A Scandalous Secret: Spies and Lovers

by Trentham, Laura

  Her breathless scream was snuffed out by the gloved hand that came over her nose and mouth. A hard arm circled her torso and lifted her. Her feet dangled uselessly off the ground. She tried to kick the man behind her, but her efforts were puny without any leverage. Air was at a premium, and primal panic had her pulling at the man’s wrist, any thoughts of escape secondary to the simplicity of taking a breath.

  Her training dissolved in panic. She clawed at the man’s arm and kicked and wiggled against him. He only tightened his hold and dragged her backward toward the alley. Her feet scrabbled for purchase. Her hat was knocked over her eyes. The inability to see ratcheted up her panic to histrionic levels.

  She snatched her hat off and tossed it aside, the pain from the yanking pins miniscule compared to the burning in her lungs. The hack clattered away from the scene at a high rate speed. No doubt the jarvey knew better than to get involved. The men hadn’t made enough noise to cut through the laughter and conversation buzzing out of the common house.

  Lord Berkwith raised himself to sitting and held the side of his head. Their gazes locked. He goggled at the sight of her being dragged into an alley, but he didn’t make a move to help her. With her hat off and her hair coming loose, he surely recognized her. She tried to scream again, but her lungs were bereft of air. Pinpricks wavered her vision, and weakness invaded her limbs.

  Was this to be her end? The shadows of the alley swallowed them. There was no one to help her. No one to save her.

  She would have to save herself. The element of surprise was her greatest weapon. If they believed her weak, perhaps she could mount an attack. She let go of the man’s arm and went limp against him, working on the ties of her reticule. The man’s hand loosened enough for her to take a gasping breath. She gripped the hilt of her dagger and waited for an opportunity to present itself.

  A grunt sounded behind her. The hand on her mouth was gone. The arm crushing her lungs loosened, and she dropped to the uneven stones of the alley, falling to her hands and knees. For a moment she allowed herself the joy of filling her lungs with air. Then she gathered her wits and looked deeper into the alley.

  The outline of a horse blocked the far exit. One of her abductors lay motionless on the pavers. The other was exchanging blows with a third man. The newcomer wore a greatcoat and a brimmed hat of a serviceable variety. He grabbed her captor by a lapel and drove his fist into the man’s face. Her captor’s head snapped back into the brick wall. He sank to join his compatriot on the ground.

  Victoria looked from the two unconscious brutes to the last man standing. Was he friend or foe? She scrambled to her feet, clutched the dagger in a defensive pose, and took a careful step backward toward freedom.

  “Thank you for the assistance, but I need to be going now.” She cursed the waver in her voice.

  The man watched her take two more steps from where he stood in the shadows. Just when hope flickered in her chest, he made his move. She flipped the knife into a guarded position and slashed toward him. The dagger clattered to the pavers. He had her disarmed before she realized how he had done it.

  “Not bad. It might have even worked on a common footpad.” The growly voice was only too familiar.

  She couldn’t summon even an iota of indignation toward him. She stepped closer and he gripped her arms. Only his hawklike nose, tight-lipped mouth, and stubborn chin were visible under the brim of his hat. She fought the urge to pepper kisses over every inch of available skin. How would the stubble of his night-beard feel against her lips? She shivered, but not entirely from the cold.

  “Of all the idiotic, foolhardy capers… What in bloody hell were you thinking?” he asked.

  She had been foolish and idiotic. She’d been too confident in her ability to take care of herself and too naive about the threats lurking in the shadows. “How did you know?” she asked hoarsely.

  “It didn’t take much persuasion to get the information out of Lady Eleanor.”

  “You didn’t frighten her to half to death, did you?”

  “Only a quarter to death.” The shard of humor was like a lightning bolt during a storm. “Part of me wants to shake some sense into you. The risks you take, Victoria. You drive me mad.”

  He tightened his fingers around her arms, and she braced herself for the promised shaking. It never came.

  He kissed her. So hard and fast, she didn’t have a chance to even close her eyes. It wasn’t a kiss laced with passion, but proof of something much deeper and more primal. They were alive, and that’s all that mattered. She leaned into his chest and tipped her face to his, her lips glancing across his stubbled jaw, the rasp even more appealing than she supposed.

  One of the men in the alley groaned and rolled over, shattering the strange intimacy of the moment. They each took a step away from one another, opening a chasm between them. She was in a dank alley with two men who wished to do her harm. Now was not the time to commit another folly with Thomas.

  “Let me see if I can finagle some information, then we can depart this foul place.” He nudged his chin toward his horse. The handsome, sturdy bay gelding stood perfectly still in the opposite mouth of the alley. He was as well trained as his master.

  Victoria held her skirts to the side and tiptoed by the men, keeping as much space between her and them as possible. Thomas squatted next to the man who was stirring and lifted him by the lapels. His head lolled.

  “Who sent you?” Thomas asked in a harsh voice.

  The man only groaned. Thomas dropped the man back down and riffled through his pockets, coming up with empty sweet wrappers and a dented watch. He left the watch on the man’s chest and searched the second man, who had not moved since collapsing.

  Thomas stood and muttered to himself before turning to Victoria and his horse. He mounted, then held out a hand for her. She put her foot atop his and let him haul her up behind him. She was astride and circled her arms around him. “What about Lord Berkwith? He could be gravely injured.”

  “It would serve him right for picking such a place for a rendezvous with a lady, the bounder.” Despite the sentiment and the cantankerous manner in which it was delivered, Thomas circled around the common house.

  Lord Berkwith was gone.

  Thomas grunted, his disgust palpable. “Strike that. He isn’t a bounder but a cowardly arse. He didn’t even attempt a rescue.”

  He pointed his horse away from the common house. The pace he set was almost leisurely. They clopped through a maze of side streets and alleys.

  A half dozen turns later, Victoria was utterly turned around. “Are we almost home?”

  Turning his head so his face was close to hers, his breath was a puff of white in the air. “It’s too dangerous to return.”

  The implications were starkly clear. “You don’t think those men were two ruffians looking for easy coin?”

  “Did they riffle through Lord Berkwith’s clothes for his valuables?”

  The men had treated Lord Berkwith like an inconvenience. They’d been focused on her. She’d been followed. But why? “What did they want?”

  “I don’t know, but we have to assume it involves your father.” He tugged on the reins, and the horse deftly turned down yet another narrow alley.

  “Where will we go?”

  “We’ll stop to send a warning to your father.”

  It wasn’t an answer, but Victoria didn’t press him further. She trusted Thomas.

  An hour passed. The tightly packed buildings of London gave way to cottages with fallow gardens and bare trees. Unimpeded by buildings, a brisk wind found its way beneath her collar and under her skirts. She huddled behind Thomas’s bulk and shivered.

  Clouds hid the moon, and no lanterns lit their way. Thomas didn’t seem bothered by the darkness and navigated them to a small cottage with an untidy front garden. Brown weeds bent over in supplication to the cold, and a trellis covered in a leafless vine marked the entrance.

  Thomas dismounted and helped Victoria off. Her bottom was numb
, and her lower back ached from the unusual experience of riding astride and double. Garrick loosely wrapped the reins around the rotting fence post.

  “Are we not staying?” she asked as she followed him under the trellis.

  “Only long enough to get a note to your father.” The pattern of his knocks on the door was complicated and unique.

  “A secret knock? Isn’t that rather obvious?” She shot him a look.

  “It’s simple but effective.”

  “Unless the enemy has infiltrated your safe house and is waiting for anyone with an overly complicated knock.”

  Thomas shifted toward her, and she mimicked his stance until they were face-to-face. “Do you think you know better than Britain’s finest agents?”

  “I think I possess enough common sense to point out the weaknesses of your system.” She held his stare.

  His lips twitched. “Touché.”

  Footfalls and a grumbling voice came from the other side of the door. It cracked open. A candle in an old brass holder was held aloft. The sudden light, as weak as it was, made Victoria squint. The man behind the light came into slow focus. He wore a dingy nightcap, a nightshirt of the same hue, and a claret-colored, threadbare banyan.

  “Is that you, Hawk?” The man’s blue eyes were highlighted by white eyebrows with hairs that hied off in all directions.

  “It is. I need you to rouse one of the boys to run a note back to town.”

  “Who is the baggage with you?” The man gestured toward her with the candle. It wavered and was almost snuffed out.

  “I’m not baggage,” Victoria said tartly.

  “She’s no one of import,” Thomas said, speaking over her.

  She glared at him but didn’t argue. Her clothes were dowdy, her hair was trailing out of its few remaining pins, and she was traveling with an unmarried man. Their host had every right to assume she was worse than baggage.

  “Come in then. You know where everything is.” The man handed Thomas the candle and retreated down the dark, narrow hall while Thomas led her into a small receiving room. While the grate was unlit and the room chilly, it felt comfortable compared to being outside.

  She plopped into an armchair. A poof of dust tickled her nose and made her sneeze. Exhaustion crept over her and tugged her eyes nearly closed. The shuffle of paper and the scratch of a nib registered. Thomas was huddled over the small writing desk.

  “I suppose you’re writing in some elaborate code?” She was half teasing.

  “Of course.” He was deadly serious.

  “Mother and Father were dining with Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle.”

  “Yes, I know. I am aware of all your father’s plans.”

  “Are my parents in danger?”

  Thomas was biting his lower lip in concentration. The paper he wrote on was small, the markings tiny. The missive could be easily concealed and, knowing her father, who enjoyed games of strategy and logic, would be difficult to decipher.

  He hesitated a moment before finishing the note and blowing on the ink in the absence of a sanding pot. “Your father is always in danger. You know that.”

  She did, but she preferred to ignore the reality as much as possible.

  Thomas straightened and rolled the message into a narrow cylinder an inch long. He rang a bell sitting on the desk. Less than a minute later, a lean youth dressed for riding entered, nodded at Thomas, and held out his hand. The message was slipped into a slit in the lining of his jacket.

  “You know what to do?”

  “Aye, guv’nor. It’ll not take a quarter hour.”

  “Good.”

  The youth departed. Thomas turned to Victoria and shuffled closer to loom over her. She let her head fall back against the top curve of the chair and met his assessing gaze.

  She shifted on the lumpy cushion and rearranged her padding. Thomas noticed everything yet had said nothing about her attire. “No interrogation about the way I’m dressed?”

  “What happened to your hat?”

  “It ended up on the ground. A pity. It was difficult to procure such a hideous headdress without Mother’s knowledge.” She was rewarded by the merest quirk of his lips.

  “We must move on,” he said gently.

  She had been afraid he would say that. “Can’t we rest a while here? It’s safe enough, isn’t it? After all, a secret knock is required for entrance.”

  Garrick’s lips twitched one more, but a smile didn’t crack his serious expression. “I assume the men we’re dealing with wouldn’t bother knocking. I should have killed them,” he finished on a sigh.

  The two men in the alley had been large and used to brawling, yet Thomas had dispatched them with an ease that was both admirable and fearsome. Victoria had no doubt he could have sent them to their maker. “Why didn’t you?”

  His gaze traveled her face before meeting her eyes. “Death is not something a lady should witness, but never doubt, if they had hurt you, I would have ripped them apart with my bare hands.”

  Thomas delivered the declaration with the coldness of a man who had killed to survive and would do the same for her. The thought would send a proper lady into a fit of vapors. It was clear Victoria wasn’t a proper lady, because his vow of violence struck her as almost… romantic.

  “Where will we go?” she asked.

  “Somewhere I can protect you and keep you safe.” His voice held a sharp, jagged edge.

  Bands of warmth tightened her chest and made it difficult to speak. She wanted him to take her in his arms and lend her some of his strength. That wasn’t all. She wanted to kiss him again and take her time doing it. A tug of his nape would be all it took to bring his lips to hers.

  The guttering candle illuminated only half his face, casting his features in harsh lines and angles that weren’t handsome in the soft, well-fed way of the gentlemen filling her dance cards. Instead, Thomas was arresting. She couldn’t look away, and she stared at him like she’d lost her wits.

  Maybe she had. Or perhaps the day’s events had merely stripped away all pretense that she didn’t desire him in every inappropriate way possible.

  Before she could act on her desire, he straightened and held out his hand. Without hesitation, she took it and stood. He tightened his grip and brushed an escaped curl off her forehead with a bare finger. The touch was like striking flint.

  “Do you trust me?” The rumble of his voice held a tentativeness she wouldn’t have expected from him.

  “I trusted you from the very first.”

  He’d arrived on their doorstep with wide, suspicious eyes, a too-lean frame, and ragged hair. She’d made it a habit to pop into his room with a basket of the best treats from the kitchen to share. Days accumulated into weeks by the time she had finally earned a smile. It had been her greatest accomplishment up until that point in her young life.

  He nodded crisply, but the heat in his gaze warmed her from the inside out. “The sooner we depart, the sooner you can rest.”

  The warmth he inspired didn’t last. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, and the shock of the cold made her breath catch. She assumed the same position astride behind Thomas, thankful his bulk blocked the wind, but it was too miserable to relax.

  Their synchronized swaying in the saddle was a metronome ticking off the seemingly endless seconds. The pace changed, and Victoria poked her head from behind Thomas’s back. They left the road and descended into a shallow gulley. The copse beyond was dark and menacing.

  Victoria looked behind them. The snowfall had picked up in intensity and was already filling the divots made by the horse’s hooves. In an hour, maybe even less, there would be no evidence of their passing. The horse chuffed and tossed his head.

  “Are we close?” she asked.

  “The cottage is just through the trees.”

  Victoria squinted but could only see a few feet in front of them. The trees thinned out, and the gurgle of a brook welcomed them. The faint outline of a thatched crofter’s hut in a small clearing came into view. Thomas
stopped at the edge of the trees and scanned the area.

  After long seconds in which Victoria knew better than to ask questions, he proceeded across the shallow water. They dismounted next to a lean-to that had been erected against a hillock to block the wind.

  Thomas nodded toward the hut. “Go on while I get him settled with water and oats.”

  Victoria wasn’t going to argue. Her legs shook, and her feet were numb. She fumbled with the latch, the kid of her gloves damp from the snow, her fingers clumsy from cold. It wasn’t much warmer inside the hut than outside, but she was thankful to be out of the wind.

  Using her teeth, she pulled off her gloves and rubbed her hands together while her eyes adjusted. The outline of a lantern caught her eye. It had been left next to the door within arm’s reach. She was surprised to find it full of oil. A flint lay next to it.

  Welcome light burst from the wick. It was amazing what comfort such a mundane convenience as light could be. She held up the lantern and took stock of her surroundings. It was a small but neat little hut. Wood was stacked next to the hearth, a sturdy table and two chairs were against the far wall, and a bed piled with quilts was in the corner.

  One bed.

  Her mouth was suddenly bereft of moisture. No doubt Thomas would offer to sleep in the chair or on the floor like a gentleman. But… what if she didn’t want him to be a gentleman?

  She shoved the thought out of her head. They were on the run from men who had wanted to abduct her or worse. Her parents might be the next target, and she had no idea whether Garrick’s note had found her father in time to take precautions.

  The existence of one bed in the cottage should not be her primary focus. Yet she was still staring at the bed when the door opened and knocked her in the back, startling her out of her daze. Clearing her throat, she shuffled farther into the cottage with the lantern.

  Thomas stamped his feet and shivered. “Once I start a fire, we’ll warm up quickly.”