My Lady, The Spy Page 6

  The chastised party averted her gaze. “Yes, Papa.”

  “Oh, please. Do not feel as though you must forgo your usual rituals on my account.” Rebecca glanced left, then right. “I should, very much, like to hear the tale.”

  “Go ahead, Dirk.” Blake raised his glass in mock salute. “Enlighten the lady.”

  “Our five families share a history that dates to the fourteenth century. Our generation came together when Thomas, Elaine’s older brother, drowned.” His expression softened. “After his funeral, we gathered at midnight and swore an oath of friendship. That vow has stood the test of time, and we remain dedicated to our cause.”

  “How remarkable.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “And what is the oath?”

  The room grew eerily silent.

  Dirk inclined his head. “That is a private matter.”

  “We could tell you.” Dalton chuckled and tossed his coin. “But then we would have to kill you.”

  “I understand.” Membership in the Corps required similar loyalty, and Rebecca had taken a pledge of secrecy at the start of her service.

  “If you were to marry Dirk, we would make the same vow to you.” Tongue in cheek, Alex giggled. “You would be one of us.”

  “Behave, little sister.” Damian arched a brow. “I apologize, Rebecca.”

  “Why are you apologizing?” Sabrina frowned. “She understands duty and honor.”

  “Brie, stop inserting your opinions into their conversation,” Cara said as she wagged a finger.

  “But, it is true.” The younger Douglas humphed. “I heard Papa say she is an interpreter for Wellington, himself.”

  “Sabrina Francis!” The admiral steepled his hands atop the table. “Were you eavesdropping outside my study door again?”

  “I might have been in the hall at an opportune moment.” Sabrina picked at the hem of her sleeve. “Your voice carries, you know.”

  “I ought to heat your posterior.” Admiral Douglas narrowed his stare. “Have you any idea of the gravity of the situation?”

  “Oh, yes.” Sabrina leaned forward. “If given half the chance, the traitor would no doubt murder Rebecca.”

  The admiral rubbed his forehead. “Bloody hell.”

  “Mark, is this true?” Lady Amanda inquired.

  “Aye,” her husband responded.

  Surprised by the unfortunate events, and the chorus of feminine gasps, Rebecca attempted to soothe some raw nerves. “I am sorry--”

  “Trevor, did you know about this?” Caroline folded her arms and glared at the earl.

  The host cleared his throat and swallowed a healthy gulp of port.

  Rebecca peered at Dirk. “Perhaps this is not such a good idea. I do not wish to cause trouble.”

  “Bother that.” Alex covered her plate with her napkin. “You are no trouble. The problem lies with the men. They think women cannot keep a secret.”

  “Not true, sister.” Damian rolled his eyes. “This is dangerous business, and there are lives at stake.”

  “But you could benefit from our help.” Caroline thrust her chin in the air. “While the battlefields of France and Spain belong to men, women rule the ton’s ballrooms.”

  “Darling, I will not risk one hair on your lovely head, not to mention our child.” It appeared Trevor could be as stubborn as his wife.

  “I will not risk any of you.” Rebecca pushed from the table and stood. “I refuse to place you in peril,” she said to the ladies. “The traitor is after me. As a servant of the Crown, I must do my duty, but you are under no such obligation.”

  “Blast it all.” Sabrina jumped to her feet. “We are with you, come what may.”

  Alex rose from her chair. “I second that.”

  “Third,” Lady Amanda stated with a glance at the admiral, as though daring him to countermand her declaration.

  The remaining women mirrored her stance.

  The men looked on in palpable horror.

  “It is settled.” The duchess of Rylan lifted a glass in toast. “To a successful endeavor.”

  And just like that, L’araignee gained eight new, albeit unwitting and tad dainty, female partners in espionage.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Like a cannon shot, the ever-popular Netherton Ball signaled the start of the Season. In the lamplight, the long queue of carriages cast shadows on the graveled drive. The hum of the string quartet hung in the air as Rebecca ascended the entry stairs beneath the portico of the Palladian style mansion, and a shiver of excitement traipsed her spine as she smoothed the skirts of her emerald silk gown. In an instant, she reminded herself that she was working and tugged at her gloves.

  “Nervous?”

  “No.” Rebecca tilted her chin and gazed at Dirk. Although it was customary for him to escort his mother at public functions until he took a wife, the viscountess had insisted there was no better way to introduce Rebecca to the family than to have her assume the prominent position. “Are you?”

  With a smug smirk, he said, “Not in the least.”

  Despite his assertion, she suspected the contrary. “Then we are as one.”

  “Indeed.” Dirk grasped her wrist and settled her palm in the crook of his arm. “And I think now is as good a time as any to commence the charade.”

  “Ah, yes.” The anticipation simmering under her petticoats had nothing to do with her assignment and everything to do with the man at her side. Why was she so attracted to her new partner?

  “Rebecca?”

  Do not look at his lips.

  “Yes?”

  “If you continue to frown, no one will believe you are in love.”

  With a flinch, she swallowed hard. “In love?”

  “Aye.” With a guileless expression, Dirk was devastatingly handsome in his black formalwear. “Else how will I convince the ton that you have accepted me?”

  She adopted what she hoped was an adequate smile. “Is this good?”

  “Too good.” He returned the gesture, and her heart skipped a beat.

  In the grand foyer, the viscountess, with Dalton at her left, paused. “Are you ready, my dears?”

  “I suppose it is now or never.” Rebecca clutched Dirk’s arm. “Shall we?”

  He nodded once and ushered her into the limelight. “All the world is a stage,” Dirk said, borrowing the words of Shakespeare, as he handed a card to the butler.

  “And we are merely players.” She stared into the sea of silk, lace, and gems.

  After reading the inscribed names, the manservant stood at attention, and his chest expanded to unimaginable heights. “His lordship, the Viscount Wainsbrough, and Lady Rebecca Wentworth.”

  A hush fell over the magnificent ballroom.

  Heads turned, hands covered mouths, and eyes grew wide as Dirk and Rebecca entered the fray. Pointed stares pierced her make-believe armor like a thousand bee stings, every whisper rang in her ears, and she stifled the urge to run. What powers had the strangers possessed? Why was she suddenly afraid?

  “Are you all right, Becca?”

  “Becca?” The informal sobriquet snared her interest and calmed her fears. “I am fine, thank you.”

  “The family has gathered at the back wall.” He steered her through the crush.

  Familiar faces came into view, and the countess of Lockwood neared. “What a stunning dress.”

  “On that note, I shall join the men.” Dirk bowed, winked, and struck up a conversation with Lance, who stood on the fringe of the male set.

  “How lovely you are, Rebecca.” Alex gave her a gentle nudge. “I hope you have at least one more ball gown in your armoire.”

  “Why is that?” Rebecca inquired in earnest.

  “Because we have secured vouchers for Almack’s,” declared Sabrina with a none-too-girlish back slap.

  “Careful, Brie.” Cara shook her head. “You might have hurt her.”

  “No harm done,” Rebecca said on a gasp.

  “See?” The younger Douglas grinned. “I told you she is
tough, just like me.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Rebecca clasped her hands to her chest. “So, I am going to Almack’s? Goodness, I was seventeen when last I ventured into the Great Room.”

  “Wait a minute.” Sabrina cast her a narrow-eyed stare. “I thought you had never been to a ball or had a season.”

  “That is correct.” Rebecca dipped her chin. “You see, I was seventeen when my nanny passed. She had brought me to London for my come out, and I was permitted to dance my first waltz. But my uncle insisted I return to the country after Frederique died. It seemed he did not wish to be bothered with me.”

  “How tragic,” Elaine murmured, her voice laced with sympathy.

  “Well, you have us now.” Alex wrapped an arm about Rebecca’s shoulders. “We shall ensure you have a stupendous season, will we not, ladies?”

  “Please, do not go to too much trouble.” Rebecca’s hair stood on end as Damian’s little sister sported a mischievous grin. “I do not wish to be a burden.”

  As a child, she’d had few friends and had longed for a sister. But the death of her parents ended that dream and so many more. Never could she have imagined how it might be to form a friendship with a woman--let alone five spirited females.

  If only she could truly confide in them.

  “I have an idea.” Cara peered at Rebecca and arched a brow. “What say we initiate her into our group, in our true fashion?”

  Rebecca blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “An excellent notion.” Alex rubbed her gloved hands together. “Do you fence?”

  As an agent of the Crown, she had been trained in combat with edged weaponry but, somehow, Rebecca was positive they were referring to the polite gentleman’s sport. “No, I do not.”

  “Just what do they teach you in interpreter school?” Sabrina asked with a grimace of disgust. “Or do you go to school for such occupation?”

  Recalling her defensive tactics drills, Rebecca replied, “I am not certain it qualifies.”

  “You know, we could ask Blake to tutor her,” Alex said to Caroline. “Of all the men, he is most proficient.”

  “And most patient.” Caroline nodded her agreement. “I shall check with Mama, but I am sure we could use the ballroom at Elliott House.”

  “Then it is settled.” Cara turned to Rebecca. “Come to tea at Elliott House, tomorrow, one o’clock sharp.”

  “Tea?”

  “Tea.” The elder Douglas winked. “And bring suitable attire, if you follow my meaning.”

  “Excuse me, ladies. But I have come to collect my wife.” With a smile Rebecca would describe as devilish, Trevor offered his arm to the charming countess. “Darling, they are playing our tune.”

  The handsome couple, obviously besotted with each other, made their way to the dance floor. How she envied their unveiled love and devotion and was seduced by the thought of having a man of her own to cherish. Could she relinquish her career for marriage? Trade her spy tools for a chatelaine’s estate keys? Although the answers to her queries remained a mystery, Rebecca allowed herself to consider the possibilities.

  She leaned toward Sabrina. “What is the significance of this dance?”

  “There is no relevance other than to provide Trevor an opportunity to paw his wife in full view of the ton.” Sabrina rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “And Caroline lets him.”

  “Pardon me, but I believe this waltz is mine.”

  As Dirk pressed a palm to the small of her back, Rebecca shivered. “Indeed, it is.”

  She tried not to ponder the warmth of his embrace as he led her to the dance floor, tried not to anticipate the rippling of his taut muscles beneath her fingertips. But the first whirl in the light of the crystal chandeliers left her head spinning and her senses reeling. Dirk was holding her too close for polite society, but she could not muster a suitable protest. During a turn, they collided with another couple, and her hips met Dirk’s.

  Good heavens, he had a loaded pistol in his crotch.

  Rebecca gazed at her partner through her lashes. He appeared unaffected, seemed almost bored.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “I...was...just pondering how much I am enjoying this dance.”

  Ah, he was not so unaffected, after all.

  The warmth of a blush seared her cheeks when he hugged her even closer. “You are scandalous, my lord.”

  How could he impact her thus?

  She was an accomplished spy, and he was a harmless seaman.

  “What?” Dirk smiled with cherubic innocence. “We are supposed to be drawing attention to you, are we not?”

  “That we are, but I do not believe Sir Ross would approve of your methods.” Why was she complaining?

  “And what about you?” He waggled his brows. “Do you approve, my dear Becca?”

  Oh, how she approved. And she wanted him to--

  “Let go of me, you bloody ridiculous fool,” Sabrina bit off as she waltzed past while struggling in the arms of a stranger.

  “Who is that man attempting to dance with Sabrina?” Rebecca asked, as the younger Douglas wrestled with a very handsome, albeit smug, male.

  “Lord Everett Markham.” Dirk chuckled. “He is an old friend of Trevor’s and the new bane of Sabrina’s existence.”

  “Why is that?” She giggled as the two circled the floor in a manner that could be described as anything but graceful.

  “He seems to have a particular fondness for rankling Brie.”

  “I wonder if that is all he enjoys?” She laughed aloud as the waltz ended, and Sabrina unceremoniously stomped on Lord Markham’s foot. When her unconventional friend sped past, Rebecca noted the well masked, but still visible, pain in her expression. “You should check on Brie.”

  “She and Markham are always fencing, it is harmless fun.”

  But Everett appeared transfixed as he stood, motionless, and his gaze trailed Sabrina’s flight. Theirs was not harmless fun. “Dirk, go--now.”

  “As you wish.”

  While Dirk set course in Sabrina’s direction, Rebecca strolled to the terrace doors. A cool breeze wafted inside and invited her into the garden.

  A mix of topiaries surrounded a large fountain, and Rebecca opted to explore a pebbled path. In the blue light of the moon, dark shadows sheltered clandestine trysts, and chirping crickets obscured the whispered declarations of lovers. Gooseflesh covered her arms, and she hugged herself as she ventured beyond a hedge.

  The subtle scent of roses brought her up short, stopped her in her tracks, held her spellbound, and transported her back to the past, to a previous night, and another garden. With a hand at her throat, and her heart pounding in her chest, she closed her eyes and envisioned a face covered in blood.

  Colin.

  On a sob, her parents joined the morbid illusion.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “How can you answer what I have yet to ask?”

  Rebecca whirled around and discovered Dalton. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Following you.”

  Before she could take him to task, Dirk’s brother snaked an arm around her waist, pulled her near, and kissed her.

  In a flash, she delivered a short punch sufficiently close to an important appendage, which induced him to free her.

  “Easy, love.” Dalton took a step in retreat. “You should not shut down the business until you have sampled the wares.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come now. Do not even try to convince me that you are genuinely interested in His Dullship of Wainsbrough.” He swaggered in her direction.

  “Dalton, you are young and charming.” In the silvery moonlight, she noted the hint of a smile and prepared to lower the boom. “Neither are qualities I hold in high esteem.”

  “Ouch.” He halted mid-stride, and his smile curved to a frown. “Do you have to be so cruel?”

  “I believe, with you, I do.” She chuckled. “But I am equally certain
you will have no trouble finding a balm to soothe your injured pride.”

  He quirked a corner of his mouth. “A kiss would do nicely.”

  “You, sir, are without shame.”

  “And usually lucky.” Dalton pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it into the air.

  Quick as a wink, she snatched it from his grasp. “I make my own luck, and I suggest you try the same.”

  With that, Rebecca returned the token and charted a course for the main house. As she neared the hedge, the telltale snap of a twig gave her pause.

  “Who goes there?”

  “How exceedingly cruel of you, my dear.” Blake emerged from behind a large shrub. “You ruined my surprise.”

  “And that would be?”

  “This.” He swooped.

  The duke was fast but not fast enough.

  Rebecca braced an arm against his chest and pressed a thumb into the fleshy spot at the base of his throat. The bold nobleman sputtered and choked.

  “You are as bad as Dalton,” she said once he released her.

  “I beg your pardon?” The obviously offended aristocrat straightened his cravat. “Comparing me to that pup is an unforgivable insult.”

  “Perhaps, but I am certain you will get over it.” With a giggle, she veered left from the path and wound up beneath a pergola in another part of the garden. Peering through the twisting vines overhead, she identified the various star clusters operatives used for navigation at night.

  A hand covered her mouth, and an unknown person dragged her behind a thorny bush. Goodness, her would-be Romeo was serious this time. Could it be Damian? Or Lance?

  Or, dare she think it, Dirk?

  The heel of her shoe caught on an exposed root, tripping her and her prospective amour.

  “Bitch.”

  L’araignee came alert in a flash.

  With an elbow, she landed a jab to the ribs of her attacker, and then stomped on a booted foot. Again, her assailant uttered a terse invective and immediately freed her.

  The coat of scarlet cloth, with three rows of lace rounding the small blue cuffs, and gold lace rounding the coat and pockets, was adorned with gilt buttons set at exact distances. Even without benefit of sufficient light, she knew the buttons were ornamented with a sword and truncheon and encircled with a wreath of laurel. Completing the full dress uniform of an Army general was an impressive ensemble of white pantaloons and gaiters.