by Shana Galen
She looked adorable, wearing only a blanket, with her hair mussed and her lips red and slightly swollen. “Thoroughly.”
She arched a brow. “I have the feeling you rather like it.”
“I will not answer that.”
He did not know if it was deliberate, but her blanket slipped then, revealing the swell of one breast. He swallowed again. God help him, but he wanted her again. He hadn’t realized that the act could be like that, that there was more than the simple release. So much more. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to forget about the past. He might be able to begin again. Perhaps if he concentrated on how lovely his betrothed looked in only a thin blanket.
Perhaps if he concentrated on removing that blanket… Then he might keep the past at bay. He might even forget it one day and begin again.
“I suppose if I am not to look debauched, I must dress,” Jane said, looking about at her discarded clothing. “I do not have much time. I could use your assistance.”
He shook his head. “I will fetch Miss Qwillen. I know nothing about women’s clothing.”
“This could be your opportunity to learn.”
Not if she actually needed to put clothing on. He backed toward the door and started for Q’s lab.
Closer to a half hour later, Jane emerged, looking fresh and pretty and perfectly innocent. No one would guess she had been tied to the bed for his pleasure just under their feet. And thank God her uncle had not seen her thus.
“Are you ready?” she asked Dominic as Q stepped out behind her.
“I was not summoned.”
“Rubbish,” she told him. “You need to know the latest intelligence as much as I do. Q? Are you coming?”
Q yawned. “No. I have worked all night to make the specifications Baron requested to his pistol. He should be able to prime it even faster than before. You still have the quill?”
Jane patted her reticule, and Dominic sighed. He’d forgotten the exploding quill. It would be a miracle if they all survived.
“Good. I have done all I can then. Be careful, Bonde.”
“I always am.”
“And kill that bastard Foncé.”
Jane smiled. “You know I will.”
Dominic shook his head. That was the strangest conversation between two ladies he had ever heard, but nothing since the night he’d met Jane had been ordinary. He did not think anything in his life would ever be ordinary again.
He escorted Jane to the upper floor and to the threshold of Melbourne’s office. He could overhear voices inside, both male and female. He still thought it wisest to wait outside, but she pulled him in with her. The room quieted when they entered, but Jane ignored the stares and silence and led him to the only available seat. It was an armchair. She took it, leaving him to stand beside it.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said.
Melbourne made some sort of growl, and the man standing beside his desk raised a brow in amusement. The man had remarkable blue eyes, and Dominic almost wondered if they could possibly be real.
“I would introduce everyone,” Jane said, “but we are spies, and that is sort of against the rules.”
But Dominic already knew Wolf and Saint, Lord and Lady Smythe, and of course he knew Lord and Lady Keating from the night before. He did not know the man with the blue eyes or any of the other men standing in the shadows, but Dominic did not wish to know them. At times, the less one knew, the better.
“When you interrupted,” Melbourne said, eyeing Jane, who looked absorbed in examining her nails, “Blue was telling us the latest intelligence.”
It was not difficult to ascertain who Blue might be. He was the man with the vivid blue eyes. “I thought Blue had retired,” Lady Smythe said.
Blue cocked his head. “And we all thought you would have had that baby by now, but you are still here.”
“Touché,” Lord Keating remarked.
“In any case,” Blue said, “I am retired, which makes it even more remarkable that it was I who overheard the latest intelligence and not one of you.”
“You are a lodestone for intelligence,” Lady Keating said. “It falls into your lap as though it were a wounded bird.”
“It rather does, doesn’t it? In any case, I overheard a conversation—I won’t bore you with details—M knows them—that seemed to indicate Foncé has plans to assassinate a large group of important personages.”
“I assumed his target was still the prince regent,” Lord Smythe remarked.
“As did I, but it appears he has expanded his diabolical plans,” Blue said. “He has a scheme in place. I do not know when it will be executed, but my impression was that we—you, rather—have no time to waste.”
A rumbling of voices moved through the room, and Blue sauntered to the couch and sat beside Lady Smythe. Dominic had to admit she did look close to bursting. Finally, Melbourne lifted his hand, and the room quieted. “Thoughts?”
“He could be planning anything,” one man said. “I do not know where to begin.”
“I think it might be a ploy to distract us from the real target,” another man interrupted. “I do not think we should take our focus from the prince regent.”
“We need more information,” Lord Smythe said, “if we are to formulate any organized plan of attack.”
“And we can discuss it all day,” Jane said quietly. Dominic noted everyone looked at her, and silence descended. “But what we really need is action.”
“A spy after my own heart,” Lady Smythe murmured.
“If Blue is correct—and when has Blue ever been incorrect?—Foncé plans to kill a large group of important people. Well, where is it large groups of important people gather?”
“The theater,” Blue said.
“Vauxhall Gardens,” a man suggested.
“Hyde Park.”
“At one of the balls.”
“At Almack’s.”
“Or one of the gentleman’s clubs,” Lord Smythe added.
“Good work, Bonde,” Melbourne said. “I suggest we divide and conquer.” He began to assign the agents to various locations.
“Mr. Griffyn and I will take Hyde Park,” Jane said, standing.
“No. You two will stay here,” her uncle instructed her. “Go to the Dungeon and review the files on the Maîtriser group.”
“My lord—” Jane protested, but at his stern look, Jane clamped her lips closed. Her murderous expression said what she did not. She whirled and started for the door with the other agents. Dominic followed, but Melbourne stepped in front of him.
Jane turned “My lord, now what are you—”
Melbourne closed the door on his niece’s protests and turned to look Dominic in the eye. “Do not think because I’m allowing you to stay here that I have forgotten your obligation to my niece.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
“If you even think of crying off, I will see you charged with a crime of high treason. When you are drawn and quartered, I’ll stand close enough so that your blood spatters on my coat.”
Dominic winced at the image of his intestines outside his body and Melbourne’s red-splattered face. “I understand your concern, my lord.”
“Good.”
“I have every intention of making Jane my wife.” The words caused his heart to slide into his belly, but he could ignore the feeling of nausea for the moment.
“See that you do.” Melbourne turned back to his desk, and Dominic realized he’d been dismissed. And still, he stood rooted in place.
“Jane tells me you knew my mother.”
Melbourne looked up from the stack of papers before him. With a sigh, he poured a glass of whatever amber liquid the decanter behind him held. “Sometimes, Griffyn, having a spy for a niece is a curse. Yes. I knew your mother.” He lifted the decanter
as though offering it, but Dominic shook his head. He rarely drank anything stronger than wine with dinner anymore. He’d tried to drown the past with spirits for years and found it only dragged him deeper into the nightmares.
“I don’t remember you.”
Melbourne shook his head. “We never met. Your mother had recently become involved with the Marquess of Edgeberry, and she needed help with a difficult situation.”
Dominic could only imagine the sorts of situations in which his mother had found herself embroiled.
“She wanted a favor from you.”
“She did. I don’t know how she found me, but I could hardly refuse her.”
“She asked you to make an investigation go away.”
Melbourne narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about it?”
He knew everything about it. He would never forget that night, and he had always wondered why his mother had not been hanged. There could be little question she had murdered… Dominic could not even think his name without revulsion. And so Melbourne had saved his mother and saved him as well. “I know I owe you a debt,” Dominic said.
“Do you? Time and again I have wondered if I should not have allowed her to face the consequences for her act, no matter what provoked it. I wondered it again recently when she threatened to reveal our relationship to Lady Melbourne if Jane did not marry you.”
“I don’t think she would have done it.”
Melbourne raised his brows. “If you think that, you do not know your mother very well. She will do anything to achieve her aims. Even murder.”
“You’re wrong,” Dominic said. “About her and about me. I will do my best to make Jane happy.”
“You will make her excessively happy.” Melbourne lowered himself into his chair and looked Dominic straight in the eye. “You have no other choice.”
***
Finally M’s door opened, and Jane pounced on Dominic. “What happened?”
“We came to an agreement about your future happiness.”
Oh, cryptic, cryptic answer. What did it mean? Was he pleased? Displeased? She could not read his expression.
“He cannot force you to marry me.”
“It is not force if I agree to it.”
Her throat seemed to close, and slowly she forced air back into her lungs. But was his agreement freely given, or would he marry her and grow to resent her?
And with Foncé free and threatening England, she hardly had time to worry about such personal, seemingly inconsequential matters. Jane looked around at her fellow agents talking quietly in small groups or reviewing documents. “We had better begin our research. There are quite a few documents pertaining to the Maîtriser group.”
“And those are in the Dungeon?”
She nodded. “I promise it is not as awful as it sounds.”
Unlike most other agents of the Barbican group, Jane did not hate the Dungeon. The official name for the Dungeon was the Records Room. She actually rather enjoyed the Records Room and its rows and rows of files and documents. She’d often found illuminating information here, and considered the agent who served as the records keeper one of the most valuable members of the Barbican group.
Every agent feared being taken off assignment for some muddle or other and being sent to the Records Room as punishment. Rumor was some agents had been consigned to the Records Room indefinitely and had never been seen again. Thus, the name Dungeon had come into use.
Jane led Dominic into the Dungeon now. She had chosen a lamp from the selection outside the door, lit it, and held it aloft while she shoved the heavy stone door to the Dungeon open. Or at least she intended to shove it open. Dominic pushed her aside and completed the task for her.
The Dungeon was as black as coal. Nothing flammable was allowed to remain burning without supervision. The stone room was seemingly endless, so it was possible someone was inside and the light from his lamp was not visible, but Jane did not think so. Everyone was looking for Foncé or preparing their strategy. She stepped inside, her boots echoing on the stone floor.
“What is this place?” Dominic asked.
“We keep records here.” She shoved the door closed. “I think at one time it was a crypt, but as long as I have been here, it has been used for records storage. The entire room is stone, which makes it relatively immune to fire, and therefore the files are safer.”
“You have a file to show me?”
She looked at him, increasingly aware that they were alone together. She had so often been alone with men, but she never thought anything of it. Now the air seemed charged with heat. Dominic’s eyes were dark and exotic, and when he focused his attention on her with those Gypsy eyes, she found it difficult to think or breathe or…do anything but look back at him.
He raised a brow, and she realized she had not responded. “A file on the Maîtriser group. I hope it doesn’t scare you away.”
His mouth curved slightly, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You are not the only one not easily frightened.”
She shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. Heat flooded through her, and her legs felt inordinately heavy. “The files we want are this way.” She waved at him to follow her and led him down one of the center aisles, marked with the letter K. Shelves towered above them on both sides, bowing with the weight of containers filled with documents. Each shelf had a string of numbers, and one had to consult the key book to find the appropriately numbered shelf for the topic of interest. She glanced idly at one of the numbers, reading K7865398. If she remembered correctly, this aisle contained information on poisons and the royal family of Russia.
The system made little sense, but no one was brave enough to challenge the ancient records keeper. He might suggest the agent reorganize.
After several minutes passed, Dominic cleared his throat. “Exactly where are you taking me? The Americas?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Large, isn’t it?”
“Massive. We could become lost. Hell, we are probably already lost.”
“I’m not lost.” She held her lamp aloft and hoped she wasn’t lost. No. There was the end of the row just ahead. “I have requested these files so often I know their location by heart. We need the row labeled T.”
“T? For…?”
Jane shook her head, leading him through the towering shelves. “Do not question it. The last thing we want is to be assigned some organizational task.”
“I see.”
Finally, they reached an intersection, and she led him along the row until she found the section she wanted. A small stepladder had been propped against the shelf, and she handed him the lamp and climbed the ladder. Using the fan Q had repaired, she positioned the magnifying glass on the handle and studied the small numbers. Finding the file she wanted, which was about as thick as her arm, she extracted it and handed it down. Careful not to trip on her skirts, she descended.
“Is this all?” he asked, looking dubiously at the file.
“Not much, is it?” she said, nodding for him to continue the way they’d come. “We would have more information, but every spy we send to investigate Foncé ends up dead.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She grinned. “Isn’t it?” They’d reached the end of the row, and she gestured to a room hewn out of the stone. It was an alcove really, but large enough to hold a stone table and one uncomfortable stone chair. She stepped inside, set the lamp on the table, and took the chair. She opened the file and began to peruse its contents. Everything inside the file was familiar to her, as familiar as one of the books she’d read over and over in her childhood. She studied several of the pages with her magnifying glass, wanting to be certain she had not missed anything, but she found no hidden text. There was nothing new here. No hint of where Foncé intended to strike. She searched through the file for the last document that had been added and
did not find it. Another search proved it was not there, and she remembered taking it home to read it. It must still be there. It probably would be as useless as the rest of the file, but she would have liked to see it again nonetheless.
Melbourne wouldn’t allow her to leave, though. She was all but a prisoner here. She and Dominic. She peered at him now. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His stance said everything she needed to know. He was closed to her, closed to the world. She did not know what went on behind those Gypsy eyes, and she might never know.
But she had to try.
“It was never my intention to force you into marriage,” she said finally. “The last thing I want is to trap you.”
“I don’t feel trapped,” he said. She waited for him to elaborate, and when he did not, she struggled to think of what to say next.
“I only mean to say, you do not have to marry me simply because we—you—” How to say this?
“Ruined you?”
“I was going to say took my virtue.”
“Ah, that is much better then.” Once again, he said no more. He stood across from her, his dark, hooded eyes telling her nothing. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She’d seen glimpses of the real man beneath this hardened exterior. She could find him again. She rose and crossed to him, stood so close they were almost touching. He seemed almost amused by her actions. His eyes crinkled slightly. She wished she could be amused. Her head swam when she was this close to him. She could feel his warmth in the cold stone chamber, and she wanted to burrow into it.
“You are forcing me to be blunt,” she said.
“Yes, as shy and demure as you are, it must be a trial.”
She poked him with a finger, but he caught it and brought it to his lips, running it across them. She inhaled slowly and tried to slow her heart. Was he trying to seduce her, or was she still not allowed to touch him? “I am trying to tell you that you are free to walk away from me. I do not pretend to know what you and my uncle discussed, but whatever promise you made him, I will not hold you to it.”
“Do you want an escape?” His face remained stoic, but she heard the undercurrent of anger in his tone.