Seduced by a Spy (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

The hired coach kicked up a cloud of dust as it jolted through the winding turn. Orlov flexed his raw hands and shifted his grip on the reins. Though bone weary and bleary-eyed, he and Shannon had decided it was best to move the dowager and the children away from the area as quickly as possible. It did not appear that D’Etienne had any accomplices, but they were not about to take chances. Not after all they had been through.

The previous night had gone by in a blur after the arrival of the local magistrate and a troop of the local farmers. The fires had been put out, the family shepherded to the shelter of the village rectory, and an explanation made of the events. Not the exact truth, of course, but a story that seemed to satisfy the authorities. Angus McAllister’s experiments with gunpowder were well known in the area.

In deciding what to do about the London party, the dowager had agreed with the suggestion to avoid any public scandal. No doubt some of them deserved further punishment, mused Orlov. But perhaps seeing their own selfish faults so clearly would have some effect. De Villiers—the only one of the group who had nothing to be ashamed of—had offered to see to the arrangements for the long journey home.

As for their own travels, the mood had been strangely subdued since setting out from the village. Despite their triumph, he hadn’t felt much like talking and Shannon seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Was she finding the fruits of victory as bittersweet as he was? Soon he would be back to his old haunts, his old life—wine, women, waltzing until dawn. The prospect left a stale taste in his mouth.

“Another hour should bring us to Dornoch.” Rousing from her reveries, Shannon shaded her eyes to the scudding sun. “We can shelter at the White Gyrfalcon while we decide on how to proceed.”

“The damage to McAllister’s eyrie will take months to repair, so return to the family estate is not an option.” Orlov glanced back at the creaking cab, where Lady Octavia and the children sat swaddled in layers of sheepskins and tartans. “And in any case, I am of the opinion that they shouldn’t remain in Scotland. Lynsley ought to consider reuniting them with McAllister, wherever the military has him sequestered. Napoleon does not suffer defeat gladly.”

But that was not his problem, he reminded himself as he guided the team of horses around a tumble of rocks. He had done his job. It was time to move on. No matter that the road ahead looked suddenly bleak, the granite and gorse leached of all color by the harsh wash of sunlight.

Shannon’s squint suddenly deepened. “There are two riders coming our way at a fast gallop.”

Orlov felt her stiffen and reach for her pistol. He drew the horses to a halt. “You go guard the dowager while I handle things from here.”

She started down, then stopped for another look. “Gypsies, judging by their brightly colored wraps and flowered headscarves. They won’t usually attempt an attack on a coach of this size.”

“Anyone may tie a garish rag around his head.” He checked the priming of his own weapon, then covered it with his coat. “Besides, I traveled for a time with a tribe in Westphalia. Those two do not ride like Romany.”

“True.” She swung out from the footrail for a better vantage point.

“Let us not fight over the honor of standing in the line of fire.” But before Orlov could say more, Shannon broke into a smile and shot her hand up to wave a quick signal.

“No bullets will be flying. It’s one of my fellow Merlins.”

“What the devil—”

“Greetings, Fifi,” said Shannon as the lead rider brought her lathered stallion alongside the coach. “What brings you so far from the nest?”

“Things were far too quiet without you setting off sparks.” From beneath the wild tangle of raven curls flashed a pair of thick-lashed emerald eyes. Orlov saw them quickly slant his way.

“So you decided to gallop off into the fire?” Shannon assumed an air of nonchalance, but he didn’t miss the note of underlying tension in her voice.

Damn Lynsley.
He knew what she was thinking. And while the marquess could not be faulted for taking precautions, at that moment Orlov itched to punch him senseless for doubting her.

“We thought you might need a hand,” said Sofia.

Her friend’s gaze shifted slightly, allowing Orlov a quick study of her face. This was the third member of Merlin’s Maidens he had met, and if anything, the rumors of their striking beauty had been underexaggerated.

Catching Sofia’s questioning look, Shannon replied, “As you see, I’m not alone. Allow me to introduce Alexandr—”

“Orlov.” The flowing folds and riotous colors of the exotic garb half obscured the fine-boned features, but he saw her sultry mouth thin to a hard line. “The rascal who nearly bungled Siena’s mission. And then nearly broke your arm. Mrs. Merlin has also filled us in on a few more of his recent exploits.”

“This is my roommate, Sofia,” murmured Shannon. In a louder voice she added, “Let bygones be bygones, Fifi. Mr. Orlov is now an ally.”

Sofia raised a brow. “The Emperor’s Eastern campaign has certainly made for strange bedfellows.”

Shannon colored slightly, but was saved from having to answer by the approach of the second rider, who had come on at a more leisurely pace.

“Ciao, bella!”
He blew a kiss to Shannon, then cocked a jaunty salute to Orlov. “
Ciao,
Allessandro.”

Shannon blinked in surprise. “You two know each other?”

“Oh,
sí, sí
,” answered Sofia’s companion. Like her, he was layered in bold colors and his leather bandoleers were bristling with brass ornaments. “Sandro and I are old friends. We met several years ago in a house of… lovely ladies. The loveliest in all of Milano, eh,
amico
.”

It took a moment for Orlov to recognize the fellow as Giovanni Marco Musto—a rogue whose exploits with women made
him
look like a choirboy. His eyes narrowed. Little wonder he had needed a second look. He had rarely seen
Il Serpente
with all his clothes on.

“I seem to recall there were twin sisters who had taken a fancy to you that night,” continued the Italian. “Sicilians, dark as sin, with sweet, ripe
melones
.” As Marco was speaking with his hands, translation was unnecessary. “Who were only too happy to share their fruits—”

Orlov cut him off with a sharp cough. “Any chance you might have brought along some bread and water? It’s been a dry and dusty journey down from the moors.”

Sofia gave Marco a shove, setting off a tinkling of bells. “The provisions are packed in your saddlebags. Have a look, and quickly, while I explain our presence.” She flashed a wry smile. “We
are
here under official orders, in case you were wondering.”

“Of course—I’m the only one hot-tempered enough to break the rules.” Shannon managed a short laugh, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. “So, Lord Lynsley did not think I was capable of getting the job done?”

Her friend’s expression turned serious. “Mrs. Merlin assured me this is no reflection on you, Nonnie. Rather it is a mark of how much the marquess wants to be sure that D’Etienne will no longer threaten England or her allies.”

“He won’t.”

“Shannon saw to that,” said Orlov. “See to it that she gets the credit she deserves.”

She shook her head. “No—it was a joint effort.”

Orlov started to speak, but Shannon quickly changed the subject. “I take it Lord Lynsley planned a contingency for getting the family out of Scotland. He never leaves anything to chance.”

“Of course.” Sofia straightened in the saddle. “In the event of an emergency, Marco and I were to escort the McAllister family to the fishing village of Tain. The naval frigate that brought us here is anchored there, waiting to whisk them to the North Sea Squadron base at Middlesbrough.” Sofia’s brow quirked in question. “But seeing as you are in command of the situation…”

“The enemy is no longer a threat, but the castle has been reduced to smoldering cinders,” said Shannon. “It seems the logical choice to follow Lord Lynsley’s plan.”

Orlov could not argue. Her reasoning made perfect sense
. So why was he feeling so perfectly miserable
? It was not merely the thought of rough seas that had his stomach churning.

But a thump from inside the carriage reminded him that he had more important considerations than the stormy state of his emotions. “All is well, Lady Octavia. These are friends, not foes,” he called. “We will soon be on our way.”

“Yes, we had better not linger. The tide will soon be turning,” said Sofia. “Take the unmarked turn ahead. It’s a shortcut down to the south shore of Dornoch Firth. Then follow the right fork to Tain. We will ride on ahead and inform the captain that he should make ready to weigh anchor.”

Marco finished rummaging in his saddlebags and tossed over a small sack. “Sorry, no sweet
melones
, Alessandro. Only cider and cheese.” His grin was nearly as brassy as the thick chains looped around his neck. “
Arrividerci
for now,
bellas
.
”

Had he been a bit closer, Orlov would have been sorely tempted to throttle him on the spot.

Seeming to sense he was treading on dangerous ground, the Italian gave a flick of the reins and danced his stallion back a few steps. “I’ve a bottle of
prosecca
in my sea bag. I shall look forward to sharing a laugh or two during the voyage, while we reminisce over our misspent youth.”

“How did your friend come to be working with a snake like
Il Serpente
?” he muttered as the man gave a last little flourish of his bejeweled hand and galloped off.

“Marco?” Shannon watched the riders for a moment longer before turning his way. “He is one of the instructors at the Academy.”

Orlov grimaced.“ I shudder to ask what he teaches.”

“He’s very skilled with a sword,” she answered with straight face. “And spurs.”

Orlov knew he was meant to laugh, but somehow sound stuck in his throat. Given the Italian’s lust for lovely women, it seemed likely that he had given Shannon a private tutorial in anatomy, She had, after all, mentioned that her classes included the art of seduction.

“If he keeps on acting like an insufferable prick, he will be fishing his cods out of the North Sea.”

“That would be a pity—his
gioielle di famiglia
are quite a treasure.”

The carriage gave a sudden lurch. Swearing, he loosened his grip on the reins. “You mean to say you have seen him naked?”

“Of course.” A pause. “In
art
class. Marco sometimes served as a model for our drawing lessons.” Shannon shot him a quizzical glance. “Is something wrong? Your usual sense of humor seems to have deserted you.”

He didn’t answer, fearing his attempt at a sardonic drawl would come out as a sulky snarl.

She waited a moment before going on. “You must know that his braggadocio is greatly exaggerated. At heart, Marco is a good friend, unwavering in his courage and loyalty.”

“Then no doubt the two of you will enjoy the chance to spend so much time in each other’s company.”

Shannon looked about to speak again, then fixed her gaze straight ahead and maintained a stony silence.

Damn.
In contrast to the Italian’s bright color, he felt cloaked in unrelenting black. It seemed his Russian penchant for melancholy brooding had returned. With a vengeance. Strange, but over the last few weeks Shannon had made him forget his many faults, his many failures. And where in the past, he had often felt aimless, she had helped him rediscover a sense of purpose.

Now, he was about to be back on his own.

His mood was even darker after another hour of contemplating the coming days. “I am damn sick of sea voyages,” muttered Orlov to himself as the horses rounded the last turn into Tain. Adding an oath in Russian, he stared out at the small harbor tucked in the lee of a spit of stone.

A lone ship was riding at anchor, and he watched with sinking spirits as a longboat was lowered and began the short row to shore. With its rakish masts and narrow hull, the naval vessel was clearly designed for speed. Flying on wings of canvas, it would carry him that much faster to port—and to his parting with Shannon.

“Next time I see Yussapov, I may carve his grin into gills.” It was a cruel cut of fate that he must share her with the others during the voyage. What chance was there for any privacy in the crowded confines of a ship? That he would likely be too seasick to take advantage of their last bit of time together only rubbed salt into the wound.

His ill-humor was not shared by the others. The children raced to the longboat, eager to be aboard a real fighting ship. Even the dowager did not look displeased to be leaving Scottish soil.

“Look, look, Mr. Oliver!” Prescott was beside himself with delight on spotting the line of bright yellow gunports below the main deck. “A real broadside. Isn’t that smashing!”

“Smashing.” His voice had a rather hollow echo.

“Try not to look as though you have just swallowed a mouthful of seaweed,” murmured Shannon as they climbed aboard the frigate.

“A whole platterful of the slimy stuff would be more palatable than the prospect of another ocean voyage.”

“Come, it will only be for a day or two.”

What little resolve he still possessed ebbed out with the tide. She sounded excited to be heading homeward.

A strange constriction took hold of his heart. And his tongue. Without a word, he turned and went below deck.

Shannon leaned on the ship’s railing and watched the coastline dip beneath the wind-tossed waves. The deck began to pitch beneath her feet, the up-and-down motion matching the crosscurrents of her own thoughts.

She felt a certain elation at having triumphed over a difficult, dangerous enemy. Yet, there was a deeper, darker side to victory. A lowness of spirit she could not quite put into words. She had come to care for the McAllisters. And for Orlov. Likely she would never see them again.

“You look blue-deviled.” Sofia took up position by her shoulder. “Any reason?”

“I…” As she tugged her cloak a little tighter, her fingers brushed over the silver chain beneath her blouse. “I ought to return this to you,” she said, unclasping the charm. “I’ve no more need of lucky talismans. My mission is done.”