by Regina Scott
“What do you want of me?” he demanded.
His enemy paused, then raised gloved hands to lower the hood. Black hair glinted in the pale moonlight.
“Good evening, Allister,” Joanna murmured. “What I want is your love.”
Chapter Eighteen
Joanna watched as Allister recoiled, face paling.
“Joanna! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” He strode forward and pulled the hood back over her hair. “I told you not to come. This isn’t like with Lydia Montgomery. Our nemesis is dangerous. We have to leave before the villain arrives.”
She pulled away from his outstretched arm, wanting only to feel it about her. “The villain has arrived, Allister. I wrote that note.”
He stared at her. “Impossible. I’d know your hand.”
“Very well. I had Dames write it. And it cost me most of my pin money, and a promise in writing that he wouldn’t be sacked if you found out.”
“I don’t understand.” He frowned. “You knew I wanted to catch the miscreant who sent that insect. Why would you want to hinder that?”
“My friend Eugennia Welch sent that insect,” she informed him. “She told me so this afternoon. Apparently it’s some sort of Egyptian tradition.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Why did you put me though all this?”
She peered closer. His color had returned; indeed, it had heightened. His blue eyes snapped fire, and his powerful body towered over her. “What exactly did I put you through, Allister? I was under the impression you enjoyed this sort of thing.”
“Enjoy it? Are you mad?” He ran a hand back through his hair. “I’ve been worried sick since the moment that first note appeared. I can’t concentrate; I certainly can’t track a criminal. For the first time in my life, I want out. This is no longer a game, Joanna. This is real. And it scares the life out of me.”
She felt tears threatening. “I’m sorry to have caused you pain, Allister. But part of me is glad you care enough to be concerned.”
“Did you doubt that?” He peered into her face, and his eyes widened. “Yes, I can see you did. Forgive me, Joanna. I should have been more honest with my feelings. I’ve admired you from the first, but in truth, when I offered, I wasn’t in love.”
“I understand,” she said, choking on the last word. “Your work is very important to you, to the nation. I was a fool to think I could compete with that.”
He stepped closer and caught one of the tears that ran down her cheeks. “Yes, you were,” he murmured. “There is no comparison. Nothing, no one, could hold a candle to you, Joanna. I love you with all my heart.”
Her head jerked up, and her eyes searched his face for confirmation. What she saw filled her with joy. With a glad cry, she threw herself into his arms.
Allister kissed her deeply, as if glorying in the feel of her pressed against him. Joanna put all of herself into the kiss, her joy unbounded as she felt her passion returned. His arms tightened around her, and his breath came as quickly as her own. She could feel his love in his touch, hear it in the way he whispered her name.
“I can imagine no finer thing than this,” he murmured against her lips, “to hold the woman I love in my embrace.”
As if from far away, she heard movement among the tombstones. She started, but Allister lifted his head. A tender light was once more shining from his eyes. His smile was just as sweet.
“Brace yourself, my dear,” he murmured. “We have company.” She stiffened as he raised his voice. “Hold your fire. I have the villain well in hand.”
Davis stepped into the moonlight. “I can see that, old fellow,” he quipped. “Interesting technique. I generally don’t think to kiss them into submission.”
Chuckles echoed around them, as if all the gravestones were laughing. Joanna reddened.
“I thought you were alone!” she accused.
“I thought you were a villain,” he reminded her. “I promise never to evade your questions and always be truthful with you from here out, my love.”
Joanna hugged the words to her heart as Davis joined them.
“So, how effective is that technique?” he teased Allister.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Allister replied coolly. “It has a tendency to fail. You see, while I have captured Miss Lindby, she has captured my heart.”
“And what about your villain?” Davis demanded. “I suppose we have to come back another night for him.”
Allister and Joanna exchanged glances. Davis stiffened.
“Do you wish to tell him or shall I?” Allister asked.
In his arms, Joanna knew there was nothing she could not do. “I manufactured the last note, Mr. Laughton,” she admitted. “I should have thought Allister might ask you and his other colleagues along. I’m sorry for the trouble. You see, at the time, I thought it was necessary.”
“I share the blame,” Allister put in before Davis could answer. “If I had been attending to my betrothed instead of my duty, this would never have happened.”
“Then there was no conspiracy?” Davis sounded only the slightest disappointed. “You really will be leaving us?”
“Yes, Mr. Laughton,” Allister replied, his smile revealing no regrets whatsoever. “I’m pleased to say you will no longer have need for my services. I intend to spend the rest of my life keeping Lady Trevithan out of trouble.”
He understood. She would never be the perfect Society bride, content to smile while the world revolved around her. She would always want to be at his side.
“That’s right,” Joanna agreed, giving him a squeeze. “And you’ll need to start immediately, because we shall be married.”
“In June,” Allister completed.
And they were.
Dear Reader
Thank you for reading Allister and Joanna’s story. I have always had a soft spot for a charming British spy, but I certainly wouldn’t be able to live that life!
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Turn the page for a sneak peek of the third book in the Spy Matchmaker series, The Heiress Objective, where Lord Hastings has his hands full with Joanna’s friend Eugennia.
Blessings!
Regina Scott
Sneak Peek of The Heiress Objective by Regina Scott, Book 3 in the Spy Matchmaker Series
After hours of pouring over the figures of his much-diminished finances, Kevin Whattling pushed back one of the last three of his mahogany dining chairs, rose, and stretched. Giles Sloane and Sir Nigel Dillingham, his friends since childhood, stared up at him, dazed.
Nigel shook his close-cropped sandy-blond head. “Don’t see how you can be so relaxed, old man,” he murmured with a frown. Since Nigel’s eyebrows were remarkably bushy and his nose singularly imposing, his frowns were known to curdle milk.
Kevin merely shrugged.
“I agree, Kevin,” Giles chimed in. “I’ve known you to face calamity with a laugh, but this, this is something else entirely.” With his round face under a thatch of red hair and equally round frame, Giles was more likely to be found consuming milk than curdling it. Nonetheless, his chubby cheeks, pale and quivering, had more effect on his friend than Nigel’s heavy frowns.
Kevin clapped him on the shoulder. “Buck up, my lad. Things may look a trifle difficult…”
“A trifle!” Nigel rumbled. “Penury he calls a trifle!”
Giles snatched the crosshatched piece of paper off the table and bent over it again, pudgy fingers running down the columns. “Perhaps we subtracted incorrectly. Is that it, Kev? Tell me you have other assets. Perhaps a rich uncle you never told us about?”
&nbs
p; Kevin smiled ruefully. “Sorry, Giles. Everything I have is written on that sheet. And as you can see, I am completely penniless. The very furniture on which you sit will be auctioned off tomorrow. And that doesn’t count the two thousand still owed to George Safton, not that I begrudge making him sing for it.”
Nigel stared at him. Giles shuddered. “If only we could help you. But my inheritance barely covers expenses.”
Nigel eyed his friend’s considerable bulk. “We all know where your funds go. As I don’t eat mine, I have a bit more to spare. I can spot you enough to keep up the rent on your rooms for a month or so, Whattling. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough to pay off Safton, worse luck.”
Kevin shrugged again. “You needn’t bother, Nigel.” Now that he knew the worst of it, he found it difficult to be morose. There was a strange sort of freedom not having to keep up appearances any longer. Of course, he still could not divulge all his activities for the last few years. Lord Hastings had been firm on that score.
He reached to the center of the small table and poured three goblets of port from the decanter there. Passing them to his friends, he raised his own in a toast.
“Gentlemen, have no fear. As Napoleon was defeated so recently on the Peninsula, so shall we defeat this specter of poverty. To success!”
“Here, here!” Giles agreed. He dashed back the port, obviously carried away by Kevin’s show of enthusiasm.
Nigel humphed and sipped his instead. “You’re mighty cheerful for a man so deep in dun territory.”
“That, my dear Nigel, is because I have a plan.”
Giles poured himself another glass with glee. “I knew it! Trust Kevin to think his way out of any scrape.”
He had no idea of the scrapes Kevin had escaped while serving under Lord Hastings, England’s spymaster. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Only a few knew that Kevin gathered information to pass on to the War Office. Amazing how many secrets the ton bandied about.
Nigel eyed Kevin dubiously, grey eyes shrewd. “A plan, have you? You aren’t exactly known for planning. Besides, what, pray tell, could you possibly plan that could raise the necessary blunt? I thought you’d sworn off gambling. Or did you give in to Safton’s lures?”
He shook off the blow and made himself do nothing more than raise a brow. “Do you think so little of me, Nigel?”
Nigel had the good sense to study his port while answering. “It isn’t a matter of what I think. George Safton is a manipulative, conniving wretch. There’s a good reason the ton calls him the Snake. But you paid little heed to the warnings Giles and I tried to give you, until…” He shifted in his seat, twirling the cut-glass stem of the goblet between long fingers. “Sorry. Unsportsmanlike of me. Never mind.”
“You needn’t fear to say it,” Kevin replied, fingering the black armband and making sure neither of his friends saw what an effort his nonchalance cost him. “If I had listened to either of you, Robbie might still be alive.”
“Oh, Kevin, never say so!” Giles’ blue eyes were wide. “You did what you could. You know I thought quite highly of your brother, but he simply couldn’t turn down a wager. And Safton can’t turn down an easy mark. They were the worst possible combination. But you mustn’t see it as your fault that your brother was led astray.”
“Only that I did part of the leading,” Kevin reminded him. “I paid his debts again and again with no more than a brotherly scold. I even went along with most of their ridiculous schemes.”
“So did half of the ton,” Nigel put in. “You have to give them this: They were an entertaining pair.”
“Until the very end,” Giles agreed, but he shuddered again.
“You don’t have to wrap it up in clean linen, gentlemen,” Kevin insisted. “I have nothing to say in my own defense. I’ve been an idiot and a dastard. I’ve lost my only brother, nearly ruined our family name, and have run myself nicely into dun territory. In short, I’ve made a mess of my life, and now I have the ignominious pleasure of trying to get myself out of it.”
“Which you’ll do with style and wit,” Giles assured him.
Kevin spread his hands. “Is there any other way?”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Nigel grumbled. “You said you had a plan. Will you tell us about it, or not?”
Giles suddenly looked worried. “You didn’t apply to those advertisements in The Times, did you, Kevin? I shouldn’t think a gentleman could find suitable work that way.”
“You’d be surprised what one can find in The Times,” Kevin told him. “Unfortunately, all the responses I received indicated that there was nothing for which a failed Corinthian is suitable. You would hardly hire me for a companion, and I’m far past the appropriate age for an apprentice in any trade.”
“And your friend Lord Hastings?” Nigel put in with more delicacy then he was usually capable.
So Nigel knew that much. Kevin shook his head. “His lordship understands my need to leave his service. He’s encouraged me to find a bride, not realizing the extent of my indebtedness. And it isn’t as if there would be much more for me to do what with Napoleon being exiled to Elba.” He shrugged. “Of course, I can always work below stairs. I’d make a strapping footman, don’t you think?”
This time both Nigel and Giles shuddered.
“Never fear, gentlemen,” Kevin told them in consolation. “I have decided on a less onerous approach.” He felt sure enough of himself to grin at both his friends, pausing dramatically until he was certain he had their full attention.
“Gentlemen, I plan to sell the last asset I own—myself. I will marry an heiress.”
Giles choked on his port. Nigel gaped, but was the first to recover.
“Nonsense,” he said with a snort.
“Oh, I say, a poor joke, Kev,” Giles seconded, mopping wine from the broad front of his linen shirt with a handkerchief. He stopped his ablutions long enough to peer up at his friend. “Are you foxed?”
Kevin’s grin widened. “Not in the slightest. I know exactly what I’m about.”
“Can’t be done,” Nigel proclaimed. “Too much against you.”
“Such as?” Kevin challenged.
Nigel ticked his reasons off on his fingers. “One—you’ve no title, which the papas of most heiresses hang out for. Two—you’ve no fortune or estates, although I admit you had a respected family name, if they do not count this recent business. Three—it’s becoming increasing well known you’ve been living beyond your blunt, not to mention your fondness for gaming, boxing, and racing. Four—”
“That’s quite enough,” Kevin said with a laugh, holding up his hands in surrender. “Your logic is flawless. I have only two small credits to counter your long list of debits. I understand the ladies consider me to be reasonably kind on the eyes, and I have been told I possess a certain amount of charm.”
Nigel snorted again. Giles cocked his head thoughtfully. Kevin held his smile as they both looked at him with appraising eyes.
He knew the image he presented. At six feet, two inches tall, he towered over both of them, as well as most of the other men in his class. Unlike the thoroughly round Giles or the endlessly angular Nigel, his shoulders were broad enough, his waist narrow enough, and his legs powerful enough to carry off the latest fashion of cutaway coats and skin-tight breeches with polished style. His practices at Jackson’s, although less frequent of late, guaranteed his muscular build. He had heard the rumor that his shock of honey-gold hair, which curled in natural artistic disarray, had once caused Lord Byron to sack his valet when that poor fellow failed to match it.
His eyes were a deep, warm shade of blue that seemed to invite the ladies to look closer and offer confidences. He thought his high cheekbones, long nose, and slightly pointed chin lent his face character when he was solemn, and they certainly seemed to encourage others to grin along with him when he was pleased. Besides, good looks aside, he had a ready wit and an easy grace. Until the incident with his brother, most of his friends would have called him ea
sygoing by nature, which had made him the first person on many a hostess’ guest list. Of course, it was that easygoing nature that had landed him in the fix he was in, but he steadfastly pushed that thought aside.
“He has you there,” Giles was saying with a nod to Nigel. “Devilishly attractive, that’s our Kevin. Seen many a gel swoon at his feet.”
Kevin flicked a speck of lint off the lapel of his black evening coat, trying not to show his relief that his friends’ assessments matched his own. “Well, perhaps not swoon,” he demurred with just the right amount of humility.
“I still say it takes more than good looks and a ready wit to sway an heiress,” Nigel insisted.
Giles had clearly been won over. “Have you picked the gel yet, Kev?”
Kevin rose and wandered to the mirror near the door of his small suite of rooms and made himself busy retying his cravat. He hadn’t expected them to be won over quite this quickly. Perhaps his plan wasn’t as lack-witted as he had feared. Or his time serving secretly for Lord Hastings had made him a better actor than he had thought.
The true test, however, would be their assessment of the woman he had chosen to pursue. He knew he’d have to face them sooner or later and decided the time might as well be now. “Yes, I’ve identified my objective, though I doubt either of you will approve.”
“Fanny Brighton is tolerable,” Giles offered.
“If you don’t mind a laugh like a horse,” Nigel complained. “Besides, she wouldn’t have you. I have it on good authority that no less than a duke may be offering for her quite soon.”
“Evalina Turnpeth, then,” Giles suggested.
“Rusticating in the country until the summer,” Nigel replied.
“What about that cit Sir John nearly wed?”
“A cit!” Nigel exploded. “Are you mad?” He threw back the last of his port.
Giles sank lower in his chair.