Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book

by Sheridan Jeane

  “I wondered if I might need to intervene on Miss Winter’s behalf and protect her from Lady Lydia,” she said, “but when first Mr. Yarrow and then you stepped in, I decided my efforts weren’t necessary.”

  Robert relaxed. She’d been referring to the scene with Lady Lydia and Mr. Yarrow, not to his reaction to Miss Winter. “I believe poor Mr. Yarrow is the one most in need of your sympathy.”

  “It’s no more that he deserved. The man simply must learn some manners.” She tilted her head to one side as she tugged on her ear. “Lady Lydia gave him the dressing-down we’ve all wanted to since the start of the season.”

  “Are you saying she did something beneficial?”

  Elizabeth grinned. “In a way. The others have been more subtle in their set downs, but perhaps her more direct method has its merits.”

  “You are perhaps the only woman I’ve heard who has had anything positive to say about Lady Lydia.”

  Lady Elizabeth glanced across the room, and Robert followed her gaze to Lady Lydia. “I think there’s more to her than she reveals. Much more.”

  “Catherine claims you notice things others miss.”

  “That’s kind of her. She’s such a staunch-hearted friend.” Her eyes glittered mischievously. “Would you like an example of my powers of observation?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He nodded. “By all means.”

  “You’ve hardly taken your eyes off Miss Winter tonight. She disappeared shortly after entering the ballroom, as did you. Were you having an assignation?”

  Robert found himself shaking his head even before he decided to reply. “I can assure you, we weren’t together.” He peered at Elizabeth with curiosity. “Apparently Catherine’s right. You are unusually observant.”

  “That last part was simply a guess. I wanted to eliminate the possibility from my speculations. I doubt anyone else would have surmised the same thing,” she said, giving his forearm a reassuring pat. “I must admit, however, you’ve piqued my curiosity. I do believe you find her attractive, but you appear to be analyzing her rather than simply admiring her. I wager your interest isn’t purely romantic, is it?”

  The woman was uncanny. “Perhaps,” he said, hoping his enigmatic answer would keep her from asking more questions.

  Her eyes glinted. He’d managed to intrigue her rather than put her off with his answer.

  Perhaps he should be slightly more direct. “I hope you’ll understand my discretion.”

  “Oh? I suppose discretion is an admirable quality,” she said, her lower lip jutting out in a small pout. “Miss Winter has had a tragic year. I wouldn’t dream of adding to her burdens.”

  That caught his attention. “What—”

  “Good evening, Lord Wentworth,” Lady Wilmot said. “I do hope you won’t mind if I steal my daughter away from you for a moment. I so want to introduce her to Lord Cary.”

  Robert glanced around the room until he spotted the venerable gentleman. Surely Lady Wilmot couldn’t be considering the man as a match for her daughter, could she? He must be fifty. As he glanced back down at Lady Wilmot, he noted a frisson of excitement emanating from her. Interesting. Of course, Lady Wilmot was probably only forty or so. Hardly elderly. Given that she’d been a widow for a few years now, perhaps her interest in the man was on her own behalf rather than her daughter’s.

  The pair swept away into the crowd, leaving Robert alone.

  He checked on his quarry and quickly spotted Miss Winter. Her press of admirers made her easy to locate. He was surprised to find her staring at him.

  Their gazes locked, and something passed between them. A realization stunned him. Miss Winter found him attractive.

  She tensed and quickly glanced away, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. He stared at her for a moment longer, considering his effect on her, and then forced himself to look away. He wanted to go to her now— carry her away and kiss her— no! Question her! Although a kiss… well, it would be pleasant. Perhaps more than pleasant.

  He reined in his errant thoughts. It wasn’t as if he could throw her over his shoulder and haul her away, and he was certain she wouldn’t willingly leave with him. No, he’d stay here, bide his time, chat with other guests, and pounce once she was alone.

  A minute or two later, Monsieur LeCompte drifted his way. Robert became wary.

  LeCompte could be extraordinarily entertaining and diverting as he shared the latest scandals, but he was the bane of anyone with a secret to keep. His direct questions were difficult to avoid, and his zeal in chasing down a morsel of gossip was akin to a ferret going down a rat hole. The man always seemed to know when someone had something to hide.

  Robert forced himself not to glance at Miss Winter.

  “Bon soir.” LeCompte’s gaze swept him up and down, leaving him with the distinct impression that the man hadn’t missed a single detail.

  “Bon soir,” Robert replied with equal nonchalance.

  “If you were trying to make a grand entrance this evening by arriving late, you missed your mark. Your audience had its attention focused on the stage when you arrived.”

  Robert raised one eyebrow. “Except you, it would seem.”

  “You showed abysmally poor timing,” LeCompte said flippantly. “How did you expect anyone to notice you once the actors took the stage? And why aren’t you bothering to speak with any of the ladies in attendance? One might wonder why you decided to make an appearance at all.”

  “Might one?” Robert raised one eyebrow. “I hadn’t thought anyone would take particular notice of me.” He shifted to one side so he could watch Miss Winter over LeCompte’s shoulder without the man being any the wiser.

  “Me? Take notice of you? Perish the thought. Your comings and goings are less memorable to me than a good meal. Perhaps even less memorable than an average one. It’s quite impossible for me to dwell upon anything of substance. I much prefer to speak of the inconsequential.”

  Robert couldn’t help but smile at the Frenchman’s inanities. An idea struck him. “I would have been here sooner,” Robert said, “but a shrimp I ate wasn’t willing to let me escape from its foul clutches unscathed.” He glanced at Miss Winter. As she met his gaze, she glanced at LeCompte and tensed. Did she know about the man’s penchant for gossip?

  “Hmm.” LeCompte peered at him intently. “Is that why you slipped out to the garden shortly after you entered the room? For some fresh air? You do look a bit pale this evening.”

  “Do I?” Robert asked, startled. It was a good thing he’d invented that shrimp tonight. It had helped him multiple times. Of course, his pale complexion could be explained by the fact that it was currently the dead of winter, but he wouldn’t point that out to LeCompte. How was it that the Frenchman wasn’t pale as well? “You’re looking remarkably healthy.”

  He glanced over LeCompte’s shoulder at Miss Winter and noticed her lips pressed in a thin line of worry.

  Lady Wilmot paused to join them. “Good evening, gentlemen. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “You’re interrupting nothing at all,” Robert said, twitching one corner of his mouth. “Our conversation abounds with empty comments and observations.”

  “Of course we’re discussing nothing,” LeCompte said as though offended. “I quite excel at it. ‘Nothing’ is my spécialité.”

  Robert chuckled. “My apologies. You transcend us with your abilities.” He checked on Miss Winter again and noted her relaxed smile as she replied to one of her admirers. Whatever had troubled her must have resolved itself.

  “You must allow me to contribute as well. Monsieur LeCompte,” Lady Wilmot said, fixing her clear gaze on the man, “tell me about your trip to the southern coast of France. Was your sojourn there a pleasant one? Did you swim in the sea? Sail on one of those little boats?”

  “Mais oui,” LeCompte said. “I spent some time in Cannes, and then I visited my family in Paris for Christmas. My mother quite enjoyed my visit, as did I.”

  Hunger began gnawing
at Robert, and he excused himself from the pair. He filled a plate from the buffet and found a place near the wall where he could eat. As he glanced back toward Miss Winter, he bit into a piece of bread. The crowd pressing around her had thinned slightly, and now he could see her profile quite clearly, as well as her small, shell-shaped ears. He’d never before thought of ears as being attractive, but the perfection of Miss Winter’s drew his notice.

  He finished his small meal more quickly than might be proper and set his empty plate on an abandoned table. He looked up just in time to see Miss Winter darting toward the door farthest from him.

  She was trying to lose him.

  Robert hurried to follow her, but a group of guests cut in front of him, blocking his path. He maneuvered his way through them, but by the time he could break free, Miss Winter had disappeared from view.

  He rushed into the main foyer. A few guests were departing, but he couldn’t see her anywhere.

  Elizabeth strode toward him. “By any chance, are you searching for Miss Winter?”

  Robert narrowed his eyes. “And if I am?”

  She smiled conspiratorially. “She left in a hurry and used the servants’ entrance. If you make haste, you should be able to catch her.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said, and darted to the cloakroom to retrieve his cloak and cane. He trotted down the front steps and scanned the street.

  Could that be her in the distance? On foot?

  Blast. It was her.

  Robert strode after the small woman as quickly as he dared. He didn’t want to draw the attention of the other departing guests by breaking into a run. With his luck, LeCompte would be watching. He didn’t want to become the butt of every joke for the next week because he’d been seen chasing after an actress.

  His cane beat time with his footsteps as it clicked against the paving stones.

  She wouldn’t escape him. Not again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something.

  - Henry David Thoreau

  Thick fog swallowed Antonia’s boots and the hem of her dress as she approached a cross street. Sound traveled unusually well, and from a half-block behind her came the echoes of the rhythmic click of a metal-tipped cane striking the paving stones.

  She’d first become aware of the sound not long after she’d left Lady Wilmot’s residence. It continued to pursue her with every turn she made. She’d glanced back and caught sight of a man wearing a black cloak, but his features were indistinguishable beneath his top hat.

  Lord Wentworth must be following her. There was no other explanation.

  She ducked down the next side street, hoping to lose him.

  She tried to silence her footsteps as she strained her ears. She was about halfway down the narrower street when the sound of metal clicking against stone changed and became more resonant as it reverberated along the buildings. That could mean only one thing. Lord Wentworth had turned onto the narrow street as well.

  She should have remained with her troupe, that much was obvious. At the very least, she should have asked a servant to secure a hackney. But when she’d seen her chance to escape, she’d grabbed it.

  Of course, there was always the possibility that someone other than Lord Wentworth followed her. After all, her pursuer carried a cane. She certainly would have recalled seeing one in his lordship’s hand. Did that mean he wasn’t the man stalking her? But if not him, who could it be? Could it be someone from the Russian embassy? A random assailant?

  Antonia’s chest tightened as panic squeezed at her, and she tried to take a deep, calming breath to fend it off.

  It didn’t help.

  Beating a hasty retreat from the soirée had been foolish, but now, as she began to take stock of her surroundings, she realized she’d made yet another terrible error.

  She couldn’t have chosen a worse place to walk alone.

  Her gaze skittered across the damp brick walls. The tall buildings blocked any breeze that might ease the stench of rotting refuse in the narrow street. The heavy, stagnant fog hid many unpleasant things from sight. She heard skittering movements and tried not to imagine the size of the vermin concealed in the miasma.

  She glanced up at the shuttered windows above her and then moved closer to the center of the street. Based on the smell, she suspected that a few of the residents might be illegally emptying chamber pots out the windows, and she didn’t want to end up with something quite disgusting plummeting down upon her head.

  A door opened ahead of her, and a burst of noise and conversation broke the quiet of the night. It was abruptly cut off as the door closed again, but gruff voices continued to echo off the tightly packed buildings.

  Drunk and boisterous voices.

  Judging by the sound, the men were heading in her direction. Her predicament was about to become much, much worse.

  Antonia glanced around, but found no refuge. She could hear her pursuer’s cane clicking steadily away at the cobblestones in time with his measured steps.

  Antonia’s stomach tensed. Which way should she go? Which threat presented the greatest danger? Should she fear the man steadily pursuing her, or the random group of drunken strangers?

  She glanced forward again and saw the shapes of two men breaking through the fog. She’d waited too long to hide. If she could see them, surely they could see her as well.

  Her only choice was to continue along the narrow street and exhibit confidence she didn’t really possess. Fortunately, the men couldn’t hear her heart thudding as though she’d been running down the street rather than walking. Only she knew of her growing terror.

  Wait. She had her blade. How had she forgotten about it? Antonia leaned over to pluck it from her boot.

  “What have we here?” one of the men called out. “Looking for someone to keep you warm tonight, are ye, love?”

  The man’s words caused Antonia to stumble as she stood back up clutching her knife. Her hand trembled, so she tightened her grip.

  Antonia kept moving without offering a reply, hoping that he’d take her silence as a rejection of his advances. The sooner she made it to the end of this street, the better.

  “Who are you talking to?” a second man shouted.

  “This little doxy. She looks chilled to the bone to my eye.”

  Antonia felt bile rise in her throat when she realized he assumed her to be a prostitute.

  The two men stopped as they watched her approach. Still, she kept marching forward, ignoring their comments.

  “She ain’t no doxy. Look at her. She’s a lady.”

  “Of course she’s a doxy. Why else would she be out here alone?” the first man said as she skirted around him, keeping him on her left side. His hand darted out and grabbed her upper arm, his fingers so tight they pinched deep into her muscle.

  Antonia spun to face him, jerking her arm from his grasp while raising her knife for the men to see.

  “Be careful, Timms,” the second man said. “She has claws.”

  From behind her, Antonia heard the sound of someone running toward them, but she couldn’t see him. It had to be her pursuer. The man with the cane.

  “Your friend has the right idea,” Lord Wentworth called out. “You don’t want to go bothering the young lady.”

  Relief washed through her as she registered that it was Lord Wentworth. She recognized his voice even if she couldn’t see him.

  Her heart swelled. He wanted to defend her— even after she’d betrayed him. She’d always thought of him as the consummate gentleman. Generous, kindhearted, helpful—

  Right up to the moment she’d turned on him.

  The two men stood shoulder to shoulder as they turned toward the sound of his voice.

  Antonia scooted closer to one of the alley walls, but the first man, Timms, saw her move and darted forward to grab her arm again, squeezing it even tighter this time.

  “Where do you t
hink yer goin’?” Timms asked as he leered down at her. The ale he’d been drinking made his breath sour as he exhaled into her face.

  Antonia raised her knife and jabbed it toward him, hoping to force him to let her go. He made a grab at it and missed, and Antonia managed to slice open his finger.

  Timms maintained his iron grip on her upper arm. Antonia knew his fingers were leaving a deep, painful bruise. One that would last for days.

  If she lived that long.

  Lord Wentworth’s lean, black-clad figure broke through the fog, and his cloak billowed open. He seemed large and menacing as he came to a halt and took in the scene, narrowing his eyes as he lifted his cane horizontally across his body. He grabbed the shaft with his free hand and, with a twist, extracted a long sword from it. He dropped the now-empty sheath to the ground with a clatter.

  Every inch of Lord Wentworth exuded danger. How could this be the same dashing man she’d dreamed about for years? If he’d appeared to her this way at the embassy, she never would have dared steal the book from him. Not even to save her life.

  The drunkard pushed her away and Antonia lost her balance, stumbling back.

  She righted herself and whirled to face her attacker, but he and his companion were focused entirely on Lord Wentworth. Their eyes were wide as they stepped back from him in unison.

  “Sorry, sir. We didn’t know she was yours,” Timms said, holding his empty hands up as he eyed Wentworth. Blood trickled down his palm. “We was just tryin’ ta be friendly.”

  “I take exception to every word you just uttered. The young lady is not mine. But neither is she yours. Nor am I the one to whom you owe an apology.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir,” Timms stammered. But at seeing Lord Wentworth’s thunderous expression, his face paled and he turned to glance at her. “I mean, sorry, miss.”

  Antonia waved her hand dismissively but edged a bit closer to Lord Wentworth.

  “The two of you should leave,” Lord Wentworth said, his gaze fixed on Timms.

  The pair stayed frozen to the spot.

  “Now!” He slashed his sword in an arc.