Sebastian's Lady Spy (7 page)

Phin left as dramatically as he arrived, disappearing into the clamor of the carriages lining the street.

“Well,” Gabrielle said. “He was certainly interesting.”

Sebastian grunted an unintelligible reply.

“Where did you meet him?” she asked.

“He's a friend of the family.”

She raised her brows. “Does your family often consort with pirates and thieves?”

“You'd be surprised.” At that cryptic remark, the footman opened the carriage door and Sebastian jumped out to help Gabrielle down. Their arrival caused a slight stir, but nothing Gabrielle wasn't used to, and she easily ignored the narrow-eyed stares of the women. Good Lord, you would think they had more important things to discuss.

They danced twice before Sebastian headed toward the gaming room to see what information he could unearth there, leaving Gabrielle to her own devices. She made her way through the crowd, eyeing particular targets. A group of men laughed in the corner. She would love to eavesdrop on their conversation, since two of them were Scottish-born. Lord Forbes and Lord Morrison. Their target wasn't necessarily Scottish-born but it was a start. If she remembered correctly, Lord Morrison had a holding in Scotland, close to the highland border. Yes, he was definitely a good place to start.

She headed in their direction. While it would be unseemly to interrupt, she had no problem listening in, and there was a perfect spot to do so right behind the potted plant Lord Morrison was standing next to.

Halfway there, she was stopped by a gentleman who stepped in front of her. “Good evening, my lady.”

Irritated, she dipped a small curtsy while she silently identified the man. Randall Barrett, Lord Hendricks. In a loveless marriage with a shrew of a wife. Recently left his mistress and was in search of another. Apparently he'd set his sights on her. Wonderful. “My lord.”

He swayed, and she wrinkled her nose at his alcohol-saturated breath. Just what she needed, a drunken, unwanted advance.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“My thanks, my lord.” She shot a quick glance at the clutch of men she'd been heading toward.

“That particular color of…uh…”

Gabrielle raised her brow. “Green?”

“Ah, but not just any green. It's beautiful against your alabaster skin.”

Alabaster? Her golden skin tone was anything but alabaster. “You're too kind,” she murmured.

He leaned in close. Gabrielle took a step back. He placed a hand on her arm. They were attracting attention, and the last thing Gabrielle wanted was attention. The gentlemen were still in the corner, but for how much longer? She needed to get over there, but Lord Hendricks was blocking her way, and she didn't want to draw more unwanted attention or make an enemy of Hendricks.

“It's warm in here,” he said with a lascivious wink.

“I'm quite comfortable.”

He squeezed her arm in a bruising grip. She tried to pull away without causing a scene, but his hold was so tight that would probably leave a bruise or two.

“Let's stroll out to the terrace,” he said. “I hear the sky is beautiful.”

It took everything she had not to roll her eyes. Men always wanted to take her out to the terrace, or to the gallery to see their artwork, or to an unoccupied drawing room. If he had been Lord Morrison, she would have said yes and attempted to glean information. But he wasn't Lord Morrison. He was a delay in her plans.

“While I am flattered by your…attention, I don't think that would be appropriate, my lord. I am here with Lord Claybrook.”

His eyes narrowed, and his hold on her arm tightened to the point where he pinched her skin.

“Unhand me, please. My lord.” She was getting angry, and he was holding the arm that her stiletto was strapped to. She could stomp on his foot but hesitated to draw attention. Normally she could brush off would-be suitors who thought she was an easy target, but Hendricks was proving tenacious.

When he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. “You sleep with everyone else. Why not me?”

“I'm very particular when choosing my companions.”

His shoulders went back in outrage. “So I'm not good enough?”

She shrugged. “Your words, not mine, my lord. Now please unhand me before I have to unhand you myself.”

He laughed. “And what can you do to me?”

“You'd be surprised.” She was so weary of these conversations. They didn't happen often, but when they did, they were draining. She hated that these men thought they could bed her just because others had. She hated how low they made her feel. She was nothing to them but a quick roll in bed. For once, just once, she wanted someone to see her as a human being instead of a good night of sex. And to think she risked her life to keep these reprobates safe.

“I believe the lady asked you to step away.”

Sebastian loomed beside them, his blue eyes so cold they could cut through a person.

Hendricks smirked, apparently not intimidated by Sebastian. “This conversation doesn't concern you, Claybrook.”

“Ah, but it does.” Sebastian's smile was slow and dangerous. Gabrielle had never seen him look like that, and it arrested her attention. She didn't think she wanted those blue eyes pinned on her the way they were pinned on Hendricks. His body was tightly coiled, as if he were ready to pounce. His arrival had drawn even more attention. That would mean more gossip with her name on it. “Lady Marciano is under my care, Hendricks. A slight to her is a slight to me.”

Hendricks hesitated. Even his alcohol-soaked brain understood the implications. Sebastian was not a man you wanted as your enemy. He came from a long line of earls with great political power, more than Hendricks and most of these people would ever know.

Hendricks's hand slid away and he shot Gabrielle a disgusted look. “You can have the soiled dove, Claybrook. She's probably pox-ridden, anyway.”

Sebastian moved toward Hendricks, his hands tightened into fists, his expression so stony it was frightening.

Gabrielle quickly stepped between them. “Let him go.”

“He can't get away with saying that about you.”

“It's nothing I haven't heard before. It means nothing. He's angry because I declined his invitation.”

Cold blue eyes looked down on her. “His behavior is unacceptable.”

“Of course it is. For anyone but me,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means men feel they can say anything they want because of my reputation.”

She didn't think it possible, but his eyes grew even colder, more deadly and dangerous. The skin around his mouth was pinched and white. “This happens often?”

“Often enough.”

“Gabrielle—”

She held up a forestalling hand. “Enough, Sebastian. There are reasons I have this reputation, and you know it.”

He looked away, but his face tightened when he saw how many people were avidly staring, waiting for whatever came next. “Do you want to leave?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Of course not. One drunken idiot is not going to ruin our plans.” She looked over at the now empty corner. Damn. She'd missed her chance to eavesdrop on the men's conversation.

Claire appeared, her brows drawn in worry. “Gabrielle, are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine.” She would be even better if everyone would forget what they'd seen. It humiliated her that men like Lord Hendricks took liberties they would never think of taking with a woman like Claire. It humiliated her even more that her friends saw it happen. There was naught she could do but brush it aside and carry on, like she'd done for years.

“Enough of this,” she said gaily. “Claire, go back to Nathan, he's looking a little lost without you. Sebastian, return to your card game. I will…” She hesitated, unsure what she would do, for she had no friends to converse with, and the men she'd set her sights on had moved on. She spotted Lord Wilcott at the edge of the crowd, watching her. “I will speak to Lord Wilcott.”

Claire patted her arm. “Are you certain? We can leave if you'd like.”

“Nonsense. Except for Lord Hendricks, I'm having a marvelous time.” Marvelous was stretching it but would do.

Sebastian watched her closely, as if he knew she was putting on a show for everyone. She gave him a pointed look meant to convey that they had a job to do and nothing should stand in the way. He seemed to accept her silent command. “Very well. Dinner should be served shortly. I will return to escort you.”

“Lovely,” she said with a smile.

Claire and Sebastian drifted away, but not before Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at Gabrielle. She waved to him with a bright smile that felt like it would crack into a thousand pieces very soon.

When they'd disappeared and the crowd had resumed its normal chatter, Gabrielle made her way to Wilcott, keeping a sharp eye out for more men like Hendricks. Hopefully any others would now think twice, since Sebastian had come to her rescue and declared her under his protection. She felt a small amount of guilt over that. Surely he would soon be in the market for a wife, and no woman would want to know he had consorted with Gabrielle. But the thought of Sebastian with a wife was too distressing for her to think about, so she pushed it away.

“Lady Marciano.” Wilcott bowed to her.

“Lord Wilcott. How are you this evening?” In truth, he didn't look all that well. The color was absent from his face, and there was a sheen of perspiration coating his brow. His gaze darted here and there. Mayhap he didn't appreciate her presence after that show Hendricks had put on.

“Are you well, Lord Wilcott?”

He tugged at his cravat. “Deuced hot in here, don't you think?”

It was the same thing Hendricks had said, but Gabrielle was fairly certain Wilcott didn't have the same intentions. “Would you like to step out onto the terrace to get some fresh air?”

He glanced toward the terrace doors and didn't answer for the longest time. Finally he shook his head, as if shaking away unwanted thoughts. “I would like that very much.” He offered his arm, she took it, and they made their way toward the terrace doors. “I'm sorry for what Hendricks did to you,” he said.

“No need to apologize for him. He's drunk. He wasn't thinking properly.”

“No gentleman should ever behave that way toward a lady.”

She shrugged it away, weary of talking about Hendricks. “How is your mother?” she asked.

“Partly relieved, since I've been seen with you several times. Thank you for that.”

“My pleasure. I'm glad to be of some service.”

They stepped out onto the terrace, and Gabrielle had to admit it was nice to breathe in fresh air and let the cool breeze brush across her. These balls were stifling in more ways than one. Out here there were fewer people to stare at her, fewer people to talk about her. The couples on the terrace stuck to the shadows, unwilling to intrude on others' privacies because they didn't want theirs intruded upon. However, the cooler air didn't seem to help Wilcott, for he was perspiring more than ever.

“Do you care to take a stroll out onto the lawn? I feel the need to escape for a moment or two.”

He looked relieved. Poor Wilcott, he was clearly feeling as out of place as she was. “Certainly.”

Silently they made their way down the stone steps. A path meandered through groups of bushes toward a small maze. Wilcott walked beside her but not close enough to touch her.

“I've never been all that good at finding my way through these mazes,” he said absently.

Gabrielle laughed and patted his arm. “Never fear. I find I'm quite good at it.” She'd thought to make him smile, at the least, but his expression remained rigid. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

His arm jerked beneath her hand. “Of course.”

They walked in silence. The sounds of the ball quickly faded when they reached the maze, and Gabrielle found the silence more stifling than comforting. She wished she'd not walked so far away from the house. But that was silly. This was Wilcott. He was harmless. All he needed was someone to talk to. Someone who understood what it was like to be an outcast from society.

“The night is beautiful,” she said, looking up at the stars. Normally the stars were obliterated by the smoke from the thousands of London chimneys, but they were blessed tonight by a cool breeze that blew the smoke away.

Wilcott stopped. They weren't so very far into the maze, and Gabrielle thought he might want to head back to the ball. She stopped and turned to him. He wiped his brow. “I apologize, my lady.”

“It's quite all right. We'll head back. Dinner will be served soon.”

He shook his head. His hand trembled and Gabrielle frowned. What the devil was wrong with him?

The light of the moon glinted off something in his hand and Gabrielle froze, her gaze riveted to the pistol pointed at her.

As he'd promised, Sebastian returned to the ballroom to escort Gabrielle to dinner, but devil if he couldn't find her. Where had she gotten off to now?

Irritated, he visually searched the crowd. She'd been wearing a very fetching green gown. He remembered because it wasn't a green that he'd ever seen in a gown. It shimmered from bright green to almost black, and it set off her golden skin tone perfectly.

He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking of the color of her gown? He was more addled than he thought.

He remembered she had said she was going to speak to Wilcott.

Wilcott. He didn't understand that man. He was almost puritan in his dress and his beliefs. Sebastian found it odd that he searched out Gabrielle's company and she his. The last he had seen of the two, they'd been heading out the terrace doors.

When he managed to reach the terrace, there were a few couples in the shadows, stealing illicit kisses. Sebastian highly doubted Gabrielle and Wilcott were kissing, yet the thought set his blood on fire. The very idea of Gabrielle kissing anyone stirred his anger far more than it should. Obviously she'd done more than kiss other men, if the rumors were true. Hell, she'd been married long before she met Sebastian. Still, he pushed those thoughts from his mind and made sure to check out each couple, much to their embarrassment. None of them were Gabrielle and Wilcott.

Had Hendricks cornered her again? Had he trapped her somewhere she couldn't escape? Sebastian found it highly unlikely that Gabrielle couldn't get herself out of such a situation, but the thought of Hendricks touching Gabrielle sent him into a rage. Sebastian had to stop and consciously control his fury. If Hendricks had cornered Gabrielle again, he was dead. Sebastian didn't care about the consequences.

A loud pop came from the shadows of the lawn, sounding suspiciously like a pistol shot. Sebastian's heart nearly stopped. He ran down the steps, pulling his pistol from his boot as he ran toward the maze, praying he was headed in the right direction. He glanced behind, but the few people on the terrace were preoccupied with filing into the dining room.

There had been no other shot. No other noise. Not even a scream, and that terrified Sebastian more than he wanted to admit. He tried to tell himself that the shot had nothing to do with Gabrielle, but his mind wasn't cooperating.

He reached the edge of the maze. Damn, but he hated these things. Hated being hemmed in on all sides. Hated not having an escape route. If this did have something to do with Gabrielle, why in the hell would she agree to go into a maze?

Unless she hadn't agreed. Unless she'd been dragged in here against her will.

He stopped and held his breath to listen. He cocked his head and heard a scuffling on the other side of the foliage. Quietly he advanced until he saw two figures locked together. Not Hendricks and Gabrielle but Wilcott and Gabrielle. What the hell?

The moon's light illuminated their weapons—Wilcott's pistol, Gabrielle's stiletto. Gabrielle was holding Wilcott's arm up, and the pistol was pointed to the sky.

With his free hand, Wilcott swung, his fist connecting with Gabrielle's cheek. Her head flew to the side, but she didn't cry out. She pushed Wilcott away, impressing Sebastian with her strength. Wilcott stumbled back and dropped his pistol.

“Wilcott!” Sebastian called out, in the hope of giving Gabrielle the distraction she needed.

Wilcott glanced up, locked gazes with Sebastian, and paused. Gabrielle slashed with her stiletto. Wilcott cried out, clutching his side. His eyes widened and his hand came away covered in blood.

Gabrielle went in for the kill, the look on her face so fierce, so deadly, that it made even Sebastian pause. But Wilcott had had enough. He turned and ran into the darkness of the maze. Gabrielle picked up her skirts and followed, forcing Sebastian to follow, though there was no way to tell where Wilcott had gone. There were too many turns, and almost immediately they were standing at the intersection of four possible paths. Gabrielle was breathing hard, her stiletto held confidently in her hand.

“He's gone,” he said.

“Damn. Damn, damn,
damn.
”

Sebastian didn't flinch at Gabrielle's profanity because he was silently repeating the same word.

Gabrielle turned to him, and Sebastian's head spun as he stared at the blood seeping from a hole in the arm of her gown. “Damnation, Gabrielle, you've been shot.” He grabbed her arm below the elbow. Had the ball imbedded itself in her arm? Holy hell.

“I'm fine.”

“We need to get you to a surgeon.”

“No surgeon.” She glanced down at her arm, and her flushed cheeks turned white. She swayed. “Oh.” Sebastian grabbed her, but she shook him away. “Just a scratch.” She swallowed and swallowed again.

“You're ready to pass out.”

“No. It's just…I can look at other people's blood, but mine…” She closed her eyes and breathed deep, then shook her head and opened her eyes. “Damn.”

Sebastian lifted her into his arms, swearing and cursing. Thank the Lord he remembered the way he had come. It didn't take long for the house to appear in his sights. Gabrielle grabbed the lapel of his coat. “Not the house.”

“You need a surgeon.”

“No surgeon.”

“This is not the time to be bullheaded.”

“Take me home. Riggs can sew me up.”

“Riggs? Your butler?”

“No house. No surgeon.”

Sebastian sighed and changed direction to head around the side of the house. It wouldn't do for everyone to see him carrying her away, anyway. Luckily, his carriage was nearby, and he loaded her into it, gathering her onto his lap as the coach merged into traffic.

“I'm perfectly capable of sitting on my own.”

He ignored her.

The constant flow of blood from her arm concerned him greatly. It was running down her arm, soaking into her gown. Her lips were nearly colorless and her eyes were drifting close.

“Stay with me, Gabby.”

A faint smile touched her mouth. “You called me Gabby.”

“Did I?”

“Mmm.” Her head lolled onto his shoulder.

She felt the same. She smelled the same. Hell and damnation, but he could feel himself sliding down that slippery slope he traveled down seven months ago.

Before he could make more of a fool of himself, the carriage pulled up to her townhouse. He gathered her to him and hopped out, yelling for Riggs as he ran up the steps. Riggs had the door open before Sebastian reached it.

“She's been shot,” Sebastian said as Riggs trotted after him toward the drawing room. “She said you can sew her up.”

“Certainly, my lord. Let me fetch the sewing kit.”

Sewing kit? Bloody hell, how many times has she been shot?

Sebastian carefully lowered her onto the settee. Her head dropped to the side and her eyelids fluttered. Riggs entered with the sewing kit and knelt beside her to tear off her sleeve.

“Eliza is going to be angry you ruined my gown,” she mumbled through bloodless lips.

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“Your gown was ruined when you were shot,” Riggs said without any deference. “Bring me the brandy.” It took a moment for Sebastian to realize that Riggs was speaking to him. “Over on the sideboard,” Riggs said with a tilt of his head.

Sebastian swallowed his surprise at the servant's tone. Obviously Gabrielle allowed her servants more free rein with their speech than a normal person would.

He grabbed the brandy decanter and three glasses. He needed a drink himself. Gabrielle sure as hell needed a drink, and he wouldn't be surprised if Riggs needed one as well.

Riggs grabbed the brandy from Sebastian with an absent “Thank you.” Sebastian refused to take offense because the man was stitching up Gabrielle.

Riggs poured a bit of the brandy on the bleeding wound. Gabrielle winced and groaned. Sebastian had been injured enough in his time to know that the brandy made her arm feel as if it were on fire. Admiration held him spellbound. Gabrielle never made a sound other than a low groan as Riggs began sewing. However, she did grab the brandy to take a few healthy swallows. The women Sebastian knew took small sips with a grimace after each. He'd never seen one swig the way Gabrielle did.

Gabrielle turned her head to smile at Sebastian as she clutched the brandy container.

“It's okay to scream,” he said.

“It's never okay to scream.”

He tilted his head toward her in silent agreement. He'd been stitched up in some tight situations, where one breath would alert the enemy. Obviously so had Gabrielle.

She drank steadily from the brandy bottle while Riggs worked on her arm.

“This one isn't as bad as Madrid,” Riggs said.

“Or Geneva,” she muttered.

Riggs grunted.

“Just how many times have you been shot?” Sebastian asked.

Gabrielle wrinkled her brow in thought. “Three.”

“Four now,” Riggs said, cutting off the length of thread. He put away his supplies, clicked the kit closed, and looked at the wound closely before nodding and leaving the room.

Gabrielle sighed and turned on her good side to stare at Sebastian. She smiled, a goofy, loopy smile that had him grinning. “You're drunk,” he observed.

“Tipsy.”

Sebastian went to the fireplace to stir the logs and give himself time to think. His blood was still humming from the fear coursing through him. Damn, but he'd never been so afraid, and that was precisely why he did not like working with a partner.

“Do you want me to help you to your bedchamber so you can sleep?” he finally asked.

“Sit with me. Talk to me.”

He scooted the chair closer to the settee and sat, taking her outstretched hand between his. Her fingers were small and delicate, but he couldn't get it out of his mind how expertly she wielded a stiletto. There was strength in her, a strength he admired. But there was vulnerability as well. He'd seen it in Venice when she let down her guard while they were making love. A sadness in her eyes. Loneliness. He was having a difficult time combining the two Gabrielles.

“You're awfully quiet,” she said.

“Just thinking.” He wouldn't tell her what he was thinking. Instead he said, “So, Madrid and Geneva? Where was the third place?”

She shrugged. “Can't remember.”

More than likely she remembered very well but wasn't willing to tell him, which meant it had been a highly secretive operation. His anger stirred, but he forced it down. She was an operative through and through, keeping her secrets, just as he had to keep his. He couldn't be angry about that.

“What happened out there, Gabrielle?”

She stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace. “Wilcott asked me to walk with him. He didn't look well. I thought he was feeling ill, and I also needed a breath of fresh air after Hendricks. We walked to the maze.”

“Why would you go into a dark maze with someone?”

“He's harmless.”

“Harmless doesn't pull a pistol on you.”

Her brows puckered. “That's what is so confusing about all of this.”

“What happened?”

“He said he was sorry and then he pulled the pistol.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think he's our traitor?”

“Wilcott?” She thought for a moment. “No. He's a very confused man, but I don't think he's dangerous.”

“Obviously he
is
dangerous.”

“I just don't understand,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand. “Rest for now. We'll find the answer.” He would pay Wilcott a visit as soon as Gabrielle fell asleep. For now he was content to sit with her and hold her hand. This was the longest they'd been together without bickering, and he liked it. He didn't like arguing with her, didn't like holding her at a distance, even though it was necessary. He was fairly certain his heart would not survive another three days like Venice, but for now he was happy to sit here.

She unwound her fingers from his and touched his cheek. Sebastian wanted to close his eyes and press his cheek in to her palm, but he didn't dare—although his body clamored for more and didn't seem to care one bit that she was injured and drunk. He held himself very still and simply savored the feel of her hand on his cheek.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.