The Spy's Revenge

by Nadine Millard

He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he should feel smug because he was affecting her so, or anxious that he was causing her to panic.

  She looked into his eyes, and he was drowning all over again in the chocolate depths of hers.

  “Perhaps we should,” she agreed. “Shall we commandeer some of Piers’ horses?”

  He grinned at the idea of being alone with her, away from the house and Piers and anyone else who would want to spend time with her. He wanted to guard her time jealously. Wanted it all for himself.

  When her breath caught in her throat, he allowed his smugness free reign.

  She wasn’t immune to him, at the very least. And he intended to use that to his advantage.

  He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her brow.

  “Meet me in the stables in fifteen minutes,” he said then stood and left the room.

  If he didn’t leave now, neither of them would be going anywhere for quite a while.

  GABRIELLE’S HANDS SHOOK as she closed the buttons on her riding habit.

  Get a hold of yourself, Gabrielle, she scolded as she fastened the last of the buttons on the nankeen jacket.

  Gabby turned and ran a critical eye over her reflection in the looking glass.

  She had sent the abigail assigned to her by Piers to curl the feather on her riding hat.

  She didn’t care a jot about the feather, but she needed a moment alone to collect herself.

  There was no doubt about it; Jonathan Spencer still affected her like no other, still made her feel as if he were a master puppeteer and she attached to the strings he held.

  The material of her honey-coloured habit clung to her curves before dropping loosely to the floor. The style was military, which might have looked severe if not for the soft, feminine colour.

  The colour itself suited her, she knew, and she was grateful to the modiste that Piers had insisted be brought to the house when Gabby was recovered somewhat.

  Piers, the darling that he was, had her kitted out in everything she could possibly want, and a lot of things she didn’t want.

  He had insisted she would need to be dressed like a diamond of the first water for when she went to London. Then she had thought him silly and extravagant; now she was grateful for it.

  Daisy, the maid who had been assisting her since her arrival, returned with her bonnet, the honey-coloured hat adorned with a now perfectly curled tan feather.

  After fixing it onto Gabrielle’s chocolate tresses, Daisy helped her into tan riding gloves, and she was ready.

  “You look beautiful, miss,” Daisy said encouragingly, and Gabrielle smiled her thanks, feeling suddenly too nervous to even speak.

  It had been a very long time since she had dressed to impress a man, and it had been the same man who was now awaiting her in the stables.

  Gabrielle still wasn’t sure if they could go back to being so passionately in love as they had been. But time, she supposed, would tell.

  Making her way to the stables, Gabrielle was glad to see the pale spring sun still valiantly shining in the sky.

  It was late afternoon now, so their ride would have to be of a short duration. But it would be long enough to ensure that they both got to tell their version of what had happened all those years ago. And, more importantly, it would give Gabrielle the chance to see if she really did believe and trust him. And, if she did, it would give her back the man she’d thought lost to her forever.

  Jonathan was holding the reins of two beautiful horses while chatting with the stable master. But it wasn’t the stable master or the horses that made the breath catch in Gabrielle’s throat. It was Jonathan Spencer, as it had always been.

  The sun glinted off his golden hair that waved softly in the light breeze. He’d always reminded her of an angel, though he had laughed when she’d told him so. But it was true. He was so very tall he towered over nearly every other man she knew. His golden hair, his unusual amber-coloured eyes, his strength, his power. It would take a lady stronger than she to resist such a man.

  As though he sensed her presence, Jonathan suddenly turned, and Gabrielle’s heart picked up speed. For a moment, he looked at her with pure, unadulterated lust blazing in his tawny eyes before he blinked then grinned in welcome.

  She wasn’t sure which expression affected her the most, but she knew she would likely lose her head and her heart again in very short order.

  Taking a steadying breath, Gabrielle walked toward him, shielding her eyes from the sun as she did so.

  Stopping in front of him, she looked up expectantly. He hadn’t yet spoken, and she was starting to feel a little self-conscious.

  The stable master bid them a good day and melted away.

  “You are stunning,” he finally said, and Gabby felt a jolt of pleasure. It might have taken him a while to speak, but it had been worth it.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled shyly, studying her gloves.

  The feel of his hand brushing softly against her cheek brought her eyes back up to meet his.

  “You’re really here,” he whispered softly.

  Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Gabby nodded, not trusting that she would be able to speak.

  He wanted to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes.

  And there was no way she would be able to refuse him.

  But after a moment or two of studying her face, Jonathan dropped his hand and stepped away.

  “Come,” he said, taking her hand and walking toward the horses. “Let’s find some place to talk.”

  As they approached their mounts, Gabby noticed that one was significantly smaller than the other.

  She felt a lick of temper as she compared the size of the beasts. One, a huge, muscular stallion who just oozed spirit; the other, a docile mare, placid and still.

  “Which horse is mine?” she asked innocently.

  Jonathan frowned in confusion.

  “The mare, of course,” he answered.

  “Of course? Do you think I’m incapable of riding the stallion, Jonathan? Is your memory so bad that you cannot remember my skills with a horse?”

  Jonathan’s jaw dropped open before he smiled a boyish, charming smile that she knew was meant to disarm her.

  “Well, it won’t be a race, Gabby. It doesn’t really matter what horses we use,” he said cajolingly.

  Gabby narrowed her eyes at his obvious attempts to manipulate her.

  The silly man. Had he really forgotten that this was her area of expertise?

  “You’re absolutely right. It would be foolish indeed to worry about what animals we are riding when we have such important matters to discuss,” she agreed sweetly.

  His smile this time was one of relief. “Shall I help you then?” he asked politely.

  “No, no. I can manage,” she answered, brusquely moving to the horses.

  The stable master had left the stool beside the mare, no doubt also assuming that, because she was female, she would struggle.

  Without a word, she moved the stool over to the stallion then signalled to the stablehand to saddle it. The lad looked askance at her, before moving his eyes to the master who grinned and inclined his head, indicating that he should go ahead and saddle the beast.

  The silence from Jonathan was deafening and she dared not turn around to see his reaction as she waited for the lad to finish his ministrations. As soon as he did, she mounted the animal, with no assistance whatsoever.

  She had been weak for a long time after her injuries, but since finally managing to find her way to Norfolk and recovering under the care of Piers and his personal physician, she was once again strong as an ox and had no intentions of letting anyone treat her any differently.

  “What are you doing?” Jonathan’s voice came from behind her as she lithely mounted the stallion.

  “I’m getting on a horse, Jonathan,” she answered patiently.

  “But — but that horse is for me,” he whined petulantly. There really was no other way t
o describe it.

  Gabby turned and eyed him sternly.

  “Well, it won’t be a race, Jonathan. It doesn’t really matter what horses we use,” she reminded him.

  He looked rather more than a little put out to have his words throw back at him but wisely kept his counsel on the matter.

  “I cannot ride that horse,” he said, pointing to the mare.

  “Why ever not?” she responded, enjoying herself immensely. “You expected me to ride it.”

  “Well, yes, but, well, that’s different,” he spluttered.

  She’d never seen him so ruffled. It was quite amusing.

  “And why is that?” she asked.

  He muttered a soft oath under his breath before the expected charming smile made an appearance.

  “Gabby,” he said, “I would hate you to injure yourself or — or ruin your lovely outfit.”

  She tilted her head as she studied him. “I know it has been three years, Jonathan, but do you really think I’ve transformed into a woman who cares a whit about her outfit? And as for injury,” she continued, allowing her tone to turn icy, “I am sure you do not mean to imply that I cannot handle this horse as well as you could. Because that would offend me greatly.”

  And so it was that when they set out on their ride, Gabrielle thoroughly enjoyed the view from atop her large stallion, and Jonathan grumbled and cursed, trailing behind her on the significantly smaller mare.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE SHOULD HAVE known really. What had possessed him to pick such a docile creature for the passionate Gabrielle he had no idea. And now he was paying for it.

  He felt as though his feet would touch the bloody ground on his tiny dwarf horse, but he knew better than to say anything. She was enjoying this far too much, and he wouldn’t give her the ammunition to tease him more.

  They travelled in silence that wasn’t quite companionable but wasn’t as strained as it was earlier. Progress of sorts, he supposed.

  Gabrielle led the way since she could see better from her seat than he could from his.

  “Shall we head for the river?” she asked him, and he nodded his agreement. He didn’t care where they went so long as he was with her.

  And the sooner he got to the bottom of what had happened, the sooner he could find a way to punish whomever was responsible.

  They veered to the right, and it wasn’t long before they came across a babbling stream flanked by weeping willows. It was a beautiful, secluded spot. A spot made for seduction in Jonathan’s opinion, and his dark mood about the damned hobby horse began to disperse.

  As soon as they stopped, Jonathan jumped from his mount and walked to assist her.

  “I can do it,” she insisted when she saw him standing there waiting for her.

  “I know you can,” he said. “Indulge me.”

  She didn’t have to, he knew. Lord knew she didn’t owe him indulgence of any sort. But having believed her dead for three years and now to find her here, alive and more beautiful than she had been even then, he would use any and every chance to touch her.

  She must have waged an internal war since she was as stubborn as an ox, but mercifully she relented and allowed him to lift her from the animal.

  As soon as his hands clasped around her waist, Jonathan felt that surge of rightness that always happened with her. The sense of knowing that they were meant to be.

  He allowed her body to slide down his own, torturing himself in the process. But it was exquisite.

  He lifted a hand to brush his knuckles against the petal-soft smoothness of her cheek.

  She had been right, he realised. She was different. Whether it was the years that had separated them or what she’d been through, her face wasn’t as open as it had once been.

  Her artlessness and innocence had always baffled him, given the business they were both in. But it had worked for her and had allowed her to get information with a flutter of her eyelashes or a guileless smile.

  Though she was still just as beautiful, and probably even more so, she no longer had that air of naivety about her. Now she seemed harder, more cynical, less content.

  He hated that and vowed then and there to make the world a place she could be happy in once more.

  “There’s a spot that I like to sit at and think. I’ve never been disturbed there yet. Perhaps we can talk there?” She spoke softly, her voice reminding him of whispered conversations in the small hours of nights long ago.

  Desire slammed into him with the force of a runaway stallion.

  “I like the sound of us being alone and undisturbed.” He smiled wickedly, leaning down to capture her lips with his own.

  But she pulled away.

  “We need to talk, Jonathan. Just talk,” she emphasised before pulling from his grip completely and setting off toward the brook.

  He tried not to feel the loss of her in his arms too keenly.

  He must respect her wishes.

  And he must find out the truth.

  Gabrielle led the way toward one of the bigger willows dotting the riverbank and disappeared beneath its branches.

  When Jonathan followed, he found that they were, as she had said, totally secluded.

  The branches of the willow allowed only dappled sunlight to filter through, giving the tiny spot an air of magic. It seemed quieter here amongst the branches, as though only whispering were permitted. Even the birdsong and babbling of the stream seemed muted.

  Gabby had sat herself near the bottom of the tree, her skirts spread around her. She was a vision. And she’d once been his.

  He felt the loss all over again, knowing that the distance between them might never be closed.

  But he would try with every fibre of his being, and for now, that had to be enough.

  “I don’t know where to even begin discussing this,” she admitted with a wry smile. “Just this morning, I thought you were to blame. Or involved at least. Now I find you had nothing to do with it.”

  “Just this morning, I thought you were dead,” he answered gruffly, then immediately regretted his harsh words as Gabby flinched slightly. Only slightly. Gabrielle Dumas had always been a harsh mistress with her emotions. Except for when they’d been alone.

  Before Jonathan could apologise for his tactlessness, Gabrielle laughed softly but there was no humour in the sound. She shrugged her shoulders, but her pained expression belied any casualness she may have feigned.

  “I find myself even more confused now than I was then.”

  Jonathan muttered a soft oath and moved to sit alongside her, his thigh skimming the material of her dress. So close and yet such a distance.

  “We have that in common,” he responded wryly, earning himself a small but sincere smile.

  “I want to find out who did this, Jon,” she said softly. “If not you and Andrew, then who?”

  Jonathan felt the now-familiar jolt of pain at her belief that he could do such a thing, but the anger he felt at whoever had done it took precedence.

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I’ll find out. And when I do, I’ll make them wish they’d never been born.”

  GABBY SHIVERED AT Jonathan’s icy tone.

  She had seen him angry before. He had always been magnificent in his anger, strong, proud, powerful. Not unlike an avenging angel.

  But the depth of feeling behind those few words put the fear of God into her. And she wasn’t even the person of whom he spoke.

  Gabrielle knew that the sooner she and Jonathan spoke about what had happened in Paris, the sooner they could both begin to heal.

  She wasn’t sure why she believed his innocence so much, but her gut was telling her that he was being honest.

  Though there were things she still didn’t understand, Gabby was willing to bet that Jonathan would do everything he could to help her find whoever had tried to kill her that night.

  And her foolish heart soared with the knowledge that once again she would be working with him. Because working with him meant bei
ng close to him.

  Gabby wasn’t sure where she’d found the strength to resist his kiss when they’d arrived here, but she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to do so again.

  There was no room right now to even begin to contemplate her feelings and confusion when it came to Jonathan Spencer. Not when she had so many other things to think about.

  When he had sat beside her, Gabby tried desperately not to react to his nearness. This would not do.

  How could her brain work properly when it was too busy urging her to do all sorts of improper things with the man at her side?

  Her brain, it turned out, was a bit of a wanton.

  “Gabby?”

  Jonathan’s questioning tone brought Gabrielle’s thoughts back to the situation at hand. Namely; finding out who had tried to kill her. Not ways to seduce Jonathan Spencer under a willow tree.

  “Yes? What?” she answered brusquely, feeling her cheeks warm.

  He frowned slightly, as though he were trying to work out what was going on in her head.

  Well, he’d have a tough job doing that since she had no idea herself.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened that night?” he asked, and with the gentle question, all thoughts of impropriety, no matter how fun it had sounded, flew from her mind.

  Gabby had relived that night a thousand times. It had never gotten any easier, not really.

  Over time, as the physical pain receded, the emotional scars had become ever more noticeable.

  And yet… the knowledge, or belief rather, that it hadn’t been Jonathan after all made it considerably less hurtful. And that knowledge gave her the strength to take herself back there. Back to that rainy night in Paris…

  “I think we should go back,” Andrew Carlyle’s whispered words somehow managed to be loud enough to be heard over the crash of rain that was lashing against the stones of the alley beneath their feet.

  “We’re not going back,” Jonathan replied. “We’ll go round and see if we can identify the informant.”

  “I never took you for a coward, Jonny,” Andrew replied with a smirk.

  “I never knew you had a death wish,” Jonathan responded ominously. “And don’t bloody well call me Jonny.”