Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2)

by Dobbs, Leighann

  Phil turned, craning her neck as she looked at the building, on the roof of which Giddy laid in wait. What was she doing? She would give away his position. Morgan hadn’t had time to train her before they put the plan into play, but he’d thought that not looking at her backup would be common sense. She ran her hand over the rolled up parchment that held their fake invention design, and stepped toward the building where Giddy rested.

  Morgan headed her off. “What are you doing?”

  She tore her gaze away from the roof to tell him, “Gideon is wearing my LEGs wrong. He won’t be able to see anything.”

  He caught her by the arm as she started to move past him. They’d laid a ladder against the side of the building, where the light of the lantern didn’t reach, in order for Jared to reach Giddy easily and relay messages.

  “Let Jared do it. You have to wait for Lady Whitewood.”

  Phil shook her head. Her mouth was mulish. “Jared doesn’t use my LEGs. He won’t know how to fix it.” She thrust the parchment into his hand. “Hold this a minute. I won’t be long.”

  “Phil…” Her name faded into the fog as she did the same. Morgan gritted his teeth. They didn’t have time for this.

  He chafed as the seconds lengthened. How long did it take to scamper up a ladder and fix a pair of goggles? At this rate, he might have to pretend to deliver the plans in her place.

  A crow’s caw penetrated the air, making his blood run cold. He and Giddy had settled on two separate signals in case of emergency. A warbler if someone approached, and a crow if someone was in imminent danger.

  Phil. Morgan bolted for the ladder, needing to assure himself that she was safe. He palmed the pistol in his pocket with his free hand. The metal handle imprinted itself against his skin.

  Jared, instructed to keep out of sight lest Lady Whitewood recognize him, met him at the base of the ladder. Morgan scanned the shadows, but the fog was too thick. He saw nothing. Where was Phil?

  “What’s wrong?” Jared asked.

  Morgan couldn’t formulate the words to answer him.

  Giddy whistled and slid down the ladder in a long leap as they made room for him at the bottom.

  “What’s going on?” Morgan asked, his voice hard. Where was Phil? His chest ached, threatening to split in two if the answer wasn’t ‘safe and sound at home nursing a cup of tea.’ Unfortunately, he knew better than that. She would never leave the job unfinished, not with her brother’s safety hanging in the balance.

  “It’s Phil,” Gideon said, his voice terse. He tapped the night goggles which he was still wearing. “I finally figured out how to get these things to work just in time to see two men grab Phil as she started up the ladder.”

  No.

  “Where did they go?”

  Until Jared caught him by the arm, Morgan didn’t realize that his muscles had coiled, ready to chase after Phil.

  “If you leave, what will happen with the meeting? Won’t Lady Whitewood get suspicious if no one shows up? She may not fall for it a second time.”

  Morgan shook the young man off. “We’ll figure out something else.” He didn’t have to mull over the dilemma of serving his country or saving the woman he loved. Phil’s safety was paramount. Lawks, he never would have agreed to this if he’d thought for a moment she would be in danger, out of his sight.

  “Let me do it.”

  Morgan gritted his teeth. Every second he spent arguing was another second that Phil’s kidnappers used to get further away.

  “We don’t have time to argue,” Gideon snapped. “I can follow them by rooftop. I’ll make the crow caw as I go. Morgan, you can follow that to catch up.” The ladder creaked as Giddy climbed it.

  “Be careful,” Morgan said, an automatic reflex that his brother didn’t bother answering. Knowing that Gideon was on the trail, Morgan was able to take a full breath, then another. He battled for clarity. Could they complete the mission for Britain and save Phil at the same time?

  His instincts said no.

  “Lady Whitewood knows your face. The moment she recognizes you, she’ll realize the rumor is a trap.”

  “She won’t see my face. She doesn’t know me that well and I’ll turn up my collar and keep my hat low.”

  Jared demonstrated. The light of the lantern, still set in the junction of the alleys, didn’t illuminate far enough for Morgan to tell whether or not the ruse worked.

  “If she even suspects…”

  The call of a crow punctuated the air toward the north. The muscles in Morgan’s back relaxed a bit, knowing that his brother was on Phil’s trail. With the light-enhancing goggles, hopefully he would be able to follow Phil without trouble. He, too, was armed with a pistol, as were Phil and Jared. Morgan hadn’t wanted to take any chances of something going awry tonight…as it obviously had.

  “My future is at stake,” Jared argued, his voice flat.

  Another caw.

  “I know what will happen if she suspects. She won’t. She’ll think I’m the English spy Phil was handing the plans off to.”

  Caw. Fainter, this time. Gideon was moving out of hearing distance. Morgan cocked his ears for the sound of a gun report, in case Giddy had to use his pistol to keep Phil alive. They didn’t know what these brigands wanted with her. They could be opportunists or they could have been sent by Lady Whitewood.

  The thought chilled Morgan.

  The young man added, “I only need to fool her long enough for her to try to steal the design. Once she does, it doesn’t matter if she sees my face, because I can arrest her.”

  Morgan didn’t want to leave Jared to complete his first mission alone, but every fiber in his body urged him to go after the woman he loved. The crow calls were getting quieter and fewer between.

  Lady Whitewood was only one woman. Jared should be able to handle her, even untrained as he was.

  “You won’t have backup,” Morgan warned. “If something goes awry, it’s up to you to fix it.”

  “Go and save my sister. I can look after myself.”

  Those were the only words Morgan needed to hear. Maybe he would get an earful from Phil later about leaving her brother—in fact, he hoped he did. It would mean that she was alive to berate him. Once he had her in his arms, neither one of them were ever venturing into the field again. He would shut them up in his office and lock the door. Or better yet, his bedroom. He did need to father an heir, as his mother constantly reminded him.

  He handed his pistol to Jared. “Just in case you need a second shot.”

  The young man nodded and stuffed it into his pocket. He reached for the rolled parchment.

  Morgan shook his head, pulling it out of reach. “We need to go through with the handoff. Whitewood will want to be certain these are the plans before she takes action and she is expecting Phil—or her cousin—to hand them to the English spy. By now, rumors of my association with your sister have probably circulated. I’m easily recognizable. In case Lady Whitewood has someone watching, it will look like I’m passing the designs off to you on Phil’s behalf. I’ll wait by the lantern. Count to twenty and come out after me.”

  Jared didn’t argue. Good. No matter how he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear his brother’s call at all anymore. What if he lost Gideon’s position? It would be tantamount to losing Phil.

  He squared his shoulders. He had to do this right. After that, he didn’t care if the world crumbled around his ears, so long as he found and saved Phil.

  His heart throbbed painfully in his throat as he took measured strides to the junction of the alleys. He skirted the shadowed edge to come into the light from another angle. Once he reached the lantern, he stopped. He counted the seconds as he strained his ears for the sound of a bird call. Nothing.

  By the time he counted to ten, Jared strode from the alley opposite him. His jacket collar stood stiff, shielding his neck. The brim of his hat obscured his eyes as he ducked his head, hunching as if to ward away the chill of the fog.

  Jared stopped as he
came apace with Morgan. “You’ve got it?” His voice was lower than usual, disguised.

  Morgan nodded with approval. He handed the rolled-up parchment to Jared. “It’s all yours,” he said, trying to impress into the tone of his voice a warning for the young man to look out for himself.

  Jared met his gaze, nodded, and tucked the paper under his arm. Morgan turned his back, taking the north alley away from the meet-up. The moment the shadows and fog closed in around him, he broke into a sprint.

  Phil was in danger and he hadn’t another second to waste.

  Off the main thoroughfare, the road was packed dirt strewn with sludge, the origins of which he didn’t want to contemplate. His boots squelched as he squinted through the night, trying to avoid chunks of cobblestone or rubbish that might trip him. A cat yowled as it scampered out of his way.

  Ahead, he heard a faint caw. Relief weakened his knees and he nearly tripped over the pigeon carcass that the cat had been ripping to shreds. He found his footing and put on a burst of speed. Phil needed him.

  He staggered to a halt as he heard another sound, this one from behind him. Was that a warbler? The thick fog obscured the alley more than four feet away.

  There it was again, louder. His heart beating quickly, Morgan mirrored the call. Muffled footsteps sounded, growing louder. A figure separated from the fog, tall and lean.

  “Jared?”

  He panted as he slid to a halt next to Morgan, bracing his hands on his knees.

  “Why aren’t you at the exchange? There’s hardly been time for Lady Whitewood to attempt to steal the plans and for you to arrest her.”

  “Bugger the exchange. My sister is in danger.” Jared’s voice was steely. He straightened, squaring his shoulders.

  Morgan’s thoughts reeled as he factored in the changes to the haphazard plan forming in his mind. The details depended upon finding Phil, first. “I thought you wanted to secure your future.”

  “Phil is a part of my future. We’ll have to catch Lady Whitewood another way, once my sister is safe.”

  At least he’d finally realized that.

  Morgan clapped the young man on the shoulder. “Let’s not tarry.” They set off at a run, following his brother’s signal.

  The crow calls came at regular intervals, clearly discernible. After this was all said and done, he would have to speak to Gideon about varying the signal so it sounded more natural and was less likely to be noticed by enemies. For now, he trudged toward that sound with single-minded purpose. He soon realized that it was no longer moving; he was approaching it. The call grew louder and clearer as he approached. With Jared next to him, he slowed, rubbing the stitch in his side as he searched for his brother or Phil.

  The caw sounded again. He jumped. It sounded like it came from on top of him. When he craned his head back, he could barely discern the shape of the house against the foggy night sky, let alone whether or not someone waited on the roof. He lifted his hands to his lips and made the warbler call.

  No response. Had that last caw come from an actual crow? Morgan held his breath as he waited. He heard nothing else.

  25

  The brigand’s grip on Phil’s arm was hard enough to bruise. She shook like a leaf as he towed her through the stinking alleys, his partner on her other side with his hand bunched in her dress. Panic dominated her thoughts along with her pounding pulse and for the most frightening moments of her life, she wasn’t able to think. She could only feel her kidnapper’s rough skin, smell the whiskey on his breath mingled with sewage as they deterred into a decrepit neighborhood, hear the rough patter of her heartbeat and the occasional caw of a crow. The fog muffled the clomp of her captors’ footsteps on the ground. The dampness chilled her skin. From time to time, they passed a window with a ghostly-pale face in it, one that soon turned away as if they didn’t see her. Her tongue took up too much space in her mouth to talk, even if she could even find the breath to do so. Several times, she stumbled, her knees buckling, only to be hauled onward by the rough men on either side. They’d spoken sparingly when they’d caught her, indecipherable with the roaring in her ears. Now, neither man spoke a word. They didn’t even look at each other.

  The first thought that re-entered her mind was of Morgan. She batted it away, searching for something useful, but it clung to her like seaweed. The shape of his mouth, the way he fingered the white streak in his hair when he thought, the way his piercing gray eyes darkened moments before he kissed her. None of those things would help her out of this dire situation, but she couldn’t rid herself of them. She wanted to see him again with a desperation that defied logic.

  That desperate desire solidified, turning into a pillar around which she could build her escape plan. After all, if she was going to see him again, she would have to escape.

  She was on her own. That vital thought cut her deeper than she’d thought it would. Ever since her parents had died, she’d been on her own. But now, with Morgan, she had a partner. Someone to always stand beside her. Someone to save her from danger.

  Except he couldn’t follow her. The fog was too thick, they were in the middle of a pivotal spying mission for Britain, and by the time he realized she was gone, it would be too late. The brigands had snatched her from the ladder when she’d gone to help Gideon don the LEGs correctly. He’d been fumbling, twisting them, getting them all wrong. Without the goggles, he wouldn’t have seen her. Why had she insisted on going alone?

  No, blame wouldn’t help the situation. She had to think clearly. It had all happened so fast—the man’s hand over her mouth cutting off her air, being ripped from the ladder and carried away. She’d thrashed, to no avail, and then the numbness had set in.

  She wasn’t numb anymore. And she was going to get out of this.

  The men slowed their breakneck pace. Phil’s legs held her better than before, but she pretended otherwise. She stumbled, letting the men catch her as she trembled. She widened her eyes so far that the sting of the stink made them water. Until that moment, she’d never seen the value of acting like a ninny. Right now, it would be to her advantage if they underestimated her.

  A house loomed out of the darkness. The stucco was chipped, along with the ratty paint on the door. Were those scratch marks marring the paint? They rose as high as her shoulder. The windows facing the alley were boarded up with smoke-streaked wooden boards and rusty nails that jutted out. The brigand holding her dress released her to shoulder open the door. He preceded his cohort into the lamp-lit room inside. As she was shoved through the entryway, she stumbled over the raised lip of flooring. The brigand holding her tightened his grip. She yelped as her arm was nearly yanked from its socket. She staggered to get her feet beneath her again.

  A toss of her head shook away the auburn strands obscuring her gaze and provided her the first glimpse of her captors. She would rather not have seen them. The one across the room was as tall and broad as Morgan, with a crooked cast to his nose, a short beard of unkempt stubble along his chin, and bushy hair snarled into a rat’s nest. The one next to her had a patch over his eye, a pink scar poking out of the bottom. She shuddered, her mind conjuring gruesome images of the tissue beneath that black patch. In front of an unlit hearth stood the puppet master of Phil’s kidnapping.

  Lady Whitewood.

  Phil’s heartbeat kicked into a gallop as she stared into the woman’s cold, cruel eyes. She knew. How had she known that this was a trap?

  Ice flooded Phil’s veins. The floor in here was just as grimy as the dirt outside. Her shoes scraped against it as Patch dragged her to one of two pieces of furniture in the wide room. A wooden chair that didn’t even look good enough for kindling rested next to Lady Whitewood. Along the right wall, where the lamp stood, was a table that seemed to have been put together by spare boards, none the same length.

  Patch shoved her into the chair. It creaked alarmingly as Phil clutched the arms for balance. Her heartbeat pounded painfully in the base of her throat. Think. What would they do with her now?r />
  The reticule on her wrist weighed heavy with the muff gun Morgan had insisted she carry. She couldn’t pull it out, not with both fearsome men and Lady Whitewood staring at her. She would never reach it before they snatched away her only weapon. Could she fool them and grab it in the distraction?

  There were three of them and she had only one bullet. What could she do? She started to tremble, for real this time. She pressed her lips together as she examined the room. She faced the front door, where she’d come in. Both men were in the way of freedom. There had to be another door out of sight behind her but she hadn’t marked where.

  Lady Whitewood sneered as she sashayed into Phil’s line of sight. The French spy glared at her lackeys. “I told you to bring the inventor.”

  Patch nodded. “You said the ‘un waiting wit’ the plans. That’s who we brought.”

  Whitewood narrowed her eyes at Phil’s hands. “She has no plans, you fool.”

  Patch looked confused. “But she had ‘em in her hand afore we grabbed her.”

  The spy whirled to face Patch, her fists balled at her sides. “I said the inventor, Phil…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing as she swung to face Phil.

  Hell and damnation! She must have put together that “Cousin Phil” and Philomena St. Gobain were the same person. Phil curled her fingers toward her wrist, searching out the mouth of her reticule. It was out of reach. Could she run?

  The lamp light glinted off the barrel of a pistol as Lady Whitewood withdrew the weapon from the cloak swathing her figure. “You idiots! Don’t you know who she is?”

  “The inventor,” Patch grumbled, sullen. His expression pulled at the pink tissue peeking out from beneath his eyepatch.

  “No.” Irritation flashed across the traitor’s face. “She’s Tenwick’s lover. He’s a spy for England. I caught him snooping in my room.”