The Spy's Revenge

by Nadine Millard

  In the beginning of her recovery in France, Gabrielle hadn’t been well enough to question anything. As she regained some strength, she had to wonder why this handsome stranger would sweep in and help her.

  She had asked him once and reading between the lines of his evasive answers told her what she needed to know; he too worked for the Crown, only thankfully, he was still on the side of good.

  Once, months ago, she had railed against them all: the Home Office, England and its horrible gentry like Jonathan Spencer, and her mother’s family.

  The captain’s cryptic answer had silenced her rage somewhat.

  “You are not the only one to suffer at the cruel hands of the Spencers, Miss Dumas,” he had interrupted quietly.

  He had refused to ever speak of Jonathan’s family again after that. It was a mystery, but one she’d been too weak to even care about, let alone solve.

  Somewhere in the sprawling city of London, Jonathan Spencer was living his life, probably without a care in the world, having shattered her heart into a million pieces.

  She mourned the loss of the man she had thought he was, but she knew what had to be done.

  He needed to die, just like the rest of them.

  It was early spring. The London Season would be in full swing. The upper echelons of London Society would be attending numerous doubtless stuffy events. And that was a good thing, since it meant there was practically no chance of her being seen by anyone who would know her or of her. Not until she was ready and prepared to do what needed to be done and then leave this cold, God-forsaken country forever.

  When she arrived at Piers’ front door, she’d been terrified he would send her away. In fact, his stuffy butler very nearly did turn her out, but her years of working for the English Home Office had taught her well, and after the butler closed the front door in her face, she managed to sneak herself into Piers’ study with no effort.

  The dear man had taken one look and thrown his arms around her, offering any and all help he could provide.

  At that time, Gabrielle had only needed a place to rest and recover. Travelling from Paris to London on Lucas’s ship hadn’t been easy, and the journey from London to Norfolk even less so.

  But now, six months on, when she was in excellent health yet again, it was time to make a move toward finding the people who had done this to her. And killing them.

  “My dear.”

  The sound of Piers’ deep baritone brought Gabrielle’s thoughts back to the present, and she turned to see him hurrying toward her, his face white, his jaw set.

  Immediately Gabrielle jumped to her feet, her eyes scanning the area for danger. She reached under her skirts and pulled out the dagger she always kept on her.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  Piers’ eyes widened, and he held up his hands.

  “It’s nothing, really. You’re safe,” he said mildly.

  Gabrielle slowly lowered the knife and slowed her breathing.

  “What is it?” she asked, more snippily than she usually would have, but adrenaline was coursing through her making her feel edgy.

  Piers hesitated for a moment as though weighing his words. After a pause, he smiled gently and motioned to the bench.

  “Why don’t we sit?” he asked.

  His tone and gentleness did nothing to ease Gabrielle’s anxiety. Something was wrong.

  She sat and turned to him expectantly, plucking at the lace ribbon that adorned her rose-pink gown.

  “What happened, Piers?” she asked, getting directly to the point.

  “Now, Gabby,” he started as though trying to placate a small child, “I want you to remember everything we have been discussing over the last few months. About what happened to you. About who betrayed you. And—” he cleared his throat and Gabrielle’s anxiety increased “—and about how Jonathan and Andrew had nothing to do with it.”

  As usual, even the mention of Jonathan’s name caused a swift, sharp pain, but Gabby kept her features smooth.

  Piers had been tirelessly trying to convince her of Jonathan’s innocence.

  Gabby had stubbornly ignored all of his attempts.

  “Go on” was the only reply she gave.

  Piers sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked worried, older somehow, and Gabby felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn’t have involved him in this mess. But she’d had nowhere else to go.

  Her parents had been dead for years, and her mother’s family would have nothing to do with her since she was the result of an elopement with a Frenchman. Truth be told, she didn’t even know if they were aware of her existence.

  Before, she would have run straight to Jonathan. In fact, before, she’d imagined that her days of running were over, she’d imagined herself as Jonathan’s wife, the mother of his children. Obviously she had been the only one thinking along those lines.

  Once again, Gabrielle pushed thoughts of that man from her mind. It really was getting odious, this constant thinking of him. It had gotten worse since arriving in England, knowing there was no longer an ocean separating them.

  But now was not the time to be thinking of Jonathan Spencer, even if Piers had brought him up.

  “He— that is to say, Jonathan — has written to me.”

  Gabby merely nodded in response. She knew that Piers kept in touch with both Jonathan and Andrew Carlyle. It was no surprise to her.

  “He isn’t having a terribly good time of it in Town, and the Home Office has insisted he have some time off. He has been working a lot since — well, since Paris. Working himself into an early grave, truth be told. Taking silly chances. Almost like he wants to get himself killed.”

  Gabby tried not to be affected by Piers’ words, by the bleakness in his tone. What did she care in any case? The man had left her for dead, for goodness’ sake. And besides, if he got himself killed, it would save her a job. She ignored the dull pain in the pit of her stomach at the thought. It was no more than he deserved.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly. Did he think she wanted to hear any of this? He knew what she had gone through. What Jonathan had done.

  Piers heaved a great sigh then turned on the bench so that he was fully facing her.

  Grasping her hand lightly, he spoke so quietly that Gabrielle had to lean forward to hear.

  “He’s coming to stay here.”

  At Piers’ words, Gabrielle’s stomach lurched painfully, and for a moment she thought she might actually cast up her accounts.

  It couldn’t be true! She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t face him.

  “Piers,” she whispered in horror. It was the only word she could manage.

  “My dear, please do not panic. I — I couldn’t turn him down. I have told him he can always come here. I do not believe he betrayed you, Gabrielle. If I thought he had, I would never see him again.”

  Gabrielle heard his words as though they came from a great distance. Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

  “Gabby, I think this could be a wonderful opportunity. Speak to him. Listen to him. This won’t be easy for either of you. He doesn’t even know you are alive.”

  Breathe, Gabby, she told herself. Just breathe. And think for heaven’s sake.

  “Gabrielle, this is your chance to set things straight.”

  His words brought her panic to an abrupt halt.

  Her chance to set things straight.

  That was true. This was her chance.

  She wanted to find every single person who had led to her nearly bleeding to death in the middle of the street. And when she found them, she wanted them dead for what they had done. She hadn’t confessed her plan to Piers, who would be sure to stop her.

  Instead, she had told him that she wanted to make a new life for herself in the land of her birth, since her mother had only moved to France when Gabrielle was a tiny baby. And, truth be told, that had been her plan until she’d been shot by agents of the very country she’d b
een working for years to protect.

  Her usual rage arrived, and she wrapped it round herself like a comforting shawl.

  If Jonathan Spencer was coming here, then he was just making her job easier.

  She wanted him dead, and this was a perfect opportunity to make it happen.

  As had always happened when she was involved with a mission, Gabrielle felt her mind clear of all confusion, all fear, all emotion. Her focus was solely on the task at hand.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned to face her friend and confidante and gave him a confident smile.

  “You’re absolutely right, Piers. This is the perfect opportunity to set things to rights with Mr. Spencer. In fact, now that I know he is coming, I cannot wait.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE ROLLING MEADOWS of Norfolk were the perfect foil for his mood, Jonathan decided as he took in his surroundings.

  He had heard the countryside around the area described as sparse and empty, but he disagreed. There was life out there, though it didn’t have the same conventional beauty of the garden counties of the country, filled with flowers and forests of trees like his own home. But it was understated and sober, and that was exactly what he wanted.

  As soon as he had written to Piers to inform him of his upcoming arrival and request a bed for a few weeks, his shoulders had felt lighter.

  That had definitely been the right thing to do.

  Leaving London a couple of days ago, he’d been pressed by a very determined Evelyn into promising he would return for her end-of-Season ball. He knew it was important to her, so he had promised that he would, of course, be there. Besides, Anna was to travel to London for it, and he did want to see her to ensure she was well.

  Since Grant’s suicide, she had hidden herself away at her late husband’s estate in Bath, and it was time she allowed herself to dwell amongst the living again.

  Jonathan inhaled the crisp spring air that still held a hint of winter’s bite.

  Gabrielle would have loved it here, though, no doubt, she would have bemoaned the cold. The stark wilderness would have appealed to her sense of adventure. She had always said, when Piers had spoken of home, that she would come and visit him one day.

  Jonathan had hoped that it would be as his wife. He’d never imagined that she would never have the chance.

  Trying his hardest to resist the pull of maudlin thoughts, he was relieved to see Piers’ seat finally come into view as his stallion climbed a hill.

  Hopefully his valet would have arrived with the travel coach by now. Jonathan had sent them both ahead of him and had ridden Lancelot, his chestnut stallion, for the last leg of the journey.

  The horse had needed the exercise and he had needed the time alone to think, to clear his thoughts, to wonder how he would go on breathing in and out, over and over without it causing tremendous pain.

  Cresting the hill, Jonathan could almost taste the brandy he’d be offered, could almost smell the smoke of the cigars that would be available.

  Three weeks without Evelyn pestering and Andrew worrying. Most importantly, three weeks without silly little debutantes vying for his attention.

  The last thing he wanted was to be annoyed by a female.

  As Jonathan came in through the side of the estate by the garden — he never used the main gate when he visited — he spotted Piers in the distance. He was sitting on a stone bench, and sitting alongside him was a lady in pink.

  Jonathan muttered an oath under his breath.

  Hadn’t he just been thinking he didn’t want to be around any ladies?

  He could tell even from this distance that she was a lady of quality. The way she held herself, the fine cut of the dress, the way she sat.

  But who was she? Surely Piers would have mentioned if he had guests already staying?

  Perhaps she was a neighbour paying a call, though that did seem unusual since she appeared to be unaccompanied.

  Jonathan brought Lancelot to a halt some distance away and dismounted to give himself a chance to pull on the disguise of politeness and nonchalance he wore so often. Whoever this chit was, it wasn’t her fault that he was dead inside, and he would never be rude to a guest of Piers.

  Taking Lancelot’s reins, he walked slowly toward the couple on the bench, neither of whom had spotted him yet.

  At that moment, the weak early spring sun appeared from behind a cloud and bathed the young woman in golden light. Her dark hair shone with a reddish hue that reminded him so much of Gabrielle’s he felt his throat catch.

  In fact, the unexplainable pull he suddenly felt toward her was the same pull he’d felt to Gabrielle, and only Gabrielle.

  Jonathan felt a lance of pain shoot through him. How could he be so disloyal to the memory of her that he would feel this immediate attraction to the stranger on the bench?

  Piers looked up, and his face registered joy then worry as he squeezed the hand of the lady on the bench.

  As Jonathan closed the remaining distance between them, he saw her head drop for a moment before she visibly squared her shoulders and stood.

  She turned slowly to face him, and Jonathan felt his knees almost buckle as he looked into her face… her exquisite, beloved face.

  He’d oftentimes wondered in the deepest moments of his grief if his feelings would actually send him mad.

  And now he knew they had.

  For how else could one explain that here in front of him stood Gabrielle?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GABBY HAD KNOWN as soon as she heard that Jonathan was coming that her reaction to him would be intense.

  She had expected that she would cry, scream, even feel a surge of hate strong enough to make her want throw her dagger straight through his black heart.

  What she hadn’t expected was this visceral need for him. The overwhelming love that burst through her soul, in spite of everything that had happened. It shocked and terrified her all at once.

  Clenching her fists to stop herself from reaching for him, Gabby worked harder than ever before in her life to keep her face an impassive, coolly polite mask.

  “Hello, Jonathan,” she said, cursing the quiver in her voice. “Surprised to see me?”

  Gabrielle didn’t know what she expected in answer. A sarcastic reply, maybe? Even an attempt to finish the job from Paris? An exclamation of shock at the very least.

  What she did not expect was for his unique amber eyes, the eyes that had held her captive right from their very first meeting, to glow with unadulterated joy before he strode forward and swept her into his arms.

  She should have been furious, of course. But all she felt was deliriously happy. It was ridiculous, and she was angry with herself. At least she would be. Later.

  “Is it really you?” he whispered and, fool that she was, she meekly nodded, allowing him to hold her as though they were still in love. As though there wasn’t a world of pain and betrayal between them now.

  Before she could answer him, before she could slap his face or rail against him or cry out her heartbreak, he picked her clean off her feet and pressed his lips against hers.

  And once again, just like all those years ago, she was lost to everything except him.

  THE SECOND THAT Jonathan’s lips touched hers, the fire that only she had ever been able to ignite flared up and consumed him.

  It can’t be her, his mind screamed. And yet, who else could it be?

  Who else could make his heart beat like this? Who else could affect him so much with one kiss? Who else could make his knees almost buckle with raw, desperate need?

  After what seemed like an eternity and yet no time at all, the sound of Piers clearing his throat finally brought Jonathan back to earth and with it, his mind began racing with questions.

  Loath to let her go but needing to find out what the hell was going on here, Jonathan finally pulled away from her.

  He knew his breathing was laboured, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Her eyes, so dark and wide, were gazing at him.
Her sable hair tumbled around her face. She looked thoroughly kissed. Just like she used to.

  “Gabby,” he whispered, ignoring Piers’ attempts to get his attention.

  He waited for her reaction. She’d probably cry. After all, even he had to admit it was terribly romantic to be reunited like this after so long.

  Her eyes were flashing with emotion. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was fury lurking in their sinful depths.

  But that couldn’t be right.

  Why would she be angry with him?

  He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t notice her fist come up.

  In fact, he didn’t notice anything until he’d been landed on his backside by a right hook that should have been impossible from one as small as she.

  She’d bloody punched him!

  Jonathan could only stare up at her in shock as she loomed over him holding her hand. She’d hurt herself hitting him, but he was finding it hard to find any sympathy at the moment since his cheek was currently burning.

  “What was that for?” he managed to splutter.

  She smiled, then but there was no warmth in it.

  “I suggest you keep your hands to yourself in the future, Mr. Spencer. If you want to hang onto them.”

  With that ominous warning, she turned on her heel and rushed back toward the house.

  Jonathan sat and watched her go until he saw a hand appear in front of him. Looking up, he saw Piers waiting to help him up, a grin of amusement on his face.

  Grasping the older man’s hand, Jonathan stood and brushed the muck from his clothing.

  When he’d gotten some semblance of control over his chaotic emotions, he looked Piers in the eye.

  “Would you like to tell me what the hell is going on here?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  Piers sighed then stepped back and extended a hand toward the house.

  “Perhaps you need a drink?”

  “There’s no perhaps about it,” Jonathan responded as he began walking toward the steps to the house.