Seduced by a Spy (11 page)

Out of habit, he started to rub at his jaw, then caught himself. “Perhaps that can be turned to our advantage.” As a sharp rapping signaled the dowager’s return, he turned away from Shannon. “Leave the lady to me.”

“If anyone can disarm her, it is you.”

Was that meant as a compliment, or did its meaning have a more cutting edge? Her expression as she stared into her tea was inscrutable.

He was left with little time to think on it, for as he rose, Lady Octavia waved away the proffered chair. “Now that you have fortified yourselves with a spot of sustenance, shall we go meet the children?”

“Prescott, make a bow to Mr. Oliver. And Emma, show Miss Sloane that you know a proper curtsey. You would not wish them to think their charges are wild savages, would you?”

“No, grandmama,” they dutifully chorused. However, Shannon did not miss the sidelong looks that the two siblings exchanged. The rolled eyes and pinched grimaces did not express much enthusiasm for the new arrangement.

“My grandson is quite proficient in mathematics and science for a lad of eleven,” continued the dowager. “Though I fear he has neglected his study of history and literature.”

“A deficiency that is easily remedied,” replied Orlov.

Shannon saw that the remark earned the new tutor no favor with the lad.

“What do you know of navigation, sir?” demanded Prescott. “I am very interested in furthering my knowledge of the discipline.”

“That is because Scottie means to be a pirate,” announced his sister. “And he’ll be a corking good one, seeing as Papa has taught him all about gunpowder and ballistics.”

“Emma,” chided Lady Octavia. “It is not polite to interrupt your brother.”

“A pirate,” repeated Orlov, after the little girl had mumbled an apology. “Not an admiral, like Lord Nelson?”

“Pirates have chests of gold and get to drink bottles of rum all day,” said Prescott with a leer.

“Admiral Nelson was pickled in a barrel of brandy after the Battle of Trafalgar,” replied Orlov. “Ensuring that he was pleasantly foxed for all eternity.”

As the children giggled, Lady Octavia tried to cover her own twitch of amusement with a raised brow.

“History, milady,” he said gravely. “You did say you wished Master Prescott to fill in the gaps of his knowledge.”

“Not with fermented sugar cane or Blue Ruin,” she said dryly.

Shannon was surprised that Orlov appeared to have a natural rapport with children. She hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly it was not this easygoing banter. He was a man of many facets, as she was quickly discovering.
Killer, thief, spy
. Was he here as a protector? Or were his orders to play another role?

Damn.
Lynsley’s parting whisper had warned that for all the hearty handshakes and professions of friendship, the new alliance had to be taken with a grain of salt. She must never forget that his charm could turn deadly in the blink of an eye.

She looked up to find Emma studying her intently. The girl was about the same age as the youngest students at Mrs. Merlin’s Academy, and had the same air of wariness at finding her life about to undergo a profound change. Did all orphans have such a guardedness to their gaze? It wasn’t as if these children lacked a loving home, but could anything replace a mother and father?

“Do you wish to be a pirate like your brother?” asked Shannon.

Prescott made a rude sound. “Females aren’t allowed to swing from the yardarms or brandish a cutlass. It isn’t ladylike.”

“Says who?” retorted the little girl.

“Parson Greeley’s wife. And Mrs. Leith,” answered her sibling. “They nearly swooned when you mentioned sailing the seven seas.”

“I don’t know why boys get to have all the fun,” grumbled Emma. “Grandmama isn’t such a stickler,” she added after a pause, sneaking a tentative peek at Shannon as if to gauge her reaction.

“Nor am I. A lady should know how to defend herself,” she said. “Though steel is not always the most effective weapon. There are methods of hand-to-hand combat that can throw the brawniest man on his… posterior.”

Prescott’s smirk squeezed to a more uncertain expression. “You are bamming us.”

She winked at Emma. “We shall see.”

“Have the ladies just issued a challenge?” Orlov dusted his sleeve. “We shall have to consider what measures we can come up with to match their prowess. After the textbook lessons, of course.”

“May we start tomorrow, sir?” asked Prescott eagerly.

“I don’t see why not. But of course, Miss Sloane is free to set her own schedule.”

Emma looked up, her eyes widening in a mute appeal.

“Well, we certainly can’t let the men steal a march on us, can we now?” answered Shannon, glad to see her words brought a glimmer of a smile to the little girl’s face. “However, as Mr. Oliver rightly reminded us, the daily lessons must be attended to first.”

“I can already do sums nearly as well as Scottie.” Emma’s chin took a stubborn jut. “Papa said I am very clever with numbers.”

“I am sure you will prove an excellent student in all disciplines.” Shannon paused. “For history, perhaps we shall begin our studies of the British Isles with a look at Grace O’Malley, the Irish firebrand from the sixteenth century, who was the first female pirate.”

Lady Octavia coughed. “Let us leave any further tales of bloodshed and mayhem until the morrow. Children, it is time for your supper.”

“But, grandmama—” they began in unison.

A crack of her cane cut off the pleas. “Any mutiny aboard this ship and the guilty party shall be made to walk the plank.”

Grins and giggles greeted the threat.

“Now be off with you rascals.” Once they had scampered away for the nursery stairs, the dowager turned her gimlet gaze on the two new teachers. “Hmmph…”

It was unclear whether the rasp of air was an unceremonious dismissal.

“London must have changed a great deal since my days in Town,” she remarked. Her focus suddenly shifted to Shannon. “Where did you say you studied?”

“Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Select Young Ladies.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I am not surprised, milady,” she responded quickly. “It does not count any daughters of the
ton
among its students, but I do assure you that the training is quite rigorous.”

“The Woolsey Agency is very discriminating in its choice of teachers,” murmured Orlov. “It prides itself on having a progressive educational philosophy.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, young man. Before you begin the first lessons, I should like to know just what sort of curriculum you have in my mind for my grandchildren?”

Unsure of how much Orlov really knew about academics, Shannon was about to speak up. However, her intervention proved unnecessary.

“We certainly intend to teach all the traditional subjects, along with encouraging a healthy dose of vigorous outdoor activity.
Mens sana in corpore sano
—the ancient Greeks were firm believers in a healthy mind in a healthy body.”

An assassin who could quote from classical theory?
Shannon was getting quite an education in the Russian’s knowledge. She could not help wondering what other talents he was keeping under wraps.

Without missing a beat, Orlov leaned down and replaced the dowager’s hawthorn stick with the support of his arm. “Speaking of traditional views, milady, I would like to discuss another matter with you…”

Shannon was content to bring up the rear. A rakish rogue, she admitted, could prove a useful ally. Just as long as she did not allow herself to be seduced by his golden tongue. Or the sleek stretch of corded muscle that rippled beneath the frayed serge.

Hidden talents, indeed.
Along with keeping a close watch on the children and the surrounding Highland moors, she didn’t dare take an eye off Alexandr Orlov.

“A walk on the moors?” Lady Octavia looked strangely troubled at Shannon’s announcement. The first day in the schoolroom had just ended and the children had gone off to the kitchens. “I would have thought you would still be tired from your journey here.”

“Oh, I am made of sterner stuff than that,” she replied. “Seeing as our lessons are finished, and Emma is having her supper, I thought I would take the opportunity to become more familiar with my surroundings while there is still a bit of daylight left.”

“Hmmph.”

Shannon sensed the elderly dowager had still not decided whether she was up to snuff. Unlike Orlov, who had clearly charmed his way into the lady’s good graces. “But if you feel that I ought not abandon my charge, I will of course remain here.”

“I am not questioning your diligence, Miss Sloane. I am merely reminding you that Scotland is quite unlike the gentle countryside around London. It is a wild and rugged terrain, with many hidden pitfalls. For someone used to a more pastoral setting, it could be daunting.”

“I am quite at home in rugged country.”

“You don’t look it,” said the dowager bluntly.

Deciding it would do no harm to show she was not such a timid little mouse, despite the drab brown dress, Shannon lifted her skirts to reveal the small dagger strapped to her calf. “Appearances can be deceiving, milady.”

A glint flashed in Lady Octavia’s eye. “Is it real?”

“You can shave the hairs on your forearm with its blade.”

“And likely lop off a few limbs while you are it.” The dowager waggled a brow. “God help Mr. Oliver if he gets too randy, eh?”

Shannon could not help but like the elderly lady’s earthy bluntness. Matching the dowager’s grin, she chopped at the air with her hand. “He has been warned not to come too close for comfort.”

As her chortle died away, Lady Octavia turned a bit more pensive. “And yet, you readily agreed to the rascal’s suggestion that the two of you be allowed to change your quarters and sleep in the same hallway. I was under the impression that you and he…”

“Oh, that.” Shannon decided the best explanation was the one nearest the truth. “I think Mr. Oliver imagines that given time, I shall eventually succumb to his charms. Which are undeniably attractive. However, our primary concern is truly for the children. In a large and rambling house such as this one, it seemed prudent to request a closer proximity to their rooms at night, in case we are needed.”

“Needed?” The dowager’s voice suddenly seemed sharper.

“Nightmares, strange sounds in the dark. Such things can be frightening to young children, especially ones who have recently experienced the loss of their parents.” She paused for a fraction. “I, too, was orphaned at an early age, so I understand how traumatic it can be.”

Lady Octavia appeared to be contemplating the silver top of her walking stick. “I am impressed by your concern. The Woolsey Agency is to be commended for finding such conscientious young people.”

“They are, I am told, experts in the field and take their reputation very seriously.”

“Then no wonder Angus chose them. He wouldn’t entrust his niece and nephew to just anyone.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Hmmph.”

Shannon was learning that the low snort could mean anything from displeasure to delight. She hid her own thoughts behind a polite smile.

“Well, go on, gel, and enjoy your tramp through the heather. Mind you watch your step on the path above the stable. A deep gorge cuts below the ridge and the footing can be very treacherous. And if you choose to wander as far as Loch Morie, avoid the southeast bank. There is a peat bog close to the shoreline.”

“I shall exercise great caution.”

“Do.” A hesitation seemed to hang in the air. “As Angus has gone to all the trouble of dispatching you here, I should hate to think of losing your services before they have rightly begun.”

Chapter Eleven

Twilight had faded to a purple mist over the moors, leaving the manor house half in shadow. But rather than retreat to her own rooms after supper, the dowager had invited Orlov and Shannon to take tea with her in the drawing room, ostensibly to go over the proposed program of lessons for the children. But privately, Orlov thought she simply wanted the company.

Indeed, the discussion on schooling did not take long, but as the last points were agreed upon, Lady Octavia seemed loath to let the conversation end. “Tell me something of your background, Miss Sloane.”

“There is not much to tell, I’m afraid. I’ve led a rather sheltered life,” answered Shannon. “I am from London, and after my parents passed away, I was fortunate enough to be offered admission to a small educational institution outside of Town.”

“Yes, yes, so you said… Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Select Young Ladies.” The dowager pushed her spectacles back up to the bridge of her nose. “I wonder that I have never heard it mentioned before.”

“It is but a small school, established to train girls of modest background to be useful in Society,” she said softly. “There is nothing grand or glamorous about its faculty or students, but its reputation is above question. The patrons include the Marquess of Lynsley.”

“Hmmph. Well, I suppose it must be respectable.” Lady Octavia appeared lost in thought for a moment. “His aunt and I were bosom bows in school. A lively gel. Ever so sharp. And outrageously funny. However, I hear her nephew is a bit of a stick in the mud.”

Orlov saw Shannon bite back a smile. “I would not describe Lord Lynsley in such terms. He is a serious gentleman, to be sure, but that does not mean he is lacking in character.”

The dowager gave a small snort. “A diplomatic reply, Miss Sloane.”

“His Lordship would be pleased to hear you say so. He has cautioned me that I have a tendency to speak a bit too frankly.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of fire in a gel. Don’t let them douse all spark of life in you.”

Shannon looked down at her demurely folded hands. “I shall keep your counsel in mind.”

Any further questions were forestalled by the entrance of the ancient footman, who shuffled in with a packet of mail. “Betty brought the weekly post up from the village, along with a basket of fresh eggs, milady.”

“Hmmph. Likely nothing much of interest,” said Lady Octavia as she began to untie the twine. “Don’t know why I bother to have
La Belle Assemble
sent up from London. It’s not as if I have any need to keep up with the latest fashions.”

She gave a gruff cough as Shannon started to rise. “No need to hare off. The two of you might as well stay and enjoy a game of chess while I have a look through this.”

Orlov dutifully set up the pieces, while the dowager shifted the brace of candles.

Like the shaggy gray hound curled at the foot of her armchair, her bark was far worse than her bite, he reflected. Loneliness could make anyone snappish. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering why she chose to live for most of the year with no companions, save for her aging dog and three marmalade cats. McAllister and the children spent the winter months in Edinburgh—

“Hmmph!”

He looked up from the chessboard to see Lady Octavia ball the letter she had been reading and toss it into the fire.

“Sylvia has always exhibited an unfortunate lack of common sense,” muttered the dowager. “But in this instance, her bird-witted notions have soared to new heights.”

“I hope you have not received bad news, milady.”

“Hmmph.” The elderly lady’s wrinkled cheeks flushed to an angry pink. “The nerve of the gel! Hasn’t shown a whit of interest in the children before. Too busy gallivanting about London, enjoying her elegant soirees and French champagne. But now, out of the blue…” She frowned as the paper turned to ashes. “I wonder what would motivate her to make such a long and uncomfortable trip with her fancy friends.”

As Orlov moved his rook out of danger from Shannon’s knight, their eyes met.

Had the game just taken a new turn?

His fingers lingered on the carved ivory castle, which suddenly looked small and starkly vulnerable in its corner of the black and white squares.

“A safe play,” murmured Shannon. “But I, too, am of the opinion that in the early stages of a game, it is wise to be conservative.”

“As in any duel, it’s best to feel out an opponent’s strengths and weaknesses before moving in for the kill.” Orlov sipped at his tea, deciding on how to tactfully maneuver the dowager into elaborating on her announcement.

However, the dowager needed no encouragement from him to go on. “Money,” she muttered. “What else but a dire need of blunt would bring Sylvia haring to the Highlands.” Although Lady Octavia was speaking to herself, the words cut through the crackle of the coals in the hearth. “Mr. Oliver, will you be so kind as to pour me a glass of sherry—no, on second thought, make that good Scottish whisky.”

“The prospect of guests seems a source of some distress,” observed Orlov politely as he splashed a bit of the amber spirits into a glass.

“I am not somewhat distressed, young man. I am seriously annoyed,” she replied grimly. “If you had met Sylvia, you would understand why.”

“Is the offending person a friend, or family?” asked Shannon.

“Family. Of a sort.” Her lips puckered as she took a tiny swallow of whisky. “Lady Sylvia St. Clair is the sister of my late daughter-in-law. And like our Highland malts, she is best served in small doses.” She sighed. “Do help yourself to a glass, Mr. Oliver. And pour one for Miss Sloane while you are at it. An old lady ought not drink alone.”

Orlov gave an appreciative chuckle as he did as he was asked. “I confess, you have piqued my interest, milady. She sounds like a potent force to contend with.”

Lady Octavia jabbed her walking stick in his direction. “You will certainly pique hers. Sylvia has an insatiable appetite for handsome rogues.”

He arched a brow. “Indeed?”

“But her tastes change even more quickly than her fashionable gowns and hairstyles.”

“From what you say, it does seem odd that she would suddenly have a hankering for Highland air,” observed Shannon. The whisky sat untasted in her hands. “Unless, of course, she simply misses her niece and nephew.”

The statement was greeted with a muffled snort. “Ha! More likely, what she misses is money for her many indulgences. Angus has been most generous in the past, lending a brotherly hand. But she ought to know I am not such a soft touch.”

“Likely she is unaware that he is absent.”

The dowager’s furrowed brow dug to deeper depths. “Strangely enough, she seems informed of that fact. Which only makes me more convinced that her situation is extremely pressing.”

The spirits took on a sharper burn in Orlov’s mouth.
Mere coincidence
? Cynicism had long ago sharpened his suspicions that such chance occurrences were rarer than hen’s teeth.

Shannon seemed to be of the same mind. “You say she is bringing a party of friends. Are you acquainted with them as well?”

Lady Octavia shook her head. “Sylvia makes no mention of their names. But I am sure they will be her usual entourage of silly fribbles and Tulips of the
ton
.”

“Is she pretty?” he inquired.

“Before you get any ideas, young man, be warned that she hasn’t a feather to fly with.”

Fearing that perhaps their interest in the impending visit was appearing too sharp for mere strangers, Orlov decided to add a more frivolous note to the mood. “If I were looking to marry—for money or for beauty—I should not have to let my gaze stray too far.”

“Have a care with your flirtations, Mr. Oliver.” She waggled a bony finger. “I might say yes, and then where would you be?”

“In heaven,” he replied with an air of angelic innocence.

“Hmmph!” Try as she might to be stern, her snort sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “The devil you say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Orlov saw that Shannon appeared to be listening to the exchange with only half an ear. Her gaze had swung around to the alcove overlooking the stone terraces. The interior was unlit, but he knew from an earlier exploration that a narrow doorway, locked and barred from the inside, allowed access to a small walled herb garden.

She suddenly rose, and without explanation disappeared through the darkened doorway.

“Fie, sir!” Lady Octavia twisted at the fringe of her India shawl. “I fear you have wounded Miss Sloane’s feelings with your silliness.”

“Miss Sloane is all steel beneath those dowdy gowns. She has no tender sentiments toward me. And even if she did, she is quite capable of defending her heart from errant thrusts.” He said it lightly, but his muscles tensed, and he shifted in his seat, ready to spring to action at the slightest hint of trouble.

“Really, Mr. Oliver. I have seen her little dagger, but I can’t quite picture her wielding one of my forefathers’ Viking broadswords.”

“She might surprise you,” he murmured, slipping a hand inside his coat to loosen the hidden knife.

“The young woman is trained as a governess, not a Death’s Head Hussar.” The dowager sighed. “A very competent one, so far as I can tell. But an embroidery needle is probably the only weapon she has wielded with regularity. More likely she is shedding a private tear or two.”

More likely she was shedding her shawl and climbing around the manor walls to see if she could spot any trouble, he thought wryly. But in the next instant, the humor of the situation quickly faded. At the idea of her encountering D’Etienne alone, he could not longer sit still.

“I had best go see if she is in need of… comfort.” Cold comfort it would be if she stumbled up against the Frenchman’s ruthless blade.

But before he could move, Shannon slipped back into the room. “Forgive me.” The smudge of dirt on her sleeve was almost imperceptible, as was the scrape on her knuckles. “I felt a sudden draft and thought I should check that the windows were all properly fastened before you took a chill, milady.”

He quirked a brow in question.

“And indeed, a latch had come loose. I set it back in place, and checked that the others are snug.” She smiled at Lady Octavia before slanting him a meaningful look. “No harm done. But we should ask the gardener to tighten the hinges and bolts. I will make a note of it.”

“How very thoughtful of you, Miss Sloane. It appears that my son has hired not only a governess but a guardian angel.”

“You might need divine intervention, milady, to keep you safe from my advances,” murmured Orlov, seeking to divert the dowager’s attention before she spotted the telltale leaves clinging to the hem of Shannon’s skirts.

Catching his glance, Shannon reached for her notebook and pencil, shifting just enough to cover the bits of brown.

The teasing earned him another sharp reprimand from the dowager. “Though with my advancing age and infirmities,” she added with a sigh, “I would not mind being swept off my feet. I am finding it deucedly difficult to move around like I used to.”

“You don’t appear to have slowed a whit.”

The elderly lady met his wink with a thoughtful look. “Another splash of whisky, if you please. My ancient bones cannot bear too much excitement in one evening.”

Shannon rose to refill Lady Octavia’s glass. The man could charm the scales off a snake. And it seemed that no female between the ages of eight and eighty was safe from his flirtations. Save, of course, for herself. But then, she knew the truth about him.

“Now, it’s time you tell me something about your history, Mr. Oliver.” The dowager squinted through the cut crystal. “Miss Sloane has given an accounting of her background, but you have yet to give any hint of your credentials.”

Shannon set down her glass, curious to hear how he would explain himself.

He didn’t bat an eye. “My mother’s family is from Yorkshire. I attended Oxford where I studied philosophy and the classics, along with a spot of English literature. I had hopes of reading for law or perhaps the church, but as my family suffered a series of severe financial setbacks during my first year, I was forced to give up my scholarly endeavors and make my own way in the world.”

“A pity. I imagine you would have been quite good at either profession,” mused the dowager. “So you became a tutor?”

“No. As I was quite skilled at riding, I joined a traveling circus of acrobats. Our travels took us through the Low Countries and along the Baltic coast. Where, I confess, in Hamburg I became enamored with a merchant’s daughter and signed on as driver for a trade caravan headed East. Alas, it turned out she was engaged to the head purser, so I found myself stranded in Warsaw.”

“And then?” urged the dowager, clearly fascinated by the tale.

“I worked at a number of odd jobs which allowed me to travel to even more exotic places. I spent quite a bit of time in St. Petersburg and Moscow.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, serving as a secret agent for Tsar Alexander, among other things,” he replied with a perfectly straight face. “Then I made my way down to the Black Sea and Constantinople. It was quite an education in itself.”

Lud, the man ought to turn his hand to writing horrid novels, thought Shannon. Her own pencil paused on the page. With such a fanciful imagination and uncanny ability to lie through his teeth, his outrageously romantic tales would no doubt have the ladies of the
ton
swooning for more.

“After all that, I would think that teaching would be a trifle boring,” remarked the dowager.

“I have had my share of excitement in life.” As Orlov lowered his lashes and assumed a soulful smile, he looked innocent as a choirboy. A look he no doubt had perfected in the cheval glass. Shannon almost found herself believing his story. “I am quite content to put my experience to work on Master Prescott’s behalf.”

“How fortunate to have found you. Or rather, for you to have found us.” Lady Octavia set aside her glass and slowly rose from the leather armchair. “Much as I have enjoyed the evening, I shall leave you and Miss Sloane to work out the fine points of the weekly lessons while I seek my bed. Haven’t the stamina I once had.”