“We all do things we regret, my lady.” The husky words came from Mrs. Kent, who sat with her husband on an adjacent loveseat. “You were working in service of your country, and in a time of war, right is not always clear from wrong—”
“It is to my husband. Blackwood is an honorable man and knows nothing of my true past. He thinks that I come from a good family, that I was raised abroad until I returned to London that Season when we met. But I’ve lied to him from the start. From the very beginning, I’ve deceived Blackwood,”—Pompeia’s voice cracked—“and he will never be able to forgive me.”
Silence blanketed the room. Gabriel thought Pompeia’s assessment was dead on. Chances were slim that her husband—that any man—could forgive such deception.
“When did the Spectre first contact you?” Kent said quietly.
Pompeia’s face was bone-white. “Two months ago. An unmarked letter appeared at the top of my correspondence, and I recall opening it at breakfast. I could hardly fathom what I was seeing: Spectre’s code and handwriting in front of me… as Blackwood sat not three feet away.” Her lips gave a betraying tremble. “The letter named names from my past and threatened to expose me if I didn’t bring five thousand pounds to a park near Russell Square three days later.”
“You gave the blackmailer money?” Gabriel said.
“A sapphire bracelet to be precise. I didn’t have that sort of money lying around and couldn’t raise it without Blackwood noticing. But I wasn’t about to be bled dry. I went that day prepared to silence our old foe if need be,” she said with the ruthlessness he remembered, “but the Spectre never showed. He sent a street urchin to collect, and I tried to follow him, but my skills had gone rusty. The sprat lost me in the rookery.” Her lips twisted. “When I received the second blackmail note, I was informed that my disregard of the instructions would cost me. For this next payment, he demanded ten thousand dollars. That is why I had to give him the necklace.”
“Forgive me for asking,” the duchess said, “but wouldn’t Lord Blackwood notice the absence of such expensive jewelry?”
“I had replicas made to wear. High quality glass. My husband is generous but not a connoisseur of jewels,” Pompeia said dully.
“But the Spectre didn’t get the necklace today.” Thea nibbled her lower lip. “How will you prevent him from following through on his threat?”
Helplessness glimmered in Pompeia’s eyes even as her hands balled. “I don’t know. But I would do anything—anything at all—to protect my husband from my past.”
“We will help you,” Thea said.
What?
“We have a common enemy, after all, and thus would benefit from working together,” she went on brightly. “Don’t you agree, Tremont?”
“No,” he said.
The fact that he had a twinge of sympathy for Pompeia didn’t mean that he trusted her. Even if he believed that she wasn’t the Spectre, years of antipathy didn’t vanish in an instant. He couldn’t forget that her actions had indirectly led to the fiasco in Normandy. To his torture and the death of Marius.
As if reading his thoughts, Pompeia said coolly, “You never were the trusting type, were you, Trajan?”
“I prefer to stay alive,” he said.
Pompeia rose. Good manners prompted the men in the room to follow.
“You’re the one who brought me here,” she said in biting tones. “I never asked for your interference. I can handle the Spectre myself.”
“No, you can’t,” Thea said.
Precisely. Gabriel couldn’t agree more. Even though he didn’t trust Pompeia, he didn’t want her off on her own, potentially scaring off the true prey. It was best to keep her under close watch.
“And neither can Tremont,” Thea added.
He scowled at her. “I bloody can and will.”
“Is it a rule of espionage that agents must be stubborn?” she said mildly. “The fact is that the both of you need to work together in order to capture this spymaster.”
“My sister is right,” Kent said. “My agency is here to assist, of course, but in this room the two of you are the experts on the Spectre. My lady, do you know his true identity?”
“I have only suspicions.” Exhaling, Pompeia said, “I believe him to be one of ours. That is the only way he would have access to information pertaining to my past activities.”
“Octavian found proof of the same thing. The Spectre was a double agent and one of the Quorum,” Gabriel said flatly.
Her throat rippled as if she were trying to digest the unpalatable piece of information. The telltale sign suggested that she was telling the truth. That she’d been betrayed just like him.
Her gaze thinned. “So if neither one of us is the Spectre…”
“Then we’ve narrowed the field down considerably, haven’t we?” he said coolly.
Thea beamed at both of them. “Then why don’t we put our heads together and capture the villain?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thea was relieved at the group’s reception of Lady Blackwood. From the nodding of their heads and their looks of concern, Thea could tell that Ambrose and Emma believed the marchioness’ story. Thea sensed that even Gabriel was thawing toward his former comrade… although one would be hard pressed to tell from his demeanor.
He’d once again donned his mask of stoicism. Thea was beginning to see how a career in espionage might have shaped that particular tendency for Lady Blackwood, too, had retreated behind a façade of jaded sophistication. To Thea, the two ex-agents treated each other warily, like alley cats ready to attack if either encroached on the other’s territory.
Emma rang for refreshments, and Thea made her selection from the silver tiers of sandwiches and pastries before sitting next to Gabriel on the couch. He was summarizing the details of the chase through Covent Garden, concluding with the mysterious shooter who’d saved his life.
“You didn’t get a look at him?” Ambrose asked.
Gabriel shook his head. “I saw what might have been the tail of a black greatcoat. It happened too quickly. Whoever he was, he simply vanished.”
“Like a ghost,” Thea murmured.
“Do you think it was the Spectre?” Lady Blackwood’s violet gaze narrowed. “Silencing his own courier? If so, why didn’t he just shoot you instead?”
The thought of Gabriel being that close to harm churned Thea’s belly. He, however, treated his brush with death with utter sangfroid.
“A good question,” he said. “He had a clear shot. If he meant to kill me, I’d be dead.”
“Then we must conclude that whoever this stranger was, he meant to save you. It appears you have a secret benefactor,” Ambrose said. “A friend who wishes to remain anonymous.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “I can’t think of who that might be.”
“Then I suggest we start with the facts we do know and work from there,” Ambrose said. “First, we know that the Spectre is after money. His blackmailing of Lady Blackwood is proof of this. It might also explain why he auctioned off Tremont’s blade.”
“So our suspect has a monetary motive,” Strathaven said with a nod. “What do we know about the financials of Heath and Davenport?”
“From what we’ve gathered, neither appear to be short of funds,” Ambrose admitted.
“The Davenports spend lavishly,” Marianne added, “and Heath inherited a fortune from an uncle—who was in coal, I believe.”
Mulling over the matter, Thea said, “At this point, the Spectre must fear being discovered. Perhaps he is stockpiling money so that he can flee.”
“An excellent point, Miss Kent.” Gabriel’s brows rose.
She heard and saw his surprise. Clearly, it would take time for him to get accustomed to the fact that she meant to be a true partner to him—the way Marianne was to Ambrose and Emma to Strathaven. What little she knew about Gabriel’s past led her to believe that his reluctance to involve her wasn’t because he saw her as weak; it was because he wasn’t u
sed to having support of any kind. Certainly, he hadn’t received much growing up, and from what she’d gleaned, his marriage hadn’t been as ideal as everyone had supposed.
Was it any wonder that trusting didn't come easily for Gabriel?
Yet a relationship without trust was nothing. Thea felt a frisson of anxiety—and pushed it aside. He said he wanted trust to be part of our marriage. Over time, he’ll come to trust me.
Aloud, she said, “If he is indeed desperate for money, then he will likely contact Lady Blackwood again.” She turned to the marchioness. “Your secret may be safe until he gets what he wants.”
Lady Blackwood gave a tight nod.
“If he does contact you, my lady, you must let us know,” Ambrose said. “Blackmail only begets more blackmail. The only surefire way to stop the Spectre is to capture him.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to keep my secret.” Menace infused her words.
Gabriel turned to Mr. McLeod. “Have you anything to report on the other suspects?”
“Aye.” The Scot gulped down his tea before continuing. “Our ongoing reconnaissance corroborates that Heath’s a loaded cannon. His opium habit doesn’t help his stability. Our man Cooper infiltrated a meeting of rabble-rousers that Heath attends regularly. The topic of gunpowder came up.”
“The same weapon used in the attack on Tremont,” Ambrose said grimly.
“Aye. But according to Cooper, there’s no proof that the radicals have actually gotten their hands on any explosives. Mostly they just drink too much and run off at the gob.” McLeod popped a ham and watercress triangle into his mouth, chewing vigorously.
“Should we pay Heath a visit and question him?” Ambrose said.
“No,” Lady Blackwood said.
“Why not?” Thea asked.
“Tiberius is high-strung and spooks easily. If he scents danger, he’s going to run like a fox and then we’ll never find him.” She shook her head. “I say you wait. Continue to follow him. The minute you have solid proof of anything, you close in.”
“Tremont?” Ambrose said.
Gabriel gave a curt nod. “She’s right. We’ll have to keep monitoring him.”
“That leaves Cicero—Lord Davenport.” Ambrose sighed. “Now he’s a different breed altogether. We’ve tailed him for days, and his worse offense was a half-day visit to Bond Street while Parliament was in session. He’s either innocent or the most careful blighter alive.”
“If his speeches in the House of Lords are any indication, he is indeed a master of evasion,” Strathaven said wryly.
“So a head-on approach won’t work with him either, will it?” Thea said.
“He’d talk circles around us if we tried to interrogate him,” Gabriel said. “We’ll have to find another way to get proof.”
“As it happens, I have a plan.”
All eyes turned to Lady Blackwood.
“His wife holds a monthly luncheon for the charity she heads,” the marchioness went on. “The next one takes place tomorrow. I will attend and use the opportunity to search Davenport’s private domain.”
“But won’t Lord Davenport be suspicious if you show up?” Thea asked.
“I’ve done reconnaissance. Ladies who’ve attended the luncheon in the past say that he is never present. The Davenports are a fashionable couple and do not live in each other’s pockets.”
“It would be difficult for you to conduct a thorough search on your own. I’ll go with you,” Emma offered.
“Me too,” Thea said.
“The hell you will,” Gabriel and Strathaven growled in unison.
Emma sighed. “Now, darling, we’ve been through this before—”
“This is different. This is a murderer we’re talking about,” the duke said. “If you think I’m going to permit you to march alone into the lion’s den—”
“Emma won’t be alone. I’ll be there,” Thea said, “and Lady Blackwood too. We’ll have power in numbers.”
“Out of the question,” Gabriel grated out. “This plan is far too dangerous.”
“Not really. Lady Davenport’s luncheon is in the middle of the day, and Davenport won’t even be at home,” Thea said in reasonable tones. “We’ll be with a houseful of society ladies—what could possibly happen to us with all those witnesses? On the off chance that a servant finds me in Davenport’s study, I’ll just say I got lost.”
“I always say that I was looking for the retiring room,” Em put in. “In my experience, that prevents further questioning by footmen.”
Thea made mental note of her sister’s advice.
“I forbid it,” Strathaven said.
Emma’s chin angled up. Tension thickened in the room. The rustle of jonquil silk interrupted the silent standoff.
“I’ll take my leave before this gets bloody,” Lady Blackwood drawled. “Let me know what you decide. Even if it’s a last minute decision, you’ll still be guaranteed entrée.”
“Why is that?” Thea asked.
“Millicent Davenport is a snob who married above herself. She’s the daughter of George Clemens, one of London’s most brilliant legal minds but a solicitor nonetheless. Millicent’s most cherished ambition is to leave her roots behind. To have the opportunity to host a duchess at her luncheon?” Lady Blackwood gave Emma a pitying look. “She’ll be on you like a vine on a trellis, Your Grace.”
“That could be useful. Emma could distract Lady Davenport,” Thea said brightly, “while I search Cicero’s study.”
“You’re not going,” Gabriel said.
In soothing tones, Thea said, “We’ll talk about it later.”
“We can discuss it until hell freezes over, and you’re still not going.”
Thea decided to ignore him for now and talk to him later—in private.
“Let me see you to the door, Lady Blackwood,” she said instead.
In the foyer, she lay a hand on the marchioness’ arm. Beneath the other’s nonchalance, she sensed an agitated spirit.
“All will be well,” she said. “You’ll see.”
The lady’s smile was bleak. “I wish I had your faith. Unfortunately, reality has been my religion for far too long.”
“You are not alone in this. We’re here to help you, my lady.”
“Given everything you know about me, you might as well call me Pandora.” The raven-haired beauty studied her a moment, then said quietly, “Why do you wish to help me?”
“Because you are innocent. And you deserve justice,” Thea said in surprise.
The other’s violet eyes glimmered. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me innocent before. Even if it is not true,” she said, her voice catching, “I thank you for believing it.”
“But it is true. You mustn’t lose hope, Pandora.”
“Hope?” For an instant, the mask slid from the other’s face, and what lay underneath caused Thea’s heart to constrict. “My dear, that is the least of which I have to lose.”
Before she could reply, the marchioness slipped out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
On her way back to the study, Thea was waylaid by her sister.
Emma pulled her into the empty dining room and closed the door. “Have you and Tremont come to an understanding?” she said without preamble.
Thea squirmed. “I can’t talk about it yet.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“I promised Tremont that I wouldn’t say anything until after the Spectre is caught.”
“If he doesn’t want the world to know, then he shouldn’t act as if he has rights over you,” Emma pointed out. “His manner in the study was dashed proprietary, if you ask me.”
“He’s just being protective. He doesn’t want me to get hurt.” Thea bit her lip. “That’s also why he doesn’t want to make an engagement official until the villain is captured. He’s afraid whomever is after him will target me as well.”
“I suppose he gets points for that,” her sister said in grudging tones. “But Thea, ar
e you absolutely certain about your feelings for him? That he is the husband you want?”
Yes, he was—with the exception of his aversion to love. But she wasn’t about to bring up that topic with her overprotective sister.
“I’m certain,” she said.
Emma studied her for a moment. Sighed. “That’s that, then.”
“Would you do me a favor, Em?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I need to speak with Tremont in private, to convince him to let me go with Pandora,” Thea said in a rush. “Her plan to infiltrate the Davenports’ home could provide the key to solving this mystery.”
“I agree. And Tremont’s not the only who needs to be convinced. I have my work cut out for me with His Grace.” Emma huffed out a breath.
“You’ll help me then?”
“If I don’t help you,” her sister said wryly, “you’ll just go about this pell-mell on your own.”
Thea’s cheeks warmed. “Mama and Papa said we must follow our hearts.”
“Well, yours can lead you to the library. I’ll see to it that you and Tremont are undisturbed. Seeing as you’re practically engaged, I suppose I can turn a blind eye for a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Thea said. “For helping me—and especially for helping Tremont.”
Emma squeezed her hand. “What are sisters for? I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
I hope so, too, she thought.
***
In the library, Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest.
“There’s nothing further to talk about. Pompeia’s plan is rife with danger,” he said.
Had he ever thought of Thea as fragile, weak? Despite her dainty appearance, she faced him like a warrior princess, battle light in her hazel eyes. Just looking at her stirred his blood.
“This is a charity luncheon, for goodness’ sake. Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“Forget it,” he said. “You’re not going.”
Her chin lifted. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I can, and I will.”
“We’re not even officially engaged. You have no rights over me.”
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