Lord and Lady Spy (11 page)

“Lord Liverpool asked us to make additional inquiries,” Sophia said, jumping in where she was most definitely not wanted.

“Why?” Hardwicke narrowed his eyes.

“We’re close friends with the prime minister.”

Adrian could have told her that while an answer like that might mollify Mrs. Jenkinson, it would not appease a man like Hardwicke.

“What does friendship have to do with finding a murderer?”

Sophia opened her mouth to say God only knew what, and Adrian interrupted, “I have some experience at this sort of thing. Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Hardwicke, I’ll ask the questions.”

The man’s mouth thinned, and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his considerable girth.

“Where were you on the night of Mr. Jenkinson’s murder?”

“At home.”

“Do you have any witnesses who might corroborate your alibi?”

“Alibi?” Hardwicke sat forward, slammed his palms on the desk, making the piece shake precariously. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t need witnesses, and my whereabouts on the night of the murder are not an alibi.” He stood. “What the hell is this? Excuse my language, madam. I think you’d better leave.”

Adrian rose. “I think you’d better answer my questions.”

“I’m a businessman, not a criminal. If you proceed to threaten me, I’ll call the constable.”

“Go ahead. I’d like him to hear what you have to say.”

Hardwicke blinked, not expecting his bluff to be called. “B-but—”

Adrian sat, crossed his arms over his chest. “Go ahead. Send your clerk. I’ll wait.”

When the man made no move to call for the clerk, Adrian glanced around the office and tapped his fingers. “What kind of business do you do here, Mr. Hardwicke? I sincerely hope it’s all aboveboard. Wouldn’t want to call the constable in if you have anything to hide.”

“Why, you bast—” Hardwicke glanced at Sophia. “Begging your pardon, madam.”

“Mr. Hardwicke, if you’d allow me to speak a moment,” she said, “perhaps we might come to a better understanding.”

Adrian glared at her, silently urging her to close her mouth. He had Hardwicke right where he wanted the man. Why was Sophia interfering?

But Sophia, though she must have felt his stare—the shop girl across the street could feel his stare—steadfastly continued. “We don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do we, Lord Smythe?”

Adrian glared at her harder.

“Well, we don’t.” She leaned forward, her eyes beseeching and full of compassion. How did she manage that? “But Lord Liverpool is such a dear friend, and he is most distraught by the loss of his only brother. You understand?”

Damn him. Hardwicke was nodding and looking sympathetic. “I do. I feel the same way. It’s been most upsetting.”

“Of course it has.” She leaned forward, patted Hardwicke’s hand. “You must be beside yourself with grief.”

Hardwicke was nodding more vigorously now. Adrian wanted to reach out and smack the man. Who cared about his grief? His partner was dead. If Hardwicke was really concerned, he’d help the investigation.

“And we’re both so sorry for your loss.” She indicated Adrian.

Hardwicke gave Adrian a dubious glance.

“But in the interest of finding the real murderer,” Sophia said, as though implying Hardwicke could not possibly be a suspect. Adrian gritted his teeth. Her methods were not his, but they were not completely without merit. “Might you answer a few questions? Might you tell us where you were the night of Mr. Jenkinson’s murder?”

“Certainly. As I told your husband, I was at home.”

“A man like you,” Sophia said, sitting forward and toying a little with the plume in her hat, “must have a manservant or two. Were they at home that evening?”

Adrian was torn between watching Sophia stroke the feathery plume—he’d never seen her act so coyly—and admiring the way she flattered Hardwicke without making it seem like flattery. A manservant was more expensive than a maidservant. Judging by the state of the offices, Hardwicke couldn’t afford either.

“I have a housekeeper,” Hardwicke said. Adrian was surprised to hear it and thought the scullery maid Hardwicke paid to straighten and clean twice a week might be surprised at her elevation in status, as well. And Adrian was willing to wager Sophia didn’t know that much about Hardwicke. But Adrian had not been idle this afternoon. He’d done his research.

“And was she working that evening?” Sophia asked.

“No. As I told your husband, I have no witnesses. But I don’t need them. I didn’t kill George Jenkinson.”

“Then who did?” Adrian asked.

Hardwicke shook his head. “Damned if I know. Pardon the language, madam.”

“Hardwicke owed you money,” Adrian said, returning to the list of questions he’d formed. “How much?”

Hardwicke narrowed his eyes. “A considerable sum. You think I killed him for money?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time greed played a part in murder.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Hardwicke said, speaking to Sophia. “George and I were friends. Several years ago we invested in a shipping venture. The ship sank, and we owed our creditors a considerable sum. I paid what was due and told George he could repay the debt when he had the blunt.”

“That was very kind of you—” Sophia began.

“Yes, kind,” Adrian grumbled. “Why were you so… kind?”

“I told you. George and I were friends.”

“With a considerable sum standing between the two of you, a friendship might sour.”

“But George was paying me back,” Hardwicke said. “He’d already repaid me six thousand pounds.”

Adrian glanced at Sophia. She met his gaze. Her face was neutral, no sign of triumph in her eyes. She hadn’t known about the repayment.

Bloody hell. There went Hardwicke’s motive. Why would he kill a man in the midst of repaying his debts? Unless Hardwicke wanted the business all for himself…

“I wonder if you have any ideas as to where Mr. Jenkinson acquired the funds to repay you,” Sophia said, looking only half-interested.

“I have no idea.”

If that was true, Adrian would eat that feather Sophia persisted in stroking.

“When I called on Millie Jenkinson recently—Millie and I are both members of the Benevolent Society for the Aid and Prosperity of Orphans—she mentioned her husband had recently made the acquaintance of several foreigners. Do you think that might have something to do with the repayment?” Sophia blinked, looking completely innocent, as though the idea just occurred to her. But Adrian was no longer so much a fool to believe that.

Adrian had considered that Jenkinson’s meetings with foreign men might have something to do with acquiring money to pay his debts, but he had several questions planned to lead Hardwicke to that topic. He frowned at Sophia. Where was she going with this?

“I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with Mrs. Jenkinson,” Hardwicke said, melting a little more and smiling at Sophia. Adrian gripped his chair in frustration. This was an interrogation, not a social call. Hardwicke didn’t need to like them to answer their questions.

In fact, Adrian preferred Hardwicke stopped conversing with Sophia altogether.

“The plight of orphans is, naturally, something that concerns both of us.”

Adrian sighed. Heavily. Why were they talking about orphans?

“And now she’ll have her own little one,” Sophia said with a smile.

“Yes.” Hardwicke frowned, and Adrian leaned forward. So, Hardwicke knew about Millie Jenkinson’s infidelity. Had Jenkinson shared that with him, or was it common knowledge? And damn him if he hadn’t thought to pursue that avenue of questioning.

Still, Sophia’s haphazard approach annoyed him. Could they not exhaust one line of questioning before beginning a new? What had happened to structure? Order? His plan?

“So distressing that the expectant father will never meet his son or daughter, especially considering he’d recently come into some money.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“But, Mr. Hardwicke, you said yourself Mr. Jenkinson was repaying the debt owed you.” Sophia blinked again, appearing without guile.

Hardwicke looked at Adrian, and Adrian raised his brows. He didn’t know how he’d lost control of this interrogation, but he knew better than to try and regain it now.

“I don’t like to speculate,” Hardwicke began slowly. Adrian’s pulse jumped, but he kept his face carefully blank. Sophia continued stroking her plume and blinking.

Hardwicke stood, paced his small office. “I think it was the French.”

“Oh!” Sophia put a hand over her heart.

“No need to worry, dear lady,” Hardwicke assured her. “Bonaparte is safely exiled, and for my part, none too soon—”

“About the French,” Adrian interrupted before Hardwicke started giving unwanted opinions on Bonaparte. “You think they’re in some way responsible for Jenkinson’s death?”

“As I said, I don’t like to speculate, but those foreigners Mrs. Jenkinson mentioned were French. I didn’t like that, George associating with frog-eaters.” He looked at Sophia, and she nodded her support. “I met one once. I was leaving George’s, and one was coming in. I warned George against doing business with them, but he ignored my warnings.”

“Warnings?” Adrian asked.

“He said he knew what he was doing. And then a few weeks later, he began repaying the money he owed. It doesn’t take a spy to put two and two together.”

“No, it doesn’t take a spy,” Adrian said, leaning back in his chair.

“And do you think the Frenchman had anything to do with Mr. Jenkinson’s death?” Sophia asked.

“Who else would have killed him?”

Adrian could think of a host of others with more reason and motive than some mysterious—possibly imaginary—Frenchman. He wasn’t yet willing to fully discount Hardwicke as a suspect.

“Well, thank you for your time,” Sophia was saying. She rose.

Adrian shook his head. “We’re not done here.”

“Oh, my lord, I’m so sorry. I know we haven’t addressed all of the questions on your paper, but we really can’t afford to be late.”

“Allow me to escort you out.” Hardwicke took Sophia’s elbow.

What the bloody hell was going on? Sophia was leaving, Hardwicke was escorting her out, and Adrian hadn’t even begun to ask all the questions he wanted. And now she was talking about being late for something.
This
was why he preferred to work alone. He stomped after Sophia and Hardwicke. “Lady Smythe.”

She turned and smiled at him. “We must hurry if we don’t want to keep Cordelia and your brother waiting.” She turned to Hardwicke. “Lord Smythe’s brother is hosting a dinner party tonight. I’m afraid I need a few moments in my dressing room so I can look presentable.”

“Oh, my dear lady,” Hardwicke said, “I’m sure you would look well dressed in nothing.”

Adrian halted, and Hardwicke gave him a hasty glance, the rotund man’s face turning purple. “I-I… what I meant was…”

“I know what you meant.” Sophia patted Hardwicke’s arm, and Adrian stepped between the two, took her hand, and placed it on his sleeve.

“Yes, we know exactly what you meant.” He leaned close to Hardwicke. “I’m going to check on these Frenchmen. If anything you’ve said doesn’t fit, I’ll be back.”

He strolled out of the office, pulling Sophia in his wake. It was time he put an end to Sophia’s “assistance.” Time he made sure she understood who was really in charge.

Sophia stalked after Adrian. “Will you be threatening and intimidating every suspect we encounter?” she asked as they stepped into the twilight of early evening. “Or only those who give us valuable information?”

Adrian cut her a glance and began a brisk walk. It was no hardship for her to keep up with him, but she slowed anyway, not liking having her pace set for her.

“Hurry up. Hardwicke’s information isn’t valuable. He told us little to nothing.”

“He corroborated Millie’s statements about the foreigners.”

Adrian glanced at her then back at the deserted street ahead. “
After
you told him what Mrs. Jenkinson said. He didn’t mention it of his own accord.”

Sophia frowned. He had a point there. Hardwicke could have taken her statements and used them to fabricate information to point suspicion elsewhere. She should have been vaguer when mentioning Millie’s statements. “You’re right,” she murmured. “That was my mistake.”

Adrian skidded to a stop. He turned to her. “What did you say?”

She sighed. “I can admit when I’m wrong.”

He began walking again. Quickly. “This is the first you’ve done so.”

“That’s because this is the first time I’ve been wrong about this case.” But Hardwicke’s comments about meeting a Frenchman outside the Jenkinson residence fit with her initial theory. The murderer was someone who had been in the house and knew its layout. She blinked, coming out of her musings, and saw Adrian several steps ahead of her. “Why on earth are you walking so quickly?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Because I don’t want them to catch up to us.”

Sophia knew to whom he referred—the three men who’d been loitering on the street when she’d arrived. She glanced over her shoulder. The three thugs were gaining on them. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t noted—until Adrian pointed it out—they were being followed.

So that was two mistakes in one day. She couldn’t afford a third. In Paris, it had been the third mistake that cost her.

She reached into her reticule and withdrew a small, slim dagger. “You take the one on the left.” She nodded to a dark-haired youth in a faded blue coat. “I’ll take the blond and the short one.” The three were probably after money. She didn’t think this would take long.

“I don’t think so.” Adrian was pulling her arm. “If we hurry—”

“If we hurry, we’ll enter that alley even quicker. That’s what they want. We stand a better chance on this street where we can maneuver.” All of her instincts told her to stand and fight.

“Bloody hell.”

She didn’t know if he swore because she was right or because the men were too close for escape now.

“You’re not taking two of them,” he said, pulling a knife from his boot. “I’ll take Blue Coat and Blondie. You take Shorty.”

Now was not the time to argue. She’d dispatch Shorty easily and then help Adrian with the others. As one, they turned to face their attackers.

“Hey, little lady,” Blue Coat called in a singsong voice. “What are you doing so far from home?”

Sophia offered a smile. “I was hoping to meet the three of you.” She held up her dagger, pricked her thumb with it negligently. “It’s been ever so long since I’ve had to clean the blood off this little blade.” She looked at Adrian.

“Two days, at least,” he drawled.

She gave him a genuine smile. He
did
have a sense of humor!

Shorty held up his fist. “I got something for you, gov.”

“Oh, that’s no good,” Sophia said. The men were closing in now. She could see their strategy. They thought to surround her and Adrian. “We already divvied you up. You, Shorty, are mine.”

Shorty laughed with surprise. “You hear that, Will? She said I get to have her first.” And he lunged for her with one dirty hand. Sophia flicked her wrist and slashed his hand, opening a line of bright red.

“Bitch!” Shorty screamed, cradling his hand. “She cut me!”

His companions jumped to his aid, but Adrian stepped in front of her, pinning her back to a wall. Frustrated, Sophia tried to scoot around Adrian, while he aimed one kick at Blue Coat and punched Blondie in the chin. “Grab him and hold him,” Blondie yelled in a hoarse voice.

Shorty grabbed one arm, and Adrian wrestled to keep the other free from Blue Coat. He was losing ground, though, because he was trying to shield her.

“I don’t need your protection,” she said, attempting to duck under his arm. “Move out of the way so I can hit my target.”

But Adrian ignored her, swiping at Blue Coat with his knife while blocking her attempts to engage Shorty. “Run, Sophia. I can handle this.”

Ridiculous man. But he didn’t give up ground. She dodged right, and he blocked her. She screamed in frustration just as Blondie landed a blow to Adrian’s jaw. “
You
run, my lord.
I
can handle this.”

Didn’t he remember their meeting in the East End? She’d more than held her own. But he still didn’t trust her abilities. She’d have to prove to him, again, she could handle a fight.

Finally she saw an opening, skirted past Adrian, and stepped in front of Shorty. In surprise, he released Adrian’s arm. She hoped Adrian could hold the other two at bay and used her dagger to force Shorty into retreat. Now she was far enough from Adrian to keep him from interfering and to give herself room to fight. Having been stuck once, Shorty was eyeing the dagger warily.

“Why don’t you put that down, missy? Try to behave like a lady.” He lunged at her, and she easily sidestepped.

“Because I’m not a lady, and if you don’t run on home now, you’re going to see exactly how unladylike I am.”

She heard a muffled yelp behind her and the sound of a body slamming into the ground. Shorty gaped at whatever he saw, and she took her opportunity. She swiped her leg at his feet, throwing him off balance, then used the side of her hand to smack him across the nose. Blood, watery and plentiful as the Thames, gushed out. Instinctively, he put his hand to his face, and she moved in, slipping behind him. She wrapped an arm around his neck and slid her dagger under his chin.

Immediately, he stopped squirming.

“That’s right. Don’t move,” she murmured near his ear. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days, but she couldn’t afford ladylike sensibilities right now. She could play the delicate lady tonight—at Cordelia’s dinner party.

Damn! The dinner party. They were surely going to be late now. She glanced at Adrian, able to see his progress from her new vantage point. He was doing well. Blondie was on the ground, and Blue Coat was taking a beating. She could dispatch Shorty and assist Adrian, but she knew from experience operatives liked to finish what they’d started. Besides, she liked watching him work. As long as he hurried…

“Lord Smythe!” she called.

He glanced at her before turning to deflect a punch aimed for his eye. “Madam, I’m a little busy right now.”

“I can see that. Do you mind hurrying a bit? We’re going to be late for the dinner party.
Un
fashionably late.”

He ducked to avoid Blue Coat’s fist as Blondie stumbled to his feet and charged. He hit Adrian in the middle of the chest, propelling Adrian back against the wall with an “oof.”

He recovered quickly, his boot landing in Blondie’s abdomen, sending the man sprawling again. The move bought him a moment before Blue Coat charged. Adrian ducked under Blue Coat’s arm and sidled behind him. Sophia, with her knife still at Shorty’s throat, nodded her approval. He was good. Perhaps she could have run home. She might have had a chance at being ready on time…

“As much as I hate to inconvenience my sister-in-law…” Adrian panted, shoving Blue Coat against the wall of the building adjoining Hardwicke’s offices, grabbing Blue Coat’s hair and smashing his face into the brick. “I’m occupied at the moment.”

“Would you like my help?” she offered sweetly, digging her dagger in and drawing blood when Shorty tried to elbow her. Damn. The blood from his broken nose had seeped onto the sleeve of her spencer. It was ruined now.

“No.”

Adrian made to smash Blue Coat’s face into the wall again, but Blondie jumped on him.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sophia moaned to no one in particular. “This is going to take all evening.”

She shoved Shorty against the brick wall, dug her knee into his back, and with a tug, pulled his shirtsleeves over his hands. She tied them off, yanking Shorty’s hands tightly behind his back and knotting the material. Then she pushed him onto the ground and put her heel on the back of his neck.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged. “I was only hoping for a few shillings to buy something to eat.”

She snorted. “You were going to rape me, kill him, rob us, and buy gin. Not very nice.” She ground her foot.

“Sorry!” he croaked.

She shook her head. They always were. “Listen, Shorty,” she said, “if you so much as lift your face out of the dirt, I’ll have to come back and slash your throat. Understood?”

He whimpered.

“You know I will do it.” She applied more pressure with her foot then jumped away, picked up her skirts, and joined Adrian’s fight. She pulled Blondie off his back, and when he looked over his shoulder in surprise, she punched him in the nose.

Holding back her wince—it had been some time since she’d punched a man and had forgotten how much it hurt her hand—she kicked him between the legs and watched him crumple to the mud-packed street.

There. A quick and effective move. Adrian should have done it earlier, but men rarely resorted to damaging another man’s nether regions. She supposed it was out of sympathy. Unfortunately for Blondie, she was fresh out of sympathy. Who was going to sympathize with her when Cordelia complained all evening about how late she was? Not Blondie there.

She wiped her hands on her skirts, noting the pale pink material had blood spatters on it. They were worse than usual, and she wondered if her maid could get them out. Normally, Sophia tried to keep bloodshed to a minimum.

She glanced impatiently at Adrian and smiled as he finally sent Blue Coat tumbling to the ground. The man rolled into a ball on his side. Adrian stepped forward, prepared to give the man another kick for good measure, but she put a hand on his arm. “We’re late, remember?”

He blinked at her as if just remembering where he was and who she was. He glanced about him, saw Blondie clutching his balls and Shorty facedown in the dirt. He stared at the man and then at her.

“I told you I could take care of myself.”

He bent and caught his breath. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to treat—what? What did you say?” She bent and looked into his gray eyes. He scowled at her. “Did you
thank
me?”

“Am I going to regret doing so?”

“No.” She stood straight again, shook her head. Adrian had thanked her.
Agent
Wolf
had
thanked
her. She looked about the dirty street, the decrepit buildings, the sniveling men, and thought this was the best day of her life.

Adrian, still bent, was looking at her. “Why are you smiling?”

She leaned over, took his face between her hands, and kissed his lips. “Thank
you
.” Blondie tried to grab her ankle, and she shoved him back down with her foot. “Now, we really must go. Can you hail a hackney?”

***

Despite Sophia’s masterful management of the jarvey, their staff, their coachman, and Adrian himself, they were an hour late. The dinner party was to have begun at nine, and when they breezed in at five past ten, Cordelia’s look could have produced snow in August. “Lord and Lady Smythe,” she said icily, “we were about to sit down without you.” She wore a light blue dinner dress heavy with what Adrian thought were called flounces. She had matching blue ostrich feathers in her dull brown hair, which was arranged with a profusion of ringlets about her face.

“How rude of us to make you wait,” Sophia said before Adrian could reply. Cordelia stared at her, as Sophia rarely spoke if she did not have to. “It’s my fault completely.” She shrugged off her mantle—the same one she had declined to relinquish to the butler just moments ago—and handed it to the servant now. “I simply couldn’t decide which gown to wear.”

Cordelia gaped. Edward, Adrian’s brother, gaped. Every man in the room gaped. And Adrian turned to look at his wife and saw why.

Sophia wore a gown like those he’d seen in Paris recently. It was startlingly blue, simple but elegant. Nary a flounce to be seen. But true to the current Parisian fashion, it was cut very low in front and behind—very low. She’d had the mantle over her hair to conceal the gleaming pearls set in the thick chestnut waves. It wasn’t in ringlets on the side of her face, as was the current fashion, but swept up in a sophisticated coil, threaded with more pearls.

“Why, Sophia, you look… different,” Cordelia managed.

That was not precisely how Adrian would have described her. He would have said she looked ravishing.

And half-naked.

He wanted to throw his coat over her. Even more, he wanted to touch her—her face, her hair—find the true Sophia in there. Something told him
this
was she. This was the woman he had married, the woman who had been hiding under the disguise of large spectacles and tentlike gowns. He wondered when he would become accustomed to seeing her like this… in all her splendor.

And nakedness. He tightened his fingers at his sides to keep from hiking the gown up and over the swells of her breasts. Or dragging her off so he could yank it down…

“I see your condition agrees with you.” Cordelia stood.

Though Sophia undoubtedly knew exactly what his brother’s wife referred to, she gave her a puzzled look. “What condition?”

Cordelia looked at him, and Adrian merely blinked.

“Why, your pregnancy, of course,” Cordelia said, looking about the room. Several of the ladies in attendance raised their fans. Women did not usually speak so bluntly. Everything was couched in terms like “delicate state.” Obviously, Cordelia was out of sorts.

Sophia waved her hand jauntily. “I’m not pregnant,” she said breezily. “Did you want to go in to dinner? I’m sure your cook is wringing her hands.”