Chapter Seven
Joanna puzzled about the strange gift the rest of the afternoon. She asked her mother about the matter, but Lady Lindby’s mind was already working on place settings for the wedding breakfast and her answers were even more confused than usual. In the end, Joanna could only go about her business and hope that Allister had been wrong.
She had planned on a quiet night home with her mother and was surprised when their butler announced Allister. She was even more surprised to find that Lord Hastings and Davis Laughton were with him. Despite the late hour, all three were still dressed in their day clothes, dark coats and lighter pantaloons.
“My, how lovely,” her mother proclaimed as they bowed in turn over her hand. “It’s very good to see you again, Mr. Laughton. You must miss the country. And Lord Hastings. When was the last time I saw you? Did he win that boxing match?”
For once, Joanna was at a loss to translate. As Davis frowned and Allister grinned, Lord Hastings bowed again. “Your servant, Lady Lindby. Yes, we haven’t seen each other since the day your late husband Jonathan joined me for the boxing match between Gentleman Jackson and Mendoza. That was a day. Very sharp of you to remember.”
Her mother beamed.
“To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” Joanna put in, hoping to bring the conversation back to something they all knew.
Davis and Allister exchanged glances. Hastings smiled at her mother. “Why, I’d heard you’d received some very interesting wedding gifts.” He met Joanna’s gaze, and she remembered the insect. “I wonder, Lady Lindby, would you be willing to show them to me? I’m sure we can trust these young people to entertain themselves.”
Her mother agreed and happily led him off to the dining room where they had piled the gifts on the sideboard. Davis went to close the door behind them.
“What is it?” Joanna hissed to Allister. “Has something happened?”
His jaw was hard, his eyes harder as he watched his friend return. “Mr. Laughton has a proposal for you. I don’t like it above half, but I promised I’d stand by your decision.”
She frowned as Davis seated himself.
“Mr. Laughton?” she asked, indicating that he should proceed.
“Miss Lindby,” he began, just as serious as Allister, “what I’m about to tell you must be kept in strictest confidence. You cannot speak of it to another living soul outside those in this room, including your mother and your minister. I must have your promise on that before I continue. Do you agree?”
She glanced at Allister who stared back at her unmoving. This was it. She was about to learn all. Excitement mingled headily with fear. She swallowed both down and sat straighter. “I agree,” she said firmly.
Allister closed his eyes as if in prayer, then reopened them. Davis nodded.
“Excellent,” he said. “Miss Lindby, I’m sure you’ll remember that I told you Lord Trevithan and I work for the War Office.”
Allister stiffened again, frowning at him, but Davis did not pause.
“England has been at war for some time, and good men are needed,” he said in careful explanation.
“I read the paper, Mr. Laughton,” she informed him. “I am not uneducated in civil affairs.”
“Of course,” he replied graciously, but somehow she did not think he believed her. “You will understand, then, that in any military endeavor, there is that effort that is reported in the papers and that effort that is done in silence.”
“The Secret Service,” she murmured.
He glanced at Allister who did not so much as nod in encouragement. She felt for him, but she had to know the truth.
“Yes, Miss Lindby, the Secret Service. Lord Trevithan has assisted the Service several times in the past, as have I and Lord Hastings.”
She somehow thought assistance was the least of Allister’s contributions, but she merely nodded as he continued.
“We have recently learned that a dangerous French agent known as the Skull may be in London. We believe he may be the one who has been threatening you.”
“I see,” Joanna replied. Despite her best effort, the fear was edging out the excitement. The tension in Allister was not her imagination. Were they sending him away or incarcerating him for his own safety?
“What do you want of me?” she asked with difficulty.
Davis glanced at Allister again, and she braced herself for the answer. Davis returned his dark gaze to her. “We’d like your help in catching him.”
Joanna blinked. “My help?”
Allister leaned forward at last, laying a hand protectively on her shoulder. She relished the touch and his strength, for she didn’t know how to respond.
“You don’t have to put yourself in danger, my dear,” he told her. “I told them this plan is unthinkable. A gently reared young lady is hardly the type to go against a master criminal.”
Joanna stiffened. She should have been buoyed by his support, but his assessment stung. Did he think her a coward or merely incapable?
“Certainly we will understand if you decline,” Davis put in, watching her. “I cannot underestimate the danger. It takes a strong person to stand up to a devil like the Skull.”
Joanna glanced between the two of them. Allister’s eyes were stormy with emotion. He clearly did not want her to agree. Yet if she disagreed, would she not in effect have turned her back on his past, implied that she rejected it and him as well? And while she felt no need to endear herself to Davis Laughton, she could hear the challenge in his words. It would take a woman of strength to accept the challenge. Could any lesser woman hope to keep the heart of a man like Allister Fenwick?
“I told you this was a ridiculous idea,” Allister said heatedly to his friend.
“Yes, well, it was worth a try,” Davis maintained. “Sorry to have troubled you, Miss Lindby. I’ll fetch his lordship and ---.”
“I’ll do it,” Joanna interrupted before her courage could flee.
“What?” Allister cried, releasing her to collapse against the back of the sofa.
Davis stared at her. “Miss Laughton, are you sure?”
“Yes, I am,” she said firmly, willing herself not to back down as Allister stared at her. “I want to help. Tell me what you need me to do.”
“Joanna, you can’t,” Allister declared. “It’s too dangerous!”
“May I remind you, Lord Trevithan,” Davis said before Joanna could respond, “that you agreed to abide by Miss Lindby’s decision?”
“Well, I jolly well never expected her to say yes!” Allister jumped to his feet and began to pace. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be, Joanna? No, of course you don’t. Hang it all, Joanna, this man could kill you!”
Joanna shivered, but she forced herself to rise as well. “If he’s that dangerous then he could kill you too. Do you think I like the idea of you in danger?”
He paused to eye her. “Probably no better than I like the idea of you in that situation.”
“Precisely,” she said, crossing to his side and peering up at him. “This man threatens us, threatens our future. Let me help you put a stop to it.”
He traced the outline of her cheek with one finger. “You’ve left me with little choice. God help me, Joanna, I want to see this villain caught. But if anything should happen to you . . .”
She caught his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Nothing will happen,” she promised.
She thought for a moment he would continue to argue. Emotions danced across his face – anger, frustration, fear. But the one that touched her heart was the flash of pride, pride in her. He turned to eye his friend. “Very well, then. You have your answer Mr. Laughton. Let’s get this over with.”
* * * *
The next afternoon, Joanna found herself waiting in a closed carriage near a small pastry shop, just off St. James’s. Davis Laughton had somehow learned that the man known as the Skull had been seen buying bread there every afternoon for the last two days. They could only hope it was a pattern. She was to wait until he arrived, then go inside and make sure he knew who she was. She was then to find a way to leave and allow him to follow her. Davis, Allister, and Lord Hastings’ men would do the rest.
Allister sat beside her, one arm draped protectively about her shoulders. Ever since he’d come for her, she’d sensed the change in him. Before, intrigue flowed from him like smoke from a tallow candle. Now it was tension that coiled around him. She felt it ensnaring her as well. He was so certain she was endangering her life. Surely he knew more about these matters than she did. He’d lived in this kind of danger for ten years. What was she doing here?
He shifted in the seat so that he could see her face, and it was the most natural thing in the world for her to lean against him. His lips brushed hers in a gentle kiss, promising untold pleasures. If this was her last moment in life, she wanted to savor it. She ran her hands down the soft wool of his navy coat, feeling the muscles that lay beneath it. She breathed in, hoping to catch the scent of his cologne, something to help etch the moment in her mind. But she only smelled leather and damp wool and dry straw. Even Allister’s scent was a secret. She sighed.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he murmured.
She shook her head and leaned back, hoping he hadn’t felt her trembling. “No. I promised.”
From outside came a sharp whistle. Allister stiffened. “That’s the signal. Be careful, Joanna!”
She started for the door, and fear seized her. What if she were killed? What if Allister were killed? She couldn’t let this be their last moment before eternity. She whipped back and threw her arms about him, kissing him with all her heart. She felt his arms come around her, his cool lips warm beneath hers. A few moments ago he had kissed her gently. Now he took everything she offered. She gave herself up to the feelings of joy, delight, desire.
The shrill whistle repeated.
She broke away with difficulty. Allister caught her shoulders.
“To hell with the lot of them,” he growled. “We’ll run away – to Naples, to America. Don’t go, Joanna. If anything happens to you, I’ll never be whole again.”
She could feel tears starting and blinked them forcefully away. Her plan was working. He had admitted he cared for her. She could not damage that fragile care by turning back now.
“It will be all right,” she promised, praying to God that she spoke the truth. “Just remember: I love you.” She pulled out of his grip and stepped from the carriage.
Chapter Eight
Joanna waited nervously in line in the little pastry shop. Somewhere in front of her, beyond the women and gentlemen waiting their turn, was the Skull. Once away from the narrow front window, it was amazing how dark the wood-paneled room became. She could barely make out the chubby baker behind the chest-high row of glass-front display cases, and all she could see in front of her was the back of the fellow on whom he waited. She didn’t have to see the jellied pastries and cakes and pies that rested temptingly in the cases – the sweet smell of sugar and spices permeated the shop. To her left, a gangly apprentice helped a tall thin gentleman to a set of hot cross buns, steam still rising from them in a heady aroma. To her left a woman shifted a crying baby in her arms and pulled out a plump purse to pay another waiting apprentice.
From behind her came a giggle. Joanna did not have to turn to know it came from the woman from Lord Hastings’ staff who was posing as her maid. The apprentice on her left was reddening, and Joanna would have bet the woman was flirting with him. Allister had explained that this supposedly flirtatious nature was an act to provide an easy excuse for her to lag behind and let the spy reach Joanna. At the moment, Joanna would rather the woman was an Amazon of legend, here to protect her. Her fashionable rose-striped jacket seemed to tighten around her ribs with each second. Her feet seemed to grow heavier inside the primrose day dress.
“Smile,” the woman hissed behind her as they took another step toward the counter.
Now at last Joanna could see the man directly in front of the baker. A poke in her back told her this was their quarry. He accepted his package of sweet bread and turned toward them. Joanna pasted on a smile and willed herself to gaze at the villain.
He was not nearly as fearsome as she had expected. Indeed, she would never have suspected him for a spy or any other kind of criminal. The man before her was wizened in his rumpled brown coat and breeches, his head bent so that all she could see easily was the brim of his top hat. One hand trembled as he held the bread; the other clutched a book of poetry to his chest. He appeared no more dangerous than a minister out for an afternoon stroll or a college don skipping class. Joanna blinked, and disappointment shot through her. Was all this for nothing? Could they have been mistaken? Could this be a fool’s errand?
The woman nudged her in the back again. There was no more time for questions. She took a deep breath, then stumbled, fetching up against him. The loaf of bread slid from his hand to bounce once on the flour-speckled wooden floor.
“Oh, pardon me,” she gushed.
Black eyes gazed into hers, cold and fathomless. And absolutely without recognition. She blinked again, then smiled graciously, praying he could not hear the uneven cadence of her pulse.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said by way of explanation. “I’ve been out shopping all day, and I’m afraid I’m tired. May I buy you another loaf of bread?”
“That would be very kind,” he replied in a quiet, gentle, very English tone.
She nodded and motioned for her maid to step forward and do the deed. “Get this gentleman a loaf of bread, Maudie, and don’t forget those sweet rolls Lord Trevithan is so fond of.”
“Yes, mum,” the supposed maid replied scurrying around them. Joanna glanced at the man in time to see a look of speculation cross his dark gaze. Anticipation replaced the disappointment in her veins. This was almost like a game of chess, she saw suddenly. Move, counter move, position, counter position. Her father had taught her to play when she was very young, but she liked to think she had gained some mastery of the game. Perhaps this adventure would not be any different.
“I suppose I’m going to have to find a cook who makes these rolls once we are married,” she confided, smiling at him. “My fiancé Lord Trevithan can’t seem to get enough of them. Ah, here we are.”