Seducing the Spy (31 page)

He was quite right. A pile of what seemed to be rags in one corner turned out to be a blanket rolled about a cheap flask and battered tinderbox. Nathaniel shook the flask, then uncapped it and sniffed. "Gut-rot gin," he said, grimacing. "Sooner kill you than not. You'd think a French lord would have better taste."

"He's in pain," Stanton said slowly. "He's been ill from nearly drowning, thanks to Dane, and wounded, thanks to your lady, Marcus. By all rights he ought to be holed up somewhere, recovering. That's what I would be doing, getting well, gathering my strength to battle anew."

"God," Nathaniel breathed. "He's not, though, is he? He's running on nothing, burning himself out. Why?"

"He's lost and he knows it." Dane let out a long breath. "We thought he was dangerous before. Now, imagine that man—that twisted-minded genius—gone to desperation, with nothing left to lose."

Marcus had gone white. "
Julia
."

Stanton nodded, battling down a surge of something very like terror.
Alicia
. She'd already been targeted twice.
And you didn't believe her either time
. His worry flared higher, until he remembered that Alicia had left him.

She was gone. Gone and safe.

It was better that way.

"Quite. It is obvious that he has taken advantage of opportunity to occupy us long enough to get at someone else—" Stanton halted, gazing around the dimly lit shed. The air seemed hazy, gone sharp with—

"Fire."

Stanton drew a breath, choked on it, coughed it away. "No," he gasped. "
Smoke
."

It was coming from under the door, billowing up darker now, black and deadly in the tight, airless confines of the shed. He pulled off his jacket and tried to block the gap. "Smoking us out—like badgers from a hole." Except there was no out. Nathaniel added his coat as well. The cloud ceased. They'd stopped it all.

Dane crouched. "Get down. The air is better. The smoke might yet vent—the shed isn't that—" He choked, coughed violently. "Isn't that airtight," he finished weakly, since they could all see that the shed was, in truth, appallingly airtight.

Dane abruptly sat, shaking his head and blinking. "It's not just smoke…"

Stanton could feel it as well. His vision blurred, the room tilted, the hazy dimness acquiring churning colors and shapes. "What—" He realized he was on his knees. No, on all fours.

Nathaniel dropped to the floor next to him. "Opium," he hissed.

Yes, it was opium, along with something even more acrid and unpleasant that turned the air in Stanton's lungs to scorching fire. He saw Marcus sprawled unconscious, Dane just beyond him in the same condition. He held his breath—
too late, fool
—and tried to crawl across the unconscious bodies to the other side of the shed. If he pressed his lips to that knothole, could he—

The big form of Lord Greenleigh was an insurmountable obstacle. "Nate—help me—"

Nathaniel was passed out, one hand still pressing his coat into the door gap. Stanton blinked dully at the three men for a moment. He was floating above them—no, swimming beneath them…

He was alone. He absorbed that fact with no concern. It was easier that way, always had been. The earthen floor beneath his cheek was damp and cool. It became a pillow, soft and soothing. No, a breast, full and warm. He kissed it gently. Tender fingers tunneled into his hair, soothing the pounding in his head.
Alicia
.

"You didn't leave." Joy bubbled through his veins. He'd been a fool, an idiot, yet she'd stayed with him anyway.

"Yes," she said softly, as she turned her body into his and pressed her warm, naked bounty against him. "I did. I'm quite gone, you see. Just as you wished. Never to return."

He laughed. She was teasing. "You're not gone. You're right here. I can feel you. You stayed with me. You love me."

She kissed his neck, his chest. He could feel the heat from between her thighs sinking into his own groin, hardening him. "No," she whispered into his skin. "I don't. I tried to, but I couldn't. You made sure of that."

Fear stuttered his heart. He had done her so much harm—

He reached for her. "Stay. I'm sorry. I didn't want—I love—" His arms closed around nothing at all but the chill of her not being there. "Alicia!" There was no one there, nothing but blank, gray, aching solitude. Forever. "
Alicia
!"

Alicia leaned back against the tufted cushions of Wyndham's carriage and refused to cry. She was only an hour or so from Cross's estate, but she felt a million miles from Wyndham.

Of course, one might feel that way while in the same room with Wyndham, when he was in one of his brooding states.

It didn't matter. All his most annoying and painful attributes meant nothing when she thought about the fine and noble man shining out from inside him. When he—if he—opened his heart someday, some lucky woman was going to be blinded by the magnificence that hid behind those careful, watchful eyes.

The Falcon Lord, Lady Greenleigh had called him. How apt.

Her eyes burned in a rather permanent way that led her to believe that she might run through numerous handkerchiefs in the next months.

Years.

No. She wouldn't allow it. Her affair with Wyndham had been ill thought out, but it had not been a mistake. Or if it had, it had been a most glorious and worthwhile mistake. She would not spend her life regretting that he could not love her as she loved him.

She leaned her head back against the cushion and let the tears leak down her temples, into her hair. He was worth crying over, damn it.

The carriage slowed suddenly and Alicia leaned from her small window to discover the reason. There was a horseman riding beside them, waving the driver to one side. A horseman in Cross livery, yet.

The driver flipped open the trap to speak to her. "What d'you want me to do, milady? 'E says Lady Dryden sent him. Ought I to stop?"

Julia? "Yes, please do."

When the carriage halted and Alicia opened her door, the young man on the horse dismounted and bobbed his head respectfully. "Milady asked me to bring you this, milady." He handed over a folded missive. "And to fetch you back straightaway, she said."

Alicia took the note and unfolded it. It contained two lines in a long, elegant hand.

"He has made his move. Our husbands are missing and so is Wyndham."

«
^
»

Stanton was lying with his head on an anvil and a large, foul-smelling smith was hammering his temples.

No, wait… he was sitting up, with his hands bound behind him and he was fairly sure he was snoring.

He opened his eyes and blinked. No… that was Dane. The giant was sitting, bound like Stanton was, with his back to the other wall of the shed. The big man's snores were the smith's hammer. Stanton wished he had something to throw—and some hands to throw with.

"Dane!" Ow. His own rasping voice hurt his brain. He tried whispering. "
Dane
!"

"It won't do any good."

Stanton turned his aching head to see Marcus gazing blearily at him from the right wall. "Why not?"

Marcus's lips twisted in a not-smile. "He must have taken in more of the smoke than we did, because I've been yelling at him for a quarter of an hour and all that happened was that you woke up." His voice was as rasping as Stanton's. He shrugged. "I'm not very loud at the moment."

Stanton looked across the shed to where Nathaniel sagged against his own bonds. "What about Nate? Why hasn't he come around yet?"

Nate stirred and opened his eyes. "Nate came around first, thank you," he muttered. "Nate's bloody sick of listening to the rest of you snoring the roof off the place. My head hasn't hurt this much since Willa knocked my horse out from under me." He looked around them at the stark interior of the shed. "The view when I woke up was a hell of a lot better then, however."

"Ooh. Ugh." At last, Dane halted the offensive racket and opened his eyes. He shut them again instantly. "Ow."

"Oh, thank God." Marcus's voice was weak with sincerity. "He's finally stopped."

"No talking," Dane mumbled, his eyes shut tight. "He who talks, dies."

"I'm pretty sure we're going to die anyway, Dane," Nate said with a sandpaper laugh. "Also, you're not very intimidating when you drool in your sleep."

Stanton drew his knees up and tried to get his feet beneath him. He was tied cleverly—his hands bound too high to allow him to sit comfortably, too low to allow him to stand. From what he could see, the others were in the same condition.

"Dane, are you strong enough to break your bonds?"

The blond Viking glared at him through one reddened eye. "I hate you, Wyndham. I just wanted you to know that."

"Yes, right. Try anyway."

Dane took a deep breath and pulled forward. Then he pulled to one side. Then the other. The shed creaked promisingly, but the post did not give.

Stanton let out a breath. "What about you, Marcus? Have you learned any tricks from that group of gypsy lunatics you call servants?"

Marcus grimaced. "They're called 'showmen.' Or 'fair folk.' Gypsies are another thing entirely—and I think I—"

He pulled his feet in, then arched his back until he was able to pull them beneath him to sit on his heels. He went into a series of very uncomfortable gyrations that got him nowhere but red-faced and severely out of breath. At last, he gave up and stretched his legs out before him once more. "Sorry, lads."

Stanton looked at Nathaniel. Nathaniel looked back at Stanton.

"I don't suppose you have some of Forsythe's magic matches in your pocket? If we burn the ropes…"

Stanton shook his head. "I couldn't reach them if I did. Nor do I think fire is advisable with all these explosives above us."

Nathaniel frowned. "Yet our friend risked it. You don't think we're in danger now, do you?"

Stanton tilted his pounding head back against the post and surveyed the ceiling of the shed. "He made a small fire at the base of the door that was mostly smoke, I think. Quick to put out with a stamp of the foot, most likely. Whatever he burned knocked us unconscious fairly quickly. I don't think there was much chance he did more than scorch the door." Then he grimaced. "But that doesn't mean he isn't planning on watching us burn to death when the fireworks go off tonight."

Marcus scoffed. "That's not likely, is it? Someone will be by before then. All we have to do is call out to get their attention."

Dane opened his eyes. "Maybe, or maybe not. We're all hoarse from the smoke. The display is ready to go. The fuse is already in place several yards off. By the time someone comes near enough to hear us, it might already be lighted."

Marcus looked worried. "But our horses? Someone's going to notice four horses milling around out here."

Dane shook his head carefully. "The Chimera is everything that is thorough. I wager that our horses are even now back in their stalls, munching oats, with every appearance of being properly put away. That's what I would do."

Nathaniel considered that for a long moment. "Well, bloody hell."

Stanton didn't bother to agree. There was no point in belaboring the obvious. Unless someone noticed their absence and made the rather outrageous leap of logic that they were therefore locked in the middle of the fireworks display, they were indeed going to go to bloody hell.

"You know," Marcus said, his tone mildly gleeful. "He missed Julia entirely—and she's the most dangerous one of us all."

Greenleigh brightened slightly. "That's true. That mistake might just tilt the scales, I think. If she realizes we're missing in time. Is she expecting you back at any certain time, Marcus?"

Marcus's demeanor fell once more. "No. She might think nothing of our being gone all day."

Alicia was scarcely aware of the ride back to Cross's estate, except that the journey seemed to take twice as long, though the driver went at twice the speed. She was greeted at the door by one of Lady Greenleigh's staff and led immediately to the room where she'd spoken to Sirens before. They awaited her there, tense and pale.

The explanation came from Lady Dryden while Lady Greenleigh and Lady Reardon sat close together, their eyes on Alicia.

The men had gone riding at about the same time that Alicia had called for Wyndham's carriage. They were accustomed to conferring together out of doors, then Marcus would immediately report every detail of the meeting to Julia. "It works best that way, while we move so publicly here. It would look odd indeed for me to disappear with three other men for hours each day," Julia said wryly.

Alicia tilted her head and regarded the woman impatiently. "Are you not aware that you are at an orgy? You could have disappeared with a regiment every day after tea and no one here would have blinked an eye."

Julia looked much taken aback. "I—that is—"

Lady Reardon regarded her friend for a long moment. "I'm not sure I could pull off such a feat, but anyone would believe
you
could inspire three virile gentlemen to such… cooperation, Julia."

Julia opened her mouth to speak, halted, then blushed hotly. "I find it difficult enough to be the one woman working among men. You two have become my friends. I would not like minds to… to wander to that thought."

Lady Greenleigh flapped one hand. "Julia, don't worry about us. We don't envy you your beauty. It's too much bloody work, if you ask me."

Alicia practically shivered with impatience. "Right. You're beautiful. They aren't jealous. Wyndham is missing. Am I keeping up so far?"

Julia gazed at her evenly, though she was as pale as the others. "Yes. I knew immediately that something was wrong, especially after the incidents involving you, which seem much more sinister in retrospect."

"They were abundantly sinister in the moment, I assure you."

"Yes, well." Julia hesitated. "You must understand, Lady Alicia. Until today, we were not even sure our… mutual enemy was truly here."

Alicia regarded her stonily. "I was. I tried to convince Stanton—but you could have, if you had believed me."

Julia's lips twisted slightly. "I was more concerned with the effect you were having on Wyndham than in the case itself. I suppose I never truly believed that you heard what you heard."