reason he was making her do this? So she could prove she trusted him to want her no matter what? She wished she could trust that he loved her, but spies didn’t fall in love. Neither of them could afford to engage their feelings that deeply. But there could be passion, respect, lust…

“Done.” Adrian’s breath tickled her ear, and a tremor shot through her. She reached for her hair, watching a hansom cab roll past on the street. His hand on hers stopped her. “Leave it up. For now.”

“Very well.” Still facing the window, she unfastened pins and tapes, then slid the gown off, tossing it on a nearby chair. Now she stood in petticoat, stays, chemise, and stockings. The petticoat she removed easily, but she couldn’t manage the stays by herself. Adrian knew this, of course, and his fingers went to work on the ties. “Do you want me to turn around?” she asked now that she had only the thin chemise and her stockings left.

“Not yet.” His voice sounded slightly hoarse, and she smiled.

Below, a man and woman, followed by a chaperone, passed. The woman’s parasol blocked her face from view, but the man looked up to admire the buildings. Sophia held her breath, but he didn’t look at her window.

She bent, undid her garters, and rolled her stockings down. They, too, were tossed on the chair, and then she had only her chemise. Not that it hid much. The sunlight penetrated the thin fabric, revealing everything. She stood undecided for a moment. Should she lower it over her breasts or lift the hem and take it over her head?

She’d lower it—hide her hips and legs as long as possible.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and allowed one strap to fall down her arm. Adrian’s gray eyes were almost blue as he watched the slide of the strap down her skin. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her flesh. Then without warning, he leaned forward and kissed the spot where the strap had been. Sophia closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps if she could distract him with kissing, he wouldn’t look at her so closely.

But even as she reached for him, he moved away. “Keep going,” he said, his voice dark as midnight.

She slid the other strap off, allowed the silk chemise to skim down her back, revealing inch by inch by inch. Finally the material was at her waist, and she closed her eyes and allowed the rest to fall in a puddle on the floor. Unsure what to do with her hands, she braced them on the casement again. She didn’t want to see Adrian’s face, so she opened her eyes and stared down at the street below. Two carriages passed, but the coachmen didn’t look up. She imagined she’d see the look of surprise on their faces if they had.

Suddenly she felt Adrian’s hand on her waist. Was he noting how it wasn’t small enough?

“Turn around,” he whispered. His voice sounded almost…

She turned, chanced a look at him. His eyes were on her face, his expression nothing less than reverent. “You’re exquisite.” He traced a hand down her shoulder, along her breast, against her waist, and over her hip.

“I’m not.” She shook her head but didn’t say more. She was no fool. She wasn’t going to point out her flaws if he didn’t see them.

“I want to touch every inch of you.”

She arched a brow. “Every inch?”

“Twice.” He pushed her gently back against the window. It was warm from the sunlight, and she could imagine the view from below. But at least anyone passing wouldn’t see her face.

She thought he would kiss her, but he didn’t. He took one finger and began at her forehead. His hand trailed over her face, and when he reached her lips, she nipped one of his fingers, drew it into her mouth.

“You’re distracting me.”

“Why don’t you take your clothes off?” she said, suddenly wishing to see him in the daylight as well. She could picture him undressed, but not clearly. Too much darkness and shadows. She knew him by touch. Now she wanted to know him by sight.

“Not yet,” he said, leaving his finger in her mouth and allowing his other hand to roam down her neck to her shoulder and then instinctively to her breast. His finger brushed her hard nipple, and she let out a little gasp.

His finger free, he withdrew it from her mouth and put that hand on her other breast. Just the mere brush of his fingers against those taut nipples made her sigh. And when he cupped her breasts, rubbed them lightly, she couldn’t stop the small moan.

“Your mouth,” she said. “Put your mouth on me.”

“Is that an order?”

Her eyes flew open—she hadn’t even realized they were closed. “I didn’t mean—”

He leaned forward and kissed her mouth. “I like it. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Kiss me.”

“Be specific. Tell me where, how.”

She hadn’t thought he’d like receiving orders from her, but if that was what he wanted… “Put your mouth on my breast. Yes, that one.”

“Where?” he asked, kneading her.

“On the side. Yes. Now run your tongue along it until you reach the nipple.” When he licked her nipple, she jumped at the jolt of arousal. She allowed her head to fall back. “Take it in your mouth.” She moaned. “Suck—gently.”

She didn’t need to tell him what to do. He knew what she liked. Even without her telling him, he began to suck harder. She moaned again, pushed her hips toward him.

“Tell me what else to do,” he growled.

“Rough,” she moaned. “You know I like it rough.”

He gripped her about the waist, savaged her other breast with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. She was practically panting. His hands caught her hips, pulled them hard against him. She could feel the wool of his trousers against the bare skin of her thighs. He teased her stomach with tongue and teeth while his hands molded her bottom then slid forward and between her legs.

“There,” she commanded. “Touch me there.” She was already wet for him. She could feel the moisture as he slid his fingers over her small nub. She wanted him to stop right there, but he stroked her, inserting one finger then pulling out.

“Stop teasing me,” she ordered.

“Open your legs,” he ordered right back. She spread them farther, and he slid his finger in again, slid it out, and rubbed it slowly over that perfect spot.

“Again,” she demanded. “Harder.”

He complied, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes were dark, and she could see he was almost as aroused as she.

“Faster.” She was breathless now, her body bucking, yearning, seeking, groping for the pleasure he was offering. “Oh, yes… more.”

He stroked her again, and she exploded. She had to clutch his shoulders to stay on her feet, and bite her lip to keep from screaming out and alerting the entire household. And still her cry of pleasure echoed in the room.

For a full minute, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t catch her breath. And then she opened her eyes, and Adrian was smiling at her. “I’ve never seen your face when that happened before. I want to see it again.” He stroked her, and she convulsed.

“No more. Not yet,” she begged. “You take off your clothes. Let me see you.”

“I suppose fair is… bloody hell!”

“What?”

He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking past her, out the window. “Another agent is approaching the house.”

She jumped back and behind the curtains then peered down. Agent Blue was staring directly at her window. He waved. Curtain firmly in place, she waved back.

“You know Agent Blue?” Adrian asked.

She slammed the drapes closed. “Yes. Do you?”

“We worked together in Brussels last year.”

She went to her clothespress, futilely hoping Adrian wasn’t watching her every move, and withdrew a voluminous robe. “This isn’t exactly proper,” she said, slipping it on, “but I don’t have time to dress.”

“How do you know he’s come to see you?” Adrian asked.

“He’s come to see me here before.” She finished knotting the sash and turned to him. “Do you think he knows you and I—?”

“No. But he’ll know now.”

“Not if you stay abovestairs.” She started for the door, but Adrian followed.

“If he has something to tell you, I want to hear it.”

“You can’t possibly be worried about Blue seeing me in déshabillé. I don’t think I interest him… in that way.”

“No.” Adrian opened her door and motioned her out into the hallway. “But if he has news from Melbourne, I want to know. I sent a note before I came up, telling Melbourne about our little skirmish this morning. Blue might be bringing his reply.”

Sophia nodded. “In that case, he might be coming to see you.”

They reached the first floor just as Wallace appeared on the landing. “My lord, there is a man here to see Lady Smythe. I told him she was not home, but—”

“That’s all right, Wallace. Show him into the drawing room.”

Wallace flicked his gaze at Sophia in her dressing gown then, without showing so much as a flicker of surprise, turned to fetch Blue.

***

Adrian watched Blue’s piercing eyes quickly take in the scene in the drawing room. The man was a scene in itself, dressed in a persimmon coat and lemon waistcoat. Blue greeted Sophia formally then nodded to Adrian. “You must be Lord Smythe.”

For a moment, even Adrian couldn’t be sure if Blue remembered him from the job in Brussels. The spy’s face was a perfect mask of polite aloofness. Adrian nodded back. “I think you know me better as Agent Wolf.”

One of Blue’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

“It’s all right, Blue,” Sophia said, motioning him to a place on the couch. “He knows I’m Agent Saint. You don’t have to pretend you don’t know us.”

“I’m not pretending,” Blue said, sitting carefully on the richly upholstered green-and-cream cushions. “I had no idea you were”—he gestured futilely—“who you are.”

Adrian could well believe it. He had no idea who the other man was when he wasn’t Agent Blue. He wondered how much Sophia knew. She obviously knew Blue better than he. She’d had no qualms about wearing her dressing gown in his presence. Not that it wasn’t every bit as formal as many of her gowns and a good deal less revealing than some. She looked small and delicate in the apple green satin with small pink stripes.

“You didn’t know we were married?” Adrian asked Blue. He’d had moments where he’d wondered if everyone knew he and Sophia were married but he and Sophia. Perhaps the entire Barbican group was in on the secret.

“I had my suspicions, but she didn’t recognize you when you stole Ducos from under her nose, and that threw me.”

“I didn’t steal Ducos,” Adrian began, protesting.

“Yes, our identities were a surprise to us as well,” Sophia said. Blue’s lips turned down slightly. “Shall I call for tea?” she offered.