Lord and Lady Spy (15 page)

Adrian turned at the sound of the woman’s voice and saw Mrs. Jenkinson. He shut his eyes briefly in frustration. “That’s all right,” he said before the apple seller could shoo her away. “Go back to your cart.”

Sophia stepped forward, all traces of sadness gone. “Mrs. Jenkinson. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.” And she did look well in a loose black bombazine gown that almost disguised her condition, and a frilly little cap on her dark hair. “Are you unwell, my lady?”

“Lady Smythe felt dizzy. She needed a moment’s rest,” Adrian answered.

“Lord Smythe was worried for nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”

“I’m glad I found you. It saves me the trouble of sending a note. My valet, Callows, will return the day after tomorrow. Did you still wish to speak with him?”

Finally. Adrian wanted to shout with victory. Now they would make progress on this case, and none too soon, as they were to meet with the prime minister at Lord Dewhurst’s ball tomorrow night.

“Yes,” Sophia was saying. “May we call on you when he returns and speak with him?”

“Of course. Do you mind if I ask if you’ve made any discoveries?”

Sophia glanced at Adrian, and he said, “We’ve spoken with Mr. Hardwicke and are on our way to speak with Mr. Linden now.” That was as much as he was prepared to reveal to her.

“Oh. I doubt Randall is awake this early.”

Adrian gave Sophia a sidelong look, which she ignored.

“Oh, well, you can’t worry too much about the niceties when you’re investigating a murder.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” The woman’s eyes were huge now. “Investigating?”

“We’re merely helping Lord Liverpool,” Adrian said. “We don’t mean to keep you, Mrs. Jenkinson. We shall call on you soon.”

“Of course.” She opened her mouth then closed it again. “Good day.”

Adrian offered Sophia his arm, and they continued along Piccadilly toward St. James Street. Something told him to look back. Millie Jenkinson was still standing there, watching them and ignoring the apple seller, who was holding out his choicest wares for her to inspect. Damn him if Sophia’s talk of intuition wasn’t getting to him, because he couldn’t help but think Millie Jenkinson knew something she wasn’t telling them.

***

When they turned onto St. James Street, Sophia noticed the crowds thinned and the clamor all but ceased. A very few bucks were up and about this morning, and no dandies or fops that she could see. St. James was all but deserted. The dark windows of the gaming hells and clubs gave them a sleepy, half-lidded appearance.

She wished Adrian were not with her. Not because he wouldn’t be an asset when she questioned Linden. The fact the two were old school chums would make the encounter that much smoother. She wished she were alone because Adrian distracted her.

She wanted to push him into one of the dark doorways and kiss him. She wanted to shove her hands underneath his starched linen shirt and run her nails over the muscles of his chest. She wanted him to push her against a wall, wrap her arms around him, and…

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” Adrian asked.

She cleared her throat. “No.” Far from it. Why couldn’t the man see she wanted him as much as he wanted her? But she couldn’t risk it. Yes, she knew she was a failure as a wife. She hadn’t produced an heir, and she wouldn’t be able to produce an heir. And now Adrian said he wanted a family. After what she’d learned about his family last night, about his feelings toward his traitorous father, she understood why he wanted children of his own. She knew what he needed to prove.

She wanted a family with him, too. Her heart ached when she thought about how she couldn’t give him, either of them, the children they both desired. She thought about all the Christmases before them. She could not remember a Christmas they had spent together. Perhaps because there was no reason for them to spend it together. The holiday and excitement of opening brightly wrapped packages and gifts was for children. She’d seen Cordelia’s little ones’ eyes grow big when presented with a gift. Sophia knew she would never watch her own child’s eyes light up in the same way.

She would never hold a sleeping baby in her arms, never watch him attempt those wobbly first steps, never hear her laugh with innocent abandon.

A small part of her wanted Adrian to be right. Maybe if they tried again…

But how many times did she need to fail before she admitted she was not capable of producing a child? The third time had convinced her.

“Do you remember the direction?” Adrian was asking.

“His flat is on King—” Her nose itched. She rubbed it with her hand. “I believe it’s number twenty-seven.” Her nose itched again. “I…”

Her nose itched!

Without another word, she reached in her boot and drew her dagger. She felt Adrian tense, go on alert. He sensed something as well. They were passing a small side street housing mews. Sophia saw the flash of movement, but Adrian pushed her to the ground before she could warn him.

She heard the ball as it flew over them.

“Bloody hell.” Adrian was up and dashing into the alley. Sophia had to untangle her skirts before she could go after him. She drew her pistol and, using a bit more caution, stepped into the gloomy street.

As her eyes adjusted to the murky light, Adrian hissed from her right, “Straight ahead.”

There was an abandoned cart ahead of them, the perfect place for an assailant to hide.

“I’ll flank him,” she said. That gave Adrian the more dangerous task of approaching the cart directly, from the front. She didn’t like the thought of putting him at risk, but she could more easily keep to the shadows and surprise their attacker from behind.

“Go,” Adrian said and began to move forward.

She shifted into the shadows, thankful she had not chosen to wear a light color this morning. The burnished red would conceal her nicely. She knew the attacker had a pistol, so she dug her pistol from her reticule and tucked her dagger into her boot. Little good the dagger would do against a pistol, but she might need it later. In fact, she hoped she needed it later. She was a miserable shot.

She crept forward, seeing Adrian do the same from her peripheral vision. It was her own fault she was a bad markswoman. She didn’t practice nearly as much as she should. She supposed that was because she disliked the impersonal nature of the pistol. If she were going to be killed, she’d much rather look into her killer’s eyes as he or she plunged the knife in. She didn’t want to be taken by surprise with a shot in the back.

She was even with the rear of the cart now, and crouched down, making herself small. Adrian was almost at the front of the conveyance, and their attacker had made no further move. She tilted her head, peered under the cart, and saw nothing.

Either the man was gone or he was hiding behind one of the wheels. Which one?

She angled for the cart, making a wide sweep so she’d approach it from behind. She moved silently, trailing her skirts in the dirt and muck of the side street. Another gown ruined.

She was still a good five feet from the cart when she saw him move. He popped up and pointed a pistol in Adrian’s direction. “Down!” she called as she lifted her own pistol and aimed it. She cocked it, pulled the hammer back, and fired.

Damn it! The shot went wild. But now the man had turned toward her, and she had to dive to avoid the lead ball he fired. Her knee protested with a sharp scream of pain, but she ignored it and was up again, charging the man. Now was her chance, before he reloaded. She had her dagger in her hand but no intention of using it except to wound him. She wanted information. Someone obviously wanted them dead, and she suspected that someone was the person responsible for George Jenkinson’s murder.

Another pistol shot rang out, echoing through the gloom. She ducked but heard a soft cry. Adrian?

Her heart thumped wildly against her chest, and panic welled inside her. Not since the Paris fiasco had she felt such panic on a mission. “Adrian?” she cried. “Adrian?”

It seemed an eternity before he finally answered. “I’m fine. That was my pistol.”

Damn it. He’d hit their attacker. Sophia rushed to the cart and saw the man’s form slumped over the box. She slowed, palmed her dagger, and approached cautiously. He wasn’t moving, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t a trick.

Adrian was moving in carefully from the other direction, but she reached the man first. She poked his shoulder with her dagger and received no response. She pushed him with her hand, and he began to slide. She caught him, turned him, and watched as he fell hard onto the ground. Even in the gloom, she could see his eyes were open and staring.

Dead.

“Bloody hell.” Adrian stared at the dead man. He hadn’t meant to kill him. The man would have been far more useful to them alive.

Sophia huffed out a sigh. “Well, that’s unfortunate. I would have liked to question him, find out who he was and why he wants us dead.”

“It must have something to do with the Jenkinson case.”

“Probably, but we can’t assume that. We both have enemies.”

Adrian knelt down and checked the man’s pulse, just to be certain. Nothing. He began going through the man’s pockets, hoping to find a clue as to his identity. “Agent Wolf has enemies, but they don’t know where to find me. Rarely have I been assaulted on English soil.”

“Anything?” Sophia asked. He handed her the man’s cheap pocket watch and a pound note found in the man’s pockets.

“That’s all.”

“Not very enlightening.” She sighed. “If only you hadn’t killed him.”

Adrian rose. “I was trying to save you, madam.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it immediately, even before she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I don’t need to be saved.”

He didn’t want to argue with her, but he couldn’t allow this to pass. “Your shot was wild. You weren’t even close to hitting him. He would have fired on you next.”

“It would have taken him a moment to load another ball and gunpowder. I had my dagger. And I was trying to save
you
. He almost hit you.”

“The point is,” Adrian said, starting for the mouth of the side street and not really caring if she followed or not, “if you had wounded him, I wouldn’t have needed to shoot to kill.” He said the last over his shoulder and heard her stomping after him.

“Oh, I see. You had to kill him because I’m a poor shot.”

Adrian kept walking. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I was going to wound him.” But instinct had taken over. For a second, he had feared for Sophia’s safety, her life. In that moment, he hadn’t cared about who the assailant was or what information he might hold. Adrian just wanted Sophia safe.

“So you’re such a good marksman, you killed him accidentally.”

He scowled and rounded on her. “Sophia—”

A dagger flew past his head and landed in the wall behind him. Too late, Adrian blinked, but he was able to control the instinctual flinch.

Sophia stood staring at him, her arm outthrust. “I’m not so bad with a dagger, am I, my lord?”

Adrian took a deep breath, turned to study the dagger protruding from the wooden wall behind him. If he backed up, he had no doubt the dagger would be a hair from his face. “Perhaps in the future you should avoid pistols.”

“Perhaps I will.” She retrieved the dagger and tucked it in her boot.

He offered his arm, and with a small smile, she took it. “What should we do with him?” She gestured to the dead man.

“I’ll send a note to Melbourne, have one of the agents pick him up. Perhaps someone knows who he is—was.”

“If the attack was related to the Jenkinson case,” Sophia began as they turned toward King Street and Randall Linden’s flat, “then this is bigger than we first thought.”

She was right. It meant Jenkinson’s death was no act of anger or revenge. It was planned, and planned by someone with the resources to hire assassins like the one they’d just encountered.

Adrian wanted answers. Now. Unfortunately, he didn’t think Randall Linden would have them.

Sophia remembered the address—she did seem to have an uncanny ability to remember numbers—and he knocked on the freshly painted yellow door of the ground-floor flat.

“A bit garish,” she whispered.

“I’m sure it’s
dernier
cri
,” Adrian said. “Linden is nothing if not fashionable.”

“Perhaps we should have our unfashionable black door painted yellow.”

Adrian winced. “I leave those decisions to you, madam.”

Adrian knocked again, and they stood a good five minutes before the door was opened by a young manservant with his hair flying in several directions. “May I be of assistance?” he croaked, obviously just out of bed.

“Lord and Lady Smythe to see Mr. Linden,” Adrian said, pushing the door open and moving past the servant to enter the drawing room.

“Mr. Linden is not at home,” the manservant said stiffly, and Adrian, whose patience had worn thin a quarter of an hour and two bullets ago, grabbed the man by his wrinkled tailcoat and slammed him against the drawing room’s wall. Sophia stepped demurely out of the way and pretended to study a vase.

“Listen…?”

The servant swallowed. “Jarvis,” he squeaked.

“Listen, Jarvis. You have a choice. You can either go rouse your master from his inebriated slumber, or I will do it for you.”

“I’ll wake him.”

“Do that.” Adrian released the man, who started for the closed door at the other end of the room. “And Jarvis? Be quick about it.”

The manservant hurried across the room, quietly opened the door, then closed it behind him.

Sophia wandered the room, studying the shabby furniture, dirty plates and bowls strewn about the room, and the overturned glasses. The room reeked of brandy and stale smoke. She lifted a man’s coat from a chair, draped it over a side table, and sat. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable,” she said. “It will likely be a few minutes.”

Adrian grunted and paced. He was going over the attack in his mind. How was it tied to the Jenkinson murder? Who would want them dead?

The barely grieving widow? Adrian didn’t think so. Or had it been coincidence she’d met them on Piccadilly this morning?

The business partner? But did he have the funds to hire an assassin? The man who had attacked them had given little warning that he’d been following them. He’d been a good shot, too, and smart enough not to carry any identification on him. He wouldn’t have come cheap.

That eliminated all of the Jenkinson servants—not that Adrian had suspected any of them in the first place.

Their last two suspects were Randall Linden—Adrian shook his head at the very idea the man had hired an assassin; though he had to admit, as the heir to a barony, Linden had access to the funds—and Callows, the Jenkinson valet. Would a valet have the money to hire a professional assassin? He wouldn’t earn enough, but what if he’d been stealing from the Jenkinsons?

Adrian shook his head. The Jenkinsons were in debt. They were unlikely to leave monies lying about.

“Adrian,” Sophia said. “Come sit down. You’re making me nervous with all that pacing.”

He moved toward her just as Linden’s bedroom door opened and Linden, looking surprisingly clear-eyed and tailored, emerged. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, but his boots were shined and his linen was starched. He hadn’t had time for a cravat, and from the way he touched his neck, Adrian surmised the lack thereof bothered him. His brown hair curled over his brow in the Roman style, and he was freshly shaved.

Adrian clenched his fist. He’d told the butler to hurry, not to dress Linden in his best. If he saw Jarvis again, the butler was going to regret it.

“Lord Smythe, old chap,” Linden said with a puzzled smile. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Sophia stood, and Linden’s brows rose considerably.

With exaggerated movements, he bowed, sweeping one hand so wide it almost felled a lamp. “My lady.” He glanced at Adrian. “Lady Smythe, I presume?”

Adrian scowled and nodded.

“I had no idea you were married to a diamond of the first water.”

“Neither did I,” Adrian grumbled.

Sophia held out a gloved hand, and Linden took it, bending to kiss it. He held her hand longer than Adrian thought was necessary, looked into her eyes, and said, “I’m charmed.”

Sophia smiled. Why the bloody hell was she smiling at the man’s nonsense? “No, Mr. Linden,
I’m
charmed. I apologize for waking you and for appearing in this state.” She indicated the mud on the hem of her dress.

“It’s quite all right. I assure you I’m awake on all suits.”

“Good.” She took her seat on the chair again. “Do you have a few moments to answer our questions?”

Adrian noted his smile faltered slightly, but Linden said, “For you, madam, I have all day.” He looked about, appearing a bit at a loss. “Shall I have my manservant fetch us tea?”

“No,” Adrian said quickly. He had a pretty good idea why Jarvis was keeping his distance. He took the armchair next to Sophia and gestured for Linden to take the sofa across from them. He had intended to allow Sophia to handle the interrogation. After all, it was she who wanted to speak with this idiot. But he couldn’t stand to watch the man flirt with her. “What do you know about George Jenkinson’s murder?” he began.

Sophia frowned at him.

Linden, however, sighed. Dramatically. “That’s a fine kettle of fish. Put me in a tight corner, if I do say so myself.”

“Because of your relationship with Mrs. Jenkinson?” Sophia asked.

Linden blinked innocently. “A gentleman never kisses and tells, my lady.”

Sophia smiled, and Adrian leaned forward. “The lady in question has already told us everything we need to know. Where were you the night Jenkinson was murdered?”

“What concern is it of yours?” Linden feigned offense, but Adrian wasn’t fooled. The man enjoyed the attention, even this early morning call. It relieved his ennui, affected or otherwise.

“Lord Liverpool asked us to look into the matter.”

Linden’s eyes went wide. “Liverpool, eh? Why you two—”

“Linden,” Adrian snapped. “Answer the bloody question.”

Linden opened his mouth then closed it again. Adrian clenched his jaw in frustration, while Sophia said patiently, “The night of the Jenkinson murder?”

“Oh.” Linden straightened, touched the spot where his cravat should have been, and frowned. “If you’ve spoken with Mrs. Jenkinson, I think you know the answer to that question.”

“Answer it anyway,” Adrian ordered.

Linden glanced at Sophia. “I don’t like to speak of such things in the presence of a lady.”

“I assure you it’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Sophia said. She withdrew her dagger from her boot, making Linden’s eyes go wide. She twirled it expertly with one hand. “I’m not the delicate sort.”

“I can see that. Bang-up prime trick, my lady. Can you show me—?”

“No, she can’t,” Adrian interrupted. “Just answer the question.”

“You always were the impatient sort, Smythe,” Linden said. “I remember you at school, rushing here and there. No time for the pleasures of life.”

“If by pleasures you mean seducing servant girls and getting foxed on gin, you’re exactly right. No time.”

Linden looked at Sophia with undisguised sympathy. “Yes, I was with Mrs. Jenkinson the night of her husband’s murder. We were here all night.” He leaned closer. “In bed.”

“How did you hear of the murder?” Sophia asked matter-of-factly, not giving Linden the appalled reaction he’d been expecting.

Linden tapped a finger on his cheek. “Mrs. Jenkinson came to see me the next day. She was understandably distraught. I tried to offer her some comfort.”

“I’m sure you did,” Adrian drawled. “How do you feel about the child the widow is carrying?”

Linden’s eyebrows shot up. “She was pleased; so I was pleased.”

“You knew it was your child,” Sophia said. Adrian glanced at her. She had taken his exact words.

“She said it was. I had no reason to doubt her.”

“And yet, the child would carry the Jenkinson name,” Adrian added.

“Of course. Jenkinson was no nodcock. He knew the child wasn’t his, but that didn’t mean he wanted to admit it was another man’s by-blow. I’ve known men born on the wrong side of the blanket. It’s a difficult life, not one I’d want for my own child.”

“But now your child will grow up without a father,” Sophia pointed out. “Do you intend to marry Millie?”

Linden’s eyes widened. “Jump into the parson’s mousetrap? Willingly? Madam, I’m no pudding-heart, but I see no reason to go to extremes.”

Adrian looked at Sophia. “Translation?”

She pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. “He’s not going to marry her.” She looked at Linden. “She’s in love with you, you know.”

He smiled. “Of course she is.” He grinned, and before he even spoke, Adrian wanted to punch him. “I could make you fall in love with me as well.”

Sophia raised her brows and twirled the dagger again. “Do you really think so?”

“A dangerous woman. I—”

“Linden,” Adrian cut in. “If you’re done wooing my wife, I have a few more questions.”

Linden sighed heavily. “I don’t know anything about the murder. I don’t care about it except that it upset Millie. Jenkinson was in queer territory. Perhaps his creditors grew tired of waiting for their brass.”

“And who were his debtors?” Sophia said, again taking the words from his mouth. They were working surprisingly well together today, unlike their interview with Hardwicke.

“Well, he was a knight of the elbow.” Linden leaned back, yawned. Adrian could see the novelty of the interview was wearing off.

“Where did he gamble?”

“At our club. Your club too, if I recall. Skilled ivory turner. Still, he lost more than he won.”

Adrian sighed. Practically every gentleman of the
ton
was in the same situation. It didn’t usually result in the man’s murder. It would be easy enough to find out who Jenkinson owed. Adrian was rising when Sophia cleared her throat.

“Did you often see George Jenkinson at your club?”

“On occasion. Under the circumstances, we weren’t exactly chums. But we’d nod at one another politely.”

“When was the last time you saw him at your club? Who was he with?” Sophia probed. Adrian glanced at Linden and saw something flicker in the man’s eyes.

He pounced. “What is it?”

Linden looked at him, his eyes unfocused. “Pardon?”

“You thought of something. What was it?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing…”

“We’ll decide that, Mr. Linden,” Sophia said.

“What exactly is your association with Lord Liverpool?” Linden crossed his arms. “Does he know you’re here?”

“He’s a friend,” Sophia said. “What did you think of?”

“Millie—Mrs. Jenkinson—and I arranged our rendezvous when we met at soirees and the like, but occasionally one of us would send the other a letter. It was difficult for her to come here, so when Jenkinson was away, she’d send me a note to come to her.” He looked a little abashed, revealing this, and Adrian understood why. If he ever found another man with Sophia, under his own roof, he’d skin the man alive. Linden disgusted him.