Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (19 page)

When they arrived at the Roberts’ home, servants efficiently whisked their wraps away and left them standing in a small group to greet their hostess.

“Lord Devaux, so nice of you to come. And the Misses Nevins, how happy I am to see you both again. I feared you would hide away in Wiltshire for years after the shock you had, and I vow Lord Marsh will think twice before he ever has another masquerade,” Miss Roberts pronounced.

Emily smiled. “Sussex, Miss Roberts. London gaiety beckoned me. How could I resist?”

Miss Roberts took Emily’s arm and left Lord Devaux and Lucy to trail after them. “The guests have not all arrived, but we are nearly ready to begin. You do like Mozart, I trust? His compositions are quite in vogue this year. So young for such talent, you know.”

“Indeed? I am not aware of having heard his music. Mozart? Is he German?”

“Austrian,” Miss Roberts smiled. “Nearly the same thing, but they like to distinguish the difference.”

They had arrived at the music room. Guests stood around in casual groups, glancing occasionally toward the door or the lovely gilt harpsichord on a small platform at the far end of the room. Emily recognized a few faces and nodded cordially in their direction as they took their seats.

The musicale was delightful. Ann Roberts played the Mozart compositions on harpsichord with great skill and left her audience breathless. The reception afterwards quickly became a crush. Sir Edmund Jennings sought Emily out to offer his condolences concerning the masquerade ball, which she promptly accepted. And when she slipped out to the garden for a moment of peace, she found that he’d followed her.

“Sir Edmund! Oh, you startled me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t intend to frighten you. I saw you come this way and thought to avail myself of this golden opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” She took his offered arm and strolled on.

“I wanted a moment alone to express my deep admiration for you.”

She smiled and hoped this was not going to be awkward. “You are very kind, Sir Edmund.”

“I’ve always admired you, Miss Nevins. I stepped back when I noted Devaux’s interest. I thought he had more to offer than I. But now that he appears to have made his interest in your sister obvious, I dared hope you might allow me to call on you.”

“You surprise me, sir. I had no idea of the direction of your interest before now. Had I known—”

With a charming smile, Sir Edmund held one hand up to stay her words. “I am asking nothing at the moment, Miss Nevins, only to know you better.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. What a conceited fool she was. And Sir Edmund was really quite attractive. What could it hurt to keep occasional company with a handsome man who had no ulterior motives or dangerous secrets? One who was British to the core and would not desert her when orders arrived or a war ended?

“I’d be delighted, Sir Edmund.” And she was only mildly surprised to realize she meant it.

…

As the evening drew on, Emily found she was growing impatient. The endless prattling and gossip bored her and, seeking a moment of peace, she found the Roberts library blissfully vacant. She left the door open, sank onto a small sofa and sighed relief.

“Miss Nevins?”

She stood and turned to find a tall gentleman who’d been watching her for the past hour. “Yes?”

“I regret having to disturb you, but do you know how I might reach a mutual friend?”

Emily frowned. “Do I know you, sir?”

“I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Miss Nevins. My name is…well, perhaps it would be best if you didn’t know that.”

“And we have a mutual friend?”

“Aye. Major Sutton.”

Of course. And that was why it would be best if she didn’t know this man’s name. She drew her shawl more closely around her. “I fear I cannot help you, sir. I haven’t the least notion how to reach Mr. Sutton. I think you have been misled regarding the closeness of our acquaintance.”

“I am at your mercy, Miss Nevins. There is a matter of critical importance about which our mutual friend must be informed as quickly as possible. I had hoped to enlist your aide—”

Good Lord! The last time one of Ryan’s “acquaintances” threw himself on her mercy, he’d died in her arms! Not again. Never again. She backed away. “You have misjudged me, sir. I am not in sympathy with your cause.”

“If you have our friend’s welfare at heart, you will give him my message. The network has gone awry, and—”

“Please,” Emily glanced over her shoulder, certain she’d heard a furtive footfall. Oh! How did she keep getting dragged deeper into this intrigue? “I cannot help you. I do not know when I might see him next. Or
if
I shall ever see him again.”

“You are my only hope, Miss Nevins. Tell him Joseph Barker has been called away and cannot discharge my—
his
— duties regarding dispatches. Tell him the drop in Devon has been discovered and must not be used again, and—”

“
Stop
,” she begged. “You mustn’t tell me these things.”

“Our friend trusts you, miss, and I have no choice. The cause of freedom and independence and the lives of good men are hanging in the balance.”

Men like John Archer?
Emily sighed. “Quickly, then.”

“The Devon dispatches will be re-routed through Sussex—Oak Hill.”

“Oak Hill….” She sank back to the sofa, shock weakening her knees.

“I shall return within a week to assume my duties.”

“But I haven’t seen…our mutual friend since—”

“He is on his way.”

Here?
“Is that all?”

“Aye. Take care, Miss Nevins. God be with you.”

She watched as the man slipped through the library doors, wondering how she kept falling deeper and deeper into Ryan’s intrigue. How could she pass this message? How could she
not
if it meant his life?

The despair was invading her very soul. She pulled her shawl tighter and stood to go back to the music room.

Sir Edmund appeared in the doorway. “I just saw someone leaving here. Was that man importuning you, Miss Nevins?”

She smiled at his solicitousness. “He, like I, was looking for a quiet moment, Sir Edmund.”

“Ah, well, good.” He smoothed the cloth of his jacket with a grin. “I did not much relish the thought of ruining my new coat in a confrontation.”

She laughed at his teasing tone, then studied his jacket—a deep maroon velvet that appeared nearly black. A very masculine color and cut. “That would have been unfortunate indeed. It is such a handsome thing.”

“Your honor would have been worth any number of jackets.”

“Then I am fortunate that you happened along when you did. No doubt your mere proximity was daunting.”

“I confess, I did not just happen along. I came looking for you.”

“Ah. Is there something I can do for you?”

He offered his arm with a little bow. “The servants are clearing away the chairs, and there is to be dancing. I wanted to be the first to partner you.”

“Delighted!” She took his arm, and they strolled slowly back toward the music room.

He glanced sideways at her. “Have I mentioned how pleased I was to find you back in London?”

“In a rather round-about way, yes.”

“There’s nothing more boring than repetition. I apologize.”

“No need. You wear well.”

“I wear well? Then I am not wearing on your nerves?” He paused and turned slightly to face her. “Was that a compliment, Miss Nevins?”

“Why, I believe it was.”

“Ah, my first from you. I shall cherish it.”

She laughed. “I am not so stingy with them that you’ll never hear another.”

His expression turned serious. “I have been thinking, Miss Nevins. No doubt you are aware of the gossip surrounding your recent abrupt departure from London?”

The thought prickled her. Was there a single subject upon which Londoners would
not
speculate and gossip about? “I gathered there would be talk, but no one has mentioned it to me since my return.”

“May I ask why you disappeared so quickly?” He placed his hand over hers on his arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “You needn’t answer if the matter is private.”

She needn’t answer at all. But Sir Edward’s question was so gently phrased that she felt she owed him one. Not the real one, of course. “I have been managing my family’s farm for many years, Sir Edward. It is spring, and there was much to be done. Decisions to be made as to crops and husbandry. Once that was done, I was free to return to London.”

“Ah, well. That is reasonable. Alas, the gossips have got it wrong. They’ve hinted that it had to do with…a man.”

Hmm. Mr. Dodge was more weasel than man. But she could not argue the point. She sighed. “I cannot help what the gossips say. They are a gluttonous group, and if there is not enough for them to feed on, they will make more.”

“Perhaps there is something you can do.”

“Indeed?”

“Give them something else to talk about.”

She laughed. “Oh, dear! Shall I be seen at a cock fight? Or mount up a gambling debt?”

“Nothing so daring. Rather, something natural. Ordinary.”

“Ordinary? Is gossip not scandalous by its very nature?”

“Not all gossip.” He stopped, turned to face her, and took both her hands in his. “I can protect you from gossip, Miss Nevins, at least the negative sort. If we are seen often together, and if you appear to favor me, there will be a flurry of speculation. Perhaps wagers will be made as to whether nuptials are forthcoming, but that is better than allowing society to think you had gotten yourself in some sort of trouble, is it not?”

“I could not impose upon you that way, Sir Edward. And, honestly, society’s opinion matters little to me.”

“I admire your principles, my dear. And if you do not mind that Miss Lucy could be tainted by the gossip….”

Lucy. Oh, dear. Things were going so well with Lucy and Devaux, she could not bear it if Lucy was found “not up to snuff” because of gossip.

“That is so…kind of you, Sir Edmund. But will the gossips say that I have taken advantage of you?”

His grin was infectious. “Society knows full well that I can take care of myself. I was knighted for valor in battle, you know.”

No, she hadn’t, but the thought was somehow reassuring. “Shall I be quite shameless in my devotion?”

“Never! Women should only be encouraging.
I
shall be shameless.”

He touched her cheek, and the moment drew out. He was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him. She needed an antidote to Ryan Sutton’s potent charm. Sir Edward was comfortable. Predictable. Companionable.

He leaned toward her. She lowered her eyelids and parted her lips ever so slightly. But Sir Edmund only brushed his lips along her cheek. His breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “You are making it deucedly difficult for me to keep my word, Miss Nevins.”

She smiled. “Is that not a woman’s duty?” And for some reason, she thought of Ryan. Of his kiss, his touch, his breath on her cheek. Her heart squeezed painfully as she suddenly realized what life would be like without him. Colorless. Empty. Absurdly civilized.

Chapter Eighteen

Ryan kept to the shadows, dodging into doorways and narrow alleys when Neil Taylor made any sign of slowing or turning to look over his shoulder. The confidence and carelessness in Taylor’s stride warned Ryan he was going to meet his British contact.

Shrouded in his midnight blue cloak and with his tricorn tilted forward to keep his face in shadow, he knew the risk of being recognized was still unacceptably high. He had no choice. Every day he delayed this loathsome, but necessary, task was a day another of his men could die. And that, too, was unacceptable.

Just off Seven Dials, Taylor ducked into the Bell and Whistle tavern. Knowing Taylor would be watching the door, Ryan sought the rear of the building, waited for a group of revelers, and pushed his way into the center as they entered. Taylor barely glanced in their direction. He was watching the front intently, looking for his contact, no doubt.

Ryan paid for a tankard of ale and slipped around to a table behind Taylor’s. The tavern was crowded, and he said nothing when several men decided to share his table. Their company would offer him a sort of anonymity. He settled in, prepared to wait.

Little more than a quarter hour later, a tall figure as nondescript as Ryan entered the tavern, scanned the room, and headed for Taylor. He was annoyed to note that the new arrival had taken pains to mask his identity, though he did find something familiar in the man’s bearing.

Taylor and his contact leaned closer to one another across the table, speaking in whispers. He could not edge near enough to overhear them without the risk of revealing his own identity. He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves.

Taylor took a rolled paper from inside his jacket and pushed it toward his companion. Was he passing critical information to the enemy? Ryan’s fingers twitched. He wanted that message.

Ah, but that was not his primary mission. He was here to end Taylor’s betrayal. Eliminate the leak. And he had a plan to do just that. Still, it did not sit easy with him to watch as Taylor’s companion took the paper and slipped it inside his own jacket. The flash of a signet ring caught his attention. He’d seen that ring somewhere before.

A few more words were exchanged and a curt nod from the stranger, who then stood and turned toward the door. Damn! Ryan had not caught even the briefest glimpse of the man. Taylor sat back on his stool and tipped his tankard up to finish it off. He glanced around and, satisfied that there was nothing amiss, headed for the door. A moment later, Ryan stood and followed him into the night.

Taylor turned down Mercer Street, and something in the man’s posture and pace warned Ryan that he suspected he was being followed. Ryan would have to act soon or risk losing his quarry down one of the passageways for which the rookery was noted. At that moment, Taylor quickly slipped around the corner of a filthy brick building into a dark alley. No more subtleties, no more pretenses.

Ryan spun around the corner and, from the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of Taylor flattened against the building to his left. He’d thought the man would bolt, not lie in wait. His mistake.

The man lunged, surprise on his side. Light glinted off the blade of a wickedly sharp dagger. Ryan swirled his cloak between them, hoping to catch the blade in the folds, but it sliced through the fabric with a ripping sound. His tricorn fell away in its wake.

“Sutton! What the hell—” Taylor dropped his arm and feigned confusion.

Ryan stepped back and fastened Taylor with a hard look as he realized this was not going to end well. So much for his plan to knock Taylor unconscious and sell him to a press-gang for an India-bound supply ship.

“I thought you were a spy catcher,” Taylor said. “I heard you behind me and thought…ye gods, man, I could have killed you.”

Ryan shook his head. “Give it up, Taylor. I know who you are. You and Erikson were working together, were you not?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Working with Erikson? Was he not a turncoat?”

“As are you.”

“Faugh! You’ve known me for years. You’re like me, Sutton. A courier. For the cause.”

“Occasional courier.”

“Occasional? You…you’re a spy? You gather intelligence?”

Ryan just regarded him in stony silence.

“Ah,
you’re
the one. In command of the covey?”

He neither confirmed nor denied the charge as he slowly eased his right hand toward the sheath tucked into the back waistband of his pants.

“You’ve got it wrong, Sutton. I’ve worked for you for years.”

“You did a sloppy job on Archer. He made it to his drop and named you as his killer.”

“How do you know Archer wasn’t the leak?” And then Taylor lunged, his dagger clenched in his fist, slashing a broad swath in front of him. Ryan only barely managed to fall back enough to avoid the blade.

No time left to reach his own dagger, he lowered his shoulder and charged, ducking beneath the blade and catching Taylor dead center. They fell to the ground together, and Ryan felt a sharp sting on his upper arm.

Fighting for supremacy, they rolled over the cobbles several times before Taylor was able to wedge his knee against the building and come up on top. Straddling Ryan, he grinned, his teeth gleaming in gloom.

“What a pity, Sutton. I’d have liked to deliver you alive.”

“To whom?”

Taylor’s laugh held no mirth. “I’ll whisper the name in your ear as I’m cutting your throat.”

Ryan had landed with his right arm behind him. Praying the moment Taylor needed to reposition his dagger to kill him would be enough, Ryan gripped the hilt of his knife, ignored the searing pain as he yanked it from the sheath and slashed upward.

Ryan struck as Taylor raised his arms to drive his dagger into Ryan’s chest. The single upward thrust was enough. Eyes wide in surprise, Taylor toppled forward, pinning Ryan in place.

“The name,” he urged. But a rasping sigh was his only answer.

The sound of raucous laughter carried to him from the street. He staggered to his feet and bent to wipe his blade on Taylor’s cloak before darting out of the alley and down Mercer Street.

…

After washing the last of his bloodied jacket and waistcoat wither into embers on the fire, Ryan rolled up his shirtsleeves and washed thoroughly, then ran his fingers through his hair. He went to his window and opened it to the brisk night air. The cloying odor of scorched wool and blood dissipated rapidly.

Too late to call at the Roberts musicale and too tired for gaming or drinking. The lure of a good book and an early bed were too much to resist. He pried his boots off and poured himself a small draught of whiskey, then pulled a chair before the fire. When he’d read the same page three times, he gave up. The combination of whiskey and his conscience, he supposed.

Damn, how he’d learned to hate his job. Taylor had been treacherous and unprincipled, had killed several of Ryan’s men, but even so, the taking of a life had never been easy for him. Always came at a cost to his soul. He and Taylor had signed on for their jobs, knew the consequences and the requirements.

But mostly he hated what he had done to Emily. He had men scouring the countryside for a safe drop and, so far, none had been found. But now that he’d dealt with Taylor, he’d be free to devote himself to that task. Despite his orders, he couldn’t leave England until he knew that Emily was safe. He was within days of departure and could only pray that Taylor hadn’t whispered
his
name to his superiors.

Then he’d leave—no goodbyes, no warnings, no explanations. The break would be cleaner that way. Easier. More final.

A soft knock sounded at his door. Almost furtive. Barker? No, Barker would know better than to come to Ryan’s quarters. Archer had, and now…

He took his pistol from the table and padded silently in his stocking feet to the door. Pistol cocked, he threw the door open in hopes of surprising his caller.

“Emily?”

She took several steps backward as her hand flew to her heart and her green eyes widened in surprise.

He seized her arm, glanced up and down the corridor, and pulled her into his room. “Are you mad to venture out alone? What if someone accosted you? Or followed you.”

She unfastened the cords of her cloak as he threw the bolt into place. “No one followed me, Ryan. I am at Brock and Audrey’s now. I have no watchdog but Bridey.”

Another flash of guilt pricked him. “If anyone had seen you, your reputation would be in shreds.”

She shrugged as if the matter did not concern her in the least.

“Why have you come, Emmy? Is something amiss? And do not tell me you were restless and could not sleep.”

“You are a drug to me, Ryan. Addictive. A bad habit I must break. I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight, but I couldn’t help myself.”

She smiled at him as she dropped her cloak over the back of a chair. He noted that she was still dressed for an evening soiree in a soft French blue gown. She looked stunning, as usual, and so tempting he could scarce keep his hands off her.

“I thought I would see you at the Robert’s musicale tonight. When you did not come, I came to you.”

“Miss me?” he teased.

She chuckled. “I supposed I did in an odd way.”

“At Oak Hill, when you told me to leave you alone, I took you at your word.”

“That would be the first time.”

Her smile took the sting out of her words, and he smiled back.

“And that is why I am here. I wanted to thank you.”

With only her smile, a fire lit in his belly. He wanted her so badly he could barely breathe. “For what?”

“Henry Dodge. Devaux told me what you did. How you confronted him and made him turn over the management of my accounts to your uncle. How I will be unimpeded when, next week, I come into my trust at last.”

“A somewhat diminished trust.”

“Even that, I do not mind. I’d have forfeited more to be rid of him.”

She came a half-step closer, and he could smell her perfume, a unique blend of something floral and something with a bit of a citrus tang. Orange blossom? “Devaux and my uncle will see to it that you get every last ha’penny.”

“Invoking my mother’s wrath—bold bluff, that. Within a fortnight, Mr. Dodge will know he was not the only one with a secret.”

“I’d advise caution, Emily. Rather than admit she’s been dead for years, perhaps she could succumb to a sudden illness?”

“Perhaps.” She reached around him for the whiskey bottle and a glass. Was the soft brush of her breasts against his arm deliberate? He took a deep breath and struggled for control.

She straightened and handed him the bottle to uncork. “So…thank you, Ryan.”

He placed his pistol on the table and worked the cork free. When he poured her a draught of raw whiskey, he recalled the last time they’d shared a drink in this room. He nearly groaned.

She tapped her glass against his in a silent salute, then turned and went to stand in front of the fire. She looked into the grate and back at him. Were there some remnants of his bloodied clothes that he had missed? Would she ask?

No, she merely gave him a gentle smile. “I must say that I rather like you in shirtsleeves and stocking feet. You look rather…harmless.”

“With shoes and a jacket I look more dangerous?”

She took a sip from her glass and sighed. “I should have said that you look domestic at the moment. As if you are what everyone supposes you to be. There are other looks, other times, when you quite terrify me.”

He moved closer. “You may be the one person in England who has nothing to fear from me, Emmy.”

She looked down and whispered something to herself. He thought he heard a sigh and a faint,
If you knew it all, I wonder
. Knew what? “Emmy?”

She looked up again as he touched her shoulder, and he recognized that the moment when he might have gotten an answer from her had passed.

“I suppose you will be glad to see the last of me,” he said.

Her eyes glistened. “I know I should be. But I think I might actually miss you.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He wouldn’t ask her to come—she’d made it clear her future was at Oak Hill, but he couldn’t resist confessing, “I will miss you, too, Emmy. I’ll never find another woman like you.”

Her eyelids drifted downward, and he took that as an invitation. Her lips tasted like whiskey and made a heady blend with her perfume. Her soft, sweet surrender was almost more than he could endure. She could not know the things he wanted to do to her. Teach her.

She parted from him and took a half-step back to break their contact. She looked down with a shake of her head and a self-conscious laugh.

He wanted to reach for her again but something had changed in her.

“By the by, Joseph Barker was looking for you. He asked me to tell you that the Devon site has been discovered and is no longer safe. He said he has been called away and will be back within a week to assume his duties. The network has gone awry and dispatches are being routed through Oak Hill now.
Oak Hill
, Ryan!”

“Damn!” he muttered under his breath. “I had hoped to be gone by then. This will delay me.”

“Gone?”

Was that a flash of pain in her eyes? “I’ve been ordered back to Virginia.”

“You will leave me to deal with another spy?”

No. God, no. He could not leave her at the mercy of someone who would endanger her and everything she loved. “I am taking Oak Hill off the list. If our couriers must meet beneath King’s Cross at noon, so be it. I swear to you, Emmy. It will cease. I will send the order now—devil take the hindmost.”

She swept up her cloak and brushed past him with a soft, “Thank you, Ryan.”

He caught her arm. “Please stay.”

She hesitated and looked into his eyes. It was there for him to read—all the things he’d thought. That parting would be easier without complications or regrets. She reached up and touched his cheek. “You know I cannot.”

It was all he could do not to call her back when she slipped out the door. And out of his life.