Lord and Lady Spy (20 page)

“Dewhurst used to work for the Foreign Office,” Sophia said, still smiling and nodding. “I worked with him before…” She trailed off, apparently not wanting to speak of the Barbican group where there was any possibility they’d be overheard.

“Well, I say, old chap!” Dewhurst, a tall blond man in a complicated cravat and tight coat, bowed with a flourish then smiled broadly. “It’s about time I met you. Known Soph there for years.”

Adrian raised a brow. Soph?

The aforementioned Soph stepped in. “Good to see you again, Freddie.” She offered her hand, and he raised it to his lips, kissing it with great ceremony. Adrian wondered if there was anything the man didn’t do with ceremony.

“You’ve met Charlotte, haven’t you?” Dewhurst put a hand on his wife’s arm, and she turned from a conversation with a beautiful blond—Lady something or other—to smile at them.

“Why, Lady Smythe!”

Adrian noted she pronounced it
Smith
.

“How good to see you again. I declare, it’s been ages.”

“And this is Lord Smythe,” Dewhurst said. Adrian bowed, and Lady Dewhurst executed a very formal curtsy.

He caught Sophia giving him a meaningful look and realized it was his turn to say something. He’d been taken off guard by the woman’s American accent. “Sophia tells me you’ve recently visited America. I hope your voyage was uneventful.”

“It was lovely,” she said in that Southern American drawl. “Alvanley had the time of her life in Charleston.”

“Alvanley?” Had they taken the dandy with a famous fondness for apricot tarts with them?

“Our daughter,” Dewhurst explained. “Don’t ask about the name,” he hissed.

Lady Dewhurst rolled her eyes. “No need to worry. I’ve quite forgiven you for that horrible wager. Oh, but your dress is beautiful, Sophia.”

Dewhurst nodded. “I quite approve.”

“High praise indeed,” Sophia said. “But we’re holding up your receiving line. Has Lord Liverpool arrived yet?”

Dewhurst’s brows rose slightly, but Adrian would not have noted the man’s surprise if he hadn’t been looking. “Not yet. I’ll let him know you’re in attendance when he does so.”

“Thank you.”

Lady Dewhurst smiled at him as they made their way into the ball. “Do have some champagne, Lord Smythe. Freddie ordered it all the way from France.”

Sophia was on Adrian’s arm again, but he wasn’t leading her. She was pulling him away from the ballroom. “Let’s find somewhere less crowded, so we can breathe for a moment.” They stepped into a parlor, tastefully decorated in muted tones, where several young women lounged, obviously intent on escaping the crowds as well. It would still be an hour or more before the dancing began, and no one wanted their gowns wrinkled before they were put on display.

Adrian leaned against a wall, and Sophia stood beside him, fanning herself. “How do you know Dewhurst again?” he asked.

Sophia smiled. “You heard me the first time. And, yes, I know it’s difficult to believe, but he really was quite good at what he did.”

“Well, no one would suspect him.”

Sophia nodded. “That’s exactly the point.”

Adrian was tempted to check his pocket watch, but he knew seeing the time would only disappoint him.

“You really hate these affairs, don’t you?” Sophia asked.

“Don’t you?”

“No. These days I find them more amusing than the theater. You see, everyone here has something to hide. Something they don’t want others to know. It’s fascinating trying to discover what it is.”

“All right. What’s the brunette over there hiding?”

Sophia glanced at the young girl in a white dress with pink flowers. She was shifting from foot to foot and fumbling with her fan. “That’s too easy. She’s nervous about the ball. This is her first Season, and she’s yet to make a match.”

Adrian didn’t argue. It didn’t take a trained observer to see the woman’s nervousness and her exaggerated laughter and smiles to cover it up.

“You’re right. Too easy. What’s Lady Dewhurst hiding?”

“She’s expecting again.”

“You can’t know that.”

Sophia shrugged. “When we entered, she was talking to her good friend Lady Selbourne, and touching her belly. She’s expecting.”

Adrian had seen only the redhead and the blond conversing. He hadn’t looked for more. He crossed his arms. “What am I hiding?”

She laughed. “Nothing. You’re making it quite clear to everyone that you find this extremely tedious.”

“Fine. What are you hiding?”

She looked at him for a long time, so long he thought she might not answer. Then she said, “I envy Lady Dewhurst.”

He felt his gut spasm as though a knife had plunged into it. He could hear the pain in her voice. “Sophia—”

The parlor door opened again, and a footman nodded at them. “Lord and Lady Smythe, could you come with me, please?”

Adrian gave Sophia a look then offered his elbow. They stepped back into the throngs, following the footman past the seemingly endless receiving line. Lord Dewhurst caught Adrian’s eye and gave him a mock salute just as the footman turned into a dark corridor. The din of the crowds faded as they left the ball behind. At the end of a short corridor, the footman paused and opened a door. He gestured into the darkness.

Sophia moved ahead, but Adrian held her back. After the events of the last few days, he was on alert. He pushed her behind him, an action he expected her to protest. But she sighed and allowed it, waiting as he stepped into the dark library alone.

Sophia waited until Adrian had stepped inside the library then looked at the footman. “Is it Lord Liverpool?” She appreciated Adrian’s caution, but sometimes it was more expedient to simply ask the servants.

“Yes, my lady. He didn’t wish to draw attention by making an appearance in the ballroom.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside the library and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. The first thing she noted was the sumptuous decor. Freddie never faltered in that regard. Her slippers sank into a rug in blue-and-green tones. She was no judge of rugs, but she was pretty certain this was an Aubusson. As the current style was all things Greek and Roman, she wasn’t surprised to see paintings and busts in that style all about the house. But none lurked here. Everything in the library spoke of seriousness and masculinity. The furnishings were leather, the color palette dark; even the desk, which was so large it took up half of one wall, was a dark mahogany.

She smiled when she saw a yellow-haired doll lying forgotten on one of the large couches. Freddie might appear the fop on the outside, but here, when he was alone, he was obviously a different person altogether. The same could be said for Adrian, only she had never looked past his Greek and Roman busts to see the real man—not that Adrian had any Greek or Roman busts. He wasn’t that fashionable…

“Lady Smythe,” the prime minister said, rising from one of the couches. Adrian stood before the fire, and she moved to join him so they faced Lord Liverpool as one. Liverpool watched, and the effect was not lost on him. “Quite a difference from your behavior several days ago. Then I was given to believe you actively disliked one another.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Sophia took Adrian’s hand and squeezed it. It felt wonderful to stand beside him tonight. To know she had a partner in all things. He squeezed her hand back, reassuring her.

Liverpool gestured to the couch opposite him. “Please take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” Adrian said. Sophia nodded.

Liverpool spread his hands. “Very well. Go ahead with your report. Lord Smythe, would you begin?”

He released her hand, and she felt him take a deep breath. “My lord, we’ve interviewed all of the suspects—Mrs. Jenkinson, the Jenkinson servants, Mr. Hardwicke, Mr. Linden, and the valet Callows.”

“And?”

“None of them are responsible for your brother’s death,” Sophia said. She glanced at Adrian, knowing he harbored doubts about Hardwicke. “Although some are still under suspicion.”

“No, you were right the first time,” Adrian told her. Sophia raised her brows, surprised at this admission, especially with the prime minister listening. “Hardwicke had nothing to do with this.”

Liverpool crossed his legs. “Then who did?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Sophia could hear the hesitation in Adrian’s voice. She knew, first hand, the feeling of failure one experienced when giving a report not full of successes. Behind them, the low fire crackled. The room felt suddenly too warm.

“But we’re closing in,” she added. “Recently we’ve had several encounters leading us to believe that whoever killed your brother knows we’re after him and doesn’t want us to succeed.”

“You’ve been threatened?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Adrian said. “And when we uncover the man trying to kill us, we’ll have your brother’s murderer.”

Liverpool pressed his lips together. “I didn’t intend to put you in any danger.”

“We’re not,” Sophia assured him. “We can handle ourselves, but we do have a few questions for you, my lord.” She felt a trickle of perspiration run from her neck down her back and moved slightly forward, away from the hearth.

Liverpool’s brows rose. “Am I a suspect?”

She smiled. “Not yet, sir. Several of our suspects mentioned Mr. Jenkinson’s association with foreigners.” She tried to keep her tone light. “Do you know anything about your brother’s personal or business dealings with foreigners?”

“Foreigners? Whom do you mean? The Americans? The Dutch?”

“I was thinking the French,” Adrian said. Sophia glanced at him in surprise, but his face revealed nothing. In fact, he looked as cool and composed as ever. The heat of the fire did not seem to be bothering him. And was it just her imagination, or had he moved away from her, separating them?

“I highly doubt my brother had any dealings with the French. Until very recently, they were our enemy.”

Adrian remained silent as the implication sank in. Sophia bit the inside of her cheek. Slowly, Lord Liverpool rose. “What, exactly, are you saying, Lord Smythe? Are you accusing my brother of associating with the enemy?”

“No,” Adrian said, his tone carefully neutral. Sophia’s heart was pounding now. She wasn’t certain where this was going, but she knew they should tread carefully.

“The manner in which your brother was murdered…”

“Ghastly,” Liverpool said with a shudder.

“I’ve heard of something similar before.”

“You have?” Sophia asked. Adrian flicked a glance at her, as though to indicate she should leave it for later. But that wasn’t going to happen. She faced him, stepped closer, into the gap he’d created. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I did. I told you it seemed familiar when we were walking back from the Jenkinson residence, but we were interrupted.”

“Am I to understand this is a new development?” Liverpool asked.

“I haven’t had time to discuss my suspicions with Lady Smythe.” He looked at her, raised a hand slightly as though he would touch her, but he didn’t. “I haven’t even had time to confirm them.”

She couldn’t argue. But it still bothered her. Was he intentionally keeping this information to himself, or was he telling the truth? Damn it! She clenched her fists and stepped back from him, hating that she still doubted him, hating that Henry was the first thought to cross her mind. A moment before, she’d felt so certain of her partnership with Adrian, and now she felt as though she were all on her own again. And she’d be alone much more if Adrian was given the Barbican position and she was left behind in London.

“Share your suspicions now, Lord Smythe,” Liverpool said.

“Yes, Lord Smythe, do share.” She gifted him with a bitter smile.

“I don’t have anything tangible. As I said, I haven’t had time to research anything.” He gave her a look as though to indicate she should know this well. “But when Callows described the body, it triggered a memory of something I’d heard before.”

“Which is?” Liverpool demanded.

Adrian crossed his arms, and Sophia knew the wall had gone up. She sighed.

“I’d rather not say until I have more concrete information. But to return to my original inquiry, my lord—did your brother have any ties to the French?”

Liverpool gave him a cool look. “No. He did not, and I am trying very hard not to take offense at the mere suggestion.”

“Thank you, my lord. If I might ask another, potentially offensive question…?”

“You’re a brave bastard, aren’t you?”

Adrian raised a brow. “That’s why I’m called Agent Wolf.”

Liverpool looked at Sophia. “Why are you called Saint?”

“Because my work is perfect.” But she didn’t think Adrian was called Wolf for his bravery. He was called Wolf because he was a hunter, a predator. Once he had his prey’s scent, he never relented. She wondered if his prey ever just capitulated in the end, tired of fighting him, knowing failure was inevitable. Wasn’t that how she felt in the carriage earlier tonight with his hands and mouth driving her mad? She would yield to him. He’d made sure she had little choice.

“And yet, you haven’t uncovered my brother’s murderer,” Liverpool noted.

“Yet,” she said. “And I think the indelicate question Agent Wolf wants to ask is about your brother’s financial records.”

Adrian nodded.

“What of them?” Liverpool frowned, showing no sign of guilt. “I sent you all I had.”

“They’re incomplete,” Adrian said.

“That can’t be. Millie and I went through George’s desk together. She gave me all there were.”

“Did she?” Adrian gave Sophia a look she was beginning to know well. She had a feeling they would be calling on Millie Jenkinson again.

“Yes, she did.” Liverpool clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “I must say this report is entirely unsatisfactory. I expected you to have some answers. I was told you were two of the best. But if you can’t solve this crime—”

“We can and will solve it,” Sophia said. “We need more time.”

“Time we’re wasting running about London attending frivolous balls.”

Liverpool stopped in midstride and turned slowly. Sophia took in a slow breath, knowing Adrian had pushed too far.

“Is meeting with me an inconvenience to you, Lord Smythe?”

“Honestly, sir, yes. It is.”

Sophia closed her eyes. Even though she agreed with Adrian, she hadn’t been prepared to say so. But she couldn’t exactly leave her husband hanging from the noose he’d hung, no matter how tempting. “My lord, meeting with you is never an inconvenience, but we might serve you better if we used our time to work on the case.”

Liverpool raised his brows at her now. “I see. So I should come to you next time.”

“That would be—”

Sophia dug her nails into Adrian’s arm, silencing him. In the quiet, she heard Dewhurst’s clock ticking on the mantel, and Lord Liverpool’s angry breathing. “I’m afraid I’m going to inconvenience you once again, my lord.”

Adrian nodded, obviously a man accustomed to taking orders, although he liked it little more than she. “How so?”

“I’m going to ask you to dance with your wife.”

“What?” Sophia sputtered. She released Adrian’s arm. She hadn’t danced in years.

“You’ve made an appearance here. Together. And that’s something you haven’t done in some time. If you leave without being seen enjoying the ball, there will be speculation, and I think we can all agree that the last thing you two need right now is more attention. I heard something about a runaway carriage this afternoon?”

Sophia looked away, and Adrian cleared his throat.

“I think a dance would be the easiest way to satisfy everyone’s curiosity. I assume you don’t object. You looked rather friendly when you entered.”

And she’d felt friendlier when they entered, before she’d realized Adrian withheld information from her. But if she had to dance with him, so be it.

“Fine,” Adrian said, sounding as enthusiastic as she felt. “Anything else, my lord?”

Liverpool stood before Dewhurst’s desk, one hand on the polished surface. “Find my brother’s killer,” he said, stabbing his finger at the desk for emphasis. “And do so before I decide you’re both worthless and exile you to Wales or some other miserable locale.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sophia said before Adrian could speak. If the tightness in Adrian’s jaw was any indication, she didn’t want Liverpool to hear it.

“The first one who comes to me with information about the killer will be given the place in the Barbican group,” Liverpool said. He adjusted his coat and strode toward the door, opening it and pausing. “Right now, I doubt either of you deserve it.”

The door closed with a thud behind him, and Sophia sighed. “That went well.”

“Sophia.” Adrian reached for her, but she moved.

“Don’t.” She didn’t want his apologies.

“I don’t know anything you don’t. I have some suspicions I want to look into. I want
us
to look into. I told you that earlier.”

She shook her head. “Why are we still trying to work together? You heard him.” She gestured to the door. “Only one of us can take the position. Perhaps it’s time we went back to acting alone.”

“No.” It was a command, and she bristled at the tone.

“You can’t order me to cooperate with you. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Then how does it work? I thought things were going well.”

She wasn’t certain if he meant with the investigation or with their marriage. “They were.”

“Then why are you stepping back?” He stepped closer, and damn it if she didn’t have to resist the urge to retreat. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.” But that was a lie.

“I don’t believe you. How many times do I have to prove I’m not going to betray you?” He brushed her cheek with one finger, and she curled her toes to keep from shivering.

How many times
did
he have to prove it? “Perhaps I’m afraid of losing that position in the Barbican group.” And that was a lie as well. She was afraid of losing
him
to the Barbican group.

“If you do, it will be lost fairly. That I swear.” He brushed his thumb over her lips. “Dance with me.”

She gave him a curt nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He grasped her elbow and drew her back. “No,
dance
with me, Sophia. Stop doubting me. Stop questioning.”

“I’m not—”

“Shh.” He put a finger on her lips. “I want to dance with you, Sophia. I want no suspicions between us.”

She stared at him, lost in his gray eyes, wanting to kiss him and afraid of where that would lead. If she crossed the point of no return, what would she do if she lost him? The clock on the mantel chimed half-past eleven, and she blinked. “I suppose we had better dance, then.” She started for the door, glad for a momentary respite from his closeness. “But I must warn you, Dewhurst favors the waltz.”

“That doesn’t scare me,” he said from behind her, his breath tickling her ear.

It didn’t scare her, either. Much.

***

Sophia allowed Adrian to shoulder his way through the crush of silk and diamonds until they reached the ballroom. It was stunningly arrayed, which, knowing Dewhurst’s impeccable taste, was no surprise. On one side, an orchestra played on a raised dais. On the other side of the long room, a table of refreshments bowed beneath the overflowing bounty. Even without perusing the table’s contents, she knew every delicacy in England and half the Continent would be offered. Flowers, from the simple lily to the rarest orchid, graced Ming and Sèvres vases. The chandeliers sparkled, the champagne glasses tinkled, and a light breeze blew in from the French doors opening on the exquisitely manicured lawns. On the windows, gauzy curtains blew about like dancing specters. Their heavier blue-velvet counterparts, seeming chaperones, stood formal and dignified beside them.