Unmasking the Spy

by Janet Kent

  She would have to go at night.

  Papa was a sound sleeper and unlikely to be roaming the halls. It could work. It would have to work. Her father expected to give Louis his permission and settle contract terms thirteen days hence. Thirteen days! It was unthinkable. There had to be some escape, and there was one way to find out.

  Tonight, she would find some answers.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alicia drummed her fingers on the silk tablecloth and counted candles in the chandelier to pass the time. Anticipation bubbled in her stomach. The office was so close to the dining room – but of course, Papa was in it at the moment with Louis. He must have forgotten she and Beatrix would be waiting for him.

  Beatrix sat at the table next to her, sipping wine. Alicia grinned at her aunt’s disgruntled expression when the patch at the end of her nose fell into the wine. Beatrix fished out the soggy square and set her glass back on the table with a harrumph.

  Muffled voices filtered through the wall. Alicia tilted her head. Must be Louis, complaining again.

  “… not the right one … “

  How could Papa stand such constant whining?

  “Louis, these are better … a pair of exquisite beauties …”

  Poor Papa. Trying to talk sense into the senseless.

  “… not what I wanted … and I will tell you …”

  No, please don’t. Nobody wants to hear it.

  “… ignorant …”

  Heaven forfend men and their antiquities. What could there be to argue about? She turned back to Beatrix, intending to begin a conversation, when the voices floated more clearly from down the hall. Papa must have opened the office door.

  “Did Alicia dance with you at the soiree?” her father boomed.

  With luck, Louis planned to dine elsewhere. Alicia hoped for one last chance to ask her father to let her choose her own husband.

  Louis’ loud sniff resonated down the hall. “Hardly.”

  “I thought she wanted to look courted.”

  “She danced with some rake. Never seen him before.”

  “You let Alicia dance with a rakehell?” Chadwick’s roar exploded from the other side of the wall.

  She glanced at her aunt, who winked.

  Ian Morrissey had not presented himself as a rake at all. Granted, Alicia had not been blind to the women drooling on themselves when he walked past. However, she saw no indication that he pursued dalliance with any of them.

  In fact, he seemed perfectly eligible. Handsome. Proper. And the electrifying touch of his hands on her body while they danced… He could be a prospective suitor. Perhaps he was someone she could even grow to love.

  “Not all night, just one dance.” Louis seemed to realize the mistake in admitting his lack of attention. “Didn’t want to dominate her. Beautiful as she was, and all.”

  Alicia stifled a snort. Other than his brief foray onto the dance floor, Louis only emerged from the card room long enough to refill his glass or his stomach.

  The irregular beat of footfalls tapped closer.

  “I don’t know why you’re letting her put off the inevitable, Chadwick.”

  Chadwick’s tone betrayed his irritation. “The sooner she decides you suit, the sooner you wed.”

  Alicia gritted her teeth.

  “Two weeks,” said Louis. “Or sooner.”

  “I expect you to court her properly, and shield the family from scandal.”

  “Every other night, Chadwick. I keep my promises.”

  Alicia swirled her wine glass. What a liar.

  “This should appear to be a real courtship, Louis. Er… press her hand and whisper sweet things to her.”

  Oh Lord. Now Papa was quoting her out of context to Louis and filling his head with all the things she fervently hoped Louis would never think to do.

  “Of course, Chadwick. I frequently do.”

  More likely, he considered demonstrative affectation not worth the bother. What kind of marriage could be made of mutual repulsion? Alicia sighed. If they’d had mutual respect at least, they could be like every other ton couple, she supposed. Although a mere business decision might be a raging success for most people, Alicia craved something more.

  “The bell rang some time past. Won’t you stay for supper, Louis?”

  Please, no.

  Louis came into view. He lifted a quizzing glass and peered at the dining table. He looked from Beatrix to Alicia and back again. Great-aunt Beatrix leaned sideways out of her chair, to inspect the tablecloth embroidery in minute detail. Alicia’s nose inched higher into the air.

  “I’m sorry,” said Louis, not looking sorry at all. “I have a previous engagement. But I will return tomorrow to take Alicia to… another dinner?”

  “Ball,” Alicia corrected.

  “Whatever you say.” He shoved a pair of delicately painted glass vases under the crook of one elbow as if they were nothing more than rubbish. He eyed great-aunt Beatrix with disdain and minced toward the door.

  Thank God. Questioning Papa would be difficult enough without Louis’ piggy face glaring at her. Alicia pasted on a smile until her father finished his goodbyes.

  Chadwick returned without a word regarding his tardiness to the table. He motioned to a passing footman before looking at Alicia and Beatrix. He shook his head but chose not to comment.

  Alicia piled her plate with vegetables, and had eaten half her bread by the time great-aunt Beatrix acknowledged Papa’s scrutiny and finished her inspection of the tablecloth.

  Her father helped himself to roast duck and ignored the boiled vegetables. “How was the soirée last night?”

  Alicia set down her fork and gathered her courage.

  “Precisely what I wished to discuss, Papa. I am uncertain Louis and I will ever suit.”

  Chadwick twirled his flute of Chablis.

  “Daughter, you asked for time and I granted you two weeks. Utilize what time remains.”

  Alicia gritted her teeth. She had asked for two months. “Papa, time isn’t the point.”

  “Pray tell, what is your point?”

  She took a deep breath. “I do not wish to marry Louis.”

  Rather than bother with a reply, Chadwick silently resumed eating.

  Alicia decided to take a shot in the dark, and give her father one last opportunity to say something that would stop her from taking drastic action.

  “Is the only reason you want me to marry Louis because you believe me incapable of finding a husband on my own? I swear that if you grant me more time, I can garner the interest of a perfectly respectable gentleman.”

  Chadwick choked on his bread and took a hasty swallow of wine.

  “Louis is respectable, daughter.”

  Humph. One could hardly deny that Louis was from decent blood, his vices no different than some, his paunch no bigger than most, and his age not quite old enough to raise eyebrows, as was often the case with many of England’s eligible bachelors.

  “I didn’t choose him,” Alicia tried again, her voice fraught with frustration.

  Chadwick looked at her coldly. “No, you didn’t. I chose him,” he said with a tone of finality. “You know Louis, the title will be kept in the family, you are edging closer to an age – I see no reason for fuss.”

  Alicia pressed her lips together to bite back a bitter reply. He saw no reason for fuss. She saw every reason to find a replacement suitor. Fast.

  Great-aunt Beatrix wiggled. Alicia couldn’t be certain whether she was warning her or encouraging her.

  “Louis doesn’t love me,” she whispered, hating the pleading note to her voice. “Nor I him.”

  Chadwick paused, his fork arrested midway to his mouth. He seemed about to speak, then continued the path of his fork until the morsel of duck was on his tongue. He chewed with slow, precise movements, and when he was through, he took a long draught of his wine.

  “Eat your food, Alicia.”

  Fine. If he wouldn’t tell her what was going on, she’d just have to f
ind out on her own.

  ###

  It was time.

  But what if she were caught? Alicia swallowed. She could claim insomnia and say she wanted to read until she became drowsy, but had left her book in the library. Such a ploy would only work if she looked like she was trying to sleep – not if she went downstairs fully clothed, as if she expected company at any moment. She would have to investigate in her nightclothes. Any other dress would be impossible to explain.

  She seized her house cap from her vanity and placed it on her head.

  Ideally, no servants would see her. She planned to dash in and dash out, just as soon as she found the paperwork she needed. No matter what Papa planned, he stuffed all his notes in his desk. She’d locate them and devise a solution to her father’s dilemma and extricate herself from a marriage to Louis. If she couldn’t find answers tonight, she’d simply search again until she succeeded. The sooner she solved the puzzle, the sooner she could create a solution to salvage both their situations.

  Hopefully, luck sided with love.

  Alicia visualized the office. She’d enter through the hall door, pass the fireplace and the bookshelves, and head straight to his desk. If the moon cast enough of its beams through the window, she wouldn’t need to light a candle. Just in case, she slipped an extra taper into her pocket.

  A syncopated tapping at her window caused Alicia to turn her head. Rain. An extra boon. A storm should cover any sounds she might make and the house would be even darker than usual. Alicia slid off her slippers to ensure even further silence, and rose from the stool before her vanity.

  A quick puff of breath snuffed out both candles. The smoke rising from the wicks tickled her nostrils. If she didn’t want to call attention to herself, she’d have to traverse the path by memory. In the dark.

  She stepped out of her room and glanced down both sides of the passageway. Empty. Alicia tilted her head and listened. Her father’s legendary snores rivaled the thunder even from this distance. Thus far, her plan was unfolding perfectly.

  She crept to the staircase. The marble chilled her bare feet. She tiptoed down the stairs, grateful when her icy toes came in contact with the carpet.

  Darkness enveloped her. Her breathing sounded as irregular as the falling rain. She spread her arms until the backs of her hands brushed the wainscoting. A faint draft chilled her bare ankles. Her fingertips slid along the papered walls as she ventured down the corridor to her father’s office.

  She stood still until her eyes adjusted to the shadows. Although the hallway leading to her father’s office offered no windows, each individual room had many. Through the rhythmic rain, the moon cast no light to guide her way.

  She reached for the door and realized it stood ajar. A soft glow indicated the presence of a burning candle somewhere within. Alicia frowned. The staff never entered her father’s office in the middle of the night. The possibility of her father leaving a candle unattended caused the wrinkles in her brow to increase.

  Alicia leaned her head toward the doorjamb, her ear to the gap, and waited. The soft creak of a drawer opening caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

  Unbelievable. Someone had beaten her to the desk and stood just on the other side of the door, ransacking the papers before she had a chance to execute her own search. Some treacherous businessman was no doubt sabotaging Papa’s plans in order to prevent him from taking advantage of an investment opportunity. And he might inadvertently take the very papers she was looking for.

  Self-righteous outrage replaced her initial alarm and Alicia cast aside all thoughts of self-preservation in her overwhelming desire not to let someone spoil her chances of avoiding a marriage to Louis.

  She pushed the door a few inches wider. She couldn’t see whoever lurked behind her father’s paper-strewn desk, which meant he couldn’t see her either. She snaked a hand through the gap and inched her back along the wall until her fingers touched the rack housing the fireplace tools. Her fingers closed around the cold metal of the poker. In one continuous motion, she kicked open the door, brought a fire iron up and out of the rack, and flew across the room. She swung the poker full-strength at the head of the man hunched over her father’s desk.

  With surprising grace, he blocked the end of the poker with his forearm and pushed it away from his body with one gloved hand. His fingers wrapped around the other end. The intruder lifted his head and faced her.

  Alicia felt her heart flutter.

  From the darkness, the man behind her father’s worn chair straightened to his full height. He advanced to the side of the desk. A stroke of lightning lit the room in a blinding flash, providing a glimpse of the intruder.

  Shiny black boots rose past strong calves, skintight black pantaloons stretched across muscular thighs, a form-fitting black shirt covered his broad chest, and a stiff black mask obscured his eyes. Alicia swallowed. The sudden temperature increase could not be due to the masked man’s single tallow candle.

  Although no man had ever cut such a singularly dashing appearance, she simply couldn’t allow him to spoil her plans. The heavy iron trembled in her hand.

  The hand grasping the other end of the poker did not move.

  Wind rattled the windows in their panes. Hooded eyes watched her through the mask. This intruder in no way resembled her father’s business partners. This man looked every inch the pirate, if a dangerously handsome one.

  He suddenly twisted his hand and wrenched the poker from her grip. His eyes never left hers. Alicia’s limp hands fell to her sides.

  “Careful,” he said as he leaned the poker against the wall. “I might have been injured.”

  “I could have killed you,” Alicia whispered weakly.

  “Yet you did not.” The low voice brimmed with amusement. “That’s love.”

  His voice was soft, gravelly, seductive. Alicia blinked. He found the situation amusing? Even more strange, his accents hinted at high birth, if not aristocracy. Before she could decide how to respond, his gaze traveled down her body. She wished she’d dressed in more flattering attire. Who knew a thief in the night could look like Prince Charming? She should have stayed in her room.

  He cocked his head. “Nice patches, by the way. Don’t see many of those these days.”

  Alicia touched her cheek and fought the urge to clap her hand to her forehead. In her haste, she had forgotten about the shaped patches dotting her skin. Of course, she’d hardly expected to run across random strangers in her father’s office, handsome or otherwise.

  ###

  Ian tried to think how best to proceed. He never prowled about undisguised. Yet even he couldn’t have anticipated that a lissome young lady wielding a fire iron would interrupt his search.

  The inadequate light made it difficult to discern colors. Her hair and eyes were inscrutable underneath the ruffled cap and the random patches dotting her face made it impossible to guess her age. Of course, anyone who still believed patches to be current and stylish was either much older than he, or out of touch with Society’s fashion dictates. Or both.

  The tips of naked toes peeked from under white nightclothes. The panic frozen on her face had thawed, replaced by an odd, considering look. Most likely, she was a relative of Miss Kinsey’s. Marvelous.

  Ian held completely still. Even if she was an elderly spinster, she was no doubt a shapely one. The fingers of one hand touched the side of her face, but the other gripped the sides of her shift, stretching the material and emphasizing the feminine curves of her body.

  Her skirts rustled in the silence. Ian couldn’t fathom why she was wandering the halls and brandishing fireplace pokers, instead of sleeping soundly in her room. Not that he was complaining, for the chit was fetching, even with the odd-shaped patches. Maybe even because of them. The entire ensemble made her look ingenuous. Hoydenish. And a little unbalanced. How many women ran about armed and barefoot in the middle of the night?

  Before he could decide on his next move, her gaze lowered from his eyes and tra
veled the length of his body. The hitch in his breath seemed to echo in the silent room, loud even to his own ears. Was this how she had felt when he had done the same to her? Perhaps she was returning the favor.

  She paused to study his lips. Ian wondered if she considered kissing them, then mentally shook himself. He was here for a mission, not a dalliance. First, he needed to get the situation under control. He had no wish to battle her household in a dramatic escape.

  So far, she hadn’t screamed. Nor had she burst into tears or fainted in a fit of hysteria. Other than the minor incident with the fireplace poker, she comported herself calmly. Calm was good. He just needed to get past her, and she stood between him and the doorway.

  Suddenly, her eyes focused on the desk.

  “What are you doing with that painting?” she asked.

  Ian contemplated a good answer. The art itself didn’t interest him. The gilded structure housing the canvas did. However, “Removing it to my townhouse to determine whether it contains a hidden opening used for secreting stolen jewels” seemed an inflammatory reply, even though he planned to return it once he’d proved its innocuousness.

  He risked a glance at the painting. The canvas measured maybe eighteen or twenty inches wide, and twice as tall. In the darkness, he couldn’t discern the subject. The canvas was bathed in as many shadows as the woman before him.

  If he’d known he would need a story, he’d have taken the time to craft a plausible tale. He probably looked like a thief. In fact, he couldn’t imagine any other rational explanation to offer. Damn. He’d been prowling the house for hours now, and it was no doubt well past five in the morning. Why wasn’t she asleep?

  “I’m stealing it,” he admitted reluctantly.

  Her expression conveyed her disappointment with the news.

  What on earth had she thought he was doing? Sneaking into London houses and appraising random artwork out of boredom or idle curiosity? Ian wished he could fabricate a noble, yet believable reason for the theft. As a general rule, thieves were unlikely to be Robin Hood, there to steal from the rich and give to the poor. On second thought, why not? If he could just appeal to her heartstrings…