Lord and Lady Spy (23 page)

On occasion, Sophia had spent time in conversation with other wives, and over tea the ladies sometimes confided in her. She didn’t know why they should do so. None of them knew her well, but part of her job as an agent was to elicit trust. Perhaps she elicited it whether she wanted to or not. On a few of these occasions, a woman had confided to her that after her husband did his marital duty, he fell right asleep and snored so loudly he kept her awake half the night.

Not Sophia’s husband. He was energized to work. She would have preferred he ravage her again. Or, rather, she ravage him. Instead, they traipsed downstairs and entered his library. He lit a lamp and stoked the fire then sat at his desk.

She plopped on the couch across from him. “Do you really want to talk about the Jenkinson case at”—she glanced at the clock in the corner—“quarter of two in the morning? I can think of more pleasant ways to spend the night.”

He was rummaging through a drawer but glanced up at her with a raised brow. “Is getting me into bed all you think about, madam?”

She gritted her teeth. “No. Sometimes I think about shooting you.”

“I’m fortunate you are a poor shot. Ah, here it is.” He held up a large key. “Almost couldn’t find it myself.”

“The key to the dungeon?” she asked, but she sat forward. He was right. She was intrigued now.

He rose and crossed to the wall with the tall case clock. He shoved the clock aside and ran his hand along the wall. Just as she was about to conclude he was daft, he gave the wall a push, and it popped open.

“A secret door?”

He grinned at her over his shoulder then lifted the key and inserted it into a door just inside the opening in the wall. Sophia was on her feet now and peering over Adrian’s shoulder. The key turned silently, and the door swung open, slowly revealing a small antechamber. Adrian reached around her, grasping the lamp on his desk, and stepped inside. Sophia followed without being asked. Inside the walls were lined with drawers stacked upon drawers. A small, bare table had been placed in the center of the room, and Adrian placed the lamp on top. He crossed to a section of drawers and pulled open the top one. Thumbing through the contents—papers and files, Sophia surmised—he pulled out a file and flipped through it.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“I keep thinking about the way Jenkinson was murdered. I told you it was familiar, but I can’t remember what I saw or read.”

And they were back to that again. True to his word, Adrian was including her in his investigation. Why had she ever doubted him?

“And you believe you have the answer to your suspicions here?” She gestured to the rows of drawers. How many files did he have in here? Thousands? Thousands upon thousands? Here she was, living with Agent Wolf and his… spy library right under her nose, and she never even knew. If only she’d been more curious about Adrian, she would have realized his true identity years before.

But what spy kept a library? She destroyed everything tying her to a mission.

Of course, she didn’t have a hidden spy chamber.

“No, this isn’t it.” Adrian replaced the file, shut the drawer, and opened another.

“May I help?” She was eager to peruse these files. Were they all missions Adrian had been a part of? She touched one of the drawers and gingerly pulled on the handle. The files stared up at her in perfect alphabetical order:
Waterloo
,
Wellington, Wigs, Wood (Types)
.

Sophia shook her head. Why would he need a file on types of wood? She reached for the file, but Adrian called out, “This is it!”

“This is what?”

He placed the file on the table and stared down at it. “The Maîtriser group.”

“I haven’t heard of them.” She stood across from him and studied the file. It was sparse, only two pages. One page gave information about the Maîtriser group. They were French in origin and operated mainly on the Continent.

“Nothing familiar?” Adrian asked.

“No.”

“This file is information I collected incidentally. I’ve never run across them, either.”

She looked down at the top page. “This says the group was involved mainly in blackmail and extortion. A little smuggling. They pay their people quite well, so obviously their ventures are lucrative. What does this have to do with Jenkinson?”

“Look at the next page.” Adrian pulled it out and placed it before her. She read quickly, inhaling sharply when she saw the note at the bottom.

“Known for carving words and signs on the bodies of those they consider traitors,” she read. She glanced up at Adrian. “It might be a coincidence.”

“I don’t really believe in coincidence.”

“Neither do I.” She glanced around the room full of drawers and information. “Do you have anything else on the Maîtriser group? Who is their leader? Do they have any bases here in England?”

“We can search, but I believe our best option is to go to Melbourne in the morning and see what he knows.”

“But I already know what you’re thinking. You quizzed Liverpool about it last night.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, now beginning to darken with stubble. “Jenkinson needed money, and he acquired money from sources unknown.”

“What if one of those sources was the Maîtriser group?”

“Exactly.”

She turned and paced. “They are French, and both Millie and Hardwicke mentioned his involvement with foreigners. But what could Jenkinson have that this group might want?”

“We need to ask Millie Jenkinson for the answer to that question. She knows more than she’s telling us.”

“Then let’s pay a call on Millie.” Sophia was suddenly impatient to move forward. She could understand why Adrian couldn’t wait to get his hands on these files. The answer they sought had been waiting here all along.

“You forget it’s the middle of the night. If she’s home, she won’t see us. We could push our way in, but that’s not the best way to solicit information.”

Sophia stopped pacing. “Very well. We wait until morning. I suppose we’d better get some sleep.” But she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Her thoughts were rushing too fast.

“I’ll lock the file room before we retire.”

She followed Adrian back into his library proper and watched as he locked and concealed the file room again. With the clock back in place, Sophia could detect no alteration in the wall. She stood and studied it for several seconds, but the seam was cleverly concealed. She wanted to believe she would have spotted it if only she’d spent more time in Adrian’s library, but truthfully, she knew she would never have even looked.

She glanced at the clock’s face. It was two thirty. Still hours and hours before they could make anything remotely resembling a respectable call. Adrian came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her. He kissed her ear. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She shook her head. “I’ll never be able to sleep now. I have too many ideas floating about in my mind. Too many possibilities.”

His lips made a slow trail from her ear to her neck. “I might be able to find a way to distract you.”

Yes, he very well might. She shivered as he kissed her neck delicately. She still wanted him. That was not in dispute. She’d forgotten how it had been between them. She’d forgotten how good it could feel when she wasn’t focused on trying to conceive a child or worried about losing another. And yet taking that step with him tonight had not been easy.

She’d been terrified.

She hadn’t thought she’d be afraid. She hadn’t thought she’d tremble with fear and worry. And she’d never thought her husband would be so understanding and so tender. His words had melted her fear away.
If
we
never
have
a
child, I can live with that. I can’t live with losing you.

She couldn’t live with losing him, either. Their lovemaking earlier might result in a pregnancy. She wanted it and feared it, but she no longer felt as though she had to deal with it alone. Adrian would be beside her, no matter what.

She turned into his arms, and he lifted his mouth to meet hers. She wanted him inside her again. She wanted to be one with him to know he was hers as he would never be anyone else’s.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmured in her ear.

“I don’t think I can wait that long.” She stepped back, loosened her robe, and allowed it to fall open. Adrian’s eyes darkened as the robe shrugged off her shoulders and pooled on the floor. Naked, she placed her hand on his chest and gave him a small push. He stepped back, and she pushed again. Finally his legs met the couch, and he sat. She straddled him, sighing as he took her nipple into his mouth. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes… and then her nose itched.

In frustration, she lifted her hand to rub it then went rigid. Adrian must have felt the change in her immediately. “What is it?” he murmured against her skin.

“Don’t stop.” She kept her voice low and breathy, but slowly she opened her eyes and peered lazily about the room.

Even looking, she didn’t see him right away. He made no sound as he slipped in one of the French doors across the room. Even as she watched, he stepped behind a curtain, concealing himself. He was a slim man dressed in black from head to toe. His black beaver hat concealed his features, but she managed to catch a glimpse of a mustache and dark shaggy hair brushing his collar. She had not seen him before, but she would have given fifty pounds he was part of the Maîtriser group.

He was certainly no friend, if the pistol he held in his hand was any indication.

If only she had a weapon… or clothes…

Her eyes darted to Adrian’s desk. A candlestick was little use against a pistol.

“What is it?” Adrian asked.

Sophia hurriedly kissed him, moaning for effect. He kissed her back, but she sensed his confusion. She nibbled her way to his ear and whispered, “A man is hiding behind the curtains near the French doors.”

She felt him tense, but he made no other indication he’d heard.

“He has a pistol,” she whispered.

Adrian rose, taking her with him. “I want you on my desk,” he said, voice husky, but she could detect the underlying concern.

“Yes,” she said, wrapping her legs about his waist and risking a peek at the curtains. The man hadn’t moved. He was waiting for his moment.

He wasn’t going to get it.

Adrian swept a hand over the top of his desk, sending the contents scattering on the floor. Sophia winced for him, knowing how he prized order. But the effect was perfect. The intruder would think they were swept away with passion and had no idea he was present. When Adrian set her down on the cold, wooden surface, she felt something hard—a pen perhaps—jab her bare bottom. Adrian leaned over her, pushing her down and kissing her, but also reaching over her to fumble with the drawer. She moaned louder, hoping to cover the noise as he slid it open. It seemed to her hours passed as he blindly searched the drawer. She could not see the intruder. Adrian’s body blocked hers, but the last thing she wanted was to hear the sound of the pistol firing and feel Adrian slump over her.

Her heart was racing, and she clenched her hands on Adrian’s back, hoping it looked like an act of passion.

Finally, she felt Adrian jerk and knew he’d found what he sought. His hands were in her hair as he leaned down and murmured, “Entwine your fingers with mine.”

She released his back and clasped his hand, feeling the cold metal of the pistol.

“It’s primed and ready,” he said against her throat. “I’ll move out of the way, and you shoot.”

Oh, damn it. He knew she was a miserable shot. But he also knew she’d seen the location of the intruder, and she was in a better position to aim and fire.

She took a shallow breath for courage. “Take off your clothing,” she said, loud enough for the intruder to hear. Adrian stood, and she moved the pistol between their bodies to conceal it.

Her gaze met Adrian’s, and he began to remove his shirt. As he did so, he shifted to the left, and she glimpsed the intruder stepping out from amidst the curtains.

Adrian was pulling the shirttails over his abdomen, and she gave him a slight nod. Fast as lightning, he moved and ducked. She raised the pistol and fired at the intruder. She’d aimed for his shoulder, because she wanted him alive. What good was a dead man to them now?

Amazingly, she hit his arm—not so far off from where she’d aimed—and he dropped his pistol with a cry of pain. But it took only a second for him to drop and roll, reaching for his lost pistol with his good arm.

This was no amateur.

Sophia flew off the desk, vaulted over the couch, and kicked the man’s pistol out of reach. She issued a swift, hard kick to the man’s ribs, and he rolled into a ball and groaned. His hat fell off, revealing unkempt brown hair falling over his forehead and collar.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He opened one eye, stared up at her, and smiled—why was he smiling when she’d just kicked him? Then she remembered she was naked.

“Put your robe on.” Adrian bent beside her and lifted the man roughly to his feet. Sophia caught a glimpse of the sleeve of his coat, saw it was only torn, and deduced the bullet had just grazed the man.

“Don’t get dressed on my account,” the intruder wheezed, his accent perfectly English and educated but with a trace of something else, indicating he had acquired his accent rather than been born with it. He wheezed again, and Sophia had the satisfaction of knowing her kick had some effect. Sophia found her robe and shrugged it on, but before she could tie the sash, Adrian held out a hand.

“Give me the sash. I’ll bind his hands.”

Sophia handed the sash over and hugged the robe closed. Adrian marched the intruder to a Sheraton chair, forced him to sit, and pulling his arms back, tied him securely with the purple silk sash. Then he bent so he was eye to eye with the man. “Look at my wife again, and I’ll kill you.”

The man sneered. “I—”

Adrian’s fist plowed into his face, and Sophia winced as blood spurted in a fine arc. How were they going to explain that mess to the servants?

The intruder kicked with his feet, but Adrian stood and moved out of range. “What’s your name?” he demanded.