Sebastian's Lady Spy (4 page)

“We will dance once the dancing begins.”

“You think one dance a night is convincing? It will take us years to…” Though she let her voice trail off, he could finish the sentence for her:
to finish the mission.

“What would you like me to do? Look adoringly into your eyes? Jostle with the randy young bucks vying for your attention? I'm afraid that is not my style, contessa.”

She drew in a deep breath of outrage. “I realize I repulse you, Lord Claybrook. If you're not willing to do what needs to be done, then it is best if you ask Atwater to take you off the case.”

“I tried. He refused.”

Pain flashed through her eyes and color rose to her cheeks. She blinked a few times and her jaw flexed. “I see.”

She turned her back to him and walked away, leaving him alone in a roomful of people, feeling like the world's biggest arse.

Gabrielle forced herself to keep her back straight and a smile on her face, even though her heart hurt terribly. Sebastian had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to work with her, but his admission that he'd gone to Atwater and asked to be removed from the mission cut like a knife through her.

Why did she still care? Why, why,
why
?

She spotted Lady Eastman across the room and headed toward one of the few people who would welcome her presence. Then she caught sight of Lord Wilcott and remembered their conversation from earlier in the day. He was standing by a potted plant, a drink in his hand, looking miserable. The poor man. She knew a thing or two about not fitting in. So she changed course and made her way to him. After all, she'd promised him a dance tonight.

“Good evening, Lord Wilcott.”

Godfrey jumped, sloshing his wine and causing Gabrielle to take a hurried step back to avoid getting splattered.

“Pardon me, my lord. I didn't mean to startle you.” She peered at him, noting his ashen color and the worry lines around his eyes. “Are you ill?”

“No. No. I'm fine.” He glanced around furtively and licked his colorless lips.

“I had promised you a dance earlier today,” she said into the uncomfortable silence.

His gaze bounced to her, then away. Gabrielle looked around, trying to see what he was looking for. Was his mother about? Was he so unused to women that she made him nervous?

He looked at the dance floor, then back at her. She'd offered in order to help him. He didn't have to act like it was some great burden.

“If you prefer not to, I understand,” she said. She started to curtsy, but his hand shot out and settled on her arm.

“No, no, my lady. That's not…I mean to say…” He cleared his throat and looked around one more time. “I would love to dance.”

He deposited his drink on the tray of a passing servant, and they made their way to the dance floor. The dance was too complicated for any sort of conversation, but she couldn't help noting that he watched her closely.

So did the crowd. Which should have pleased him, because now his name would be associated with hers, and hopefully his mother would leave him alone for a bit. But he didn't seem to be pleased. Instead, he seemed almost scared.

When the dance ended, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor. “Are you certain everything is all right?”

“Of course.” His gaze once again roamed the room.

“It's just that you don't seem yourself. Did something frighten you?”

His step faltered, and if she hadn't quickly tightened her hold on him, he would have stumbled. “Of course I'm not frightened.” He chuckled, but it was a strained sound. “I simply wanted to make sure Mother saw us dancing.”

“And did she?”

He tilted his head toward the corner of the room, where a diminutive woman with a froth of white hair and a massive frown glared at them. “Yes, it appears she did, and she's not pleased about it.”

“Nevertheless, she has seen me dance with you, and that was our plan,” she said.

They reached the edge of the dance floor, where he dropped her arm. “Lady Marciano…”

She tilted her head and looked into his eyes, pretending to flirt. That would at least help his situation with his mother. “Yes?”

He stared at her for the longest time, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how. Good Lord, she hoped he didn't bring up the mistress thing again. She didn't have it in her to reject him once more.

Instead he shook his head. “Thank you for the dance. It was most kind of you.”

“My pleasure, my lord. I wish you all the happiness you deserve.”

He seemed to wince but recovered quickly. His life couldn't be easy. Hiding one's true nature from everyone, pretending to be something one was not, took a toll on a person. She would know.

He nodded to her and walked away. She needn't have feared being left alone, however, because Sebastian was at her side. “I fail to see what intrigues you about that man. He's a pompous ass.”

She tore her gaze from Wilcott's retreating back and looked up at Sebastian. “I seem to be drawn to pompous asses.”

His eyes narrowed and he held his arm out to her. “We're required to dance, according to Atwater.”

“My, you have me all aflutter, my lord. I don't believe I've ever had a better offer to dance. So full of flowery prose, you are.”

He humphed and led her back out on the dance floor, where they faced each other, waiting for the music to begin. As they had the night before, heads turned; people stared and whispered.

“I feel as if I'm an exhibit at the menagerie,” he said.

“You get used to it.”

He glared at those closest, but their quest for gossip far outweighed their fear of him. “Jackals.”

She smiled at the apt description. “They'll sink their teeth into you, especially now that you've danced with me twice in as many nights.”

“I'd like to see them try,” he growled.

The music started, and as they had the night before, they performed the moves. This dance allowed them a little more time to be together.

“So do you suspect Wilcott of Jacobite sympathies?” he asked.

She raised her brows. “Why do you ask?”

“Because your mission is to flush out the sympathizers. Or have you forgotten?”

Oh, the man was entirely frustrating. “I have not forgotten, and no, I don't suspect Wilcott of being a sympathizer.”

“Then mayhap your time would be better spent dancing with those we do suspect.”

“Pray tell, who would that be? Since you don't allow me to work with you in any way other than to dance once a night, I'm entirely in the dark.”

“Buchanan, for one.”

“He's happily married and would never dance with the likes of me.”

“Then what the hell was Atwater thinking, dragging you into this business, if you are of no use to me?”

She stopped dancing, causing the other dancers to stumble around them. Words strangled her tongue. Words she knew she would regret saying, that she wouldn't want others to hear. She turned on her heel and walked off the dance floor.

She held her head high, passing the gaping stares, the snickers, the lewd looks. Past Lord Wilcott, who watched her closely, and Lady Eastman, who watched her speculatively.

She made it to the cool outdoor air and breathed deep, gulping in breaths as if she were drowning. Carriages lined the street, but the drivers were too involved in their dicing games to notice her. A few latecomers steered clear of her as they ascended the steps.

“Lady Marciano?”

She whipped her head around to find Lord Wilcott standing a few steps above her, the light from the windows casting him in shadow.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” She searched the carriages for her own, cursing her driver for not noticing she was shivering in the cool air.

“Do you need assistance?” Wilcott asked.

She shook her head and pushed an errant lock of hair off her forehead. “No. Thank you.”

“Did…” He cleared his throat. “Did Addison offend you?”

She wanted to laugh, but the sound stuck in her throat and all she could do was shake her head. No, he didn't offend her.

She saw her carriage trying to make its way through the clogged street, and she lifted her skirts to hurry down the steps. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Wilcott,” she called over her shoulder, and practically ran to her coach. “Sir Colin Atwater's residence,” she told the driver before collapsing onto the seat.

She held on to her anger, feeding the flames as the driver made his way through the twisted warrens of streets toward Atwater's home. She would not fall prey to her feelings. She would not allow the hurt to surface. She wouldn't.

She banged on Atwater's door, uncaring who heard her. His butler, Evans, opened it, and before he knew what she was about, she stuck her slippered foot in the opening and swept into the entryway. “I need to see Sir Colin.”

Evans knew her well, and she was positive the man was accustomed to late-night visits from operatives. He stepped back to reveal Atwater standing in the doorway of his study, his cravat and coat gone, the top button of his shirt undone, his hair not as immaculately combed as it usually was.

“We need to talk,” she said.

He stepped back and indicated with a sweep of his arm that she should step into his study.

She pulled off her gloves and threw them on the small table by the settee in order to pace to the fireplace, then to the window, where she parted the curtains with one finger and peered out. A precaution she didn't really need but one that was ingrained in her. The street was empty, the streetlights illuminating the cobblestones.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Atwater asked. Through the reflection in the window, she watched him gather two glasses and pour a finger of whiskey in each. He tossed back his before offering her the other glass. “You look all in a dither.”

She turned from the window and took the glass to drink a hearty swallow. “I want off the case.”

Atwater settled against the front of his desk and carefully put down his glass. She'd never asked to be removed from a mission, and it didn't sit well that she was now, but she couldn't work with Sebastian any longer. He would tear her apart and leave her bleeding in the streets if they kept up like this.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“I can't work with him.”

Atwater studied her shrewdly. She never forgot that at one time he had been an excellent operative. She wouldn't be able to lie to him, for he would sense it right away. But she could hedge without actually telling him everything.

“We choose our operatives very carefully,” he said. “Much thought goes into the placement of our people.”

“I understand. I've never asked for a reassignment. I've never complained about my assignments.”

“Until now.”

She flinched. “Until now.”

“Again, I ask: Why?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Seb—Addison has no interest in working with me.”

Atwater smiled. “He's difficult to work with. You're not the first to tell me so.”

“I never said that, sir.”

“You didn't have to. Believe me, Lady Marciano, I've experienced Addison firsthand. However, others have successfully worked with him, and I assumed you would be professional enough to do the same.”

She lifted her chin, taking his words like the blows they were meant to be. “He doesn't talk to me about the case, and he doesn't allow me to go with him when he investigates. According to him, I am useless.” Oh, how it stung to say the word. She'd been accused of many things throughout her life, but useless had never been one of them. It hurt more than the other accusations.

“Addison is perturbed right now. As soon as he sees your value as a partner—”

“No disrespect, sir, but ‘perturbed' is not the word I would use. He's deliberately uncooperative, and I would go so far as to say he's sabotaging this mission due to…” She clamped her lips shut.

Atwater's gaze sharpened. “Due to what?”

She shook her head. “Surely you've had operatives who simply can't get along.”

“No, my lady, I haven't. All of our operatives know the seriousness of their missions and put personal feelings aside. As you should.”

She looked away, knowing he was right but also knowing that what he asked was impossible. She and Sebastian had a history that he obviously regretted, and he was taking his regret out on her.

“Why is he sabotaging this mission?” Atwater asked. “If there's something I need to know about the two of you, then it's your duty to tell me.”

She laughed, but it was a dry, brittle laugh that lacked any humor. “It's always my
duty,
isn't it? From the moment I was dragged into this line of work, I've heard nothing but the word ‘duty.' Is nothing sacred? Does the crown need to know
everything
about me?”

“Yes. For your safety and the safety of the other operatives. If there's something in your life, in your past, that can be used against you, we need to know. What happened between you and Addison, Lady Marciano?”

She took a long time to answer, forming the correct words in her mind. Despite everything, she didn't want to harm Sebastian's career, and she didn't want Atwater to think ill of Sebastian, either. “We had a relationship.” “Relationship” was a stretch. They'd had three nights of bliss, but of course she would not say that.

Atwater made a noise.

“Seven months ago in Venice, when Sebastian chased after his sister, Claire. He came to me because he surmised that Claire would be with me.” She shrugged. “He arrived three days before she did.”

Atwater blew out a breath. “I say, I've never had to deal with something like this. I don't believe any of our operatives have had a physical relationship with each other.”

“I did not know he was an operative, and as you can tell from his reaction the other day, he had no idea I was an operative. In that, at least, we followed the rules.”

“So you can't work with him because you two had an affair.”

“I can't work with him because he refuses to work with me.”

“It seems to me that you two need to talk,” he said.

“That would work if he stayed in a room with me long enough.”

Atwater pushed away from his desk. “Think like an operative, Gabrielle. What would you do if he were someone you were investigating?”

She would seduce him, because that was what she was good at. That was how she had been trained. But she didn't think it would work with Sebastian.

“You know this cannot happen again,” Atwater said softly.

“I know.” Her heart twisted in a spasm of grief. Sebastian had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, and still she felt sorrow that they could not have more.

“Emotions must be kept out of this. It's one of the rules of being an operative.”

But emotions couldn't be kept out of it. They were human, all of them. And no case left her untouched. This one threatened to be her downfall.

“So you won't take me off the case?” she asked weakly, knowing the answer already.

“You were specifically chosen for this case because you're the best female operative the crown has. Just as Addison is the best male operative. I fear you two will have to find a way to get along.”

Duty. Such a horrible four-letter word.