Love and Let Spy

by Shana Galen

  Griffyn didn’t bother to respond, but Jane smiled. It might not have been conventional treatment, but when she’d kissed Griffyn, she hadn’t noticed the rest of the world. He’d made the stitches bearable.

  “What is the dashed man going on about now?” Melbourne asked.

  “Nothing,” she answered. Moneypence moaned and rubbed his head. The poor man still refused to look at her, and his face was red with humiliation.

  “Here.” Her uncle removed his cape and draped it over her. “That ought to save me from having to unearth the smelling salts. Moneypence, send for Baron. I have a feeling we will need him before this night is through.” He nodded to Griffyn, who assisted the clerk to his feet. “Go with him.”

  “He might as well stay,” Jane said. “He already knows everything I’m going to tell you. If you send him out, he might find out something else we don’t want him to know.”

  Her uncle glared at her. “We don’t want him to know about Foncé and the Maîtriser group.” He made his way to his desk, while Moneypence dashed out the door with his head down. Poor Moneypence.

  “There are other sensitive cases,” Jane said. “And I’m afraid we have a bigger problem.”

  Melbourne gave her a look that almost made her change her mind about telling him. She ran her gaze over him, realizing he looked older than she remembered, and haggard. His expression was one of resignation and…dare she think it? Defeat. But she was an agent before she was his niece, and she knew what she had to do.

  “Foncé knows about you.”

  Melbourne’s face went blank, almost as though he had wiped it clean of expression. “How do you know?”

  “Viking told me. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”

  Her uncle sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “I figured as much. He didn’t check in. You spoke to him before he died?”

  “Wait a moment,” Griffyn interrupted. “A man is dead, and you two dismiss it in a matter of seconds?”

  Melbourne’s gaze locked on his. “We don’t have time to mourn him. He wouldn’t have wanted our grief, in any case. He knew the risks.”

  “And what if it had been your niece killed tonight? Would you have been as cold, as callous?”

  “Griffyn,” she began, but she didn’t press. A part of her wanted to know, had always wondered if she was any different to Melbourne than the other agents.

  “I’d mourn her privately, and do my job publicly. As I will with Viking.”

  “I can’t be a part of this,” Griffyn said.

  “It’s too late for that,” Jane said.

  Griffyn looked at her, and she felt her breath catch. It was such a dark look, so full of danger and mystery. She was not afraid of danger, but there was something in the mystery that made her uneasy. She should have kept her distance from him. She should have built up her defenses, plugged the chinks in her armor, called in the archers and the cauldrons of boiling tar. All she had was a dry moat and a weak drawbridge—scant protection against such a dangerous foe, especially one she rather wanted to conquer her.

  She turned back to her uncle. “As I said, Foncé knows about you. Viking wasn’t able to elaborate. I don’t know if the Maîtriser group knows where you live or where the offices are or if I’m your niece. But he has come for you this time.”

  Melbourne said nothing. He rested his chin on his closed fist and considered. His eyes were cold, and his silence a bit unnerving, but she didn’t interrupt. She had her own ideas as to how to proceed, but she would wait until consulted. If she were consulted.

  “London isn’t safe. We must close the town house for the remainder of the Season.”

  Jane nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion.

  Melbourne continued. “Viking did not say Foncé knew the location of headquarters, only that he knew me. I can stay here. I should be safe enough underground.”

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  “No.” Melbourne shook his head and glanced at Griffyn. Jane frowned, not liking that glance. “Your identity is compromised—”

  “And Foncé hasn’t seen Baron and Wolf and Saint? We have no reason to suspect he knows I’m your niece.”

  “I give the orders here, Bonde,” Melbourne said, and she closed her mouth. She wasn’t going to like what came next, but she knew who was the leader of the Barbican group. “You’ll go with your aunt, protect her, watch to see if Foncé follows, and take a few days to heal.”

  She didn’t speak. It was worse than she’d thought.

  “You cannot go somewhere Foncé could trace you. That means we must send you somewhere he won’t suspect.” Melbourne looked at Griffyn again. “I will pen a note to Lady Edgeberry, begging the use of Edgeberry’s estate in Richmond.”

  Griffyn started visibly. Before he could object, Jane did. “Uncle, no! We should not involve Mr. Griffyn or Lord and Lady Edgeberry any further.”

  “That will be difficult once your betrothal is announced. However, we may be able to put that off until after we’ve taken Foncé into custody.”

  She felt beads of perspiration form on her back and had to stop herself from breathing too shallowly. The rapid motion would hurt her already throbbing wound. How had this happened? How had she been all but pushed into an engagement with Griffyn? Given time, she might have found a way to avoid marriage—convince her uncle it was unnecessary, or persuade Lady Edgeberry she was not a suitable match for her son. But the more time she spent with Griffyn, the more likely an engagement and subsequent marriage. “Surely I should stay in Town. Perhaps my aunt could go alone.”

  “You are injured. I want you safely away from here so you will fully recover.” Her uncle gave her a long, determined look. Jane sighed. She was out of options. That did not mean she had given in, but she would have to formulate exit rather than avoidance strategies.

  “You are forgetting one key point, Lord Melbourne,” Griffyn said quietly. She’d almost forgotten he was in the room. When he spoke now, she turned at the hint of anger in his voice.

  “What is that, Mr. Griffyn?” Melbourne asked. Jane felt a chill race down her spine. She knew that look. She’d seen it in the card room at one too many balls. Her uncle had not yet played his winning hand.

  “You speak of betrothals, but I have not asked Miss Bonde to marry me.”

  Jane was tempted to look at Griffyn as he said this. After all, it was not every day a man discussed marriage with her. She did not dare move her gaze from her uncle. She wanted to see his expression if and when he betrayed his secret—whatever it was he was holding in reserve.

  “You have my permission to ask her, if that is what you wait upon.”

  Jane couldn’t stop herself from cutting her gaze to Griffyn. He certainly was not waiting for permission to ask her. His face revealed nothing, though she would wager a fortune he was furious. He would have made a good spy. Even some of the best agents could not hide anger.

  “I don’t know what game you are playing, my lord, but I will not be a pawn. I am not asking Miss Bonde to be my wife, nor will I support a visit by her and Lady Melbourne at Kenham Hall. I’ll take my leave.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Melbourne said. “I was left with the impression that Lord Edgeberry has had enough of your wild ways. And now matters have progressed to the point where I insist you ask my niece to marry you, or we meet on a field at dawn.”

  Jane laughed. “Ha! And when have you ever cared about my virtue, Uncle? Or, for that matter, my minor injuries?”

  Melbourne didn’t deny or contradict. He merely gave her that same steely glare. “I mean what I say, Jane.”

  “You would issue a challenge?” Griffyn asked. To his credit, he still sounded confident. The silence in the room lengthened. Her uncle was a master at the use of silence. Right now, Griffyn was going over every encounter they’d had and wondering if Melbourne knew of
it. If Jane actually thought her uncle cared about her more intimate relationships, she would have been doing the same. But she knew he turned a blind eye. And he’d sent her in the field with more serious wounds than she possessed now. Why the sudden protectiveness?

  She was beginning to think this banishment and this marriage was not for her sake at all, but her uncle’s attempt to hide something. His liaison with Lady Edgeberry? Was he that desperate to keep a love affair from the past hidden? Surely he must know he could trust his niece, his best operative, not to betray his confidence. So perhaps it was something more, something he feared Jane would discover if she remained in Town. But what?

  “I have been nothing but a gentleman to your niece. If there was any impropriety in my being alone with her tonight, I assure you it was only out of concern for her safety. As you see, she is wounded. I would not use her injured state to my advantage.”

  “That is true,” Jane added. “He insisted on accompanying me because he feared for my welfare. Although I told him I did not need his assistance.”

  Griffyn scowled. “And that is why you lie on a couch in a blood-soaked gown. You might be lying in a pool of blood by the river if I had not been there.”

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  “And was Miss Bonde injured at Lord and Lady Smythe’s residence?”

  Jane clamped her mouth closed. How did Melbourne know about that? She had not told him about the visit, and the Smythes had no reason to reveal it. But again, why should he care if she’d kissed Griffyn at Lord and Lady Smythe’s?

  “I’m not certain to what you refer, my lord.”

  Oh, he was good, she thought. Griffyn was very good. Unfortunately, Melbourne was better. Griffyn didn’t realize it, but he was already doomed. They both were.

  “I refer, Mr. Griffyn, to the kiss—a rather extended, quite passionate kiss, from the account I heard—you shared with my niece outside Lord and Lady Smythe’s drawing room.”

  Silence.

  Jane did not dare glance at Griffyn.

  “Do you deny it?” Melbourne asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you not think I have the right to ask your intentions toward my niece after such an embrace?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what are your intentions, sir?” Melbourne rose to his full height and placed his hands palms-down on his desk. This position always intimidated his subordinates. It intimidated her. Interesting that he should use it now.

  Griffyn did not speak. Jane glanced at him, surprised by his silence. He appeared to be weighing his options.

  “And do not tell me it was an innocent kiss, or that it was the only one. I happen to know there were others far less innocent.”

  “Blue,” she muttered. The next time she saw him, she would smash his perfect nose flat. Griffyn was watching her. He probably hadn’t heard her, but he could certainly see in her reaction they were bested. “It’s no use,” she said. And at the moment, she did not care. She was weary of fighting it. She’d been fighting the parson’s mousetrap for years. And really, would marriage to Griffyn be so awful? He already knew her secret, and she wouldn’t mind kissing him again. And again. But if she had to marry Griffyn, she damn well wanted to know why—none of this defending her honor rubbish. What was Melbourne really up to? Could she even still trust her uncle?

  Jane looked at Griffyn and then at her uncle, who for all her doubts looked very serious about his threats. She would see her way to the bottom of this mystery. “Uncle, may Mr. Griffyn and I speak alone for a moment?”

  Melbourne crossed his arms. “Not until there’s a betrothal.”

  “My lord, I am attempting to assist you on that point.”

  “Oh, really?” His eyes reflected merriment. “I rather doubt that, but I will give you five minutes. No more.” He crossed the room, opened the door, and stepped outside.

  “I say we call his bluff,” Griffyn said as soon as the door closed. “He will not ruin his own niece by challenging me to a duel.”

  “Yes, he will. What you fail to understand, Mr. Griffyn, is this visit to Kenham Hall is not about securing our betrothal—although it does solve that problem for him. This is about protecting his wife and the Barbican group from Foncé. Lord Melbourne will do anything to ensure the safety of Lady Melbourne and the group.” And whatever else he was hiding.

  “What about you?”

  “I am part of the Barbican group.”

  “You are his niece, and he threatens you while you lie here covered in blood.”

  The dear man actually looked offended on her account. “This is but a mere scratch,” she said. “But thank you for your concern.” She was not used to such solicitousness.

  Griffyn did not speak for a long moment. She was half-afraid he would not speak again before her uncle returned. Finally he crossed to her. His gait was a bit cocky, but not quite a swagger. And he moved like a man who was confident of himself but wary and careful. He knelt beside her. “You are nothing more than a pawn in your uncle’s game of spies.”

  “Pawn or not, I know this chess game very, very well.”

  He put a finger on her lips, and she instantly felt the room was too warm. “Do you not believe you are more worthy than a pawn in someone’s game of chess? Do you not think you are worthy of your uncle’s love?”

  “Yes, but…” She trailed off, not certain what she would say next. Did she believe she was worthy? She had known she had worth as a spy, but what about as a niece, as a person? She swallowed. Griffyn still hadn’t spoken, and she didn’t know what to say.

  “But?” he prodded. “What of your husband’s love? I don’t love you.”

  “Of course not.” He barely knew her. Why would he love her? And yet the words pierced her very close to her heart. She couldn’t tolerate such softness. “If you propose, we needn’t actually marry. I will find a way out. We may have to cede this battle, but we won’t lose the war. I never lose.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “What is losing in this case?”

  She caught herself before she could make her reply—something to the effect that marrying him would be losing.

  He shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”

  She sat forward and winced at the pain. “But you just admitted you do not love me.” She was at a level with his dark eyes now, and those chiseled cheeks that begged for her to caress them with a finger.

  He shrugged. “There are other reasons to marry.”

  “Such as? Appeasing my uncle and your mother?”

  “To begin. The marquess also wants me to marry. I have an interest in keeping him happy.”

  “So you are not even going to fight?”

  “To what end? If I don’t marry you, I’ll have to marry some other chit.”

  “Chit? Chit!”

  “Believe me,” he went on, ignoring her protest, “I understand the sacrifice you make in aligning yourself with me—the bastard child of an actress.”

  Jane gasped. She didn’t know whether to hit him or hug him. The circumstances of his birth had nothing to do with her objections, and while she wanted to reassure him as much, she also wanted to smack him. He’d called her a chit! As though she was interchangeable with any other girl in London!

  “Before you act on that murderous look, I’d better call your uncle.”

  “No—”

  Griffyn stood and faced the door. “Lord Melbourne, you may come in.”

  The door opened immediately. “Well?”

  “Serve as witness, my lord.” Griffyn faced her, crossed his arms, and glared. “Miss Bonde, will you do me the honor of becoming my…” He swallowed and scowled at her. “Wife?”

  She blinked at him. It was the worst proposal she had ever witnessed. Not that she had witnessed many proposals, but she was certain had she witness
ed a thousand, this would be the worst of the lot. Not that she could blame him if he really thought she cared on which side of the blanket he’d been born. Well, perhaps she could blame him a little. If she was forced to marry him, this was likely to be her only marriage proposal.

  “Jane.” Her uncle’s voice had a warning in it.

  She blew out an angry breath. “Fine. Yes.” Then she glared at her uncle. “I am consenting to a betrothal, not a marriage.”

  “One leads to the other, Jane.”

  Not with that proposal. “We’ll see.” She looked at Griffyn, but he shook his head and turned away.

  ***

  Dominic did not know how it had all happened so quickly. It seemed one moment he was on his way home in the early morning light after a night rife with one too many revelations, and the next he was in a carriage seated across from Lady Melbourne and her niece.

  It had been a day and a night, but already Miss Bonde—he supposed he had the right to call her Jane now—looked much improved. Her color had not fully returned, but she could walk on her own, though slowly, and seemed to be tolerating the ride to Richmond without complaint. Not that he thought she would complain. He could shove a hot poker in her eye and she would rather hit him than admit she was hurt.

  She sat facing forward and staring out the window. Beside her, her aunt was reading a book. It seemed no one wanted idle chitchat today. No one wanted to pretend this was a journey they all looked forward to. The sun peeked out from a cloud, shining its light on Jane’s golden hair. Dominic would have sworn her hair sparkled. And even in the bright sun, he could not detect a freckle or blemish on her skin. She was a little pale, but her lips were a tantalizing shade of pink. It was an innocent shade. A sweet shade. He wanted to kiss her until her lips were wanton red.