“As I’m sure we all would,” Simon agreed. “But do you think we could do that somewhere else? It is stiflingly hot in here, and we are beginning to stink like overripe fruit.”
“It is stiflingly hot everywhere,” Sir Barnabas said. “And there is the chance that whoever he is meeting may recognize one of us if we do not remain hidden.”
“You think he has another accomplice here in London other than Alice Gaines?”
“I always think anything is possible,” Sir Barnabas said. “It’s why I’m still alive and why I’m in charge.”
“You know what else is possible?” Simon asked. “That you are insufferable.”
Robert had to turn away to hide his smile as he stifled his laughter.
“You are overripe,” Sir Barnabas said. “Go stand in the corner.”
“We’re in an alcove,” Hastings reminded him. “There is no corner.”
“Why do I put up with you two?” Sir Barnabas grumbled.
“Because without these two we wouldn’t even be here,” Robert told him. “If I’m man enough to admit it, so should you.”
“I jumped into the harbor for you,” Simon added.
“You jumped into the harbor because you let an important witness get away,” Sir Barnabas fired back. “And because you knew I would have flailed the skin off your back if you hadn’t chased him down, whether in the water or out of it.”
Robert noticed Simon turning a little pale and he started to lean against the wall again, but as soon as his back touched the wall he straightened with a wince. Neither of the other two men noticed.
“Could we leave backs out of it?” Simon asked. Robert was amazed for a moment how fearless he could be when it came to his own vulnerability.
“My apologies,” Sir Barnabas said. “I promise to throw my glove in your face and leave your back alone should your performance be as disastrous as Hastings.”
Simon laughed quietly, and Robert was struck at the easy comradeship between him and Sir Barnabas. It was obvious they had known and worked together for a long time. Also evident was their obvious, if grudging, affection for one another.
“I heartily object to that description,” Hastings said. “I got him to talk, didn’t I?”
“No, I did,” Robert said. “I shot him.”
“Well, I convinced him he was going to die,” Hastings argued, “and that he ought to cleanse his conscience first.”
“I actually think it was the pressure you were applying to his wound at the time that may have coerced him to spill his secrets,” Robert said drily. “Let us agree that it was a combined effort.”
“Agreed,” Hastings said politely. They shook hands.
“Now you are all insufferable,” Simon said.
“Be quiet,” Sir Barnabas whispered. He was looking out the slit between the curtains. A man had just walked in the door. He glanced around the lobby, his eyes alighting on the alcove. Almost immediately he was hailed by the Dutchman’s bodyguard. He hurried to the stairs and went up without a backward glance.
“Do you know him?” Robert asked Sir Barnabas.
“I think so,” Sir Barnabas said. “I believe it is Thomas Naismith. Damn.” He cursed under his breath. “This affair gets more confusing with each new revelation. Naismith was involved with that business on the Gold Coast, with the African Company of Merchants. Now he’s here with the Dutch and the Turks. What the devil are they up to?”
“None of them seem connected,” Hastings said. “I mean, the African Company of Merchants was dissolved. You said yourself, Simon, that a legion of boy spies or couriers or whatever they were hardly seemed legitimate, nor did an alliance with a madam, and now we find him working with the Turks, who haven’t the nerve or the manpower to launch an assault against Britain. And we’ve had no indication anywhere from anyone that there is a threat imminent from those areas. So, here’s a thought: maybe they’re working alone? Maybe they’re malcontents who are planning to sow chaos and rebellion and nothing more?”
“Why?” Robert asked, puzzled.
“Why not would be a better question to someone like that,” Sir Barnabas asked. “Because they can, that’s why. Because they want to see us in chaos, panic-stricken, the fabric of British society ripped apart by their nefarious plans, no doubt.”
“Slow down, Barnabas,” Simon cautioned. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself there. We don’t know enough yet to make that assumption. They might very well be doing it for money. I find the simplest explanations are often the right ones.”
“I second Simon’s observation,” Robert said.
“Yes, well, you would, wouldn’t you?” Hastings said.
Both Robert and Simon looked at him sharply.
“What do you mean?” Robert asked.
“Just that you two seem so in tune you’re practically finishing each other’s sentences,” Hastings said in disgust. “So, is anyone going to go up and try to find out what they’re meeting about? Or are we just going to speculate all night? As much as I’m enjoying this little tête à tête, I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the greater good and go snooping.”
“Go,” Sir Barnabas said, and Hastings slipped out. “Come on.” He gestured for the others to follow him.
“Where are we going?” Robert asked. He wanted to know, of course, but he was also worried about Simon’s abilities. His back seemed greatly improved this morning and he had said as much when Robert and Christy had quizzed him, but he would, wouldn’t he? He’d also push himself to the point of reinjuring it, as he nearly had yesterday.
“The idea of a group of malcontents appeals to me in this case. Hastings is correct, it fits the lack of a pattern we’re seeing. But the whole thing does seem to center around this Dutchman. I’ve sent a note to the Dutch ambassador for any information he has on this Van de Berg. In the meantime, I’m putting full-time surveillance on this hotel. My gut tells me we haven’t long to wait for the denouement of this drama.”
“Yes, but where are we going?” Simon asked. They were stealthily making their way out a small delivery entrance at the back of the hotel.
“Sir?” An agent materialized in front of them.
“Round the clock, McNally,” Sir Barnabas said. “Apprehend, very quietly, everyone on the way out.”
“Yes, sir.” McNally dematerialized, ostensibly to carry out his orders.
“And now we three are going to put our heads together. I have a detailed list of events going on in and around London over the coming week, from the smallest gathering to state affairs, that involve anyone worth assassinating. We are going to go through it and try to narrow it down.”
They followed him along a labyrinth of alleyways, and when they came out Sir Barnabas’s carriage was waiting. Robert started to walk over to it, but Simon’s arm shot out and slammed across his chest, stopping him. Just in time. The whistle of the thin stiletto could be heard as it swung through the air right where his throat would have been.
“Two more!” Sir Barnabas shouted.
Robert heard Sir Barnabas’s weapon as he pulled it from his walking stick. Simon pulled his lethal knife from his boot again, but Robert was left to face his would-be assassin with nothing but his wits and his bare hands.
“You have lost the element of surprise, ladies,” he told them, squaring off with a woman of average height and size. She wore men’s attire, all in black. The other two were similarly dressed.
“Don’t need surprise,” she answered him in a smooth, uncultured accent. “I like a bit of a tussle anyhow.”
He heard Simon scuffling with his attacker but dared not take his eyes away from the woman in front of him. He had to trust that Simon could handle himself.
“Are you the one who attacked my wife? And killed those boys?” he asked coldly, determined to stop her before she harmed anyone else.
Her eyes narrowed but she didn’t answer. Instead, she swung the stiletto at him again and Robert blocked it with his arm, stepping into the a
ttack. The knife was sharp and cut through his jacket and shirt, but it was only a small cut and a bit of a sting. It gave him the leverage he needed to grab onto her arm and twist it roughly, forcing her to drop the weapon. She cried out in fury and attempted to slash his face with the nails of her other hand, but he caught that hand as well. She began to twist and kick like a wild cat, but there was little finesse to her tactics.
Robert didn’t hesitate to handle her roughly, spinning her around and shoving her to the ground on her stomach. He held her there, capturing both her hands in one of his, and looked up in time to see Sir Barnabas neatly knock his assailant unconscious with a punch to the jaw.
Simon was not so lucky. It was he who ended up on the ground as his attacker took off running down the nearest alleyway.
“Simon!” Robert called out in fear.
“I’m fine,” Simon said breathlessly, slowly getting to his feet. “Just my dignity is wounded. She wasn’t armed, but she caught me in the stones with a well-aimed kick.”
Sir Barnabas had the audacity to laugh. “Lesson one in self-defense, Simon. I can’t believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book.”
“Yes, well, a practitioner of the oldest profession ought to know the oldest trick,” Simon joked. He was standing, but he was bent over, still catching his breath. “I am not having a good week,” he said sadly.
Robert had to fight a grin. His heart was pounding and he realized it wasn’t from the fight he’d had but the fright when he’d thought Simon had been injured. The situation was becoming more precarious, and he didn’t just mean the assassins—he meant what was happening with his emotions.
“Sir!” Sir Barnabas’s coachman called back at them. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Sir Barnabas called back. “Stay with the carriage.”
“Let’s take these two back with us and find out what’s going on,” Robert said.
“As if I’d tell you a thing,” the woman he held sneered at him. “If I get loose I’ll still slit your bleedin’ throat.”
“Check her for more knives,” Simon advised him. He stood up and adjusted himself gingerly. “I shall sing harmony slightly higher from now on.”
“Miss,” Robert said politely, because he always found he got more cooperation by being unfailingly polite, “we shall both find this a much easier and far more pleasant situation if you would stop resisting and hand over your weapons.”
Sir Barnabas was looking at him as if he had two heads. “Does that ever work?” he asked incredulously.
Robert had to yell to be heard over the cursing of his prisoner. “I have found it to work once or twice, and I’m ever hopeful in situations such as this one.”
“‘Hope springs eternal’,” quoted Simon.
“Indeed,” Robert said. He managed to find two more stilettos hidden in various crevices on his would-be-assassin. “I need something to tie her hands.”
“Use your cravat,” Sir Barnabas told him.
Robert had trouble holding the squirming woman with one hand and untying his cravat with the other. Simon came over and knocked his hand away. “Let me,” he murmured. He had it undone in an amazingly short time. Then he tied her hands with a complicated knot that she could not undo. She twisted and squirmed and tried, but it only seemed to get tighter.
“How did you do that?” Robert asked, ignoring her complaints. She had tried to kill him, after all.
“I’ll show you later.”
A shockingly erotic scene flashed into Robert’s mind at Simon’s simple words, and the image left Robert breathless and slightly embarrassed. He looked at Simon, who was looking at him as if he’d been about to say something, but he stopped at the look on Robert’s face. Then Simon blushed. Robert was relatively sure he was blushing, too.
“Oh, good God,” Sir Barnabas said in disgust from beside them. “Really, Simon? You had to corrupt the constable, too? Is there no one you won’t shag?”
“We have not,” Robert protested.
“No, no one,” Simon said at the same time, as if it was a great joke. “You know me.”
“Simon, that is not true and you know it,” Robert said, offended on his behalf. “You don’t go around shagging anyone and everyone. Perhaps at one time, but not anymore.”
“Is that what he told you?” Sir Barnabas said snidely. “And you believed him? Ah, to be that innocent again.” He hoisted the unconscious woman over his shoulder. “Simon, your cravat.”
“Use your own damn cravat,” Simon snapped.
“It would be unseemly for me to be seen at the Home Office improperly dressed,” Sir Barnabas said primly. “And I’m very attached to this particular cravat. It is my lucky cravat. So give me yours.”
“Apologize to him first,” Robert demanded.
Sir Barnabas turned and stared at him incredulously. “Do you know who I am? I do not apologize. And you work for me. Start acting like it.”
“I did not ask to work for you. I believe we have been over this before. And you have disparaged Simon and hurt his feelings, and what’s more it isn’t true. If he and I were involved, then first of all it would be none of your business, and second of all it would certainly be more than shagging for both of us. The very idea.” He sniffed in disapproval of the very notion.
“I simply have no words,” Sir Barnabas said. “I have never encountered someone like you, Manderley. You defy categorization.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“I’m not sure I meant it as one.” Sir Barnabas turned away and started toward the carriage.
“I am quite sure you did not,” Robert said under his breath. “And I did not hear an apology.”
“And you never will,” Sir Barnabas called back.
“Don’t bother,” Simon said when Robert started to respond. Simon was already taking off his cravat. “He always gets the last word.”
Chapter 24
Sir Barnabas sat in a chair facing the woman who had tried to cut Robert’s throat. Simon still got chills thinking how close he’d come. Thank God his intuition had not failed him. Too many times to count during the war—and after when he prowled St. Giles with Daniel meting out vigilante justice in their foolhardy and reckless past—Simon’s intuition had saved his life and the life of his friends. He’d always had it, that sixth sense of…something. And he always listened to it. It had failed him with Giselle and so he had never trusted it, not even after all these years. But lately he’d been giving it a bit more credence, and today he was willing to swear by it.
He glanced over at Robert for what must have been the one hundredth time that day, just to watch him breathing, and catch the slight vibration of the pulse in his neck, visible now that he wore no cravat. It was taking every ounce of self-control Simon possessed not to cross the room and put his mouth on the heartbeat in Robert’s neck. He felt like a foolish, infatuated idiot.
He tore his gaze away from Robert’s neck only to find Robert watching him. The knowing little smile Robert sent him made his own heart skip a beat, and Simon quickly looked away, embarrassed by his ridiculous reaction.
He blamed it on his weakened state. He never should have agreed to do this for Daniel and then for Barnabas. It was too soon. He hadn’t even recovered from that nightmare in Africa yet. What on earth were they doing, expecting him to watch Robert and Hastings like this? This had turned into a very serious affair, a matter of state, of security and the safety of the empire. It should not be in Simon’s hands, of all people. He could barely handle his own fate, let alone that of the empire, for God’s sake.
Barnabas was sipping a cup of tea, his legs crossed, his pinky in the air like a right gentleman, as Hastings would say. The little harridan who’d nearly decapitated Robert was sitting facing him with her hands tied behind her, watching him drink the tea with a near feral look on her face. They’d been questioning her for hours and had refused all her requests for food, drink and even a moment’s rest. The room was windowless. She’d lost
track of time. Barnabas was merciless. But then, he was an expert at this sort of thing. He’d had many years to perfect the art.
“Now, my dear, you know I cannot give you anything until you tell us where the Dutchman plans to strike and when. I’m sorry, truly, you cannot know how sorry I am. But my superiors at Whitehall have been very clear about this. Only subjects who cooperate with our investigations receive complimentary treatment. I’m afraid the others…well, let me just say that I should hate to see you suffer as they have.” He made a tsk, tsk sound that was almost believably sympathetic even to those who knew him. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell us?”
He turned as the door opened. “Oh, look. A proper tea. Of course, it isn’t the time for it. Or is it? I’m just not sure. Here we are.” The tea cart was wheeled in and placed next to Sir Barnabas, who lifted the lid on the covered dishes. “Oh, sandwiches. And is that jam? How delightful. Gentlemen, do come and have something to eat. You must be famished.”
Robert pushed himself off the wall and accepted a plate of food from Sir Barnabas with a hearty thanks. He stood next to Barnabas’s chair and stuffed a sandwich into his mouth, and his would-be assassin gave a little sob.
Simon forced himself to follow Robert’s lead. He wasn’t hungry at all, honestly. He’d always hated this part of the job. His specialty had been gathering information. He’d been able to infiltrate an enemies’ camp and steal battle plans from right under their noses. And when need be, kill someone. Like Hastings, he preferred the clean kills. Interrogation had always been a necessary evil.
“I…” The woman paused to swallow. “I don’t know much.” It was a promising change from her defensive denials for the last few hours. Apparently Barnabas had at last worn her down.
“No?” Barnabas asked. He handed Simon a plate loaded down with food. “Tea?” he asked Simon.
“Please,” Simon replied politely. “Milk and sugar.”
“But of course.” Sir Barnabas poured his tea and prepared it while the woman watched, fascinated. He handed Simon the cup and turned back to her. “What do you know, my dear? Every little bit helps.”
Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14) Page 17