Unmasking the Spy

by Janet Kent

  “To pawn for money,” he added with his most mournful expression. “I live with my younger sister, and we are very poor. She may have an infection of the lungs, and we cannot pay for the doctor she so desperately needs. I am forced to steal trinkets so that we can afford medical care.”

  The barefoot nymph slanted him a doubtful look, but released her grip on her skirts.

  He met her gaze. “Contrary to how I may appear, I am not a common burglar. I mean you no harm.”

  She searched his face for a long moment and Ian held his breath. Something she saw there must have convinced her better than words alone. She smoothed her skirts and crossed her arms.

  “Well, you can’t have that. It’s a favorite and sure to be missed.”

  He would have to come back.

  Assuming the most abashed manner he could manage, Ian bowed his head. He lifted the painting and hefted its weight in one hand. He’d been just about to leave, for God’s sake. Why couldn’t she have strolled by just five or ten minutes hence?

  The disheveled sprite before him narrowed her eyes. He offered her the painting in a gesture, he hoped, of submission. After a brief moment, she reached up and took the artwork from his hands.

  “Thank you.” She smiled at him.

  Her infectious smile caused his lips to twitch involuntarily. Ian leaned back against the front of the desk. A woman was the last kind of trouble he needed.

  “How did you get in?” she asked.

  “Window.”

  She cast a disbelieving glance behind him. Even as he turned to look, tree branches scraped the sides of the house and soggy leaves slapped against the wet glass.

  “Not that window,” he amended.

  “I suppose you can go out the same way, then.”

  “I shall.”

  She tore her gaze from the storm outside and studied him again.

  “I’m sorry I can’t let you steal from my family,” she said, and nibbled at her lower lip.

  No doubt she was an aunt or cousin or somesuch, there for a Town visit. That explained the family resemblance. Now he needed to get out of there before more relatives started popping up. He just had to disarm her somehow.

  “I understand,” he said, with a self-deprecating grin. “I am only sorry that I will never see you again. You are captivating.”

  ###

  Alicia blinked. He thought she was captivating? He looked debonair, worldly, mysterious. His very presence exemplified the heroes of her favorite romantic novels come to life. And she planned to shoo him away? Alicia gripped the painting even tighter.

  “Wait,” she said haltingly. “What do you mean, never see me again?”

  The masked man turned to look out the window. “Since I cannot pawn your uncle’s paintings for my sister’s health, I have no reason to return.” He turned to face her. “Unless I may come to see you?”

  Alicia’s heart hiccupped in her chest. Oh lord, the romantic in her yearned to have a forbidden hero, prowling through the shadows, just for a glimpse of her. Alicia bit her lip. No. Bad idea. She required an eligible suitor – this charming rogue was even less suitable than Louis.

  She shook her head vigorously.

  He looked away. “Of course not. What was I thinking? I can’t have made a good impression. And, of course, I am poor. There’s nothing I can offer you.”

  “I value love more than money,” Alicia said without thinking. “Kindness costs nothing.”

  His eyes met hers again. “Someday, perhaps I can bring you some.”

  Alicia clutched the canvas to her chest and tried to breathe normally. He was not a romantic hero. He was just a man.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I can’t tell you my name. What would you like to call me?”

  “You are a rogue.”

  “Then you may call me Rogue,” he answered with an impish grin. “What is your name?”

  “Ali…zabeth,” Alicia caught herself. “My name is Elizabeth.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Elizabeth, unexpectedly though it may be.”

  She curtsied as best she could with a painting in her arms. “Likewise.”

  The humor of the situation hit them at the same time and they grinned at each other. He picked up the poker from against the wall and crossed the room. Alicia turned to watch him. He returned the fire iron to the rack and gave her a last little bow.

  “Until next time, my lady,” he said with a smile, and then disappeared down the hallway.

  Alicia stood in the middle of the room for a few minutes more. Slowly, she became aware the rain had stopped, and the first vestiges of sunlight crept up from the horizon. The house was beginning to creak. By the time she restored the painting to its rightful spot in the library, the staff would be waking. She’d have to hurry to return to her bedroom undetected. She clasped the painting in one hand, her skirts in the other, and sprinted down the hall.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The door to his townhouse clicked shut behind him as Ian crossed the foyer to the staircase. He climbed the steps two at a time and strode down the short corridor.

  What an unmitigated disaster. He stepped into his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and sagged against the wall. As his heart rate slowed, Ian pushed himself from the wall and crossed the room to his writing desk. He sank into the wooden chair.

  Caspian needed to deliver a culprit in less than four weeks.

  Tonight’s infiltration had failed, but he couldn’t give up. If he could prevent an innocent man from being punished and possibly killed, honor and duty required all attempts be made. Ian opened a drawer and groped for a candle, scraping the back of his hand on a jagged section of wood. Damn.

  Normally, Cobb would be hovering about with lit candles. The loyal manservant had put in plenty of late-night hours over the years, assembling and disassembling disguises and attending Ian’s wounds if a mission turned violent. But of late, Cobb’s hobbled gait showed his age. The old man needed sleep.

  Ian set the candle in its stand and leaned sideways to light the wick in the fire before glancing about. Bed, desk, chair. The spartan room seemed lonelier than ever. The barest necessities dotted each chamber, done in blues and grays. The meager furniture scattered around the townhouse only reminded Ian more that London was temporary. His personal items were still at home, and as soon as he could prove Chadwick’s innocence, he could return to Heatherley.

  Ian’s nose itched. He jerked his mask from his pocket and set it down on his desk next to the burning candle.

  Elizabeth had undeniable backbone. Ian shook his head as he remembered the spirited sprite barging in with a poker. Even in the shadows, he could make out dozens of dark patches adorning her face. He wished the clouds and trees hadn’t obstructed the moonlight so Elizabeth would have been illuminated.

  Obviously, she was a poor relation dropping in for a visit, an aunt or cousin from somewhere else. Ian had never heard of her joining Miss Kinsey about town. Who knew what her true features were – or what the hell she’d been doing awake.

  Ian leaned across the immaculate desk and peered into the mirror. Steady pressure had carved an indentation on his skin in the shape of the mask. Thank God he’d been wearing it.

  She was a refreshing departure from his jaded expectations of London women. He had assumed all tonnish women were hard, self-serving, and shallow – much like her cynical cousin or niece, Alicia Kinsey. Perhaps being poor kept her from the ballrooms, safe from the influence of the ton. Perhaps she preferred the country, as did he.

  With effort, Ian tugged off his right boot and placed it against the wall.

  Asking to see her again had been a stroke of genius. The query lent a level of credibility to his claims of selfless desperation. If she was as idealistic a romantic as she appeared, perhaps she’d keep the truth of his unexpected visit to herself. In that case, he could return another night and search the house at his leisure.

  After another struggle, he pried off hi
s left boot and stood it next to its mate.

  On the other hand, perhaps only a fool would have suggested a future midnight rendezvous. Thank God she’d said no. A lonely young woman might have nothing better to do than haunt the halls and wait for him, making further reconnaissance all the more risky.

  Ian stretched his long legs and flexed his tired feet.

  The first rays of sun slanted through the crack between his window curtains. Tiny specks of dust danced in the band of light. Ian stood and lifted the pane. The earthy scent of rain-soaked soil permeated the air from the gardens, as did the less pleasant smell of horse manure in the street. A carriage rumbled past on the road below. The world was waking, but he needed sleep. He had to stay at top form to be successful with the investigation.

  ###

  Groggily, Alicia opened her eyes. Sunlight barreled through the opened curtains, momentarily blinding her. She’d missed breakfast. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss luncheon as well. Alicia threw off her covers. She swung her feet to the cold floor and rang for her maid.

  Last night seemed like a dream, a wild, bizarre dream. She could barely believe she’d rushed in rather than raise the hue and cry, although she was glad she’d stayed calm. After all, no harm had been done. She nodded sharply, feeling vindicated. Nothing would come of it.

  Mentioning the intrusion would certainly be a self-defeating action. No sense spiting herself. Despite wrecking her plans, she’d mark herself ruined if she were discovered cavorting unchaperoned with an unidentified man. She needed an eligible gentleman, not a masked robber.

  “M’lady?” came the voice of Jenny, her maid.

  She turned to see the girl shifting her weight in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “I’ve brought some hot water up. I’ll be back with more in a moment.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alicia closed her eyes and visualized the captivating image cut by the mysterious visitor. Rogue. He was charming. Dashing. Impossible. Alicia sighed. It wouldn’t do to harbor impractical dreams about someone so unsuitable. So debonair. So fascinating.

  Gooseflesh raced up her bare arms. If someone had to thwart her plans, at least it was a someone like him. She’d never before been the recipient of such honest interest. Well, perhaps from Ian Morrissey. But Mr. Morrissey, although himself handsome, couldn’t hold a candle to the magnetic force of her masked man’s gaze.

  Alicia shifted her legs to raise her toes from the cold floor and tucked her feet back under the blanket.

  It was already Monday. The Westaway family awaited Alicia at their ball tonight, and Louis would be there with her. Thirteen days remained until Louis expected to apply for a license. She planned to convince him of the inadvisability of their match … but how?

  In case she couldn’t devise an alternate solution to Papa’s plans in time, she needed to convince her cousin to search for someone else. A love interest for Louis could free her to find her own marriageable suitor, and she’d have no further cause to search her father’s office to figure out his sudden urge to be rid of her. She needed to seek her own true love, whoever he turned out to be.

  Her mother once extracted a promise from Alicia that affairs of the heart mattered more than any sense of duty. She inspired Alicia’s romantic nature and made up silly stories of knights and princes who rescued fair maidens. As a result, Alicia fell in love with the idea of a hero, and refused to settle for less. Louis, unarguably, was less.

  Alicia rose to her feet and walked toward the vivid sunlight slanting through the window.

  Rogue’s heart-stopping smile and smoothly executed disappearance only added to his impudent charm. Alicia grinned. He arrived just when she’d lost her faith in romance and had almost convinced herself that she was destined to a life of Louis and unhappiness.

  Jenny returned with the last of the pails and helped her undress. Alicia sank into the steaming water. She cupped her hands and splashed her face. Jenny scrubbed her hair. The soothing aroma of rose-scented soap greeted her senses and the warm suds slid down the back of her neck. The heat relaxed her muscles and filled her with a sense of lethargy. Even Jenny yawned and lifted an arm to rub at her eyes.

  Alicia wondered if there were some way she could help Rogue’s sister. She couldn’t imagine how. She barely helped herself at times, but all that was changing.

  The trick, it seemed, was to repulse Louis without disgracing herself or inviting infamy. Acting improper in any way risked her reputation far more than Louis’. She needed to present herself well within the constraints of propriety, but well unsuited to Louis. Heaven knew many of the young women parading themselves about were less than desirable to most unmarried men.

  Her arms wrapped around her legs as her knees poked through the sudsy water. Jenny struggled to hide another yawn as she squeezed the moisture from Alicia’s waterlogged hair.

  Alicia snapped to attention. Jenny was an inspiration! Perhaps she could be relentlessly boring whenever Louis hovered nearby. If she became yawn-evoking, or better yet, sleep-inducing, he’d imagine her a horrible hostess and therefore an undesirable bride. Brilliant.

  Perhaps she could handle men much better than she gave herself credit for. After all, she’d even had the presence of mind to tell Rogue he couldn’t possibly return.

  ###

  One trick frame, one hollow-centered book, one vase with hidden items inside, and one false-backed desk drawer contained evidence of guilt. Proof positive of Chadwick’s involvement – or so the note claimed. Its reverse displayed a crudely drawn map of the ground floor.

  Ian straightened the anonymous missive on the powder blue tablecloth. He smoothed the creases and bowed his head in thought. He stood, hunched over the words, arms locked, hands splayed on either side of the paper.

  A figure drifted past the open window, casting a shadow across the page. Ian turned his head. A footman spread a cold collation on the sideboard before shuffling down the hall. His footsteps faded.

  The aroma of sliced meat reached Ian’s nose and his stomach growled in response. He pushed himself from the table. He crossed to the sideboard and piled a plate with food before returning to the table. He set the plate to the left of the note and dropped into his chair.

  A single trick frame, gilded, as wide as a forearm and twice again as tall, sculpted edges, found in library. Ian closed his eyes and blocked out the sounds of chirping birds and the rumble of passing coaches.

  The item best matching this description still remained at Chadwick House. Although he ran his fingers across every inch, he had not noticed any secret latches or openings. Ian opened his eyes. Prior to Unsleeping Beauty’s appearance, he had hoped to bring the entire package to his townhouse in order to scrutinize its details in daylight.

  He shrugged a shoulder. The best-laid plans, and all that.

  Perhaps he should target something more easily concealed or that did not necessitate removal. The secret-hollow book seemed a logical candidate to look for next, the false-bottomed drawer an even better idea.

  Ian leaned back in his chair.

  What might he find? Most likely, nothing. Ian doubted the alleged items existed. If Lord Chadwick really were running a one-man jewel smuggling scheme, secret drawers were logical, but composing detailed letters to disclose his own nefarious activities made no sense at all. Ian drummed his fingers on the table.

  If two persons collaborated, the possibility existed for one to turn rat and betray his accomplice in the form of an anonymous letter. However, this scenario seemed equally unlikely, since the accused could point his finger at the traitor in return, thus affording the betrayer no profit for his efforts.

  Chadwick’s innocence constituted the third possibility. A jewel thief might well have put his poison pen to blame another, in order to escape detection himself. If Chadwick were arrested and the thefts mysteriously halted, guilt would be assumed, Chadwick would be punished, and the culprit would go free.

  Ian’s jaw muscles clenched. The withdrawal of his i
nvolvement at this point could signify tacit condemnation of an innocent man. He refused to let such a chain of events unfold. The content of the letter must be proven false.

  But what would the guilty party do then? Ian took another bite and considered. The thief deciding to give himself up was too much to hope. The criminal could attempt to implicate a new target. Ian stopped chewing. He had no intention of remaining in London indefinitely, proving one innocence after another.

  Damn Caspian for involving him in this fix!

  Even if he hadn’t had personal reasons for protecting innocent men from unfair persecution, he owed Caspian a reasonable effort. In all the years he’d known him, the operative had never let him down. Ian rubbed his head. Unless one considered calling him to London for a personal favor “letting him down”. Four weeks in London was more than he could bear. He would have to act quickly.

  ###

  Later that evening, Alicia searched the brightly lit ballroom for prospective suitors. As usual, no one gentleman stood out among the rest. Once the Season began full swing, aristocrats, bachelors, debutantes, chaperones, and society matrons packed into crowded ballrooms. Tonight, however, most of the present men were married, and those that were not had seen several decades more than she.

  Where was Mr. Morrissey? He was handsome, reasonably young, and proper enough. He didn’t quite cut such a dashing, romantic figure as her masked rogue, of course, but a mysterious smile and a seductive prowl were hardly necessary components of a successful marriage.

  Thus far, Mr. Morrissey constituted the sole candidate on her potential husband list, although he had not shown any particular interest in her. He left no flowers nor came to call. How ironic. She finally went husband hunting and met a man who wanted to be friends.

  Wait. He still thought she had a fiancé, due to her obnoxious cousin’s thoughtless words. He couldn’t court her while unaware of her availability. Being wooed was also difficult when the desired wooer absented himself from the scene. Alicia looked around.

  Louis minced his way right toward her. Although he’d been silent in the carriage ride over, he no doubt felt obligated to converse publicly. She had hoped he would stay sequestered in the card room until she’d entranced a few eligible bachelors or at least added some possibilities to her mental list. However, if her strategy of being excruciatingly boring were to succeed, perhaps it was best no gentlemen hovered nearby to overhear. She needed to repel Louis, not all men.