Seducing the Spy (3 page)

Stanton had not been wrong about Ethan, exactly. The fellow was without scruples or honor. Yet those same shady tendencies had made Ethan a valuable member of the Liar's Club, the ring of spies and criminals that was the hand of the Royal Four.

Still, Stanton had no illusions that the dog had changed his spots. It was only Ethan's consuming adoration of Jane that kept that particular hound on the leash.

Stanton felt a moment of envy for Damont's insouciance now, for he couldn't remember the last time he'd slid into a chair with such fluid relaxation.

With Ethan, however, languid ease never lasted long. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands dangling casually, and fixed Stanton in his suddenly fierce gaze.

"No, no, a thousand bloody times
no
."

"No, what?"

"No, you are not going to involve Jane in another of your 'deadly consequence be damned' cases. She barely survived the last one." His gaze went dark and inward. "When I saw her burns…"

Stanton had been spared such visual confirmation of the deadly error that had nearly cost Jane her life at the hands of the Chimera a few months ago, but he had not forgotten his own guilt in the matter. He'd thoughtlessly sent Jane into the thick of conspiracy with no way to reach him quickly enough to help her, should things go wrong—and they had.

Still, he found himself defending his position yet again. "She was only supposed to observe her uncle's household, not involve herself."

Ethan grunted. "Then you didn't know her very well."

Another regret. "No, I' in afraid I didn't." Young Lady Jane and her delicate, emotionally unstable mother, the previous marchioness, had been banished to a life of poverty and neglect when Stanton's father had become the new Marquis of Wyndham. Not Stanton's fault precisely, but then he'd never bothered to ask what became of them either, until he'd taken over the title two years ago and discovered the appalling conditions the two ladies were living in.

He'd done what he could to make the late Lady Wyndham's existence more comfortable for her last days. Jane, however, he'd immediately seen as valuable and had promptly put her into use for his own ends. England's ends.

However, Stanton wasn't about to let the irritating Ethan in on his personal misgivings. "You seem to have no objection to Jane's working within the Liar's Club."

Ethan didn't back down. "It isn't the spying, and it isn't that Jane isn't more than capable. The problem is you and your willingness to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve your ends, you cold bastard."

There it was again. "Actually, I prefer 'bleak bastard,' " Stanton muttered faintly.

Ethan didn't slow his attack. "Sometimes I wonder if you think everyone has your lack of interest in life—or if you simply think so little of the welfare of others that you expend them like lamed horses or soiled gloves!"

The shot went deep. Stanton felt himself grow colder as Ethan went on. "I do not consider Jane expendable," he said stiffly. "And I do not need her for this mission."

Ethan leaned back, only partially mollified. "So you have someone else to sacrifice this time?"

"Lady Alicia is not going to be sacrificed," Stanton said tightly. "She is merely the source of some information that I am not yet sure merits investigation."

Ethan raised a brow. "Lady Alicia? Not Lady Alicia Lawrence?"

Stanton tilted his head. "What do you know of her? I remembered her being involved in some social mishap a few years ago."

"Mishap? Debacle, more like. She wreaked havoc at a house party in Devonshire, taking on three men in one night—and her a mere maid of eighteen too. Actually, I was there, although I missed the worst of the uproar. Apparently several reputable witnesses found her—in all her tumbled glory, mind you—in the arms of a simpleton stable boy."

Ethan raised a finger. "I never held it against her, myself. She was a good sort before all this—always game for a laugh, not above a bit of harmless flirting with the common gambler. Not that she ever did anything out of bounds, until that night."

"It might have gone easier for her if she'd not denied it all so vehemently," Ethan mused. "She claimed that she had thought the stable boy to be someone else, a lord I think, although anyone could see he was a homespun horse boy without the sense to keep his hands off a titled lady. Then it came out that someone saw two other fellows leave her room in the wee hours. The man she claimed to have been ruined by—Lord Almont, that was it—denied having anything to do with her. Came up with a witness who said he'd been at the cards all night."

Ethan shook his head. "Poor lass. I suppose she was trying to save herself from the worst of it, but being a wanton is bad enough without making a reputation as a world-class liar on top of it."

Stanton grimaced. Hellfire. It was every bit as bad as he'd thought. He was basing a time-consuming investigation on the word of a well-known fraud.

He rubbed a hand across his face. Perhaps he ought to toss the entire "kidnapping" matter into the rubbish bin at once and wash his hands of the irritating Lady Alicia forever.

But what if it were true?

There was just enough fact in her story—fact that she could not have otherwise known—to keep him dangling on the hook of indecision for an uncharacteristically long moment.

No. There was no help for it. He was going to have to track down Lady Alicia's conspirator or else establish his lack of existence.

So you have someone else to sacrifice this time?

There would be no sacrifice. Lady Alicia, wanton liar or not, would come to no harm at his hands.

He would see to this matter personally.

Out of curiosity, and to verify the facts—for Stanton never credited gossip as truth—he took himself off to Sutherland House to speak further to Lady Alicia.

She was not there. In fact, the butler went completely ashen at the mention of her name and seemed to actually be considering the wisdom of slamming the door in the Marquis of Wyndham's face. Stanton took the agonizing decision out of the man's hands.

"I suppose I shall have to contact the newssheets, then, to see if they can tell me her current whereabouts…"

In seconds he was invited in and closeted with a red-faced Lord Sutherland and a pale and shaking Lady Sutherland.

Alicia's father was a large fellow who had perhaps once been of a hearty mien, but now seemed gray and bloated. Alicia's mother was thin and weary-seeming, as if she'd not much left to her.

They could hardly bear to speak of their infamous daughter long enough to inform Stanton that they had forced to deny her entirely in order to protect their other two fine and virtuous daughters from their sister's unholy influence.

Interestingly enough, they were lying. Lord Sutherland glanced away often, although that could be from shame. Lady Sutherland, on the other hand, gazed at him solemnly, scarcely blinking. Was she so practiced in the art of lies that she could seem so truthful? Still, they lied. He knew it

Yet, they'd told him nothing but that they had shut out their wayward daughter. Now what could be untrue about such an obvious statement? Still, they lied. He knew it.

"She turned on us then," Lord Sutherland said with a tremor in his voice. "She looked at us as if we were the ones committing the crime and declared that
she
would no longer know
us
!"

"So you can see why we do not care to speak of her…" The pale and breathy Lady Sutherland fluttered her hands, unable to finish.

That, at least, his senses told him, was true. Which was all very tragic and pitiable and reinforced Stanton's opinion that marriage and offspring was a province best left to men with much more time on their hands, but Stanton still hadn't an answer to his question.

"Where will I find Lady Alicia?"

"We've only this Season felt able to show our faces in Society again," Lady Sutherland said tearfully. "Five years we've hidden out in the country. Now, our daughters—good, virtuous girls!—might still make good matches but only if Alicia remains out of sight and out of mind."

She sniffed and blinked at Stanton woefully. "Lord Wyndham, you do not intend… you do not intend to bring up such painful history again? Why do you need to find Alicia? What is she to you?"

Stanton could not tell the woman that he was the Falcon, one of an ancient secret cabal of lords known as the Royal Four—king makers and king breakers all.

That information was kept in the closed hands of a very few trusted individuals, the Prime Minister and the Prince Regent among them. Knowledge such as that was not for the weak, mortal members of Society at large.

So he merely said, "I have a small business matter to discuss with Lady Alicia."

He waited and the couple responded as people usually did, gradually becoming more restive and apprehensive under his even gaze. His eyes did seem to have that effect on people.

"Barrow Street," Lady Sutherland blurted finally. "In Cheapside!" Then she clapped a hand over her mouth and shot a mortified glance toward her glowering husband.

Truth. Stanton stood and bowed. "Thank you. Good evening." He turned on his heel and left, not terribly concerned what befell the lady. They were liars both, although they didn't seem to be lying about Lady Alicia's location. He made a note to himself that Lady Alicia's parents had more to tell him if he so required it.

After Lord Wyndham left them, Lord and Lady Sutherland sat in tense silence for a long moment, then began to discuss his lordship's visit in whispers.

Should they feel relieved that the man was gone, or should they be alarmed that Alicia had brought new attention to herself and consequently to them?

They both agreed however, that they had done the right thing not mentioning to Lord Wyndham the other man who had so recently come seeking information about Alicia. "That business is best left alone." If only they could make it all simply go away.

«
^
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Hours after leaving Lord Wyndham's residence, Lady Alicia Lawrence entered her small, shabby house and threw her hat and veil onto the side table with enough force to send it skidding across the invitation-free surface and off the other side to the floor. She closed her eyes for a long moment, seeking fortitude, then bent to retrieve the borrowed item and place it gently on the side table once more.

Millie had not many fine things, and while the hat was nothing that Alicia would have once called fine, it was Millie's. Alicia's elderly former governess was much beloved, despite her sad lack of taste. Alicia looked down at the borrowed gown's hem and sighed. She would be up late scrubbing the soil from the ancient silk, that was very certain.

Millie came tottering down the hall on her cane, her gaze brightening when she saw Alicia. "Well, did he let you in? Did he believe you? Is he as handsome as they say?"

Alicia smiled. "Yes. I don't know. More so."

Millie nodded and smiled back. "Then it's a good thing you wore my fascinator, isn't it?" She picked up the hat lovingly. "I had many a fellow cast me a second glance while I was wearing this."

Alicia suspected the second glances had been ones of disbelief, but she would never say so.

"Of course, my current gentleman friend needed no such influence. He says he knew the moment he saw me in the garden that I was a lady to be reckoned with. Of course, he's not much to look at himself, but I'm long past caring about that sort of thing."

Alicia was happy that Millie was happy, even if the "gentleman caller" was as imaginary as their "garden"—a stony pit behind the house that intimidated even the weeds from intruding. Imaginary callers were better than no callers at all.

She turned to the speckled mirror gracing the hall and peered closely at her face. The hives were still quite apparent, though thankfully less florid than they had been last night. Her face was still very puffy, unfortunately, and her throat was still quite sore.

It seemed that she could add strawberries to the list of things she could not eat. That was a pity, indeed, for there were still several pints of strawberry jam in the pantry. Millie's even more elderly cousin had sent them from her home in the country as a gift, and Alicia had been glad to have them. It had been a long time since she'd been able to spare the coin for nonessentials like jam.

She straightened and examined the rest of her reflection. Her entire body had swelled, not dangerously, but too much to wear her own things. She'd had to borrow the gown from Millie as well, for her own could not be buttoned round her puffy midriff. Her skin had been far too sensitive to bear the tight binding touch of too-small clothing.

It looked as though she might be able to wear her own things tomorrow, if she drank a great deal of water and took herself directly off to bed. First she headed off to the kitchen to make an oatmeal paste to ease the itching of her skin.

When the paste had cooled enough to spread over her burning skin, she dabbed it thankfully on her forehead and cheeks.

The door knocker rapped sharply, three times. Alicia started, for she was unaccustomed to the sound. Bloody hell. She didn't have enough oatmeal to spare for another batch, since porridge constituted their main meal every morning. She stepped quickly in stocking feet to open the door as she was.

The Marquis of Wyndham stood outside, all six-feet-and-then-some splendorous male, calling on
her
.

Without the obfuscation of the veil, she was finally able to see—and appreciate!—him fully.

He wasn't a beautiful man, at least not in an easy, golden way. He was dark, with the stern, arrogant strength of an archangel—the avenging sort who carried a sword and had a tendency to smite things.

His height added to that impression. He was broad of shoulder as well, although not brawny. He had large, well-shaped manly hands with long fingers—the sort of hands that knew how to tease music from a pianoforte, yet could easily wield the above-mentioned sword.

In other words, he was entirely to Alicia's taste.

Pity that. What a waste. What was she to do with the man of her dreams—who conversely would want nothing to do with said dreams—now that he had finally come to call?