To Catch A Fallen Spy (Brethren of the Coast Book 8) Read online

  “You really do not know Lady Elaine, as she possesses unrivaled intelligence, nerves of steel, and a courageous spirit.” And Ross adored her for it, but he would not share that bit of information. “She is no shrinking wallflower, answering to society’s beck and call. Rather, she exhibits shrewd acumen and chooses to make her own way, and I am proud of her independent nature.”

  “You are proud—”

  A knock at the door cut short Lance’s response, and Ross gritted his teeth. “Come.”

  “Forgive the intrusion, Sir Ross.” The secretary stood at attention. “Your presence is requested at intake, as Lord Waddlington has surrendered at the Old Bailey.”

  “Wait here.” Ross charged forth.

  “Like bloody hell.” Lance again pushed aside Winston. “I will have a full accounting from that murderous bastard.”

  “And just what do you intend?” Drawing on years of experience dealing with criminals, Ross came to an abrupt halt, turned, and confronted Lance. “If you think I will let you anywhere near Waddlington and jeopardize this case, you are seriously mistaken.”

  “But I am Elaine’s legal guardian.”

  “Which is precisely why I will not have you interfering in my interrogation of Lord Waddlington, should he choose to grant an interview.”

  “Since when is it his choice?”

  “Lord Raynesford, as an agent of His Majesty, I am tasked with upholding the law, and I excel at my work.” Standing toe to toe with Lance, Ross leashed his temper lest he end up manacled. “I will not permit you to hinder my investigation, as I vow to bring Waddlington to justice, so you will remain in my wake, and abide my requests, else I shall arrest you for obstruction. Am I clear?”

  “Aye, but I am coming with you.” Which was just what Ross did not need, at the moment.

  to catch a fallen spy

  chapter three

  A shrill note signaled the start of an exercise in torture, which would test the limits of eardrums, patience, and polite decorum for the unfortunate audience. Despite the posh surroundings and elegant décor, one lady winced, a gentleman shuddered, and the hostess gazed at the ceiling, as everyone presented an air of calm. Yet, tension grew thick in the grand drawing room, especially when a certain performer made a brave but failed attempt to sing an accompaniment, which was a vast deal generous characterization for that disastrous performance. Gritting her teeth, and in desperate search of distraction from the day’s harrowing revelations, Elaine attended a musicale at the Hogart’s.

  Given Lord Waddlington’s arrest and subsequent release, she needed a brief respite from the relentless glare of Lance’s worried gaze. But even in a crowd, she faltered, as word spread of her role in the demise of John Harris, and she found herself in the much distained social spotlight, imprisoned by intangible but nonetheless potent stares. The murmurs that welcomed her arrival heralded unwanted attention, the immediate vicinity seemed to advance in an ever-steady march, threatening to suffocate her, and she struggled to draw breath.

  As everything spun out of control, she rubbed the back of her neck and stood. Before Agent Barrett could protest, she rushed between a slit in the drapery and into the shadows, wherein she strove for an escape and a familiar partner. Hugging the wall, she hurried to the makeshift refuge manifested by a dark corner and reached with outstretched hands for the one person who could offer comfort and succor, as she knew well his habits.

  “Elaine, it is all right.” As she expected, Ross perched in the improvised haven, and he closed his arms about her, as she burrowed to his chest. “I am here, and you are safe, as I will let no harm befall you.”

  For a few minutes, she reveled in his amity, and he did not deny her. The steady beat of his heart functioned as a countdown, of sorts, quelling her apprehension. With his thumb, he stroked the responsive skin at the base of her ear, and she nuzzled him.

  “Why will you not sit beside me?” she whispered. “Why will you not accompany me, for all to see? Are you ashamed of me?”

  “Never, as it is my honor just to be counted your acquaintance.” In his steadfast embrace, she relaxed, and he caressed her cheek. “But my presence would only add more drama to the situation, so I remain resolute from a distance.”

  “Ross, I am frightened.” With that simple proclamation, Elaine broke. Never in her life had she been a weeper, but never had she encountered such dreadful torment—and the horrid predicament involving the murder of John Harris only heightened her sensitivity to the Hogart’s hellish production.

  “But I am with you always, even when you cannot see me.” He tipped her chin. “Please, do not cry, as I cannot bear your tears.”

  And then Ross did something she never would have predicted.

  He kissed her.

  Mouth to mouth, in a gentle but impenetrable bond, they soared, sharing a harmony of souls no mere mortal could best. Undaunted and unafraid, Elaine gave herself to her man, without restraint, as she licked and suckled his tongue. Soothing heat unfurled in her belly, leaving naught untouched from her head to her toes, and she grasped the hair at his nape. But all too soon, he ended their tender interlude and held her. And she clung to him, as the warmth of his exhalations teased her flesh, revealing a chink in his armor that bolstered her confidence.

  Ross desired her.

  “I thought you would never do that.” Although he declared otherwise, their first kiss, forever branded in her memory, had just betrayed him, and Elaine coveted that bit of knowledge as a priceless treasure. “Why did you stop?”

  “Because I took liberties that are not mine to own, and I apologize.” Yet he did not release her. “But your melancholy slays me, I am concerned for your welfare, and I cannot resist you. I had to do something, and that seemed the best option.”

  “I could not agree more.” But she suspected the day’s events troubled him, too. “What is going to happen, now that Lord Waddlington surrendered and lied in his official statement?” As he massaged her shoulders, she relaxed and sighed. “I know what I saw, and Waddlington committed a crime. It was not self-defense, as he claims, and I am not an, ‘ excessively emotional female with an exaggerated perspective of reality,’ as the barrister asserts. Lord Waddlington conversed with Harris, brandished a knife, and murdered the bastard son, without provocation.”

  “I believe you.” Three pedestrian words when uttered on their own, but taken together as a single statement the elementary expression gave her strength. “And I surmise he will attempt to discredit you, by any means necessary, thus I shall remain vigilant in my watch, as you are the only thing standing between Lord Waddlington, Newgate prison, and a dance at Beilby’s ball.”

  “Call me a coward, but I wish to go home.” At the prospect of facing the throng for dinner, she shivered. “Will you take me to Raynesford House?”

  “No, and you are not leaving.” To her delight, Ross claimed her mouth, hard and fast. “You will give no one the satisfaction of retreat. Instead, you will adopt a posture of unimpaired aplomb and enjoy the evening to spite those who would celebrate your distress, as so-called genteel society can be quite cruel.”

  “All right.” The screech of abused violin strings inspired a wicked flinch Elaine could not suppress, and he tightened his hold. “Why do you support me? Why not abandon me to the sharks?”

  With a subtle shift, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Because I care for you.”

  A chorus of fanciful cherubs materialized in her brain, and she would have joined in their victorious harmony with an enthusiastic hallelujah, if not for the interlopers that intruded on the cherished moment. “Then give us a chance.”

  “No.”

  Oh, the savage but unsurprising disappointment. “Why not?”

  “Because far better prospects abound for a lady of character.”

  “I disagree.”

  “The music stopped.”

  “You change the subject.”

  “They just announced dinner, so you should return to the gathering, be
fore someone notes your absence.” With that, he unceremoniously thrust her into the arena.

  “Traitor.” In seconds, she stumbled into the soft glow of the chandeliers and blinked.

  “My dear Lady Elaine, what are you doing all alone at one of my parties?” The hostess, Beryl Hogart, wrapped an arm about Elaine’s shoulders. “And I pride myself on ensuring every guest is entertained.”

  “But I am fine, Mrs. Hogart, and I am not alone.” Inwardly, Elaine cursed Ross, even as she smiled and patted the back of Beryl’s hand. “The Marchioness of Raynesford is my chaperone for the night, and I need only locate her.”

  “What?” The awkward grand dame frowned. “Permit an estimable noble, such as yourself, to hold court with only your family connection?” She snorted. “I should sooner surrender my vouchers for Almack’s than commit such a breach in courtesy.”

  “Well I should sooner burn my favorite bonnet than impose on your unrivaled hospitality.” Elaine could have choked on that lie, as she must have been insane to accept the invitation. “And my needs are small.”

  “I will not have it.” Beryl snapped her fingers. “And I know just the thing to fulfill my obligation. What we require is a suitable partner, to sweep you off your feet, and my matchmaking skills are legendary.”

  More like notorious.

  “Please, I do not wish to burden you, when your responsibilities are numerous.” Elaine tried to break free, but Beryl only tightened her grip. “I can make my own way.”

  “Nonsense.” Beryl scanned the vicinity and then stretched upright. “And I see just the man to save you.” Waving to some hapless individual, she dragged Elaine into the dining room. After parting another couple, Mrs. Hogart nabbed a familiar conspirator. “Sir Ross Logan, we are so honored by your presence at our humble gathering, and I wonder if I might encroach on your good nature and beg a favor.”

  “Mrs. Hogart.” Red-cheeked, Ross bowed, and Elaine bit her tongue against laughter. “I am at your service.”

  “Would you be so kind as to escort Lady Elaine to dinner?” Without ceremony, Beryl caught Ross by the elbow. “Here is a lovely spot for two unattached revelers to form a better acquaintance.” The hostess wagged a finger. “Now I expect to be the first to hear of your engagement.”

  And just like that, Beryl Hogart became Elaine’s new best friend.

  “You did this on purpose.” Ross frowned, as held out a chair.

  “I did no such thing.” She eased to her seat and giggled. “And you are the one who pushed me into the spotlight, when I could have easily claimed a place after everyone was settled, with none the wiser, so I hold you to blame, sir.”

  “Guilty as charged.” His scowl did not fool her for a minute. “Must you look so pleased?”

  “Yes.” As she draped her napkin across her lap, the servants commenced service of the first course, and the butler filled Elaine’s wine glass. “This is our first public assignation, although Mrs. Hogart engineered it, shall we toast to the occasion?”

  “I suppose.” When he raised the elegant crystal stemware, he cast a charming half-smile. “To what should we drink?”

  “How about us?” His smile faltered, she realized she hit a nerve, and she wished she could take back her words. Yet something in his troubled brown eyes, which harkened a comparison to Lance’s brandy, troubled her. “Ross, who hurt you?”

  “Do not turn your too-insightful gaze on me, Lady Elaine, as you may not like what you see.” To her dismay, he scooted his chair from the table and stood. “And as I said, there are far better prospects within reach. You should avail yourself of them.” He bowed. “I wish you a pleasant meal, Lady Elaine.”

  The couple across from her dipped their chins, in unison, and another duo shared whispers as they stared. The rudeness. While she wanted to cry, and a part of her fractured when Ross abandoned her, she adopted an air of refinement and resolved to persevere. As was her custom, she hid the truth of her reality behind a façade expected of a member of the peerage. No one would ever know of her distress.

  To her left perched George de Vere, Viscount Huntingdon, and a brilliant strategy formed in her brain, as she patted his arm. “And good evening, Lord Huntingdon.”

  #

  Well-coiffed ladies and polished gentlemen garbed in their excessive frippery strolled the great walk, during the fashionable hour, in another of society’s gross displays of indulgence, the significance of which Ross never quite understood. In his estimation, the spectacle provided nothing more than posh prey and lucrative business for the local pickpockets. From the shadow of a large hedgerow, he stood guard, as Elaine joined in the Promenade.

  Although he assigned several agents to the special detail, he could not leave Elaine’s survival to chance, and all an unforeseen villain required was an opportunity to strike. While a blackguard bent on evil could expend countless effort to wreak havoc, the scoundrel needed to succeed only once.

  In that instant, his lady partnered George de Vere, Viscount Huntingdon, and Ross clenched his jaw and assured himself that he was not jealous, even as he moved to a better location.

  And then there was the issue of his unforgiveable slight at the Hogart’s musicale.

  For the past three nights, he tossed and turned, unable to erase from his memory the hurt in her expression. What was it about her that he could not ignore? Why did she fascinate him? How did she own his thoughts, to the detriment of all else?

  Of course, that was not the reason he abandoned her.

  At that moment, Elaine’s shawl dropped from her shoulder, and Huntingdon provided assistance. How dare the earl take liberties with the beautiful ingénue. Despite the need for discretion, Ross skulked closer.

  In some respects, he and Elaine shared much in common—and that frightened him. She possessed an unerring capacity for personal examination that rivaled his skills. In short, the petite noblewoman could read people, and her instincts bested his finest investigator. It was her uncanny insight that kept him awake, as he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. If he apprised her of the truth, would she shun him?

  The earl bent and whispered in Elaine’s ear, and that seemingly harmless act drove Ross beyond the limits of his self-control, and he relocated to the concealment of a large oak, whereupon her answering giggle brought him the last few steps to the rotation.

  “Sir Ross, what a nice surprise.” To his chagrin, her smile conveyed his presence was no surprise. “Will you join us?”

  “Of course, old man, and I will not take no for an answer.” The earl smacked Ross on the back. “It would be our honor.”

  “If I am not intruding on a personal conversation.” As a nervous suitor, Ross kicked a pebble. Given Elaine was not his lady, because he had no claim on her, he could not explain his resentment of Huntingdon’s familiar manner. “I loathe interrupting anything of significance.”

  “Oh, you could never impinge on our discourse, as it was neither unique nor controversial.” The earl chuckled. “We discuss marriage.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Something in the universe fractured, as Ross halted in his tracks. He had no right to inquire, no reason to voice a complaint, yet everything inside him railed against the prospect. “Perhaps I should—”

  A telltale clap, crisp and sharp, snared his attention, and he moved swift and sure when the lead ball cut the bark of a nearby tree. Grasping Elaine by the arms, he shielded her with his body, just as another two rounds sliced through the air. Ahead, the Brethren came alert, even as society, so focused on their hollow ritual, remained ignorant of the danger. Then a fourth shot grazed his shoulder.

  Agents materialized, as if from nowhere, surrounding the party.

  “Are you all right, Sir Ross?” Barrett inquired in a whisper, as he scanned the immediate area.

  “Oh, no.” To her credit, Elaine did not scream, though her beautiful blue eyes filled with fear as she tugged at his sleeve. “You are bleeding.”

  “Easy, cousin, as there is no need to
raise the alarm.” Lance peered to either side. “Everyone stay calm, and let us adjourn to Raynesford House.” To Huntingdon, the marquess said, “Fetch Dr. Handley.”

  “At once.” The earl dipped his chin and rushed toward the street.

  When passersby noted the unrest, Ross cleared his throat. “Are you unwell, Lady Elaine? Is it your ankle, again?”

  “What?” In a flash, Elaine sobered. “Er—yes, Sir Ross. Thank you, for your support and assistance, as I seem to have aggravated an old injury.” Leaning against him, she slipped an arm about his waist. “Can you help me to the Raynesford carriage?”

  “Of course.” To blend into the background, they set a slow pace. And while on the outside Ross maintained his composure, on the inside he seethed, as someone tried to kill the gentlest creature he had ever known, and he pledged to defend her.

  After a brief but tense ride to Grosvenor Square, the coachman drew rein before Raynesford House. Built in the Palladian style, with urn-topped rails and a Corinthian columned portico, the mansion presented a grand gem among London’s more fashionable residences, which never failed to intimidate Ross, because it served as an undeniable reminder that he belonged not in Elaine’s sphere.

  Yet he could not part from her.

  “Show Sir Ross to a guest room.” Lord Raynesford doffed his hat and gloves, which he passed to Banks, a stodgy character with an inscrutable expression that defied Ross’s best attempts to glean the butler’s thoughts or emotions. “And we anticipate Dr. Handley’s arrival at any minute. Ensure the staff is at his disposal.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Banks bowed. “Sir Ross, if you will follow me.”

  “Elaine, I will speak with you in my study.” Lance arched a brow. “Now.”

  “Not until I tend Sir Ross.” When the marquess made to protest, she whirled about and faced her ill-tempered relation. “He saved my life, and it is the least I can do.”

  “Go with Lord Raynesford.” Ross gave her a gentle nudge. “Unless you know how to stitch a wound, I should await the physician. But I would be grateful if someone could bring fresh water and clean towels, that I might clean the injury.”