M Is for Marquess (14 page)

Thea went to greet the newcomers. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

“Of course. How is Tremont faring?” Ambrose said.

Dark-haired and lanky, her brother was a solid, reliable man of principles. He was older than Thea by seventeen years, his mama having been their papa’s first wife, yet she’d never thought of him as anything but her full kin. From a young age, he’d provided for her and the family, and his mere presence made her feel safer.

Ambrose’s wife Marianne
was his opposite, glamorous down to her very bones. A willowy silver blonde once hailed as an Incomparable amongst the
ton,
she was clever and possessed of a cutting wit. As different as husband and wife seemed on the surface, their devotion to one another was absolute. And more than once, Marianne’s knowledge of the
ton
had helped Ambrose in his investigations.

“Tremont shouldn’t be getting out of bed,” Thea said in worried tones. “I tried to convince him to delay the meeting, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Given that his carriage exploded, his haste is hardly surprising,” her sister-in-law said.

Thea’s belly churned with the fear she’d been trying to keep at bay. Gnawing on her lip, she said, “I wish I knew what was going on. Who would be behind such a dastardly attack?”

“That is why we’re here. To find out,” her brother said with reassuring calm.

Yesterday, she had honored her promise to Gabriel and sent word to her brother’s agency. Mr. McLeod had personally arrived to set up what he called a “perimeter,” with his trained men keeping watch on the Strathaven residence around the clock.

“We’re also here to see how you are faring,” Marianne added. “Emma says you’ve been running yourself ragged nursing the marquess.”

Thea shot an exasperated glance at her older sister, who was too busy chatting with Mr. McLeod to notice. “Emma is being a mother hen, as usual. I’m perfectly well.”

“With your condition—” Ambrose began.

“I’m
fine
. I’m stronger than I used to be.” She huffed out a breath. “Why can’t anyone understand that?”

Her brother and sister-in-law looked startled. Even she was surprised by her piqued tone.

“No one doubts your strength, dear. We’re simply worried about you,” Marianne said.

“I know it.” Seeing the pair’s genuine concern, Thea felt instantly guilty. “Forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” her brother said. “But I must ask, Thea: what is going on between you and Tremont?”

Thea’s face warmed. Since the explosion had curtailed her and Gabriel’s discussion of the future, she didn’t know how to reply. “May I answer that question later?”

Ambrose frowned. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t know the answer at present,” Marianne murmured to him. To Thea, she said, “As long as you know what you’re doing, dear.”

“I do,” Thea said.
At least, I hope I do.

At that moment, Gabriel entered the room, drawing Thea’s attention. His tawny hair was tousled, and his color was still off, the hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones making him appear more starkly masculine than ever. The slight bulge of his bandage was visible beneath his waistcoat. Even in this state, he was so devastatingly attractive that her heart flipped in her chest.

Yet gone was the tender lover she’d just been getting to know. There was no trace of warmth to him now, nothing but icy resolve. His eyes locked on hers, and they were the cold, lucid grey of dawn. Premonition shivered over her. He’d called this meeting for a purpose, and she had the intuition that she’d soon learn some of his secrets.

Which suited her. Because she yearned to know him, had been drawn from the start to the dark, passionate soul she’d always sensed just beneath his civilized exterior.
He
was the intensity she’d always craved. He made her feel more alive, more vital than she ever had.

And she was determined to help him in any way she could.

Who was trying to harm him? Was the attempted kidnapping of Freddy related to the carriage attack? What sort of intrigue was Gabriel embroiled in and with what evil enemy?

Everyone found seats around the coffee table, Thea taking the chair next to Gabriel. As tea and refreshments were passed around, he began to speak.

“Thank you all for coming. I owe you my gratitude,” he said gravely, “and I’m afraid that I will be further in your debt before the day is done.”

“Friends don’t speak of debt,” Strathaven said dismissively.

“Neither do families,” Ambrose said. “Any friend of the Strathavens are friends of ours, Lord Tremont.”

Thea felt a rush of love and gratitude toward her brother.

“I am indeed fortunate, then, for I wish to retain the services of your firm.” Pausing, Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “Forgive me. Asking for help is even more difficult than I imagined.”

“Thea told us you have an enemy,” Ambrose said. “Perhaps you’d care to begin there.”

“Yes.” Gabriel drew a breath. “Before I start, there is something you must know. A secret that must remain in this room.”

Ambrose inclined his head. “You may be assured of our discretion.”

“Don’t keep us at the edge of our seats,” Emma said.

Thea saw the conflict tautening Gabriel’s features.

“Whatever it is,” she said softly, “you can trust us, you know.”

Gabriel met her eyes. Gave a slight nod, as if coming to some inner decision. “During the war with Bonaparte, I was involved in intelligence operations for the Crown,” he said.

As Thea tried to absorb that startling piece of information, he went on, “I was recruited to a group whose primary objective was the covert gathering of information and guarding of national secrets.” He exhaled, his gaze never leaving hers. “In other words, I was a spy.”

***

He saw Thea’s stricken expression and told himself it should come as no surprise. Spying was seen as a dishonorable activity, something no gentleman would want to be associated with. In seven years of marriage, his past had come up once. He’d been having a nightmare, one so intense that Sylvia had apparently heard him from her chamber. She’d woken him, and in his disoriented state, details of his past had come tumbling out.

She’d cut him off in a soft, trembling voice.
If you act as if it never happened, it will be as if it never did. Put it behind you, Tremont
.
We’ll never speak of it again.

Although she’d tried to mask it, he’d seen the horror and distaste in her eyes, her embarrassment on his behalf. From then on, he’d kept his past to himself—as he’d always done. He’d never planned on sharing the sordid facts again, on exposing his filthy secrets to anyone… especially not the woman he craved more than his next breath.

Looking at Thea, he swallowed. She looked so pure in her white frock trimmed with blue ribbon, dangling curls framing her sweet face. His vision of loveliness.

You don’t have a choice,
he told himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, the danger was too great for him to handle on his own. The attack by the Spectre had slapped him to his senses. He needed help, couldn’t defeat the bastard by himself.

“A spy?
You?
” The duchess gawked at him.

“Close your mouth, love,” her husband said mildly. “Tremont didn’t grow two heads. He merely said he gathered information for his country during a time of war.”

“Were you in the military?” William McLeod said.

The strapping Scotsman, Gabriel knew, had been a soldier and scout in the 95
th
regiment.

“I worked under a different auspice,” Gabriel said quietly. “The French had a vast advantage over us when it came to their intelligence efforts. They were more coordinated, efficient, and experienced, which led to their successes on the battlefield. My superior, who went by the codename Octavian, was given the task of developing a similar covert intelligence team for the British. He hand-selected and trained a group of five agents he called the Quorum. I was one of them.”

Ambrose Kent’s golden eyes were keen. “This enemy who threatens you now—he has ties to your past in espionage?”

The investigator caught on quickly, increasing Gabriel’s confidence that he was making the right decision. He had only one regret… He slanted a look at Thea. Her hazel eyes, which had been filled with such sweet passion the night before, now had a sheen of shock… and disgust? His chest clenching, he told himself to get on with the inevitable.

“A month ago, I found Octavian murdered in his study. I’ve since discovered that he’d been hunting down a French spymaster dubbed
Le Spectre
. During the war, The Spectre was our nemesis, stealing our secrets, always staying one step ahead. After the war, he began a brisk business selling information to the highest bidder. At one point, he set a trap in Normandy, capturing three of the Quorum, including myself.”

Flesh healed; memories didn’t. His back quivered with the memory of the floggings, beatings. He forced himself to continue.

“When we made our escape, I spotted the Spectre and thought I’d killed him, but there was no proof as the place went up in flames. Apparently, Octavian continued to search for our enemy through the years and what he uncovered led to his demise.”

“What did he discover?” Thea said, her eyes wide.

“Not only is the Spectre alive, but he was one of us. A double agent.” Grimly, Gabriel recounted his mentor’s last blood-marked message to him and the blade he’d found at Cruik’s.

“Bloody hell. A traitor.” McLeod raked a hand through his shaggy hair.

“I believe my mentor was killed because he was too close to discovering the true identity of our foe,” Gabriel said. “Now I’ve been targeted as the information was passed onto me. The carriage explosion, the attempted kidnapping of my son—this is all the Spectre’s handiwork.”

“There were five of you in the spy ring, you say? Minus you, that makes a list of four possible suspects?” Kent was scribbling in a small notebook.

“Three,” Gabriel said quietly. “My colleague Marius was killed during the escape in Normandy. The remaining agents—Cicero, Tiberius, and Pompeia—are alive and in London.”

“Pompeia.” Mrs. Kent’s fair brows arched. “A female spy?”

“She was one of our best, and deadliest, agents. She or one of other two could be the Spectre.” Gabriel expelled a breath. “With the assistance of Kent and Associates, I plan to unmask the true villain and put an end to this madness.”

“We will need to know the identities of the other agents,” Kent said.

He’d known this, of course, but resistance rose within him. Exposing a fellow spy went against one of the few codes of honor in espionage and the grain of his own beliefs. Yet he flashed to Octavian lying in a pool of blood, the fear in Freddy’s eyes, the cloak of the Spectre descending, bringing darkness and flame…

Do what must be done.

“This information must not leave the room. Reputations, perhaps even lives, are at stake,” he said grimly. “As agents, we made powerful enemies, and anonymity is our sole protection.”

“Discretion is the policy of Kent and Associates,” Kent said.

Glancing at Thea, Gabriel couldn’t read her reaction. Not that it mattered. Before the attack, he’d fallen into a moment of gloriously deluded optimism. He’d let his fantasies cloud his judgement. Now, as he lay bare his past, he saw things through the clear, harsh lens of reality.

Marrying Thea would lead to disaster for both of them. His past had risen yet again to remind him of what he’d been: a spy and cold-hearted killer. A beast through and through. Even though she’d responded to him in the carriage, what he’d shown her there had only scratched the surface of his carnality. His insatiable need for domination.

His blood was cursed. Eventually, if they married, she would get glimpses of the true darkness inside him, and he would repulse her as he had Sylvia. He’d find himself in the same torturous situation as his first marriage—only worse. He’d rather have his guts ripped out than see rejection in Thea’s eyes.

Locking away sentiment, Gabriel focused on the hard facts. “Pompeia is Lady Pandora Blackwood.”

He heard Thea’s indrawn breath and saw eyebrows go up around the room.

“The marchioness?” the duchess said incredulously. “How can that be?”

“As a spy, she had the singular ability to assume any identity. She speaks at least four languages that I know of and can charm or kill a man with equal ease.”

“But she was so
nice
,” Thea blurted. “I cannot believe it of her. At her masquerade, she chatted with me, introduced me to her guests…”

“Pompeia can seem very nice—until she has her garrotte at your throat,” he said flatly.

Thea’s hand fluttered to her own throat. Above her fichu, the tender column was smooth and white. Exquisitely vulnerable.

“Do you think Lady Blackwood is the Spectre?” Kent asked.

Describing the damning note he’d found in her bedchamber, he concluded, “If she’s not the Spectre, then she’s likely working for him. During our last mission in Normandy, she abandoned our group.” The old bitterness welled in him. “Because of her absence, we were shorthanded and captured. During our escape, one of our own fell. If the past is any indication, she cannot be trusted.”

“This note you found in her desk—it specified a time and meeting place?” Strathaven said.

“Five days from now. At a place called Fielding’s in Covent Garden.”

“Sounds like one of the market stalls,” McLeod said. “We could set up a watch there and see if this ghost of yours turns up.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Kent agreed. “And the other two suspects?”

“Cicero is Lord Cecil Davenport and Tiberius, Mr. Tobias Heath.”

“Good God,” the duke said, quirking a dark eyebrow, “a Tory and a radical with something in common? And that thing being a past in espionage?”

“Davenport and Heath are more similar than you think. Both are ruthless and capable of killing.”

“We’ll have to monitor them as well,” Kent said. “McLeod, do we have the men for it?”

“Aye. I’ll put Cooper and Jones on the job.”

“That covers the known suspects.” Kent’s brow lined with concentration. “Which leaves two other leads: the governess and the carriage explosion. Starting with the former, have you made any progress?”