Lord and Lady Spy (9 page)

“You?” Mrs. Jenkinson looked from him to Sophia. “Why would Robert ask you to assist?”

Adrian waved a hand. “We have experience with investigation. I take it you were not at home that night. Where were you?”

Sophia watched the widow’s face, watched as she debated trusting the strangers sitting before her. Sophia knew what she had to do, hesitated, then clenched her jaw and rose. Mrs. Jenkinson sat on a chaise longue across from them, and Sophia indicated the empty space beside her. “May I?”

“Certainly, Lady Smythe.”

“Please, call me Sophia.” Sophia sat and tried very hard not to look at the woman’s belly. “And may I call you…?”

“Millie. Yes, of course.”

“Millie.” Sophia took her hand. “I know this is difficult to talk about, but I assure you whatever you tell us will be kept in the strictest confidence. Lord Smythe and I have no interest in your private affairs. We only want to help.” She took a chance. “Who were you with that night?”

Millie looked down, studied her hands. “I suppose it’s not that much of a secret. George knew. I wouldn’t say he approved, but he knew.”

“Knew what?” Adrian asked.

Millie looked at Sophia. “Knew I had a lover. Knew the child wasn’t his.”

It took all she had within her to hold her hand steady, but Sophia managed it. She had a thousand questions, and one glance at Adrian told her he had more than he knew what to do with as well. Sophia had not done many interrogations, but the one rule she did know was to allow the suspect being interviewed to speak as much as possible. Sophia cleared her throat. “Perhaps you should explain, Millie.”

Millie looked down at her skirts, smoothed the material with her free hand. Sophia squeezed her other hand reassuringly. Without looking up, Millie said, “George and I have been married ten years. It’s been a happy marriage. We liked each other. George could make me laugh.”

Sophia met Adrian’s eyes. She couldn’t remember a time he’d made her laugh. Adrian didn’t look away, and Sophia was the one to break contact when Millie spoke again.

“We were happy,” she repeated.

“And yet you took a lover,” Adrian said softly.

Sophia wondered if he already knew the reason and, like her, needed to hear Millie Jenkinson say it—for form’s sake.

“Yes. You see, George and I couldn’t have children. We tried for years. Last year I turned thirty. I knew I didn’t have much time left, so I took matters into my own hands. I took a lover. Not because I didn’t love George. Because I needed a baby to love, too.”

“Were you certain Mr. Jenkinson was the reason for your…?” Sophia stumbled, swallowed, and pushed forward. “Infertility?”

Millie shook her head. “I took a chance. As you see”—she indicated her swollen belly—“I was correct.”

“And your husband knew the baby was not his?” Adrian asked.

Millie nodded. “But he was going to give the child his name. He wanted to raise him as his own.”

Sophia took a breath. “Millie, your husband was murdered three weeks ago. You obviously knew you were pregnant at that time. If you had what you desired, why were you with your lover that night?”

Millie’s hand jumped in hers, and the widow covered her eyes. “I didn’t mean it to happen. That wasn’t what I wanted.”

Sophia saw Adrian stiffen, knew the dark conclusion he had reached—the widow hadn’t meant to kill her husband. Sophia held up a hand to stall Adrian. He frowned at her but held his next remark.

Sophia leaned close to Millie. “You fell in love with him. Your lover.”

Millie nodded, the action that of a repentant child. “And that’s why I was with him that night. I should have been here. Perhaps I could have done something, helped George…”

“No.” Sophia shook her head. “There was nothing you could have done, Millie. If you’d been here, you might be dead, too.”

Millie’s head jerked up. “You think I don’t know that? And at times I wonder if that would have been better. I feel so guilty for… for everything.” She rubbed her belly absently. “I don’t understand who could have done this horrible thing. I don’t know who would have wanted to hurt George.”

Adrian leaned forward. “So he had no enemies, no one who wanted to hurt him? No one who’d threatened him recently?”

Millie shook her head. “No—”

“Take some time. Think about it.”

“But I have thought about it. I’ve thought of little else! Honestly, Lord Smythe, I don’t know who could have done this horrible thing.”

“Is there anything you can tell us, Mrs. Jenkinson? Anything about the last days or weeks of Mr. Jenkinson’s life?”

“What kinds of things?”

“Anything unusual,” Sophia said. “Anything that made you pause or that didn’t feel right. I believe in trusting your intuition.” She ignored the roll of Adrian’s eyes. “Did you have any feelings of something amiss?”

“No. Not at all…” She paused.

Adrian leaned forward. “What is it?”

“I wouldn’t say this was unusual, but George spent quite a lot of time in his library. Often I would think he was alone, but I would pass by and hear him speaking in hushed tones.”

“Do you know with whom he was speaking?” Adrian asked.

“I assumed his business partner, Mr. Hardwicke.”

“What type of business was your husband in?”

Sophia could have told Adrian it was a wasted question.

“I don’t know,” Millie said predictably. “I never thought to ask.”

“Is there any reason for you to think your husband was speaking to someone other than Mr. Hardwicke?” Sophia asked.

“I suppose it could have been a foreigner.”

Sophia nodded, though the comment made little sense. “Why do you say that? Did your husband know many foreigners?”

“No, but in the weeks before he died, two different men came to call. Both were foreign.”

“What nationality?” Adrian wanted to know.

Millie gave him a blank stare. “Ah, German? Or possibly French. Perhaps American?”

Adrian blew out a sigh.

“You’ve been very helpful, Millie,” Sophia said. “I assume you didn’t reveal any of this to Bow Street.”

She shook her head. “They didn’t ask.”

“We’re going to need the name of your lover, Millie,” Sophia said. “We’ll need to talk to him.”

“Randall? He had no part in this. As I said, I was with him the entire night.”

Sophia patted her hand. “But he might be able to shed some light, and certainly we can’t investigate a murder without interviewing everyone with any kind of motive.”

“But Randall had no motive! He—”

“He’s the father of your child.” Adrian stood. “A child legally belonging to your husband. That makes him a suspect.”

“But—”

“It’s all right, Millie,” Sophia reassured her. “We only want to talk to him. I’m sure he had no part in Mr. Jenkinson’s murder.”

Millie took a deep breath. “Very well. Randall Linden. He lives on King Street in St. James.”

Sophia squeezed her hand. “Thank you. One last thing. I’d like to speak with the valet.”

Adrian threw her a scowl, but Sophia ignored it. She was going to allow him to be present. Since the valet could not be pregnant, she wouldn’t balk and would be far more effective from the outset.

“That’s impossible,” Millie said.

“Why?” Adrian put his hands on his hips.

“I gave Callows leave. Naturally, he was distraught after finding the body. He needed some time away.”

“Where is he?” Adrian asked.

Millie shrugged. “I didn’t think to ask where he was going.”

“Did you ask when he’d be back?” Adrian’s tone was sarcastic, and Millie looked a bit abashed.

“Yes. He should return by the end of the week, but I don’t know why. Without George, I don’t have a position for him.”

“When Callows returns,” Adrian instructed, “contact us immediately. I want to speak with him. Before we go, we need to speak with the other servants present that night.”

“All right. I’ll arrange it.”

“You have our card?” Sophia stood, and Millie followed, her movements awkward until she’d gained her feet.

“Yes. Oh! I didn’t offer any refreshment. Would you like tea?”

Sophia smiled. “No, thank you. You look tired. Perhaps you should rest.”

Millie nodded. “Yes, I will. Lady Smythe?”

Sophia looked back from across the drawing room. “Thank you.”

Adrian took them home. They’d spent three hours interviewing the Jenkinson servants to no avail. The staff didn’t know any more than Millie Jenkinson. Adrian wanted to go directly to speak with Randall Linden, but Sophia was shaken and tired and needed time to regain her bearings. He didn’t give this as his reasoning—she would have fought him tooth and claw. But when he casually suggested they return home, she didn’t argue.

That was telling in itself.

If she’d been on top of her game, she would have wanted to speak to Linden immediately. She would have pressed the servants harder. Instead, he caught her staring into space several times during the interviews.

Sophia was good at her job. Even shaken by Millie Jenkinson’s pregnancy, Sophia had done what she needed to do—put the woman at ease, questioned her, and received answers that furthered the investigation. He wondered if he would have done as well without her.

He didn’t know how she had traveled to the Jenkinson residence, but they took his coach—he supposed it was hers as well—back to their town house. Sophia was quiet and thoughtful on the short trip, but finally as they turned onto Charles Street, she said, “I cannot believe she allowed the valet to leave Town.”

She sounded as frustrated as he felt.

“No wonder Bow Street has made little progress.” The coach slowed to a stop, and she allowed their footman to assist her down the steps. Strange to see her accept all the little courtesies now that he knew she had absolutely no need for them. The footman was a tall, well-built fellow, but Adrian would put his brass on Sophia any day.

He followed her up the walk. “She should have been advised to keep all the suspects available,” Adrian said, nodding to Wallace, who opened the door for them. “Lord Liverpool did not do his job.”

“To say the least.”

“My lord. My lady.” The butler nodded at the two of them as though he saw nothing amiss in the couple returning together from a midday outing. Adrian thought he could count on one hand the times he and Sophia had gone anywhere together. “A package arrived for you while you were out.”

“Oh, good. It’s probably the file from Lord Liverpool,” Sophia said. “Is it in my parlor?”

Adrian cleared his throat. “I’m sure Wallace has put
my
package in the library.”

Sophia looked as though she had a retort ready, but instead of voicing it, she turned to Wallace. “Well?”

The butler looked unperturbed. “The package was addressed to both of you. I left it in the drawing room.”

“Ah, neutral territory,” Adrian murmured.

Sophia ignored him and started up the stairs. Adrian handed Wallace his greatcoat and took a moment to admire his wife’s backside. Her fashionable blue day dress suited her. Strange to see her dressed so well. No high-necked sack that hung on her as though she were a scarecrow. No large glasses concealing her face and eyes. Apparently, she’d put away her disguises. Adrian heartily approved—even if this new Sophia was distracting.

When she was out of sight, Adrian turned to Wallace. “Put any additional deliveries in my library.”

The butler raised his brows but did not comment. Fists clenched, Adrian started up the stairs. At one time he’d been Agent Wolf and the most powerful men in the world snapped to do his bidding. Now he could hardly command his own butler.

Or his wife.

He stepped into the drawing room. Sophia already had the package open and was thumbing through the contents.

Adrian strode forward and plucked it out of her fingers. “I believe that was addressed to both of us.”

She raised her brows. “Yes, and I’m certain just now you were telling Wallace he did right to put it here.”

Adrian squinted at her. Had she overheard, or was he that predictable?

“It’s a file on the Jenkinson murder.” Sophia indicated the documents he held. “Lord Liverpool must have thought we might find them useful.”

“He should have given these to us last night.” Adrian glanced at a document listing Jenkinson’s financials. “It might have saved us time.”

“Let’s peruse them on the table over there.” She pointed to a table large enough to seat two.

“I’d rather use my library.”

Sophia snapped the file out of his hand. “And I like the ambiance in here.” She pulled a Sheraton chair to the table and sat. “Ring for tea, would you?”

“I—” Adrian was about to protest when he realized he was actually quite hungry. So he bit his tongue and rang. Yanking another chair to the table, he sat. He held out his hand for the file, but Sophia handed him only one document—the one she’d just finished reading.

“Apparently Bow Street knew of our friend Millie’s affair. They have Mr. Linden’s address here.” She glanced through the remainder of the file, and it took all Adrian possessed not to rip it from her hands. “It does not appear as though they questioned him.” She glanced up at Adrian. “We probably should have gone directly.”

“Yes, I thought of that.”

“Then why… oh. Yes, I see.” She looked down, and he saw a hint of color on her cheeks. “You needn’t coddle me. I’m fine.”

He raised a brow then looked back down at the document in his hand.

“What does that look mean?” Sophia asked, her tone rising.

He knew that tone. When a woman—when your wife—spoke in that tone, a sensible husband made a hasty retreat. Adrian didn’t move. “It means you were shaken. Millie Jenkinson shook you.”

“And your point?” Her color was higher now. Anger, not embarrassment, he surmised. “I did my job,” she continued. “I asked her questions, received the answers we needed.”

“Would you have been able to do so had I not been there?”

She leaned forward and glared at him. He was definitely not being sensible. He was practically goading her. He didn’t know if it was because Sophia looked so fetching when her cheeks were pink with emotion or because he had wanted to provoke this exact conversation.

“Would you have received any information
at
all
had I not been present?” she said. “Your interview tactics leave something to be desired.”

“
My
interview tactics? I think you mean your own, madam.”

She bounced to her feet. “
You
think to criticize me? Are you daft? Were you even present in Millie Jenkinson’s drawing room this morning?” She stalked toward him and pointed a finger at his forehead. “
I
calmed the woman.
I
reassured her.
I
helped her to remember the information about the foreigners.”

“A lot of good that will do us. She can’t tell the difference between an American and a German accent! And the Americans speak English!”

“That’s debatable and beside the point.” She bent so they were at eye level. From this angle, he had an unimpeded view of the rounded tops of her breasts as they pushed against the little lace decorating the round neck of her gown. He liked that lace. Was it meant to indicate innocence or to tempt him?

“You and I are the spies,” she continued. “We’re good at gathering intelligence. It’s up to us to determine from whence George Jenkinson’s mysterious visitor hails.”

“Of course it is.”

She blinked, momentarily confused by his agreement. Good. He’d thrown her off.

The housekeeper opened the drawing-room door and rolled the tea cart to the dining table. Sophia returned to her seat and lifted a document. Adrian did the same. Both he and Sophia quietly studied the papers before them while the housekeeper set up the service. After what seemed an eternity of silence, the woman said, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“No, that’s all. Thank you.”

She bobbed and retreated. When the door closed behind the housekeeper, Sophia said, “We were agreeing.”

“Yes. I don’t even remember now what we were arguing about.”

“I’ll tell you what we’re arguing about. You said—”

He put his hands on her waist, lifted her out of the chair, and pulled her into his lap.

“What are you doing?”

He grinned. “What does it look like?”

“I’m trying to have a discussion.”

“You want to have an argument, and I would rather kiss you.”

She tried to stand, but he held her firmly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not? I’m your husband. Kissing me is always a good idea.”

She shook her head. “I’m angry with you right now. You tried to coddle me. You”—she looked away, searching for the words—“you
made
allowances
for me.”

“Good God, say it isn’t true!”

She tried to push away, but he cupped her cheeks and turned her face so he could see her eyes. “Sophia, Mrs. Jenkinson’s pregnancy upset you. You and I both know it, and we both know why. You needed support, and fortunately, I was there.”

“I could have handled myself if you hadn’t been.”

He shrugged. “But why should you? There’s no need for you to traipse about London, looking for a killer and upsetting yourself. I’d rather you stay home—”

“You really are afraid I’m going to beat you.”

“Not at all.” He had no worries whatsoever—even if she was a far better spy than he’d expected. “I don’t like competing with my wife.”

“Because you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

He shook his head and tried to ignore the feel of her soft bottom on his thighs.

“And you should be afraid. I doubt Mr. Linden or Mr. Hardwicke will be in a delicate condition, and that means I won’t need you to bolster me. And, even though you’ll never admit it, you needed me with Millie Jenkinson this morning. Someone had to hold her hand. Someone had to calm her nerves. Only another woman could do that.”

Bloody hell. She was right. But he didn’t care at the moment. She smelled like sweet oranges, and he wanted to lean closer and inhale more deeply. “I would have ferreted out the information without you,” he said, pulling her nearer.

She arched back slightly. “Not as well as you did
with
me.”

“Are you proposing we continue to work as a team?”

“No, and don’t think I don’t realize you suggested that last night only because you wanted to keep me under your thumb.”

“That wasn’t why I suggested it.”

She was still arching back, trying to avoid close contact. But that only thrust her breasts closer to his lips. He’d been tempted enough. Time to act.

“Then why did you suggest it?”

“Because I wanted to keep doing this.” He cupped the back of her neck, pulled her to him, and kissed her.

She fought him, of course. He hadn’t expected anything else, which was why he kept the kiss light and teasing. He tasted her lips, nibbled one then the other while his hand kneaded the tense muscles of her neck. Slowly, he felt the tension drain out of her, felt her give in to his ministrations.

“You see,” he whispered, “I’m not so bad.”

“Yes, you are. You’re taking advantage of me.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think that’s possible. Bloody hell, you’re tense.”

She moved her neck, and he dug his fingers in more deeply. She groaned, and he felt himself harden. She must have felt it too, because she glanced down at him, her dark gaze meeting his. “I think this is the first time you’ve ever kissed me in the daylight.”

It was true. They’d always behaved as strangers in the daylight. “I’ll have to make a habit of it. I like seeing your reaction.” He liked the way her eyes unfocused, the way her cheeks pinkened, the way her mouth seemed to bloom with color and sensuality.

“Why?”

He frowned.

She shook her head. “Why are you doing this now? Why are you suddenly interested in me?”

“There’s nothing sudden. I’ve never stopped being interested in you.” He could only wish he had. It would have made the long months without her more bearable. “You’re the one who closed the bedroom door on me.”

“Yes, but you weren’t exactly knocking it down before that.”

He sighed, not wanting to discuss this now. She’d been in pain, physical and emotional, after the loss of the last baby. Was he supposed to demand conjugal rights, when every time he passed her door he could hear her weeping? He’d left her alone, but that didn’t mean he desired her any less.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he repeated and ran his hand under her skirt, feeling the silky skin of her calf.

She shivered. She couldn’t control that, he noted. She reacted to him. She wanted him. He could break through that firm control, even for a moment, and see the truth.

“It’s because of the gowns and the hair,” she said, her breathing hitching as his hand made lazy circles on her knee. “I’m not wearing those ugly glasses.”

He smiled. “It helps.” His hand went to her thigh. How was it possible her skin was so soft? “But I’ve seen you without anything on. You think an ugly gown and glasses could erase that image?”

“No, but I wasn’t wearing the disguise for—Adrian!”

His hand had delved between her thighs and was inching toward her warm feminine heat. He raised a brow. “Something distracting you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hardly. I think you’re the one who is distracted—oh! I mean, we should get back to work. We have this file…” Her voice trailed off as he stroked her. She was so warm. He ached to turn her so she straddled him, free himself, and plunge into her. Instead, he dipped one finger into her, and she gasped.

“You were saying something about the file?” he said, voice blasé.

“Was I?” She arched her hips and wriggled against his hand. “I mean, I think we should concentrate—”

He cut her off, sealing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss. Her arms came around him, and Adrian had had enough foreplay. Heedless of the file and its contents, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her, depositing her on top of the table. Standing now, he bent to kiss her again, but she put a hand between them.

Bloody hell. He should have never stopped touching her. He’d given her a second to think, and when Sophia started thinking, it was always disastrous. “In another moment, we’re going to ruin these papers,” she said, her eyes once again focused.

“A slight wrinkle won’t do any harm.” He bent again, determined to distract her, and up came the restraining hand. He frowned.