The Spy Wore Silk

by Andrea Pickens

  “In other words, you shall lie through your teeth.”

  “That is part of our training, isn’t it? And practice makes perfect.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Shannon grasped her friend’s hand and gave it a hard squeeze.

  “Just one last thing, Nonnie. If I am going to end up on my arse over this, I expect to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  “I won’t let you—or Siena—down. No matter what it takes.”

  “I have read somewhere that there is a special language to flowers,” murmured Kirtland as he watched Siena add a cluster of bougainvillea to her collection. He had not missed her message and had joined her in the conservatory as quickly as he could. “Though I could not tell you what such an exotic species is saying.”

  “I am bloody tired of trying to decipher hidden meanings.”

  There was a brittleness to her tone, at odds with her usual note of confidence. As he moved a step closer, he saw that a stray curl had come loose from her topknot, its ebony hue accentuating the pallor of her cheek.

  Damn the dastard who sent out a lone young woman, however well trained, to do England’s dirty work.

  At that moment, Kirtland found himself wishing he might hang the fellow from the tower battlements and watch the circling hawks feast on his liver.

  “Steel, at least, rings true. While words are a far more dangerous opponent.” She sighed, and rather than the usual fire in her eyes, he saw a flicker of doubt. “Perhaps I am not quite as sharp as I thought.”

  “Did Dunster say something to alarm you?” He, too, was suddenly on edge.

  “Not really,” she confessed. “It’s more just a feeling that I may have missed something important. And Orlov seems to know far too much about my real reason for being here,” she went on. “From the start, my mission seems to have been compromised.”

  The earl frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You were not the only one who was seen lurking around my London residence at night.”

  “The Russian?”

  “Oban couldn’t say for sure. Orlov certainly fits the size and strength of the intruder he spotted scaling the garden wall.” She plucked a thorn from her thumb. “Whoever it was, by leaving a packet of evidence that pointed to you as a traitor to England, he also sent a second message that the true nature of my activities was known to him.”

  “Bloody hell, you never mentioned that.” His words came out harsher than he intended.

  “You should have alerted your superior—”

  “And abandoned the mission?” Her profile mirrored the clenched angle of his own jaw.

  “No doubt that would have suited the enemy’s purpose. There was no time to come up with an alternate plan.”

  “Damn.” Kirtland left the oath dangling, and for a moment there was an uneasy silence between them. “That does not mean you have to engage in unreasonable risks. The shot is evidence enough that you must move quickly to—”

  “I am well aware of my duty, Lord Kirtland,” she snapped. The martial light was back in her eyes. “I can handle the challenge.”

  That was the problem, he thought to himself. She was too damn brave for her own good. Fear for her sharpened his own tone. “Must you be so bloody stubborn about accepting help?”

  “I’m trained to work alone.”

  Rain ricocheted off the ceiling glass. The earl tried to read her expression in the hazy half-light. “Even the best soldiers are sometimes in need of reinforcements.” He could feel the thud of his heart against his ribs. “What is holding you back? Is it still a question of trust?”

  “Hell, no.” For an instant her steely glare softened. “But this is my fight. If anyone is to fall to a blade or bullet, it should be me.”

  The irony of the situation drew a ghost of a smile to his lips. “Siena, allow me to—”

  “My mind is made up. So allow me to save my strength for fighting the enemy rather than expend it brangling with you.”

  There was nothing he could say in way of argument. As a soldier, he knew she was right. Still, he found it took all of his resolve to remain silent.

  “As for moving quickly, I have already decided on a new challenge for tonight’s game. The sudden change may surprise the traitor into giving himself away,” she went on.

  “What have you planned?” he finally asked.

  “A game of gypsy fortune-telling. I have found a suitably mysterious spot deep in the cellars.”

  “Cards? Crystals?”

  “And a bit of palmistry.” Clipping the last of the bright blooms, Siena placed them in her basket.

  “Have a care,” he said softly. “If pressed too hard, the man you seek could snap.”

  She cracked a smile. “I would actually welcome it if push turned to shove.”

  “At least let me hide close by, in case of trouble.”

  Siena shook her head. “I would rather you stay away. In fact, I think it best that you skip the game entirely. Your presence would only be a distraction. I will arrange the sessions so you are scheduled last. That way, no one will notice when you don’t show up for your appointed time.” She

  looked away. “I can’t afford any mistakes right now.”

  “Very well. Then I shall see what I can glean from Orlov.” He forbore to add that whether she wished it or not, his gaze would not stray too far from her gypsy lair.

  Rose knotted off the last gauzy sheet of silk. “When the candles are lit in the wall sconces, the effect will be dramatic.”

  Where her maid had procured the gold-threaded fabric was a mystery, but Siena was beginning to think that the older woman possessed mystical powers that rivaled those of Merlin. “You are a magician, Rose,” she murmured, surveying the artful fall of fabric that had transformed the rough cellar room into a shimmering Bedouin tent. “The place looks straight out of a tale of The Arabian Nights.”

  “Aye. A few more velvet pillows for the floor and another sheepskin rug should suffice.”

  Rose consulted her notes. “The attics have also yielded an ornate brass brazier and a Chinese dragon carved out of jade. As for special effects, I’ve added some attar of roses to the lamp oil. A pity we do not have more time. I could have sent for some hashish. The drug is quite useful at relaxing a man’s inhibitions and inducing him to speak freely.”

  Siena toyed with one of the brightly painted tarot cards. “I shall have to use other tricks to coax them into reveal ing more than they might wish. ‘The Prince of Pleasure.’” She held up the image from the Italian Tarocchi deck and lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “He will tell you a naughty secret, but first you must yield one of your own.”

  Rose cocked her head. “Very good. But stand a step to your right so that the light casts half your face in shadow.”

  After rearranging the flowers flanking the jade dragon, she seemed satisfied with the effect. “I’ll finish off the last little details here, then come up and help you finish dressing for the part.”

  Siena’s costume, also scavenged from items packed away by the duke’s ancestors, consisted of an even gauzier silk for harem pants, a sleeveless chemise snugged at the waist with a crimson sash, and a profusion of brass chains linked around her neck.

  A flowered scarf wrapped around her tresses topped off the exotic garb. To her eye, she looked more like a pirate than a Gypsy, but she doubted the gentle men were going to split hairs over such details. Not with a goodly amount of cleavage distracting their attention.

  Crooking a wry smile, she retraced her way up one of the hidden circular stairwells that Rose had discovered. She would have to guard herself against the same danger. Even without his physical presence, Kirtland was a powerful distraction. The line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek, the small scar grazing the arch of his brow—his every intimate detail had become a part of her, committed to memory, to touch. To longing?

  She dared not think of such things. He would soon return to his books and art; she would return to gunpowder and steel. Pressing her
palms to her eyes, she held disappointment at bay. No matter their fleeting interlude of entwined limbs and shared passions, he was merely a temporary ally.

  That she had drawn the earl into danger added to the weight on her shoulders. Along with Lynsley’s expectations, she bore the burden of her own regrets. If anything happened to him …

  It had not been pride but fear that had triggered her earlier sharp words, her edging away from his touch. To keep Kirtland out of the line of fire, she must cut to the heart of the enemy. And quickly.

  Andiamo, Volpina! Attack, even when you are weary to the bone. The recollection of Da Rimini’s exhortations urged on her own faltering step. She was one of Merlin’s Maidens. She had tasted the salt of sweat, had suffered countless knockdowns, and had always risen to the challenge.

  Love might be a far more dangerous opponent than any she had ever faced, but she would survive its blade as well.

  “Very artful.” Dunster, the last of the club members on her schedule, appeared captivated by his own reflection in the polished brass. The billowing silk and burnished light gave his fair looks an added gleam. “I do hope you will prove as creative when you decorate our love nest in Town.”

  “You need not worry about that,” cooed Siena. A low marble plinth had been centered in the circular swirl of silk. She took a seat on the pillows surrounding it and motioned for him to do the same. Her theatrics had not teased much of interest out of Leveritt and Jadwin. She hoped to have better luck with the marquess.

  Up close, Siena saw that the odd intensity in his eye was fired from within as well as from without. He exuded his usual cockiness, along with the strong scent of brandy and an edginess she could not quite define. But then, everyone, including herself, was affected by the air of anticipation hanging over the castle.

  “Care for a drink?” Several decanters sat beneath the jade dragon’s lolling tongue. “Brandy or whisky.”

  He took a moment to decide. “I’ll take whisky. It has a more fiery bite.”

  As he reached for the glass, she took up his other hand. “Mmmm, I see deep lines, indicating strength of character. This small one here indicates luck with ladies. And this one a coming financial expense.”

  He gave a taut laugh as he swallowed a mouthful of the spirits. “I don’t need a Gypsy to tell me that.”

  She humored him with a smile. “Ah, but now things become a touch more intriguing.” A long pause allowed him to take another drink. “This central line hints at a wicked secret.”

  He snatched his hand back, spilling the last drops of whisky into his lap. “Damn slut,” he snarled, swiping at his trousers.

  No question she had struck a raw nerve. She must now try to soften the blow enough to learn what he was hiding. “There’s no need to get upset—we all have secrets. Sometimes it’s titillating to share them.”

  “I’ve had about enough of your bloody games.” He tried to rise, but his legs were too unsteady.

  Siena caressed his clenched fist. “I like a man who isn’t afraid of breaking the rules to get what he wants.”

  “Enough!” he cried wildly.

  His fury appeared fueled by fear. Intent on learning why, she leaned forward. “Don’t worry. I will—”

  As his other hand whipped up from the folds of his coat, Siena found herself staring down the snout of a small pistol.

  “You will keep your bloody mouth shut, save to answer my questions.” Dunster’s face, distorted with desperation, loomed just behind the cocked trigger. “Who hired you?”

  He was sweating profusely. “Was it Lord Netherton? I should have guessed! You were too good to be true.”

  Who the devil was Lord Netherton?

  “I assure you, I have never met any gentleman by that name.” Her own weapon, hidden beneath the skirting of the brass brazier, was just out of reach. She had made a careless mistake in underestimating the marquess. She must try to recover and not pay for it with her life. “I am just what I appear, sir. A courtesan who is looking for a rich protector. My games are just that—naughty, perhaps, but most men like to be provoked.”

  “I don’t believe you!” His voice was shrill, savage. “He wishes to destroy me!”

  “Unfairly, I am sure,” she soothed.

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Yet some men cannot let go of a grudge, can they?” Keep him talking, she told herself.

  The gun barrel was only inches from her forehead, but that could change in a flash.

  “Quite right.” He sounded just a trifle calmer. “It was his wife who wanted the dalliance in the first place. The baron is a country bore, more interested in his sheep than sex. What’s the harm in satisfying a randy lady?”

  “None that I can see,” agreed Siena.

  “As for his sister, she threw herself on me, I swear it.” He mopped at his brow. “Forward little minx. How was I to know she was a virgin? I assumed she had been rutting with the grooms for ages.”

  He was blabbering now. “Had Netherton kept her on a tighter rein, it never would have happened. But the girl had a rash streak. Couldn’t be controlled. Wasn’t my fault she rode out in a rainstorm to pursue me. Lud, I’d left the inn the day before.”

  Siena had to exercise considerable control to keep her disgust from showing. She had not been wrong about the marquess’s nerve. He was not only a cad, but also a craven coward.

  His voice began to tremble. “Her horse must have strayed too close to cliffs… the rock crumbled. Her death is more on his head than on mine.”

  “I see your point.”

  Dunster suddenly pulled himself together. “Grasping wench—I’m sure you do. Thought you were being clever, drawing the story out of me? Well, if you have blackmail in mind, think again. I’ve no intention of being squeezed for blunt by a manipulating little slut.”

  “I would be a fool to risk that with such a prominent peer.” Seeing his finger tighten on the trigger, Siena sought to steady his mercurial mood. “I have no desire to end up in Newgate.”

  He bit his lip. “Still, I can hardly afford to take the chance that you’ll keep quiet.”

  “Yet a shot could well cost you your neck,” she pointed out. “Even a marquess will hang for murder.”

  “No one would hear it.” However, Dunster looked uncertain as he peered up through the scrim of silk.

  “Stone amplifies sound. The echo would likely reverberate throughout the house.”

  “Shut your mouth.” He managed to rise and signaled her to do the same. “There are other ways to get rid of your meddlesome presence. I could lock you in one of the dungeon rooms. No one would ever find you.” He gave a nervous laugh. “And I doubt anyone would think twice about your absence. All I would have to do is drop a word or two about hearing you say you had grown bored with our company. They would all assume you had flown off to a better offer.”

  Siena switched tactics, hoping a sudden show of tears might throw him off balance. “I—I swear to you . ..” As she feigned a hysterical sob, she moved ever so slightly to her right. “I will never say a word … I’ll even come to you for free.”

  Dunster considered the offer. “It is a shame to waste your charms. But as Leveritt says, there are plenty of other pretty sluts.” He waved the pistol. “March.”

  “Wait! I could pay you—” It was the oldest trick in the book, but worth a try. Staring over his shoulder, she widened her eyes. “Oh, thank God you have come!”

  The marquess jerked his head around.

  At the same instant, her fist hit the back of his neck, throwing him forward. As he scrabbled to recover his footing, she leapt up, grabbed hold of the hanging silk scrim, and swung forward, lashing a hard kick that caught him flush on the skull.

  With a sharp grunt, Dunster fell headfirst against the stone wall, then slid to the floor.

  “Men,” she muttered, dropping back down to the ground and nudging his unconscious form with her bare foot.

  “I hope your disgust does not include the whole
of our sex.”

  Siena whirled around to find Kirtland standing in the doorway. He had set down his pistol and was clapping softly. “An artful display of acrobatics. But then, I expected no less,” he added rather casually. He looked extremely cool and calm, save for a small quirk of his mouth. “I would have intervened earlier, but I thought you would prefer to hear his whole story.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered. That he appeared so cavalier about how close she had come to death hurt more than she wished to admit. “At any moment, a twitch of his finger might have set off the trigger.”

  “No matter. His weapon wasn’t loaded.”

  “H—how did you know?”

  “Seeing how agitated he was at supper, I took the precaution of searching his room.”

  He moved around the jade dragon and stepped over the Dunster’s splayed legs. Something in his expression, a strange intensity she had never seen before, made her step back.

  “Siena.” His smile turned tentative. “Don’t retreat.”

  She stilled.

  “God knows, it isn’t easy for me to speak from the heart. I may be able to recite a wealth of poetry, but my own feelings are not nearly so easy to articulate. My tongue trips, the words fall unsaid.”

  She watched the light flicker across his face. “Like fencing and boxing, all skills take practice to master.” Her voice was also a little uncertain. “The first attempts may be clumsy, but I have learned that you must pick yourself up, ignore the pain of the bruises, and try again, until you get it right.”

  “Practice,” he repeated. “An excellent suggestion.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. A hard, hungry embrace that ended all too soon. “Siena, we must—”

  Dunster began to stir.

  “Damn,” she swore. “This is going to present a problem.”

  “I’ve an idea. Let me handle it.” Kirtland brushed a last kiss to her brow before moving to the marquess and taking hold of his collar. “Rouse yourself, Dunster. The game is over.”

  Dunster groaned. His lids fluttered open. “Y—you?” His face twisted in dismay as he stared up at the earl.