Lord and Lady Spy (25 page)

Millie shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

“Perhaps it’s better if you don’t,” Sophia agreed. “Lord Smythe, if I’m not mistaken, we have another appointment.”

He rose, tipped his hat.

They stepped into the corridor, and Sophia raised her eyebrows at the pink lump on the floor. “What did you do to him?”

“He bumped his head with his walking stick.”

“Of course. Happens all the time.” As they passed Linden, she tried to bend to check on him, but Adrian grabbed her arm and ushered her forward. Just as well, she thought. It was almost eight, and Mr. Twombley was scheduled to escape at half past.

***

Adrian hated waiting. He’d conducted his share of surveillance—done his apprenticeship, as he liked to think of it. When he’d been Agent Wolf, lesser operatives conducted surveillance for him. Now, he was right back where he started. He glanced at Sophia.

Maybe not right back.

Sophia, still wearing her white muslin morning dress, crouched beside him in what amounted to a heap of rotting vegetables. The cart had been strategically placed outside the back alley of the Barbican group’s offices to give Adrian and Sophia a view of the exit when Twombley made his daring escape.

“Do you think he’ll realize what we’re doing?” she asked, pushing a cabbage aside to better her view.

“Blue promised he’d put up a good struggle.”

Sophia sighed into a tower of parsnips. “I hope he goes directly to this Foncé. I don’t relish following Twombley about for days on end.”

Neither did Adrian, but if Twombley was smart—and he was—he’d take a circuitous route to the Maîtriser group’s headquarters. But eventually he’d lead them to Foncé, and Adrian couldn’t wait to get his hands on the man. What he’d done to Jenkinson was bad enough. No man should have to die that way. Jenkinson deserved justice. But this Foncé had also killed British operatives—men who risked their lives for the Crown. For that, Adrian wanted vengeance.

Sophia grabbed his arm and hissed, “Did you hear that?”

“There’s no need to whisp—”

“Shh! There it is again.”

Adrian heard it this time. A thump and the sound of something breaking. Blue might have been making this look too good. For a moment, Adrian wondered if he should go to the operative’s assistance, then the door of the building across from their cart burst open and Twombley appeared. He’d lost his hat, and his clothes were in disarray. Hair standing on end, he looked wildly about.

As one, Adrian and Sophia ducked. Their gazes met among the rotting potatoes, and Adrian slowly raised his head to peer over the produce. Twombley was running at a good clip, hugging the sides of the alley. He peered over his shoulder several times and then ran full out.

“Let’s go.”

Sophia was already jumping off the cart and starting after Twombley. Adrian joined her, moving quickly but unhurriedly. There was no need to risk Twombley seeing them. Operatives had been stationed along all the likely escape routes and would direct Wolf and Saint toward their man, allowing them to keep their distance lest Twombley recognize them. Once Twombley thought he was safely away, Adrian and Sophia could move in.

As expected, Twombley headed toward the most populated area of London nearby—Piccadilly and Bond. The first operative, a man in the garb of a candle seller, pointed them toward an arcade swarming with early shoppers. Adrian took Sophia’s hand in his and, weaving through the clusters of people, followed the trail. They received several curious glances, as their clothing still had pieces of rotten produce hanging on it, but Sophia kept her head high, and Adrian thought she could make even rotten potatoes seem like the latest fashion.

“Smart of him to attempt to lose himself among the crowds,” she said, stepping hastily aside as a small boy chasing a ball almost ran her down.

“He’ll tire of running soon enough.” Adrian spotted Twombley at the far side of the arcade, walking quickly and with his head down, and pulled Sophia beside a stall offering shawls and other wraps. While Adrian pretended to admire the shawls and chatted with the vendor, his body blocking Sophia’s from view, she peered around him and kept watch on Twombley. It took effort for Adrian to keep his attention on the vendor, to smile and converse, to pretend he had nothing else to do. Every instinct in him urged him to turn his head, to scan the area for Twombley. His brain screamed warnings. If they lost Twombley now, they’d lose everything.

Adrian looked at Sophia. He had never trusted another operative with so much when everything was at stake. Adrian liked to be the one who made all the decisions. Now he relied on Sophia to keep Twombley in sight. He waited for her to give the signal to move ahead.

And then just when he was certain she had lost track of him—why else in bloody hell was she waiting so long?—she took his hand and yanked. “He’s leaving. Let’s go.”

Abruptly, Adrian turned away from the vendor, leaving her squawking in indignation, and locked his sights on Twombley. Sophia’s timing had been perfect. Twombley was on his way out of the arcade, and he was walking at a much more relaxed, leisurely pace.

Adrian and Sophia emerged on the other side of the arcade and looked right then left. A groom brushing a horse pointed north. “’E’s ’eaded that way. Stepped out and changed ’is coat. Wearin’ a blue coat now instead o’ the black.”

“Much obliged,” Adrian said and sprinted north toward Regent Street.

“Do you think he was one of ours?” Sophia ran beside Adrian, surprising him by keeping up even in a gown and slippers.

“Yes, and I think that’s the last. We’re on our own. There he is.” He veered left and yanked Sophia with him, into the doorway of an abandoned shop. “Let’s keep our distance.”

“Good idea.” She bent and caught her breath. “I forget how much I hate this kind of work. Sneaking about, hiding in alcoves.” She gestured to the doorway. “Give me a good fight any day.”

Adrian grinned then leaned down and kissed her soundly. She frowned at him and raised her brows. “What was that for?”

“Because I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“Oh, well… good.”

He’d flustered her, which made him smile again.

“But now I’ve lost track of Twombley.”

“I haven’t,” Adrian said. He watched Twombley circle back after passing a tavern, and with a last quick look over his shoulder, open the door and disappear inside. He pointed to the tavern. “He’s in there.”

Sophia sighed. “He could be in there for hours, eating breakfast and drinking tea.”

“Or he might be looking for a way to sneak out the back.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She pursed her lips. “We split up. I cover the back, and you stay here?”

“It means one of us follows him to what is most likely the Maîtriser group’s headquarters.” And, though he didn’t say it, it meant that person would probably receive credit for solving the murder. And perhaps it was best to allow Fate to decide which of them would win back the position in the Barbican group.

Sophia nodded. A quick glance at her dark eyes, and Adrian knew she’d come to the same conclusion as he.

“The Maîtriser group is dangerous,” Sophia said slowly. “Perhaps neither of us should attempt to confront them without assistance.”

Adrian cocked his head as though considering. “Good point.” It was a good point, but the truth of the matter was neither of them was the least bit concerned about the Maîtriser group. He knew she thought she could take them down by herself, just as he did. He didn’t want her in there alone, but he trusted her abilities like he trusted his own. And now he would have to trust her again—they would have to trust one another. “In that case, whoever follows Twombley meets the other back home. We can ask Melbourne to send some of his operatives with us and return tonight under cover of darkness.”

“Agreed. See you tonight.” She stepped away, already heading for the tavern’s rear exit, then paused and ducked into the doorway again. She touched a gloved finger to his cheek and smiled at him. “It’s nice to have a partner, isn’t it?”

He studied her. The skepticism and distrust of him were still there. She didn’t know if he would keep his word any more than he could be sure she would. But in her gaze he saw something that hadn’t been there before—hope.

Adrian bent and kissed her, this time tender and filled with promise. “I’ll see you at home.”

With a quick bob of her head, she was away again. “Be careful!” she called over her shoulder, but it was too late for that. He jammed a shoulder against the casement and stared at the tavern. It was far too late for caution. He was in love with her now.

Ridiculously unfashionable to be in love with one’s wife, but Adrian had never cared for fashion. And truth be told, he thought he’d been in love with her for years now. If he hadn’t loved her, it would have been so much easier to go to her, to try to make amends earlier in their marriage.

But he’d feared making a mistake and losing whatever he had left of her. That in itself had been the mistake. To think of all the days, the months, the years they wasted apart, when they could have been in one another’s arms.

The shadows began to fade as the sun rose higher in the sky, and still Twombley did not make an appearance. When afternoon fell and Adrian’s mood with it—he was hungry, thirsty, and tired—he decided a bit of reconnaissance was needed. He grabbed a boy selling charcoal, his cry of “Charcoal! Get yer charcoal!” grating on Adrian’s nerves, gave the boy Twombley’s description, and offered him a pound to go into the tavern and look for the man. He wouldn’t have offered so much, but he didn’t have anything less.

The boy, a lad of no more than twelve, gaped at him. “An ’ole quid, sar? Just fer lookin’ for a man?” He had a grimy face—some of it soot from the charcoal he was so intent to sell—and a wiry body. He looked like he could use a good meal.

“That’s right.” Adrian drew out the pound note and waved it. “I’ll be here, and be quick about it.”

“Yes, sar!”

The lad was quick. Five minutes later he returned with a full report. “No man like you described be in there, sar.” Holding up his fingers, he ticked off the tavern’s occupants, none of which remotely resembled Twombley.

Adrian held the pound note out, and the boy’s hand snatched at it, but Adrian didn’t release it. “Does the tavern rent rooms?”

The boy shook his head. “No, sar. Least I don’t think so.”

Adrian released the note, and it disappeared into the boy’s coat faster than a slithering snake. “On your way, then.”

When the boy was gone, Adrian sauntered across the road, skirted the tavern, and went around back. He hadn’t expected to see her, but the barren yard behind the tavern made him sigh nevertheless. Crates and broken bottles, rotting vegetables and a few stray cats littered the yard, but Sophia was not there. Nor was there any sign she ever had been.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Adrian started for home.

Sophia stepped quietly into the library and closed the door behind her. Adrian was facing away, his boots propped on the bookshelf behind his large desk. The desk was clear. She knew he worked all the time, but he never left files or books or papers lying about. She admired that quality in him, as it was something with which she struggled.

“You can leave the tray on the table,” he said absently, not turning to look at her.

“I’m not the housekeeper,” she said, “and I don’t think there’s time for tea.”

He didn’t turn to look at her, but somehow she knew he was smiling. “I find I’m not as thirsty as I thought.” He did turn now, and his gray eyes were shadowed with… suspicion. “You had the luck today.”

“If you mean Twombley slipped out the back of that rank tavern and I followed him to the Maîtriser group’s buildings, then you are correct. I had the luck.” She stepped forward, rounding the desk so she was before him. “But
we
will have the luck tonight. We must leave now.”

“Have you seen Melbourne?”

She shook her head. “No, and there’s no time. In the time it took for me to do light surveillance of the perimeter, Foncé was already preparing to leave. Men were scrambling to load carts and carriages.”

“And yet you took the time to come back here.”

“Yes.”

She watched the suspicion in his eyes flicker, and knew he was debating whether or not to trust her. She could give him a moment—no more—to sort it out. After all, she would have felt much the same had their positions been reversed. And she wouldn’t lie and say she had not been tempted to slip inside the buildings and take this Foncé herself.

Two things stopped her.

One, she was no fool. She knew her skills were unsurpassed by any other agent save perhaps the one seated before her. But all of the Barbican group’s agents were superior. Foncé had managed to take out more than one Barbican agent in the past. Sophia couldn’t afford to allow herself to become arrogant and careless. She needed help.

Two, she wanted that help to come from Adrian. She wanted to close this matter together. She wanted to see their partnership through. She would not be the one to betray the fragile trust between them—not for pride, not for a position in the Barbican group… not for anything.

He dropped his boots on the floor, and she stepped between his legs. He had changed into clean clothing, while her once-white gown was now dirty and rumpled.

“What’s your plan?” Adrian asked.

Sophia almost smiled. She could not imagine Adrian asking such a question five days ago when this mission began. And she could not imagine the answer she was about to give. “I thought we could discuss that in the carriage after I’ve changed. There really is no time to lose.”

For the mission she was about to undertake, she needed more practical garb. Allowing herself five minutes, she donned black trousers, a man’s black shirt, and a black coat. She twisted her hair in a knot and tucked it under a cap.

Ignoring the servants’ surprised stares, she ran through the house and met Adrian, similarly dressed in dark clothing, in the carriage.

His brows rose when he saw her, but he said nothing.

“Let’s go,” she said, and with a rap of his knuckles, they were off.

As the carriage rambled through Mayfair, she outlined the headquarters buildings for him, helping him to visualize the house and the guards she’d seen. “If anything is working in our favor, it’s that he’s sent most of his men away.”

“How do we know he hasn’t gone with them?”

She shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough. I know the plan of attack I think best, but I’m certain you’ll prefer to reserve judgment until you see everything for yourself.”

“Of course. What are you wearing?”

She knew he’d been staring at her since she’d climbed into the carriage, but she pretended to just now notice her male attire. “Something a bit more practical.”

“Let me take a look.”

She held her arms out. “As you see.” It was dark in the vehicle with the curtains drawn. They hadn’t bothered to light the lamps, not wanting to attract attention. Still, she saw the glint of something raw and aroused in his eyes.

“No, a closer look.” He took hold of one of her arms and had her in his lap before she could sputter a protest—not that she had any intention of doing so. It would take another half hour at least to reach the Maîtriser group’s headquarters, and she was always a bundle of nervous energy before a strike like this one.

She could think of worse ways to use some of that energy than in Adrian’s lap. She slid her hands down his chest.

“I feel rather wicked with you dressed as such.” But he was already wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her mouth to his.

“I assure you I am all female under these clothes,” she promised.

“I’ll need to test that.” He nipped her lips. “I like proof.”

“As do I.” She pressed her mouth to his and felt the charge immediately. It was like touching fire to oil. She was suddenly warm and bright and alive. His mouth slanted over hers, claiming her completely. She liked being taken, liked that she could allow herself to be taken and not feel as though she was giving up power. Adrian restored her rather than depleted her.

She eased her legs on either side of him so she was straddling him on the squabs, and still his mouth continued to plunder her. He kissed her roughly. His tongue didn’t so much twine with hers as thrust and parry. His lips didn’t brush hers as much as they locked on and stole her very last breath. When Adrian kissed her, she could think of nothing else, do nothing else, be nothing else. She was his.

His hands gripped her bottom, and he pulled her hard against his erection. His mouth broke free of hers, and she moaned with the sudden yearning to have it back. “I missed you,” he growled in her ear, his teeth playing havoc with the delicate skin of her neck.

“Apparently. I thought we were making a plan to do away with the Maîtriser group—or at least their leader.”

His hands tore at her collar, revealing her collarbone to his wicked mouth. Meanwhile, his hands pulled the shirttails from the trousers and eased the coat off her shoulders. “We’ll have time for that in a moment.”

“It will be at least another twenty minutes until we reach the house. What shall we do with twenty minutes?” Her hands stroked him through his trousers, and with a groan, he yanked the shirt over her head. She heard material rip and felt something pop, but then his mouth was on her breasts, and she was aching to feel him inside her. This time she wasn’t afraid. This time there was only need and desire and love.

She thought how perfect it would be if they conceived a child now—on their way to do what they were both born to do. And she knew if they were to conceive a child, she wanted it to be something born out of love. She wanted fear to play no part.

Adrian was fumbling with her trousers. They were too big for her anyway, and he easily pushed them over her hips. She rose, keeping one hand on his shoulder for balance in the rocking vehicle, then slipped them off. Wearing only her half boots, she climbed back on his lap.

He sighed, and she could feel the slight tremor from the effort it took for him to restrain himself.

With a smile, she released the fall of his trousers, freeing him. She took him in her hand and stroked his hard, velvet length. His head fell back, revealing the strong column of his throat, and Sophia forgot about her own needs. She could have touched him, pleasured him, all evening. She loved watching him.

And then his eyes opened, and his molten gray gaze met hers. “How did I survive all these years without you?” His hands on her hips tightened. “
You
—the real you.”

“Miserably, I suppose.” She stroked him again, and he shuddered.

“Yes. And I was miserable tonight, waiting for you.”

“That’s because you didn’t trust me.” She allowed one finger to tease him, and he teased her right back with tongue and teeth on her nipple.

When they were both breathless and aching for more, he said, “I admit, I had my doubts. But you’re here now. Bloody hell, are you here.” He put his mouth on her again, and she didn’t comprehend his next words. If he wasn’t inside her soon, she thought she would begin screaming in frustration.

“But you’re here now,” she heard him saying when she could concentrate again. “And everything is… you.”

She knew just what he meant. Everything was brighter and darker and louder and softer when they were together. There was something that held them—even when they were estranged for all those years—that bound them and could never be severed. She supposed that was why neither of them had ever strayed. She’d had opportunity, and one look at him told her he’d had opportunity as well.

But they were bound. Now. Forever.

She lifted her hips and angled them over him, stroking the tip of his erection with her core. His gaze, hot and dark and full of desire, locked on hers. His lips moved, as though he struggled to speak. Finally, “Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice was low and husky, filled with effort.

She nodded. “More than anything.” Slowly, torturously, she took him inside her. She felt every inch of him slide against her, filling her, warming her, making them one. And when he was embedded to the hilt, she rocked back, causing him to groan, and then forward again so he gripped her hips. But she didn’t want him taking control. She waited until his grip relaxed, and rocked again, setting her own pace and rhythm. She wanted slow and steady, like the rocking of the coach. She wanted to prolong the pleasure, the torture, until they were both gasping with it. But when she felt him swell inside her, she could hold back no longer. She let go and rode him hard and fast. The climax slammed into her like a runaway carriage, and she could only hold on and see it to the end.

But just when she thought she could stand no more pleasure, Adrian reached between them, touching her, and she soared again. Adrian thrust inside her, making a guttural sound, and then he was with her—flying, soaring, falling, and slamming into the most profound ecstasy she had ever experienced.

They were lying half on the seats and half off. Sophia had no recollection of how they’d come to be there, but she opened her eyes, and Adrian was on top of her. Her back was on the squabs, but one shoulder was jammed against the door. Adrian rolled off her, slamming his knee on the seat opposite them in the process. He winced, found his balance, and raked his fingers through his hair. “That was—”

She looked at him, waited. When he couldn’t find the words, she laughed. “Yes, exactly.” She tried to sit, faltered, and he pulled her up. She attempted to find her clothing, but it was too dark. Adrian held up something that looked like a shirt… or a coat.

“I think there was something we were discussing before…” Adrian gestured vaguely. Sophia noted his cravat was still tied perfectly and wondered how they’d managed that. “Something important.”

“The Maîtriser group,” she said. “We have to infiltrate their headquarters, capture their leader, and force him to confess to Jenkinson’s murder.”

“Is that all?” He glanced at his pocket watch, still miraculously in place. “I suppose we’d better get started.”

***

Ten minutes later, they sat on a dark residential street a few houses down from the one Sophia had seen Twombley enter earlier that day. Adrian was supposed to be watching the house, but he couldn’t keep himself from watching Sophia as well.

When she’d climbed into the carriage that night, he’d almost ordered the lad out of his coach before he realized the small boy in black was his wife. And then he gaped. Her hair was tucked under a cap, and he could have sworn she moved differently. Gone was the sway of her hips. In its place was a cocky swagger. Adrian couldn’t have said which was worse. The sway had been arousing, but knowing what he knew about the legs and hips and bottom hidden in those trousers, the swagger all but undid him.

She glanced away from the house and met his gaze. “My lord, are you observing?” she asked.

“No. I’m a bit… distracted.” He indicated her attire. She smiled. Why did he have the feeling she found this amusing?

“This is easier for me to maneuver in. We’re going to have to scale a wall—possibly more than one. I couldn’t get a good look at the other side of the garden. And there are guards. I counted half a dozen, and that was after the mass exodus. I imagine there are at least that many still on the premises.”

As she continued to speak, Adrian closed his eyes and tried to see the picture she painted—the layout of the complex, the number of men, the possible entrances and exits. And every time he thought he succeeded, he’d picture her bottom in those trousers and lose focus.

But he was a bloody professional, and he would bloody hell be damned if he was going to allow a woman’s curves—even his own wife’s curves—to distract him from something so important.

With sheer force of willpower, he looked past the trousers and coat—why did he have to know she wore nothing under that shirt?—and concentrated on forming a plan. A few moments later he instructed their coachman to drive on and leave them several blocks from the Maîtriser group’s complex. The coach rolled to a stop, and Adrian’s mind was sharp and focused on the main objective. He could pull that cap off her head and watch her curls tumble down later…

The night was warm with the faintest scent of hollyhocks on the breeze when he stepped out of the coach. Though the summer weather persisted into mid-August, Adrian thought he could detect the crisp smell of fall under that fragrant sweetness. He glanced up, noted the clouds obscured the moon tonight, and hoped for continued good fortune.

Sophia walked slightly ahead of him, keeping to the shadows, although in this residential area of London, it seemed no one was about. The tree-lined street was quiet, and the houses, with their flower boxes and warm, glowing windows, were their only observers. When she cut down a narrow path between two houses, Adrian looked behind him to ensure they were not observed, then followed. She paused after leading him a few yards, crouching beside a tall stone wall.