Texas Viscount (34 page)

      
Sabrina was not certain, but she knew that the woman had to be deeply involved is this nefarious plot. She tapped her nails on the armrest and thought. By the time the cab pulled up in front of her home, she had reached a decision. If the trap Edmund was baiting failed, not only was he in danger from the Russians, but also from his own government, which might believe he was guilty of espionage and send him to prison—or even, heaven forbid, execute him!

      
She would take a hand. Her cousin was not the only one who could don a disguise...

* * * *

      
Michael and Josh waited outside the hotel as darkness gathered. From their vantage point across the street, they watched the comings and goings of the wealthy and powerful of Europe, most especially the large number of Russians. Alexi came rolling out around nine, already well on his way to total inebriation.

      
“Beats me how that man can stay on his feet,” Josh said. “His liver must weigh fifty pounds.”

      
“Do you believe he's one of the conspirators or just friendly with them?” Jamison asked, idly glancing around the scene as the rotund little bear of a man stumbled into a carriage and took off.

      
Josh shrugged. “Well, Alexi is pig simple. Folks back home would say he thinks fat meat isn't greasy, but that doesn't mean he couldn't be used by Zarenko and Natasha.”

      
Jamison chuckled. “Ah, the lovely Natasha. What a woman.” His dark blue eyes lit up. It was obvious what he was thinking.

      
Josh looked at him. “Why was I picked to cozy up to her? Didn't you want the job?”

      
“Oh, I did. The sad fact is, my friend, that she could drink me under the table. Who knows what state secrets she'd pry from me then?”

      
Josh threw back his head and laughed heartily.

      
Jamison joined him; then when they drew the stares of several passersby who noticed them loitering in the alley, he said, “Careful, we'll give ourselves away,” but his amusement was scarcely tempered. “That woman drinks like a fish. Of course, if reports from Hambleton are to be believed, you can drink like a thirsty camel.”

      
“Don't know about that. I never drank with a camel, but I do know it takes a heap of endurance to match Tasha. The trick is not to drink vodka. I brought my own bourbon.”

      
“An allowance she'd make for an American, but not for a mere Englishman,” Michael replied dryly. “Since my drink of preference is good strong tea, I doubt she'd be enchanted.”

      
Josh snorted. “It'd do her good to join you. If that bell captain wasn't exaggerating about how ‘indisposed’ she was last night, she spouts like a beluga whale. Sabrina nearly got corralled into cleaning up after her.” He smiled at the memory of rescuing her.

      
Something in the tone of his companion's voice made Jamison turn his keen gaze on the Texan and note his quiet smile.
Love smitten
. He smirked. “So it's Sabrina now, is it? You said you caught her and Whistledown dressed up like hotel servants, but I expect there's more to the story than that...” His voice trailed away, inviting Josh to volunteer more if he chose.

      
He didn't.

      
The silence was broken when Sergei Valerian came out and jumped into a hansom, accompanied by two men neither of the watchers knew. “Well, have they fallen for Whistledown's tale or not?” Michael wondered aloud, knowing they had to make a swift decision. “We know that Valerian's part of Zarenko's inner circle.”

      
“Right hard to tell. There are more of those Russians than ants on a Texas ant hill. I'd rather wait for Zarenko.”

      
Jamison sighed. “Knew you would,” he said as he sprang forward and began trotting behind the hansom as it started to pull away. As soon as the bellman who'd waved down the vehicle turned his back, the agent jumped nimbly onto the boot and concealed himself.

      
Josh waited for another hour, wondering if he dared to go inside and check on Whisledown. He hoped to God the fool boy hadn't decided to bolt and run. It would go hard on him if he did. He wondered if Zarenko would take the bait. Once burned, a critter just naturally stayed off a hot stove. Still, they'd made the documents look authentic. Hell, they
were
authentic, since his uncle had procured them from the Foreign Office himself!

      
But the secret meeting between Lord Lansdowne and Count Hayashi would be attended only by Lansdowne, who was willing to risk his life to trap the culprits. Amid much fanfare and incredibly high security, the Japanese minister would be presented at court the day after tomorrow. The actual meeting to finalize the treaty and sign it was scheduled to take place the day after that.

      
In the documents signed by Lansdowne that Edmund was trying to sell, the meeting was supposed to be tomorrow night. If they caught Zarenko and his agents, the lot of them, including one famous toe dancer, would be deported. They'd find themselves on the next boat for Saint Petersburg trying to explain to their government why they'd failed in their mission...if they got the chance to explain.

      
If Zarenko took the bait.

      
Shuffling to his other foot on the hard cobblestones, Josh considered what might happen if the Russian did not fall for this gambit. Sabrina's cousin might be in really big trouble. So might Count Hayashi. Sighing, he headed toward the side entrance to the hotel to see what was going on.

* * * *

      
On the second floor, Sabrina slid the key in the lock and turned it until the heavy door swung open. It worked! When she'd taken the skeleton key from the peg board in the hotel manager's office, she could not be certain it would unlock every guest suite.

      
She slipped into the darkened room, having waited until Natasha and her personal maid had left for the theater. There was a performance that evening. She should have plenty of time to search the suite. But what was she searching for? Sabrina wasn't sure, but knew she'd recognize anything that might prove useful if she found it, providing that it was written in French, not Russian.

      
An hour yielded nothing but armoires bursting with French couture clothing, boxes glittering with jewels, and a sizable cache of Russian vodka concealed inside a dressing table. She was about to give up when a tiny edge of a slip of paper lodged between the upholstery on a settle caught her attention. Carefully she pulled it free. The crumpled remains of a love note carelessly tossed aside from the looks of it. The prima ballerina must receive hundreds of them, not to mention more substantial tokens of esteem such as the baubles overflowing her jewel cases.

      
Sabrina quickly perused the protestations of undying love and a tryst arranged at “our usual place” and was about to replace it when she noticed the crest embossed on the expensive vellum—the House of Wettin! It was signed “Georgie,” no other identification, but she remembered that conversation she'd overheard between the earl and Josh. The Royal Duke of Albany, the king's younger brother, had a son named George Clarence. His Majesty's own nephew was the one unwittingly giving secret information to the enemy!

      
What an embarrassment for the government if this ever became public! Surely there must be more letters, being held to incriminate the royal family once the Japanese minister was assassinated and the treaty between their countries abrogated. Sabrina continued to search for another hour but found nothing. Perhaps if Natasha's brother was the man in charge of this whole scheme, he was keeping the love notes from the foolish royal.

      
Dare she risk searching Zarenko's suite? Remembering the ugly menace of his drunken, twisted expression, she took a deep breath. Yes, she could do it. She had to do it for Eddy. Satisfied after inspecting her job of straightening Natasha's quarters, she headed for the room down the hall and once again set to work. This time she had a better idea about what to look for.

      
She found all sorts of notes and papers, some written in indecipherable Cyrillic, some in French. Nothing she could read was incriminating, mostly bills from various merchants. Like his sister, Nikolai enjoyed living extravagantly, especially considering that he was purporting to be an expatriate disowned by his own wealthy family. When the sitting room yielded nothing, she began a search of his bedroom. Finally, hidden behind the headboard of the elaborate canopy, she found a bundled packet of letters.

      
“Oh, I've hit the jackpot!” she exclaimed, then realized she was beginning to sound like Josh, using American vulgarisms. No time to chastise herself about that now, not when she had a packet of love notes from a member of the royal family addressed to his darling Natasha. What a fool George Clarence Wettin was, fancying himself in love with someone who was using him!

      
What a fool she was for the same reason.

      
Sabrina tucked the bundle in an ample pocket of the shapeless maid's uniform she'd “borrowed” again and started toward the door. That was when she heard a key turning in the lock and the sound of Nikolai Zarenko's voice on the other side...

* * * *

      
Josh sat in the lounge, nursing a glass of the nasty warm foamy stuff the English called beer, observing the crowd. Zarenko had emerged from one of the small private parlors off the main lobby and headed upstairs a few moments earlier. Josh hoped that meant he'd been waylaid by Whistledown according to plan. He debated on following the Russian, then decided it would be better to find the boy.

      
Just then Edmund slipped furtively from the same place as Zarenko. Judging by the jubilant expression on his face, the ruse had worked. Josh hoped the fool kid had been better at concealing his real emotions from Zarenko.

      
He shoved the beer aside and made his way through the press of opulently dressed people to intercept Whistledown. As he sidled up to the boy near the front door, he took his elbow in an iron grip and whispered, “I take it your play-acting worked.”

      
Edmund nearly jumped out of his skin until he recognized Josh. “Crikey, you gave me a fright! I thought that Russian bounder had changed his mind and come to slit my throat.”

      
“He went upstairs. Come on, I'll get a hansom and you can tell me all about it.”

      
In moments they were inside a dank, musty-smelling cab headed toward Hambleton House and Edmund was babbling excitedly about the performance of his life. Josh would guess the boy had been a natural-born liar since he was in knee pants. Whistledown pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and waved it in Josh's face.

      
“He went for the whole of it! Oh, he was suspicious at first, mind, but once he saw the papers signed by Lord Lansdowne and recognized the signature, he believed me. I assured him they wouldn't be missed until at least the day after tomorrow. I held out for enough to pay everything I owed at Epsom—just as his lordship told me to,” he hastily added.

      
Josh exhaled. Perhaps this would work out all right after all. He sat turning over plans about how he and Michael could seize the Russian agents tomorrow night. Of course, that left unresolved the issue of who had been stealing information from the earl's office. An English traitor was still on the loose. But at least they could send his paymasters packing soon.

      
His ruminations were interrupted when Edmund asked ingenuously, “Do I get to keep the money?”

* * * *

      
By the time Michael arrived at Hambleton House, Josh and the earl had already begun formulating how the trap could be sprung. Looking up as Nash announced their visitor, Josh asked, “What was that polecat Valerian up to?”

      
“A waste of my time. Just another drunken orgy with some of his companions. They ended up at the White Satin again. I lurked about for a while, but there was nothing to be gained. La Samsonov graced them with her presence briefly, but her brother never arrived. I hope that means he's taken the bait?”

      
“Quite,” the earl said. “He's already seen enough stolen official documents to recognize Foreign Secretary Lansdowne's signature. Obviously, he does not read Japanese, but I'm given to understand the forgery of Count Hayashi's pictogram was accurate enough. He paid young Whistledown for the information.”

      
“Where is the boy? I cannot trust him,” Jamison said worriedly.

      
The earl chortled mirthlessly. “None of us dare. He's upstairs, secured in comfortable quarters with two footmen guarding him until we decide how to proceed.”

      
“I believe he's too dumb to come in out of the rain, but not a traitor,” Josh said, more because he hoped it was true for Sabrina's sake than because he completely believed it. The fool kid was one hell of an actor.