Sweetest Little Sin (12 page)

“I wonder, then, that you agreed to do this,” said Harriet pensively. She cocked her head, subjecting Louisa to intense scrutiny. “Is it naïveté? No, I don’t think so. Foolhardiness? A little, perhaps.

When Louisa curled her lip, Harriet added softly, “Ah, I see. There is some personal imperative, isn’t there? I wonder what it could be.”

Her lips slowly curved into a smile as she tapped them with her fingertip. “What dirty little secret has Faulkner discovered about you?”

“Surely you know that I am too dull for secrets,” Louisa riposted.

Harriet merely raised her brows and waited.

What was it about this woman that always made her edgy and defensive? Louisa carefully smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “Mr. Faulkner and I crossed paths on another occasion and I became aware of the work he does. When he asked this favor of me it seemed little enough I had to do.”

She paused, then said softly, “You don’t think I risk anything from this venture, do you? If you are caught, I will be the innocent dupe. Everyone knows how charming you are. I’ll say I met you quite by chance and found you amiable and saw nothing but social ambition in your wish to be invited along to this house party. I don’t see that I can be in any danger among so many respectable people.”

“You are more naïve than I thought,” murmured Harriet. “There are
so
many ways to arrange accidents, you know. Especially on a shoot.”

Quietly, Louisa said, “If I am to be in danger, don’t you think you owe it to me to explain why? Faulkner mentioned that the lives of many agents are at stake.”

Harriet’s face registered surprise. “He said that, did he? Well, I can tell you some of it, I suppose. Radleigh has managed to get his hands on a very sensitive document, a document that by rights should not even exist. He’s only interested in money and prestige, not politics. We believe he intends to sell that list to the highest bidder.”

“The French?”

“Perhaps.” Harriet drew a long breath. “There are also possibilities closer to home.”

“And what is the nature of this sensitive document?”

“We believe it’s a list of agents employed by the secret service, operating both on British soil and abroad. We don’t know how the rogue intelligence officer got hold of this information. Usually, operatives work in cells so that we ourselves might know one or two of our fellow agents at the most. A list like this . . . No one but the very high-ups should have that knowledge. We have a traitor in our midst.”

There was a hard thrill in Harriet’s voice, as if she relished the challenge before her, as if she looked forward to dealing ruthlessly with the miscreant. She added, “I’ve set up a dead drop with Faulkner in a Hindu temple on the estate.”

Louisa hated being so ignorant, but she had to ask. “What’s a dead drop?”

“It’s a way of communicating with another person without being seen together. If I need to get word to Faulkner, I leave the message in the agreed place and Faulkner picks it up later. The temple is on the edge of the estate, so it will be easy for him to come and go unnoticed.”

So, Faulkner would be lurking nearby. Strangely, the thought didn’t comfort Louisa at all.

Harriet continued. “If anything happens to me, you can signal to Faulkner to get you out of there. A white ribbon means all is well but you haven’t discovered anything yet, blue means you wish to meet. Pink signifies that the mission is compromised and you are getting out.”

Louisa marveled at Harriet’s composure. Intrigued, she asked, “This temple. How will you recognize it?”

“You can’t miss it.” Harriet gave a small snort of laughter. “It has erotic images carved all over it.”

Louisa’s mouth dropped open. What sort of man kept that kind of thing on his grounds, visible to whoever walked past? “The house sounds positively bizarre.”

“Yes, it is. I hear Radleigh bought it and completed construction when the previous owner became bankrupt.” She shrugged. “I believe he grew up in India. Perhaps the estate reminds him of home.”

But Louisa was turning over the information Harriet had given her. That list. How had Radleigh come by such a sensitive document? Did it have Max’s name on it? Jardine’s? Hers, even? Surely, she wasn’t important enough to be named. . . .

She took a deep breath. “I want to help you.”

Harriet glanced at her. “You already are.”

“No, I mean truly help. I want to do something worthwhile.”

Harriet’s face shuttered, and her voice grew hard. “If you want to do something worthwhile, give veils to the poor, Lady Louisa. Don’t interfere with me.”

THEY were only five miles from Radleigh’s house, but Harriet insisted they stop for the night at an inn in the nearby village. “It’s late. We’d do better to arrive in the morning,” she said, unpinning her hat.

Louisa thought this reasoning a little odd but she made no comment. The establishment was clean and comfortably furnished, accustomed to housing the gentry. The landlady showed them to a private dining parlor, making no comment about the absence of ladies’ maids.

For such a petite woman, Harriet’s appetite was voracious. Louisa eyed her in awe as she popped the last sweet-meat into her bow-shaped mouth, having already consumed a hearty dinner of sole, oxtail soup, roast partridge and asparagus, green beans, and several removes.

Did Harriet’s rich clothes hide straightened circumstances, or had a recent mission involved severe deprivation? Perhaps all that subterfuge simply sharpened the appetite. The only thing she took in moderation was the light table claret she’d ordered to go with their repast.

There was nothing wrong with Harriet’s manners, however. She touched a napkin to her lips and rose gracefully. “I must leave you now, my dear. I have an errand to run. Don’t stay up waiting for me. You need your rest.”

Shivering, Louisa glanced out the window to the deep darkness beyond. “Do you think you ought to go alone? It’s not safe for any woman, but for you . . .”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet? But I can look after myself, darling.” She tapped Louisa lightly on the cheek. “Never you mind about me.”

She left with a swish of her cloak and a slight toss of her blond head. Louisa narrowed her eyes. She would dearly like to put Harriet Burton in her place.

The door closed behind Harriet. Louisa counted slowly to twenty. Then she flew up to her chamber and made her own preparations, secreting a tiny muff pistol in her reticule. She watched from the window for a few moments, until the shadowy figure of a cloaked and hooded woman crossed the busy courtyard to the stables.

In short order, one of the ostlers led a horse from the stables, saddled and ready. Louisa expelled a frustrated breath. Harriet would be long gone before she could even reach the yard. No hope of following her.

What was she up to?

Frustrated with herself for letting Harriet give her the slip so effortlessly, Louisa sat down to wait.

LOUISA woke to the sun streaming through the window and a killing ache in her neck. She blinked, squinted, and realized she still sat upright in her bedchamber chair. She must have fallen asleep waiting for Harriet’s return.

She groaned a little. The side she’d slept on swarmed with the hot prick and tingle of numbness. She stretched and rubbed her arm until sensation returned, then sighed and rubbed her eyes, drawing slowly to her feet.

The inn maids had unpacked her things and her toiletries were laid out neatly on the dresser. She rang for hot water and a maid to help her dress. Soon, she felt much more the thing, alert enough to deal with Harriet, at least. She tapped quietly on Harriet’s door.

No answer. Perhaps Harriet was still abed after her late night doing goodness knew what. For a few moments, Louisa stood there, undecided. Should she check to make certain Harriet had returned last night? But if she were in her room, asleep, Harriet would not thank her for waking her at this hour.

Louisa ordered breakfast for an hour hence and decided to go for a walk.

As she left the inn, one of the ostlers started toward her. In an urgent undertone, he said, “Ma’am, your friend did not return last night. The horse she took came back to the stables this morning without a rider. I think something has happened to her.”

Louisa froze. Her fears had been justified. When Harriet so casually mentioned her errand, Louisa should have questioned her further, but she obviously hadn’t been meant to know about Harriet’s secret mission.

“Do you know where she went?”

The fellow shook his head with a frown. “I saddled the horse, that was all. I didn’t even see which way she took.”

Louisa scanned the yard, trying to make sense of the situation. Fear twisted in her belly.

She thanked the ostler and turned back into the inn to inquire if any messages had been left for her.

The flustered landlady quickly wiped her hands on her apron and turned to scan the pigeonholes behind the desk. “Ah, yes, m’lady. I do apologize. There is a message here, to be given to you on your departure this morning.”

She handed over a note that had been twisted into a screw. Louisa opened it, aware that anyone could have come along and read the missive while the front desk lay unattended.

Harriet’s note was short, obviously written in haste and in the knowledge that it might be read by eyes other than Louisa’s.

The note was unsigned.

The bottom fell out of Louisa’s stomach. Harriet had left her to carry on the mission alone!

Louisa shivered in the sunshine. She wanted to turn around and retreat to the safety of London, let Faulkner deal with all of this. But she couldn’t, not with so many lives at stake.

At the least, she ought to get word to Faulkner . . . Wait. No, she couldn’t do that. He’d forbidden all direct communication after that initial meeting. Harriet was to have been the one to get word to him. What had Harriet called it? A dead drop, yes, that was it. Louisa, not Harriet, would have to seek out that shocking temple.

In a state of heightened awareness, Louisa jumped at every wayward sound as she took a light breakfast in the private parlor she and Harriet had hired. Her nerves thrummed. Her neck muscles ached with tension. She did her best to eat, though her stomach protested and squirmed.

She returned to her bedchamber and washed her hands and face and saw to the packing of her trunks in readiness for the remainder of her journey. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She couldn’t stop her hands shaking, no matter how hard she tried.

What a poltroon she was! Harriet had been quite right to scoff at her nebulous wish to help. Lady Louisa Brooke had no skills, no training. When Faulkner discovered how matters stood, he would find another way to infiltrate the party rather than gamble the mission’s success on her.

Was it cowardly to experience such a flood of relief? A day, at most, and she’d be finished with this dreadful engagement. She’d be free.