One Night With a Spy (27 page)

It was too high for the stallion as well. They went down, taking much of the wall with them. Julia threw herself to one side. The horse landed hard and tumbled. Julia landed badly. Agony shot up from her ankle.

The big horse leaped easily through the gap they'd made in the wall and came to a puffing halt before her. She scrambled back desperately, unable to run, unable to even cry for help that wasn't there. The giant assassin dismounted and turned to walk toward her.

A gunshot came from nowhere at all.

The assassin froze. His eyes widened and he gazed at her with stern surprise. "Weren't goin' to kill y—"

He fell facedown in the grass. His sturdy mount started and reared at the thud.

Julia couldn't believe it. For a long moment, utter silence reigned. Then, as her shock faded, she began to crawl toward him. Whatever he'd been attempting, Kurt was a valuable and loyal soldier of England. He might not be dead. She must get to him—

"A fair bird caught in my net." A pair of very clean but worn boots stepped into her vision.

"Oh, thank God!" Julia looked up. "You must help that man—"

The bottom fell from the world. Day turned to night, good switched to evil, the dead walked the earth.

Or at least, one dead man walked the earth.

"Now why would I render assistance when it was I who shot him?" He knelt before her, a slight smile on his rounded face. "Pretty bird. So like your mother." He reached to gently stroke a lock of fallen hair from her face. It
was
him.

Pure shock froze her too thoroughly to flinch away when his fist slammed into her jaw.

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The halls of Barrowby can be so dark and chill in winter. How glad I am not to be alone here.

Julia woke to the smell of coffee. Someone pressed a cup to her lips and she groggily took a sip. Strong and sweet and full of milk, the way her Parisian mother had made it for her as a child—

She opened her eyes in surprise, only to see
him
. She jerked back, turning her face away. She spat the offending coffee from her mouth. She wanted nothing from him.

Then again, it didn't seem as though he were in a giving mood, for she realized that she was tied to a bed in a shabby room with the anonymous air of a cheap boardinghouse. She was sitting up against the headboard and her hands were tied to each post. Her ankles were also bound and there was a rope around her middle anchoring her tightly.

She was helpless in the presence of evil.

Panic threatened to consume her, leaching the strength from her spine and the starch from her soul.

"You are more beautiful than she."

Julia's fear burned away like paper as pure rage erupted in her heart. She lifted her gaze to the bastard who stood by the bed. "You know nothing of beauty. All you know is evil."

He smiled. "Harsh words when we have only just met."

Julia didn't take her hot gaze from his. "I've known your wickedness for years. It isn't too difficult to recognize it when I see it formed in flesh."

"Lovely
and
observant. That is useful." He walked to a rickety table across the room and set the coffee upon it. Then he turned to regard her with cool consideration. "Yet much too intractable for my purposes."

Julia tilted her head. "It seems I was born that way."

"You've been given your head much too often, I see. Still, twenty-three years is but a moment." He flicked away her life with his fingers. "It might take some time to retrain you to proper obedience, but I find I am at a loose ends presently." He smiled. It was like ice down her spine. "I believe I am looking forward to it."

"You're going to beat me into
submission
?" Julia felt wild laughter rising within her. "Oh, dear, I hope you have nowhere to be in the immediate future!"

Her defiance clearly angered him. A voice within cautioned her, but Jilly was back at the reins. "You probably ought not to break my jaw," she said conversationally. "I require a great deal of feeding. And of course, if you want to keep the 'lovely' intact, you probably should stay away from my face altogether."

His eyes narrowed slightly. She went on cheerily. "I'm simply trying to help, you understand. Let's see…" She gazed at the cobweb-strung ceiling as she mused. "Whipping might leave permanent marks… and broken arms and legs never do seem to heal straight…"

His fist crashed into her stomach. She bent double, sagging from her bindings as she wheezed.

The next strike caused her to vomit on her gown. The following blows strung together like a nightmare until she thankfully lost consciousness at last.

Standing on the cold, gray shore of Barrowby's lake, Marcus was beginning to feel the impossibility of taking over for the Fox. It seemed that the key to all the Fox's intelligence was locked away in Julia's mind, for there was nothing in the house, nothing on the grounds, nothing contained within the boundaries of Barrowby.

Now it seemed there was nothing under the lake as well. Marcus had hired several sturdy fellows from the village to swim the chill water in search of the records of the Fox, even taking to the water himself until his bones ached and his fingers wrinkled.

Then he'd had the bloody thing dragged. Boats pulled a heavy iron rake along the bottom, finding the bones of livestock, wildlife and a few people, but nothing that could possibly contain written records. Barrowby itself seemed to mock him, winter dead and unbeautiful as it was.

"Sorry, milord. Whatever you're lookin' for, 'tisn't there." The village smith, who'd forged the rake for Marcus, gazed dolefully at the pile of debris dragged from the lake.

Of course, the man's sympathy and sorrow might have much to do with missing out on the obscenely high reward Marcus had offered to the man who found the "object."

Marcus clapped the big smith on the back. "My thanks anyway." He turned to walk away from the fruitless effort.

"Milord?" The smith caught up with him. "Milord, is our lady coming back to us?"

Marcus stopped. "The search for the heir of Barrowby is still underway," he hedged. "I'm sure you'll have a master in place soon."

He moved on. The smith stubbornly kept pace.

"But our lady—do you know if all is right w'her? She wouldn't leave us without a farewell, not if all was well."

Oh, really? Seems to me she makes a habit of it.

The smith went on, but Marcus put his head down and strode away. He couldn't bear to gaze into one more inquiring face, to look into one more set of wondering eyes.

Where is our lady?

He could show them, if they cared to look, for she was everywhere. She sat in the front parlor, she was in the stables—she haunted Barrowby like a specter. Her scent lingered in the halls and her gamine smile shimmered just out of his vision.

She danced in the temple in the barren garden, kissing him back with sharp and surprising hunger. She walked the front hall, her brow crinkled, telling him that Elliot was missing. She stood on her balcony in the night, her lovely face raised to the stars with the wind cooling her flush.

Where is our lady?

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. Wherever she was, he wished her free and happy. For himself, even his ascension to the Four was simply another dreary day in what looked to be a long and colorless future, his achievement tainted with guilt and loss and mind-bending regret.

A band tightened about his chest as he remembered her last words to him. "
Today was the most glorious day of my life
."

One bloody day. One in which he'd spent much of his time covered in privy diggings and lion spittle. The hell of it was, there was no denying the fact that it had been the best damned day he'd ever known.

So where did that leave him—other than alone?

"Milord, you have a visitor!"

Or perhaps not as alone as all that.

It was Elliot, but a completely different man from the effete dandy Marcus had previously known. Soberly clad in black, with only the deep blue of his weskit to break the darkness, he was a far cry from the peacock of old.

Elliot performed a crisp bow. "Good afternoon, my lord." Gone were the languid gestures and the heartfelt ennui.

Marcus regarded him with some amusement. "Nice weskit."

Elliot's lips twitched, showing a hint of the old version. "Thank you, my lord. I thought you'd like it."

"So the other rig was courtesy of a certain valet?" The fastidiously stylish Button served former spymaster Simon Raines but also did his duty as costumer for the Liar's Club, a fact the Liars sometimes secretly lamented.

Secretly, for Button was known to take vengeance on anyone who criticized his flair for fashion. Marcus shook his head in sympathy. "What did you do to deserve that?"

Elliot made a face. "I'd rather not say, my lord. He might be listening even now."

Marcus laughed. "So you're here as yourself. To make your report directly to me? That isn't procedure."

"No, my lord. The Gentleman asked me to convey his apologies personally."

The Gentleman was Lord Etheridge's code name among the Liars. "Apologies? For stepping on the toes of my investigation?"

"I was here first," Elliot pointed out.

Marcus grinned. "So this apology goes more like 'Why the hell don't you lot ever tell us anything? How are we supposed to operate if you keep us in the dark?' "

Elliot bowed his head slightly. "Well done. That was nearly word for word."

"So you must be one of the recent additions to the club. I received that file shortly before—"
Before I met Julia
. He halted himself. "I see that I should have read it more carefully."

"I graduated shortly after the Tremaynes," Elliot said. "I am specializing in infiltration."

"You're very good at it," Marcus said with a laugh. "I suspect your 'Elliot-the-dandy' will be making many appearances in the future."

Elliot sighed. "Now I've done it, haven't I? I'll be wearing poison-green weskits for the rest of my career."

"It could be worse. I've heard that valet is very fond of rosy hues."

"Pink." Elliot closed his eyes briefly. "I must be very nice to him, I can see."

Marcus let Elliot into the study and shut the door. "Now, tell me what you really came to say."

"It concerns Lady Barrowby. Have you found her again, my lord?"

Marcus worked his jaw. "At the moment, her ladyship is still at large." He most seriously hoped she stayed that way—invisible.

Elliot rubbed the back of his neck. "My lord, I wish I could ask this more delicately—"

"Speak," Marcus ordered, his tone dangerous. "Do not dance about with me."

Elliot nodded shortly. "Very well, then. I informed the Gentleman that you and Lady Barrowby were engaged in an affair. His response was to wonder—" Elliot hesitated.

Marcus didn't move a muscle, but his expression turned to stone. "The spymaster wished to know if I am in love with Julia. What did you tell him?"

Elliot drew a breath. "I told him that I had never seen a man more so, not even himself. And might I add that Lord Etheridge is most infatuated with his lady."

"I know," Marcus muttered. "They're obnoxiously blissful." He spread his hands. "I cannot deny it."

"Indeed. Upon which the Gentleman sent me to inquire of you… what would you do if you learned that Lady Barrowby—and this is purely hypothetical, you understand—if you learned she was indeed highborn?"

"I have never doubted Julia's innate quality, but—"

"Er, perhaps I should have said
very
highborn."

Marcus stopped. "Julia?"

Riding astride, more centaur than horse and rider. Rolling with him in the leaves, as uninhibited as a wood nymph. Laughing with all her being, flopped back on the sofa in the parlor.

Passionate about her people. Devoted to the Four.

Loyal and steadfast to the end.

"I would say I am entirely unsurprised." Marcus lifted a brow. "Hypothetically."

"Would you consider asking her for her hand in marriage—hypothet—"

Marcus interrupted. "I already did, most forcefully."

"Ah. The Gentleman wondered about that. In which case his lady wished me to ask if you remembered to tell her you love her first?"

A jolt went through Marcus. "Of course I did! I'm sure I did." He blinked. "I… I don't think I did."

"Her ladyship surmised as much. I am now commanded to call you an idiot." Elliot shrugged, a gleam of his earlier self rising in his eyes. "My apologies, but I was under orders."

Marcus passed a hand before his eyes. "She's right. I am an idiot. That was not the cause of her decision. She knew she'd risk imprisonment or death if she came back with me."

Elliot gazed at him pityingly. "And did it occur to you that she might need a reason that would make coming back worth the risk?"

Marcus felt his jaw drop.

Elliot shook his head. "The fact that you already proposed leads me to the third command. Only on that condition was I ordered to show you this." He strode to the mantel and pressed the upper right three of the carved roses there. With a click, a panel of the wall—which had a painting of the lake—came loose and slowly swung their way. Marcus gaped. "How did you know about this?"

Elliot looked over his shoulder with a grin. "Liar secret. And Lady Barrowby told the Gentleman."

He reached in to extract a leather-bound folder of an unusual green color. "I believe this is the one."

Marcus took it and opened it to remove the contents. He took them to the lamp and began to examine them. "This is a record of a Liar's Club investigation more than six years old—" His eyes widened at what he read. After he'd consumed every word, he gazed up at Elliot in astonishment and growing fear.

"We must find her at once."

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If I never again felt the embrace of another's arms, I should despair indeed.

Marcus and Elliot had scarcely mounted their horses and begun to gallop down the drive when they saw a rider coming from the other direction at a mad, breakneck speed. When the rider, a scrawny fellow mounted on a giant charger, reached them he fell to the gravel as if he couldn't bow to them fast enough.