Seduced by a Spy (20 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Leaves stirred, their verdant hue gleaming bright against the muted heather hues of the moors. The breeze was mild, and the sun had dappled the stones of her vantage point with a mellow warmth. Shannon cast one more longing look at the craggy cliffs, then forced her attention back to the book on Scottish history. She felt compelled to do her best to further Emma’s education, no matter that scholarly skills were not her strength.

But there was no denying that she would much rather be in the saddle, pushing herself and her mount to the edge of exhaustion through the twisting trails and steep climbs. The Highlanders had a fearsome reputation for savage strength and flinty resolve. Surveying the wild terrain, its isolated splendor both grim and grand, she could understand why.

Perhaps, she mused, there
was
a touch of Celtic blood in her veins—fire and ice—for she found a strange beauty in the harshness of the hills.

A sigh slipped from her lips as she watched a lone hawk circling high overhead. The small knoll overlooking the stables was as far as her wings would take her this afternoon. A glance at the manor house, looking small and alone surrounded by untamed nature, brought her thoughts back to ground.

The presence of Annabelle’s clandestine lover added yet another thorny problem to contend with. A randy English lord lurking in the bushes, coupled with Lady Sylvia’s nocturnal trysts and the movements of the other guests, made the job of detecting any signs of the enemy’s presence even more daunting…

“Have you not had enough studying in the schoolroom?” Orlov sounded bemused. His hair was tangled around his ears, and his collar was open, revealing a tanned V of flesh.

Shannon made a face. “Too much, in fact. I am not trained as a teacher. I am trying to find an appropriate lesson for Emma. Speaking of which, where are the children?”

“Safely ensconced in the kitchen, helping Cook prepare a batch of gingerbread. I took the opportunity to make a circuit of the grounds. No sign of surveillance.”

“Damn. Waiting for D’Etienne to make his move is stretching my patience thin. Isn’t there some way for us to take the offensive?”

“Remember that Sun-Tzu says warfare is the Tao of deception. And one of the cardinal rules is that although you are capable, display incapability.” He softened his sardonic expression with the semblance of a smile. “Not that we have much choice. With our limited resources, we must wait for him to come to us.” The slanting light picked out the lines etched around his mouth. They seemed to have deepened over the last few days.

Ashamed that it had taken her so long to notice the toll that the waiting was taking on him, she dropped her gaze.

“He might have been delayed,” added Orlov. “Or he might be taking his time to decide how to deal with the unexpected additions to the household.”

“Or he may be waiting for a certain signal.” She sighed. “What of the London party?”

“They have packed a picnic and taken a carriage ride to view an ancient site of Druid standing stones. According to local legend, it is called ‘The Sorceress and Her Apprentices.’”

She turned a few more pages of her book, giving a desultory look at the text. “Why is there not more mention of females in history, save as wives or witches?”

“Possibly because the books are mostly written by men,” he said dryly. Burrs clung to his breeches and mud spattered his boots. His linen shirt, damp with exertion, clung to the contours of his chest. As he sat down beside her, Shannon caught the earthy wafting of sweat mingled with grass and leather. A masculine scent, and one she was coming to recognize as distinctly his own. “Then again,” he went on. “There are few of your sex who possess the same martial spirit as Merlin’s Maidens.”

“We are merely proof of what women can do, if given half a chance. I imagine there are a great many unsung heroines from the past, whose brave deeds have long since been forgotten.”

“An interesting point.” Orlov seemed in a more reflective mood than usual. Rather than make any attempt to rekindle the sexual heat of yesterday’s outdoor encounter, he leaned back on his elbows and tilted his face to the warming rays.

Despite the dulling effects of the walnut rinse, his hair was still threaded with intriguing highlights of gold and honey. Shannon was suddenly not thinking of heroines, but of how the silky strands softened the planes of his face, somehow making him appear more boyish, carefree.

His grin, an impish curl of quicksilver humor, only added to the effect. “Why not make your next lesson about the great warrior women in history?”

“We have already covered Boadicea and her fight to defend England from the Romans.”

“Ah, but that bold Queen had a great many sisters-in-arms throughout the ages.”

“Sh—she did?” Shannon tried to recall her own classroom experience. “I’m afraid I did not pay as close attention as I should have to the history lectures. Our instructor was a dry stick, making the past sound dead rather than alive.” She twisted a blade of grass between her fingers. “I was always more comfortable with steel than scholarly abstractions. Weapons were something I could get a grip on. While ideas…”

Surprised at the note of longing in her voice, she let the words trail off. Her roommates Sofia and Siena had always seemed so much smarter when it came to books and abstract concepts—like cause and effect. They seemed able to exercise logic, while all too often she allowed her explosive temper to get the better of her.

Orlov was regarding her oddly. “While ideas… ?”

“While ideas always seemed harder to hold,” she admitted. No doubt she
was
an idiot for admitting to such a shortcoming. One of the basic rules of engagement—both physical and mental—was never show the enemy any weakness.

But strangely enough, Orlov did not seek to take advantage of her slip. “Most likely you had a good teacher for fencing and marksmanship. And a dull one for academics.” He settled himself a bit more comfortably against the outcropping of rock. His shoulder pressed up against hers, and along with the frisson of sexual awareness that his touch always sparked, Shannon was aware of a mellower warmth, a bond of camaraderie.

“You might begin with such mythic figures as Rhiannon, horse goddess of the Welsh,” he mused. “Or Queen Maeve, the Celtic sylph whose cunning and courage were matched only by her lust for…” His mouth curved upward for an instant. “On second thought, you will not want to mention that particular detail to Emma.”

“Lady Octavia
does
believes in plain speaking,” she murmured with an answering twitch of her lips.

He gave a mock grimace. “Emma’s father is an expert in ballistics—I would rather not have my body parts blown from here to China.”

“True—such comments might ignite his wrath.” This good-natured teasing was a new tone between them. It might even pass for… flirtation? Their gazes held for an instant and she saw the same ripple of awareness. “Do go on,” she added quickly, unsure of whether to feel embarrassed or amused.

“History holds a great many real women whose exploits are worthy of study.”

Fascinated, she leaned in a bit closer. “Yes?”

“Take Catherine the Great of Russia. Voltaire was a great admirer, and in his letters, he called her the Semiramis of the North. Like her ancient namesake, she was hailed as a great sovereign and a great lover.”

Shannon shifted slightly. Though the sun had dipped below its zenith, her limbs were suddenly suffused with heat. “The amorous exploits of these Queens always seem rather exaggerated.”

“Exaggerated? Ha!” Orlov chuckled. “You have not heard the stories surrounding her death?”

She shook her head.

“I shall not go into all the gory details, but they involved a stallion and a complicated creation of pulleys and scaffolding that suddenly collapsed.”

“You are joking,” she sputtered, once her laughter had died away.

“Even I could not make that up.”

“Thank you for the suggestion. It was quite entertaining. And interesting.” Her palm slid along the leatherbound spine of the book. “You are an excellent teacher. You make me want to know more. About… about a lot of things.”

“Learning is for a lifetime.”

Curious, she ventured a question. “So you were not lying when you told Lady Octavia that you attended Oxford?”

“That was all true. My family did indeed suffer some severe financial setbacks. My father, you see, was an inveterate gambler, whose lucidity and luck were slowly stretched to the breaking point.”

“I see. And the part about the acrobats?”

“Again, all true. It was only when I came to the part about my infatuation for the young lady that I bent the facts a bit. I did not leave the circus on account of a broken heart, but a broken neck. I did not mean to kill the fellow, merely to stop him from asserting his conjugal rights over his new bride with the help of a bullwhip.”

“She should have murdered him herself.”

“Not every female possesses your indomitable strength and courage.”

A compliment from Orlov—one that sounded sincere? She nearly slipped from her seat.

“In any case, the young widow was suitably grateful, but I found that my eagerness to don a leg shackle had waned considerably. So I took my leave, crossing the border of Prussia into Russia.” He shrugged. “From there, my exploits went along pretty much as I told the dowager. I spent the last few years in Austria and Poland, but recently… well, you are aware of my recent assignments.”

“Yes.”

“What of your past?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“You grew up in London?”

She didn’t answer.

No doubt he would take her silence as one of their usual competitive challenges. Gritting her teeth, she prepared to defend herself from his scathing wit.

But rather than come at her with a verbal attack, Orlov reached out and touched the tensed muscles at the back of her neck. “A sensitive subject, I take it.” His fingertips began a gentle massage. “Sorry.”

There was nothing sexual in the intimacy. It was more a gesture… of friendship? She found herself relaxing under the light, swirling pressure.

“I grew up in the slums of St. Giles.” The words slipped out in a soft sigh. “While you were roaming through Europe and Asia, my world was a few acres of filthy alleyways. The stories of those days are not half so entertaining as yours.” She shrugged. “I was lucky—Lord Lynsley plucked me from the legion of other orphans and gave me a home at the Academy. My fellow students are my friends, my family. There is not much more to tell.”

“I should like to hear about your roommates,” he said.

“You have met Siena. She is perhaps the most… introspective of the three of us.” Shannon made a wry face. “Or so it says in the report I found in the headmistress’s private files. Sofia is by far the most ladylike. She has a natural grace about her. Indeed, I would not be surprised to discover she was the daughter of a duke and some poor servant girl, turned off without references.”

Orlov looked thoughtful. “There seem to be few of the world’s sordid realities that you have not been exposed to.”

“In comparison to yours, my life has been very sheltered.”

He choked back a laugh. “I doubt that many people would agree with your assessment. Trust me, it is highly unusual for a young woman to be trained in the expert use of weapons and explosives. Not to mention the equally lethal arts of intrigue and seduction.”

Anxious to turn the talk from her past, Shannon saw her chance. “Look at the party from London. It seems to me that the ladies and gentlemen of the
ton
know a thing or two about the latter subjects.”

“Polite Society is a perilous world unto itself,” he agreed. “Lives can be ruined by a small slip in propriety, reputations slain by malicious gossip.”

“It sounds daunting.”

“The same could be said of what you do.”

“There is a difference.” She thought on it for a moment. “We fight as we do for principles.”

“Lynsley must be very proud of you.”

“Hah.” The snort slipped out before she could help it.

His brow quirked in question.

“The marquess thinks me rather hot-headed,” she admitted. “I have had a number of disciplinary problems at the Academy. His patience has frayed. I am hanging on to my rank by a thread.”

“If we fail here?”

Her laugh held little mirth. “Perhaps the Tsar could use a freelance agent.”

“Yet the marquess chose you for this assignment.”

“He had little choice. As you pointed out, I am very good with weapons. It’s just when it comes to authority that I sometimes run into trouble.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Stubble the sarcasm, if you please.” However, a reluctant grin pulled at her mouth. “I suppose I tend to be a bit headstrong. But only when I am convinced that I am right.”

“Which is more often than not.” He grinned.

She rubbed her wrist. He was teasing, of course. But his banter was a painful reminder of how she had fallen short of the Academy’s lofty standards. She had let herself down as well. “I can’t say I blame Lord Lynsley for putting me on probation. He’s extremely fair, and he is right to demand discipline and a steadfast devotion to duty.”

Wind rustled through the oak trees, and a scattering of leaves floated to the ground. Shannon closed the book in her lap. What was it Orlov had said the other evening—that one must know history in order to avoid repeating it. It was, she supposed, another way of saying that one must learn from past mistakes.

A wise lesson.

“We had better be getting back to the castle.”

“And face the battlefield of spilled flour and sticky batter?” said Orlov.

“You have vanquished far more formidable foes.”

“Yes. However, sometimes it is wiser to avoid the direct line of fire.”

“Cook is already a conquest. She may let you lick the spoon,” replied Shannon.

“Tempting.” He gave a lazy smile. “I am inclined to rest here for another little while.” Seeing she was already on her feet, he rose, too. “Very well, if you are determined to charge into the fray, I can’t very well let you do so alone.”