Daniel’s gaze sharpened, like a hawk spying the movement of a mouse. “Why is she important?”
“There’s something about her that I find particularly intriguing.” Such as the book she stole. “More than that, I’m not at liberty to say.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. The theater lights dimmed, and they were forced to stop talking as everyone fell silent.
Robert watched the stage closely, waiting to catch his first glimpse of Antonia Winter.
Much to his consternation, the character of Anne Blake didn’t appear on stage in the first scene, or even the second for that matter. Robert found himself being pulled into the story despite himself, and when Miss Winter finally walked onto the stage, the sight of her yanked him from his enjoyment of the show.
He reached out to the railing in front of him and wrapped his fingers tightly around it as he leaned forward in his seat.
It was her. Copper-Eyes.
He’d know her anywhere.
On stage, she played the ingénue, the same role she’d used when she’d met him. His stomach flipped at the sight of her.
She was as breathtaking as he remembered. Her presence overshadowed the other actors as she seemed to vibrate with energy.
Robert narrowed his eyes, evaluating her. Assessing her. How had she drawn him in so quickly at the ball? So completely? Even now, he could feel the tug of her attraction. He tried to hold himself aloof from her, but when the wide panniers of her old-fashioned gown swayed and dipped enticingly as she crossed the stage, she unwittingly drew him back in again.
Warmth suffused him and he found himself wanting her. Desire flooded him. He recalled the feel of her body as she’d pressed it against him, and he had to stifle a groan. It wasn’t until the curtain fell for the intermission that he finally leaned back in his chair. He’d never before wanted a woman the way he wanted this one. It was his bad luck she was precisely the wrong woman at precisely the wrong time.
It took a few moments for the theater lights to brighten, allowing Robert to find some semblance of composure. Someone from another box beckoned to Catherine to join them, and with a murmur to her husband, she left.
Daniel didn’t waste a moment. “What’s happening here? I saw the way you watched that actress. I watched your face. Your interest in her isn’t simple attraction. There’s something more.”
That surprised him. “She took something from me, and I want it back.”
“Do you plan to take it by force?”
Robert jerked his head back. “Of course not.”
“Then you need a plan, and I doubt you have one.” Daniel gave him a stern look. “You tend to be too direct. Too impetuous. But I doubt that a forthright approach will work in this situation. You’ll need to use guile.”
“Guile, eh?” he said, pinching his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not very good at deceit.”
“Which is probably why we get along so well. But I’m learning more and more about it all the time,” Daniel said, glancing at the door through which his wife had departed, clearly thinking about her.
“What would Catherine suggest?”
“Catherine?”
“Based on your comment, I gather she’s the expert on guile.”
Daniel frowned and glanced back at the door. “I think all women need to know how to use it. After all, men have all the power in this world, so it only makes sense for a woman to wield her influence by using every ounce of cunning she possesses. The game is already weighed heavily against them. They should use whatever skills they have in order to improve their lot.”
Robert held his hands up. “My comment wasn’t meant as a criticism of your wife. I like her. She’s good for you.”
Daniel relaxed.
“But what do you think she’d suggest I do?”
The door opened and Catherine walked in.
“Speak of the devil. Here she is. Let’s ask her,” Daniel said as he gestured her over.
Catherine peered at Robert. “You need my advice? My guess is that it has something to do with that actress. Am I right?”
The two men exchanged startled glances, but she just chuckled and dismissed their surprise with a flick of her hand. “I heard part of what you said through the door. And thank you, Robert, for saying that you like me.” She gave him a prim smile. “I like you too,” she said sweetly. “I find you to be an acquired taste. But tell me about your problem.”
“Robert needs to get an item back from the actress playing Anne Blake. She took it from him.”
“After I took it from someone else,” Robert admitted. “But mine were the most noble of reasons, so don’t judge me harshly.”
“Then perhaps her reasons are noble as well,” Catherine said.
“I doubt that.”
“Still, since your own reasons are admirable ones, perhaps you can play upon her sympathies. If that doesn’t work, there’s always your charm.”
Daniel snorted.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Stop that. He really can be quite charming when he tries. It’s just that he can sometimes be a bit too impulsive and forthright. He sometimes acts or speaks without first considering the ramifications.”
Robert scowled.
“Well, you do,” she said, scowling back at Robert in a mocking way. “Stop making faces at me. You can charm the birds from the trees, and when you sing, you can even charm the angels from the clouds.”
“Stop complimenting the man. You’re making me jealous,” Daniel said, but the smile he gave his wife belied his words.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and a slow smile spread across her face as she inched closer to her husband. “I’ll have to make it up to you.”
Robert glanced away, suddenly feeling very much in the way.
“Were you invited to Lady Wilmot’s soirée tonight? I believe Miss Winter will be performing there along with some other members of her acting troupe. Perhaps you should try to approach her there.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” he said, smiling broadly as he stared at the theatergoers taking their seats below.
Something caught his eye. A latecomer hurried toward his seat, taking one that had previously been empty.
Robert recognized the man. He was one of the footmen from the embassy.
Had they tracked him here? Or had they tracked Miss Winter?
CHAPTER TEN
Experience demands that man is the only animal which devours his own kind, for I can apply no milder term to the general prey of the rich on the poor.
- Thomas Jefferson
The lights illuminating the stage left Antonia semi-blind as she turned her back to them and made her way into the darkened wings. She vibrated with the exultant rush and thrill that accompanied a successful performance.
But tonight that thrill was tempered with fear. She’d seen Lord Wentworth up in one of the balcony boxes, she was certain of it. She’d know him anywhere. While onstage, she couldn’t stare at him openly, but it had been him.
She headed toward the staircase leading to the dressing rooms.
“Antonia, don’t go that way,” Claude said in a soft voice.
She peered through the dim light and could barely make out the Frenchman’s barrel-shaped form. When she’d last seen him before the show, he’d been angry with her for being late, but now he seemed worried. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“A man asked about you.” He closed the distance between them. “About your late arrival. I do not like him. He is up to no good.”
Antonia could see Claude’s face clearly now. She almost reached out to pat his arm and soothe away his worries, but something in his expression made her pause. The normally unflappable man seemed genuinely shaken. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”
Claude gave a loose-limbed shrug, but the intensity in his gaze and the tightness in his jaw were at odds with his relaxed movements. “He is Russian. You know how I feel about those Cossacks.”
Russian? Had one of them mana
ged to follow her trail? She would have sworn it was impossible. The sharp teeth of fear bit into her. She licked her lips, but suddenly found her mouth quite dry. “And he already knew I was late?”
Claude gave a sharp nod. “He asked if I knew what had delayed you. I revealed nothing, but everyone knows you were late. We had only just announced you weren’t performing tonight when you finally arrived. Someone is sure to have mentioned it to him.”
An invisible hand tightened around her stomach. “I’d rather avoid him,” Antonia said. She distractedly bit at her thumbnail, but when she noticed Claude watching her, she dropped her hand to her side. “I have to perform at that event at Lady Wilmot’s tonight,” she muttered. “Maybe I could lose him. But how will I leave the theater without letting him see me?”
Claude grinned. “I already have a plan to help you.” He lifted his arm, and she noticed him holding one of the cloaks she recognized from the costume room. With a swift movement, he draped it around her shoulders.
Dust tickled Antonia’s nose, and she let out three sneezes in quick succession. “A cloak?”
“A cloak of invisibility,” he said, grinning his crooked-toothed grin. “He’ll never be able to identify you if you wear it tonight.” Claude pulled the hood up and arranged it so it covered her hair and concealed most of her face. “Look around us. Poof. You’re invisible.”
Antonia glanced around and noticed that all of the other actors going to Lady Wilmot’s wore identical cloaks.
A slow grin spread across her face. Claude was right. She was invisible. Just one anonymous cloaked actor in a sea of them.
“Thank you,” she said, throwing her arms around the big man.
Claude stiffened. “None of that. I see the man now. Go. And hurry. I’ll distract him.”
She slipped away, blending in with the others. She nibbled at the corner of her thumbnail again. How much of Claude’s concern was for her, and how much of it was for the show? She knew the man. The show was his first priority. He’d count helping her sneak out as another black mark against her. The question was, how many would he tolerate before he tossed her out?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Happiness in this world, when it comes, comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
Robert spotted a surprising number of swains hurrying backstage. Most of them clutched bunches of flowers or boxes of chocolates. A few cast suspicious looks toward Robert, making him wonder if they felt possessive of the objects of their obsession.
Robert quickly realized the place was too much of a rabbit warren for him to locate Miss Winter on his own. He looked around for whoever seemed to be both the busiest and the most competent. He spotted a round-bellied man sorting through the stage props and arranging them for the following night’s show. He’d probably get a straight answer from him, if only because the man would be too swamped to reply in any other way.
“I’m looking for Miss Winter.”
“Why should I care?” the man replied in a thick French accent without looking up.
“I need to speak with her. It’s important.”
“I say to you what I say to the others. Leave her alone. She isn't interested. She’s a good girl and plans to stay that way.”
“You mistake my intentions.”
The man stopped working and looked directly at Robert, sweeping him with an assessing gaze. “I’ve seen many men sniffing around backstage,” he said in a thick French accent, “but you are new. Maybe you are different. Maybe you are not. Who is to say?” He turned back to his work.
“Will you tell me where I can find her? This place is a maze.”
“You are too late. She is gone. Search if you like, but you will not find her. She had an engagement.”
“Lady Wilmot’s soirée?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “I could not say.”
“Thank you,” Robert said as he turned and strode away.
“She is well away from here,” the man called after him. “You will not overtake her.”
Robert made his way outside, but fighting the after-theater crowd for an empty hansom cab proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. Now he regretted sending his brother and Lady Harrington off with his carriage. A mass of people exiting the various theaters swarmed the available carriages.
He spotted one in the distance, moving against the traffic.
Robert hurried forward, waving his arm. He caught a sudden movement from the corner of his eye as a man came barreling toward him from the side. Robert quickly leapt back, narrowly avoiding the mammoth who seemed intent on knocking him to the ground.
The big man had a small scar near the corner of his mouth. Robert recognized him. He was the footman who’d attended them when Frederick had been burned at Ambassador Revnik’s ball. He’d brought the ice. “Ambassador wants you. Come now,” he said in a gruff Russian accent. He advanced with dogged steps that left no doubt of his intentions. It would appear he intended to collect his quarry, whether Robert went willingly or not.
Robert didn’t have time for this. He needed to put an end to this encounter as quickly as possible or he’d lose Miss Winter. As he took a couple of steps back and began to formulate a plan to avoid the behemoth, two more men joined the first one.
Now all three advanced on Robert, surrounding him. He recognized the footman who’d directed him to the privy. The set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes betrayed his grim determination. It would seem he resented being tricked with the story of a bad shrimp.
Robert didn’t like his odds. He especially didn’t like the men’s grim expressions.
The door of a nearby carriage banged open, startling Robert. He glanced toward the commotion and widened his eyes in surprise as he recognized Daniel launching himself from the carriage’s dark interior. His mad friend charged into the fray with a wickedly delighted gleam in his eye.
Catherine stood framed in the open doorway as she watched. She wasn’t alarmed. If Robert didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she wore a look of exhilaration.
Daniel slammed his shoulder into one of the men and knocked him off his feet using one of the underhanded fighting techniques he’d picked up on the streets of Edinburgh as a boy. His method of attack might not have been elegant or gentlemanly, but it was decidedly effective. Daniel always said a man should avoid fights whenever possible, but once one became inevitable, he should bring it to a swift conclusion using any means necessary.
The other two attackers stiffened momentarily, apparently torn between helping their compatriot and abducting Robert. They quickly made their decision and turned their backs on the fallen man. In unison, they barreled toward Robert.
Robert yanked the silver épée from his cane and raised the tip toward the nearest man. He stopped in his tracks with his chest inches from the sharp point. He stared down at it. When Robert flicked the tip up just an inch, the man scampered back.
From the corner of his eye, Robert noticed a movement at the door of Daniel’s carriage. He risked a brief glance at it before returning his attention to the two Russians. What the—? He almost glanced back, but the Russians were watching him too closely. He couldn’t risk it. But— had he just seen Catherine holding a deadly looking knife?
The largest man climbed to his feet and turned to face Robert. He lowered his shoulders and began advancing.
Robert tried to keep all three men in sight, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen. Where had Catherine learned to handle a weapon like that? From Daniel? And why would a marchioness want to want to learn such a skill?
Catherine rushed forward, moving with the grace and intensity of a cat pouncing on its prey. The man she bore down upon widened his eyes and stumbled back, raising his empty hands in surrender. He and the other two attackers exchanged nervous glances. They pro
bably thought it child’s play to pluck a lone man from the crowd and toss him into one of the ubiquitous black carriages— not that one was available at present.
The odds had changed.
“Poshli,” one of them said. Let’s go.
Robert blinked as the three men silently melted back into the crowd. Even the huge man managed to disappear.
The theatergoers swirling past them hardly seemed aware of the fight. The few who had taken note had wisely kept a safe distance from the scuffle and hurried away. Riots were always a danger in the crowded streets of London, and most prudent people did their best to avoid being swept up in one. The people now flowing past them seemed oblivious to the fact that an attack had just taken place.
“Did they harm you?” Daniel’s gaze swept up and down Robert, apparently checking for injuries.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you.”
“It was sheer chance we saw them through the window of our carriage,” Catherine said.
Robert’s gaze flicked toward the knife she still held. “Did Daniel teach you how to use that?”
She smiled as she tossed it in the air with a proficient flip and then grabbed it so that the tip pointed upward. Then she concealed the blade between her wrist and her body, completely hiding it from sight. “He thought it wise.”
Robert raised an eyebrow at her apparent comfort and expertise with the weapon. She and Daniel had been even busier than Robert had guessed. “Did you see the look on that man’s face? I thought he’d soil himself when you pointed your knife at him—” He cut off his words. Had he actually used the words “soil himself” in front of Daniel’s wife? “Pardon me, Catherine. I forgot myself. But thank you. You tipped the scales in our favor.”
She waved his apology away.
Daniel kept scanning the crowd, wary of another attack. “It isn’t safe here. We should leave.” He glanced at Robert. “Come with us.”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t want to put the two of you in danger. Go home. There’s something important I need to do.”
Daniel frowned. “I’ll join you.”
Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book Page 7