My Lady, The Spy Read online

  “Send him in.” He closed the log and set it aside. “Oh, and Hughes, have Lady Wentworth join us, at once.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  As the door to his study closed, Dirk stood, stretched long, and walked to the window.

  Below, the sidewalk of Park Lane was a beehive of activity. Fashionable Londoners scurried in all directions, running errands and meeting with friends, or simply strolled to see and be seen. Ignorant of the danger lurking in their midst, indifferent to the horrors of a war fought in another land, they carried on with their daily routines because they knew not otherwise.

  In short, life happened.

  Oh, to be so lucky.

  Tormented by the truth, he marshaled his emotions with ruthless command. Heaven help him if he faltered. Despite the unsettling events of the day, he could not, would not ponder a future without Rebecca. Yet only that morning he could have lost her, forever, had he failed to save her.

  The spy with sad eyes.

  In his mind he recalled the moment they met aboard the Gawain, when she pulled back the hood of her black cloak, and the deck shifted beneath his feet. In that instant, everything changed. She called to him, to his sense of honor and duty, to his need to protect and defend, but that was not all. To his inexplicable amazement, the beautiful agent touched him in ways he could never have imagined, summoning soul-stirring passion and molten desire unlike any he’d ever known.

  And yet her mystical magic could end in a singular fragment of time.

  Because L’araignee, the sought-after secret agent, put Rebecca, his ladylove, in the perilous sights of an as-yet unknown villain.

  “You sent for me?” Rebecca asked.

  Oh-so lovely in her powder-blue morning dress, just seeing her set his heart racing.

  “I did indeed.” Dirk smiled. “Please, have a seat.”

  From his desk, he retrieved the latest edition of The Times and handed it to her. “I thought this might interest you.”

  Myriad emotions danced in her countenance as she scanned the headline, and then gave her attention to the accompanying article, and he wondered how she’d managed to become one of England’s most notorious spies when he read her with such ease. Could it be that she felt comfortable enough to reveal her true self when in his company?

  “The infantry not only defended Fuentes de Oñoro, but also forced Massena’s troops to re-cross the Agueda River.” Her eyes flared with unabashed enthusiasm. “Oh, Dirk, it says Wellington has taken the garrison of Almeida.”

  “You must be pleased,” he declared with pride.

  “Of course, I am.” She folded the paper and met his gaze. “As any English citizen would be.”

  Modest to a fault, a quality he found most charming in his future wife.

  “I meant because of your dispatch. The intelligence you secured gave Wellington an edge,” Dirk pointed out. “You ensured the success of our troops.”

  “My lord, you grossly overstate my contribution.” Shaking her head, Rebecca sighed. “My information merely apprised them of impending attack. I did not fight their battles, because victory is never owed to one person. Our brave fighting men succeeded because of their determination, spirit, and hard work. War is never as simple as black and white. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “Well said, my lady.” Not that he expected any less. “Then, I suppose, you would not be amenable to a little celebration of your efforts.”

  “A celebration?” She blinked and all but leapt from the chair.

  Standing before him, with face aglow, she crossed and uncrossed her arms, and then clasped hands in front of her in a desperate attempt at feminine deportment, which might have worked, if not for her visible tremors of excitement.

  “What have you planned? What should I wear? Perhaps I need a new gown.” She bit her lip. “Oh, I hope you have not gone through too much trouble.”

  “It is a surprise.” Dirk laughed as he playfully tapped her nose. “And you need only present yourself, love.”

  “Then I shall endeavor to gift you a companion worthy of your efforts, my lord,” she purred.

  “How considerate of you to make it appealing, Becca, but entirely unnecessary, I assure you.”

  “As you wish.” She turned to leave but paused and then reversed course. “Dirk, may I ask you a personal question?”

  “I am at your service.”

  “What is your government affiliation?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Bloody hell, he had not wanted to lie to his bride-to-be.

  “As we both know you are not a member of the Corps, in which branch do you serve the Crown?”

  A common response shot to the fore. “Well, I completed a commission in the Navy.”

  “Then, if you are decommissioned, why did Sir Ross send you to convey me to London? Why did he not dispatch a military transport?”

  Why was he not surprised that the usual rejoinder had not sufficed? “Perhaps because I was already tasked with a supply run.”

  “All right.” Becca looked her skepticism. “If that is your story.”

  Were she a gentleman, he would take insult and demand satisfaction.

  “And Colin and I were old friends,” Dirk added for good measure.

  “As you said the night we met.” She retreated a step. “Then I bid--”

  “No, do not rush off.” He caught her elbow. “I would ask a favor, in kind.”

  “I stand ready.” Sparks flared in her velvety brown eyes.

  “Tell me, have you any aspirations once your mission is complete? That is to say, have you any plans for the future, when the war is over?”

  For a moment, she pondered his query in silence.

  After several seconds, she said, “While nothing is set in stone, I believe it fair to say I have aspirations.”

  “And they are?” Dirk held his breath in anticipation of her answer, because her reply could render his courtship the shortest in history.

  “I should like, very much, to marry and have a family,” Rebecca declared, with a ghost of a smile. “I want to know how it feels to wake up in the morning and have nothing more important to decide than what color dress I will wear. I want to bathe in perfumed waters every day, without fear that my scent will betray my presence on surveillance. I want to fashion my hair in the latest style, and attend events of the Season for no reason other than to waltz the night away in the arms of my beloved.”

  “Really?” He could have danced a jig, because her achingly tender testimony was music to his ears. “One would think the excitement and intrigue of espionage would know no competition.”

  The very instant he uttered the statement Dirk regretted his choice of words. In a flash, the spider spun its web, veiling the elegant noblewoman in the gossamer armor of a spy.

  “Actually, Lord Wainsbrough, service to the Corps is not what you might think.” L’araignee’s smile faded, as had her effuse effervescence. “Agents live on borrowed time, always looking over their shoulder, wondering who is watching whom,” she explained. “Most of their assignments are spent crouching in dark alleyways, or in some equally enticing locale no normal person would willingly inhabit. The work is hard and dirty, neither glamorous nor exciting, and they do things most sane people could never conjure in their most disturbing dreams, all in the name of King and Country.”

  Dirk cursed himself repeatedly, as the operative deteriorated from delight to despair.

  Wringing her fingers, she frowned. “You must think me selfish for wanting to abandon my profession.”

  “On the contrary.” He took her hands in his and pulled her into a hug. “I marvel at what you have accomplished these last five years. You have earned my utmost respect.”

  “I am not certain that I deserve your respect.” She snuggled close, burying her face in his chest, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.

  “Becca, believe me when I say you are the bravest woman I know.”

  A knock at the door brought them apart.

&n
bsp; Rebecca blinked and cleared her throat.

  Dirk cursed softly and tugged at his cravat. “Come.”

  “Your pardon, my lord.” Timmons, the groom, entered the study. “I thought you would want to know what caused poor Alice to bolt like she did. One of the undergrooms found her grazing in the park and brought her back.” In an outstretched hand, he held a prickly, gnarled bur. “Found this beneath the seat, tucked just under the edge of the cantle.”

  “No wonder Alice ran.” Dirk studied the nasty looking seedcase, letting it roll in this palm. He glanced at his groomsman. “Any idea how it got there?”

  “None, my lord.” Timmons shrugged. “May I ask, which of the undergrooms saddled the horses this morning?”

  Brows arched in surprise, Dirk cocked his head. “They were saddled when we entered the mews. Since I spoke with you yesterday about taking Lady Wentworth riding, I assumed you left word to have them ready for our morning exercise.”

  “No, my lord.” Timmons scratched his ear. “I thought you would send for your mounts, as usual, so I was surprised to see you walking them out yourself.”

  Dirk considered the possibilities as he held the bur in his fingers. “Timmons, post a guard at the mews. Not a single mount is to go out that you have not personally saddled and inspected.”

  #

  “So you believe this was an attempt on Rebecca’s life?” Blake narrowed his stare, as he appeared to consider the latest cause célèbre of their mission.

  The Nautionnier Knights, including Dalton and Lance, who’d recently returned from their quick supply runs, huddled in a private room at White’s.

  Dirk nodded once. “Aye, I do.”

  Dalton shook his head. “Has anyone else made contact with her besides Eddington and Varringdale?”

  “No.” Dirk frowned and raked a hand through his hair. “It is hell trying to protect her from a villain we have not, as yet, identified.”

  “What does Sir Ross think of the situation?” Damian asked.

  “That is the most frustrating part.” Dirk drew hard on his cigar and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You would think we were simply exchanging pleasantries. The man hardly raised a brow when I told him Rebecca could have been thrown from her mount and killed.”

  “But you said she was unharmed,” Damian declared, earning a reproving glare from Dirk.

  “That is not the issue.”

  “No.” Lance held a hand up to forestall Dirk’s impending protest. “The fact that she is an interpreter in service to the Crown is the issue.”

  “Brother, everyone in this room has taken risks for the good of our country.” Damian stared at Dirk over the rim of his glass of brandy. “Lady Wentworth is no different, and she has served since before you met.”

  “I for one admire her bravery and devotion to duty,” Trevor added.

  “Would you feel the same if it were Caroline at risk?” Dirk asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.

  “I would never let Caroline become an interpreter in the first place.” Trevor sat back in his chair. “And, as Damian pointed out, Rebecca was an aid to Wellington when you met her. Besides, Caroline is my wife.”

  “And Rebecca is going to be mine.”

  The words were spoken before he realized it. Truth and determination rang, clear as the finest crystal, in his voice.

  The room fell eerily silent.

  Dirk caught Blake and Damian exchanging their ‘I told you so,’ expressions.

  Nonplussed, Dalton was not so subtle. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Once this business if finished, if she will have me, I intend to marry her,” Dirk responded in a manner he hoped left no doubt of his sincerity.

  “And our lady soldier is in agreement?” Dalton leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. “You’re certain she wants the same?”

  “I believe she is equally disposed to such proposal.” He looked each brother in the eye, challenging anyone to gainsay him.

  The lifelong friends exchanged wary glances.

  “Well then, I believe a toast is in order.” Damian held his glass high. “To your lovely bride-to-be. May we finish this dreadful affair and capture the traitor so you might just get yourself leg-shackled.”

  “I will drink to that.” Though Dirk attempted to portray unshakeable conviction in his plans to wed the beautiful operative, he struggled with unanswered questions.

  Rebecca was a spy and had seen and done things of which he could only wonder. For good or ill, her work was part of her past and her present. But once they married, espionage would cease to be an integral component of their lives.

  There was no room for the Corps in their future.

  As the Brethren departed, some boasting more illicit endeavors, Dirk waved farewell to Blake and Damian. His young scamp of a sibling offered a ribald comment, tossed his familiar lucky coin, waggled his brows, and followed suit. But there was one member of their party whose counsel he required.

  “Trevor, a minute.”

  “What is it, brother?” asked the newest Nautionnier Knight.

  As Dirk had sailed with Trevor on his first mission with the Brethren of the Coast, and watched in awe as Caroline’s husband rescued a member of his crew during a vicious storm at sea, he felt a genuine kinship for the veteran seaman. And although he surmised he could have sought Admiral Douglas’s opinion on the topic foremost on his mind, Dirk would rather share his misery with someone who had just survived a similar circumstance.

  “I need a little direction,” he explained. “Some advice, if you will.”

  “What can I do for you?” Pondering his empty glass, Trevor motioned for a refill. “As if I cannot guess.”

  Bloody hell, his partner in crime was not going to make things easy. Dirk shifted in his chair and thought of Rebecca, soft and feminine in his embrace, and a wave of sensuous warmth permeated his polite attire.

  “Oh, no, I know that look.”

  “What?” Dirk snapped to attention. “To what are you referring?”

  “That stupidly content expression you’re sporting.” Trevor chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, I have spent every day of my life on the other side of that face since I met Caroline.”

  “Now see here--”

  “And you deny it. A sure sign that another man has fallen victim to perfume and petticoats.”

  “I resent that, Trevor, really I do.”

  “Oh, give over. It stings like a hornet when you first get hit. But, take my word, it does not last long, provided you manage to keep your head out of your arse.”

  Dirk blanched. “Gads, do you think the rest suspect?”

  “What? That you’re indubitably smitten with the charming Lady Wentworth?” He snorted. “Not unless they have ever suffered love themselves. Though they probably have some inkling.”

  “Suffered love? You make it sound like a battle wound.”

  “Oh, I say, the initial pangs of love are, by far, the most brutal, and it is a lethal cut to the heart, but, before you know it, you hurt so good.”

  “Are you purposely trying to confuse me?” Dirk scratched his temple.

  Trevor burst into laughter. “Brother mine, I could tell you the unvarnished truth, but then you would probably sail for the Horn, and you would miss something truly special that defies all logic.”

  “I do not follow.”

  “My wife once told me that love is a gift, not an obligation, and I must confess her statement confounded me, at the time. But since that day I have come to discover her meaning.”

  “Pray, continue.”

  “Dirk, if love has found you, then you need only accept it, and the sooner the better for your sanity.”

  “You make it sound so appealing.”

  “Any less, and I would do you grave disservice. So, what did you want to ask me?”

  “Well, I was wondering how one goes about courting a woman?” Dirk stretched his legs and studied the polished toes of his boots. “My experience leans decidedly toward the se
duction of the fairer species. You know how it is in the Navy. Barmaids and doxies tumble into your lap with little, if any, effort. Of course, that usually involves sharing a bed for only a night or two. I must admit, I haven’t the foggiest notion how to go about enticing a lady into my bed for the rest of her life. Not that I expect Rebecca to spend the rest of her life in my bed. Well, not that I intend us to have separate bedchambers--”

  “Enough.” Trevor held up a hand, ceasing Dirk’s nervous rant. “You know, it is painful to watch another man go down.”

  “And I am going down?”

  “Like a sinking ship.”

  “Bloody everlasting hell.”

  “Come now, it is not that bad.” Trevor snickered. “Take my word for it, there is a fine line between seduction and courtship. The goal is still the same, if only a more permanent arrangement. The difference is you have to do the pretty for the sake of the ton. It all happens out in the open.”

  “What?” Dirk choked on his brandy.

  “The courtship, you ass.”

  “My mistake.”

  “Take her flowers, and buy her chocolates. Compliment her appearance, but be careful, that can be a deadly trap. Tell her she is lovely, her hair looks nice, her dress is pretty, and she has great shoes. But leave it at that.” Trevor wagged a finger in warning. “Try to get fancy, and you will end up in a world of trouble.”

  Puzzled, Dirk shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “For instance, you profess sincere appreciation for her new style. Instead of taking it as a compliment, she will want to know why you did not like her the way she was. Then she will be angry with you, and that could go on for a fortnight.”

  Dirk pressed his hand to his belly and stared at the ceiling. “How the deuce am I to tell the difference?”

  “Just do as I said, and keep it simple.” Trevor slapped his thigh. “Oh, and buy her scads of useless trinkets. Women have a particular fondness for knickknacks that serve no purpose other than to gather dust.”

  “Really? Then why encourage them?”

  “Gratitude, brother.” Trevor grinned. “I would buy my wife a whole house full of dust collectors for one of her ‘thank yous.’”

  “That really is more information than I want to know about a woman who is, for all intents and purposes, a sister to me.”