Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (19 page)

She sensed there was more to it.

She needed time to think, time to plan how to return to London. Her uncle had sent her to the country, but he had not said she could not return briefly. Richmond was an easy distance from London. Perhaps she might make a quick trip to meet with Saint and Wolf. Or perhaps Blue might help. Lord Melbourne had sent for Baron. Did Baron know something she did not?

“Well, then, Mr. Griffyn,” she began, glancing at him again. He’d been looking away, and he glanced back at her in surprise. For a brief moment, so very brief, she saw his face without its mask. It was back before she could even realize what she had seen. There was that look of scorn and coldness that made him resemble the devil himself. But she had seen something else.

Pain.

“Well…” she said again, her words failing her. “You clearly do not know me very well. I can and I will assist you. Tonight.” The words seemed to hang between them, palpable and capricious things. She almost stretched out her hand to snatch them back. What had she been thinking? She wanted to spend less time with the man, not more! She had a madman to defeat, her uncle’s life to save. Perhaps the sovereignty of England depended on her.

Oh, very well. That might be exaggerating her own importance a little, but the fact was that she did not have the time to keep watch in hopes of catching a grain thief.

“Thank you, but no,” Griffyn said.

“Pardon me?” Oh, but how she wished she would shut her mouth. The man was politely refusing her. He’d said
thank
you
and everything. She should take the opportunity to go now. Instead, she felt a bit insulted. Who was
he
to refuse
her
? She was the best spy in England. Did he not think her capable of catching a grain thief? She could have done it in her sleep.

“I do not need your assistance.” He squeezed out of the small feed room, and she had to follow him. She would not call what she was doing
chasing
him. She did not chase men she did not intend to capture. She had no intention of capturing Griffyn.

“Mr. Griffyn,” she said, catching up to him before a stall. He lifted a pitchfork and began to pitch hay. “Investigating, capturing criminals, lying in wait—these are the sorts of things I
do
. I could show you a dresser full of medals and honors for the hundreds of times I have done such things and been rewarded by the king. I can catch your grain thief.”

He turned to her, still clutching the pitchfork. “I do not need your assistance.” He scooped the hay again.

“Why?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is it because I am a woman?”

“No.” Another scoop of hay.

“Because I am injured? Because if that is the case, I assure you I am perfectly—”

“No.” Another fork of hay.

“Is it because you know I have more pressing matters to attend to? Matters that could affect the sovereignty of our country and the balance of power in the realm?”

He gave her a long look from under his dark lashes. “No.”

“Then why?”

With a sigh, he dug the pitchfork into the hay. “Because it would require the two of us to be alone for hours on end throughout the night. That is a great deal of temptation.”

“
I
will not be tempted.” And that was a lie. She was tempted now. “I have conducted hundreds of surveillance operations, quite often with male agents. I have never been even remotely tempted.” That was true enough, but he was not an agent. He was…Griffyn.

“Perhaps I was speaking of myself.”

“You? But—” Suddenly her throat felt quite dry. She licked her lips and wished she had tea or water or a stiff brandy. “Oh,” she finally said, because she could not think of anything else to say.

“So you see, Miss Bonde, it would be better, for me, if you are not involved.”

“I do, Mr. Griffyn.” She would have said more, though she knew not what, since her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own this morning, but she heard the sound of male voices.

“The grooms,” Griffyn said. “We were all up late, and I told them to sleep a few hours. Doubtless Old Connor decided they had slept long enough.”

“I should return to the house.” But she did not move. She was reluctant to leave him. He seemed so tired. She was weary too, but there was something exhilarating about being in his presence, something that made her heart race and her blood pound through her veins. She felt alive, the same way she did when she was close to ciphering a code. Was that it? Was Griffyn a puzzle she wanted to solve, or was she no better than every other young lady? Enticed by his dark good looks and the mystery and danger surrounding him?

“You should go in,” Griffyn said, looking as though he would not miss her in the least. Perhaps she was not quite so tempting after all.

“Good day then.” This time she forced her legs to move and was able to nod to the grooms as she passed them on her way out of the stables. They hastily removed their caps and bid her good day. She started back for the house at a quick clip. By the time she’d arrived, she realized she was in pain. Her stitches throbbed. She should not have walked so quickly. She took a moment in the saloon to lean against the back of a chair and catch her breath. The pain would pass if she gritted her teeth and bore it for a few moments.

“Are you unwell, Miss Bonde?”

Jane spun about, wincing when her wound flared hot in agony. “Lady Edgeberry,” she managed to gasp out. “I did not know you were in residence.” But judging by the marchioness’s dress, she had not been in residence. She was dressed for travel in a sturdy day dress and spencer. She wore a straw bonnet trimmed with green ribbon, rather than the sort of mob cap a lady would wear if she had been indoors.

“I fear I roused my coachman at an unholy hour this morning so I might arrive in time to break my fast with you and your dear aunt. Where is she? Allow me to fetch her for you. You do not look at all well.”

Jane held out a hand. “No, please. I am perfectly well. I have been out walking and simply need to catch my breath. I…overexerted myself.”

Lady Edgeberry looked doubtful but did not gainsay her. Jane knew her excuse flimsy. She was a young, healthy woman. There was no reason she should find a walk taxing. But Lady Edgeberry did not know her, and Jane supposed the marchioness might very well assume her son’s young betrothed had a weak constitution.

The marchioness indicated the chair Jane had been clutching, and Jane could have cursed herself for unthinkingly giving Lady Edgeberry the opportunity to have a tête-à-tête. The lady was unaware Jane had overheard her threats to Lord Melbourne, and Jane did not particularly like the role the marchioness had played in this betrothal. But though Jane was an unrivaled spy, she was not as socially adept. Seeing no other alternative, she took the chair across from Lady Edgeberry. Sitting actually caused the pain to subside slightly, and Jane felt as though she could think clearly again.

“I understand felicitations are in order,” the lady said. “I cannot tell you how very pleased I am that you and my eldest son are betrothed.”

“Thank you,” Jane answered. The marchioness really did seem pleased. Her smile appeared genuine, but Jane knew she had been a renowned actress. One look at her and it was not difficult to guess why she had been so successful in her chosen field. She was lovely in exactly the ways Jane wasn’t lovely. Lady Edgeberry was petite, dark, and exotic-looking. Her thick, shiny blue-black hair was swept into a sleek chignon at the back of her long, slender neck. Her skin was warm olive, and her eyes a dark brown. The outer corners tilted up slightly, accented by her long lashes. She had a plump, expressive mouth that could probably pout as easily as it could smile.

The marchioness had four sons, which meant she was one of Lady Melbourne’s contemporaries, but Jane could not detect any wrinkles on her face or neck. Her figure would certainly make her a favorite on the stage. She had voluptuous curves and a trim waist. Even dressed in a modest golden day dress, her figure was impressive. Griffyn was a bastard, and it was not uncommon for actresses to give birth without the benefit of wedlock. What was uncommon was for an actress with a by-blow to marry a marquess. The marriage had been quite the mésalliance at the time, or so Jane had read in her research of Griffyn.

“I knew you were perfect for Dominic the first time I saw you,” the marchioness said.

Jane’s brows rose. “Why is that, my lady?”

“Because you don’t care a whit what Society says or does.”

“That’s not entirely true. I care very much what Society says about my aunt and uncle. I would never allow anyone to hurt them with actions or words.”

The lady was quiet for a moment, and Jane did not know if she understood the veiled threat or not.

“And yet you turned down six marriage proposals—all from quite eligible men.”

“
I
did not think them eligible.”

“I venture to guess your aunt and uncle did.” She pulled absently at the fingers of her fine kidskin gloves. “And what makes Dominic different? What makes him, in your opinion, eligible?”

Jane did not like the turn this conversation had taken. She did not like to feel as though she were being manipulated. She might accept this betrothal for the time being, but that did not have to mean she acted like a foolish, lovelorn nitwit. “Let us be frank, Lady Edgeberry.”

The marchioness leaned forward. “Oh, yes, let’s do. I must confess that most members of the
ton
have quite a different definition of
frank
than I do. In which case, I shall allow you to set the tone.”

“I think you know very well that my aunt and uncle have all but insisted I marry your son. I have my own reasons for agreeing. These reasons have nothing to do with your son’s
eligibility
, and everything to do with my need to marry.”

“Are you with child?” the marchioness asked.

Jane blinked. “No!”

Lady Edgeberry shrugged apologetically. “You did ask for frankness.”

“I did, and it is my understanding that your son’s, shall we say trouble, with ladies precipitated your dictate that he marry.”

Lady Edgeberry sat back. “Young unmarried ladies do not generally speak of such things.”

“I hardly think I have shocked you.”

“Not at all. In fact, this is exactly why I considered you the perfect wife for my son. You do not care that he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. You will not fear his black moods. A bit of youthful indiscretion will not shock you or deter you from marrying him.”

This was all true, but Jane thought, considering Griffyn’s connections, most young ladies could overlook all three of those concerns. She said as much, but Lady Edgeberry shook her head. “But would Dominic have such a young lady? Doubtful. He has an enormous amount of pride. He would never consent to marry a woman who looked down on him because of the circumstances of his birth. Do you understand why?”

“He does not wish to be pitied.”

“He has too often been pitied and condescended to by young, beautiful ladies. From my perspective, he had quite given up on the notion of marrying any young lady I considered eligible. Perhaps given up on marriage altogether.”

“And yet you say I am perfect.”

“Because you are beautiful. You do not pity him. You are everything he did not think he could have. And now I will see he has it.” The marchioness’s dark eyes met Jane’s. “And has you.”

“So I am a trophy.” The thought was truly appalling. She was anything but a trophy. She collected trophies of enemies of the state. She was no man’s trophy.

“A hard-won trophy. I do not know what you have heard about my son and his dalliances with ladies, but I assure you they are, for the most part, exaggerated.”

From Jane’s experiences with Griffyn thus far, she was not inclined to agree with the marchioness. Griffyn seemed quite experienced and lived up to his reputation as a man who knew how to please ladies.

“Are we still being frank, Miss Bonde?”

Jane was not quite certain what she should answer. She was not at all certain she wanted the marchioness to go on.

“Miss Bonde?”

“Y—” Jane cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“My son had a difficult childhood. I blame myself. I was away too much. I consorted with men of questionable character. Dominic was hurt by my unintentional neglect. I do hope, if and when my son elects to tell you about those years, you will keep an open mind. Do not judge too harshly—neither him nor me.”

Jane sat very still for a long, long moment. She was not innocent of the evils of the world. Her position in the Barbican had exposed her to more than many men saw in a lifetime. And still she could not imagine what the marchioness had done or allowed to be done. She found she had begun to shake slightly, not enough for the marchioness to notice. In fact, that lady had, by all appearances, decided the conversation was concluded.

She had risen and was pulling her gloves from her fingers, one by one. “Will you join me in the breakfast room, Miss Bonde?”

“I will,” Jane said, surprised her voice sounded so calm and flat when she was shaking inside like a leaf in the wind. “After my exertions this morning, I would like a moment to change my petticoat and mud-caked boots.” She gestured to her dirty clothing. She had not noticed them before, and she had never cared about a little dirt, but she needed an escape. She rose, and her wound gave a tinge of pain. She’d forgotten it as well. “Excuse me,” she said and walked quite regally to the stairs that led to the west wing, where she and her aunt had been situated.

She held her head high, showing no sign of distress, until she reached her room. Miraculously, it was empty of servants or her aunt, who surely would have taken one look at Jane’s expression and known something was amiss. Jane closed the door behind her, locked it, and sank into the dainty chair set before the dressing table. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and closed her eyes. She was as pale as the first winter snow. Her wound throbbed, and she desperately wanted something much stronger than coffee or tea to ease the pain. She might be allowed ratafia later, but it would do little to dull the ache. Why hadn’t she taken the pain medications from Farrar?

And why had she allowed herself to fall into Lady Edgeberry’s trap? Jane was not going to see Dominic Griffyn as anything other than one of many of the men she knew. He was no different. She did not want to know anything about his childhood. She did not want to feel sympathy for him. She did not want to think that perhaps, in some way, her friendship might help Griffyn. She could not help him. She had to capture Foncé. She had to help her country.

And this was precisely why she should never marry. Her loyalties would forever be divided. Years ago, she’d had to make a choice, and she’d chosen the Barbican group. Why, then, did she have the urge to go to Griffyn? Why did she lie awake thinking about the feel of his lips on hers? Imagining what his hands on her bare skin would feel like? Why did she long to know more about him, yearn to know what secrets he hid behind those dark eyes? Why did she seek him out? For she had certainly sought him out this morning. She’d known he loved horses. She’d known he would be at the stables.

And why shouldn’t she want to see him? She was a woman as well as an agent. She had desires and needs, as much as she tried to suppress them. Could she have possibly known, all those years ago when she’d begun training as an agent for the Barbican group, what she was giving up? Had she ever even had a choice? Had her destiny been set when her parents died and she was sent to live with her aunt and uncle?

Suddenly, Jane was angry—angry that her uncle had chosen a path for her without considering it might not be the path she wanted; angry that she could not seem to put Griffyn out of her mind, the way she had other men; angry at his mother for whatever she had allowed, even unintentionally, to happen to him when he was a young boy.

Another glance in the mirror revealed spots of bright red in her cheeks. Jane took a deep breath. Foncé was in London. She could not afford to waste time fretting over what might have been. Her life, for better or worse, was the Barbican group. She had to find a way back into Town. A sharp knock sounded on the door adjoining her room to her aunt’s. Jane turned as her aunt opened it. She took a quick look at Jane and frowned. “Goodness. Have you already been out?”

“I went for a walk.”

“Is that wise, in your condition?”

“I’m fine.”

“You would say that even if you were being drawn and quartered.”

“Women aren’t drawn and quartered.”

Her aunt gave her a dark look.

Jane sighed. There was nothing wrong with being fussed over once in a while. “I may have overexerted myself. I came to rest and change into clean boots before breakfast. Lady Edgeberry has arrived.”

“Has she?” Lady Melbourne smiled. “Oh, good! We can spend the day planning the wedding.”

Jane inhaled sharply. She had walked directly into that trap. It was such an amateur mistake that she deserved her punishment.

“What is this nonsense about boots?” her aunt asked.

And here it comes, Jane thought.

“You do not need boots to embroider and discuss wedding plans.” She looked about. “Where is your maid? I will tell her to fetch your slippers.” She rang the bellpull, putting her plan into action. Jane could see no way to counter this plan, except to feign illness and stay in bed. She was not certain which was worse—staying in bed all day or being forced to discuss wedding lace and whether scones or crumpets should be served at the breakfast.

The maid entered, exclaiming over the state of Jane’s petticoats. Soon day dresses were dragged out for inspection, and her hair was taken out of its simple style and repinned. Maids hurried to and fro, jumping to carry out her aunt’s orders. Jane closed her eyes and focused on a piece of advice Agent Blue had once given her: When you’ve jumped into a strong current, sometimes the best strategy is to allow it to take you where it will.

Of course, they had been standing at the precipice of a particularly tumultuous stretch of the Seine, with three of Napoleon’s agents closing in, and she had not been certain she would survive the jump, much less the journey down the river. Jane winced now as another pin was thrust into her already too-tightly coiled hair. The situation now was not so very different, except at present she had jumped into a much stronger current.

Eleven

Dominic had not seen Jane the rest of the day. He had worked in the stables, or at least pretended to work, while keeping his ears open for any conversations that might hint at who the grain thief might be. But none of the grooms expressed anything but regret at Nessa’s death. None of them seemed displeased with his lot or complained of his wages. By late afternoon, Dominic was no closer to finding the guilty party than he had been at dawn.