Seducing the Spy (8 page)

"Shouldn't worry about it now, milady. Himself doesn't seem the type, anyway. I think he likes you for your mind, scrambled as it is."

Alicia turned to glare at Garrett. "I told you before, I am not trying to win Lord Wyndham. He and I have a business arrangement, that is all."

"Sure, that's all it is now. But he's unmarried and so are you and I'm a lady's maid. It's my job to make matches."

Alicia narrowed her eyes. "You've been a lady's maid for all of a week. I made you and I can break you."

"And where would you find another male lady's maid so perfectly designed to cause scandal and gossip?" He paused to smooth his golden hair in the mirror. "Especially one so handsome and virile and guaranteed to cause prurient speculation in the most pristine of minds?"

"Ha," Alicia groused. "You're a grandstanding tea-leaf actor and half the world knows it."

He smiled and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "But not the half which you are trying to shock. And so I carry on, poof though I am, gazing at you with seething passion when someone else is in the room and dressing you like a wicked man's darkest dream."

He frowned at the lace in her bodice. "Now stop being a marshmallow and strike as if you mean it, which you do—or you will if you'll stop thinking about what Himself'll think of you."

Alicia toyed with her neckline uncertainly. "I do mean it… or at least I did mean it." She pressed her cool fingers over her hot eyes. "I thought I knew what I was after, but now I'm completely turned about."

"Perhaps if you remember what Lord Almont did to you—"

She shook her head. "I don't want to think about Almont right now. Tonight is about my family. Almont's lies were terrible, but what my own flesh and blood did to me…"

Hot betrayal rushed anew through her veins and she regarded her neckline with newly heated resolve. With a sharp movement, she yanked the concealing lace away. "There," she said with satisfaction. If only her family could see her now.

You were so ready to believe the worst of me
—
well, here you are then. Your worst nightmare come to life. Now you'll be the object of gossip and dismay, you'll be rejected by your peers, you'll be the ones sitting in silence day after day, welcome nowhere, no visitors, until you think you might go mad from the ticking of the clock.

She raised hot eyes to meet Garrett's in the mirror. "Now, I'm ready to go to the opera."

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Stanton leaned back in Lady Alicia Lawrence's viewing box and regarded the ongoing opera with a level of boredom of which he hadn't thought himself capable. Oh, the soprano was very talented and the set was extravagant, as was the pageantry of the cream of London Society that swirled below him—but Lady Alicia was not here.

Apparently she was making a fashionably late appearance. Since the performance was nearly half over, even the unpredictable Lady Alicia must surely arrive shortly.

Not surprisingly, the orchestra had just begun the next movement when the curtains parted behind Stanton and an usher bowed Lady Alicia through. Stanton stood to greet her.

She seemed startled to see him, hanging back in the shadows that overtook the rear of the box. He smiled cordially enough. She did not seem reassured. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Did I not make myself clear? I am to be your escort at all times."

"You were entirely clear. I simply ignored you." She looked behind her as if contemplating a quick escape.

Stanton debated engaging in a bit of timely sarcasm, but unexpectedly felt no need. In fact, he felt inexplicably light-hearted this evening. He smiled easily at her. "You must be warm. Why don't you let me take your cape?"

She tucked the collar of the cape closer to her throat, hesitating. "I—" She pressed her lips together and gazed at him in irritation. "Oh, I simply do not care what you think!"

She abruptly stepped forward, out of the shadows and into the play of light from the stage lanterns. She dropped the cape and raised her chin defiantly.

Stanton felt his mouth go dry.

It wasn't her. It could not be her. Lady Alicia Lawrence was a blotchy, ill-kempt creature, swollen like a grape and not as appetizing.

Before him stood a faultlessly elegant lady, posed with her head high and her shoulders back, showing off a truly prepossessing figure, if one was inclined to prefer a bit of plump abundance with one's morning cup of tea…

She wouldn't be elegant in his arms. She would be earthy and untamed and shameless—

Stanton blinked. That thought had flown through his mind like an outlaw's arrow, coming from nowhere.

It wasn't her.

Yet lively cat-green eyes gleamed at him knowingly.

"You seem taken aback, my lord. And rather boring. In the last week I've spent more money than the Prince Regent's new mistress! Have you nothing to say about my accomplishment?"

She looked like a prostitute—a beautiful, opulent, extravagantly endowed prostitute with sexual fire alight in her eyes.

She was the embodiment—oh, dear God, that body!—of every man's most wicked dream.

Whose dream? Theirs… or yours?

The air came back into Stanton's lungs in a rash. "What in the seventh level of hell are you wearing?"

He hadn't meant to bellow and he certainly hadn't realized that the orchestra was just finishing the last movement, and he sure as hell hadn't meant for his question to echo through the opera house like a bass crescendo.

"Oh, well done," Alicia murmured to him.

He turned to gape down at her. She patted his arm with a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then she stepped away from him in a dramatic flounce of skirts. "You beast!"

Again, her voice carried over the hall as if she stood on the stage itself. Every neck craned to see. A soggy sob followed, and then she turned back to him, dramatically wiping her eyes. "You horrible, cruel… man! First you seduce me, and then you denigrate me for it! "

For a horrified moment, Stanton thought she intended to throw herself to her knees at his feet, but then she seemed to realize she would no longer be visible to the people below.

To catch herself, she staggered melodramatically, then teetered as she raised the back of one hand to her brow. "I cannot go on this way," she wailed. "I love you so, no matter how cruel you are to me—"

Stanton wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Perhaps she became too caught up in her own performance, or perhaps it was the trailing skirts of the elaborate gown, but suddenly Alicia lurched sideways, hit the balustrade with her hip, and then began to tip over the railing of the box.

Still shocked motionless with dismay at her public theatrics, Stanton almost didn't react quickly enough. It was only when she shot a surprised and horrified gaze to his that he realized she was truly about to fall.

The crowd below gasped in delicious horror and several ladies screamed even as Stanton leaped for her. He caught one flailing hand and wrapped his other arm about her waist even as her feet completely left the floor and she began to flip backward.

Stanton almost lost her when the railing began to crack beneath their combined weight. From the corner of his eye, he saw something fall to the crowd below. Wrapping both arms about Alicia, he swung her high and around, pulling them both back from danger as the railing failed completely and fell.

They rolled together across the carpeted box, ending with her beneath him. The sound of the crowd rose about them as the people who had gathered to help catch the falling lady fled the falling bits of balcony railing.

Stanton heard only his own racing heart and the gasping breathing of Alicia against his face. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and tucked his face into her silken neck.

She hadn't fallen. She wasn't broken and bleeding on the floor below. She was safe and warm in his arms, clinging fiercely to him and shaking from reaction.

Or perhaps it was he who shook. That moment when his grip had slipped—he'd never felt fear like that before.

That fact alone was enough to bring him to his senses. He released her smoothly and stood, holding out one hand for her to take.

Alicia gazed up at Lord Wyndham in confusion. He gazed calmly down at her, as if he were merely a stranger helping a lady up a step. She blinked. Less than a second ago he had been holding her so fiercely—

Obviously, her imagination had failed her again, for she now saw no hint of that desperate emotion on his face. Bemused, she took his hand and allowed him to raise her to her feet.

The crowd beneath erupted into cheers, the opera performance forgotten in the drama being enacted above them. Alicia blinked at the sea of faces now revealed by the lack of railing. They were smiling… cheering… her!

"So turns the fickle tide of Society," said a deep warm voice in her ear. "It seems our passionate affair has quite caught their fancy."

Alicia snorted. "And why not, when we deliver such entertaining fare?"

It didn't bode well for her mission, however. How in the world was she to enact her vengeance if Society loved her instead of loathed her?

"I'm simply relieved your bodice remained in place, such as it is."

Alicia raised a brow at him. "That should teach you not to disrespect the feminine arts. It takes work to look this scandalous. I've seen ancient battle armor less formidably constructed than this bodice."

He bowed mockingly. "I concede to the mighty bodice—although I insist that this gown go back to the dressmaker. It seems she forgot to finish the neckline."

"Very well." Alicia shrugged. "Its work is done. I could hardly wear it again, lest I diminish its impact."

"Heaven forefend," Stanton replied wearily. "Now, I shall have one of my men escort you home. I have another matter to attend to. That railing was deliberately weakened."

She nodded. "Indeed. I would very much like to know who rigged this box with a trip wire." She bent to hike one side of her skirt to reveal her ankle. "I felt it cut me."

Indeed, there was a fine bloody slice through one stocking.

Stanton clenched his jaw. He'd not suspected a trip mechanism, although now it seemed obvious. Why else tamper with the railing unless one could guarantee someone would fall against it?

What he wasn't prepared for was the fierce jolt of primeval protectiveness which shot through him at the sight of her bloodied skin. The wound was nothing—a mere scratch—so why did his vision begin to redden at the thought of getting his hands on the perpetrator?

Lady Alicia was eyeing him with some consternation. "Are you ill? Did you strain something when you caught me?" She leaned close to peer into his face. "You must be more careful."

"Someone wanted you dead," he said slowly. "Now why would that be?" No one but the Four knew of their investigation. Then again, a notorious lady might have made a few enemies on the way…

Lady Alicia's eyes widened. "I—" She stopped short. Stanton's attention was caught by the abrupt lack of expression on her face. It was rather eerie in fact, for Alicia's lively features were never still.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, more gently than he'd intended.

She exhaled and smiled brightly. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I shall see you in the morning… about eleven, if you please."

"I was thinking a bit—"
Earlier
. But she was gone, with nothing but a fluttering of the curtain remaining.

The next morning, Garrett was calmly packing while Alicia was panicking enough for both of them. "Did you remember the gray satin gloves that go with the—"

"I remembered all the gloves, and all the gowns. I even remembered to include a few pairs of the vast collection of shoes that you billed to poor Lord Wyndham."

Alicia paused long enough to sniff indignantly. "Who knows when I'll have another chance to buy shoes," she reminded him.

Garrett folded his arms. "You're dressed. You're packed but for your toiletries. You have plenty of time—"

Even in the bedchamber one could hear the authoritative rapping of the door knocker. "Oh, blast. He's early!" Alicia patted her hair unnecessarily. "Finish quickly. I'll distract him."

She flew from the room and down the stairs, intercepting Gunther before he could open the door. "I'll get that," she told him. "And by the way, you're fired."

That would teach him to rat out his mistress! It had to have been Gunther, for every time she'd sent him on an errand, Wyndham had been able to mysteriously interfere.

Now, to deal with Wyndham himself…

She was late when he'd specifically ordered her to be on time. Therefore, Alicia decided upon a preemptive strike. She threw open the door to frown at Stanton. "How dare you show your face here after the way you behaved last evening?"

That outrageously unjust statement had the desired effect. Lord Wyndham stopped short and actually seemed to be casting through his memory for the alleged offense.

The moment was priceless, and far too much for Alicia. She collapsed into laughter and turned away, leaving him fuming on the doorstep.

She wiped at her eyes and looked back to see him still standing there with a deadly glint in his eyes. "Why are you still out there?"

"I have yet to be invited in," he said, biting out each word with precision.

She put her fists on her hips. "That is ridiculous. I think I shall leave you there to ponder the stupidity of clinging to propriety on the doorstep of a house which you, in fact, are paying for. I shall be in the parlor should you come to your senses."

Casting him one last glance that plainly said she found such an event highly doubtful, she turned away.

She'd scarcely taken two steps before his hand came about her elbow. She glanced up at him. "For someone so constrained by propriety, you do seem to lay hands upon me rather often."

He glared down at her. "We have a timetable to adhere to and some basic rules to discuss. I do not have time for your theatrics."

She rolled her eyes and pulled her arm from his grip. "If you came here to spout rules at me, I'd prefer not to waste a moment on such nonsense." She smiled coquettishly at him. "Since we have a timetable, of course."