At the Spy's Pleasure

by Tina Gabrielle

  Could she do it? Was she strong enough to be so close to him and not long for his touch? For his kiss?

  Olivia gave an anxious little cough. “I’m sorry, Jane. Edward is grateful to Mr. Ramsey for saving his life that night. And his occupation as a barrister makes an excellent choice as a witness. I had no idea you had second thoughts about him. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  She would have been thrilled. But that was before. A part of her wanted to back out of the wedding and stay hidden in the seclusion of her home. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to her closest friend. She refused to act selfishly. Olivia wanted her to stand beside her as she married the duke she loved, and Jane would do it. Even if it meant being in close vicinity to Gareth. She’d just have to do her duty for Olivia and avoid Gareth at all costs.

  Jane forced a smile as she squeezed Olivia’s hand. “Please don’t worry. Your wedding day will be perfect. It’s not as if Mr. Ramsey and I are getting married.”

  …

  Jane left Olivia with her servants on Bond Street and hailed a hackney to take her home. She hadn’t faked her fatigue, and she was relieved when the conveyance came to a stop in front of her town home. Parting the curtains to glimpse outside, her heart skipped a beat.

  Good heavens! Gareth’s carriage was waiting by the corner. She easily recognized the black conveyance and matching chestnut bays. It was the same carriage that had waited for her in the back alley and whisked her to Gareth’s home each night. Even though it had only been days since she’d eagerly gone to him under cover of darkness, it seemed so long ago.

  Maybe Gareth wouldn’t see her. Maybe he had knocked on her front door and had been told she wasn’t home and he would depart.

  Seconds later, she watched in dismay as Gareth stepped out of the carriage and headed for her hackney. A restless energy consumed his long strides.

  Her breath caught. The traitorous part of her longed to see him.

  No, she couldn’t be weak. She had to think with her head and not her heart.

  The cab door opened and he was there, hand outstretched to assist her, his unfathomable eyes capturing hers. Her heart started to flutter wildly in her breast. He wore no hat and his windblown jet hair fell across his brow, the silky black strands curling around his ears, softening the chiseled angles of his cheek and jaw. She longed to reach out and stroke his face, trace the pad of her thumb across his enticing lower lip.

  “Jane,” he said simply.

  She had every right to reject him, to push his hand away and step out of the hackney, march into her home, and slam the door in his face. But she was a lady, she reminded herself, and she would act with dignity.

  She placed her hand in his and stepped down.

  She felt the heat of his hand through her glove. He was so tall, she had to crane her head to look up at him. “Why are you here, Mr. Ramsey?”

  He frowned at her formal address. “I wish to speak with you.”

  “Unless you came to confess everything, there’s nothing left to say.” Her tone was cold and proper.

  Perfect.

  “Please Jane, can you forget that night? I miss you. I miss us.” Oh, no. She felt her body weaken. Felt the familiar lick of heat between her thighs and tighten her breasts. She forced herself to stand straight, not to sway toward him.

  “There is no us.” Her voice sounded weak to her own ears.

  “May I come inside?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s not a good idea.”

  He had no intention of explaining himself. He wanted her to forget, to look past what had occurred. She’d ignored her instincts with Charles. She would never do so again.

  “Very well. I want to tell you that the duke asked me to stand as his witness for the wedding,” Gareth said.

  She already knew. Thank goodness Olivia had told her. Otherwise, she would have been highly dismayed at the news. “How prestigious for you.”

  “Will that upset you?”

  She raised her chin a notch. “Why should it?”

  “All you need to do is ask, and I shall tell the duke I’m unable to stand as his witness,” Gareth said.

  Dare she do it? It would be so easy. But another part of her refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply his lies had scarred her. She didn’t want to regress to the depressive state she’d been in over Charles’s suicide and betrayal. She feared the black shroud that had enveloped her for so long would return.

  Just then, the front door opened and Graves stood there. She was vaguely aware that they were drawing attention on the busy street.

  “Let me come inside,” he said.

  “No. I’m expecting company.”

  He looked at her skeptically, and she knew he realized she was lying. “Very well. Another time, then?”

  She barely made it into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. Shutting the door, she slid down its length to the floor as the tears started.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gareth stepped inside the Seven Sins brothel in Soho. The scent of cheap perfume, the sight of red velvet drapes and plush settees, and the sound of coarse feminine laughter assailed his senses.

  A middle-aged woman with dyed red hair, a heavily painted face, and huge breasts openly displayed in a low bodice approached. Her shrewd gaze raked him from head to toe, and Gareth suspected she was very adept at calculating a man’s worth on sight. He recognized her as one of the owners of the brothel from the last time he’d been here with Simon Marbury.

  “Looking for some lively sport tonight, my lord? I have a wide selection of women who would be happy to cater to your every desire,” she said in a sultry voice.

  No doubt. The reputation of the brothel was infamous. The women were ill-treated, often beaten, and nothing was off limits.

  “Not tonight. I understand Simon Marbury is here.”

  She pouted painted lips. “I’m not at liberty to reveal our clientele, my lord.”

  “Marbury’s phaeton is parked round the corner. I assure you, he’ll want to see me,” Gareth said, a cold edge to his voice.

  Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she realized Gareth wasn’t leaving until he got what he wanted. “Follow me. Should you see someone along the way you’d like, you have just to say the word.”

  Gareth followed past a hall with scarlet-painted walls lined with closed doors. Noises sounded from behind the doors—moans, a trill of high-pitched laughter, even masculine sobbing. Women walked past him, all Cyprians who were scantily clad. They eyed him like he was fresh meat and some reached out to stroke his arm. A few were slower to meet his gaze, and they had an unmistakable look of desperation in their eyes. Daniel wanted to find a way to shut down the brothel, and Gareth couldn’t agree more.

  At last the red-haired woman halted by a closed door. “I’ll leave you to your business.” She gave him a sly glance. “But you are welcome to share the woman inside if that’s what you prefer.”

  Gareth waited until she left. He banged on the door once, then threw it open.

  Simon was on the bed with a young brunette. She gasped and sat up as the door hit the opposite wall. She struggled to cover her naked breasts.

  “What the hell!” Simon said.

  Gareth glanced at the girl. “You should go.”

  She scrambled from the bed and grasped her dress. Not bothering to put it on, she fled from the room.

  Simon stood and reached for his breeches. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “I never liked you, Simon.”

  “What?”

  “Only scum frequent the Seven Sins.”

  “That’s what you came to tell me?” Simon reached for his shirt.

  Gareth shut the door and leaned against it. “Not really. I want you to know that I’m an agent for the Home Office.”

  Simon stilled mid-way through buttoning his shirt. “You’ve been spying on me? You bastard!”

  “I can say the same of you.”

  “What of your se
cret investor?” Simon asked.

  “He doesn’t exist. But the Home Office knows about your faulty cannons and the inferior pig iron you’ve been using to produce them. Our soldiers have suffered a dire price because of your greed.” Gareth glared at Simon as he thought of Private Stevens and his amputated leg. He pushed away from the door and stalked forward. “We also know about the military inspectors you’ve been bribing to pass the inferior cannons.”

  Simon’s face paled a shade. “I never told you their names.”

  “You can’t possibly think I’m that inept at my job, can you?”

  Simon pointed a shaky finger at Gareth. “The night of my family’s ball. I caught you in the library with Lady Stanwell. You stole the list of names of inspectors from my desk, didn’t you?”

  “Rest assured, your scheme is at an end,” Gareth said.

  “Does Jane know what you were doing there that night?”

  Gareth’s stiffened. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  “You bedded her and forced her into becoming your accomplice, didn’t you?”

  Gareth clenched his jaw. A picture of Jane outside her home crystallized in his mind. He wanted desperately to see her, to hold her. If only she hadn’t caught him in Simon’s library that night.

  “Don’t ever speak ill of her,” Gareth said tersely. “You’re guilty of treason. Now you’re going to pay the price.”

  Simon bellowed in outrage and charged forward. Gareth was ready. He sidestepped and his fist struck Simon in the eye.

  Simon hollered in pain and swung madly in a wild attempt to strike his opponent. Gareth instinctively shifted to the balls of his feet, raised his fists, and delivered a swift uppercut, punching Simon square in the nose. Blood spurted across Simon’s shirtfront, and he crumpled to the floor.

  “You can’t do this!” Simon cried out, clutching his bloody nose. “My father was friends with Wellington and was knighted by the Crown. I’m the heir to the Marbury fortune.”

  “No longer. Upon your father’s death, all the company assets will be seized by the Crown. If it was up to me you’d be imprisoned, but the Crown wants you exiled. You have to leave and never return.”

  “With what money?”

  “That’s your problem. You have two days to get out of England.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The wedding of the Duke of Westmont and Lady Olivia, the daughter of Earl Newbury, took place early Sunday morning. It was a warm summer morning as family and close friends occupied the pews of St. George’s church.

  The Dowager Duchess had complained that the younger son of Baron Suffolk had no standing to serve as a witness for her grandson. The duke never bothered to explain to the dowager that Gareth had saved his life and inadvertently the life of his younger twin, William. The stern-faced woman would probably suffer apoplexy if she knew the truth.

  Jane stood beside Olivia and held her bouquet of white roses during the ceremony. She tried desperately not to notice Gareth, but it was impossible for her eyes not to stray to where he stood beside the groom. Gareth’s height alone made him stand out, and he was very handsome in a brown coat embroidered with silver and gold, a white silk waistcoat, and brown breeches. He was watching her, his look so intense it was almost like a caress against her skin. She finally gave in to the temptation and turned. Their gazes caught, and her breath hitched.

  It was a mistake. So much could be conveyed in one sizzling glance. Her pulse leapt, and she quickly faced the altar.

  It took all her effort to stand straight and paste a smile on her face for the remainder of the ceremony. She was exhausted by the time the couple was pronounced man and wife. Her feet hurt. Her back hurt. Even her breasts felt tight in the bodice of her silk gown. She was convinced she was coming down with a cold.

  At last the duke and his new duchess strode down the aisle. The guests rose to depart the church in anticipation of the wedding breakfast, which was to take place at the Westmont’s mansion.

  Jane searched for Olivia among the throng of well-wishers. She started when someone touched her sleeve.

  “Jane.” Gareth looked down at her, a frown marring his brow. “I couldn’t help but notice you look pale. Are you well?”

  No. She’d never be well again. She also felt slightly perturbed by his less than flattering observation. “I’m fine.”

  “I came to see you,” he said.

  The brush of his fingers on her sleeve upset her balance. He stood so close she could feel the heat from his body. “I know.”

  “Several times.”

  “I was told.” She’d watched him through her bedroom curtains each time he approached the front door. She’d left explicit instructions for her butler and household staff to turn him away. She knew she was reverting to her former ways of rarely venturing from the town house.

  But this was different. She didn’t fear gossip about the suicide. That part of her life was behind her. She feared something else entirely.

  She feared her own sanity. The days were long, but the nights were endless. He’d shown her the pleasures of the flesh, and she’d foolishly fallen in love.

  She loved him still.

  His beautiful brown eyes darkened, reflecting flecks of green and gold from the church’s stained glass windows. “Please. I don’t want to leave things like this between us.”

  She tried desperately to ignore the all too familiar shiver of awareness in her limbs. She swallowed hard and searched for some kind of armor to wrap around herself. “Leave me be, Mr. Ramsey.”

  “I may not be able to answer all your questions, but you must trust me.”

  She’d done that before, and she’d found him sneaking in Simon Marbury’s study, picking a desk lock, and stealing documents. She wanted desperately to put her faith in him now. What was it about Gareth Ramsey that made her want to trust him when every warning was that she shouldn’t?

  She looked up at him then. His dark hair fell in a wave across his forehead, his handsome features focused intently upon her.

  It was too much. He was too much. His overwhelming masculinity was overpowering. She longed for the protectiveness of his arms. She wanted to rest her aching head against his broad shoulder, to press her weary body against his.

  No. She was weak. She always had been. She needed to get away. To breathe and think clearly.

  “Trust you?” She laughed bitterly, and the dowager turned at her shrill tone.

  “I know I don’t deserve it—”

  “No. You don’t.” She turned to leave.

  “Jane—”

  She glanced back, purposely not meeting his gaze. “As I said, please leave me be, Mr. Ramsey. Today is about the bride and groom, and Olivia needs me.”

  …

  The following morning, Jane had never felt worse. Although she went to bed early, she woke feeling tired. Throwing back the covers, she sat on the edge of the bed just as a knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in.” Even her voice was hoarse.

  Aunt Eleanor entered followed by a young maid carrying a breakfast tray. The smell of fried eggs and bacon made Jane’s stomach roil. She made it to the chamber pot just in time to vomit.

  Eleanor shooed the maid away and held Jane’s hair as her stomach cramped again and again. A long minute passed as Jane groaned and emptied what remained of her stomach into the chamber pot. After the nausea subsided, Eleanor helped Jane bathe her face in rosewater and held out a towel.

  “You’re breeding,” Eleanor announced.

  Jane dropped the towel and looked at her aunt in shock. “It’s impossible.”

  She had never confessed her affair with Gareth to her aunt. She didn’t want to shock the woman. And besides, what Eleanor said could not be true.

  “I may be old, but I’m not a simpleton. I know you’ve been sneaking out of the house at night. It’s your mystery gentleman, isn’t it?” Eleanor said.

  Jane’s cheeks heated. There was no sense denying it. “I admit to sharing his b
ed, but what you are implying is not possible. The doctor said—”

  Eleanor stomped her cane. “Posh! Those charlatans don’t know anything about a woman’s body.”

  “But I was married to Charles for three years!”

  “Has it occurred to you the problem was with Charles, not you?” Eleanor said.

  Jane was stunned. Could it be true? Could she be carrying a baby?

  All her life she’d wanted a child, but she’d believed it impossible. Not only had her marriage been doomed, but her hopes of conception taken after the doctor told her she was barren.

  But the telltale signs were present. The fatigue. The nausea. The fullness and sensitivity of her breasts. Thinking back, she had missed her menses. Had her long-ago prayers finally been answered? Could she be carrying a baby? A baby that she could lavish with all the love in her heart. A precious gift.

  A child.

  Gareth’s child.

  Jane looked at her aunt. “You must tell no one.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Retire to the country. Raise my child. Live happily ever after,” Jane said.

  Eleanor tsked. “What of the father? The man must do the right thing. It’s still early on in the pregnancy. No one will suspect the babe was conceived before the wedding.”

  “No! There will be no wedding. He’s not what he led me to believe.”

  Eleanor leaned on her cane. “Darling, no one is. The question is: is he a good man?”

  Yes. No. “I don’t know. This is all so shocking. Please, let me think.”

  …

  A week later, Jane knew she was pregnant. She woke up violently ill every morning and the nausea would last until mid-afternoon. She wanted to confess her secret to Olivia, but she had departed with the duke to visit his country estate in Kent and wouldn’t return for days. Only Aunt Eleanor was aware, and instinctively Jane understood the fewer people who knew about the baby the better.

  Jane dressed in a simple morning gown and headed for the small herb garden behind the town house. She picked mint and chamomile, the two herbs that helped with her morning sickness. She breathed in the fresh air, thick with the scent of flowering shrubs and garden herbs, and thought clearly of her future.